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f1nalboys · 11 months ago

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Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo.

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.”

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.”

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch.

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…”

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers.

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him.

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera.

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’ You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

#f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys works #bo sinclair #house of wax #slashers #slasher x reader #bo sinclair x reader #valentines day fic #bo sinclair x y/n #slasher x y/n #house of wax 2005

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 8 months ago

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Hi, honey! Could you please write something about Emily Prentiss having a teenage daughter who sh’s and Em finds out? I know you wrote something similar and it’s perfectly okay if you feel like this is too repetitive <3 Ps; you’re so incredible and I aspire to be able to write like you do!! <3

Here you go, Anon! It's true, I've had a lot of SH-related requests recently, but I really don't mind the repetition. If it's something people want more of, and it helps them feel safe and heard and loved, I'm happy to write it. ❤️ (and thank you so much I'm so flattered! <3)

Tiny

Emily Prentiss x daughter!reader Warnings: self-harm, discussion of self-harm and self-harm tools, mental illness, internalized homophobia, explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.8k

Summary: After your best friend moves away, you start to struggle with depression, loneliness, and self-harm. You do a pretty good job of hiding it for a while but your mom is a profiler after all.

You’d been so good, so good, at hiding it. Long sleeves. Bracelets. You kept the tiny, sharp travel scissors in your locker at school, disguised in a bag with fabric and buttons and needles. A sewing project, you always said if anyone asked. But no one asked.

The truth of the matter was that you didn’t have many friends. And Sophia, your best friend since second grade, had moved to Denver last year for her dad’s job. You’d sworn to keep in touch, sworn that you’d stay best friends no matter what. And you’d tried, you’d really tried. But the daily texts had turned into weekly texts. The every-other-night FaceTime calls became every-other-month. And every time you talked to her, it seemed like her life was better than ever. She had new friends. A new soccer team. Even a boyfriend. It seemed like every time you called her, she was with him.

It hurt when you realized that Sophia liked spending time with her new boyfriend more than spending time with you. But it had hurt even more to examine your own jealousy, your own inexplicable rage at her moving on, making new friends, having new experiences. The reality–that you liked Sophia as more than a friend–hit you like a gut punch. And you didn’t know who to talk to about it. Normally, you’d talk to Sophia. But you couldn’t talk to her about this. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you were good enough friends to talk about boys or girls or whoever anymore. She’d drifted away and left you behind.

You thought about talking to your mom–she’d dated girls. But she was so busy with work, so stressed. She tried really hard not to let on when she was home, but you could see how tired she was, how she nodded blankly when you told her about your day, her mind elsewhere. No doubt with the hundreds of psychopaths and murderers she investigated every day.

You didn’t know who you were or what you were. You just knew that you were lonely and hurt and so deeply confused. There were other LGBTQ+ kids at school, but they’d all been out since middle school. They had that unbreakable comradery that queer kids who flock together often have. And you’d missed it.

All the confusion, all the hurt, all the feelings, roiled inside you until there was no place for it to go except out. The first time you’d drawn the scissors across your forearm, the blood had surprised you, as had the brief moment where there was blood but no pain. But when the pain did hit, it felt like a balloon had popped, like something that had been growing and growing and pressing in on you had shrunk back down to a manageable size.

Of course, the shame followed. Of course, you felt terrible, guilty, ashamed, sick to your stomach. Of course, you cried when you thought about what your mom would say if she saw it, what Sophia would say. But even worse, you knew they’d ask why. And you were terrified to talk about why. So you put on your long sleeves. You started wearing bracelets. And you hoped that no one would notice.

But that night, after a quick dinner of takeout pizza and Caesar salad, your mom had asked you to wash up and, without thinking, you’d rolled up your sleeves to do the dishes.

“Oh my god!” your mom exclaimed, rushing to your side. “What happened to your arm!?”

It was so stupid. You’d been so careful. You’d kept this a secret for months and now, with just one fuck-up, you’d ruined it.

“Nothing!” you cried, squirming out of her grip. “I just… I scratched myself, that’s all.”

But your mom wasn’t stupid. She spoke six languages. She headed an FBI unit. She was the smartest person you knew. She profiled people for a living. And she could tell when you were lying.

“Y/N!” she chastised, grabbing onto your arms hard. She'd also trained in hand-to-hand combat so you were really no match for her.

She turned your wrists around so she could see the inside of your arms, and the look on her face nearly broke you. It was sadness, it was guilt, it was shock and disbelief and worry, so much worry. You stared at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry, mouth clamped shut.

“Y/N,” she said, quieter, running a gentle thumb along your forearms. “Tiny, look at me.” A tear dripped down your cheek. She didn’t call you Tiny much these days. And you always rolled your eyes when she did. It was what she’d called you when you were little. I love you, Tiny. You're so strong, Tiny! You can do it! Everything’s gonna be okay, Tiny.

You sniffed and lowered your head to look at her, more tears falling. You saw that your mom had tears in her eyes, too, and it made you feel awful.

“How long have you been hurting yourself?” she asked, her voice calm and gentle, full of emotion.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, sniffling. “Maybe like… six months?”

She let out a shaky sigh and nodded. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Okay.” After a moment, she drew you into her, and you pressed your face into her chest, finally letting yourself cry.

“It’s okay, honey,” she cooed, smoothing your hair as she hugged you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

When your sobs had calmed to hiccups, you emerged, face red and blotchy. Your mom wiped your face with her hands and motioned to the kitchen table. “This might be hard for you,” she started, looking at you earnestly. “But we need to talk about it. Go ahead and sit down. I’m gonna make us some tea.”

You took deep, soothing breaths as your mom set a steeping cup of chamomile in front of you, holding her own close to her chest.

“Are you mad at me?” you whispered, scared of the conversation to come.

“No, baby,” she assured you, squeezing your hand. “I’m not mad. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

You nodded.

“Now, first things first,” she began, and you winced, sure she was going to take something away from you or ground you or something. “Do you know how to properly clean and dress a cut like that?”

You blinked in surprise. “Uh…” You were floundering. This is not where you expected this conversation to go. “I mean, I put band-aids on them.”

“Yeah, no,” your mom said, taking out her phone and making a note. “We’re gonna get you some alcohol sterilizer. Let’s see… Neosporin, gauze bandages. Probably butterfly bandages too, just in case. And whatever it is that you’re using for… this… you need to be sanitizing it before you use it.”

Your jaw dropped and you stared at her. “You don’t… want me to stop?”

She clicked the phone shut and stared purposefully at you. “Oh, no. Hear me loud and clear. I absolutely want you to stop. But… from what I know about self-harm, it’s a process. It might take some time. You might have relapses. And I just want you to be as safe as you can in recovery.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you said quietly, surprised at her response. You hadn’t really thought about being safe while cutting. Since cutting itself wasn’t exactly safe. Trust your mom to always be looking for ways to take care of you.

Your mom pursed her lips for a moment, as if thinking about how to proceed. And, once again, you were terrified that she was going to make you feel worse somehow, even if she didn’t mean to.

“It’s okay,” she stuttered, breathing out heavily, “if you don’t want to talk to me about what’s making you want to do this, but you need to talk to somebody. So tomorrow I’m gonna make some phone calls and we’re gonna find a therapist. And if your therapist recommends it, we might need to find you a psychiatric facility for a little bit.”

Ice-cold panic flooded your veins. “No, Mom, please!”

“Hey, hey,” she said, grabbing your hands. “It is not a punishment. There is nothing wrong or shameful about your brain needing some help, okay? Even if it’s scary, we’re gonna do what we need to do to help you get better. Yes?”

You exhaled and nodded.

“Okay. So that’s what we’re gonna do.”

You were both silent for a moment, sipping your tea. You wished you could tell what your mom was thinking. You wished you could tell her what you were thinking. You so desperately wanted to tell someone. And you were scared. Scared that your mom would never look at you the same again. Scared that you’d never again be that same little girl, her Tiny. There was too much wrong with you.

