#guess. guess what my latest obsession is

[morebird]

your art has been leveling up so much in past year n such like ive always adored ur art and it's been so cool to see your skill go brrrr. (WHICH ISNT A DISS TO UR OLDER STUFF. AT ALL. its just. words. i am sorry.)

"Your skill go brrrr" okay this made me laugh 😂 And don't worry I don't take it as a diss. Actually I think in November I was like hey am I improving or did my art always looked like this? So yeah thank you for this ask, it's always nice to hear it from other people, this way I can't convince myself I am imagining things.

[imtrashraccoon]

Question for all you lovelies...

I'm rather bored at the moment and struggling to make a decision with what project I should focus on (so I don't start a new one lol). I should mention that this poll is mostly to give me some direction and not necessarily what I will end up doing. See below the cut for a run down on each of the options.

The Lavender Den is a causal ask series with my Tumblr sona, Tumble, that I'm trying to keep up with. There isn't really any lore, yet, but anything you lovelies send in could end up in a future installment. I have one ask that I'm still working on so this project wouldn't take long to finish.

Cricket's Backstory (I have yet to name this oneshot) is a bit of a peek into the origins of my fae Sona, Cricket. I've admittedly been struggling with this one because it deals with some darker subjects than anything I have written to date. I have big plans for it but part of me worries it won't turn out as good as what I imagined. This one is something I think I want to sit on a bit longer as I want it to be good.

Skull is something I've been meaning to draw for a while for my fic, Swarmed by Sirens. I previously drew Red and Sans (also the Reader and another secret character...) so I want to draw him as well. He's a cephalopod siren though and the thought of trying to draw all those tentacles is rather daunting. I may just use my drawing tablet rather than my sketchbook to save my sanity. Otherwise, Chapter 4 is done! This could take me a little while to be completely happy with, depending if my perfectionist nature decides to rear it's head or not.

The Hand We've Been Dealt is my first fic and one that's been on hold for a while. I've been meaning to get back into writing it so that I can actually finish another project but I've been busy. Chapter 56 is partially written though so it wouldn't really take much to do.

To Defy A Dream is the Dreamswap oneshot I've teased on here before. It takes place in an alternate universe to The Nightmare of Apathy where Dream and Nightmare have opposite roles. I've written two sections so far but I think this oneshot is too ambitious for my original plans so I don't know when I'll end it just yet. For whatever reason, I struggle with writing Passive Nightmare too. I don't know how much longer this one will take.

The Nightmare of Apathy: Chapter 7 is pretty self-explanatory. I don't think this one is as urgent to finish but I have been excited to write it for months, except now the scene is giving me trouble. Writing each of these chapters can take me around one to two weeks, depending if I get stuck or busy of course.

[lesbianphan]

Just like in phanfiction, in my nightmare today Phil straight up died

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ʙ ᴇ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ᴅ ⸻

Pairing: Damien Wayne x Fem Reader Part 1

Headcanon: What if he become obsessed with Dick's girlfriend?

Notes: It's just a cute and funny headcanon and should not be taken seriously. Y/n obviously have no feeling for him and see him as a little brother. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You’ve been dating Dick for a while, and naturally, this means you’re in Wayne Manor a lot. It’s not that you mind, but being around the Batfamily is like trying to survive a sitcom where every character is armed.

And then there’s Damien.

Oh, sweet, little, stabby Damien.

At first, he’s a little terror. He’s always scowling at you, calling you things like “Richard’s latest concubine” or “another unnecessary attachment.”

It’s fine. You ignore him. He’s a kid. A weird kid with ninja skills and a superiority complex, but a kid nonetheless.

But then something shifts.

You don’t know when it started—maybe it was the first time you helped Damian with his homework (because, let's face it, the kid can’t count past ten without losing his temper), or maybe it was the first time you accidentally brushed his hair aside while he was brooding on the roof. Either way, the moment you paid him just a little bit of attention, you sealed your fate.

Now Damien was everywhere. Not in an obvious “he’s following you” way—no, he was stealthier than that. He would conveniently show up whenever you visited the Wayne Manor, leaning against a doorframe, pretending he hadn’t been waiting there for 45 minutes.

“Oh, it’s you again. Why are you always lurking like a feral cat, Damien?” you’d tease, and he’d scowl, muttering about how you wouldn’t understand his “intellectual pursuits.”

He starts showing up wherever you are, uninvited. Oh, you’re in the kitchen trying to make breakfast? Guess who just landed behind you, silently hovering like a tiny, murderous shadow? "I see you're using the wrong knife to cut that," he says, smugly eyeing the blade, “and you should be cutting it at a 45-degree angle. Let me handle it.”

You look over, blink a few times, and try to avoid an aneurysm. "Damian, what—"

"I’m simply trying to prevent you from making mistakes," he interrupts, already taking the knife from your hand with the confidence of someone who’s never been told ‘no’ in their entire life. Yes, he did just steal your kitchen knife.

He goes from glaring at you across the dinner table to…well, staring at you.

It’s subtle at first, but you notice. You’ll catch his eyes lingering a little too long when you’re laughing with Dick, or feel him trailing after you when you wander the manor.

You think it’s cute. Like a kid with a crush on their babysitter.

When he insists on showing you his katana skills? You humor him. “Wow, Damien, you’re so talented!” you gush. Dick thinks you’re being nice. Damien thinks you’re in love.

When he critiques your relationship with Dick? “Grayson isn’t good enough for you. He’s reckless, emotionally stunted, and too busy pretending to be a circus clown to prioritize your needs.”

You laugh it off. “I’ll keep that in mind, Damien.”

Mistake #1. He interprets this as you agreeing with him.

When he starts bringing you tea? Complimenting your outfit choices? Sitting way too close to you during movie night?

“Aww, he’s opening up to me!” you think.

Damien is so dramatic about it. Every time Dick kisses you, hugs you, or just breathes in your direction, Damien is in the background like a Shakespearean villain.

He walks into the room, sees you cuddling with Dick, and immediately storms out with a loud, "Tt. Disgusting."

Alfred offers him cookies to calm him down. Damien refuses because he’s too furious to snack.

Mistake #2. You’re feeding the monster.

Damien moves from “weirdly attached” to “what the hell is happening” alarmingly fast.

He wasn’t subtle. He decided to prove his superiority over Dick by painting your portrait. At midnight.

“Damien,” you said when you caught him, holding a brush like he was Da Vinci reincarnated, “why are you painting me?”

“Because no one else can capture your essence,” he replied, dead serious.

You left before he could explain that he was also building a shrine in his closet.

He doesn’t interrupt your date... at first, not directly. He doesn’t need to. Damian’s signature passive-aggressive commentary will follow you home, like a ghost. "I saw you let Dick drive. You know his driving skills are subpar at best, right? I wouldn’t trust him with a paper airplane." You’re not even sure how he knew you two were driving, but the comment lands, and it cuts like a knife.

You try to confront him. “Damian, stop following me around like a puppy! You’re a child. A literal child. Go play with toys or something.”

Damian’s face twists with a mix of indignation and disgust. “I do not play with toys, Y/N. I train. Unlike some people.”

And the best part? Damian doesn't even hide his feelings for you. One night, after you and Dick have spent a quiet evening watching movies, Damian barges in, wearing his usual scowl, and just points at you. "I’ve decided," he declares dramatically. "You’re mine now."

You almost choke on your popcorn. "Excuse me??"

"That’s right. You’ve been chosen." He’s so serious, like this is some ancient prophecy he’s about to fulfill.

He starts referring to you as his beloved in casual conversation.

“Father, inform Grayson he’s no longer allowed to monopolize my beloved’s time.”

“Your what?!” Dick is confused.

At first, you thought it was a joke. “That’s cute, Damien, but I’m pretty sure you learned that from a Victorian novel.”

But he wasn’t joking. He never joked. He’d say it with all the seriousness of someone discussing global diplomacy. “One day, you’ll understand why I call you that, Beloved.”

One day, you accidentally called him a kid in front of everyone. “Relax, kiddo.”

You’d barely finished the sentence before he stormed off, muttering about how ungrateful you were for his “protection.”

Later, Alfred informed you that Damien spent the evening sulking on the roof. “It’s not sulking, Pennyworth. It’s strategizing.”

The moment Damien saw how you look at Dick, something inside him snapped. Why does Grayson get everything? he thought bitterly, watching from the shadows like a gremlin.

From then on, he started… intervening.

He’d interrupt your dates by calling Dick with “emergencies.” (“Richard, Gotham is on fire. I require your assistance.”)

Or other ways.

Dick: “Sorry I’m late. My motorcycle suddenly lost all its tires.”

You: “Wow, weird coincidence. Damien’s been in the garage all day.”

Damien innocently: “You should’ve asked me for a ride, beloved.”

He’d conveniently sit between you on the couch during movie nights, arms crossed, glaring at the screen like he wanted to kill the romantic lead just for existing.

Once, when Dick brought you flowers, Damien helpfully reminded you that roses often carried pests. You gave him a side-eye but thanked him for the warning.

One time, you catch him trying to slip his number into your phone.

“Damien, what are you doing?”

“Ensuring you can contact someone competent in emergencies.”

“That’s what Dick is for?”

“Grayson couldn’t competently fold a bedsheet.”

It all comes to a head when you find Damien casually trying to poison Dick.

You walk into the kitchen and there he is, sprinkling something suspicious into a smoothie.

“Damien, what the hell?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “It’s non-lethal. He’ll just feel weak enough to stay in bed for a few days. That way, we can spend quality time together.”

“QUALITY TIME?!”

He tilts his head, genuinely confused. “Don’t you want that?”

One day, you accidentally brought up his height. “Wow, Damien, have you grown an inch?”

That was it. That was the moment he vowed to become taller than Dick at any cost. He spent weeks researching growth supplements, adjusting his diet, and hanging upside down from the training bars in the Batcave.

Mistake #3. You don’t run immediately.

He “accidentally” breaks the bracelet Dick gave you (oops, it was an inferior material anyway).

Your favorite coffee cup disappears, and suddenly Damien has one just like it. "Strange coincidence, isn’t it?"

Damien starts “correcting” everything Dick tells you, from battle tactics to what kind of wine pairs best with dinner.

He trains Titus to growl whenever Dick comes near you. "Good boy, Titus. Show him who’s unworthy."

He steals your phone to block Dick’s number. "We should eliminate distractions."

You once made the mistake of jokingly calling him "cute," and now he’s convinced you’re secretly in love with him.

Dick, bless his heart, is completely oblivious.

“I think it’s great how well you and Damien are getting along,” he says, grinning like a golden retriever. Meanwhile, Damien is plotting your future wedding.

"I’m humoring her for your sake," Damien lies through his teeth while handing you a handmade sword engraved with your initials.

Damien constantly tries to prove he’s a better option than Dick:

“Richard is reckless. I, however, would never put you in harm’s way.” (Meanwhile, Damien drags you into an actual rooftop stakeout just so he can show off.)

“He can’t even cook. Did you know I can make authentic Middle Eastern cuisine?”

“You deserve someone who values you.”

You find a locked box in your room one day. Inside is a collection of…disturbingly Damien things.

A pressed flower you don’t remember receiving.

A strand of your hair.

A list titled “Reasons Why I’m Better Than Richard” (it’s very thorough).

A draft of a love letter in calligraphy that starts with “Dearest light of my tortured soul…”

You finally sit him down for a talk.

“Damien, you’re like a little brother to me.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I’m not your brother. Nor will I ever be.”

“Damien, you’re sweet, but—”

“I’m not sweet.”

“Okay, you’re terrifying, but you’re also 13.”

He stared at you, eyes narrowing. “I’ll wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For you to realize that I’m the only one worthy of your affection.”

“Damien…”

“The age gap will be irrelevant in five years.”

“And when that day comes, I’ll be ready.”

When you reject him (because obviously), he tries to play it cool but fails miserably.

“Tt. I wasn’t serious anyway. Your taste is terrible.”

Proceeds to storm off, but not before stealing your scarf.

You find it later in his room draped over a practice dummy he definitely punched several times while muttering Dick’s name.

Bruce gets involved after Damien “accidentally” pushes Dick off a rooftop.

“You need therapy,” Bruce says bluntly.

“You’re just upset I succeeded where you failed,” Damien snaps back.

