#and it's really hard to get it off somehow

[gf2bellamy]

Hello, I hope you're having a lovely day. If it's okay, could I please request a Spencer reid x reader where the reader (who is Reid's work colleague) has gos on a date but gets stood up. Spencer happens to be going to the same restaurant and sees that the reader has been stood up to he pretends to be their date, and then the reader and Spencer confess their feelings for each other.

Please of course feel free to ignore, have a lovely day.

stood up — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of being hungry a/n: thank you for your request !! i hope you like this <3 ( i won't lie i giggled and kicked my legs a couple of times while writing this )

You drummed your fingers against the smooth surface of the table, the rhythmic tapping the only thing grounding you as the lump in your throat grew tighter. You blinked rapidly, trying to push back the sting of tears that threatened to spill.

Crying over this wasn’t worth it—you were an FBI agent, for god’s sake. You had seen and dealt with worse. But somehow, sitting here alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show, felt like a different kind of cruelty. 

Your day off was rare, something you didn’t take for granted. You had been looking forward to this—good food, good company.

Instead, you were left picking at the corner of the menu with nothing but a half-full glass of water in front of you. 

A waitress passed by, offering you a small, knowing smile, the kind that made your chest ache even more.

You hated that look—the one that said, Oh, sweetheart, I’ve seen this happen before. You could almost hear her inner monologue: Poor thing, all dressed up, waiting for someone who clearly wasn't about to show up. 

Your stomach growled, reminding you that despite your sour mood, you were still human. You had planned to indulge, to enjoy yourself, but now the thought of eating alone made your appetite vanish. 

The door chimed as someone entered, and you glanced up out of instinct, heart foolishly clinging to hope. But it wasn’t your date. Just another happy couple, the kind of people who didn’t have to wonder if they were worth showing up for. 

Five minutes later, the door opened again, but this time, you didn’t bother looking. You sighed, reaching into your bag to grab your wallet. At the very least, you needed to pay for the water and leave a tip—the waitress had been kind, even though you had done nothing but take up space. 

Then, you heard it. 

A voice—one you knew as well as your own heartbeat. 

“Hey.” 

You froze. 

Slowly, you lifted your head, and there he was. 

Dr. Spencer Reid stood beside your table, his gaze soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding or rescuing you from an evening gone wrong. 

“Hi,” you said, your voice small. It felt like the only appropriate response, though you weren’t sure what else to say. 

Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight slightly as he glanced between you and the half-finished glass of water on the table. His eyes flickered to the empty chair across from you, the one that had remained untouched all evening. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag, a telltale sign of nervousness. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

It was a ridiculous question, really. He was a profiler—of course, he could tell you weren’t okay. He had likely picked up on the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers fidgeted with the napkin on your lap, the disappointment etched in your expression. But still, he asked. 

You exhaled, looking down at the table, at the small water rings left behind by your glass. “Honestly? No.” 

Your voice was quieter now, tinged with frustration and hurt. You swallowed hard before forcing the words out. 

“I got stood up.” 

The moment you said it, you regretted it. Saying it out loud made it feel even more real. More humiliating. 

Spencer’s first thought was How? 

How could anyone stand you up? Someone as incredible as you? His mind immediately went into overdrive, analyzing every possible explanation. Maybe your date had an emergency. Maybe it was a terrible reason—one he wouldn’t accept regardless. But in the end, none of it mattered, because the fact remained: someone had willingly passed up the chance to spend time with you. 

And that was incomprehensible to him. 

If it were him? He would have been here fifteen minutes early. He would have memorized the menu ahead of time, making sure to pick something he thought you’d like so he could suggest it in conversation. He would have done everything in his power to make sure you knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to be here. 

But it wasn’t him. 

And as he stood there, trying to suppress the irrational wave of frustration at a person he didn’t even know, you were thinking something else entirely—how mortifying this was. 

It was bad enough to be stood up. But to be seen by him—the one person you had been trying so hard to get out of your head? That was almost unbearable. 

You had told yourself that going on a date would be good for you, that it would help get your mind off of him. The wonderful, brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who you worked beside every day, who you admired more than you cared to admit. 

And yet, here he was. 

Seeing you at your lowest. 

“You…” Spencer started, then hesitated. He cleared his throat before trying again. “You don’t deserve that.” 

The sheer sincerity in his voice made you look up at him, surprised. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed together like he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t quite grasp them. 

You forced out a weak chuckle. “Well, apparently my date thought otherwise.” 

“It's still wrong.” 

His voice was firm this time, leaving no room for argument. 

Your heart stumbled over itself at the conviction in his tone. 

Spencer shifted again, glancing at the chair across from you before meeting your eyes. “Can I… sit?” 

Your breath caught for a split second. 

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. 

He pulled the chair out and sat down, setting his bag on the floor beside him. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, more tentative this time. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Spencer asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

You shook your head, still feeling a little awkward about the whole situation. 

“Do you want to order something?” he asked shyly, his fingers toying with the edge of the menu. “They have this great pasta dish here.” He opened the menu and turned it toward you, pointing at one of the options. 

You glanced at the menu, then back at him. “You’ve been here before?” 

Spencer gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I, uh… yeah. I like coming here from time to time,” he admitted, his voice soft. “It’s close by, and they have good food.” He looked back down at the menu, as if trying to downplay the fact that he had just revealed something personal. 

You found yourself smiling, the initial embarrassment of him seeing you alone fading into something warmer. It was such a Spencer thing—to have a go-to spot, a little place he frequented in the city’s chaos. 

Before you could say anything else, the waitress returned, her expression noticeably brighter now that you were no longer sitting alone. 

“Can I take your order?” she asked, her eyes flickering between the two of you. 

Spencer hesitated, waiting for you to speak first. He wasn’t going to order if you weren’t. 

“I’d like this pasta dish,” you said, pointing at the menu. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught the way Spencer’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile—like he was pleased with your choice. 

“I’ll take the same thing, thank you.” he said. 

The waitress jotted it down, then collected the menus. Just before turning to leave, she shot Spencer a look. 

“You shouldn’t make people wait like that,” she said before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Your eyes widened slightly, and Spencer’s brows furrowed in confusion before realization dawned on him. 

“Oh—no, I wasn’t—” he started, turning to you quickly, his expression flustered. “She thinks I was the one who stood you up.” 

You laughed—really laughed—for the first time that night. The sound was warm, genuine, and it made Spencer smile almost instinctively. He didn’t even realize he was doing it; it was just a reflex, like hearing something familiar and comforting. 

You glanced at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. He didn’t have to do this—he didn’t have to walk in, sit with you, turn what had been an awful night into something… bearable. Maybe even good. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, tapping your fingers against the table in a nervous rhythm. “You know… for sitting with me.” 

Spencer’s gaze was already on you, observing you in that way only he could—like he was memorizing every detail. You met his eyes, feeling a little shy under the weight of his attention. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “I like spending time with you.” 

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, pushing past the leftover humiliation of being stood up and settling into something warmer, something that made your breath catch. 

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Because you liked spending time with him too. More than you probably should. 

Before you could respond, the waitress returned, placing your plates in front of you with a satisfied nod. “Enjoy,” she said before heading off to another table. 

Spencer adjusted his napkin, giving you a small, expectant look. “You know,” he said, “statistically speaking about 20% of first dates end in one person being stood up.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

He hesitated, then winced slightly. “I… thought it might?” 

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Spencer, you really have a way with words.” 

Spencer grinned, nudging his plate slightly closer. “Maybe, but… if you think about it, those statistics also mean that 80% of the time, the date actually happens. So, technically, the odds are in your favor for the future.” 

You hummed thoughtfully. “That’s if I decide to go on another date.” 

Spencer stilled for a fraction of a second before composing himself. “You might,” he said carefully. “If the right person asked.” 

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken. 

You glanced up at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “You’re not trying to set me up with someone, are you?” 

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it, looking slightly flustered. “No! No, I— I wouldn’t, um…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I just meant… someone better will ask. Someone who won’t stand you up.” 

“Is this your way of asking me on a date, Dr. Reid?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you looked at him. 

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed completely thrown off. His fingers twitched near his napkin, and he suddenly found the salt shaker incredibly interesting. “I mean—uhm—I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat as he stared anywhere but at you. 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Watching Spencer Reid—genius, profiler, and one of the most brilliant minds you knew—struggle to form a coherent sentence was both endearing and adorable. 

Then, after a long pause, he finally looked up at you, his nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“…Aren’t we kind of on a date right now?” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

The biggest grin formed on your face, one you couldn’t hide even if you tried. 

“I guess so,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked down at your plate, suddenly feeling shy. 

The butterflies in your stomach screamed, your nerves a tangled mess of excitement and disbelief. 

A pause. Then, he shifted in his seat, his fingers pressing together as if debating whether or not to say what was on his mind. 

Finally, he did. 

“I… I like you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I have for a while.” 

Your breath hitched. 

You had spent so much time trying to push your feelings for him away, convincing yourself they were one-sided. But now, hearing the words from his mouth—it was almost overwhelming. 

“You do?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Spencer nodded, eyes flickering between yours, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “I do.” He let out a small breath, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “I think I’ve liked you from the moment we met. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.” 

You could’ve laughed at how ridiculous that sounded, at how blind he had been. 

Instead, you reached across the table, hesitantly resting your hand over his. His fingers tensed for a brief second before relaxing under your touch. 

“Spencer,” you murmured, looking at him with nothing but affection, “I’ve liked you for a long time, too.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if the words had momentarily stunned him. Then, a breathy chuckle left him, one of pure, unfiltered relief. “You have?” 

You squeezed his hand gently. “I have.” 

Spencer licked his lips, nodding to himself as if processing everything before smiling—really smiling. “Well, that’s… that’s good.” 

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand once more before pulling back, the warmth still lingering between you. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, picking up your fork at last. “It really is.” 

And just like that, the night that had started as a disaster became something else entirely—something perfect. 

[janeyseymour]

A Case of You

Summary: You and a certain redhead are deeply, and undeniably in love- although the two of you don't realize it. Cue Barbara and someone unexpected to fix that for you on Fourth of July.

WC: ~5.4k

(lemme know if you wanna hear my rendition of the song mentioned in this fic :))

It’s an odd situation that you’ve found yourself in. You’ve been living in Philadelphia for a while now. You somehow manage to scrounge up enough money after years of odd jobs, a few investments, and your day job of teaching at Abbott Elementary to finally be able to afford a house. It’s a beautiful little house- one that you’ve been able to turn into something of a quaint little cottage core house. Your backyard is filled with flowers and emulates what some might say is a house in the movies.

And because you finally have a house that you’re proud of, you invite your folks to the city of brotherly love for Fourth of July. There’s no place like the founding city of the country to be in for the day. From the red and blue dyed beers, to the fireworks that burst over the museum of art (and you’ll have a beautiful view of the display room your house), your new city is one of the best places to be.

Once your coworkers find out that you’ll have the view that they’ve always wanted, it’s decided that you’re going to be hosting the holiday not only for your family, but for your work family as well. So, it might be a little crowded, but… it’ll be fun. That’s what you tell yourself. It’ll be fine.

So here you are, on July 3rd, frantically cleaning your house. Not that it’s messy by any means, but you want to impress. Your house is cozy, and you want to give off the effect that it’s well lived in (and it is) while maintaining the sense that you’re clean and proud of the place that you inhabit. It’s not all that hard. There are pictures dressing the walls, beautiful paintings that you’ve done, little knick knacks that you’ve collected over the years. It all feels homey.

But still, you’re making sure that it’s presentable enough that you won’t get ridiculed and lectured by your mother and your coworkers won’t make fun of your home.

That is, until your cell phone rings. Expecting it to be your mother, letting you know that she and your father have landed, you answer the phone, “Hey Mom.”

“Not your mom,” a voice that you’ve been missing comes through the phone.

Your brow furrows as you pause your scrubbing the toilet as you glance at your phone. “Melissa?”

“Yeah, hun. Just callin’ to see if you needed any help with the party tomorrow,” the redhead tells you. “Any cleaning or want me to bring anything or something?”

You bite your lip. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but the person that you’re trying to impress besides your mother is Melissa- the woman that you’ve been hopelessly in love with since you started working at Abbott. “Uhm… I’m just cleaning the last few things now,” you tell her honestly. “But I really do appreciate the-”

“What’s ‘the last few things’? Because you’ve told me that you only have a few things to get done before you head home from work, and then I find out that you stayed at the school so long Mr. J handed you his keys to lock up the building for the night.”

You have to let out a laugh at that memory. You sigh softly as you decide to tell her the truth. “I still have to finish cleaning up the living room and the kitchen. But it really isn’t all that-”

“Jeet?” At your silence, the redhead continues. “I’m bringing over drinks and dinner and helping you clean. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“Melissa,” you try to protest.

She’s quick to cut your argument off though. “I’ll see you in an hour, hopefully less than that.” 

And then you hear the phone line disconnect, and you quietly groan to yourself as you look at your appearance. You’re in your cleaning clothes that are covered with bleach stains, your hair is tied up messily, and makeup hasn’t been applied since probably the last day of school. You look a mess. With a sigh, you head for your bedroom to at least put on your face- you want to look at least somewhat presentable.

The redheaded second grade teacher is knocking at your door less than an hour later.

“Hey,” you smile softly as you open the door. She’s standing there with a case of beer and a bag of what you can only assume is dinner. And somehow, even in just shorts and a tee shirt, she looks as incredible as ever. You find yourself blushing.

“Are you gonna let me in, or should we just have dinner outside?” Melissa quips.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “No, no, come in. P-Please don’t mind the mess.”

“You’re cleaning, I’m ready to clean,” the woman laughs. “It’s all good. Let’s eat though first, yeah?”

Dinner is nice. The two of you chat about what you’ve been up to since school let out for the summer and potential plans for trips that either of you are looking to take. 

“I just don’t have all that many friends in the area,” you admit shyly. “So, most of my trips are solo.”

“You do have friends in the area,” Melissa refutes. “You got the Abbott group. You got me.” She nudges you with her elbow.

“I do,” you sigh softly. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“A lot of people are bothers to me,” the redhead laughs. Then she turns serious. “You ain’t one of ‘em.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “How kind of you to say.”

“If you ain’t doin’ nothin’, I spend a lot of time down at the shore in July,” Melissa offers casually.

You can’t help but smile. “That- that’d be nice, yeah.”

“Well,” your coworker sighs as she sets down her fork and begins to clean up. “This house won’t clean itself. So what do you want me to help you with?”

“You helped enough by making sure I ate dinner,” you tell her with earnest. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m helping, so just tell me what to do, or I’ll start snooping around for cleaning supplies anyway.”

The two of you clean the kitchen and the living room as music floats through your house from your record player.

“You got quite the selection,” Melissa tells you as she dusts the case that holds all of your music. “It ain’t half bad.”

You blush. Your music taste is all over the place.

“Mind if I pick an album to listen to next?”

“Of course not,” you call from the next room over. “Pick whatever.”

You expect her to pick a rock band, so when Joni Mitchell’s hauntingly beautiful voice begins to dance in the air, you’re a bit shocked.

Still, you let the music take over your heart and your soul, and when “A Case of You” starts, you can’t stop yourself from singing along softly. As you sing the words to yourself, you realize that you would drink a case of Melissa and still be on your feet. There’s something about her that is so intoxicating and yet always leaves you on your feet. 

Apparently though, your voice travels more than you were aware of. In the living room, Melissa can hear your gentle melody. Her cleaning pauses as she silently makes her way to where she can hear your voice better.

You’re standing there scrubbing the sink as you quietly echo Joni Mitchell’s vocals. It isn’t until the song is over that you hear a different voice.

“You sing real good,” the redhead compliments quietly.

Instinctively, you jump. You weren’t expecting her to hear you. And then your face flushes as you turn to face her. “I- uh…” You can’t get much out than that. You fumble for words for a few seconds before you just barely whisper out an apology.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Melissa smiles. “I think I like your version more.”

Your jaw practically drops at those words. “Oh, I- uh, thank you. But nobody can sing it like Joni.”

“I think you did it,” the redhead tells you, and you can tell in her voice that she truly means it. “I saw the guitar in your living room too. You play?”

You shrug. “Kind of.” You don’t want to admit that you’ve been playing for quite some time and oversell yourself- better to underestimate than over.

“Well, after we’re finished cleaning, I think I should get to hear it.”

You blush. “Maybe.”

By the time the two of you have the house straightened up to your liking, it’s quite late. If you’re being honest too, with the amount of alcohol that the two of you have consumed tonight, you aren’t necessarily comfortable with sending Melissa on her way.