You sniffled as your eyes filled with tears again. “Mom?” you squeaked.

“Yeah, honey?”

You asked what you were most afraid to ask. “Do you still love me?”

“Oh, baby,” she said, scooting her chair toward you and wrapping you in her arms. “Of course I do. I love you so much. I’ll always love you. You’re my little girl, you’re my Tiny.”

Your shoulders shook as you wept. “I just feel…” you cried. “I just feel like no one really loves me.”

“That’s just not true,” your mom said, rubbing your back. “I love you. All your aunts and uncles at the BAU love you. What about Sophia? She loves you.”

You cried even harder. “No, she doesn’t, Mom.”

Your mom brushed your hair away from her face. “What are you talking about? You talk all the time.”

And when you finally said it, it felt like a weight off your shoulders, like you’d been carrying a mountain for months and someone had finally lifted it away. You shook as you spoke. “She doesn’t love me like I love her.”

Understanding flooded your mom’s face. She nodded, and you could tell by the look on her face, by the empathy in her eyes, by the way she squeezed your hand and cupped your face and pursed her lips that she knew. She knew what it was like. She knew the confusion and the hurt and the self-hatred. She knew it all.

And it was almost better that she didn’t say anything. Anything at all. She just looked at you and understood. She just brushed your tears away with her thumb and let you finish crying. And when your sobs subsided, she held your hand. And she kept holding it. And after a while, she brushed your hair out of your face and said, “Everything’s gonna be okay, Tiny. I promise.”

And you knew–because she was your mom, because she was her, because she loved you and you loved her–that it would be.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x daughter!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #hurt/comfort #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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artydonsgf · 8 months ago

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If you're alright with NSFW prompts, can you think of any kinks the three might have?

hi anon! thank you sm for your request<3 honestly, this account has challenged me so much because i’ve never really written nsfw stuff before. it’s really fun actually! enjoy nsfw headcanons with art, tashi, and patrick

Art Donaldson

- completely submissive in bed

- he likes when you’re rough with him

- hair pulling, biting, nails digging into his back

- needy as fuck, any time you start to slow down, he’s kissing you n begging you to keep going

- loves praise, he’ll do anything to get it

- quick to try new things if you want to

- total begger

- likes being overstimulated

- the idea of being completely overwhelmed by you is so hot to him

- really likes it when you blindfold him

- your touch becomes a million times more exciting when he has no idea where it’s going to come from

- he also likes it when he’s slightly restricted

- not too much because grabbing your hips when you’re on top of him is his favorite thing

- always on the bottom, you have total control

- king of whimpering and moaning and begging (a/n: i need him)

- soft breathy whispers telling you that you’re so beautiful, you make him feel so good, etc

- begs to touch you, he lowkey can’t believe that you’re his

- asks for consent in the most slutty desperate voice ever (it’s very hot)

- desperate, needy, and pathetic is the best way to describe him in bed

- great at aftercare, it’s him showering you in kisses thanking you for rocking his world

- seriously, he’s so gentle and sweet and he always makes you food after

Tashi Duncan

- likes watching you on your knees

- any position where you’re under her does it for her

- likes it when you suck her fingers

- loves when you’re loud

- likes to have sex in non-traditional places

- the car, the shower, downstairs, kitchen, etc

- doesn’t want to share you with anyone but sometimes she wonders what it would be like watching you fuck someone else

- high sex drive

- i mean come on, you’re with the most competitive n passionate woman in the world, did you think that wasn’t gonna translate into bed?

- doesn’t let up even in bed, she makes you work for every ounce of pleasure you want

- you’re spoiled by her but that’s only once you work to get there

- obsessed with giving you hickies

- loves it when you dress up in pretty lingerie

- she slowly undresses you, kissing you everywhere as she goes

- loves buying you lingerie too

- aftercare is the best with her

- you guys shower together and softly whisper sweet words to one another

- you change the sheets together and settle into fresh sheets feeling nice and clean

Patrick Zweig

- total exhibitionist

- likes the thrill of almost being caught so you often find yourself with his hands down your pants in dark corners of parties

- likes being marked

- if he’s not walking away with a million hickies did yall really fuck?

- likes to go without a condom

- obviously with your consent and making sure you’re on birth control

- likes to come on your face when you give him blow jobs

- seeing you covered in his cum makes him hard all over again

- total brat, he does everything possible to rile you up

- he’s also a complete tease, he loves making you beg for him to keep touching you

- loudddd

- neighbors three doors down can hear his moaning

- he’s not even exaggerating either, bro just really can’t help himself when you’re fucking him

- likes it when you dress up in cute outfits

- he barely sees it because he’s so eager to rip it off but the brief moment he does look, he loves it

- aftercare is always sweet but pretty short because sex with you is like his version of melatonin

- besides staying awake for the general clean up, he’s normally out like a light afterwards

- even with quickies, he’s always falling asleep

- pussy so good you put his ass to bed🙏🏾

hiiii idk if this is that good, i spent so long reworking it cause i hated it. butttt i dont wanna keep anyone waiting so i hope you enjoyed<3

#challengers #challengers fic #challengers imagine #challengers headcanon #challengers drabble #art donaldson #tashi duncan #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan x reader #patrick zweig x reader #artydonsgf

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frvnkcastles · 5 months ago

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I feel shithouse for asking since I'm not a girlie, bur I was! Trans guy here but honestly a trauma ex girlie!

Can I request something with a reader (doesn't matter the pronouns if you feel more comfy writing she/her that's chill!) Where the reader is asked to come to Christmas with their family, and frank is a plus one bur you're worried as your family are alcoholics (starting drinking at like 10 til late) and the reader is trying to cut down but their family is really pushy and feels like they're gonna fall back into bad patterns and Frank pulls them away for an hour just talking and smoking a cigarette as the readers the only dart smoker in the family as they've all transitioned to vaping?

(Maybe just mother, brother, sister in law and reader +frank, and possibly the radio keeps turning on and off and the family calling out readers grandparents in the afterlife as the cause v much jokingly?)

YOU’RE THE ONLY PLACE THAT FEELS LIKE HOME �� F. CASTLE

Summary: When you have to deal with your alcoholic family, Frank is there to support you.

Warnings: Alcoholism, implied past abuse, mention of deceased grandparents, reader smokes, language, gender neutral reader

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: Anon, don’t feel bad at all!! This is a safe space for everyone no matter what and you’re 100% welcome here. I do wish more of my fics were gender neutral but often my ideas come from my own experiences as a mentally ill/traumatized woman and when I get requests, they usually mention she/her pronouns. That said, while I don’t really know how to write from the perspective of a man, I have no problem writing a gender neutral reader if it’s specified. Also, I am very sorry you had to wait such a long time for this, I hope you like it!! Sending you lots of love <3

When your family invited you to spend the holidays with them, you instinctively knew you were in for an uncomfortable time. Since you had moved out, you had tried to keep your distance and unlearn the bad habits that you had developed at home — like drinking. That was your first and foremost concern, having to witness their drunken behavior and how the situation would most likely escalate sooner or later, as it always did. You had done a great job of cutting down but you feared that being back in their company would force you to undo all your progress.

The one good thing about the whole thing was that they didn’t protest you bringing Frank along. He made most shitty situations better just by being present, and you instantly felt heard and comforted when he agreed to come with you. Frankly, he was opposed to the mere thought of letting you go alone, knowing all about your complicated family history and therefore determined to support you through every encounter.

”Y’know you’re allowed to decline, yeah? Don’t wanna see you puttin’ yourself through shit just ’cause they’re askin’”, he reminded as you were getting ready to leave for your mother’s house. Pulling on his jacket, he eyed you, looking for any hint of hesitation on your face, but you were doing a good job at putting up a brave front. You wanted to keep the peace, and admittedly, a little bit of you missed your family and ached to spend time with them, even if you knew it probably wouldn’t end well.

”Thanks, Frankie. It’s okay, I want to go. Just… need you by my side”, you sighed, and nodding, Frank stepped over to you to press a kiss on your temple, brief but full of emotion.