He does go to therapy but somehow convinces his therapist he’s completely normal. (Because of course he does.)

Alfred is the real MVP.

“Perhaps you’d like to consider not obsessing over your brother’s partner, Master Damien.”

“You don’t understand, Pennyworth. She needs to be protected.”

“From what, sir? A happy relationship?”

Everything become worse when Damien starts sparring with Dick for no reason other than to “test his worthiness.” You have to physically drag him away while Dick just stands there, confused and bleeding.

“He’s weak,” Damien hisses as you shove him into a chair.

“He’s your brother!”

“And yet, he’s undeserving.”

In the end, Damien doesn’t give up. He’s stubborn like that.

Part 2. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[mcrveilles]

bed chem // cl16 smau

singer!reader and charles have been dating for quite a while and now it's time to let everyone else know w/ charles leclerc x f!reader

i've decided to add a little story to the smau, hope that's okay anon!

warnings: none includes: fluff, confessing love, singer

requested: Hii!!! I've been obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter’s new album and I can’t stop thinking about singer!reader announcing her f1 bf with a song written about him sooo i was wondering if you could do a smau with Charles Leclerc reader based on bed chem, please

With the stage lights are dimmed, only a single spotlight was on you as you stand there with your microphone, the crowd already roaring in anticipation. It's the final show of your European tour, and tonight was going to be different. Tonight, you wouldn't just be performing; tonight, you are unveiling a secret your fans have been speculating about for months.

Your latest album had taken the charts by storm. Critics called it your most personal work yet—each song a story of raw desire, playful banter, and a love so electric it was almost tangible. Fans, of course, dissected the lyrics, desperate to connect the dots. The cryptic references to Monaco, blue eyes, and a racing lifestyle had everyone buzzing.

But you had stayed quiet, letting the music speak for itself. Until now.

As you hum the first few melodies of the night’s final song, the crowd hushes. “This one’s special,” you speak into the mic, your voice soft but steady. “This one is about someone who's turned my world upside down from the moment we first met.”

The beat kicks in, and the crowd erupts as they recognized the sultry melody.

“Who's the cute boy with the wide, blue eyes / And the big bad mm? / I bet we'd have really good bed chem…”

You can't help but smirk singing the words to your song, your eyes scanning the audience and finally looking to the side. There you catch the familiar face of the man you've written so many songs about. Charles.

The song shifts into its chorus, the rhythm pulsing with the same energy that had fueled your whirlwind romance. You remember the first time you met, you in a sheer dress at a gala, him with his easy charm and that irresistible accent. He’d leaned in close, just to talk over the music, but the spark had been instant.

As the final notes fade, you step forward, letting the applause wash over you. You glance at Charles, who stands there right beside the stage with a grin on his lips.

“I guess it’s time to let you all in on a little secret,” you say into the microphone once again, your voice shaking slightly. “This album isn’t just about love. It’s about my love.” And it's at this moment, a collage of your favorite pictures with Charles are displayed on the screen behind you.

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gossipy/n London, United Kingdom

liked by user01 and others

gossipy/n sources confirm y/n has just announced her relationship with formula 1 driver charles leclerc at her last concert in london

user02 WHAT user03 i knew it!!!!! queen user 04 can charles fight 🥊

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yourusername London, United Kingdom

liked by user05 and others

yourusername shoutout to the loml ❤️ and let's 🥂to no longer hiding in cars, big hoodies and finally attending f1 races - i love you tagged: charlesleclerc

charlesleclerc je t'aime, l'amour de ma vie ❤️ francisca.cgomes FUCKING FINALLY i love you bebe yourbestfriend to no more sappy phone calls and whining 🥂🥂🥂

comments on this post have been limited

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charlesleclerc

liked by user05 and others

charlesleclerc je t'aime tagged: yourusername

comments on this post have been limited

[rafeskai]

Stolen Glances - Drew Starkey

Summary: At the Met Gala, Reader, a singer, and Drew Starkey share an unexpected connection after slipping away from the spotlight to escape the chaos. Bonding over music and the pressures of fame, they find themselves drawn to each other, sharing candid moments and stolen glances throughout the night.

Pairings: Drew Starkey x Popstar!Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Let me know if I should make this a short series :)

The lights are blinding, bouncing off the sleek walls and polished floors, reflecting the glitz and glamor of a world that feels surreal even to you, despite having been in the limelight for years. The Met Gala was one of the events you could never quite get used to — an annual, glittering parade of artists, designers, models, and the occasional movie star. Tonight, you’ve arrived with your team, decked out in a show-stopping outfit that had social media buzzing long before you even stepped onto the red carpet.

After the red carpet and photo-ops, you slip away, seeking a quieter corner of the hall, clutching a champagne glass that’s more for show than sipping. It’s here, away from the flashing cameras, that you hear someone chuckle softly nearby.

“So you’re hiding out too, huh?”

You turn toward the voice and find yourself face-to-face with Drew Starkey. He’s tall, with an easy smile, his tux fitting him like it was made for him. You recognize him immediately — the Internet’s favorite bad boy. And despite the flashy lights outside, he somehow exudes a quiet, laid-back charm that feels surprisingly out of place in a room full of larger-than-life personalities.

“Guilty,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips as you raise your glass. “Needed a breather. How about you?”

Drew chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes sweeping over the crowded hall. “Yeah, I’m not too big on these things either. But they told me it’d be ‘good for my image,’” he says, making air quotes with a playful grin.

You laugh, nodding in understanding. “They say that a lot. But hey, it’s not so bad. I’ve already had three strangers tell me they love my latest album, which they clearly haven’t listened to.”

Drew chuckles, his gaze meeting yours. “Well, for what it’s worth, I did listen to your latest album. My sister is obsessed. I think I’ve heard every song about a thousand times.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Then you must be a fan by now.”

He shrugs with a playful smile. “Maybe I am. Got a favorite track, actually.”

Curiosity piqued, you tilt your head, challenging him. “Really? Which one?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice as if to keep the answer between the two of you. “Track three. ‘Lonely Nights,’ right? That song hits different.”

You blink, caught off guard by his choice. That song was raw, a rare glimpse of your private self in an industry that often demanded you be someone else. Hearing Drew mention it, with that earnest glint in his eye, stirs something in you.

“Didn’t expect that,” you admit. “Most people go for the upbeat stuff. The party anthems.”

He shrugs again, an easy smile gracing his lips. “Guess I’m not most people.”

Before you can respond, a voice calls out to you from across the room — your manager, reminding you that you’re needed back on the main floor.

You give Drew an apologetic smile, reluctant to leave. “Duty calls, I guess.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on you. “Good luck out there.”

You turn to leave, but then glance back at him, emboldened. “Hey, maybe we’ll run into each other again tonight?”

He grins, his eyes twinkling under the dim lights. “Count on it.”

As the night wears on, you spot Drew in the crowd multiple times, catching his eye each time and exchanging a silent smile or a raised glass. Eventually, you find yourself back in that quiet corner, escaping the chaos once more — and it’s no surprise that Drew finds his way there too.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he jokes, leaning casually against the wall beside you.

“Guess this is our spot now,” you reply, a smile creeping onto your face.

The rest of the night blurs into an effortless flow of conversation. Drew listens intently as you share anecdotes from your world, and he offers his own, giving you glimpses into the life of an actor constantly in the public eye. There’s a quiet understanding between you both, an unspoken bond between two people navigating the glitzy chaos of fame.

As the night winds down, and the crowd begins to thin, Drew walks you outside, where the city lights glisten in the darkness.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, the words leaving you softer than you intended.

He glances down at you, his gaze steady. “No problem. Hopefully, we get to do it again sometime.”

Before you can respond, he takes a step back, giving you a quick, almost shy smile before disappearing into the night.

You’re left standing there, with a new excitement buzzing in your chest. The first spark of something that feels rare and real — and maybe, just maybe, the beginning of something extraordinary.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. My work is a work of fiction inspired by different characters, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[seventeenpins]

⁵⁾ pressing the pads of their fingers into their lips in the aftermath, like they’re either trying to capture the feeling or banish it from memory

with x1!Logan pretty plssssss 😏

YES Ozzie omg thank you I love this ❤️

Forbidden Fruit

pairing: dbf!Logan x neighbor!reader word count: 3.4k summary: You’re a little obsessed with your attractive new neighbor. Unfortunately, he’s quite a bit older than you... And your dad's new best friend. content/warnings: non-mutant AU, unspecified age gap, written as x1 Logan, Scott is your dad (sorry), silence of the lambs spoilers???, yearning, tbh yall are as bad as each other, smut a/n: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble 🤷 ty to @ozarkthedog, the most perfect human 🩷

There’s a party roaring outside. As a general rule, your dad doesn’t like to throw parties often, but when he meets the man who’s moving in next door, he announces to you his plan. “Hosting a new neighbor helps to establish a good relationship!” he insists, and that’s that.

You’re sat in the living room, the space dimly lit, nursing a Pabst Blue Ribbon as the glow of your latest Blockbuster rental illuminates your face.

"You even old enough to drink?" comes a voice just outside the door frame. 

You jump, beer sloshing gracelessly down your front. You turn to him, glowering. He’s silhouetted from the hallway and you can’t make out his face. “Yep,” you tell him, “I just have an immaculate skincare routine. Keeps me youthful.”

“So you’re hiding inside… because?”

You shrug. “Just like time to myself.”

He nods, and then strides over. He takes a seat beside you.

“Who are you, exactly?” you frown, looking him up and down.

“You mind?” he asks, smirking as he wiggles the beer you didn’t realize he was holding and nods towards the bottle opener. The audacity.

You glare and grab the bottle opener. He holds his hand out for it, but you withdraw. 

“Logan,” he laughs, “Logan Howlett. I just moved in next door.”

“Oh,” you drop the bottle opener into his hand, remembering your dad’s words. Establish a good relationship. “Oh, yeah, my dad was really excited about the party. Hope you’re enjoying it.”

His eyebrows raise. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Scott Summers.”

“No shit,” he frowns, “That guy sends a lot of emails.”

“That he does.”

Logan pops his bottle open. “Mind some company?”

“Long as you don’t mind watching Silence of the Lambs starting part way through.”

“Ohhhhh yeah, has he asked for a quid pro quo yet?”

“Aahh, a connoisseur,” you grin, “Yeah, just got past that part. I can rewind–”

“Nah,” he shrugs, “Let it play.”

You watch for a while in silence, but then start chatting again, swapping mundane questions. 

“So, Scott’s your dad, huh?” he asks, after a while.

“He sure is.”

“When he said he had a daughter, I guess I assumed someone younger.”

“Same skincare routine,” you deadpan.

He closes his eyes, holding back a laugh as he shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “Yeah, he was still pretty young when I was born.”

“And what about…” he trails off, suddenly realizing tact may be appreciated.

“Dad’s a widower,” you explain simply.

Logan nods. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You sit in silence for a moment, watching as Lecter is revealed to be wearing the guard’s face.

“How about you?” you ask, “You got a wife? Husband? Girlfriend? Partner?--”

He turns to look at you and you peter off. “Nope.” 

There’s something in the way he’s looking at you. You’re not sure if he’s being suggestive, or if you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the reflecting light making his eyes look more provocative than he intends.

Either way, you feel your heartbeat surge and your stomach flip.

You turn away and try to affect nonchalance, try not to be suddenly mesmerized by this unexpected plot twist that is Logan. The movie is wrapping up, Clarice taking Lecter’s call as he pursues Chilton. You try to focus on it, the score, the costumes– but instead you notice the way he smells, musky and a little sweaty. It’s nice. A little dizzying.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

"You have any kids?" you ask, and immediately wonder if you waited too long to carry on the conversation.

"Shit," he snorts and shakes his head, "I hope not."

It takes you off guard. You burst out laughing.

He huffs, lifting the beer to his lips to hide a smile.

The credits begin to roll over the ending scene. 

With the bottle drained, he pats his thighs and stands up. "Alright, kid," he says, "I probably shouldn’t hide in here any longer.”

“My dad appreciates it,” you tell him, “Don’t wanna give him a heart attack when his guest of honor is nowhere to be found, soon to be discovered with his delinquent daughter.”

He picks up his empty and shakes his head, heading back outside. He calls back, “Oh, you’re trouble.”

Now that you’ve met him, you can’t get him out of your mind. 