“So, I believe you owe me a song,” your colleague teases you as she opens up another beer and settles on your couch.

“I was hoping you’d forget,” you laugh as you sit next to her.

“I’d never forget that voice,” the redhead smiles innocently. “C’mon, just one song?”

With a heavy sigh and a dramatic eye roll, you reach for the guitar that you keep in the corner of the room. You tune it up quickly, chuckling when you see the impressed look that Melissa wears on her face when you don’t actually need a tuner.

You strum the guitar a few times to ensure that it’s tuned to your liking before beginning to play.

Of course, you play your own rendition of “A Case of You” to prove to Melissa that you simply can’t do the song justice the way that Joni Mitchell does. Your approach doesn’t work. By the time you’re finished fingerpicking the last few notes, green eyes are wide and in shock.

“What?” you ask weakly. “I told you I only kind of play.”

“That’s a lot more than ‘kind of’,” the second grade teacher says. “You should be teaching Music, not fourth grade.”

You shake your head. “If I had to do it for a living, I’d hate it. But as a hobby, I do love it.”

“Play another for me,” Melissa requests as she leans back and takes another sip of her drink.

Somehow, the two of you end up going through another two drinks as you give the redhead her own personalized concert. Those sparkling green eyes stay mesmerized with your charming voice as you tell her the stories behind why you learned a few select songs, how you wrote a few, and the way that your melodies are nothing but soothing.

“You should be out in LA writing music,” Melissa tells you. “You’re… incredible.”

Your already red and warm cheeks from the alcohol only become more flushed at her kind words. You can only set the instrument down in response.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you chuckle as you sip your beverage.

The redhead sighs softly. “I guess I should head out for the night.”

“Stay,” you tell her quickly- probably a bit too quickly. “You’ve had more than enough to drink, it’s late, and I don’t want you out there driving.”

The smirk that tugs at Melissa’s lips, along with that mischievous glint in her eyes gets you to look at her curiously.

“Somehow I knew that when I brought drinks over that would be your response, so I packed a bag,” the redhead reveals. “Let me just go grab my stuff from my car."

You can’t help but throw back your head with laughter. “Of course you thought that.”

“Was I wrong?” your coworker teases.

The two of you end up sharing a bed that night, and when your alarm goes off the next morning, despite the fact that it’s July, you find yourself cold. You turn over, only to discover that the redhead isn’t next to you.

But you can hear soft humming coming from downstairs, along with the record player. She’s downstairs. And then once you’ve woken up a bit more, you can smell the coffee and breakfast being made. You make your way downstairs and can’t stop yourself from practically drinking in the sight of Melissa Schemmenti cooking you breakfast.

She must hear your footsteps, because she turns on her heel and smiles at you. “Hope you don’t mind that I made breakfast.”

“I’ll never pass up a Schemmenti meal,” you tease. “You know that.”

It’s only a few minutes before the two of you are sitting at the kitchen table with plates in front of you.

“You know you cuddle in your sleep?” Melissa asks.

You turn a violent shade of red. “S-sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be. It was nice.”

Your heart flutters. You never thought that the rough and tough Melissa Schemmenti would be one for cuddling, but here she is.

Breakfast is nice and warm, and you can’t help the blush in your cheeks as the two of you clean in a comfortable silence. More than once, the two of you accidentally brush hands together or her hand finds the small of your back to guide you out of her way.

The both of you get ready for this party, and by the time you’re making your way down the steps to change the record, your doorbell is ringing.

It’s your parents- of course they show up first. It’s not that you aren’t happy to see them, but you wish the house was a bit more full so that you wouldn’t get the third degree as soon as you see your mother.

“Is it Barb?” Melissa’s voice floats down the steps before she comes into sight. When she turns the corner, she sees your parents still standing on the front step. “Oh.”

“Who are you?” your mother eyes your coworker warily.

“Melissa,” the redhead states. “Just a coworker of Y/N’s.”

Your mother hums quietly before inviting herself in. Her eyes glance around your place with a slight frown. “This isn’t much.”

“It isn’t,” you mumble. “But I very much like where I live and how I live.”

“When you said you could afford to buy a house, I was expecting more.”

“Jane, lay off,” your father cuts in. “Y/N, your house is very… you. I like it.”

You’re not quite sure what to say to that. So you simply smile at your father as a silent ‘thank you’ and direct the conversation elsewhere, praying that your coworkers show soon. “Did you want anything to drink? I have wine in the fridge, or I just have to set out the ice for the coo- shoot.”

“What is it?” Melissa asks, brows furrowed with concern.

“I forgot to buy ice yesterday.”

“Oh,” the redhead rolls her eyes as her arm wraps around your waist. “I can just run to the corner store real quick and grab some.”

Your eyes soften significantly as Melissa Schemmenti saves the day. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, hun.” She grabs her purse from the kitchen table and heads out with a soft hum, only to pop back in. “You need anything else? Or… do you guys want anything?” she directs that last part at your parents.

All three of you shake your heads, so she smiles that Philly smile of hers and heads out.  You momentarily forget that your parents are present, and you can’t help the shy smile and blush that creeps into your cheeks as you watch her figure leave.

“Your little friend is very pretty,” your mother states once the door is shut.

You turn to her sharply. “Oh?”

“She’s very pretty,” your mom says again.

“Oh, good. I thought it was just me,” you mutter.

“No,” your father cuts in this time. “It’s a fact. You should probably get a move on if you want to do something about that. A girl that pretty won’t be single for long.”

“I was planning on pining from afar for anywhere from two to ten years and seeing where that got me. Probably nowhere, but I won’t know until I try,” you quip cheekily. “

"Your mother and I both saw the way she looks at you- she definitely has a thing for you too,” your father tells you. “Just… think on it. Yeah?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, and sigh. “Just… don’t go doing your meddling, please?”

“I won’t,” your dad raises his hands in mock surrender. Your mother, on the other hand though, stays quietly.

Melissa makes her way into the house again not twenty minutes later, a smile dancing on her lips. “The ice is in the cooler, along with the drinks.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her warmly. You then note that she has three drinks in her hand: a beer for her and your father, and a seltzer for you. She passes them out silently before cracking hers open and taking a sip.

She then leans in and wraps an arm around your waist again before mumbling into your ear, “If my mother said that to me about a house this beautiful, I would’ve lit the trash can on fire.”

The giggle that erupts from your soul is hard to contain. Thankfully, you don’t have a chance to say anything else because your doorbell rings. And when the two of you go to open the door, you’re more than pleased to see the entirety of the Abbott clan. Anything to get your mother’s attention off of you.

As it turns out, your mother and Barbara seem to get along swimmingly. What surprises you is how much your mother likes Janine and Ava as well. Your father quite enjoys Mr. Johnson’s tales, is able to talk sports with Gregory, and even falls for Jacob’s awkward charm. And Melissa is able to meander through your backyard with you as you ensure that nothing gets too out of hand.

When you’re chatting with your father and Mr. Johnson, your mother glances over at you. Melissa has an arm slung around your shoulder, and you don’t seem to mind it one bit.

“Tell me,” your mother implores Barbara. “Melissa.”

“What about her, dear?”

“Her and my daughter.”

“Oh,” the kindergarten teacher chuckles as she sips on her wine. “Those two have been pining for each other for years. If you ask me, it’s just a matter of time before they finally pull their heads out of their asses and get together.”

Your mother sighs a breath of relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to notice.”

“Oh, you aren’t, Jane,” Barb laughs. “Don’t tell either of them, but we have a bet on how long it’ll take them to finally start dating. I said by the end of July. Everyone else still thinks they’ll be dancing around it come the beginning of the school year.”

“While I don’t approve of a lot of the choices my daughter has made,” your mother sighs. “Including moving away from us, I do want her to be happy. Do you think she’ll be happy with Melissa?”

“That daughter of yours is never happier than when she’s with Melissa,” Barbara states simply. “And just so you’re aware: your daughter has done a whole lot of good while she’s been out here with us. We are very proud of her, and you should be too. I know she sometimes feels that she isn’t good enough for you.”

Your mother bites her lip, a bit ashamed at how she knows she’s made you feel- both today and in the past. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll mend that.”

“As you should.”

“But for now… my husband promised he wouldn’t meddle in her love life, but I made no such promise. Should we win that bet for you?”

The kindergarten teacher is clearly intrigued as she raises a brow. “And how do you propose we would do that?”

Their plan, as it turns out, is not the most intricate. It’s to simply get the two of you hammered while your mother quietly feeds you comments about how you’re already practically in a relationship with the redhead. Meanwhile, Barbara will plant that same seed in Melissa’s head before daring her to just make a move- Melissa is never one to turn down a dare while intoxicated; that’s how she ended up doing cartwheels on South Street one night after a particularly wild night at Oscar’s.

“You know she spent the night last night?” Barbara asks your mother. “Came over to help clean and ended up just staying.”

Your mother’s perfectly sculpted brow lifts. “I just assumed she was the first one here.”

“Nope,” your mother smirks. “I was supposed to pick her up so all of us Abbott people could come together.”

“Interesting… if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some snooping to do.” With that, your mother rises from her seat and enters your house. Immediately, her eyes turn to the steps where your room and main bathroom are. She ascends up the steps. Melissa’s things, at least that’s what she assumes, are still scattered around in the bathroom. And… bingo: two toothbrushes. Then her eyes wander into the bedroom. Your mother knows that you don’t typically make the bed, but she is surprised to see that both sides of the bed are disheveled- bodies had clearly been on both sides.

Meanwhile, outside, Barbara makes her way over to you and Melissa.

“Where’d my mom go?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” Barb tells you gently. Her eyes don’t miss the fact that the redhead’s arm is still around you. “You two seem to be having a nice time.”

Green eyes glare at her work best friend, but you just smile and lean into Melissa. That glare washes right off of her face.

“It’s nice,” you smile. God, that smile of yours has the second grade teacher wrapped around your finger. “I’m almost done my drink though.”

That’s all the kindergarten teacher needs to hear to begin her side of the plan. “Let me get you both drinks.”

“Oh, I can get them for us,” Melissa tells your coworker. Her hand slips away from your back, and it’s odd that you feel the slightest bit cold without her holding you.

The kindergarten teacher watches the way that your eyes linger on Melissa’s figure. And when she’s bringing back the drinks, you simply attach yourself to her hip again.

“Cheers,” Barb smiles as she lifts her glass in the air. The three of you clink, and then drink. She makes a mental note to pace herself while raising her glass in your direction often. Melissa and you never turn down a toasted drink. 

When Barbara sees your mother make her way back out, she moseys over. “What did you find?”

“Those two are so in a relationship, even if they aren’t admitting it. They shared a bed and everything!”

“Well, I’ve already initiated them getting drunk,” Barb informs your mom.

“Perfect,” your mother grins. Her eyes glance in the direction that you and your coworker are in. “Those two are idiots if they don’t think they’re in love. Well, time to go start.”

When you see your mother walking in your direction, you simply tap your can with Melissa’s before downing a good portion of it. The redhead follows your actions, although her eyes do widen when she sees how much and how quickly you’re drinking.

“My dear,” your mother starts. “Can I have a word with you?”

With a soft sigh, you nod and allow her to pull you in another direction. 

“What, Mom?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” your mother instructs strictly. Then she softens significantly, and you feel like you’re a young child again. She used to look at you with so much love. “I just… wanted to apologize.”

“For?” you raise a brow.

“The things I’ve said about your career choices and the likes,” your mother sighs sheepishly. “I- I am very proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You frankly aren’t sure what you’re supposed to say to that, so you just give a sad smile. “Thank you for saying that, Mom.”

“I know that you probably don’t believe me, but I am very proud of you. You’re shaping the future generations, and you’ve been able to make it out here on your own. You seem to have a lovely work life, and… you’re a hell of a lot happier here than you were back home.”

“I am,” you admit. “I love it here, Ma.”

“That’s all I could ever want in this life for you- happiness,” your mom smiles as she squeezes your hand. “My sunshine deserves sunshine.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

“I think I know how you could be happier though.”

“I’m not moving back-”

“I’m not asking you to move back home,” your mother rolls her eyes. “I’m asking you to pull your head out of your ass and get with that little friend of yours already.”

“I thought I told you and Dad not to meddle in my life love,” you smirk.

Your mother replicates your facial expression- one of mischief. “I never agreed to that, dear. But I mean, come on. It’s quite clear to me that you have feelings for her.”

“So what if I do?”

“It’s also quite obvious to me that she reciprocates those feelings for you,” your mother states. “I mean, the two of you act as though you’re already together as it is.”

“We do not,” you blush.

“She stayed at your house last night, the two of you shared a bed, her toothbrush is right next to yours in the holder.”

“Friends stay over at each other’s houses sometimes,” you counter.

“She’s been hanging off of you all day,” your mother points out. “She calls you hun.”

“She calls every one ‘hun’.”

“Her eyes never leave you, and your eyes never leave her. Just admit that you’re in love with her. And she’s in love with you.”

“She is not,” you roll your eyes.

“All I’m saying is: the two of you act like you’re in a relationship already. Just… think about your happiness for your ol’ Ma. I do want grandkids at some point, you know.”

Barbara grabs her work wife by the arm. “Cheers!”

The redhead only throws back her head to laugh before taking a long swig.

“So when are you gonna just tell that girl that you’re in love with her?” the kindergarten teacher probes.

“Never,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I plan on pining from afar for… forever. There ain’t no way someone like that would ever want me.”

“I see the way she looks at you, Melissa,” Barbara reminds her friend. “She loves you, and the two of you act like you’re in a relationship as it is.”

“No we don’t.” The pointed look from her coworker has the redhead blushing. “Okay, maybe we do. But there’s a difference between acting like it, and actually being in a relationship.”

“I think you should go for it,” Barb says. “Tonight.”

“What?” Green eyes go wide.

“Why not? Nothing is more romantic than fireworks. And, the two of you are drunk, and if it doesn’t feel right you can always blame it on the booze.”

The second grade teacher bites her lip. “I don’t know.”

“Just… think about it.”

No sooner is the redhead back at your side, holding you by the hip again. And while she seems like everything is wonderful and there is nothing but pleasant thoughts going on in her head, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Her mind is swirling with what it would be like to kiss you, to be in a relationship with you.

Maybe, Melissa thinks to herself. 

Well, that maybe turns into an Absolutely I will, when Barbara dares her a few hours later to do something about the mutual pining that is going on between the two of you.

“I dare you to kiss her while the fireworks are going on,” the kindergarten teacher smirks, pretty intoxicated herself. 

“I will,” the redhead chuckles, never one to turn down a dare.

By the time the fireworks start going off, everyone is either on a blanket that they had brought or in a chair that lived at your house. Of course, you’re the last to search a seat due to your expert hosting skills, and you find yourself coming up with nothing.

“Come here,” Melissa rolls her eyes. As if you would find anywhere else to be but near the redhead. You stand beside her, ready to take in the spectacle that is about to light up the sky. And in a daring move, the second grade teacher easily tugs you into her lap. She her arms around your midsection and rests her chin on your back.

Your mother nudges Barbara with her elbow, grinning from ear to ear. “You think it’s gonna happen?”

“I dared Melissa to,” the kindergarten teacher mutters back. “So, yeah.” 

“Perfect.”

As the first fireworks go off, you can feel the excitement practically radiating off of Melissa. It’s adorable when you turn and see how awestruck she is by the lights in the sky. Your coworkers are entirely entranced by the display, and when it’s clear that the finale is about to take place, you expect to see those green eyes focused on the dark night above you. But instead, the redhead is looking directly at you.

“Lis,” you chuckle, and you try to turn her head so she can look up at the last of the fireworks. She doesn’t seem to care about the spectacle. No, her eyes are trained on you. “You’re gonna miss the finale.”

“I don’t care,” the redhead breathes.

“But they’re beautiful,” you whisper.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Melissa tells you quietly. And then her lips meet yours. And… the fireworks in the sky are no comparison to the fireworks in your heart.

Everyone that had gathered at your house is mesmerized by the display in the sky- all except your mother and Barbara. Silently, they high five before turning their eyes back to the finale of the fireworks.

Once the fireworks are over, it isn’t long before your friends and family begin to file out of your house.

“Don’t think that we aren’t talking about that kiss that I saw,” your mother whispers to you as she hugs you goodbye. Immediately, your cheeks flush red. But you can’t say anything, because she’s off of you, and giving Melissa a hug goodbye.

Barbara, on the other hand, doesn’t give any inclination that she knows what had taken place just a few short minutes ago. She heads out with a hug and a kiss to your cheek, thanking you for your wonderful hospitality.