”You got me, darlin’. I ain’t goin’ anywhere”, he assured before taking your hand and steering you out the door.

He encouraged you to take deep breaths during the drive over, noticing with ease how anxiety was starting to manifest in your bouncing leg and chewed bottom lip. You tried to take Frank’s advice and keep yourself calm, but as soon as you arrived at the house, you came to the conclusion the night was already becoming more intense than you had anticipated.

There was a haze of drunken stupor in the air and loud chatter filled every room, tipping almost over to downright shouting. Bottles and cans littered the tables and the realization that everyone was already drunk unsettled you, making you swallow hard as you reached for Frank’s hand. He squeezed tight, unwavering as he stood next to you.

”Finally! Took you long enough”, your brother noticed you standing by the door, and he rushed to you, shoving a bottle of beer into your hands. You shook your head and handed it back over to him, which earned a scoff from me. ”What, you too good for us now?” he mocked, but he didn’t linger to hear your response, just stomped back to the dining room where your mother was setting up dinner.

You glanced at Frank, and he directed an affirming nod at you, giving you the strength and will to walk to the dining table with him right behind you. You exchanged greetings with your mother who was clearly tipsy at the very least, and your attempts to make conversation went unheard and unnoticed. You supposed it was a good thing — they weren’t actively picking fights with you, at least.

Frank, ever the gentleman, helped bring in all the food and the plates, with the same goal as you: keeping the peace. He wasn’t interested in befriending your family because of all the trauma they had bestowed upon you, but for your sake, he remained cordial and polite. That said, he was ready to defend you at the smallest thing.

As everyone sat down for dinner, your mother poured you a glass of liquour and you instantly felt opposed to the idea. ”Oh, I don’t really drink anymore”, you tried, and in an instant, your mother and brother exchanged looks that were judgmental as well as surprised.

”One drink won’t kill you”, your mother insisted, continuing to pour until the glass was filled to the brim. You licked your lips nervously, but unwilling to start a full-blown argument by refusing, you reached for the glass.

Frank stopped you, however. ”They don’t gotta drink anythin’ they don’t wanna”, he spoke firmly, his tone stern enough to warn everyone not to start with him. You smiled softly at him and he squeezed your thigh in response, keeping you close to him in the hopes that his warmth would ground you in the otherwise anxiety-inducing environment.

Your mother opened her mouth to retort something, but she was cut off by the radio crackling, quickly redirecting her attention. ”Must be your grandparents again”, she commented with a laugh, one you didn’t return. You shuffled uncomfortably in your seat and Frank gave your arm a comforting caress, his eyes darting between you and your family. He hated seeing you in these situations that only distressed you, and he wished there was more he could have done to help.

But he tried by gaining control of the conversation. It was a gesture you appreciated greatly, especially because you knew he was most definitely not the kind of man who participated in small-talk. He was used to sitting back and observing, but right now, you didn’t have the capacity to keep chatting and he didn’t mind taking the reins on your behalf. He kept your mother busy so that she wouldn’t have the chance to push you to drink, but your brother still jumped at the opportunity.

”You’re really not gonna drink that? God, you really have changed. Can’t even have a drink with your family anymore”, he rolled his eyes, trying his very best to guilt you into having a sip, and it almost worked. You were moments away from cracking under the pressure, but once again, Frank came to your rescue.

”We’re, uh, we’re gon’ get some fresh air. Excuse us”, Frank informed curtly, his words respectful but his tone cold, just like the look in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let you sit there as the target of their complaints anymore, and so, he helped you up from the seat and guided you outside into the refreshing air.

You exhaled heavily as you dug out a cigarette with shaky hands, and Frank ran his hand across his face in frustration. He was seething, feeling so much anger towards your family for being so pushy with you, and he was desperate to just carry you in the car and take you home right now.

”We ain’t gotta stay, baby. The way they treat you… makes me real upset for you. Just say the word and I’ll take you home, got that?” he swore, his eyes piercing yours as you inhaled the cigarette. You pondered on his offer, and you couldn’t deny that it sounded tempting — it wasn’t a good time so far, and you doubted it was getting any better with all the alcohol they were consuming nonstop.

”Yeah, I don’t really want to stay for long. Let’s just get through dinner and then we’ll go?” you suggested, and sucking in a breath, Frank bowed his head in an agreeing nod.

”Whatever you wanna do. But I ain’t lettin’ you drink when you’ve done so well without any”, he decided with a point of his finger, and with an appreciative smile curling your lips, you reached for his forearm and squeezed.

”Thank you, Frankie. This would suck a lot more without you”, you noted, and with a quiet chuckle, Frank shrugged.

”Yeah, well, I’d need a damn good reason not to be here for you. I don’t want you to deal with all this all by yourself, y’know?” he explained, stepping closer to you and winding an arm over your shoulders. He pulled you closer, and while making sure you wouldn’t get ash on him, you leaned into him and enjoyed the feeling of his firm body against yours.

”I know it sucks. It’s just… they’re my family. I’ve realized it’s not healthy for me to spend a lot of time with them but sometimes I miss them”, you admitted quietly, a little embarrassed to speak the truth, but Frank wouldn’t judge you.

He pressed a kiss into your hair, in fact. ”I hear ya. It ain’t easy to cut off the people you’ve grown up with. I’m proud of you, anyway. You’re doin’ so great, hear me?” he emphasized, wanting you to know that he admired your strength. You were the most amazing person he knew and he would never let you forget that.

”You’re so sweet”, you muttered, shy under his praise and deep stare, and he reacted with a snort.

”That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that ’bout me, sweetheart”, he declared, and it made you laugh — even if you strongly felt like he should hear it all the time.

Sighing, you put out your cigarette. ”I guess we should head back inside”, you gave in, but with a tut, Frank pulled you back from the door.

”I mean, they ain’t exactly lookin’ for us yet. We’re in no hurry, yeah? We can take a moment, just you and me”, he proposed instead, and you didn’t take much convincing, especially with his dark eyes looking so soft and caring as they bore into yours. There was a small, hopeful smile on his lips, and that was enough to reel you in.

”I’d like that”, you agreed before leaning in to kiss his cheek. ”Thanks for everything, Frank. This really means a lot”, you added, and caressing your hair, he shook his head.

”Ya gotta stop thankin’ me, darlin’. I’m just doin’ what I can to help. And treatin’ you the way you deserve, aight?” he countered, serious about being good to you. And so far, he had been successful in every way.

It was going to be a long night, but you felt encouraged with Frank by your side, and you knew you had a way out if you just told him you wanted to go. It didn’t erase all your problems with your family, but it was safe to say you had found a new one in Frank.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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southernbluebellereader · 2 years ago

Note

Coffee shop AU? Nah, gas station AU.

Reader who works the night shift and Ghost who comes in at unholy hours to buy a specific brand of snacks only found there.

This is a request but only if you feel like it!

Emergency Snack Run

A/N: GIRL. I love this. We love us some night owls up here. I think gas station is better lol this took a little longer than expected because life and I had like 50 different ways of how I wanted to end this but I'm happy where it went.

Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley x F! Gas Station Clerk Reader

Warnings: bothersome customer/attack; unwanted attention

Master List (Tag List at the bottom)

Honestly, you liked working the night shift. It was quiet. And despite what most people think, most of the weird people come during the day. But occasionally someone would come in during your shift that creeped you out enough to keep one hand on the emergency call button and the other on the metal bat that was kept under the cash register.

Anyways. You usually worked the night shifts during the week. Almost no one came in, and you could stock up the shelves or read your magazines in peace. You're technically not supposed to sleep on the job, but if you positioned yourself correctly while sitting behind the cash register, you could hide your face from the camera and from the window well enough so that no one could see that you were sleeping. And the door would hit a bell every time it opened and closed, waking you up from a solid fifteen minute nap.

You liked Wednesdays. Usually it was the quietest, but it also tended to be the most boring. The only reason you liked it was because-

Ding.