When you see him again, a couple days later in daylight this time, you have to pick your jaw up off the ground. He’s taller than you realize, and he’s fucking built. And fuck, he’s handsome too. When he sees you, he waves a hand. “Hey Trouble,” he calls, “Keepin’ your nose clean?”

Weeks pass, and, much to your delight (and, admittedly, despair), your dad and Logan become close. 

Sundays become your favorite day. Sunday, you discover, is the day you can see Logan through your window, chopping a seemingly endless stack of firewood. 

One time, he catches you watching. To your utter shock, he winks at you. Knowing your eyes are on him, he lifts the hem of his beater to wipe his brow, and shoots you a shit-eating grin.

You had plans but that doesn’t matter now. All you can do is shove your hand into your panties and rub circles around your throbbing little clit until you cum with a muffled sigh, knowing he’s outside. Knowing there’s not more than a fence and a few feet between you.

Almost every night, his fire pit is alight and you see him reading, or strumming his guitar, or fucking whittling, serene in the smouldering glow, till the fire burns out and the night turns too cool to enjoy.

As the weeks pass, he’s at your house more and more. You wish your heart would stop doing flips whenever you see him on the sofa next to your dad, beer in hand, laughing at some story that’s being recounted.

He says hello to you each time he sees you, and always asks after you when you’re out.

“Oh, Logan says hi,” your dad will say over his morning toast, “Why does he call you Trouble? Tell me you haven’t been besmirching the Summers name?”

“Nah,” you grin, “Just the littlest besmirchment, at worst.”

His eyes narrow.

“C’mon, now, we want to-”

“Establish a good relationship!” you finish, grinning at the way he scowls.

“Smartass.”

“Hey, Trouble,” he’ll greet you, whenever you find him at your home.

“Hey neighbor.”

“You bein’ good?” he’ll ask.

“‘Course not,” you’ll wink, “Where’s the fun in that?”

You love that he calls you Trouble. That he has a name, just for you. It feels like it could almost be something, and so it’s almost enough. 

Before long, what you’d once feared was a one-sided attraction begins to morph into something different. 

It’s a Saturday, and you decide to wear a cute little dress. It’s a flowy thing that hugs all your curves in the very best way, hem barely falling past the curve of your ass.

Your dad just popped out for another six-pack, and you’re in the kitchen, making pasta salad. With your father gone, Logan isn’t subtle in the way he looks at you. You delight in how his eyes linger at the curve of your hip, the swell of your chest. It feels like a victory, the way he grits his jaw a little when you lean forward, cleavage on full display.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ wearing a naughty little dress like that?” Logan asks, scowling.

You raise an eyebrow and try not to let the way your heart starts to flutter affect you. “Thought you’d figured it out on day one – I’m trouble.”

He looks you up and down, his gaze lascivious. It’s the boldness of it. The two of you are alone, and you both know it.

“I think you like it,” you narrow your eyes.

He’s silent for a long moment. Then he lets out a deep breath. 

“God help me, I do.”

“Why don’t you do something about it?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then you both hear the latch, and the front door swings open.

Logan sits back, pretending as though nothing just happened.

You turn back to your salad.

You can see Logan in the sitting room, right in your line of sight. Your dad sits across from him, his back towards you. 

If you’re honest, you’re not sure exactly what compels you. 

You turn to face Logan, wave for him to catch your eye. He does, quickly, immediately attuned to you. Your dad doesn’t notice the way his eyes follow you. You hold a finger to your lips. His eyes dart between you and your dad, and he tries to focus on whatever his friend is saying to him. 

Slowly, you slip one strap down, and then the other. You can hear Logan’s breath hitch, which he covers almost believably with a gulp of his beer. Shimmying the bodice just a little, you expose your cleavage to near-dangerous depths. He’s grinding his teeth now, and it feels like victory.

Quickly, silently, you slip your top all the way down, exposing your breasts to the cool kitchen air. Your nipples, already hard, tighten. Logan is holding his can so tightly he’s crushing it in his fist. 

“You okay, buddy?” you hear your dad say, and you can practically hear the frown in his voice. In a couple of quick movements, you slip your top back up and turn back to your salad.

“Huh?” Logan asks quickly, and then looks at his beer. “Oh, shit–!” he grumbles, relaxing his grip gingerly.

It’s not till an hour later that your dad stands up and announces, “I’ll be right back, gonna hit the head.”

When he’s gone, Logan bolts up and marches over to you.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he demands.

You shrug and, not so subtly, glance down at his crotch. You smirk at the way the front is tenting. Logan stares daggers as he adjusts himself, better hiding his hard-on.

“Some of you seems to like it,” you point out.

“Out here? With him here? You want your daddy to kill me?”

“No,” you promise, “No, I just want you to fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ you’re trouble–”

You both hear a toilet flush, and, moments later, footsteps descend on the stairs.

Logan adjusts himself again, and you blow him a kiss as he tromps back to his seat.

It’s a week before you see Logan again. He’s working late this week, apparently. Or maybe he’s just keeping his distance from you.

On Friday night, you debate going out. It’s been a while, and you could use a chance to unwind. But drinks are expensive, and– and you see a fire out your window. Logan sits out by his fire pit.

Without thinking, you put on your shoes.

It’s late, but not too late. Your dad’s on his recliner, game on TV, newspaper in hand.

“You headin’ out, kiddo?” he asks.

“Yep,” you lie, “Meeting a couple friends downtown. They’re picking me up!”

“Stay safe,” he calls after you, “Call me if you need a ride.”

“I will,” you tell him. “Don’t know if I’ll be home tonight. Don’t wait up for me!”

You head out of the house and through your neighbor’s gate. 

Logan is golden, illuminated in the glow of the flames. He’s whittling something, angrily.

You realize then that your entrance has been near-silent on the soft grass. “Uh,” you clear you throat and knock on his fence as you approach him. “Hey, there, neighbor!”

Logan looks up and frowns when he sees you.

“You are makin’ me crazy, Trouble.” he huffs.

“Like, in a good way?” you ask.

He glares at you.

You come closer. “Can I sit?”

Logan budges up, putting down his whittling tools.

“So…” you venture “Am I more trouble than I’m worth?”

Logan scoffs.

“Nah.” he concedes, “I just don’t wanna make things complicated.”

You shrug. “They’re already complicated. You’ve seen my tits.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Goddammit, Trouble. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“They’re great tits,” you shrug.

“They are great tits.” Logan agrees.

The fire is crackling and the night is clear, stars hanging above you. You've been sitting side by side, quiet.

You don’t know what to say. Maybe there isn't anything to say. You’ve been patient, dammit. You just need to leap.

You pull him towards you and he moves without resistance.

He growls into your mouth, a needy animal sound. The scruff of his beard feels nice against your chin and you’re dizzy with his proximity, with his lips on yours.

After an eternity in the space of a single moment, you pull apart.

Logan stares at you, overwhelmed. His eyes are dark, his kiss-glistened lips catching the light as the fire dances. 

He presses the pads of his fingertips against his lips in the aftermath, as though either trying to capture the feeling, or banish it from memory.

Then, after a long moment, he’s on you. His hands grip you, grasp you, trace the shape of your body as though memorizing it by touch alone. 

“Inside. Now.” he growls, “Out here you’re askin’ for your daddy to catch us.”

You’re barely through the door before Logan is tugging at your clothes. You help him pull your top above your head, and you fumble with the button of your jeans as he unhooks his belt and yanks off his beater.

In a matter of moments, you’re both fully bare. His skin is hot against yours as he holds you to him, caging you against the door as he drags his teeth along your shoulder. His hard cock hangs against your thigh, heavy and thick and leaking.

Your clothes trail from the front door to his sofa. You don’t make it any further than that.

You’re a ticking time bomb, a siren, pulling him in, driving him wild. He wants and wants and wants, more than he ever knew he could. So much could be ruined; his friendship with your dad, the scrap of reputation he’s been building, his new life in this new place—

But now his want has turned into a need, and feeling you soft and pliant and oh so willing against him, he’d be a fool to turn back now.

Logan’s gropes at you, fingernails digging into the swell of your ass before cupping your pussy in one large palm. Rubbing up and down your cunt, he smears your wetness around.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he gasps. “Prettiest pussy I’ve seen.” 

Then he dips a finger into you and you groan and clench around it. He fucks you with it, deep, gentle strokes. He wasn’t wrong. As he fucks you with his finger, you feel how unbelievably wet you are. When he pulls back for a moment, you can see his hand is glistening with you, drips going all the way to his wrist.

“I can take more,” you promise, and he growls. 

“Can’t say shit like that,” he pants, “You’re sure you can take more. Can you take me? Don’t wanna hurt–”

“I can take you,” you assure him. If you’re honest, you don’t know if you can. What you do know is that you’re sure as fuck gonna try.

“How do you want me?” he asks, fighting to maintain the last shreds of his self-control.

Ever the masochist, “Want you on top of me, my ankles round your shoulders. Need you deep.”

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You lay back as he positions himself between your thighs. He presses a kiss to your left thigh before he hikes it over his right shoulder, and a kiss to your right calf, folding you in half.

He strokes the dripping head of his cock against your folds.

“You ready?” he asks, and you whine in desperation, nodding a yes.

He presses in, notching the tip inside. You groan at the sensation, relaxing into it as he rocks his hips gently.

“Doin’ so good,” he praises, “I know, baby, it’s a lot.”

You writhe and moan. It is a lot, but you still want more. More of his cock, of his hands on your body, of his praise.

“Taking it so well,” he soothes, letting his cock slide that little bit deeper inside, pulling most of the way out and driving back in, pressing whispers in your ear as he fucks into you.

When his pelvis is pressed flush against you, he lets out a sigh. 

“Look at that,” he huffs, “Takin’ all of me.”

You look down and watch enraptured as he pulls out and presses back in, deeper than you ever imagined, and rolls his hips, coarse hair grinding against your clit and making you howl.

”Keep making those pretty noises for me, honey.”

”Need more-“ you beg.

He starts rocking his hips, building a solid rhythm. His strokes are deep and devastating, and with every thrust you can feel your wetness start to flood down your thighs and cream around the base of his cock.

The wetter you get, the harder he fucks into you, each plunge punctuated with your cries, of “Yes!”, “More—“, “Please, Logan, please—“

Generous to a fault, he gives you everything you beg for.

The frustration of these longing, pent-up weeks is almost a forgotten memory. As you build towards the peak of your pleasure, the man above you is an animal. He grunts and pants and fucks you deeper than you knew possible. Your whines and cries and demands taper off, replaced by soft moans that start to swell as he litters your collarbone with kisses and rubs a calloused thumb against your clit.

”I’m—“ you warn, struggling to form words, “I’m gonna—“

 “‘M close too,” he grunts, “Give it to me, baby, need to feel you— Please, baby—“

With his words and a firm press to your clit, you come with a sob, cunt squeezing around him in pulsing contractions.

He fucks you through it, muttering a steady stream of filth the whole time. “That’s it, that’s it, fuck you’re gushing, soaking this cock. You feel so fucking good, tight little thing stretched so nice around me, taking it all like you’re made for it—”

Before you can even get over the first climax, the second starts to build. Logan can feel the way your pussy twitches for him, the way your breath shudders as he drives into you with staggering thrusts.

”Gonna cum again, aren’t you?” He growls. “Good-“ a thrust, “fucking—“, thrust, “girl—“ thrust, “Just can’t get enough of this cock, can you?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a cry as another orgasm overtakes you.

"That’s it,” the praises, still punctuating every word with a thrust, “That’s it! Let yourself feel it, let yourself feel good—"

You do, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. It’s overwhelming, the way it tears through you with no end in sight.

When he finally pulls out of you, you start to come back to yourself, your life-changing orgasm starting to wane.

He’s beautiful above you, covered in sweat, your wetness dripping down his thighs as he strokes his creamy cock.

With a groan, he comes on your stomach. You wrap your hand around his, stroking him gently till every drop is spent.

You make room for him on the sofa, uncaring that both of you are covered in sweat and fluids, and pull him down to rest in your arms.

"Fuck—" he exhales, and finally turns to face you again.

You stroke your fingers through your mussed hair.

"I knew you were trouble,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your sternum.

There are so many things you’ll need to talk about, to work through. You are neighbors, after all, and you can’t do something like this without there being an aftermath.