And then you and the redhead are alone. And before you know it, her lips are back on yours.

Fast forward to the end of Summer, and Melissa has been your girlfriend since the Fourth. It’s been a wonderful summer spent down at the beach with her, and all too soon you’re walking back into the halls of Abbott.

Barbara doesn’t say anything when she sees the two of you walk in together or the way that Melissa instinctively prepares your morning beverage for you. No. She chooses to wait until the last of your Abbott family has made their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” the kindergarten teacher claps her hands together with a bright grin on her face. “Where’s my money?”

“Your money?” your girlfriend raises a brow.

“My money,” Barbara states with a smile.

“For what?” Jacob asks.

“The bet.”

“No one won,” Ava rolls her eyes. “Not yet at least. I still got my bet going.”

“That’s where you would be wrong,” the kindergarten teacher reveals. “Y/N and Melissa got together on Fourth of July.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“You heard what I said, baby.”

“H-how?”

“While everyone else was watching the fireworks, I saw what I needed to see. So, just confirm it so I can win my three-hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred dollars?” Melissa asks incredulously. At her best friend’s nod, the redhead just continues to flounder for words.

“I ain’t payin’ until one of them confirms.”

You sheepishly smile as you raise the two of your hands from under the table, intertwined.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[steddiehyperfixation]

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | rated T

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death. 

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood. 

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen. 

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one. 

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home. 

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?” 

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-” 

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”  

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-” 

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?” 

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car. 

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.” 

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?” 

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.” 

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.” 

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason. 

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?” 

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.” 

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm. 

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him. 

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?” 

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.” 

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?” 

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly. 

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.” 

“So.” 

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?” 

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.” 

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

General Sevika Headcannons

Sevika x Female Reader (Fluff)

Content (w): You’re horny in like.. once? Angst at the end, but its short.

Proofread || Note: I didn’t mean to disappear, writers block got to me :( Kinda short and this is, a tiny bit, rushed.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!

Random

Big on whistling. Does it when she needs your attention, when she’s checking you out, even when she’s teasing. She likes seeing the look on your face. Especially eye rolls, do one with a face and she’s giddy.

Insanely good at Sudoku. She picked it up a while back when Silco taught her the magic behind the numbers. Now, she’ll challenge the old man and watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose while she’s smiling smugly.

Loves when call her, or anything that belongs to her, cool. She likes being cool. That’s probably why she lets her cape fly off during fights.

Hates her glasses, mainly because they lack functionality, but enjoys seeing you thirst over them. She’d going blind and you’re over here drooing over her, she loves that. And, just for fun, she’ll wear a turtleneck; which, gets you hornier than ever.

Expression

Is she good at being romantic? No. She’s never had someone to be.. soft with. In a way, you’re the first person she’s ever opened up to. Be it letting you know her interests, her dislikes, her favourites, or just small, “not so very tough” things about her. However, she’s only just getting used to those things.

Flowers is all Sevika really knows. On her way back from her backbreaking job, she’ll grab you a few flowers from the market or straight up pluck one she randomly saw and surprise you.

Not so good with words. That woman doesn’t have a clue on how to comfort you. Why? Because she’s never been in a situation where she’s had someone talk her through her problems. Where she’s been able to let slip an ounce of vulnerability. Tragic, but she’s learning.

Things she does that she doesn’t realize

Stares so much that, before the two of met, it scared you. You thought you were her next target and lived in fear for the next week or so until the woman, finally, decided to talk to you. And, after a few months of dating you finally brought it up. She denied it at first but, when she caught herself staring at you a million more times she came clean.

“I was only appreciating you.” She brings it up so abruptly that you’re confused, “what are you talking about?”

With a sip of her whiskey, she rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Nothing..”

Her grip’s a little too hard. Her flesh fingers always end up digging into your waist whenever she’s trying to keep you close. Your girlfriend never noticed it until you had to talk to her about the slight redness she had left on your skin. And, for the next week, Sevika brought home boquets of flowers— not the cheap kind— every day until you told her you forgave her. (You didn’t know she wanted you to say so.)

So sassy that you sometimes have to take deep breaths in order to not tell her off. It’s not on purpose, she’s just so used to having that tone. One time you thought she was pissed at you when, in reality, she was just trying to find the next row for her Sudoku round.

Snores loudly. Jannah have mercy on your soul because that woman will not stop snoring for the love of her life. You’ve tried giving her different pillows, different positions, anything and everything, but nothing seems to work. Somehow, over time, you found a way to fall asleep with her deep snores beside you, even though, sometimes, you want to smack her in the face with a pillow.

Dislikes/Hates

Being ignored. Sevika will, quite literally, go insane if you ever give her the silent treatment. She’s not used to being treated like she’s not there— hell, she’s one of the most respected woman in Zaun, why would she be alright with not being acknowledged? Just to get back at you, she’ll annoy you until you break. Chewing loudly in your ear or shaking you up by heavily sitting on the couch beside you, she’s determined, and she knows you know that.

Her own overthinking. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t know why you still stick around with all her problems. Even the risk of you being in danger, because of her, makes her stay awake at night, she doesn’t want to lose you and she hates how her mind needs constant reassurance that you want the same thing. Even though she rarely says the amount of doubts she has, she’ll hit you with this look that only you can read. It’s a silent need that you, happily, provide. Murmuring soft words she’ll end up being embarrassed about later.

The saddest one of them all: her face. :(((( Seeing herself in the mirror makes her feel a sense of shame that she’s never fully able to verbally express. It’s the scars that make her feel self conscious, the wrinkles on her face that makes her groan, the masculinity of her jaw that makes her question herself. But, luckily for her, she’s got this amazing girlfriend, you, who will reassure all her problems away. You swoop in when you hear how quiet the apartment has gotten, follow behind her and give her a few looks of awe and comment on whatever she needs you to. Tell her she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen and she’ll melt. Smiling like some teenager while looking away in embarrassment; in that moment, she’s thinking about how lucky she is to have you with blush on her cheeks.

[shin-kenooubu]

Confession Headcanons!

featuring: Ranpo Edogawa

(sfw, fluff, gn!reader, no content warnings)

• author's note: more ranpo because i love him.

Ranpo isn't used to being uncertain about things, in fact, there is nothing in the world that he is less accustomed to. He always has things figured, it's always taken him seconds and it somehow takes him Even Less Time to blabber out the answer.

But that certainty comes from cold hard facts. Feelings are far, far, faaaar trickier.

So obviously. Instead of figuring out a way to put his feelings into proper words and going through the grueling feeling of vulnerability and heat rushing into his face and down his neck.

He makes you do it.

Eventually, you won't be able to keep quiet about your feelings and he knows this. But at the rate you're going, it's going to take ages. So he's going to help speed up the process! Because someone needs to confess.

And its certainly not going to be him. For obvious reasons.

So heres now it goes:

- All up in your space. He knows you get flustered when he's near. Filing some paperwork? He's sitting on your desk. Taking a break on the couch? He's sitting down and draping his legs over your lap. You're taking your lunch break? He's hungry too!!! Buy him a treat!!!

- Makes you accompany him whenever he gets sent out. It doesn't matter if you can drive or not, he'll tell you everything he's already figured out about the case on the way there regardless! He's basically figured it all out already anyways. Isn't that impressive? Isn't he the best? Praise him, please and thank you.

- Compliments you. Indirectly. All the other members of the ADA always mention how highly Ranpo seems to think of you. It's clear that he values your input, he finds you incredibly dependable as well, y'know, he's even mentioned that you're pretty easy on the eyes. Don't tell him they told you that, though. (It's all part of his master plan.)

- Shares. His supply is dwindling even faster because of you! You should feel honored. Or maybe not. He doesn't actually mind, don't feel bad for taking anything. Hurry up and eat the damn thing already.

- Listens to you. Actively. He makes sure to show that he's paying attention to you because he knows that you appreciate it. He doesn't really get it, he's always listening even if it looks like he's busy playing around. But feelings are weird and fragile. He'll be a little extra careful with yours.

- Makes an effort to not insult your intelligence. Not that he ever actually means to, his wording is just off. Which is why recently you've found him growing quiet in conversations for a few seconds. A small pout on his lips as he considers his words before snapping right back into place and continuing whatever tirade he was going on. All without throwing out an indirect jab. It's cute, and also very thoughtful.

- Minimizes the opportunities you have to get hurt in his plans. Obviously some things don't come together as neatly as one might hope but damnit if he isn't finding a way to keep you safe. You can be useful And out of harms way.

He's obvious, he doesn't trust you to not brush off his vaguer advances as him simply being friendly. He wants you to get the hint. Needs you to, really, because he's sick of pining just as much as you are.

When you do eventually ask to speak to him privately, invite him into your space and sit him down, his heart pounds.

Ranpo knows the outcome of this, he's set it in motion for weeks, maybe even months, but theres still Doubt.

He can't see the future.

He can infer it, maybe. Can imagine a future where you and him are happy, where everyday, the two of you lay in bed together, and you smile at him as you run your fingers through his black hair and his mind grows muddy.

But this isn't like any simple murder case. He knows some facts, yeah, but none of it will ever, ever be enough to be Certain. Certain of you and him. Together. It scares him.

But when you take his hands in yours, a little clammy from nerves, and whisper your feelings to him, he can't help but surge forward and press his lips to yours.

A wide smile. A simple, "I know."

You can feel his quiet laughter on your face.

He's lucky he didn't wheeze it out, with how tight his chest feels from pure giddiness.

[stylestarkey]

the debutante’s dilemma (02)

𐙚 a rafe cameron social media and irl au

pairing   rafe cameron X carrera!reader

summary   spending every summer in the outer banks with your cousin kiara carrera were always a given—a break from the chaos of new york city. but this year is different. your mom, now an organiser for the annual debutante ball, is determined to introduce you to society. and you have a dilemma: finding the perfect escort.

warnings   swearing.

navigation   masterlist 01 02 03

the sun beats down on your shoulders as kie spreads sunscreen over your back, her fingers cool against your sun-warmed skin. the beach is alive with the sound of crashing waves and distant laughter, but all you can focus on is the disbelief in her voice.

“she signed you up for the deb ball?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

you sigh, adjusting your sunglasses. “you make it sound like i’m getting drafted.”

“well… you kinda are.” she smirks, capping the sunscreen bottle with a loud snap.

you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “we don’t have those in new york.”

kie raises an eyebrow. “seriously? i figured they’d be everywhere.”

you shake your head. “nope. i had to look it up on tiktok—apparently, it’s like prom, but more… bridgerton.”

kie lets out a short laugh. “yeah… except it’s nothing like prom.” she pauses for a moment, then shakes her head again. “actually, no. it’s not just like prom.”

you frown. “okay… then what is it?”

kie leans back on her hands, staring out at the ocean like she’s bracing herself. “it’s like… introducing brand new hot virgins to high society,” she says, completely serious.

you nearly choke on your own spit. “what?”

she shrugs. “obviously, no one actually calls it that. they say it’s for charity, but let’s be real—it’s just an excuse for parents to show off whose daughter looks the most elegant in an overpriced dress. and more importantly, which debutante lands the most impressive escort.”

you blink at her, still trying to process. “you lost me.”

kie groans, flopping onto her back. “to sum it up, you need a hot guy with good status to escort you. preferably someone rich.”

you stare at the sky, feeling your stomach sink. “cool. only problem is, i don’t know anyone here.”

“yeah… that’s where it gets tricky.” she tilts her head toward you. “but you’re hot and cool, so it shouldn’t be too hard. plus, aunt jo is the organiser this year—she might be able to hook you up.”

you groan, covering your face with your hands. “and what exactly do i get out of this?”

kie huffs a laugh. “nothing. except maybe some kook drama. but your mom? oh, she’ll be thrilled. this’ll make her mom of the year—until the next deb ball, at least.”

you exhale sharply, already regretting everything. “classic jo.” after a beat, you sit up, narrowing your eyes at her. “wait… are you doing it?”

she snorts. “girl, do i look like the type? even my parents know i’d just embarrass myself. but don’t worry, i’ll be there… in the audience.”

you clasp your hands together, giving her your best pleading look. “please, kie.”

she barely glances at you. “nope. and besides, i can’t dance.”

your stomach drops. “…there’s a dance?”

kie stares at you like she’s just now realizing how unprepared you are. then she shakes her head, laughing under her breath.

“oh my gosh.”

you’ve been to the country club before—at least once every summer, dragged along for lunch with your mom, kie, and her parents. the visits were always the same: sitting through long conversations about golf and real estate, pretending to care about whatever expensive renovations the kooks were raving about. you never really belonged in places like this, but it was tolerable with kie by your side, the two of you sneaking glances and stifling laughter whenever someone said something ridiculous.

but today is different.

today, you’re here alone.

it’s only your first day back in the outer banks, and somehow, you’ve already found yourself stepping through the grand double doors of the country club, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting your skin. the scent of lemon polish and overpriced steak lingers in the air, mixing with the quiet clinking of glasses from the bar.

your mom is somewhere inside, already deep in conversation with a group of women who all look like they stepped out of a southern living magazine. you know if you join them, you’ll be stuck listening to gossip about charity events and vacation homes, so you slip away, weaving through the club’s pristine halls until you step outside.

the golf course stretches out before you, endless green against the bright summer sky. it’s quiet, peaceful—until a voice breaks through the stillness.

“are you gonna play, or just stand there trying to get the perfect instagram photo?”

you turn, eyes landing on two blonde-haired boys standing a few feet away. they look almost identical, but one is undeniably cuter.

great. just what you needed.

you straighten, tightening your grip on the club. “excuse me?”

the taller one steps forward like he owns the place, which—considering where you are—he probably does. “i’m rafe.”

he holds out a hand, but you hesitate. you’re not usually unfriendly, but something about him—the ease, the confidence, the way he’s watching you like he already knows exactly what you’ll do next—makes you wary. still, you don’t look away.

“o… kay?” you say, making no move to take his hand.

he exhales a short laugh before slipping both hands into his pockets, like your reaction doesn’t faze him. “rafe cameron.” he says it like it should mean something to you.

you blink at him, unimpressed. “i didn’t ask.”

behind him, his friend lets out a low whistle, grinning. “ooh.”

rafe barely glances at him before turning his attention back to you. “shut up, top.” then, with a slight tilt of his head, “do you seriously not know who i am?”

you raise an eyebrow. “should i?”

something shifts in his expression, just for a second. you can tell he’s used to being recognised, to people knowing his name before he even introduces himself.

“well—yeah.” he gestures vaguely, like that alone explains everything. “i’ve never seen you around here.”

“maybe because i’m not from here.”

his lips part like he has something to say, but before he can, your phone dings. you glance down.

you suppress a sigh, slipping the phone into your pocket. “i have to go. um… nice meeting you, rafe cameron.”

without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and start walking back toward the club. behind you, you hear top laugh.

“dude, you should’ve asked for her name.”

their voices fade as you put more distance between you, but just before you’re out of earshot, you hear rafe mutter, “what do you think i was trying to do, dimwit?”

you don’t turn around. but for some reason, you smile.

the meeting room is everything you expected—ornate, excessive, and way too polished. the chandeliers overhead sparkle like they’ve been scrubbed with diamonds, their light bouncing off the pristine white walls. gold-trimmed chairs surround a long mahogany table, where neatly folded pamphlets and glasses of lemon-infused water sit untouched. the faint scent of roses lingers in the air, probably from the massive bouquet sitting in the center of the room.

your mom is already at the front, deep in conversation with another woman—tall, blonde, and dressed in an expensive-looking cream blazer.

six girls are already seated, their chatter a soft hum of familiar voices. they all look like they belong here—perfectly styled hair, effortless confidence, the kind of polished ease that comes from growing up in the country club scene.

you scan the room before slipping into an empty chair beside a blonde girl, who turns to you with a small, friendly smile.

before either of you can speak, the woman at the front clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“ladies, thank you all for being here,” she begins, her voice smooth and rehearsed. “it’s an honor to serve as this year’s debutante ball head organiser.”

the girl beside you leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “she wasn’t ‘chosen.’ she paid her way in.”

you bite back a laugh, glancing at her. she grins.

“i’m sarah, by the way.”

you shift slightly toward her. “y/n. nice to meet you.”

at the front of the room, the blonde woman continues, clearly loving the sound of her own voice. “before i forget, i’m rose cameron—”

your mind stutters over the last name. cameron?