You didn't even have to look up from your magazine to see who it was, but you did anyways. You looked at the time, then smiled up at the darkly clad man. 3:04 AM.

It was almost like clockwork, every Wednesday at around three in the morning. You expected it. Even when he was gone for weeks, sometimes months. And he was finally back.

"Simon! You're back."

You chuckled at his grunt and brief eye contact as he walked through the chip aisle.

"What happened to my crisps?"

Every time he came, you'd put his favorite crips in the same spot and make sure they were well-stocked. You always kept a few bags on the side just in case the shelves were empty.

"You're out." The large man was suddenly by your counter, placing a few drinks on your counter. The corner of his mouth was slightly curved. Only God knows when you'd ever see his full smile.

"Who says I'm out?" You smile and pull out three bags of his favorite crisps from under the cash register and placed them on the counter, beginning to ring him up. "You know the truck comes in on Thursdays, Simon."

"Yeah yeah, thank you, Y/N." Simon chuckled and paid for his snacks.

"Just Y/N? Geezer comes every day at six in the morning always trying to serenade me."

Simon took his change from you and placed it in the empty jar next to the register. You weren't supposed to keep a tip jar, Simon just hated keeping change. So you just kept it there. You smiled at him as you put his food in a plastic bag. He couldn't help but sigh and smile, "You're God-sent, Y/N. That better?"

"Much better. Good seeing you Simon."

"Yeah yeah, see you next week. Call me when that Geezer comes in here, that metal bat isn't going to do anything."

"Yeah yeah, see you next week, Simon." You shooed him away and he gave you a wink as he left the store.

---

"Geezer, I'm calling Simon!"

Geezer was the crazy person who would come in almost every morning at six in the morning, half-crazy, half-harassing everyone both in and out of the gas station.

"OooOOooH who's Simon? That your boyfriend? I thought I was your boyfriend, Miss Y/N!" Geezer leaned over the counter, getting closer to you. You were the only one working until at least seven in the morning.

It was Monday, you knew it was out of the ordinary for Simon to come to the gas station. He'd given you his phone number months ago on the back of his receipt under a note reading:

When you finish your magazine

/Simon

You hadn't called him - nothing ever happened that you couldn't handle, and every time Geezer came, someone else would be in the store to help you.

You cursed under your breath and quickly dialed his number, before you could put your phone up to your ear, Geezer was nearly on the counter, nearly cornering you. You didn't get a chance to grab the bat.

You couldn't even comprehend what the crazed man was saying, but thanking whoever was in Heaven when you barely heard Simon's voice on the phone.

"Y/N? You alright?"

"S-Simon! Can you-

"Simon? Is that Simon?"

Simon's heart began to race, he couldn't tell if it was racing in his throat, his ears, or in the bottom of his stomach. "Y/N, keep the phone on. I'm almost there."

He was due to deal with rookie training but he'd rather have Price chew him out. The gas station was only a few minutes away from the base. Simon made it there in less than that.

You didn't even see or hear Simon come in. Geezer had you trapped in the corner by the cigarettes. He saw your phone and threw it to the side. You didn't even process how much the man smelled or how dirty he was, you just wanted him off of you. You could barely keep him off of you and he was practically on top of you.

Your cool and sassy persona had been stripped, you felt helpless - you were helpless. You begged the old man to get off of you.

"Please let me go! Please, the register is open!"

"You think I want money, pretty girl? Why do you think I come here every morning?"

Before you could move a muscle. Geezer was yanked away from you by a large hand. You yelped in fear and covered your face. Simon ran behind the counter and had pulled the old man off of you, not saying a word. Geezer did all the yelling as he was being dragged to the back of the store, loud grunts and moans of pain and pleads for mercy could be heard in between punches.

You stayed on the floor, sobbing under your hands, scared to move a muscle, scared to move your hands away from your face.

"Y/N?"

The voice was a little rough around the edges, yet soft and gentle. But you were still afraid to look. Simon crouched in front of you, giving you a moment to realize that it was safe. He felt guilty. He never understood why you chose to work night shifts, despite his protests that it was unsafe, and your reassurances that it was ok.

He liked seeing you every Wednesday at three in the morning. You were a constant in his life. A reassurance that something - or someone - would always be there. He should have done something sooner, but he'd let his guard down with you - he'd let it down too much and if you hadn't called him, who knows what would've happened.

After a moment, unsure of what to do, he reluctantly leaned forwards and gently placed his hands on your back against your shoulder blades, speaking out loud every action he did so that nothing would come as a surprise.

"Y/N. Everything is ok now. I'm going to put my hands on your back and move you out of here."

His voice was even softer now. You'd stopped crying and sniffled, rubbing your face as you nodded, allowing him to put his large hands on your back and move you towards him. Simon placed you between his legs, your body and head resting on his body as he held you close, and whispered, "I got you," over and over again.

Your body was still trembling, but it soon subsided the longer you were in in embrace. People started coming in the store but were shooed away by Simon's glares until a police officer eventually arrived to process the scene.

Simon kept you in his arms, remaining on the floor for as long as possible until the officers needed to take your statement and the EMTs needed to give you a look over.

Even then, he didn't leave your side. He didn't want to. He never wanted you to be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98 @gabriellathegreat @kult6 @loadedberetta @sarahs-secrets2

#cod #call of duty #call of duty mw #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #fan fic #fan fiction #simon #riley #lieutenant simon riley #riley x reader #cod request #call of duty request #request

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hard-core-super-star · 6 days ago

Text

(you give me) guilty pleasure [C.Danvers]

[credit for this awesome banner goes to @selfcestmovies, check out their blog for more selfcesty goodness]

pairing: switch!carol danvers x switch!skrull!reader

summary: after another failed attempt at asking carol on a date, you decide to shift into her and get some much needed...release. unfortunately, carol doesn't know how to knock.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> selfcest [R's a skrull and she shifts into carol]; getting caught masturbating; fingering [R receiving]; breastplay; carol's VERY into herself; dirty talk; slight degradation [use of the word 'slut' once]; captain kink because duh; riding [R has a cock for the last half of the fic]

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! yup, we're not even a week into the new year and i'm already here, posting the filthiest smut just for y'all 😅 on a real note, i'm very happy to continue writing my silly little fics and sharing them with you. this is another commision that i absolutely loved working on and this definetly isn't a reminder that my commissions are open 😶 anyway, i hope you enjoy, i'll see you around <3

* * * * * * *

No one could deny that Captain Marvel was a massive flirt. Whether it was a quick pick-up line, a perfectly timed smirk, or a purposeful graze of her fingers, she loved keeping people on her toes. Maybe it was her cockiness or her charisma that made her do it, or maybe she simply loved the brief moments of attention she received in turn.

The details of her habit were lost on everyone else, and yet no one could deny how attractive her nonchalance made her.

A fact you're all too familiar with.

You've lost track of how many times you've found yourself tangled up in one of Carol's flirtatious comments. Even though you knew she did it with practically every girl she stumbled upon, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking there was more to the brief moments you shared with her.

Maybe it was delusional, but, in your defense, there has always been something lingering under the surface between you. While being saved by the captain wasn't anything special considering her history with your species, being given both a new home and a job was.

You weren't sure why or how she did it, but she managed to convince Nick Fury himself to give you a chance, to let you join S.H.I.E.L.D when it was in its beginning stages, and allow you the chance to start over on Earth. It wasn't the life you thought you'd ever have, but you slowly learned to love it...and the human face you'd "borrowed" upon coming to Earth.

The captain hadn't stuck around much at first, something about some loose ends she needed to tie up. You didn't ask for details and she didn't give any so you assumed that would be the end of your flirtatious banter with her. And maybe that would have been true had Nick Fury not assigned you to the very same space station that Carol would come back to time and time again after going on her own missions.

Your paths didn't cross often, but every time they did, you'd inevitably end up making a fool of yourself by getting rejected. Then again, it wasn't like you made your intentions obvious, always hiding behind subtle jokes and hidden double meanings. It didn't take a genius to figure out you had a massive crush on Carol, though.