But whatever is next can wait till morning.

Gently, he pulls himself up, and you with him. Holding each other close, you head to his bedroom. Without a word, you lay together, curled up in one another’s embrace.

He’s silent a long moment before speaking. "Is your daddy expecting you home tonight?” He asks. Neither of you want to think about that.

But thankfully, “No,” you tell him. “Told him not to wait up.”

"Oh, optimistic, were we?” He teases, and you look him up and down. His broad shoulders, sculpted chest, dark eyes, rumpled hair. This man you’ve grown so very fond of. 

“Yes,” you smile. “Yes, we are.”

Scott finds out, like, a day later and declares Logan his sworn enemy

[queen-of-fanfics]

Stay Away From Him

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Prompt: Miguel is jealous of your closeness with Hobie and tells you to stay from him.

A/N: Well I have had too much free time at work and all I've been doing is writing. Kinda love it. Also, how did y'all like Across the Spider-Verse? I saw it four times in theaters, it's like a drug in my veins. Anywho I figured I wanted to do a fanfic in a world that I haven't done yet so here it is!

Part 2

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Peter!”

“Hey, Y/N”

“Oh hey, Peters.”

“Oi! Y/N!” Recognizing the accent, you look up in the air and see Hobie swinging his way over to you.

“Hobie! What are you doing here?!”

This was your second week working inside the Spider-Verse headquarters. You were the only person there who wasn’t some version of Spiderman. One day, Miguel O’Hara was in your universe for a job, bing bang boom, next thing you knew, he offered you a job. Your job here at headquarters was to act as his assistant of sorts. Help him with errands, help him on missions, and fetch him lunch because the poor man will work until he starves. That was exactly what you are doing now. You had finished locating the latest anomaly and went down to the cafeteria to grab him some empanadas.

Working at headquarters was like a living dream. So far, everyone seems to like you and you’ve already made friends. Hobie and Gwen welcomed you with open arms and the three of you became inseparable. During your time working with Miguel, you may have developed a little crush on your boss. You never told anyone about how your heart starts beating faster or how your breath gets shaky when he stands a little too close. Though, you never had to say because everyone could see it. And everyone warned you away from the infamous Miguel O’Hara.

“He’s not for you. He’s obsessed with his work and barely knows what having fun or being nice is. I doubt he even knows there’s a life outside of this place.” Gwen said one day during lunch.

“Who’s not for me? What are you talking about? I’m just here to work.” You shovel food into your mouth in an attempt to hide your face.

“Mmhmm, sure. You can deny it all you want but if you keep staring at him all weird like that, even he’s going to start to notice. Just trust me, you should just try to stay away from him. Which I guess isn’t possible since he’s your boss but you know what I mean.” 

“Though it does raise the question as to why he recruited her, don’t it?” Hobie chimes in. 

Hobie jumps on your back and it pulls you back to the present.

“I’m here for it! Whatchu think? I would willingly come here? Nah.”

“Actually! We just finished a mission so we just came to check in with Miguel.” Gwen swings down and lands right next to you. The three of you continue walking side by side down the hall to Miguel. Hobie throws his arm casually around your shoulder, keeping you close to his side.

You walk into the main room and see that Miguel is standing on his platform up in the air. There are a few people milling around the room, minding their business. People tend to hover around Miguel in case any missions come up or if he needs help.

“Miguel! I got you some empanadas!” You yell up at him.

He turns and barely glances over his shoulder at the three of you. He grunts and rolls his eyes in annoyance but his platform starts its slow descent. Gwen runs over to Jessica and they start talking. Hobie walks with you over to your little desk that sits on the ground floor …. like a regular person.

“So we still on for tonight?” Hobie asks.

“What’s tonight?” You turn and ask Hobie. You lean your butt against the desk to look up at him. He gets in close, places his hands against the desk on both sides of you, and cages you in with his arms.

“Whatchu mean what’s tonight? Did you forget already? Thought you and Gwen were staying in my place tonight!” Hobie teases you.

“Oh, Hobie! I forgot about that, I can’t come over.” Gwen yells over before she turns back to her conversation.

“Guess it’s just us then.” He mumbles and gives you a wink.

Before you could respond, Miguel’s voice booms through the large chamber.

“Y/N isn’t going anywhere tonight.” Looking over, you see that Miguel has lowered his platform as far as it could go and he is staring directly at the two of you with a deadly look on his face. All the conversations in the room died down and you could tell that everyone's eyes were looking between you and Miguel. Everyone treads carefully around Miguel … everyone except Hobie. 

“What? You keeping her hostage now?”

All of a sudden feeling nervous, unsure as to what put Miguel in a foul mood and not wanting to make it worse, you try to straighten up and stand in attention but Hobie isn’t moving. 

“We’ve got work to do here, Hobie. Unlike you, some of us have things we have to do.” Miguel crosses his arms and stares down at Hobie. 

“What work? We caught all the known anomalies already. Plus I was going to work on my bike, give it some more bells and whistles.” Jessica pipes up.

“There’s more work to do than just waiting around for things to happen.” 

“Then what do I gotta do, hmm?” Jessica sasses back to him.

“Nothing. I, uh, just want to do some surveillance. Never know ”

“And what Y/N got to do with it, then?” Hobie asks, giving Miguel a weird look.

“Y/N is my assistant. Y/N must assist me. And get off of her Hobie.”

“Right, but it don’t sound like there is any real work to do. I don’t see why Y/N gotta sit here and suffer being around you. And, uh, I’m actually quite comfortable where I am.”

“No no, I don’t mind. It’s my job. I can stay” You rush to say as you start pushing at Hobie’s shoulders. 

Hobie turned slowly to look at you without budging and you just stared up at him. “Move.” you mouth to Hobie with beseechment in your eyes. But all he does is smile at you and barely visibly shakes his head ‘No’. Eyes wide, you think to yourself, I’m not going to have a job after this. The room is still silent and no one speaks as the tension rises. 

“Everyone out!” Miguel booms, “Looks like no one wants to work anyways. It’s not as if we’re trying to save the entire universe or anything.” 

“Oh! Miguel, we wanted to check in about the-” Gwen is cut off when Miguel turns back around to his monitors and yells, “OUT!”

Everyone exchanges nervous looks around the room while they pick up their things. The whole time though, Hobie is looking down at you with a knowing smirk on his face. “What are you smiling about?” You hiss at him as you push him up so you can grab your bag and head out. 

“Oh just something I think you should find out for yourself. And you might soon.”

“Ugh, I’m going to kill you.” 

Hobie throws his arm around you and leads you out, “Yeah sure, but hey, looks like you can come over after all, aye?”

“Everyone except for Y/N!” You whirl around at the sudden sound but Miguel is still just looking at his monitors.

“Damn, looks like you’re going to find out real soon. See ya sweet cheeks.” Hobie gives you a wink and walks out with everyone else. 

You stood in the doorway waiting for Miguel’s instructions but after a few beats, you realized that he wasn’t going to turn around and talk to you. Slowly walking back to your desk, you couldn’t help but notice how the tension in the room did not leave along with everyone else. It still lay thick and heavy in the air. Taking off your bag and placing it on your desk, you turn around to face Miguel. You open your mouth to say something to break the silence but he cuts you off. 

“Come up here and help me look at this.” 

Your eyes grew wide and you hurried over to the dais. Your heartbeat started quickening with excitement, you have never been invited onto the platform before. Miguel looks down his nose at you with a disgusted look on his face as you struggle to even get your leg on the platform.

“Sorry, don’t got webs like y’all. Give me a second.”

You finally heave yourself up and flop over on your back, gulping down deep breaths of air. “You know, I’m starting to think I’m out of shape.” Figuring that it was time to actually get to work, you jump up to your feet and face the monitors.

“Alrighty, so what am I looking at?” All of the monitors were showing different videos of different universes. Some other monitors had new articles and alerts of potential disturbances. 

“Just, uh, keep an eye on some of the security cameras we have posted around. See if you catch any suspicious activity.”

“Were you expecting something to happen tonight? Did you get a tip?”

“No, just doing our due diligence to keep everything in line.” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you gave Miguel a side-eye look. This is what he’s keeping me here to do? To watch some cameras? 

The whole time he was talking to you and giving you instructions, he did not glance at you, just busily pressing buttons and typing something.

About 10 minutes went by in absolute silence with Miguel working and you … “working”. Getting bored and tired on your feet, you start leaning around the table and let out a sigh. Miguel looks at you over his shoulder but turns back to his work. Another 10 minutes go by before he asks, “So you and Hobie are friends?”

Surprised by the question and surprised he even spoke, you responded, “Yeah, I would like to think so. He’s nice, I like hanging out with him.”

“You two have gotten close?”

Getting confused by his line of questioning, you give him a weird look that he doesn’t see. “I mean, I don’t know about close. We hang out with Gwen too. It’s usually the three of us.”

A few silent beats fall between the two of you before he responds, “I didn’t know you were visiting different universes.”

“Hmm, I’m not really. Besides my own home universe, I’ve only just been to Hobie’s. I haven’t seen Gwen’s though not even she goes back there.” 

Again he doesn’t reply immediately and the comfortable silence continues. 

“I would advise you to stay away from Hobie. He could be a bad influence on you or something.” He mumbles so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it. 

“I’m sorry?” You asked, turning your body full to look at him now. 

“I said ‘you should stay’-”

“No, I know what you said. But I don’t understand why. What’s going on with you? Are you stressed about something? Do you not like Hobie? Because Hobie has been nothing but nice to me and he’s a friend. He keeps me safe even when I visit his universe.”

“And exactly how many times have you visited his universe, hmm? You two seem pretty comfortable flying across universes together.” It was his turn to turn and face you. Standing at his full height, the tops of your head barely came up to his collar bones. 

“I-I- … I don’t know. A few times I guess? 4? Maybe 5 times? But-”

“5 times?! You met him not even two weeks ago and you’ve already been hanging around him that much?” You were trying to explain to ease whatever caused his temper to rise. However, with every response you give, it only seems to anger him more. With every response, he is taking a step closer to you and walking you backward.

“I guess? But he’s my friend! And I’ve always been safe if that’s the issue. He keeps me safe. I know I’m not a Spider-Man like you but-” Miguel ignores your argument and cuts you off again.

“Right right and he keeps you safe which I am sure he is more than happy to do seeing as how he’s always getting up in your space. And what exactly do you do in his universe? You run around town like some hooligans and go back to your home universe when it’s late enough to be considered morning?”

“Ah- No, we hang out at his place and have dinner and stuff, I don’t know! And when it gets late I just stay over at his place!” 

“Stay over?! What? Like overnight? He’s got guest rooms now? He’s hosting house parties?” There’s sarcasm dripping in his words but your brain was running too fast to notice.

“N-No he doesn’t. He’s not. He just lets me use his bed when I’m too tired to go home and I’d just wake up the next morning to come here.” 

All of a sudden, he takes one last step forward and you take one step back but your backside hits the table. He drops his hands on either side of you, exactly like how Hobie had you pinned against your desk earlier but this is different. This feels different. The tension is palpable. With Hobie, it was friendly and playful. With Miguel … it feels like you’re getting hunted and just got caught.

“He what?” Miguel’s voice isn’t loud and angry anymore. No. It’s low and deadly. His question comes out always like a whisper as he leads in so close that your noses are practically touching.

“I don’t understand what’s happening. Hobie is just my friend. Why does this feel like it’s a problem?” You whisper. Miguel doesn’t reply. He simply stares at you with such intensity in his eyes, you’re surprised you didn’t evaporate. Suddenly, he’s looking at your lips. Acting almost instinctively, your tongue shoots out to wet your lips and his eyes immediately shoot back up to yours. There’s the intensity in his eyes again, only this time, it’s different. Definitely not anger.

Suddenly, an alarm from Miguel’s monitor goes off and the sound is thunderous in the silent chamber. 

After a few beats, Miguel drops his forehead on yours, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The whole time, you never take your eyes off of him. Your heart is beating so fast and the blood is rushing in your ears. Very abruptly, he pushes off of the table and whirls around to the monitor. He turns off the alarm and starts typing away, completely ignoring you. Slowly pushing up from the table, you turn back to your own monitor and stare blankly at the empty alleyways and random buildings. 

Where there was comfortable silence before, now, the silence is deafening. 