“—and beside me is joanna carrera, who will be assisting me with this year’s event.”

your mom offers a polite smile, standing perfectly poised next to her.

rose gestures to the pamphlets in front of you. “everything you need to know is inside, but to summarise—dance rehearsals will take place every tuesday and friday in the performing arts room. if you’ve already found an escort, please inform us as soon as possible. if not, one will be assigned to you.”

you feel yourself tense at that. assigned? like a school project partner you didn’t get to pick?

rose clasps her hands together, smiling. “over the next five weeks, i expect all of you to prepare accordingly. this will be a night to remember, and i have no doubt it will be our best year yet. now, please, help yourselves to the refreshments.”

the moment she finishes, sarah leans in again. “she said a whole lot of nothing.”

you snort softly. “seriously.”

her lips curve into a smirk. “i like you already, y/n. i’ve never seen you around here—you don’t go to kildare academy?”

you shake your head. “nope. just finished my first year of university. i’m from new york, but i’m here for the summer visiting family. my mom signed me up.”

“same! my stepmom signed me up too. it’s annoying, but at least i get to wear a fancy little white dress, you know?”

you nod, feeling oddly relieved to find someone else who isn’t entirely thrilled about this. “speaking of, have you done your dress fittings yet?”

“yeah, i have an appointment tuesday morning. want to come with me?”

“sure,” you say, thankful to have an excuse to avoid dealing with it alone. then, hesitantly, “do you have an escort yet?” please say no so i can feel less stressed.

“yeah, i’m bringing my boyfriend.”

fuck.

you force a smile. “nice. i think i’m gonna ask joanna for help.”

sarah glances around the room. “i know all of them. we’re all seniors this year—except ruthie, she’s my boyfriend’s twin, same age as you. then there’s jasmine, ashley, paige, deena and kath. most of them already have escorts. i mean, they all just pass around the same guys in their friend group.”

before the meeting ends, you and sarah exchange numbers, and for the first time, you feel a little less alone in all of this.

—

the car ride home is quiet at first, the sun starting to set, casting a soft orange glow over the marsh. you stare out the window, watching as the country club disappears behind you.

your mom glances at you from the driver’s seat. “i saw you chatting with sarah cameron, bug. she’s a sweet girl.”

you turn to her. “cameron?”

she nods. “yeah, she’s rose’s stepdaughter. lovely lady.”

your stomach twists slightly. another cameron.

you hesitate before asking, “do you… um, know a rafe cameron?” you try to sound casual, but your mom picks up on the curiosity in your voice.

"why?" she asks, glancing at you with curiosity.

“i bumped into him at the golf course before the meeting.”

your mom hums, eyes still on the road. “ah. i see you’ve met your escort.”

navigation masterlist 01 02 03

note i know i said i was posting this yesterday but i went to a drake concert last night in my city and let me tell u that man is YUMMY. i'm not a big fan of my writing since english isn't my first language but once intros are done, expect more socmed!   - H <3

comment to be in the taglist — @chaengist @starkeysfile @sexualparkour @dontknow3m

[writingwisterias]

WAITER! WAITER! Need me different era leons reacting to reader starting sobbing during rather chill argument. Idk if this make sense😭😭😭 i mean like if theres no fights or loud talking during the argument, leon is just complaining and being real abt it but it hurts reader bc they are sensitive and they start crying

HIII!

I actually love this, I'm the type of person to cry out of anger and super sensitive LMAO! I hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: Arguments, comfort, GN! Reader

RE2:

You weren't really sure where the argument had come from at first, the day had seemingly turned out okay at first until you both got home

Maybe he was just overwhelmed from adjusting back to normality after the 2 years training

But it didn't mean he needed to pick at your outfit or just get annoyed at you in general

You tried not to let it get to you but after his 3rd comment you broke

His complaints weren't meant to be taken to heart but he forgot about how sensitive you were. How you haven't been through what he has

He's quick to change his tone, one that's more soothing and comfortable as he eases you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, pressing you as close to him as he can in a hug to ensure you calm down with scent of him

He will apologize don't worry

RE4R:

It was barely an argument more of a disagreement over chosing the film to watch

He wasn't listening to why you wanted to watch your comfort film. Why today was hard so watching the horror he has lined up was not good

It was a short comment, one that you wouldn't have been bothered about normally but today you felt extra fragile

When he hears your sniffles he freezes in place it goes straight to his heart

He's smothering you with his love and affection because he feels bad, the comfort film is on and you won't be leaving his arms until he is sure you are okay

Infinite Darkness:

He's stressed at work, it's not his fault he's slightly short with you

And it's not your fault you didn't read his tone very well

He wasn't angry at you rather complaining about an ache he couldn't shake since his last mission

When offering ways to help he snapped saying that he could deal with it on his own

you didn't take offense to it understanding his need to be independent but it struck a nerve causing you to tear up

It only made it worse when he started to apologize and cuddle like you deserved it

You did. It wasn't your fault but somehow you wired your brain to think you made it worse for him

When you start sobbing he's moving faster to make sure you calm down, he knows your over reaction also isn't your fault and he should know to word his sentences differently

Damnation:

He didn't really notice that there was an off tone in his voice so he also didn't notice you were upset until he heard your sniffles

I think he would be confused at first a bit reluctant to give you the affection you needed to calm down but he's genuinely confused

He wasn't angry just annoyed at something and you are acting like he's stabbed your family member

Eventually he does comfort you and it's a long intimite comfort session.

I'm talking cuddling and running his fingers through your hair. He would apologise as well, its only a small gruff one but he knows your reaction isn't your fault.

He find it's cute how much you care, despite it being overwhelming sometimes.

RE6:

Again he relieves Raccoon City again almost within the events of the game

He keeps most of his composure until he gets home

You get the brunt of his anger and frustrations. Having to tip toe around him as he relives trauma.

It's not until you see he only acts this way with you that you snap. You can't help it you are angry with how he's treating you

I feel like hell attempt to come up with some bs that he's just that comfortable with you he shows a different side but he's not even falling himself

Promises to work on it and you have some understanding of his situation

You will get kisses and cuddles after

Vendetta:

He's a mess, you know it, I know it

So he's going to be snappy,short or even just not himself

He's really struggling at this point so when you do snap I think he's going to respond negatively at first

As he sees you grow more sensitive he will start to feel bad and it's actually his apology that makes you cry

The idea that even in his struggles he still cares about what you think is enough to make you cry

He's sorry for being a dick but also just confused at how him simply admitting that is enough for you to cry

Death Island:

Not in a harsh way but he would start to laugh, only because he finds it so cute

He's reassuring you that he's not actually angry his tone just doesn't always match his words or the joke doesn't come out the way he wanted it

His laugh makes you laugh and helps calm you down

I imagine he's very good at distracting you from everything that made you upset. A stable wall for you to use in order to calm down.

[girl-lostconnection]

Tehehehe thinking thoughts of helldivers getting a moment to relax for once in their life and gathering up at one spot as almost like a small party, except the helldivers are being rough and rowdy with each other like how wolf/dog packs are rough and rowdy while playing, they’re trying to be playful and friendly but being out of practice on proper socialization so they can get a little too rough but they all mean well.

Even funnier idea of the 141 witnessing just a giant pack of Helldivers, maybe in and out of suits. Some of the helldivers even bringing along their ‘runts’ (cadets they’ve taken under their wings) to get them to befriend other divers so their existence would be less lonely

God, this is so cute. I love this idea so much, thank you for bringing it to me😭

Initially it was planned to be just a small gathering, few Helldivers that offered to bring you in some of their old manuals that you were collecting. But somehow along the way some of their little charges slipped onto your ship as well and then other’s on the orbit slid closer.

It was a rare thing for Helldivers to have any kind of gatherings, you weren’t the ones who were regularly invited on military parades, you weren’t ones who were invited on official military parties so you made do with what you had.

So you didn’t really have time to warn the 141 about the impromptu party that took place. And frankly, you got a bit carried away in the process.

A pack of cadets now circling your “Stratagem Hero” and Engineering compartment of the ship, whose “no way” and “lemme try, scoot over, McMillan” you could hear on the other side of your steel home.

Few Helldivers in civilian clothes, helmets propped up on a bench in your armoury, capes hanging off the chairs, eyes crinkling with laughter.

Others who even in armour pulled as much of it off as they could without actually getting naked, pulling off gauntlets and gloves and helmets and heavy chest/back plates.

For one evening you weren’t mutts of the military. For one evening you all were people again.

Helldivers always in their armours and always covered from head to toe don’t get a lot of physical contact on daily basis, so to have a little gathering with others just like them was more than welcomed. You could see the invisible itch that scratched everyone here from inside — hands smacking shoulders too hard, wrestling and roughing each others up.

Go too long without proper socialising and you forget how it’s done.

But on here, in the armoured belly of your ship it didn’t matter. You were all Helldivers. A mutual understanding brought out of years of hardship, of loneliness.

So when little runts wiggle their way to tuck themselves to the side of divers that brought them no one’s going to say a thing.

Physical contact is so rare for your branch, you people make a habit of always biting off more than you can chew. Just to save it up for later, savour it until there’s nothing but memory of salt of someone’s skin on your tongue.

Until there’s only memory of memory of how it feels to have a palm on your back or nose pressed to your throat. Knowing that you won’t get it torn out.

You don’t even notice the 141 at first, because the moment you get somehow free there is a new diver literally scooping you up, grinning from ear to ear, squeezing you until ribs protest, until you hiss, kicking. Just to ease their hold and laugh in your shoulder, smacking your back with more force than necessary.

Smooching kisses on your cheeks and jaw, exchanging stories, reminiscing about the past.

You are a rowdy loud bunch. Too touchy and too powerful for your own good, a big pack of starved wolves that for one evening are getting it all.

Eating until you feel sick, kissing until you are lightheaded, wrestling and smacking each other until the body feels more of a bruise than anything really.

You whisk Kyle in time because god, he’s so pretty with his easy smiles and warm demeanour and your pack are starved wolves and they will lick his meat off the bone, they will suck the bone marrow out if he’s not careful.

They mean well, they don’t know he’s not one of them. They don’t know he doesn’t share the same bone deep hunger, the same madness crawling under the tips of his nails.

Still one of the younger charges gets a rough smack on his shoulder. The lad is fairly young but he’s drunk on happiness and hazy with good company, he doesn’t know his own strength — too used to being around monsters that your branch is.

The smack makes Gaz sway, his eyes sharpening as he snaps his head back at the cadet.

You tut your lips at him and practically drag the man to the rest of TaskForce.

You know that they don’t really get it. That it seems too much, too rough, too loud. Fraternising is frowned upon everywhere.

Everywhere but here.

Average lifespan of Helldivers in the field is less than half a minute. On your ship there are people who lived years in the field and came back.

Wrong and twisted and too rough around the edges, stripped of all the humanity until there was nothing but white of their bones to remind that they are people.

You are exactly the same.

So you rub Kyle’s shoulder, your grip is too hard, your hands are too heavy for him not used to being manhandled, urging him to get back to his team. Practically herding him back.

It might’ve not worked with anyone else, but surprisingly Gaz lets you do just that, his own hand carefully wrapping around your waist. He’s not sure how much is okay, he’s not sure what to do.

You stray from being too close to him, to any of them really. You maintain careful distance, you sit behind your walls, you don’t let anyone close.

Johnny watches an older Helldiver pad his way to you, breathing out something in your ear, rubbing his knuckles on the nape of your neck, fingers circling around the scruff of it and you, who twitches when any of them gets too close, fucking melt into touch.

Like that’s the only form you know how to take it in. Like you don’t remember there is any other way.

Simon’s head tilts to the side, eyes heavy when one too many divers smack you around for his comfort, but you don’t ask for help.

You laugh.

He’s not sure any of them heard you laughing before. For some reason the thought stings more than he expected because yes, you let them onto the ship and into the armoury and to your control panel.

But did you really let them in? Are they inside?

Because Price can see the way smaller divers — young, if he can judge by uniform so crisp it feels like they got it issued a few days ago — hug their cuteness aggression on you, yelping when you suddenly hoist some of them up in a bridal hold.

Giggling entirely too unserious when you show how you can pick two of them at once.

You herd Kyle back to his team and suddenly he understands why.

They aren’t meant to be here. They may be in, but they didn’t get the invitation to step behind your barricades. They didn’t earn it yet.

You don’t trust them to handle what you have.

So he nurses one god awful beer, Soap propping His chin on Kyle’s shoulder, relaxing when he sees two very much male Helldivers kicking the doors behind them shut — already dismantling each other’s armour, kissing with so much teeth it’s a miracle they aren’t bleeding yet.

“Wild bunch”, Simon comments, but there’s no edge to his voice, just quiet gruff realisation. Same one Gaz had when he watches one too many divers hug and smack and kiss and hold you.

When he watches you grin and double down on their advances, eyes shining and grin so wide it’s a miracle your face hasn’t cracked.

He tenses up only when one of the older Helldivers slides next to their team, swatting the younger charges away from him, cooing something in their ears when he sends them to the other side of the ship.

“I know what’cha think of us”, the man suddenly says and there’s no malice in his voice but something in his tone makes it clear that he knows. They aren’t meant to be here.

They are not Helldivers. It’s not their gathering.

“Pack of feral animals, eh?”, the diver continues, eyes so heavy it could bend the steel, edge of his mouth a little sharper than before. There’s exhaustion itched in every line of his face.

There’s hunger dripping off his molars when he grins down at shorter diver across the room.

“Think it’s your and your men’s business how you relax”, Price hums, eyes just as heavy when he tilts his head to the side.

He’s not sure he fully understands Helldivers as a brunch but he definitely understands them as soldiers. Seen the same starved mad look before in the eyes of men who were less human than he’d like.

“Half of this room will be dead in a few months”, the man suddenly says and John can feel blood flowing back, chill running down his spine as he turns his head to the diver. Man looks suddenly calm, almost peaceful as he announces it.

“We rarely get out, Captain. We lose way too many of ours down there, we lose even more up here”, Helldiver taps his temple, grin a little too feral, a little too pained. Like there’s glass digging in his gums with every word he says. “But we need something to remind that we are still here. Still human. Still alive”

There’s heavy silence in their corner, stark contrast to booms of laughter and playful wrestling and occasional sparrings with way too many stray touches.

“Little runts need to have someone to fall back on if me or captain of this bird suddenly find ourselves bleeding out in a shithole no one wants to go down to”, diver continues like it’s a completely normal thing and Soap tightens his arms around Kyle. “It’s a good thing we got out for some celebration. Don’t get too many of these in our line of work”

The man is heavy for entirely too long moment before he hums, eyes distant as he flicks his lighter on and off in long scarred fingers.

“Never thought I’d be one for religion, you know. But sometimes…sometimes I get why these angels fell, you know?”, he murmurs, watching the young divers play arcade, watching laughing divers smack each other one too many times before they finally allow themselves to hug it all out.

“Always an angel and never a god.”, the diver chuckles but there’s no amusement in it. “Wonder how they felt when they realised there’s nowhere higher to go. If they hurt just as badly. One too bitter of a thought it is on a night like this one”, the man shakes it off like a big dog would water and grins at Price.

Big and slightly feral, he smacks John’s shoulder too hard than necessary and jogs off, throwing over his shoulder.

“Welcome to the party, gents. Enjoy people watching, might not get another chance to see this many ‘live Helldivers”

[bidisasterevankinard]

Drinks loosen my tongue

Bucktommy/ T (for implied daddy kink. It's more like a pet name really)/ 568 words

For day 3 of @bucktommyfluffebruary

Buck is already in bed when the knock on the door interrupts his plans for going to the best adventure when you're an adult - sleep. With a frown, he gets back to the living room, trying to understand who can have a whole ass disaster to come to him at 1 am.

“Sal? Tommy? What?”

“Din don, parcel for you,” the older man says with exasperation, pushing his boyfriend in his hands. “He had way more than he should have and told me way more that I need to know about your ass or how deep your daddy issue goes. Have fun, baby boy. Keep daddy out of trouble. Bye,” with a finger gun and a wink Sal is gone, closing the door, before Buck can even react to the whole situation.

“Bye?” Buck says absentmindedly, trying to move his basically sleeping boyfriend.

“C’mon, Tommy, babe, help me there,” he shakes the body in his hands.

That’s when Tommy finally opens his eyes and smiles at him, “Ev’n, b’by, I’mm ‘ome,” he mumbles and kisses Buck on the cheek with gusto. Buck's pretty sure he was aiming for the lips.

“Miwed y’,” Tommy says and then hiccups, “n’d you ‘aked now,” he tries to take Buck’s sweats down, but succeeds only in almost pushing them both to the floor.