Unfortunately, the captain simply wasn't paying enough attention.

And so, here you were, running into Carol once more and horribly messing up your chance at a date with her. It was honestly a little impressive how often you found yourself in this situation, hurrying back into your quarters with your tail tucked between your legs.

Except this time, you had far too many conflicting feelings waging war inside you. A part of you was very pissed off, another part disappointed, but the loudest part of you was far too intoxicated by your attraction to the captain. It didn't help that she had been wearing that dumb white muscle tank that showed off her perfectly toned arms and that she'd looked you up and down at least five times. Maybe she hadn't known what she was doing but she'd lit a fire in you that you had no way of quelling.

Unless...

It's stupid and reckless and maybe slightly deranged and yet...it's also the best idea you've had all day.

Unbeknownst to you, while you're considering the dirtiest thought you've ever had, Carol is pacing back and forth in her own quarters, the wheels in her head slowly spinning toward an answer she can't quite believe. Sure, she's always been a little slow to notice when people are actually flirting with her, but there's no way you want her...right?

That despite her slight egotistical nature, her carefree way of shooting down almost everyone who actually flirts with her, her total nonchalance toward forming real relationships, that despite all of that...you actually wanted to be with her.

Oh.

What a fool she’d been.

It takes her almost no time to rush out of her quarters in search of you, her heart pounding in her ears. Would you even want her now? Now that she’d shot you down so many times? Acted like your advances meant nothing to her?

She’s not sure but she knows she has to find out the answer before it’s too late.

Carol rushes into your quarters without a second thought, lips parting to announce her entrance when her eyes land on you. Her speeding heart all but stops the seconds she finds you.

There you are, splayed out on your bed, except you don’t look like yourself. No, you look like Carol.

And to make matters worse (or better, if she’s being fully honest with herself), you’re naked. With a hand between your legs and the other one playing with your breasts. Breasts that are identical to hers.

"Oh my God-" Her voice cuts through the haze of slightly unhinged arousal that's taken over your mind since you decided to shift into her.

"Holy shit!" Your eyes fly open, and you instantly remove your hands from your body. A body that looks identical to Carol’s.

The only sound that fills the air for the next few moments is your heavy breathing. You want to apologize, to attempt to explain what you're doing (even though it's more than obvious), to do anything besides simply lay there, completely exposed.

You don't get a chance to do anything, though, because Carol's eyes take far too long admiring you and your mind goes blank. The flush on your cheeks seems to entertain her because it doesn't take more than a few seconds for a smirk to form on her face. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"

You try to form a response, but your body feels frozen. Frozen and far too hot at the same time.

And it doesn't help that Carol takes your silence as an opportunity to come closer. Close enough to get a good look at the mess between your spread legs.

"I- Carol-"

"Don't," she says, her eyes shooting up to lock onto yours. "Don't apologize. Don't act like you didn't do this on purpose. I left you this hot and bothered?"

"Shut up," you huff, ignoring how weird it is to hear her voice coming out of your mouth. "None of this was supposed to happen."

Carol chuckles at that. "Well, you don't seem too upset."

"Don't look at me like that, this is all your fault."

"It's my fault that you decided to turn into me and get yourself off?"

"Well...when you put it like that..."

She shakes her head at you as her knees hit the edge of the bed. She lingers there, her eyes on yours. "If you want me to leave, just say the word. I can walk out and forget this ever happened or..."

The trail-off leaves little to the imagination and yet you still hesitate. There's no way she wants you the way you want her.

"Or...?"

"Or I can take over and fuck you like you deserve."

"You'd be fucking yourself," you point out, your breath getting caught in your throat despite your best efforts.

Her eyebrow raises as her smirk grows. "And? I said what I said. You're not the only one who finds me attractive."

Her words are filthy, downright sinful, and yet, you can't deny how compelling you find them. How many times you've thought about a scenario eerily familiar to this. It's not like you can help it, being a shapeshifter comes with quite the...intense fantasies.

"Carol...are you sure?"

You're not sure where the hesitation comes from, you just know you're on the precipice of something you won't be able to come back from. Then again, you're not sure you'd want to. Maybe it's a risky step, but it's one you're more than ready to take.

The blonde seems to know exactly what you're thinking because she slowly lets herself fall onto the bed. She crawls her way up to you, those damn blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Are you? Because I didn't tell you to stop."

Her response is less of an answer and more of a warning. Your last chance to back out if you don't want this, if you don't want to do this with her like this. And maybe, deep down, you don't. Maybe a part of you is afraid of what it will mean. Of the very real possibility that Carol only wants you when you're like this. When you're her.

That being said, you're not about to let your insecurities get in the way of finally getting to kiss your crush. Sure, it's a little desperate, but it's also hot as hell.

"I'm sure," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want this."

The smile you receive in return is reward enough but once she's fully settled on top of you, her fingers wrap around your wrist and guide your hand back between your legs. "Yeah? Show me how much you want it. How much you want me."

The command sends a shiver down your spine, your hips bucking up involuntarily. Carol notices the movement and her eyes take their time mapping out every inch of you. Every inch of her.

It's strange. Even though you both knew you had shifted into her, it's not until she really looks at you that it starts clicking for both of you. That the wheels in her head start turning and she fully realizes the power she has. The rush that comes from having herself, the real strongest Avenger, laid out and vulnerable underneath her.

It doesn't matter that you don't have her powers or personality, that you only look and sound like her. Those two things are more than enough to fuel her fantasies, to allow the somewhat hidden egotistical side of herself to rear its head.

You don't notice the shift in her at first, too busy teasing your clit with your fingers and trying to not immediately cum. You certainly feel it, though. More specifically, you feel her hands on you, her fingers teasing the underside of your breasts before taking them into her hands.

"Fuck, look at you. All that strength and you're still just a needy plaything for me."

The fact that she's technically talking about herself isn't lost on you, but you don't care. At least, not enough to pull the plug on the whole thing.

"Carol," you moan, arching your back into her touch.

Her hands squeeze your breasts in response, her thumbs grazing your hardening nipples in something that borders on awe. "You sound so pretty when you moan for me."

You shudder underneath her, your clit throbbing under your digits as you continue to tease yourself. The last thing you need is to end up cumming before anything even happens. In your defense, you've been turned on for the past hour.

"Fuck, please."

She ignores your borderline desperate pleading in favor of ducking her head and attaching her lips to your chest. Your free hand comes up to tangle in her blonde hair, your grip on her tightening as she continues her exploration.

Even though she's technically not given you permission, you allow yourself to slip a finger inside your wet heat, your walls instantly clenching around the intrusion.

You don't know how she knows what you're doing but you feel her smirk against your skin. "Dirty girl, where'd your patience go?"

"Shut up," you mumble. "You're the one set on teasing me."

"Because you look hot when you're desperate."

Carol doesn't give you another chance to argue with her. Instead, she wraps her lips around one of your swollen nipples, delighting in the broken gasp you let out in response. Your other nipple gets just as much attention, except it's her fingers that toy with it instead of her warm mouth.

The difference in sensation doesn't matter to you or your cunt, though, and you just barely stop yourself from humping your own hand.

Your resolve breaks thanks to Carol, though. More specifically, to the ease with which she slips her free hand between your bodies, her fingers instantly latching onto your swollen clit. "Oh, baby, is this all for me?"

"Yes-"

Your broken sounds of pleasure only serve to stoke the flames of her own ego. Her movements speed up, clearly intent on making you fall apart for her. The way she continues to play with your sensitive nipples only adds to that fact and you know there's no way to hold back much longer.

Thankfully, Carol doesn't seem to mind.

"You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna soak my hand like a good little slut?"

Her degrading words only spur you on and you slip in another finger, your speed matching hers as you both work toward your orgasm. You'd never doubted the captain would be dominant in bed, but you'd never thought she'd be into that kind of dirty talk. Mainly because if you were technically her right now, it meant she was into referring to herself like that.