“You should go home Y/N. I can finish this up on my own.”

Not sure of how to act or how to respond, you slowly climb down from the platform without saying a word and fetch your things.

“And I mean home, Y/N. To your home universe. To your own house. To your own bed.”

Looking back up the dais, Miguel is still facing his monitors, not even looking at you when he talks. Hitching your bag higher up on your shoulder, you respond, “Of course. Goodnight, Miguel. And … for what it’s worth … he always slept on the couch.” 

And with that, you take off running down the hall and teleport back home. 

[aleskie-hischier]

TAKE A PIC, IT'LL LAST LONGER (ft. Quinn Hughes)

SUMMARY: You gift Quinn an early Christmas Present in the form of an...interesting photo shoot. Spoiler: He loves it.

The Xmas Album Masterlist

Warnings: spicy but nothing happens, they make out

“Babe, wait!” You dart toward Quinn, catching him just as he’s about to step out of the front door to you guys’ apartment. In your hands is a small envelope, its edges slightly worn from your earlier fidgeting. “This is for you,” you say, your eyes sparkling with a playful, mischievous glint.

“What’s this?” he asks, a mix of amusement and curiosity dancing across his face as he takes the envelope. He holds it up to the light, tilting his head as if the paper might betray its secrets.

“It’s your early Christmas gift,” you reply, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

Quinn had a packed schedule—games back-to-back, both in and out of town—all happening until a few days before Christmas. This meant no cozy nights on the couch, no late-night pillow talks, and no small, stolen moments for the two of you until at least the 24th of December. When he told you about this realization, his brow was knitted in frustration, his signature pout firmly in place. And you, always determined to ease his worries, had come up with the perfect little gesture. A bit of Christmas motivation to keep him smiling during the long stretches apart.

“Quinny, my love,” you say, drawing out the words with a teasing pout of your own as you watch him turn the envelope over in his hands, eager to try and figure out what was inside, “You can’t open it until you’re at the hotel and you really miss me.”

He looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “This is either going to be really good or really bad, isn’t it?”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” you tease, brushing your fingers against his as he tucks the envelope into his bag and kisses you goodbye.

Alone in his hotel room, Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, staring out at the dark cityscape framed by the wide window. The sting of the loss sits heavy on his chest, an unrelenting weight that refuses to lift. Missed opportunities play on a loop in his mind, each one more agonizing than the last.

He tries to shake it off—pacing the room, taking a long, hot shower—but the frustration clings to him like a second skin. What he really wants is to hear your voice, to have you whisper the words that always seem to fit just right. The ones that soothe him, make him believe everything will be okay, that everything will eventually fall into place.

But it’s late. You’re probably asleep, and he knows you have work in the morning. He can’t bring himself to bother you, no matter how much he aches to hear you.

Instead, he grabs the book from his bag—the memoir you’d teased him about, calling it his latest obsession. He tries to dive into its pages, to let someone else’s story take him away from his own. But the words blur together, the sentences sliding out of focus as his mind drifts. He flips pages aimlessly, knowing he’ll have to start over later.

And then it hits him.

The envelope.

His gaze flicks across the room to his bag, the memory of your mischievous smile and sing-song instructions rushing back. You can’t open it until you’re at the hotel and you really miss me.

Well, he’s at the hotel. And God, does he miss you. That counts, right?

Rising to his feet, he retrieves the envelope and sits back down on the bed, holding it carefully as though it might shatter. He studies it for a moment, tracing his finger along the edge of the flap before peeling it open with deliberate care.

As the contents slip into his hand, he freezes.

Whatever he’d been expecting—a heartfelt note, a sweetly scrawled letter—it wasn’t this.

Polaroid photos of you, scantily clad in nothing but a pair of angel wings and that white lingerie set he knows drives him wild. The bra perfectly accentuates your curves, and the panty with lace so sheer and delicate that it leaves nothing to the imagination.

In the photo he’s holding, you’re wearing a playful smirk on your lips, eyes glinting at the camera like you know exactly what you were doing to him. Your hair falls just right, framing your face perfectly, reminding him of just how beautiful you looked. And your pose? Back arched and on all fours, as if crawling toward the camera, arms strategically pushing your breasts together.

The photos only get bolder from there—features of you on your back, on your side, even from behind. But his favorite has to be the one where you’re biting your lips, lipstick smudged and messy. A groan escapes his lips as he instinctively reaches to palm himself through his sweatpants, memories rushing of the nights when it was him who messed up your lipstick, when he was the reason you looked so deliciously disheveled.

A handwritten note accompanied the photos, teasingly scrawled in your unmistakable script: "Merry Early Christmas! Waiting for you to come home so I can spread more than just my wings ;)” 

Amid the mix of lust and longing, he can’t help but chuckle, his cheeks warming as he imagines you, that same playful glint in your eye, right in front of him, asking him if he’d liked his gift. And then, he pictures how you’d look when he fucks that smug attitude right out of you.

The urge to call you is almost overwhelming; his fingers twitch with the need to dial your number, to tell you exactly what he wants to do to you when he gets home. But he holds back, deciding to savor the anticipation brought by your little surprise. 

It’s the middle of the night when Quinn finally gets home. You’re getting ready for bed, the quiet hum of the apartment broken by the thud of his bags hitting the floor in the entryway. The sound of his footsteps follows, steady and purposeful as they make their way toward the bedroom.

When he steps inside, the first thing you notice is his eyes—how they lock onto you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. There’s a hunger in them, raw and unspoken, as though he’s been waiting for this moment, this sight of you, for far too long.

You’re sitting up in bed, the soft glow of your bedside lamp pooling around you. A book rests open in your hands, though you’ve barely read a word since hearing the telltale signs of his arrival. His presence fills the room, and you close the book slowly, your gaze meeting his.

“Hi honey,” you say softly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, “How was the stretch out of town?”

He doesn’t reply right away, still standing in the doorway, his eyes taking you in as though committing every detail to memory. Without a word, he crosses the room, his movements deliberate and unhurried, the weight of the past few days melting away with each step closer to you.

He takes the book from your hands and sets it aside on the table before settling between your legs. His head finds a cozy spot in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses that trail all the way to your jaw. His hands roam, gently thumbing along the curve of your waist, sliding up and down your sides, savoring the contrast of your smooth skin against his rough palms.

You lean into him, draping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. The warmth radiating from him seeps into you, only getting stronger as he trails kisses down towards your chest, right above your heart. You can feel his heat, his longing—like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. It’s intoxicating, his hands exploring your body, his lips playfully nipping at your collarbone.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine, “Loved your gift.”

You hum in response, savoring the closeness and the affection that wraps around you like a warm blanket.

His lips find yours in the most casual way, gentle as he cups your face and kisses you. It’s soft at first, teasing—like he was getting you ready for something more. And then he goes deeper, playfully nipping at your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth. It’s a delicious whirl of warmth and movement as you tangle your fingers in his hair, clinging to him like you’re scared he might pull away.

You feel the way his hands grip your waist tightly, as if he’s trying to anchor himself to you, grounding you both into the moment that’s hot and sweet and perfect. The world fades away, and it’s just the two of you lost in each other.

The whine that escapes your lips when he pulls away is almost pathetic, but the sight of him kneeling above you more than makes up for it. You watch as he practically tears the buttons off his dress shirt, eagerly reaching a hand out to touch his bare chest, admiring the fresh bruises from the last few games he’s played.

As he moves to slide your pajama shorts off, you lift your hips to help, leaving you in just your panties.

“God, you’re an angel,” he smirks, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you looking utterly debauched—hair tousled, lips swollen from kissing, love bites dotting your neck and collarbone. He rests his hands on your knees, spreading your legs apart and exposing even more of you to his hungry gaze.

“So, what was that you said about spreading more than just your wings?”

You smirk. 

Safe to say he thoroughly enjoyed your little gift. And if you got something out of it too? Well, that’s just a bonus—definitely worth the two days of not walking.

[simpforrooster]

then why don’t you, hotchner.

aaron hotchner x reader

summary: reader is obsessed with their boss.

t/w: some cursing, alcohol consumption. i pictured a female as i wrote, but im pretty sure it can be read as gn!

aaron hotchner is your unit chief. your very hot unit chief.

you’re completely aware of how unethical this infatuation is. you’re also aware of the age difference.

not that you care.

nothing could come of this crush. no matter how much you dreamed something would.

jj, emily, and penelope knew about this silly little crush. i mean how couldn’t they. they’re profilers, and as much as you try not to let your gaze linger on him longer than normal, sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

you’re nestled in a corner booth of your local bar with the rest of the team, blowing off some steam after a case.

reid sits next to you, animatedly talking about his latest read.

hotch meets your eye across the table, feeding you a rare smile. as quick as it appeared, it was gone. the last thing you needed was for one of the girls to notice and try feeding you false hope.

jj was the worst about it. “y/n, he’s obsessed with you. haven’t you noticed he always pairs the two of you together on a case?”

of course, you have wondered about that.

reid lays his arm on the back of the booth, enveloping you. “you need to add this one to your list,” reid tells you, looking down at you. you crane your face to his, grinning at your friend.

what you missed was the way hotch’s jaw set as he watched the two of you. you miss the way his grip tightens on the handle of his mug.

hotch throws the rest of his beer back, setting the mug down a little too hard.

“let me get you another, boss,” derek says, eyeing the rest of the table.

“oh, this is our song, jj,” emily screams, pulling jj to the dance floor.

“spence, come tell me more about that book,” penelope says. reid’s brows knit together, and penelope jerks her head toward the bar. realization falls over his face and they’re the last to leave. leaving you and hotch alone.

“they’re not exactly subtle, are they?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

“i guess i could say the same about you,” you gestured toward his empty mug.

hotch shrugs his shoulder. “i’m not sure what came over me.” he held your gaze, leaning across the table.

“what was that about?” you ask.

“come on, y/l/n. you’re a better profiler than that.” those dark eyes bore into yours.

"were you jealous, hotchner?" you ask, calm and collected on the outside but dying on the inside. maybe jj was right.

“why would i be jealous of reid when i know i’m the one you want?”

your cheeks redden. hotch stands from his spot in the booth and slides in next to you. the man has shocked you into silence. there is no way your boss is flirting with you.

hotch’s jaw works back and forth, like he’s fighting an inner battle with himself.

“how do you know that?” you murmur.

“you think i don’t notice the glances you sneak at me? or the way your cheeks turn red when i have to be stern with someone?” his fingertips run across your cheeks. “give me some credit here.”

embarrassment fills your body, making your heart sink to your feet. of course he knew. he’s the damn unit chief. he’s the best profiler the fbi has.

“what’s confusing to me is how you never picked up on why i partner the two of us up. or how i sneak my own glances at you,” he says, low in your ear. “or how turned on i get when i watch you hand someone their ass.”

“hotch—“

“i know. i’m your boss and twice your age.”

your body falls back against the wall, all the air leaving your body as if you were punched. of course the unit chief has a moral compass.

“i-i- i don’t care about that,” you manage to say. hotch’s eyes close, another internal battle. he scoots closer to you, filling trapping you between him and the wall.

“dave told me you’d say that.”

“rossi? you’ve been talking to him about us?”

hotch smirks. “he’s been pushing me to make a move since you joined the unit.”

“then why don’t you, hotchner?” you ask.

“because the paperwork would kill me,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you.

“hmm, maybe i could help you fill it out?” you suggest, letting your eyes drop to his mouth.

hotch moves in, stopping a breath from your lips. “no paperwork would get completed if i had you in my office all to myself.” gripping the collar of his button down, you pull him the remainder of the way to you.

his lips mold around yours in a way you can only describe as perfection. like his lips were made for you, and you alone. he kisses you with an urgency, and you match it. raising up from the booth, you arch yourself into him. his hand cement to your waist, pulling you as close as he can.

when he pulls back, his face is flushed. the aaron hotchner is blushing.

because of you.

pride fills your gut knowing you affect him the same way he does you.

“you’re gonna submit that paperwork to strauss, right?” you ask, breathless.