Buck pins him to the wall, “easier, tiger. All you're gonna get is cuddles. Maybe naked if you're gonna be good and let me get you to bed. Ok?”

Tommy nods, letting him take his boots and jacket down.

“C'mon, to the bedroom.”

Buck helps him and carefully makes it to the bed, where Tommy falls with loud ‘oof’. With a shake of his head Buck takes his jeans and shirt off, laying down near his smiling man, who already gets back to trying to get his sweats down.

“Now c-c-can d‘a’y have a treat?” Tommy says in his ear, but Buck pushes him off again.

“When he's sober enough for it,” Buck says, kissing Tommy’s nose, “and not hungover,” he turns away from Tommy, who snuggles closer to him, grinding his half hard cock in his ass.

“Ev’n, baaaaaa’y, please, d’a’y nee’s youuuuuuuu,”the grinding gets faster and Buck turns back to face Tommy.

“Can't you wait for the morning?”

Tommy shakes his head with a pout that can rival his own. “Pleeeease, just a tip, let d’a’y put just a tip in his ‘eautiful ‘oyfrien’?”

“Beautiful, huh?”

“The most ‘eautiful, in-cre’i’le, kin’, amazin’, w-w-won’erful,hot, sexy man of man ‘reams. I love yu so much, ‘a’y,” Tommy kisses his neck. “S-so lu’ky to ‘et you,” another kiss, “so lu’ky to ‘et you ‘ack after I ma’e a mi’take,” three more kisses, “I love you, Ev’n.”

Buck chuckles, “I love you too. And I would really appreciate you telling me all that sober, ok?”

Tommy enthusiastically nods.

“Can you wait for tomorrow before fuck me? I’m tired.”

“Noooooo, please, ‘a’y, d’a’y nee’s you nooooow. I pro’se you won’t feel a thin’.”

Buck raises his eyebrow, “Tommy, you have a nine inch dick. I will feel it no matter that.”

Tommy pouts on him with puppy eyes that are somehow even cuter when he is drunk.

“Ok,” he sighs, “let me get lube and d’a’y can put more than just a tip then.”

Before he can open his nightstand, he hears loud snores. Chuckling, he goes to sleep too.

[drdemonprince]

I was writing this when I saw your most recent substack post on sexuality, so please forgive if I'm not super coherent.

As someone who has been living in a country without much, if any, real legal protections for most of my time as an out trans person, that while I understand the fear right now is high it was not until a few years ago that we did not exist at all in the public consciousness. That terrible prison show was the first time a trans woman appeared in a not "haha look at the gross tranny" way, and that was maybe 10 years ago. Non-binary people existence is even more recent. While I get having a bunch of religious fanatics hate you sucks, from what I gathered despite some claiming otherwise, the rest of the people don't really care that much. It's an issue that gets blown up by the media because it's nice and controversial which gets ratings (or these days, clicks/views), and, as a made-up problem, allows politicians to appear strong and decisive. (Also, there being lots of local differences and court stuff I can't even begin to understand influencing this because your country is very confusing.) It's hard for me to properly measure what people claim and what is actually true.

Come what comes, but there's a difference between preparing for the worst and assuming it already happens. This is going to sound callous, but people need to remember that as much as it sucks to stuck in survival mode and not being able to get government documents corrected, they probably have the grit deep-down to get through this. Maybe it's easy for me to talk, I used to work in building when I was on hormones, didn't tell anyone in that setting, and just shrugged it off and cherished the time I spent with friends & supportive people who knew me as *me*, and lied through my teeth whenever it was necessary and off from being assaulted a few times (not work related, school days) without major injuries because I was good at getting the fuck out. Then again, I've had a therapist tell me I'm scary good at compartmentalizing, so take that as you will.

Now we finally get to why that post about sexuality prompted all this. The bit about the trans woman finally being able to relax when dommed... That struck a nerve, which is strange because I don't really have much sex-drive, but that kind of softness is not something I've had in my life much. Always in the role of taking care and looking after others, never being on the receiving end, not just emotionally, but sexually also because oh dear is it an ordeal when people project the trans dommy mommy shit on you. Especially as now, 8 years after the first go around I find myself being the calm and collected one supporting others again and it's not even a conscious act on my or their behalf, despite setting boundaries (and having them respected mainly) I somehow got the invisible label of "mom who got her shit together" (as if) when I too would sometimes like to unwind and get fucked properly into the next timezone.

thank you for your message. I hope that a lot of younger or less seasoned American trans people who are freaking the fuck out right now are able to put some of their own understandable stress activation aside to read it and really take it in. also, it's a real bummer when people lean on you to always be the strong and capable one. and it is miserable how this role gets voiced upon us simply by virtue of having endured a great deal, or having grown a little bit older than some other people. obviously in your case this dynamic is far more deeply entrenched because of misogyny and transmisogyny and how that shapes people's expectations of the labor that women provide to them, especially trans women, but I do understand a little bit of how miserable it feels to be shunted into that kind of role. and I hope that somebody really just pounds you into the mattress or gives you whatever kind of sexual attention and care-taking helps you feel weak and needy and okay and like somebody else has it all together for a while sometime soon.

[decayed-cartilage]

The Intern

Hannibal Lecter x AFAB! Reader

Masterlist

Warnings for chapter: power dynamic? Mentions of erection.. creepy! Hannibal, Morally wrong! Hannibal

Synopsis: Y/N is on the brink of graduation, with just one requirement left—an internship. Somehow, she finds herself under the esteemed Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a man as brilliant as he is unreadable. Cold, precise, and impossible to rattle, he keeps his thoughts well-guarded. But Y/N can’t help her curiosity—she wants to understand him, to get beneath the surface. And whether he intends to or not, bit by bit, he lets something slip. Something darker. Something she might not be ready to see.

After what felt like endless hours of writing and submitting, writing and submitting, I finally received an email back from one of the many psychiatrists I’d been desperately trying to reach for my mandatory internship—Dr.Lecter, A prestigious man with many colorful reviews, which had drawn me to contact him.

From: H***********@gmail.com

To: Y/e@gmail.com

Subject: Internship for Johns Hopkins University

Dear Y/N,

I’ve had the pleasure of reviewing your application and personal portfolio, and I must say—your dedication and talent are impossible to overlook. It’s clear you take your work seriously, and intelligence like yours is always refreshing to encounter. I have no doubt that you would be the perfect young lady for me to mentor

do get in touch at your earliest convenience, and please, use my personal number (***) ***-****

Best,

Doctor Lecter

My heart pounded out of my chest, my eyes scanning his words again and again as warmth flooded my face. Oh god—had I really sent all that? How had I forgotten? Yes—I had sent all of it, in a tired, near-lucid state, exhausted from working so hard. My words had grown almost desperate by the last emails, pleading for validation.

But really? My whole life story? A deep dive into why I chose psychiatry—endless run-ons about trauma and my relentless hope for a better world?

And—oh no—the pictures. Me in scrubs, grinning way too hard, double thumbs-up in front of a cadaver during one of my early tech programs. Or me, beaming like an overexcited tourist beside historical documents, looking ridiculously proud.

Yet, all of that faded as my eyes caught on one thing—his phone number.

I screamed like a teenage girl, shooting up from my seat as I sprinted to grab my phone, my hands shaking as I typed in his number—only to pause.

What do I even say?!

I groaned, throwing myself back onto my bed.

Third person (Hannibal's) P.O.V

Hannibal had been waiting. Days bled into each other, an endless cycle of monotony—listening to insipid patients whine about their problems, assisting in crime cases that barely challenged him, returning home to indulge in his more refined appetites. Even killing had lost its thrill. Nothing ever truly stirred him.

Until your email.

God, the desperation dripped from every word, a quiet, pleading sort of need that sent a slow, curling heat through him. You had laid yourself bare, unaware of what exactly you had just invited into your life. Your tragic little story, the way you carried yourself—so unassuming, so small. So easy.

Just picturing you in his office, lingering in his space, speaking to him with those wide, trusting eyes—his jaw locked, his fingers twitching with restraint.

Staring at the pictures you had attached, Hannibal felt his length twitch, his breath slowing as his free hand drifted—almost absentmindedly—palming himself through the fine fabric of his dress pants. God.

The way your lips curled, the way your smile beamed so effortlessly, so full of warmth—it was intoxicating. A stark contrast to the cold, calculated existence he thrived in. You radiated light, soft and unguarded, utterly unaware of the predator fixated on you.

His throat tightened.

Such an innocent little thing, standing there in your scrubs, so proud, so eager. So trusting. You belonged to a world of laughter and hope, while he—he was carved from shadow and silence, his smile only ever genuine when he was peeling flesh from bone.

And yet, here he was, jaw clenched, breath heavy, wanting.

Needing.

He exhaled sharply, fingers pressing harder against the growing strain beneath his waistband.

Oh, sweet girl… you have no idea what you’ve done.

Ding!

The sharp chime shattered the heavy silence, jolting him from his trance. His phone clattered against the desk, but his eyes were already locked onto the screen. He knew who it was. Of course, he did.

Hannibal was a meticulous man. A careful man. And yet, you had made it so easy for him. Every little detail of your life, carelessly scattered across the internet—your school, your favorite cafés, even the places you liked to study. He knew where you had been before you even told him. He had all of you at his fingertips.

And now, your number. Displayed so innocently on his screen.

"Hello Doctor Lecter! This is Y/n :),I got your acceptance email-"

The preview cut off, but he didn’t need to see the rest to know exactly how you would sound—bubbly, eager, grateful. A stark contrast to the dark amusement curling in his chest.

Still, he unlocked the phone, fingers rolling over the screen, expression unreadable as he took in the rest of your message.

and I just can’t express how grateful I am you responded! It’s even better since I’m attending the same school you did! I would love to set up a time for us to chat in person—I hope I’m not being too informal—if I am, please tell me! Thank you so much for your time!

Such sweetness. Such hope. He could practically hear the nervous excitement laced in your words, see the way your hands might have trembled as you typed, wondering if you were saying too much, if you sounded proper enough for him.

He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening, his fingers pressing into the screen just a little harder than necessary.

You had no idea what you had just invited into your world.

He began typing.

I’m pleased to hear from you so soon. Why don’t we meet somewhere comfortable? Perhaps a coffee shop—there’s a lovely one, [your favorite coffee shop], that I hear is quite popular. It seems like the perfect setting for our first conversation. Let me know when you’re available, and I’ll gladly adjust my schedule.

And please, don’t worry about being too informal. I much prefer sincerity. I look forward to meeting you, properly.

With that, he sent the message, his thumb hovering over the screen for just a second longer than necessary before finally setting the phone down. It slid across his desk with a soft thud, the only sound in the stillness of his office.

Hannibal exhaled slowly, a drawn-out sigh that did little to temper the hunger curling inside him.

You had been on his mind long before your message arrived, but now? Now, you were real. Tangible. Just a text away.

And soon, within reach.

Rolling his shoulders, he adjusted his cuffs with careful precision, though it did little to distract from the heat simmering beneath his skin. His jaw tightened. He needed a walk. Fresh air. A moment to compose himself before his thoughts spiraled into something indulgent.

His lips curled slightly as he stepped away from his desk, anticipation thrumming in his veins.

You had no idea what you had just done.

But you would.

YOUR POV

Ding!

I was too nervous to look at his message right away. My fingers hovered over my phone, heart hammering so loudly it drowned out all rational thought. When I finally mustered the courage to open it, my face went hot instantly.

He mentioned my favorite café.

Had he been there before? Was he that local? Had I somehow missed him in the crowd? My stomach twisted at the thought—equal parts exhilaration and unease. It wasn’t strange for someone to know about it; it was a well-loved spot, after all. But the way he said it, so casually yet deliberately, made my skin prickle.

I let out a small, breathless giggle, my lips pressing together as I read over his words again. I needed to calm down. Breathe, Y/N. Act normal. But I wasn’t normal. Not right now. I was too warm, too jittery, too caught up in the weight of his attention.

A walk. I needed a walk.

Without responding, I shoved my phone into my pocket and grabbed my jacket off the hook by the door. My scarf—a soft, muted rainbow of colors—was next, the familiar knit worn and comforting against my fingers.

"I know it gets cold out there Y/nn! You're taking this scarf with you- it's my dying wish!"

I could still hear my mother’s voice, warm with fond exasperation, as she fussed over me before I left for college. The memory made me smile.

I wrapped the scarf snugly around my neck, letting the soft wool shield me from the crisp autumn air seeping in through the doorframe. My outfit was hardly practical for the weather, but I had always dressed like this—formally, neatly, a habit ingrained into me since childhood. A plaid skirt, fitted but flaring just above my knees, swayed as I moved. Tights helped ward off the chill, but only just. My dark grey moccasins were polished and proper, and beneath my heavy coat, I wore a delicate white button-up. The heart embroidery around the collar was my mother’s handiwork—stitched with care, meant to remind me of home.

Despite the structured appearance, I was anything but composed. Anyone who truly knew me would recognize the contrast between my polished exterior and the nervous, sweet-natured girl underneath.

I stepped outside into the cold, the late autumn air nipping at my nose and cheeks, turning them pink within seconds. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves tumbling along the pavement.

-

The walk stretched on longer than I had planned. What started as a way to clear my head turned into an aimless journey, my feet carrying me farther and farther from my starting point. By the time I thought to check the time, my phone screen flashed 4:07 PM.

Four hours. Four hours.

I had wandered nearly halfway across the city, lost in my thoughts, replaying that message over and over in my head like a song I couldn’t turn off. The crisp autumn air had settled deep in my bones, my fingers stiff despite being tucked into my coat pockets. My legs ached, but I wasn’t ready to go home just yet.

That was when I noticed it—the quiet hum of a near-empty park, tucked away from the city’s usual noise. Golden leaves fluttered from the branches above, painting the pavement in warm hues. It was peaceful here, the kind of place where no one would bother me, where I could sit for just a moment and-

That was when I noticed him.

A figure moving toward me, his steps slow, measured, deliberate.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Just another passerby enjoying the evening air, someone else drawn to the quiet solitude of the park. But something about the way he walked made my breath catch—a smooth, unhurried grace, like a man who never rushed for anything.

My brows furrowed as I squinted. Damn it, I forgot my glasses.

I could make out the tall, well-built frame beneath a long, dark coat, the way his shoulders sat perfectly squared, the way his hands—gloved—rested easily at his sides, as if he carried nothing but time and patience.

A strange feeling stirred in my chest, a quiet knowing before my brain even caught up.

Then, as he stepped into the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, everything clicked into place.

The sharp, unmistakable features. The neatly combed dark hair. The slight tilt of his head, like he had already recognized me long before I had recognized him.

Dr. Lecter.

Oh God.

My stomach flipped so violently I thought I might actually double over. What was he doing here? Had he seen me before I saw him? Was he here because of me, or was this just some freakishly timed coincidence?

My brain scrambled for an appropriate reaction—anything other than standing there like an idiot, heart hammering in my throat.

My cheeks burned before I could stop them, heat creeping up my neck, traitorous and undeniable. I must look ridiculous right now—flushed, wide-eyed, completely caught off guard.

But there was no turning back. He was already close enough that ignoring him would be rude. Unprofessional.

So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I forced my stiff fingers to move, lifting a hand in a small, hesitant wave.

And then—I smiled. Nervous, flustered, but hopefully not as painfully obvious as I felt.

"H-Hi, Doctor!" I blurted out, my voice coming out softer than I intended, almost breathless.

I forced a smile, though I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. My big, wide eyes locked onto him, searching his face for any sign of reaction.

A second passed.

Then another.

My stomach twisted, dread creeping in. Did I mess up? Did I sound stupid? The silence stretched just long enough to make my pulse stutter.

"I-It’s Y/N—" I started, my voice unsteady, but before I could finish, he cut me off.

"I know it’s you, sweetheart."

My breath hitched.

His voice was smooth, effortlessly composed, dripping with confidence in a way that made my skin tingle. He looked down at me with an amused sort of curiosity, his gaze steady, unwavering—like he was taking his time, drinking in every little reaction, every tiny shift in my expression.

"How funny is it," he continued, his lips curving slightly, "that I should run into you here—right after we had just spoken?"

I swallowed hard. My stomach flipped again, my nerves unraveling by the second.

He was so calm. So composed. And here I was, standing there like a nervous wreck, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

Whatever little confidence I had managed to build up crumbled beneath the weight of his presence. My body felt too warm despite the crisp autumn air, and I could hear the rush of my own pulse in my ears. Still, I forced myself to nod, hoping it looked casual—hoping he couldn’t tell just how flustered I was.