Something about that realization pushes you toward the edge, your walls fluttering around your fingers as you chase more pleasure.

"Please, Captain," you moan. "I want to cum for you."

Her groan mixes with your breathless whimper and her teeth softly graze your nipple in the process. The sensation is too much for you and your orgasm crashes into you before you can stop it.

The only warning you give is a drawn-out moan before your whole body convulses underneath the blonde. Your squirming instantly gives you away and she detaches herself from your chest just to watch you fall apart for her. To hear the way you moan for her with her own voice. To see her own eyes roll into the back of your head.

The fascination and adoration in her eyes is obvious, but you miss it due to how powerful your release is. Your brain is completely scrambled, there's a faint ringing in your ears and a mess underneath you.

Despite the charged atmosphere, Carol's right there to catch you.

Her hands leave your oversentive body as she shifts until she's straddling your leg. The physical contact is just as much for you as it is for her but that doesn't matter much to you. All you care about is feeling her close, having her with you as you try to ground yourself.

"Breathe, sweetheart," she says, her voice soft as she ducks her head down to press feather-light kisses to your temple. "You're okay, I'm right here."

You do your best to focus on your breathing, but it's hard to concentrate on anything when you can feel the heat of her soaked core against your skin. The excitement builds up in your veins even as you try to bring yourself back down to a state of calm.

"Carol," you whisper, your hands slowly coming up to rest on her hips. "Is that all for me?"

The subtle rocking of her hips stops the second she hears your teasing words. Words she'd used on you not even half an hour ago.

"You're the worst, you know that?" She responds with a soft chuckle.

"You seem to like it."

Your hands urge her to continue her movements, helping her ride your thigh. The friction makes her shiver and a loud groan pulls itself out of her mouth.

"Shit...I liked you better when you were too fucked out to talk."

This time, you're the one who chuckles, your nails digging into her skin. "I think it's your turn."

"Yeah?" She leans back again and the glint in her eyes tells you all you need to know. "Think you can...give yourself an upgrade for that?"

Her suggestion shouldn't be as hot as it is and yet, you can't deny the effect it has on you. "And you were calling me dirty?"

You know she's more than ready to argue back so you decide to take advantage of her distraction and shift your lower half into something more...phallic. You'll never admit it, but it's not the first time you've taken advantage of your shapeshifting abilities to do this.

It is the first time you do it while looking like Carol, though.

And the sight affects you just as much as it affects her.

"Holy shit," she says. "You actually did it?"

"You wanted it, right? Wanted something to ride?" You're rewarded with the sight of her cheeks actually flushing. You're not sure the last time you saw Carol blush, but you sure as hell aren't going to forget it this time.

"Shut up," she mumbles.

You want to comment on how adorable she is all of a sudden but then her hand is moving down your body and wrapping around your length. Your hips buck into her hand, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. Just because you've experimented with this on your own before doesn't mean it ever felt as good as this.

"Oh, fuck," you groan. "This is the best idea you've ever had."

Carol laughs and allows you to move her again. Except this time, you're helping her line up her soaked cunt with your cock.

She sinks down onto you, her hands coming down to grip your shoulders as you keep her steady. You're both panting, both groaning into the space between you as you slowly fill her up. Instantly, you're addicted to the way her walls clench and flutter around you.

"Why have we never done this before?" The blonde asks, darkened eyes locked on yours.

"Because you're oblivious as fuck."

Once again, you stop her before she can argue with you.

You start thrusting up into her, eagerly watching the way her face contorts with pleasure. Her breathy moans fill the room as you focus on her pleasure, driven by the years of pent up tension you're finally able to release.

"You're right, Captain," you say, your hand drifting down to play with her clit. "You do look good like this."

The sound she makes borders suspiciously close to a whine. "Don't be a tease."

"I'm just trying to make you feel good."

"Then focus."

Even though you want to roll your eyes at her, you do as she says, putting aside your want to tease her and instead doing everything you can to make her lose control. You speed up your thrusts and watch her resolve slowly crumble.

"Fuck," she moans. "Just like that."

You're far too eager to please and she's far too turned on to last much longer. It's a desperate combination the leaves you wanting so much more.

For now, though, you focus on pushing her to the edge.

It doesn't take much longer, clearly teasing you had an intense effect on her too. Your fingers circle her swollen clit faster and faster until she's shaking on top of you, allowing you to move her up and down on your cock as her orgasm hits her point blank.

You half-expect her to moan her own name as she cums, to give in to the fantasy that she's getting fucked by herself and you're not here.

She doesn't, though.

She moans your name.

Even with the fact that you've shifted into her, that you've even given yourself a dick for her, she only sees you. She only wants you.

Of course, you wait to mention something to her.

First, you help her ride out her high, slowing down your movements until she can catch her breath again. She all but collapses on top of you, her body molding perfectly against yours.

You stay tangled together for a few moments before she speaks up with a hoarse voice. "y/n? Can you...shift back now?"

Of course she would beat you to it.

"Sure. Anything you want, Captain."

It's a little strange considering you're still buried inside her, but you shift back to yourself. To the real, very green, version of yourself that only Carol's allowed to see.

Her hand cups your cheek before she's pulling you closer, her lips finding yours.

Maybe it's far from perfect. Maybe this is a horrible start to a relationship. Maybe you'll both regret this later.

For now, though? For now you'll simply bask in the afterglow with her.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers smut #carol danvers fic #carol danvers #selfcest #captain marvel #brie larson #marvel fanfiction #mcu imagine #wlw #wlw fic #writing

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tsutsumi-kurose · 1 year ago

Text

tsukasa looking at amane in 109

based on these panels…

…tsukasa is not only staring at amane here…

…but he also turns to address hanako as he says this!!

so many possible readings of this!! so many questions!! did he want to destroy it for amane? or did he maybe not like what amane was trying to do with the clock? was it actually just genuine curiosity, and if it was, did he never attempt destroying it before bc he knew amane was trying to fix it? also, how was hanako affected by hearing this sentiment from tsukasa at the trial? i get the feeling this is a look of “we both know what I’m talking about” but it's hard to say without seeing hanako's reaction to it!

either way, what an incredible little insight into middle school tsukasa those panels paint over the course of just one sentence. tsukasa sitting there all quiet and placid watching amane, looking patient and harmless. meanwhile his head is full of violent destruction not even hinted at on his face. what other sorts of thoughts were going through tsukasa's head at this point in his life, and how, if at all, did they get expressed? this is also potentially an interesting insight into the timeline of things, considering amane's apparent lack of injuries while fixing the clock... maybe some connected hints at things there?

i also love this moment of him looking at hanako even as he's supposedly talking to the clock keepers bc it feels like such a classic tsukasa move. keeping his awareness of the situation in tact, keeping an eye on things as much as is necessary, but taking the opportunity to steal a private moment for amane, his real/personal focus. he's a professional!! he's gonna do what he needs to!! our little anarchist will temporarily appease the process of Law and Order if he must, to get his plan to work—but he's also going to have a moment to meet amane's eye and reference something only the two of them understand, having an entire conversation that everyone else can technically hear, but can't understand.

even the line speaks of self indulgence in this look: yes, he says he has his professional reasons for destroying the clock, but there were also personal reasons, and i love that while he's fulfilling the necessary business of twisting the trial to his benefit, he has this little look to hanako as he touches on his own desires surrounding the clock. a little detour from business. he didn't need to share that! he's already explained himself enough for his plan to work!! that last sentence was just bc tsukasa wanted hanako to hear it.

it's honestly kind of endearing, that, for someone who seems to be all about doing as he pleases, tsukasa is actually very good at doing his job, even the stuffy parts he probably doesn't like very much, and only giving himself brief little treats like this while focusing on his duties!!

i also love how this one line, these two pages, just makes me desperately want to know more about what amane was doing with that clock, what tsukasa knew, and how he felt about it... i love you yugi twins lore crumbs <3 lol they're always so well done and make me lose my mind in the best way!! so many thoughts on this one sentence and those two looks but i still have no idea what any of it actually means!!!! so good!!