“fuck yes,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss.

a/n: my first criminal minds fic! i’ve been writing for topgun maverick for a long time. since beginning to watch criminal minds again, i’ve been dying to write for hotch and reid. i hope yall liked this! 🫣

[asapjens]

FANGIRLING

PJO: perseus jackson x fangirl!reader

CATEGORY: flufff & kinda cringey

SYNOPSIS: percy and his girlfriend being fangirls

WARNINGS: mentions of taylor swift, twilight, one direction , fangirling, fandoms, annabeth and grover. soooo i pretty much wrote a percy jackson x me one shot.

WORD COUNT: 297

You, yes YOU, are dating the heartthrob Percy Jackson. And guess what? You're a total fangirl for all type of things girly. Like, you're the ultimate Swiftie, 1D superfan, rom-com enthusiast, and Twilight saga devotee. And you're not shy about it – you talk about it all. the. time.

At first, Percy was like, "Whoa, my girlfriend is like, really into this stuff." But you know what? He thinks it's the cutest thing ever.

Seeing you light up and gush about your fandoms? It's like watching a kid in a candy store. Percy can’t help but be charmed by your excitement, and honestly, who wouldn’t be?

So, here's the thing.

Percy starts getting into all the things you love. At first, it's just to bond with you, but soon enough, he's singing along to Taylor Swift songs, discussing Team Edward vs. Team Jacob (he's totally Team Edward, by the way), and obsessing over One Direction's reunion rumors. And get this – he starts gossiping about it with his demigod pals.

One day, Percy’s chatting with Annabeth, and Grover, and he's all like, "Guys, did you hear about Taylor's latest album announcement? I totally can’t wait!"

And they're like, "Dude, you sound just like y/n." And Percy’s all, "Heck yeah, I do. Isn’t she the coolest?" His friends are low-key shook, but you know what? Percy couldn’t care less. He's head over heels for you and your hyper fixations.

And the best part? You and Percy are now the ultimate power couple. You chat, laugh, and fangirl/fanboy together, and honestly, it’s the kind of relationship goals that make even Aphrodite jealous. You and Percy – the hero and the fangirl – taking on the world.

So yeah, that's how Percy became the ultimate fangirl boyfriend. Who knew demigods could be so into mainstream stuff, right? But hey, love knows no bounds, not even when it comes to fangirling.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

heyyy!! HEAR ME OUT 🆘🆘 yk how kids spell santa wrong sometimes and they write satan. since christmas is coming wouldnt it be funny if satan got letters from human children??

Hiii. I'm absolutely obsessed over your request and I guess we're starting off the Christmas season in November? Anyway. I hope you enjoy this one.

Summary: Satan receiving letters addressed to him instead of Santa and dealing with them.

There isn't an MC in this story. (Forgot to add them) So we'll pretend this was before the exchange program

Masterlist

Santa-Satan?

Satan was having a peaceful afternoon in the living room, a rare moment of tranquility in the House of Lamentation. He sipped his tea and flipped a page of his latest novel when suddenly, with a poof, a small mountain of envelopes materialized on the coffee table.

Satan stared at the pile. "What is this? Who dares disrupt my reading?" He picked up one of the letters and squinted at the messy handwriting on the front:

"Dear Satan..."

His brow twitched. "Oh, no. Not again."

Lucifer strolled into the room, holding a cup of coffee. He took one look at the stack of letters and smirked. "Ah, the annual Santa-Satan debacle. Always a highlight of the season."

Satan slammed the letter on the desk. "This isn't funny, Lucifer! Why are human children incapable of spelling? Or using spell-check!" He held up an envelope. "This one just says, 'Dear Satan, I want a pony. Love, Jessica.' Do I look like someone who hands out ponies?!"

Lucifer arched a brow. "Well, you do have a soft spot for cats. Ponies aren’t much of a stretch."

Mammon burst in, munching on a cookie. "Oi, what's all the yellin' about? Ohhh, are those Christmas letters?!" He grabbed a random letter and read it aloud:

"Dear Satan, I've been VERY good this year. Can you please bring me a PS5 and a puppy? Thank you!"

Mammon snorted. "Heh, maybe you should deliver a PS5, Satan. It’d make you less cranky."

Satan glared. "Oh sure, Mammon. Let me just conjure a PlayStation out of thin air and hand-deliver it to this... Timmy." He sighed dramatically. "As if my reputation isn't tarnished enough, now children think I'm a knock-off Santa."

Leviathan poked his head into the room. "Wait, is this about the time you accidentally sent a hellhound to a kid instead of a golden retriever? That was classic!"

Satan groaned. "How was I supposed to know the summoning circle would work on a child’s drawing?!"

---

The letters soon became a family affair. Asmodeus had gathered a few to read, giggling over the cute handwriting. "Aw, this one says, 'Dear Satan, I want my big brother to stop being mean to me.' Isn’t that just precious?"

Mammon: "I think pretty much all of us want that don't we?"

Lucifer, giving Mammon the death stare while sipping from his cup: "What did you say, Mammon?"

Mammon mumbling: "Nothin"

Beelzebub, halfway through a pie, mumbled, "If they ask for food, I can help."

Belphegor yawned. "Why don’t you just ignore them? They’ll figure it out eventually."

Satan stormed in, clutching another letter. "This one asked me to make it snow on Christmas! Do they think I’m some sort of weather deity?! AND WHY IS THERE GLITTER IN THESE ENVELOPES?" He shook his hand, scattering sparkles everywhere.

---

Eventually, the brothers decided to "help" Satan deal with the letters.

Mammon: "I’ll handle the gifts. These kids want money, right? I can chuck some Grimm at them."

Satan: "They’re human children. They don’t use Grimm!"

Leviathan: "What if we send them anime merch? Everyone loves anime!"

Asmodeus: "Or beauty kits! They’ll thank you later."

Satan pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster."

Lucifer finally intervened, adjusting his gloves with a sigh. "Enough. Clearly, Satan can’t handle this alone. I’ll take care of the mix-up, like always."

Satan glared. "Excuse me, I can handle it. I just don’t want to."

Lucifer smirked. "Of course you don’t."

---

By the end of the week, Satan managed to write curt but polite replies:

"Dear Jessica, I don’t do ponies. Try spelling ‘Santa’ correctly next time. Best, Satan."

Meanwhile, Lucifer, dressed in a suspiciously festive red coat, handled the logistics of redirecting the letters.

As the chaos died down, Satan finally returned to his book—only for another poof of letters to appear.

Satan: "...I’m moving to the Celestial Realm."

[latenightreadingpdf]

Hidden in Plain Sight - Dave Lizewski

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 2 ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Part 3 ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: When Y/S/N saves Kick-Ass from a dangerous situation, he becomes obsessed with trying to uncover her true identity. Little does he know, Y/S/N is a girl from his school who secretly has a crush on him as well. As they patrol together, their worlds collide in ways neither expected, leading to a surprising revelation about who's really behind the mask.

Y/S/N - Your superhero name

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The night sky over New York had a strange way of making a person feel invincible. Dave Lizewski, aka Kick-Ass, was just starting out his amateur superhero career and was already way in over his head. Sure, he'd gotten a few decent hits in on some petty thugs before, but most of the time, he spent more energy trying not to die than actually fighting crime.

Tonight was one of those nights.

He sprinted down an alley, panting, adrenaline surging through his veins. Behind him, two guys—huge, brawny types who clearly had nothing better to do than terrorize the innocent—chased him with knives. His green suit felt like a second skin, clinging to him with every move, though it wasn’t exactly made for high-intensity situations like this. His lungs burned, and a stitch formed in his side. Not good.

“I swear,” he gasped to himself, “I’m gonna die.”

The alley came to an abrupt dead end. He cursed, turning just in time to see the guys closing in, grinning like they'd won the lottery. He raised his fists, trying to look braver than he felt.

"This... is not going to end well," Dave muttered.

Before either of them could lunge, something fast and powerful blurred from the shadows, hitting one of the thugs with such force that he flew backward, crashing into a stack of crates. The second guy barely had time to react before the figure was on him too, taking him down with an expert kick to the stomach.

Dave blinked in disbelief. The figure straightened, revealing a young woman in a sleek, black suit. It wasn’t flashy, but it looked way more professional than his own green and yellow DIY get-up. She had an aura of confidence and strength that radiated even in the dim light.

And, yeah, Dave noticed, she had a killer figure.

"You... you just saved my life!" Dave stammered.

The girl rolled her eyes behind her mask. “Yeah, and I’m guessing it won’t be the last time, Kick-Ass.”

Kick-Ass. She knew his name.

“Wait, who are you?” he asked, his voice still shaky from the adrenaline.

“Call me Y/S/N,” she said casually, as if saving people from imminent death was just another Friday night. “You really should be more prepared for situations like this.”

“I... I thought I was.”

Y/S/N snorted, crossing her arms. "Really? No backup, no weapons? Just... that?" She gestured to his suit. "You're gonna get yourself killed."

Dave flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly from the rush of adrenaline still coursing through him. “I’ll... I’ll do better,” he promised lamely, watching as she walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the night.

And just like that, she was gone.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

At Atomic Comics the next day, Dave was still riding the adrenaline high from his encounter with the mysterious heroine. His friends, Todd and Marty, sat across from him, distracted by the latest issue of X-Men, while Dave rambled on about her.

“I swear, you guys, she was like something out of The Avengers. She totally saved my ass last night. And she was hot. I mean, like, really hot. Her suit—it was super tight. I could barely focus.”

Todd raised an eyebrow, putting his comic down. “Dude, you’re such a nerd. A hot superhero saves you, and that’s what you focus on?”

Dave shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, yeah? You didn’t see her. She’s got this whole thing going on—great moves, great...uh...form. Her ass is—”

"Wow. Really going full perv, aren't we?" Marty quipped, rolling his eyes.

Unbeknownst to Dave, someone had been listening. On the other side of a nearby shelf, Y/N, the kind and somewhat popular girl from school, had been browsing comics too. She knew who Dave was—after all, they had a few classes together—but they had never really talked.

Y/N smiled to herself as she overheard Dave’s rant about his superhero crush. Little did he know that she was Y/S/N, the very girl who had saved his life last night. Hearing him talk about her alter-ego like that—saying she was cool, hot, and all that—was...well, flattering in a weird way. And the fact that he was so obviously into her made things a lot more interesting.

Still smiling, Y/N grabbed a random comic, paid for it, and headed out, a plan forming in her head.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Later that week, Dave suited up as Kick-Ass once again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Y/S/N during his patrol. After their first encounter, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had this presence that he couldn’t shake off, and it didn’t help that his crush was amplified by the fact that she’d saved him. She was the real deal—a hero, like he wanted to be.

“Kick-Ass.”

Dave turned at the sound of her voice, heart skipping a beat. She was there, perched casually on a rooftop ledge, looking down at him with that same cool confidence.

“Y/S/N!” He tried to sound smooth, but his voice cracked just a little.

“You’re not going to need saving again, are you?” she teased, dropping down to the street in front of him.

“I’ve got it covered this time,” he said, puffing out his chest just a little. “Totally prepared.”

Y/S/N gave him a once-over, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Sure you are.”

The two of them walked together, patrolling the empty streets, though it was a quiet night—too quiet, really.

“So, Kick-Ass,” Y/S/N started, her voice casual. “There’s this guy I go to school with. He’s in a few of my classes.”

Dave’s heart gave a little lurch. Was she... opening up to him? Maybe this was his chance to learn more about her.

“Yeah? What about him?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“He’s super nerdy, kind of awkward. But he’s... well, he’s hot. Like, really hot.”

Dave blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I bet he’s got... you know, a lot going on,” she continued, her voice dropping slightly. “In more ways than one.”

Dave felt his face flush. “Oh.”

“I can’t focus in class because I’m too busy thinking about him,” she added. “It’s a problem, I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow, okay. Um... who’s the guy?” he asked, not really wanting to know but needing to at the same time.

“Dave Lizewski,” Y/S/N said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dave stopped dead in his tracks. His brain short-circuited for a second. “Wait... what? Did you just... did you just say Dave Lizewski?”

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable behind her mask. “Yeah, why? You know him?”

“I—uh—” Dave’s thoughts tumbled over each other in a chaotic mess. She knows me. She actually knows me. And she thinks I’m hot?!

Y/S/N didn’t give him any time to process. “Anyway, I gotta run. Crime won’t stop itself.” She gave him a little wave before disappearing into the night once more, leaving Dave standing there, still in shock.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

That night, Dave immediately FaceTimed Todd and Marty, pacing his room in a frenzy.