"It’s t-totally crazy!" I rushed out, my voice a little too high, a little too eager. I winced at myself, clearing my throat and trying again, desperate to sound normal. "I-I mean, I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was going. I must’ve wandered too far—I couldn’t even tell you where I am right now if I’m being honest."

I let out a nervous laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, willing my hands to stop fidgeting. My cheeks burned, and I prayed it looked like nothing more than the bite of the cold air rather than the sheer excitement buzzing beneath my skin.

I had imagined meeting him—dreamed of it even. But now that he was standing in front of me, watching me with that unreadable gaze, I felt like my legs might give out beneath me.

"I'm really sorry you had to meet me like this," I blurted, my voice smaller than I intended. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my jacket sleeves, twisting the fabric as I dared to glance up at him. His eyes—sharp, knowing—made my stomach flip. God, why did he have to look at me like that?

"I promise I would have been more presentable— and- l-less shocked—I'm very sorry," I squeaked, heat rushing to my face as I dropped my gaze again, mortified by how utterly flustered I was.

A deep hum left him, measured and deliberate. "There is no need for an apology, hon," Hannibal said smoothly, the richness of his voice wrapping around me like silk. "You present yourself in a manner most... revealing."

He tilted his head, gaze unwavering, studying me as though he were unraveling something unseen. "There is an honesty in moments like these. A rare and unguarded glimpse into one's truest nature."

My breath caught in my throat. What—what did he mean by that?

I tried to piece it together, but the warmth in his eyes, the weight of his words, left me grasping at nothing.

I nodded at his words, dumbly, still trying to process the way he spoke, the way his voice felt like silk wrapping around my thoughts. But then, like a slap to the face, realization struck.

Oh no.

He definitely saw that I had read his message but never responded.

My stomach twisted as I stepped closer, suddenly feeling the need to explain myself, to fix whatever impression that might’ve given. "I—I meant to text back!" The words left me in a rush, my hands gripping the hem of my sleeves anxiously. "I just got too excited—" I stopped abruptly, my breath catching as my face burned. Too excited? Oh god. That sounded ridiculous. Desperate.

"I mean—" I scrambled to recover, shaking my head quickly. "Not excited—well, I mean, yes, excited, but not in a weird way! Just… I thought I should wait until I wasn’t so—so—" I let out a nervous laugh, utterly failing to dig myself out of the hole I was sinking into.

Hannibal tilted his head ever so slightly, watching me with that same unreadable expression, his lips curving just enough to make my stomach twist even further.

"There’s no need to fluster yourself on my account," he said, his voice smooth, deliberate. "Some things are best expressed in their rawest form, unfiltered… unguarded."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing, trying to decipher his words. Was he talking about my message—or something else entirely?"I—I completely agree!" I rushed out, still trying to steady myself, my heart hammering against my ribs. "But—still—I mean, we should set up a time. Whenever you’d like, of course."

I offered a small, nervous smile, shifting slightly on my feet, hoping I sounded even the slightest bit composed.

Third person (Hannibal's) pov

Hannibal watched you with quiet amusement, his sharp eyes taking in every flustered movement, every nervous breath. You were trying so hard to sound composed, but the way your words tumbled out—rushed, uncertain—betrayed you.

"I—I completely agree!" you blurted, your voice carrying that same delightful eagerness from your emails. "But—still—I mean, we should set up a time. Whenever you’d like, of course."

You shifted on your feet, offering a small, nervous smile, as if willing yourself to appear more put together. How endearing. You had no idea how much you were giving away. Hannibal let the moment stretch just a second longer than necessary, letting you stew in the weight of his gaze before finally offering a slow, knowing smile.

"How about now, then?" Hannibal’s voice was smooth, effortlessly calm. "It seems the only thing occupying you at this moment is our conversation. I don’t mind in the slightest."

He watched as you blinked, clearly caught off guard. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your lips parting slightly as if scrambling for a response. You hadn’t expected that—hadn’t considered that he might take control of the moment so easily, turning your nervous rambling into something entirely inescapable.

Of course, he knew you wouldn’t say no. You had been so eager, so desperate for this opportunity, your emails practically dripping with the need to prove yourself. The way you sought validation was almost endearing—so open, so unaware of just how much you had already given away.

And now, standing before him, you couldn’t hide it. The excitement in your eyes, the nervous energy humming beneath your skin. You were trying so hard to play it cool, but he could see it all—the way your breath hitched, the way you hesitated for just a second too long.

He let the silence stretch, just enough to make you squirm, his face giving no hints to how he felt.

"Oh! Of course! Now is perfect!" she blurts out, nodding far too quickly, her voice pitching higher than she probably intended. She grips the hem of her coat, wringing the fabric between her fingers, as if the motion might tether her to reality—might stop her from unraveling beneath her own nervous energy.

How utterly transparent.

I say nothing for a moment, only watching, taking in the way she fidgets, the way her pulse flutters just beneath the delicate skin of her throat. She is trying so very hard to maintain composure, but she is failing spectacularly.

She doesn’t realize how much she gives away. How easily every flicker of emotion plays across her face. It is almost endearing—the way she fights against her excitement, attempting to suppress it, as if I cannot already see through her.

And yet, there is something else beneath the surface. Something softer, untouched by the weight of the world’s cruelty. A rare thing, fragile and sweet.

My lips curl slightly.

She swallows hard, her breath quickening, the silence stretching just long enough for uncertainty to creep in. I can almost feel the way her mind races, second-guessing herself, wondering if she has said too much or too little.

Finally, I incline my head in a slow, deliberate motion.

"Perfect," I murmur, watching as her breath hitched

A/N oh my god I think is the first fanfic I've written since I was like ten, so if you like it tell me :) and if you don't, also tell me. I hope everyone is doing well and I hope to write more, or leave suggestions! Big kisses everyone :3

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: DIRECTIONLESS GENESIS

synopsis: you wake up in a lab with two strange men. they explain who they are, and where you are -- and how you got there. you find everything hard to believe.

word count: 3k

ships: Viktor/isekai!Reader, Jayce Talis & isekai!Reader

notes: small trigger warning for this chapter for brief misguided suicidal ideation

A BLAZE OF ARCANE BLUE MASTERLIST

Bzzt. Bzzt. “Hit or miss!” Bzzt. “I guess they never miss, huh?” 

You groan and reach out for your phone to turn off your alarm. You palm at the covers, trying to search for the source of the grating music without lifting your head. 

Bzzt. “You got a boyfriend –” Bzzt. “– I bet he doesn’t kiss ya!” 

You sit up in your bed – only to find out that it isn’t your bed. It’s a couch. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach as you turn over and face the rest of the room. The blinds on the windows are down and it’s kind of dark, but you can still make out two figures.

Two men are quietly panicking, their backs turned to you as one of them tries to (unsuccessfully) shut off the alarm. Their voices are hushed – “Is this supposed to be music?” “I don’t know, just stop it!” “And tell me exactly how to do that.”

It strikes your tired mind and shocks it into awareness when you realize you don’t know these men. Neither of them. And that, well… you don’t know where the hell you are. 

You try your best to quietly get off the couch, but your legs are tangled in the blankets. Instead, you roll to the floor with an ungraceful thud. Your shoulder takes the brunt of the impact. 

The two men’s eyes snap over to you. You all look at each other with eyes as wide as dinner plates. The alarm is still going – droning, annoying, but somehow undercutting the seriousness of waking up in an unknown location with unknown men.

You dart up and immediately slip on your blanket when you try to run, falling to the hard floor again. You stand up, staring them both down. (You’re sure you look pathetic, wide-eyed in pajamas and socks, but you don’t really care.)

“Hey, listen,” one of them says. He holds out a hand in what’s meant to be a soothing gesture. “Just… don’t panic, okay?”

He lets out a half-exhale, half-nervous laugh, revealing a tentative, gap-toothed smile. Your eyes dart between him and the other man, who almost looks to be his complete opposite. 

Slowly, you lift your legs from the blankets one at a time, untangling them. You glance around the room, making sure to keep both men in your line of sight. 

A workbench. A hammer. The plan isn’t fully formulated, but it’s there, and you’re enacting it.

You bolt across the room and pounce on the hammer. You quickly turn around, readying the hammer above your shoulder. The two men haven’t moved.

“N-now…” Your voice wavers despite yourself. You point at the men. “Now don’t you come any closer! You – you hear?”

“We are not moving,” the other man says. He’s paler than the other man, with dark undereye-bags and a cane. The handle probably has a knife hidden in there somewhere. He’s the one holding your phone, which is still going off.

Bzzt. “He gon’ skrrt –” Bzzt. “– n’ hit the dab like Wiz Khalifa!”

“Shut up!” You snap. “And turn that goddamn alarm off!”

The bigger man holds up a hand to the one who just spoke. A silent gesture saying, ‘Let me handle this.’ “That’s… what we’ve been trying to figure out.”

That gives you pause. These two men – who are dressed rather smartly, to their credit – can’t figure out how to turn a phone alarm off?

“Press the… grey button,” you say. “Y’know, the one that says ‘stop’?”

The paler man taps your phone screen, and the song turns off. Suddenly, in the semi-silence, everything seems so much more serious. You kind of wish that stupid 2018 TikTok song was still playing so you could continue to downplay the realness of the situation. 

He holds up your phone, almost tilting it towards you. “This is yours?”

“Um…” You readjust your grip on the hammer. “Yeah.”

There’s a silence. You swallow thickly, glancing around the room again. More of your things are on the far side of the workbench, near the men. Whatever. They’re not that high on your list of priorities. 

The bigger man tries to break the silence. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” You parry. “‘Cause I’m goin’ to the cops, soon as I can.”

“Jayce Talis,” he says readily. “And this is my lab partner, Viktor.”

The other man – Viktor – tucks the handle of his cane under his arm and holds his hand up in a wave. A small smile graces his thin lips, like he’s trying to get you to calm down, to see that neither of them mean you any harm. You swear to yourself that you’re not so easily swayed.

“Okay,” you say, almost to yourself. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “Okay.”

You roll your shoulder and relax a little, now letting the hammer hang at your side. Both Jayce and Viktor seem to relax a bit, too. 

You steel yourself and nod, almost like you’re giving yourself permission. You introduce yourself, only giving your first name.

“That’s a start,” Jayce says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s shit whether it’s nice or not,” you say. “I was fixin’ to cave both your goddamn skulls in. Still gonna, if you don’t tell me where the hell I am.”

Both of them share a glance. Viktor steps forward, his cane clicking against the floor as he does. 

“You are in one of the laboratories of Piltover Academy,” he says, “which is one of the most prestigious universities in all of Runeterra.”

You let out a strained laugh and sarcastically wag your finger at him. “You best start makin’ some sense quick, boy, ‘cause I don’t got a whole lotta patience.”

“It’s… complicated,” Viktor says. “You came from…”

He tilts his head and shifts his gaze over to something on the workbench. It’s… blue, and it’s glowing. It’s a rough but still kind of-circular rock, gently hovering above a small platform. 

“That. A hexstone.”

You pause. “What the fuck?”

“Yes, my thoughts exactly.” Viktor walks over to it, putting your phone down next to it. It moves, independently, a little closer to the hexstone. He pushes it further away, outside its… sphere of influence, you guess. 

“I was conducting a routine experiment to gather more data when the hexstone suddenly turned volatile,” he says. “I cannot describe it exactly, but… there were sparks, a light, and then…”

He looks over at you, a knowing look in his tired eyes. “You.”

You set your jaw and stare at him. He’s not joking. He genuinely believes that you were… birthed, maybe?… from this rock. Like some sort of ancient Greek myth; like how Athena was born, fully grown and armored, from Zeus’ head. 

“I don’t believe that for a split fuckin’ second,” you say, your voice laced with mean laughter. “You really think you can convince me that I was born in some big flash of light? You want me to believe your… goddamn magic rock brought me here?”

“It’s a hexstone,” Jayce says quickly. “Not a magic rock. Though it does have magical properties.”

“Right, right.” You put your hands up, one still holding the hammer. “My sincerest apologies. I do not – cannot – believe that your hexstone brought me to your secret little laboratory.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought you would say,” Viktor says. “You won’t believe us, no matter what we say. Is that not right?”

“Yeah,” you say. “‘Cause everything that comes out your mouth is total bullshit.”

Viktor reaches over to a switch near the edge of the window. He flicks it. You glance at Jayce. He’s watching Viktor.

Slowly, slowly, the blinds on the windows pull up. Light filters through, and the room is suddenly much more bright and inviting. (Not that you’re planning on staying or anything.)

Outside is just… not what you expect. The buildings are tall and the architecture is breathtaking. There’s an amazing clocktower in the distance, with an art piece sitting on top of it, composed entirely of golden, self-rotating cogs. 

And there’s zeppelins. Or airships, or blimps – you don’t know. You’ve only seen the Goodyear blimp on TV, and you’ve only heard of zeppelins when your daddy or one of his friends mentioned Led Zeppelin. But still – there’s a few of them, roaming the airspace mere hundreds of feet above the city like it was no big deal.

The hammer falling from your grip and banging against the floor pulls you from your thoughts. You flinch and jump back, jerking the foot you almost hit in the air with an exclamation of “Christ alive!”

Both men tense and turn towards you at the sound. You exhale sharply and put both feet firmly on the floor, trying to brush the little incident off as smoothly as you can.

“This is just… this’s just a trick of the light, that’s all!” You say. “Or TVs that look like windows, some-something like that.”

You pick up the hammer and brace a hand on the workbench, then hoist yourself up so that you’re standing on it. Jayce and Viktor are saying something, insisting you get down. You’re not paying attention. 

You raise the hammer, swing your arm, and –

It’s glass. 

It’s clear, thin glass that’s raining down in the streets below. You step back, almost tripping and falling off the workbench backwards in the process.

“No,” you say softly, almost like an exhale. Then, you raise your voice: “No! What the hell is this? You…”

You look back at Viktor and Jayce. They both look shocked, and stay quiet. You look at where the window meets the edge of the workbench. 

This must be some… some dream. That’s it. When you were a kid, you used to have these dreams where you were tiny, and fell in the crack between the edge of the mattress and the wall. The dream ended when you hit the ground. It didn’t really click in your kid-mind that falling from a tall height plus hitting the ground equals death, but still. You woke up. The end result was still the same.

You toe through the broken glass, sweeping it away with the side of your foot. You can feel a small prick in your skin. (This dream is very intricate. It impresses you, really.)

“Wait!” “Stop!”

You glance over your shoulder at them, then promptly continue what you were doing, smashing the hammer through the rest of the glass in the pane to clear it. 

“What’re you doing?” Jayce asks, his voice panicked. You feel his hand wrap around your ankle but give it no mind.

“It’s a dream,” you say. “If I die, I’ll get outta the dream. That’s simple logic, don’t you know?”

You lift your foot, trying to shake Jayce off. He doesn’t let go.

“What if we recreate the event?” Viktor asks. “Would that prevent you from jumping?”

You look over your shoulder at him and put your foot down. Jayce is still holding on. “What event?”

“The event that brought you here,” he says. “A… a rift in the universes, as I understand it.”

You pause. “That’s just plumb stupid.”

“Stupid enough to work,” Jayce says. His grip around your ankle tightens. “Right?”

“This ain’t some movie,” you snap. “We can’t conquer all with the power of love and Christ.”

“You do not seem like a stupid person,” Viktor says. “You know that jumping would guarantee your death. Or a painful stay in the hospital, at the very least.”

You glance down at the street below. Viktor’s right – it is a long way down. And even though it’s a dream, your heart is still beating wildly. The people below are so busy that they haven’t even stopped walking, or even noticed the glass on the street. They continue on with their day, smiling and sipping their seven-dollar coffees… or whatever it is rich people do in rich cities like this.

And then, everything you thought kind of just… comes crashing down. There’s people down there. You can see two people hugging. There’s a man holding a baby. A little family out on the town, doing their midday shopping. Your dream of this being a dream is just that – a dream. Your stomach drops a little and you can feel a cold sweat coming on.

“I – I got a life,” you say. “I got shit I gotta take care of – responsibilities. I go to college.”

“We can find supplemental instruction,” Jayce says quickly.

“I’m an art major,” you say. “I study Jewelry and Metal Arts! This’s gotta be a STEM school… the lab, how y’all ‘re dressed…”

“We can figure this out,” he says. “You can keep making jewelry. I – I can find a sponsor for you to keep going to school. Just… step away from the ledge. Okay?”