#tbhk #tbhk 109 #tbhk spoilers #yugi twins #tsukasa yugi

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js589 · 6 months ago

Text

Here's today's installment of Everything I'll Never Say, and, as promised, things are getting worse before they get better.

Part 1, Part 3

TAPE 1, SIDE 1, PART 2

[click]

Been a week and some now.

Barnes has stopped asking me what happened. I don't know if you've talked to him or what.

If you read the papers, you probably know what we've been up to. I'm sporting a smart new wrist brace at the moment. My left, so I can still do jobs, though Holly and George have apparently decided we're not doing them anyway. I might be an idiot, but I'm not idiot enough to go off on my own without them. They'd probably call Barnes on me anyway.

They won't talk about you in front of me, either. I don't know if it's because they hold me responsible or they think I'll… break. [scoff] Like I'm made of glass or something.

Honestly, I've thought of calling. We saw Kat the other week at a job and she let slip that you're an independent now.

She also said she tried to recruit you and you weren't having it. So, points for still having some standards, I guess.

[prolonged silence]

I keep thinking I should stop by. Call, at least. The independent agent register is available to all agency heads.

[pause]

I just don't know what I'd say, or what good it would do.

[click]

-------------------

[click]

It's been a month.

Things were almost back to normal.

I thought they were, anyway.

We had a job last night—went fine, by the way—and we were home and in bed by midnight.

Of course I was up before George. Before Holly got here, too. So I went and got the paper.

I don't need to tell you what I saw.

[several deep breaths]

I know how they sensationalize things.

But I also know the press love a dead agent.

[deep breath, voice catches several times]

You were presumed dead, Lucy. Dead, under a collapsed house. The papers said you were barely breathing when they found you. And I know they like to embellish. Maybe you were just a little short of breath from yelling, or from getting the rest of them out.

They said it was an "unexpected collection of poltergeists". Unexpected! How does that happen? Who didn't brief you correctly? Did they just not know? That's the only thing I can think of—no; the only thing I can think is that I wasn't there.

You know there's no sense trying to reason with a poltergeist, right? We still agree on that much? I can't believe you'd think otherwise, but right now, I just don't know.

I thought about going to DEPRAC to see what they know. I had the phone in my hand and everything. And then Holly showed up and asked if I'd seen the paper, and… I don't know. It felt like I'd been caught.

What was I actually going to do? Show up at your hospital bed and yell at you? What if you weren't awake? What if you weren't...?

What good is anything I can do or say anymore? It couldn't make you stay. It's not going to—if you didn't…

[deep breath]

Fuck.

[click]

#lockwood & co #the hollow boy #the creeping shadow #lockwood & co fanfic #anthony lockwood #locklyle #i'll have you know that i debated leaving lucy's fate more ambiguous than this #but i'm just too much of a softie #i do like to think that lockwood saw a very nasty Fetch around the same time as this though

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watchoutforthefanfics · 6 months ago

Text

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part fourteen) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: innuendos, lots of talk of sex (it's Richie), cursing, brief mention of toxic relationships, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: Fun fact, the songs I use in this fic are based on me shuffling my playlist and what comes up so. Enjoy :))]]

Richie was kinda sick of the road.

It was the fourth morning, and he thought he was in Oklahoma. Maybe.

The state sign was a few hours back, and Richie's mind was kinda melting. Just interstate, miles and miles of roads and cars, and luckily, changing trees and skies. Otherwise, his brain was definitely on low power mode: not tired, but in a mental capacity kinda way.

Eddie was doing something, or so he assumed. So currently, he was listening to music to try and keep him sane.

"Can I call you Rose?" Richie muttered along, switching lanes (his exit was coming up), "-'Cause your fragrance takes over the room."

🎵 Can I call you Rose?🎵

"Darling~" Richie got more into it, tapping along the steering wheel, "-I wanna-"

A chime echoed through the speakers, cutting off the music. Richie blinked, turning to his phone: e.kaspbrak is trying to videochat.

Quickly, Richie adjusted the angle to face him more, and answered.

"Hiya, Eds," he spoke, in a cliché New Yorker accent, "-What can I do for ya?"

He flicked his eyes to the camera and caught Eddie setting his phone up and stepping back -holding up two shirts. He looked like he was in a store, one where no one would mind if he took up a little space.

The traffic halted in place, and Richie would normally be pissed but he had Eddie now. So, he was completely fine with it. Grateful even.

"Which one's better?" Eddie asked, holding up one and then the other, "The blue or the pink?"

Richie's eyes lingered on the phone for maybe a second too long, because-

"Look at the road, fuckface," Eddie chastised.

"Traffic is completely stopped, Eddie baby," Richie soothed, nearly immediately, "-I am perfectly safe. Plus, how am I supposed to help if I can't look?"

Eddie's lips pressed into a thin frown.

Richie took the moment to skim over Eddie, he was dressed like he was on a run (he assumed he was). Wearing a red tanktop and running shorts, Richie couldn't decide if it was hot or cute. Eddie was a mixture of both in his mind, honestly. And then his eyes flicked to the shirts, simple ones, one tanktop with a graphic on it (Kirby, Richie thinks), and the other a simple baby blue t-shirt with a white collar and sleeve cuffs.

"Whichever you want, Eds," Richie spoke, passively, "-They're both good."

Eddie frowned again, pushing them forward further, "I asked you, dipshit. I want your opinion. Which one?"

Richie pursed his lips, eyes dashing to the road (still stagnant), before snapping back over to the phone. He really looked at the two of them, really fucking looking. Because that's what Eddie wanted, and Richie wanted to do what Eddie wanted for the rest of his life, probably. Taking a minute, he imagined Eddie in each one individually. He could picture Eddie pretty clearly now, honestly; he felt like he knew him like the back of his hand.

Blue with white collar, Richie's mind tsked, graphic pink tanktop.

"Blue," he answered succinctly (Eddie nodded and put the pink tanktop out of frame), and asked, curiously, "-and why exactly did you need my opinion, Eds?"

Eddie picked up his phone, as Richie looked forward and watched the cars begin to move -he shifted all of his focus. Eyeing the exit he needed to get off on, Richie waited patiently for Eddie's response.

"You're my boyfriend, dipshit," Eddie remarked, "-I want you to like how I fucking look."

"Eds, you could wear a neon jumpsuit that was so bright it burnt my fucking corneas," Richie laughed, pulling off onto the new road (GPS said something about turning left so he did), "-and I would still love the shit out of you."

"I didn't say you wouldn't love me," Eddie clarified, pointedly, "-I said that I wanted you to like how I look. I know you fucking love me, but that doesn't mean I can't like... fucking please your tastes or some shit."

"Awe," Richie cooed, "-Eds wants to please my tastes-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole, you know what I mean-" Eddie huffed out, exasperated, "-Like I like your hair this length. If you cut it short, I'd fucking kill you."

"You like my hair?" Richie laughed, "-The monster that just fucking sits on my head? The shit I don't even try to take care of? The-"

"Yes," Eddie interrupted, "-I fucking love your curls. Even though you don't give a shit about them, I will. I'll figure that shit out, and take care of them. Because you're never getting fucking rid of them, ever."

I want you to be here to stop me, forever. God, I would do fucking anything-

"Salon Eds," Richie chimed, in an infomercial sort of way, "-where you don't give a fuck, but he does."

"That's not... Whatever, the point is-" Eddie continued, "-I want to hear your opinion, just like you want to hear mine."

"I don't even have a fucking opinion on myself, Eddie baby," Richie laughed out, winking exaggeratively, "-I am completely moldable. In more than one way too, if you know what I'm saying-"

"Shut up," Eddie laughed out, and Richie wished he could look. God, he fucking loved him, "-You're such an asshole."