“Guys! You are not going to believe what just happened!” he blurted out as soon as they answered.

“What is it now, man?” Marty asked, exasperated.

“I think Y/S/N goes to our school.”

Both of them stared at him blankly through the screen.

“No, seriously! She was talking about a guy she likes in her classes. And then she said my name! My actual name!”

Todd snorted. “Okay, but how do you know she’s not just messing with you?”

“I... don’t know. But it seemed real,” Dave insisted. “I think she really goes to school with me. And now I have to figure out who she is.”

He grabbed his old yearbook off the shelf and flipped it open. “There’s gotta be some kind of clue.”

Todd and Marty exchanged skeptical glances but eventually joined in, helping him comb through the yearbook. They scanned faces, trying to match anyone they knew with the mystery of Y/S/N.

“Alright, so we need a plan,” Dave said, leaning over the pages. “Monday, we’re going to do some recon. Check out anyone who might be her. We’ll figure this out.”

Todd and Marty, albeit reluctantly, nodded in agreement.

“Sure, dude. Recon mission on Monday.”

Dave closed the yearbook with a snap, his mind racing. Somewhere in the sea of students, Y/S/N was hiding in plain sight. And now, he was more determined than ever to find out who she was—both in and out of her suit.

Little did he know, Monday would bring him more answers than he could’ve ever expected.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N ~ there’s not enough Kick-Ass fanfics on here and I’m sick of it :( lmk if you want a part 2

[otherone12]

Hi, I'm obsessed with the way you write your stories and I'd like to ask for a request, it's the first time I've done one but I love your stories. I'd like to ask you for one about basement gee x reader (the plot doesn't matter) but I'd like something smut (of course one where both are of legal age) but I'd like to see gerard as someone who is geeky and is in love (somewhat sickly) with the reader

I'm sorry if it's weird, and also English is not my first language so I'm sorry if the wording of the message is bad.

I’m Awkward, Not Dangerous!

Basement!Gerard Way x Reader

-> Masterlist

Hi!!! Omg, I'm glad you like my fics <3 !!! And also thanks for requesting!! I really loved the idea!! Well, I tried to make his nerdy side very visible, mainly by making him very weird in terms of social relationships and some geek references along in the story. Ngl, I had to write this one like three times, 'cause was never good enought, but I think it's nice now lol. I hope you like it! (If it turned out too different from what you imagined, let me know and I'll try to fix it :) )

(If u have some suggestion, idea, or request, just drop it! )

Summary: It suppoused to be another day, but things turned a different when Gerard invite you to watch a movie in his basement, let's just say he REALLY likes you, and you discovered this in the creepy way possible. (I'm terrible at writing summaries)

- Word Count: 3.000

- Warnings: afab SMUT, awkward gerard.

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1st Person POV

School sucks, our senior year was supposed to be a little funnier, right? Unfortunately, that's not what's happening, but it's infinitely better when they're with me.

Sometimes we spent entire periods outside the classroom, just chatting about anything and listening to our favorite bands, while we smoke behind the bleachers.

This was another one of those afternoons, where one less math lesson didn't make any difference, and it seemed much more interesting to hear Frank make jokes about someone's clothes. Followed by Mikey update us on the latest gigs in town, or Ray making insightful comments on every topic that comes up.

Sometimes, Gerard talks about the backstories of the heroes he created, so we spend hours thinking of outfits and some scenes that might be cool. Is really cute when he gets all excited talking about things he likes.

After a while, the conversation starts to wind down. Frank is scrolling through his phone, muttering something about needing to practice with his band. Mikey checks the time and mentions that his work shift was going to start. Ray says he has to study for some test he has tomorrow, and heads out first, leaving the rest of us behind with a lazy wave.

- Guess that’s it for me, folks. - Frank said, getting up - if I miss one more essay they'll look for another guitarist.

- I think I'll go too - Mikey stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his backpack, making his way to the video store - but I'll probably be home by 9pm… maybe later if Pete and I go drink something after the shift.

Within minutes, it’s just Gerard and I.

He’s sitting a little awkwardly, tucking strands of hair behind the ear, like he’s waiting for the right moment to say something. It’s sweet how shy he gets sometimes, especially when the others aren’t around to drown out the silence. There’s always something a little different about him when it’s just the two of us.

- So, uh…- He cleared his throat. - Do you... wanna come over? I was gonna watch that new horror movie I told you about. The really bad one with the cheesy practical effects…

His voice was low, and he blinked with his beautiful hazel eyes, pleading. After a few seconds, he gave a shy, hopeful smile.

- I mean, only if you’re not busy or anything…

- Nope, I’m totally free. - I smiled at him, excited to watch the movie with him.

The walk to Gerard’s house is filled with easy conversation. He talks about the movie, rambling about the director’s other films, his company was really nice, actually. Every now and then, my shoulder brushes his, and I swear I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Wasn’t something bothering, but it’s kinda… weird?

When we finally reach Gerard’s place, he fumbled with his keys at the front door, a little too eager.

- My parents aren’t home… - He said, being a bit surprised - Well, I'm gonna fix the things in my room in the basement… Can you wait a minute?

he scratched the back of his neck, apparently nervous, so I let out a smile in an attempt to comfort him. I understand that since we hadn't arranged it beforehand, he didn't have time to prepare or anything.

- Sure!

- I’ll be right back - Gerard rushed to his basement, and I stayed in the living room of Way’s house.

Looking around, I saw family pictures, some paints on the wall, books, a pretty carpet… It was a pretty house. Wasn’t long before Gerard returned from the basement, nodding and beckoning me to follow.

Wasn’t the first time I went to his basement, but I was never alone with him.

It’s cluttered but cozy, just like the other times: comics spread out on his bed, action figures on shelves, and posters of old movies plastered along the walls. His bed was covered with a batman sheet, and he gestures toward it with an awkward smile.

- Make yourself comfortable. - Again, he rushed away, going to the kitchen - I’ll grab drinks.

I sat down, noticing the little details scattered everywhere. He even has a stack of DVDs, just waiting to be watched. It’s easy to see how much of himself Gerard has poured into this space, and somehow, that makes it feel intimate.

He came back with two cans of soda, handing me one as he flops onto the bed beside me. His knee bumped into mine, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed play on the remote, the movie starting with a dramatic, over-the-top horror intro.

As the lights dim and the movie flickers to life, I notice Gerard sneaking a glance my way. It’s quick, like he’s checking to see if I’m still there or if I’ve evaporated into thin air. He shifted in his seat, awkwardly pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands.

I tried to focus on the screen, I really do, but out of nowhere, his hand brushes against mine. It was kind of an accidental touch, my heart raced, but I didn’t move it.

After some seconds of just the sound of the movie filling the room, Gerard cleaned his throat and took a deep breath, like he was trying to take courage to say something.

- Y’know… - I turned my attention to him - I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.

I Glance at him, and he’s looking at the TV like he’s afraid it might explode if he makes eye contact with me.

- Do what? - I asked, trying not to sound as jittery as I feel.

- Uh... spend time with just you. - He scratched the back of his neck, and his gaze moved from the tv to me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I defaulted to my nervous habit, fiddling with my bracelet, twisting it around my wrist like it holds the answer to every awkward situation. Gerard noticed, of course, because apparently, he has a PhD in Me Studies.

- You don’t have to be nervous, sugar.

“Sugar”? He never called me that way before. But he kept talking, like it wasn’t a big deal. I did not protest, I actually kinda liked it.

- You always mess with that bracelet when you’re nervous. - He said like it was something obvious - It’s... kinda cute.

I shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, only to realize: Gerard isn’t watching the movie. He’s watching me. And he’s terrible at being subtle about it.

Before I can process what’s happening, he slips his hand into mine, like a middle-schooler figuring out how to hold hands for the first time. His palm is warm, a little sweaty, okay, a lot of sweat, but weirdly... I didn’t mind.

It wasn't as if I didn't like him, maybe I really liked him too, I'd just never thought about it before. Back to the movie, my mind was filled with a million other things to think about, so I couldn't even focus on looking at the screen. My gaze traveled around the room, but something caught my eye: a small, familiar notebook lying half-tucked beneath a pile of DVDs on the coffee table really close to his bed.

The same notebook Gerard always carries with him at school, the one he’s always scribbling in during lunch or between classes. I couldn’t help myself to take advantage of Gerard's distraction, and I flipped it open. 

My eyes went wide and my heart skipped a beat when I saw what was inside that notebook. Pages and pages of photos of me. Some printed, others cut out from old Polaroids. All of them are candid shots, taken without my knowledge. There’s one of me smoking behind the bleachers, another of me laughing with Mikey, and several from school, walking to class, sitting at my desk, leaning against my locker.

Each one is accompanied by small, scribbled notes in Gerard’s messy handwriting. Things like “She looks so pretty here.” or “I wish this was just the two of us.” … Along with sketches of portraits, pieces of comics that meant something in our “relationship”. There were sketches of us together, drawn in different comic styles, one of us as Jedi, another as superheroes, and even one as cartoon vampires, all accompanied by little speech bubbles with inside jokes.

Every page flipped, I got even more shocked about the large amount of content he has there. Things from years ago, and the last things were from the last days.

- Hey... What are you looking at? - His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a note of panic creeping in.

I glance up to see Gerard frozen in place, his hazel eyes wide with fear as he notices the notebook in your hands.

- W-where did you…? - He mumbled, turning bright red, embarrassed - Uh... I can explain! Wait, no, I mean- don't freak out... It’s... okay, it looks bad, but it’s not that bad.

He let go from my hand and got up, rubbing his hands together nervously. he began to pant, and his countenance indicated that he was desperately looking for an excuse.

- Well, it is exactly what it looks like! - I yell, turning back to the notebook, still shocked, analyzing every page.

He turned around, rubbing one of his hands over his face in a messy motion. Before long, he began to walk around the room in circles, while his shaky voice continued to speak.

- Oh God, I’m gonna die. Yep. This is how I die. - he murmured to himself, before facing me again - Just bury me under these comics.

Before i could say anything, he blurts:

- Okay, look… it’s not like I’m a total creep, okay? I-I just... thought you looked cool... like, really cool, and, um - The words rushed out of his mouth, as if he had stopped thinking and was just throwing anything to ease the situation -… okay, I might have taken some pictures without asking… b-but it’s not like ‘weird’ weird! It’s... more... uh... admiration?

I couldn't hide my look of confusion. At the same time as I wanted to get out of there, I didn't want to. It was obviously strange, but at the same time it was adorable the way he noticed me. The things he wrote in that notebook said so much more than I could have imagined he felt. Not giving me time to think about what to say, he kept going.

- I thought, y'know, maybe if I... cataloged- no, wait, bad word… uh, recorded...? - He groans - I swear I sound less creepy in my head.

- Look, I was gonna tell you... - He insists, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. - I mean, not like this, obviously. 

He catched my confused expression and groans again.

-Ugh, you probably think I’m a total loser now.

The more he spoke, the less frightening the situation became and the cuter he seemed to me. So I stood up, in a failed attempt to calm him down, but the result was the complete opposite.

- Wait! Please don’t go. I-I know this is... a lot. But I promise I’m not some psycho. - He pauses, then adds, - Like, I’m awkward, not dangerous! 

I don't know where that feeling came from. Maybe it's always been there. I wanted to hug him, kiss him and tell him that it was fine, that I knew he wasn’t a psycho. 

 - Okay, okay! I know I’m weird, but... don’t leave me hanging here. Please. I really... like you. - the statement caught me off guard. it's not as if it wasn't obvious, but I wasn't prepared.  -  Like, more than I ever thought possible.

The way he looks at me, a perfect mix of nervous wreck and hopeful puppy is strangely endearing. Something about his awkward honesty makes it impossible to walk away. So I finally react, letting a grin escape from the corner of my lip. 

- You’re such a dork, Gee. - I chuckled, and his eyes opened wide.

- W-wait, does that mean…? - A confused happiness made Gerard freeze and look directly at me. 

-Yeah. - I approached him, smiling and rolling my eyes - I think I like you too, you idiot.

-Oh my God… - his hazel eyes glowed and a huge smile formed in his pink lips - this is like one of those rom-coms where the nerd actually wins?!