You breathe out a sigh and back away from the edge. Jayce’s grip around your ankle loosens. Even if this is a dream, it’s… it’s a nice dream. The skyline is nice, the men you woke up to are nice – well, they seem nice enough. The architecture of the clocktower is nice and so is the statue idly spinning atop it, the golden cogs rotating and catching the light, the resol so bright it may just blind someone…

You can feel the adrenaline in your blood drop and your hands start to shake. Jayce slowly, carefully takes the hammer from you, then helps you down off the workbench, almost guiding your body like a doll.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks. 

You open your mouth, then close it with a breathy exhale that kind of resembles a laugh. You lean back against the edge of the workbench. “I’m… I’m worn slap out.”

Viktor looks you over with a scrutinizing gaze, then turns and walks into a sideroom, his cane clicking against the floor as he does. 

“You should take a seat,” Jayce says. 

Without your input, he takes your wrist and guides you back to the couch you woke up on. You practically collapse on it as you sit down.

“I…” Your eyes rake over the workbench. The broken window, the shards of glass. There’s a little blood where you cut your foot. You feel awful. “I caused one hell of a mess, didn’t I?”

A look crosses Jayce’s face that, in essence, says ‘Yes. Yes, you did.’ But if he has anything to say, he doesn’t.

Viktor comes back, a steaming mug in one hand, a small box in the other. The handle of his cane is tucked underneath his arm, but he manages to walk fine without using it. (You’re sure walking without it is taxing, but if there’s any indication, Viktor doesn’t let it show.)

He sits next to you on the couch, making sure to keep a polite distance. He holds out both the mug and the box towards you. “Sweetmilk to help with the adrenaline drop, and a first aid kit for your foot.”

“Oh.” You take them from him. Your fingers brush his, and it almost sends a shock through you – his skin is cold. “Thank you, sir.”

“There is no need for your formalities here,” Viktor says. He sounds kinder now that you aren’t acting like a total tweaker. 

“My momma raised me with manners in mind,” you say. 

You set the first aid kit in your lap, then raise the mug to your mouth and test the temperature with your lips. It’s hot, but it won’t burn you. You take a tentative sip, and it’s heaven. It’s a little bit of heaven consolidated into a mug of milk, sweet and spiced.

“That’s nice,” you say. “What’d you say this was again?”

“Sweetmilk,” Viktor says. 

You nod and take another sip. It warms you from the inside and washes away Viktor’s cold touch. The spices are warm and autumn-ish – like cinnamon and nutmeg and allspice, but not quite.

“I never, um…” You tap your fingers against the side of the mug. “I should give y’all a proper apology. So, I apologize. For…” You tilt your head and point at the mess you made with your eyes. “… that. I behaved inappropriately, and I should’a thought ‘fore actin’ like a fool.”

“I understand it. Well, kind of,” Jayce says. “You woke up in a strange place with strange men. It’s understandable that you would act like that.”

“Still. That was, uh…” You laugh breathily. “That was somethin’ else, weren’t it?”

“It was,” Viktor says, then his voice takes on an almost teasing lilt. “Hopefully you know how to behave yourself in the future.”

“Yessir, I do,” you say. A small smile makes its way onto your face. You know Viktor’s giving you hell just for the sake of it, and it’s a comfortable feeling. “Like I said, my momma beat them manners into me ‘til I wasn’t a toe outta line.”

Viktor and Jayce give you odd looks, and you can feel a warmth in your face. Perhaps corporal punishment involving children isn’t as prevalent here as it is back home.

“Never mind all that,” you excuse. “Was more like… verbal beatin’s than anything else.”

You can feel the newfound tension in the room relax a little. You just sip your sweetmilk (which may be your new favorite drink, honestly) and pretend as if nothing’s wrong. You’re good at that.

You take a mental note that you’ll have to watch your tongue in the future – you don’t want these young men’s patience to run out. This is a strange world, and you’re a stranger to it. Piltover seems like a rich city, and rich cities don’t take kindly to poor folk… You’re a Southerner. The South is nothing but poor.

Whatever. You’ll make it work. You always have. How can this be any different…?

[wttcsms]

youre edging me with this couple so bad 😞😞 if you will, may i please have more lore 🤲🏼🤲🏼

the first drabble im actively working on shows their first meeting!!!! they’re both participating in those calvin klein campaigns, yknow the ones where the man is looking extra slutty and they’re recording them in b&w 🤭 for the fic, they want the men’s representative and the women’s representative to also do a collaborative shoot for the brand!!! reader’s a seasoned pro; you’re not shy at all about being stripped down to your bra and panties and told to straddle the lap of a man who’s basically a stranger to you and to look him in the eyes like you want to fuck him.

enter in fake idgafer sae, who’s supposedly unaffected by this, but he’s sporting a bulge he’s trying his hardest to fight down, and he swears you’re teasing him. he can barely meet your gaze, and the photographer is disappointed in his stiff facial expression, and you confront him during a break about not being a professional and muttering something about how you hate working with people who aren’t in the profession (modeling). sae’s used to people drooling all over him, and while the attention gets bothersome, he finds himself annoyed with how unaffected you are by him. you stare at him like you’re enamored, and when the photographer calls for a break, you instantly go cold and slide off of him like you can’t wait to shower and be rid of his germs. it’s frustrating — and interesting. you’re interesting.

for the first time in his life, sae is harboring an interest in something other than soccer, and you’re a very career driven woman who has seen your coworkers (fellow models) and peers get utterly destroyed whenever they devote themselves to a man. you’re used to playboys and sleazy guys or bumbling idiots who can’t handle their supermodel gf outshining them; you want nothing to do with that. you’ll settle down when you want to. just !!! he def falls first and harder. you’re almost oblivious to him because you’re not even paying that much attention to him, but somehow, someway, he keeps ending up at the same events as you. and he grows on you. when you need to fix the stupid dress you’re wearing, something with way too many straps and cutouts and not enough fashion tape to keep everything hidden, he stands in front of you and protects you from the onslaught of photographers. he’s still wearing that try-hard “nonchalant” facial expression, and this marks the first time you really get a good look at sae.

you’re annoyed to find out that he’s not half bad.

[veilsofroses]

Mayuri Kurotsuchi x f!reader part 2

warnings: dissection process discussed, suggestive author’s note: mayuri is so interesting and fun to write for, definitely not your conventional kind of guy at all and i love it word count: 1.1k

part 1

︶︶꒷꒦︶꒦︶꒷︶︶

You somehow managed to avoid going under Captain Mayuri’s knife for the time you’ve been the 12th Division’s Fourth Seat. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stare daggers into you every time you looked. Or that he wouldn’t continue to try to lure you into his lab every chance he got. 

Weirdly enough, though, you didn’t mind his strange antics. You actually looked forward to seeing what the new day brought in this game of cat and mouse you had going on. 

As for your work, your reputation continued to precede you and you met those expectations gracefully. Quickly enough, your knowledge proved to be a valuable asset to the institute and you became a favorite among the 12th Division members. 

Despite all this newfound attention, however, something still nagged at you. 

Captain Mayuri definitely wasn’t shy about his physical attraction to you. He alluded to “scrambling your insides” and made flirtatious remarks in the way a mad scientist who gets turned on by mad science would, “I can’t decide whether I should take you apart or preserve you whole.” You giggle to yourself at the memory. 

But.. sometimes you wished Mayuri would acknowledge your hard work more, your intelligence. His work was your biggest inspiration throughout your time at the academy, it was only natural you sought out his approval, but he hardly gave it. 

The other members warned you not to have high expectations of praise from him, he never would even if they found the cure for soul cancer. 

You sigh, you should really focus on what’s in front of you right now. 

Your hands work meticulously taking apart your new specimen—a menos grande hand that had been preserved before the rest of the body had vanished. 

You slide your scalpel along the side of the palm and around enough to open the skin. You grab forceps and pull the skin open revealing the inside of the palm. You’re about to grab pins to hold the skin open when you feel an immense spiritual pressure reveal itself behind you, causing you to yelp, dropping the pins on the table. 

“Did I frighten you?” you can hear his sly smile. 

You huff, regaining your composure and dusting yourself off. “Please don’t sneak up on me like that or else I might contaminate the specimen,” you say over your shoulder without turning around. 

His steps echo through the lab as he walks up beside you, his hands tucked in his sleeves. He shrugs, “Contaminated or not, no specimens ever go to waste,” he says lightly. 

You do everything not to roll your eyes. 

“You’re angry with me,” he states like it’s the most obvious observation about his latest experiment. Since the first day, he was able to read you easily so you shouldn’t be surprised. 

“What reason do I have to be angry with you?” You try your best to sound casual, you really don’t have a reason to be upset. 

You pick up the scalpel again, cutting a thin piece of muscle from the open palm and placing it on an empty microscope slide. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he watched you closely. He looked at you like he was trying to pick you apart just with his stare. You almost expected your limbs to start detaching themselves. 

After what felt like ages, he looks down at the open menos grande hand and spoke. “You know, I read all of your works from your academy days.”

You whip your head towards him, eyes wide. “Yes, all 237 of them,” he answers like he knew your next question. His gaze met yours. You desperately want to know what he thought of them. Of what he thought about that glimpse into your head. 

And like he heard your thoughts again, “Your mind is truly a force to be reckoned with. You brought up theories even I had never considered before, giving me a new lens to view from. You’re brilliant.” He still wore his signature flat smile, his face completely unreadable as he gave you the reassurance you had been praying for. 

Your eyes remain wide, mouth slightly agape. You’re speechless, so surprised he would ever actually admit that. 

“Did I say something strange? I thought you were already aware of the capabilities of your intelligence. Perhaps I am mistaken in my judgment?” 

You shake your head, shaking off your surprise and you look back down at the hand on the table, forceps in hand. 

“No, you’re not. I am aware of it.”

“But?” he pushes. 

“But you just never say anything. I suppose I just wasn’t sure you believed it,” you look down, smiling and shaking your head at how ridiculous you sound. 

Silence fills the space for a moment and you’re convinced he lost whatever faith he had in you. 

“For being so smart, you really are a dumb girl.” 

You turn your head to argue but he snakes his hand around your waist, you feel his long nails graze your back, pulling you into him tightly causing you to drop the forceps. 

Your face burns at his proximity but you meet his gaze. Your hands drop on his chest. His eyes hold a softness that you’ve never seen before. 

“Y/n.” No titles, no condescension. Your name rolls off his tongue like it was made for him to say. “Do I have to sing your praises for you to understand that you’ve become irreplaceable for me? Not only that disgustingly brilliant mind of yours but you. It’s become quite annoying how you take up my mind. Unfortunately, I’m sure that you are all you’d see if you dissected my brain and I’m quite tired of it.”

You’re trying to follow but can’t seem to tell if this is a confession or if you’re about to get fired. 

And your confusion must be written on your face because he deadpans, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance. 

“Stupid girl,” his hand roughly grabs your face and he crashes his lips into yours. You freeze, caught off guard by his surprisingly soft lips, but you finally melt into the kiss, returning it with the same intensity. 

After a moment, you both finally pull away. You feel his chest rise and fall heavily, his heart beating in his chest. 

“Based on your current breathing and heart rate, I’d say you like me,” you smirk. 

He simply grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder, walking towards his lab, “I simply must get to the bottom of why I like you so much.” You giggle, kicking your feet and accepting your fate.

- - - - - - - tag: @stygianoir

[dronebiscuitbat]

Gonna tell on myself a liiiiitle bit.

Kiara was initially a self insert OC, like... put myself in drone form and shoved myself in the narrative kind of self insert.

Which... was partly because I was struggling to make her character and partly because I never had before and was morbidly curious.

Her parents are exaggerations of mine (and gender swapped) and she has a sister that I don't. But other then that...?

That's me!

Well WAS me, for a long time. Her struggles with her sexuality, confusion, an absent and unapproachable parent. That's all taken from real shit. Her regression is not something I've done, though I do get some serious brain fog when stressed.

She's both really easy and really really hard to write for those reasons. She reacts how I would, responds how I would. Which sounds great! Should be easy.

No. Because in real life I'm quiet, reserved, I don't have many real life friends. If I'm talking a lot my throat starts to hurt, that's how little I speak.

Which ends up with her sitting on the sidelines and not talking a lot of the time, which is frustrating. At least to me. Because it makes her seem uninteresting or passive.

It drives me nuts sometimes, but I love her character. Not because she's my own self insert, but in all the ways she's different from me now. (I no longer consider her a self insert if that says anything)

She's shy and sheltered to anyone she doesn't know because how relentlessly she was bullied for her sensitivity to certain stimuli. But to people she does know she stands her ground and can push through that discomfort to help them. (She hates the sound of the medical equipment, and the texture of the latex gloves but works in the clinic to help people anyway.)

She's never touched a drop of alcohol in her entire life, and never wants to. Despite both her parents being drinkers. (Though one drinks to drown the pain and the other is more like your cool aunt who drinks a martini at dinner.) And that takes some damn self control when there's SO MUCH alcohol in the house.

She's empathetic, she's not able to bring herself to physically step in to stop a bully (Fear), but she'll take the victim aside and check them over, reassure them, give them a person to talk to that she only ever had in Tera and Rad.

Every kid who doesn't have a freind somehow, she becomes their caretaker, she is the soft mom freind because her mom is the only person who was really there for her aside from her two freinds.

She's fucking SMART. Because she's busy observing everything and anything before she goes to speak. (Which is what makes her so damn hard to write.) Anxiety is her main tenant and observing everything makes it easier for her to work through it.

Those are all things that have grown with her that aren't taken from me. And I would love more chances to show them off, but I STRUGGLE to write her because I'm caught between trying to make her interesting and making her accurate.

I needed to rant. Writing Something for her and it's been ROUGH.

[stargirlygirl]

their omega

જ⁀➴ chapter nine: ruined leggings

alpha! bakugou, kirishima, denki, sero x omega!fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — nsfw, handjob + blowjob, kinda femdom, kiri's rutting, bit of a blood kink, emphasis on consent and boundaries, smau + fic, 4.2k words

m.list

a/n: texts to eiji from your pov + '🌽⭐️s' gc from denki's pov + on my femdom campaign + no, omega's aren't like snakes + reader mentions stress around maintaining her appearance

fic underneath smau

also i give zero fucks about how humungous his cock is like… idfc if it’s the girth of a soda can and the length of a truck. i don’t need it that big and i don’t think that's a topic i’ll really be discussing unless the fic is specifically focused on size kink. average cocks are okay ladies and twinks and everyone in-between!

You’re at the grocery store in the snack aisle. Eijiro pushes the shopping cart as all real men do. He stands behind you as you look at all the snacks on the shelf.

You turn to gaze at him and say, “There’s so many. Which ones do you wanna get?”

“Get whichever you like, baby,” he says as he smiles at you gently. You nod and turn back around, focusing on your snack selection. Somehow, the household has already finished the bajillion boxes of pocky Hanta bought for you during his rut. So, you grab a couple of boxes of your favourite flavours and some others you know the boys like. You walk down the aisle, searching for anything familiar.

Eijiro watches as you pick up a bag of rice crackers and turn them over. He finds your curiosity heart-warming. It makes him relax, and he gets lost in his admiration of you.

And, of course, his rut is not making it any better. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, hold you tight, and not let you go until everything returns to normal. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts he doesn’t realise you’re calling out to him until you rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Eiji,” you pout. “Everything okay?” He stares at you dumbly, seeming to wake up from his daze.

He nods frantically and stutters, “Y-yea yea baby, I’m fine. Is that all you want?” You hum in response and walk down the aisle. His red eyes latch onto the holy sight of your rounded buns in those leggings. It makes him gulp nervously. He tries to tear his gaze away, but he can’t. Not when you’re walking so far in front of him, looking so delicious.

When you get to the checkout, you start piling the snacks onto the conveyor belt. As you bend over to reach your pocky, Eijiro looks down. He swears he doesn’t mean to! But good lords, does he need to get out of this grocery store and get you out of those leggings.

You put your pocky on the belt as it moves and greet the shop assistant. You look back at your alpha as he stiffly pays for the snacks and grabs the bags, not letting you carry a single one, of course.

On the ride home, he’s very quiet. Once you pull up to your home, you notice how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel from his white knuckles. He turns off the engine and just before he gets out, you place a hand on his bicep.

“Eijiro,” you say gently. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you feeling alright?” He glares at the dashboard with a tense jaw. He’s clenching it so hard you can see the veins popping out. You lean over to place your other hand on his cheek but he grabs your wrist mid-air.

He turns his head rigidly and says through tight teeth, “Please, y/n. I’m fine.” You whine at his harsh-sounding words. You nod and draw your hands back, getting out of the car. The boot pops open and you walk to the back of the car. You lift one of the shopping bags out but Eijiro’s already beside you, prying it from your hands.