I shook my head, laughing at his words. He’s still red-faced and fumbling, but it’s clear now: he’s just a lovable, geeky mess who adores me in his own awkward way.

- No pressure or anything, but, uh... If we were in a romance movie, this would be the part where the two leads kiss.

I chuckled and my lips reached his. The warm sensation filled my body, the kiss was sloppy and desperate, felt like something he was holding for too long, something he couldn’t deal with anymore. His hands held my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He let out a soft moan and pulled back only to whisper:

- This feels like... you know... that scene in Return of the Jedi when-

- Gerard, - I interrupted, laughing. - Less Star Wars and more kissing, please.

- Right, yeah, sorry. - He turned bright red.

Gerard catched my lips again, deeper this time, with a bit more confidence. His hand slid to my waist, thumb brushing lazy circles against my skin, and his tongue explored my mouth, while he laid me down on his bed. His lips trailing down to my neck, scattering kisses that made my whole body buzz.

-You smell amazing. Like... that forest level in that one game. You know, the one where…

He trailed off, realizing how silly it sounded, but the look on his face was too earnest to be embarrassed.

- You are such a dork. - I laughed again, running my fingers through his messy hair. 

- Yeah, but I’m your dork, - he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, planting soft kisses along my collarbone.

His touch was gentle but hungry, as if each kiss, each brush of his fingers, was an apology for all the moments he’d spent longing for this. 

When he slid his hands under my shirt, he paused, looking at me with wide, nervous eyes. 

- Is this... okay? - he asked, shyly. The insecurity in his tone of voice was adorable, no more so than the sparkle in his eyes as he saw me give him a nod, lifting my arms so he could pull the shirt over my head. His gaze lingered on me, admiration glowing in his eyes. - Wow... You’re so -

- Gerard.-  I touched his face, guiding him back down for another kiss. - You’re doing fine.

He smiled, clearly relieved, and kissed me again, this time more eagerly. His hands, still trembling slightly, found their way to the button of my jeans. He fumbled for a moment, biting his lip in concentration. 

Once my jeans were off, he took a moment to just look at me, his hands resting on my hips as if grounding himself. 

- I don’t want to mess this up -  he whispered. 

- You’re not messing anything up, Gee..- i calmed him, brushing a thumb over his flushed cheek - Just... keep going

That was all the encouragement he needed. He kissed me again, his hands moving with a little more certainty now, sliding beneath my bra to touch bare skin. I gasped, arching into his touch, and he let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

When he finally got out of his clothes, struggling with his belt in the process,

 -  Stupid thing… -  he muttered  flustered and I couldn't stop smiling. 

He was trying so hard, and there was something endearing about how eager yet unsure he was.

He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring the moment as his hands trailed down to my thighs, spreading them gently. His boxers were the last to go, and when I felt him against me, the heat between us became impossible to ignore.

- I’ve dreamed about this, - Gerard admitted breathlessly, kissing the side of my neck. - About you... For so long.

I felt my body react to him instinctively, desire building with every brush of his skin against mine. When he paused, hovering just at the edge, his eyes searched mine one last time.

- Is this okay? -  he whispered, his voice low and full of both need and vulnerability.

- Yes,-  I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. - I want this, Gee.

And then, with a slow, careful thrust, his cock was inside me. I gasped, gripping his hair as my body adjusted to the sensation. The burn was sweet and overwhelming.

He started moving, hesitant at first, like he was still learning how to sync with me. But every time I moaned his name, he seemed to gain a little more confidence, his rhythm becoming more certain, more desperate.

The heat between us grew, the room filled with soft gasps and whispered encouragement. His hands roamed my body, one settling on my waist, the other cradling my face as if I were something precious. As deeper he was coming I felt the tension coil in my stomach, tighter and tighter, until I was teetering right on the edge. 

- I’m close…

- Do it, sugar, - he panted, his voice thick with need. - Cum for me.

With a final thrust, the pleasure crashed over me like a wave. I clenched around him, clinging to him, nails digging into his back as I moaned his name, lost in the intensity of it.

Gerard groaned, his movements faltering as he reached his own release. The warmth of the ropes of his cum filling me up pushed me deeper into my own bliss, and we stayed like that, tangled together, catching our breath.

He pressed a lazy kiss to my shoulder, his body still trembling slightly. 

- Wow… -  he whispered, sounding both dazed and amazed. - That was... better than any dream I’ve ever had.

I laughed softly, brushing damp hair from his forehead. 

- Yeah. Way better.

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~ sooo, that's it! Let me know if you liked! :)

[cloudluvrrr]

fluff with obsessive (ok sounds hella creepy lmao) madly in love sunday but NOT LIKE THE YANDERE TYPE IF YK WHAT I MEAN. LIKE THE TYPE WHERE HE WILL WORSHIP THE GROUND U WALK AND THANK THE AEONS HE BREATHES THE SAME AIR AS U

basically sunday who sees you as the aeon of beauty herself

a/n: i love sunday guys hes so cute i wish he wasnt so negative and traumatized. Also idk if it was but i just made him like love bomb you but its permanent and he just loves you a lot and worships you and also general ideas 😭🙏

loving! sunday x g/n reader

Angel

virtual angel - artms

--

-hes very busy, with meetings and constantly is in his office. Reviewing plans or studying the scripture. But he never fails to send you texts

'hello angel <3'

"I will be home late, please don't stay up for me <3."

“I’ve made us restaurant reservations, so be ready when I get home <3.”

-his texts are always grammatically correct, since hes always writing to his colleagues or to other families.

-but sometimes he tried to incorporate emoticons.

“How are you my angel? :3”

“These meetings are boring. ;-;”

"Hello darling, I bought take out! o((>ω< ))o"

-he’s so cute

-but he often checks in when he has a chance too, and often responds quickly. And always ends his message with a heart.

-when speaking of you or to you he smiles with his eyes closed. He will find any excuse to talk about you

-and he’ll likely bring your flowers after a long day, as an apology for taking too long.

-taking you to his 'family' dinners, and parties.

-and help you dress up and even put on your makeup, jewelry, and help you with your zipper/tie/buttons.

-kissing your cheek, and shoulder as he does. Whispering sweet things in your ear.

-he'll always have things for you incase of an emergency as well, if you find yourself with a spill or your shoes are hurting. He'll tell his assistant to bring you a new pair and escort you to a private room.

-during parties he'll drag you away, to walk around just the two of you

—

Your sitting on the couch on your phone, reading the latest news before your attention is turned to the door opening. Revealing Sunday as he carried a small bouquet of flowers “I apologize the florist didn’t have any that were bigger my love” he began as he closed the door “I’ll buy you bigger ones next time”

"you and your gifts for me sunday" you spoke taking the flowers from him and arranging them. "I love giving you things, I have money to throw around why not spend it on my lovely fiance" he replied playing with your hair, and burying his nose into your collarbone "you're so wonderful... " he uttered his hands gently rubbing your waist "so perfect.. I love you very much you know"

--

-Sunday only works during the week, on weekends he's all yours.

-you both wake up late in his expensive bed, he'll be all over you in the morning whispering sweet nothings.

-he'll make breakfast, whatever you want he'll make.

-Making a plan of what you want and organize the day to fit your schedule. Ordering his driver around and having a private shopping day

-giving anyone a look if they look at your a little weird

-buying you anything and everything 'I dont have any other use for my credits' he'd say as he placed another ring on your finger.

--

"Sunday I can make pancakes" you huff trying to take the spatula from his thin fingers

"You work too hard, It time for me to pamper you" he said slyly, bringing up your hand and kissing your knuckles. "You do that every week"

"oh do I? I guess i forget" he chuckles flipping the pancakes.

"Would you like bacon with that my love?"

--

-you spend weekends together, in restaurants or shopping.

-or just at home lazing around, watching tv, scrolling through social medias or just petting his wings.

-he spoils you in every shape and form.

-buying you earrings, rings, necklaces and all kinds of stuff that'll make you happy

--

"this looks lovely on you doesn't it" he said pulling out a frilly shirt, with a gentle smile. "Sunday I have that one in 3 colors"

"it looks so beautiful on you why not have one more" he said putting up again your torso "its on sale as well" he added placing it on the overfilled basket

--

- He'll try to hide his stress and his own emotions from you, in an effort to not affect you.

-sometimes he'll open up about his past if hes tipsy enough, his wing piercings, his clipped wing on his torso, his trauma with the family, loosing his mother.

-especially when its something with that gopher fuck gopher wood

-you could tell when he was anxious, he would touch his piercing on his wing or play with his gloves

-that and he'll be spacing out during dinner

--

"did something happen a work" you asked taking his hand from his wing. "Nothing to worry your pretty head about" he said calmly kissing your hand, and smiling. "your sure.. you seem antsy" you insist "Just a bit antsy for the festival.. Hoping everything will be perfect, especially you. We have to find a new outfit for you don't we?"

--

-he was always a smooth talker and manipulative, hes able to easily do it when your worried as well.

-he does it so you dont think about it too much, as well as using gifts to lead you away from the conversation

-he doesn't like manipulating his love he'll avoid it, but its so you dont ask too many questions.

--

"I love you, you know that" he said not looking up from his desk, as he spoke to you over the phone "I know that.. I'm just worried you know, you haven't taken any days off this week." you vocalized as he continues his paper work "I'll make us reservations at your favorite restaurant" he suggests finally picking up the phone

"Sunday.. I just want to know you're okay"

"I am my angel, please stop worrying we'll see eachother at dinner. I love you, alright? I love you.. very much" he murmured before hanging up. His mind had many thoughts but you were always on top, he smiled to himself as he looked as the many photos of you on his desk.

--

Sunday loves you very much, his only regret it not showing it more. As he fell from the penacony theatre, his eyes following the horizon as he envisioned your smile. The only thing giving him hope, that he'll survive this fall.

-

STREAAM TTYL BY LOOSEMBLE GUYSYY

also kinda got carried away 😔😔

-- navi >.<

[kiwriteswords]

Ok what if you can’t sleep and you’re dating Hotch how would he act/help/do!? (Can be sfw or nsfw!)

NEED THIS BADLY RN. Also I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors…I should be sleeping, but here I am!

___

You let out a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling as sleep continued to evade you. The familiar weight of Aaron’s arm draped over your waist, his steady breathing at your back. Yet, no matter how cozy the warmth of his body felt against you, your mind refused to slow down.

“Aaron?” you whispered, feeling a little guilty for breaking the silence.

He stirred slightly behind you, his hand resting gently on your hip as his voice came soft, husky with sleep. “Hmm?”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, a little embarrassed to disturb him with something so trivial.

Aaron shifted, pressing closer to you, his chest firm against your back. “You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, though he couldn’t see it. “No, just… too much on my mind, I guess.”

He was quiet for a moment, his hand sliding up your arm, tracing gentle patterns with his fingertips.

“How about I tell you about my day?” he murmured, his voice a soothing, low rumble. “Something to focus on other than whatever’s keeping you up.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Okay,” you whispered, relaxing a little further into his embrace.

“Well,” he began, his voice soft and warm as he rested his chin against your shoulder, “Jack and I were talking about this weekend. He wants to go camping—said he’s going to be in charge of the s’mores this time.”

You smiled at the thought of Jack insisting on being the s’mores captain. Aaron’s fingers continued tracing slow lines up and down your arm, his touch featherlight, lulling you into a relaxed state.

“He’s also been obsessed with this new book. Some sort of science fiction series,” Aaron continued, his tone affectionate as he spoke about his son. “He’s been asking a lot of questions about space travel and wormholes. It’s pretty impressive how much he’s absorbing.”

His voice, deep and comforting, filled the room, and you felt yourself becoming more and more focused on the sound of it, the steady cadence easing the swirl of thoughts in your mind.

His voice grew quieter, softer, as he spoke about other small things—the plans he had with Jack, the team's latest cases, the simple things he looked forward to in the coming weeks. You listened, his voice lulling you into a peaceful state, your breathing finally slowing to match his.

With each steady breath, you felt sleep tugging at you, the comforting warmth of Aaron’s body, his soothing voice, and the gentle motion of his hand finally easing you into rest. Just before you drifted off, you heard him whisper, “I love you. Sweet dreams.”

And in that moment, everything felt right. You were safe, secure, and cherished in his arms, and for the first time that night, sleep came easily.

I can’t sleep, so I’ll write you a short drabble!