“Go inside,” he says coldly. Much more coldly than he intended to. You hum-whine in response and let go of the bag. You power walk up the driveway, eager to give him some space. As you step inside, you kick off your sneakers and run up to the entrance hall. You head to the bathroom and freshen yourself up before going to the kitchen.

Entering, you see Eijiro putting the snacks away. You come behind him and help him unpack the snacks. He gazes at you with a creased brow and tight jaw every so often. Because, unfortunately for him, you’re still in your activewear. It only takes dropping a box of choco pies and you bending over temptingly to pick them up, which drives him over the edge. He snatches the box from your hands and throws it off to the side.

You squeal as he grabs your hips and pulls you into him, smashing his lips on yours. You cup his cheeks and arch your back as his thick, muscular arm encircles your waist. His other hand captures the squishy flesh of your ass. You moan into his lips as he presses his body firmly to yours, his erection flush against your lower tummy.

His sharp teeth graze your bottom lip and gently nip at it, causing you to moan louder. You melt into his hold as his tongue pries your mouth open and takes ownership of it. You move to his rhythm, however he wants it.

The way he dominates you… you know that he’ll keep you safe and make you feel good. Your fingers slip into his gelled-up hair and mess up the locks at the back of his neck. You mewl his name into his lips as both of his hands squeeze your ass.

You’re breathless by the time he pulls away. Spit connects your lips, making your alpha grin as the little strings snap. You look up at him with big eyes as you pant. He licks his lips and gently kisses you from the corner of your mouth to your hairline.

He whispers, “Sorry, baby. I just—”

You cut him off with a hum. “No,” you breathe out. “It’s okay. I understand.” You smile as you brush your nose against his ear lovingly.

He chuckles low in your ear, “No, baby. I don’t think you understand.”

You hum and challenge him, “What don’t I understand?” You pull back so that you can see his face. With his eyes on you, you look down, gesturing to the bulge pressing into you.

He clears his throat and says, “What you don’t understand is that you shouldn’t wear these tight fuckin’ leggings when I’m rutting. I’m like a fuckin’ predator, right now.”

You giggle, “Tell me something I don’t know.” You tilt your head to the side sweetly, encouraging him to go on. Eijiro looks away from you and takes a deep breath. As his kind eyes settle on yours again, he leans down and presses his lips back on yours.

This time, you kiss tamely. His large hands have finally moved on from your ass cheeks (for now); one now cups the back of your neck while the other rests between your shoulder blades. You moan as he has another soft nibble on your lower lip. The feeling of his sharp teeth biting down into your flesh like that unleashes something primitive within you. A desire that could be yours, or exist solely because you’re an omega.

As the flesh rebounds from his nip, you pull away. Lips ghosting his, you whisper, “Please, do that again.” No further instruction is needed as Eijiro kisses you and bites your lower lip once more. This time, he bites a little bit harder. At the pressure, you moan and grip onto his locks, pulling his head back slightly.

With a groan, he pulls back. His strong hands trail down to your hips and grip them tightly. He draws you impossibly closer so that your forehead rests against the crook of his neck. He lightly kisses the shell of your ear before nibbling down on it. The sensations have you mewling in his hold as his teeth pull on your earlobe before letting it go.

He whispers, “Need you so fuckin’ bad, babygirl.” You hum below his ear. He continues with desperation lacing his voice, “Can I?”

“Can you what?” You mumble into his skin. He sighs and squeezes your hips extra tight. You squeal at the tightness of his grip, calling his name. He lets go and gently rubs your sides up and down.

“Can I have you? Right here, right now?” He asks low as he sways your hips. You don’t respond for a little. As you think, you rest the side of your head down while your hands release his hair and wrap around his shoulders. You can hear the thumping of his heartbeat and feel the eternal heat of his body. You sigh into his embrace, moulding further to his solid frame.

At last, you say quietly, “It depends on what you want. And besides, we’re in the kitchen. Anyone could walk in right now.”

Eijiro chuckles, “They won’t. Well—” He shrugs. “Maybe Denki will. But the others will be repelled, trust me.” You laugh and lift your head off his pec.

“So,” you say as you raise an eyebrow. “What do you want from me?” He grumbles at your words and shakes his head.

He says low, “It’s not a transaction, sweetheart—”

You hum and chime in, “Of course not! I just mean, what would you like to do together?” He groans and thumbs the delicate skin over your cheekbone. He leans down and kisses the spot softly like you’re made of porcelain.

He draws back and says, “Honestly, I wanna bend you over that bench and have my way with you.” He nods to the side, signalling to the kitchen bench. You hum in response.

You take a deep breath in and say, “I don’t really feel like doing that right now.” And it’s true. With how worked up Denki had you just a few days ago, you were not ready for a part two to that. And definitely not one that involved penetrative sex.

Eijiro tries to hide his disappointment, but you feel the slump of his shoulders and see the velvety pink coating his cheeks. You cup his cheeks and pull his forehead down to yours. You close your eyes and enjoy having him close for a moment before breaking the silence, “But I’m happy to do other things like pleasure you.” He hums low.

“And I want you to mark me if you want to?” You say smiling. Your alpha pulls back and nods.

He kisses your forehead and sighs into your skin, “’Course I want to, babe. Is it really okay though, if we just focus on me?” You hum and nod. You smile wide and press a soft kiss to his lips.

You whisper sweetly, “I’d like nothing more.” Your alpha draws you into a passionate kiss. Your hands roam each other’s bodies as he pushes you back against the kitchen bench. You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours.

Soon, his lips are trailing down your jaw and neck. You bite the side of your lip as he nibbles on your soft skin. It drives you insane with how good it feels. Who knew you’d enjoy his sharp teeth marking you up like this? Your hands grip his shoulders as he sucks a particularly brutal hickey among the constellations left by your whimpering blond. You sigh with pleasure.

Eijiro’s lips brush over your freshly healed mark, and you moan. He drags his tongue across your neck just above the scar, making you squeal excitedly. He nips at the side, relishing in the sound of your pleasure.

Finally, he bites down to mark you. The squelching sound of his razor-sharp teeth piercing your skin has you screaming out in pain. And then, you moan in ecstasy. Your blood overflows and drips down his chin as he quickly pulls away. Your alpha licks his lips quickly before licking your bleeding wound. You chew on your bottom lip as you attempt to stay quiet.

Every lap of that metallic-tasting substance has you gazing at the heavens above. You’re so close. Just one more and you’ll be mated to all of your alphas.

Once your blood begins to clot, Eijiro stops licking and sucking on your mark. He gazes into your eyes and cups your cheeks, whispering to you how well you’re doing right now. You giggle and wipe off the streaks of blood staining his chin and neck.

“Here,” he grunts. He pulls off his shirt and wipes your hands with it (he’s such a fucking gentleman arf arf arf). Tossing it to the side, he asks, “You alright, sweetheart?” You hum and nod as a grin stretches across your lips. You press your forehead to his and you two take a moment to breathe.

His chest heaves with yours as he wraps his arms tight around you and pulls you into his embrace. All is quiet while you bask in each other’s presence.

You hum happily and gaze up at your mate. He grins down at you, and you lean up for a short kiss. You can taste your blood lingering on his lips. But rather than killing the mood, it only adds to it. Tasting the iron, you moan and swoon into him.

He kisses you in a way that’s so consuming and deep yet so tame; lips and tongue intertwine but don’t force. It’s a mutual kind of kiss where both of you are as hungry yet calm as each other. You both know that you have as long as you’d like to explore one another.

You gently push him back by his chest and say, “It’s my turn, okay?” He caresses your cheek while his brows slightly furrow.

“You sure you’re alright? You okay with doing this?” You nod enthusiastically and place the most tender little kiss on the tip of his nose.

You giggle, “Just relax. I know what I’m doing.” With his hands on your hips, he shifts your bodies so that he’s leaning against the kitchen bench. You smirk and stroke his chest and abs up and down.

You meet his eyes as you say, “Did I ever tell you how much I love your home gym?” He chuckles and kisses your cheek.

“Oh yea?” He mutters into your skin. You laugh and lean into him for a moment before drawing back. You stretch up and kiss his sharp jaw, your lips setting his skin on fire. He groans as you kiss down his Adam’s apple and suck on the tip of his collarbone. The little choked-up noises he makes for you make you grin all cocky.

You suck on the spot right below his ear, making him moan. Your hands glide down his firm abs one last time before you grip the waistband of his sweats. He grunts pathetically as you bite his neck harshly while your hand dips and grabs his stiff cock through his briefs.

You moan against his neck as you feel just how fucking hard and leaky his cock is for you right now. You’re embarrassed to admit it, but you love having these very attractive men whining like whores just for you (or is that just me😁).

You slide your hand up and down Eijiro’s length while you continue sucking hickeys all over him. Once you’re content with how purple his neck and shoulders are going to be tomorrow, you get down on your knees. You pull down his sweatpants and squeal as you see his bulge through those dreadful briefs. But you wanna keep them on for now.

Sucking in your bottom lip, you trace the outline of his heavy cock with your fingertips. He whimpers like the little slut he is as you apply pressure to his tip. You continue stroking him through his briefs until he bucks his hips into your hands, desperate for more friction. You remove your hands from him and pull off his your hoodie. You gaze up at him as you unclasp the hooks of your sports bra and slide it down your arms, releasing your breasts.

Your mate groans as you take off his boxers and throw them in a heap with your other clothes. You moan as you gaze at his dripping cock. He’s leaking so much pre-cum, and his head is so red and angry-looking. And his balls look so heavy. You cup them in one hand while your other hand grabs his tip. You squeeze the head of his cock as you lean in and suck on one of his balls.

Seeing you on your knees like this for him has Eijiro groaning and subconsciously clenching the edge of the kitchen bench. You take his other ball in your mouth before pulling back and spitting on his cock.

Grinning, you mix the pre-cum and spit and spread it down his shaft. Once you’re satisfied, you start jerking him off with both hands. Such rouses a delightful array of sounds from your mate.

You look up at him as you say, “Do you like that, baby? Want me to go faster?” He groans and bites his lip as his crimson eyes gaze into yours.

“F-feels so good, princess. Just k-keep doing that for me,” he grunts. You hum in response and continue your pace.

If you’re being honest, the sight of his weeping cock and the sounds of his pants and groans make your panties pool with slick. Right now, his pleasure is everything to you. You’d do anything to keep him moaning and spilling pre-cum. As long as he likes this and feels good, that’s all that matters to you. You do wish though, that you had taken your leggings off before you started jerking him off, as your hands are far too sticky right now to touch anything but your alpha’s cock.

You shift up on your knees and bring his cock to your mouth.

As soon as your lips are wrapped around his leaky tip, Eijiro rasps, “Fuck! Baby, fuck!” Your mouth is so fucking hot and wet it makes his eyes roll back. You suck on the tip before sliding down his shaft.

You take as much of him into your mouth as you can (which admittedly isn’t as much as you thought it would be) before pulling back. With both of your hands wrapped around his base, you bob your head up and down on his cock.

Your mate moans loudly, feeling your searing tongue pressing hard on his underside. The stimulation makes his knees feel weak. But he’s a man, and after resting back on the bench for a minute or two, he stands unsupported on his two feet.

His hands thread into your hair while he praises you, “Such a good fucking girl for me, baby. Taking me so well.” You moan on his cock. The vibrations from your mouth trigger a fresh batch of pre-cum to spill down your throat. Being the good girl that you are, you suck even harder on his cock and gulp down his pre-cum.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Tryna milk me, aren't cha?” You moan even more around his length, desperate to make him drip even more. He curses as even more of the salty cream spreads across your tastebuds.

You keep sucking him for a couple of minutes before he grunts out, “Fuck, baby! Stop! Stop!” Confused, you immediately stop and pull off his cock. You crane your head up and gaze into his lust-hazy eyes.

You tilt your head to the side and ask, “What’s wrong, Eiji? Did it not feel good or—”

“No,” he cuts you off. You stay quiet as he takes a few deep breaths. As he does, you notice that you’re panting too. You take the time to calm down with him.

“No, baby, you’re perfect. You’re so perfect,” he sighs and smiles down at you. You nod, and he continues, “Just wanna try something else. That okay?” You hum in response.

Eijiro grabs his shaft and motions with his finger for you to come closer. You obey and he slides the tip back between your lips. You suck on it hard and he moans. One hand tangles in your locks and pulls you off his cock.

“Just let me, yea?” He grunts. You hum and take his head back in your mouth. He lets go of his base and curls his other fingers into your hair. Holding your head, he slowly bucks his hips, fucking his cock into your mouth. He pushes in until his balls hit your spit-soaked chin. You choke on his length and gasp, causing him to draw himself out completely.

“You okay, bub?” He says, concerned. His brow is creased as he stares at you with wide eyes. You nod, and he pushes all of your hair back before bringing his hips closer to your face. You grab his cock and guide it into your mouth. This time, he eases most of it into your mouth before drawing back out. And then pushing back in.

Your mate builds up a steady rhythm of fucking your pretty mouth with his cock. You rest your hands on his thighs and focus on breathing through your nose so you don’t choke.

When Eiji’s eyes aren’t on your pouty lips wrapped around his shaft, or rolling to the back of his skull, he’s gazing into your doe eyes. They look so big and innocent, deliciously contrasting the rather unholy things you’re doing to each other right now.

His hips rut faster as he feels that tight coiling in his stomach. He pants and groans as he hits the back of your throat over and over again with the tip of his cock. You moan around him as he keeps fucking your mouth.

Suddenly, he pushes your head down until your nose tickles his neatly trimmed pubes. You choke on his cock, but he pushes his length in slightly more. Your eyes water as you stare up at him, watching his sharp teeth grit. He then fucks your throat with quick, rough, and small thrusts. Your fingers press into his toned thighs as you gag on his cock.

He grunts out between thrusts, “Yea, fuck-baby that’s it. Good girl. Just a little more f’me, yea? Almost there, pretty girl.” You whine on his cock as tears drip down your cheeks.

Eijiro pulls out slightly as his knot swells. At once, you feel his hot seed shoot down the back of your throat. Your squeal is muffled as you pull off his cock and jerk him with your hand.

His cum spills down your chin and chest, and you cover your mouth with your other hand as you cough from the thick cream coating your throat. He groans your name loudly as he watches his cum drip down your beautiful tits and tummy.

By the time you’re jerking those last little dribbles of blazing white seed, you’re absolutely covered in it. Luckily, you’ve stopped coughing and now, you’re just crying a little. With a whine, you stand up.

Your alpha pulls you into his arms. He rubs your back with his wide hands and brings your face to nuzzle into his neck. You hold each other as you both calm down. He gently cups your cheeks and pulls your head back so he can look at you.

He thumbs your under-eyes, wiping away your tears. He then wipes the seed from your lips and chin with his fingers. You laugh sweetly as he looks down at his fingers. You lean forward and brush your nose against his.

“So messy, aren’t you?” You tease him. He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. You moan into his lips and move your hands to his chest, feeling the sticky mess of his cum covering the both of you.

He can taste himself all over your lips and tongue. The saltiness makes him groan. He nips your lower lip just the way you like it, making you mewl.

He draws away and nuzzles your neck, asking softly, “Let me clean you up?” You giggle and rest your head back on his shoulder.

You hum and say, “Okayyyyy. But no fooling around in the shower. Denki’s already tired me out for the next month.”

He chuckles low and grumbles, “Fucker.” He grabs you beneath your knees and carries you across his body.

As he walks to the bathroom, you ask, “But what about the kitchen? I think we made a mess there too.”

Eijiro hums, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, princess. I’ll clean it up after I put you to bed. You must be exhausted.” You nod, noticing how easily he carries you with one hand while he slides the bathroom door open.

You mumble into his warm, tanned skin, “I am. That’s so embarrassing.” He sets you down in the shower and turns on the water.

Shaking his head, your mate says, “No, it’s not. You have to handle all of us. It’s not a surprise you’d be tired.”

You hum, “But I’ve barely done anything.” He steps forward and gestures to your leggings. You bite your lip as you look down, seeing how ruined they are from his cum.

You nod and say, “Yea, go ahead.” Eijiro steps close to you and crouches down, shimmying your leggings down.

As he does, he says, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not used to this yet.” You hum in response while your hands thread through his wet, red-leaking locks.

“Hey Eiji,” you say quietly. He hums as you step out of your leggings. “You owe me a new pair. You know that, right?” He throws them out of the shower in the corner of the bathroom. He then wraps his strong arms around you and draws you under the water with him.

He chuckles above your ear, “Sure do.”

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