The rest of the ride was a lot of the same, just bickering and Eddie stayed on the entire time. Or well, did his best to. Richie could tell when he was getting tired, he got really fucking giggly (at least with Richie) and couldn't properly focus. So, when he noticed it, he'd send Eddie off to bed, refusing to entertain shit ("Someone wise once told me that not sleeping fucks with your brain function, Eds.") until he heard Eddie's little tiny snores -so quiet you wouldn't even catch it in person, probably. Richie somehow hoped he could.

Eddie had just fallen asleep (he was only an hour ahead of him at this point), and Richie was picking at his fingernails. His phone laid along the mattress, somewhere near his left hand. He just fidgeted and stared at the ceiling -thinking.

This was a big fucking deal, and the last time Richie made a big fucking deal in a relationship, his heart ended up splattered on the fucking sidewalk. It wasn't that he didn't trust Eddie, he did but it's just... It's a different wheelhouse to be with Richie all the time, not just in the moderation Eddie had.

Steve would probably say the same thing about this shit, that it's how he's wired and they're trying to change it but it's okay if it still seeps out sometimes. Because yeah, Richie was working on it, but he still felt... like shit.

He believed that Eddie really fucking liked who he was (loved it actually, indirectly said but still). He really fucking did. But that doesn't mean he, himself, does. And Eddie was fucking helping, constantly reassuring him and saying the shit that Richie just needed to hear. He really didn't know how Eddie did it, but he did. But still, this shit in him was rooted deep. Probably as soon as his fucking sister was born-

Ding.

benny.boy.official ✔️

hope you're having fun rich !!!

send pictures with Eddie when you get there ☺️

Richie stared at the message for a second.

Ben. Sweet, grounding, kind, Ben. Ben who would do everything in his power to believe the good in somebody, even if everything they fucking did was bad. And it wasn't even like he was naive, he just... he just believed the shit out of it.

Richie clicked call before he second guess it.

"Hi, Richie!" He chimed, soft and warm (always was), "-How's the trip going? 2 more days, right?"

"Heya, Benny," he smiled back, naturally relaxing at the sound of him, "-and yeah, tomorrow is the start of the fifth day. Only one more after that, and then I finally fucking get Eds."

"I know!" Ben grinned, and Richie heard the murmur of maybe a movie in the background, "-I'm so happy for you two. It's amazing, really, Eddie's so excited, I can tell."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Oh yeah," Ben reassured, "-We went to get coffee this morning and I've never seen him smile so much, Rich."

Richie's heart flipped in his chest (he hoped it never stopped doing that), and he grinned so brightly that it hurt. If he was on his stomach he might've been kicking his feet. Fuck, he really loved him. He hoped with everything in him that Eddie wouldn't get sick of him physically, god, please-

"Ben," he spoke, "-can I ask you a question?"

"'Course, Richie," he answered, maybe a little concerned, "-what's up?"

"Is... Do you think-" Richie started before exhaling a breath, "-Do you think I should be worried?"

"About what?" Ben asked, curiously.

"Well, um, everything," Richie laughed a little, nervous, "-I don't... There's no hesitation in my body about Eddie, seriously, not a fucking shred. But... What if it's different for him?"

Ben questioned further, "What do you mean?"

"What if Eddie's... not sure? Or-" Richie scrambled, "-what if he meets me in person and I... I scare him away? It's one thing to text and call me but to constantly be around me? I don't-"

"Richie, breathe," Ben interrupted, calmly.

Richie obediently did so. A long breath echoed out of his lungs, and his heart slowed.

"Okay, now," Ben began, gently, "-has Eddie ever told you that he's not sure? Or that he's hesitant?"

Richie pressed his lips together, "Well, no, but-"

"Rich, Eddie would tell you stuff like that," Ben cut him off, "-He's very straightforward, you know that."

Richie sighed, "Okay, yeah, so he's not hesitating. But... whose to say it won't be too much for him? All my shit."

"Richie, he's dating you. He cares about you," Ben hummed, "-You guys know each other inside and out because you want to learn it all. Both of you do. I don't think Eddie's going to run."

"But what if he does?" Richie asked, pathetically, "-I can't... Ben, if he can't handle me, I'm fucked. I don't think I can-"

"If anyone can handle you, it's Eddie," Ben laughed a little, before adding, "-except for maybe Stan and Patty."

Richie laughed a little too.

"The point being, if-" Ben made sure to stress that word, "-and I really don't think this would happen, okay? But if Eddie couldn't handle you, you'll be okay. It'll hurt, but all of us Losers will be here for you. Worst case scenario, you have us."

He let a breath rattle out of his lungs, "Yeah, I do."

"But Richie, I really don't think you should even think like that," Ben spoke, carefully, "-Eddie really, really cares about you."

"I know," Richie sighed out.

"I don't think he'd even want to leave your side, honestly," Ben hummed, "-When you're finally united, I don't think that Eddie will want to leave you alone again. Ever."

Richie pressed his lips together, as tears burned the backs of his eyes.

"Eddie's not gonna run, Richie," Ben echoed again. His voice soft and warm, it made Richie's head clear and eyes grow heavy.

"Yeah," Richie exhaled a deep breath, "-he won't."

He could almost hear the smile through the line, Ben's little soft one. The one that if you saw would make your insides feel gooey, because it was just so fucking kind. God.

"I love you, Benny," Richie spoke, light and scratchy.

"I love you too, Rich."

"Now," Richie switched gears, grinning, "-about Ms. Marsh-"

Richie woke up that morning lighter, Ben's words thrumming through his head. He was up, miraculously, at 7:30 (all these timezones were really fucking with his sleep schedule). And was currently debating getting ready and heading out early. Because he couldn't exactly wait, or sit still, it was fucking impossible for Richie Tozier. He was itching to fucking go, to shave down some of the hours to get to Eddie.

If he left early though, Eddie would probably freak out though (something about hours of sleep and blah, blah). So, he just decided to grab his phone and fidget with it for a while.

Richie liked to search himself up, he'll admit it. He liked to dive into his fandom like a super spy (like the boss working undercover in that one show). He did it for a lot of reasons, maybe to see what his fans wanted or what they were reacting well to. Sometimes just to see what shit they were up to. This usually spanned from a lot of different platforms: Instagram, YouTube (he loved watching edited compilations of himself), Reddit, and Tumblr primarily.

Today, his poison was Reddit.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/trashmeuptozy • 4d

What are our theories about Richie's disappearance?

2.4k upvotes • 1.7 comments

⬆️ ⬇️ 💬

toziers-texas-toast • 4 days ago

personally I think he's u-hauling

⬆️1.25k ⬇️89 💬

reddie-girlie • 3 days ago

all I know is that it probably involves 🍝

⬆️1.2k ⬇️27 💬

bouncing-baby-boy • 3 days ago

guys don't worry he's just on a side quest

⬆️1k ⬇️54 💬

not_on_my_crotch • 2 days ago

fucking ur mom

edit: ur dad sorry

⬆️967 ⬇️53 💬

Richie pursed his lips, letting out a sigh (a little of relief), he was actually kinda worried about the reception of him just up and leaving. But, they seemed to be handling it relatively well. They obviously had questions, as they should, but they weren't harassing him for answers, so it was good.

r/trashmouthtozier

u/tozier_babeyyyy • 2 hrs ago

Reddie Playing Minecraft (link)

my first ever reddie comp !!! Hope you guys enjoy :)

⬆️3.5k ⬇️22 💬

Richie stared at it for a second, before clicking the link. Maybe a little too quickly, they could have his IP address right now-

"Alright troops-"

And then it was off like a rocket, every single moment they spoke to each other -documented. He watched the village section more than once, of his own doing, just rewinding and watching it over and over. Watching Eddie shuffle behind him, like he'd known he'd protect him. God. What a stupid fucking way to feel about a game-

It carried on the same, all the moments he remembers (he doesn't think he can ever forget anything about Eddie to be fair) all the way up to the end of his stream. He watched himself do his outro, Eddie's Steve fidgeting with chests on his screen.

Laughing a little, he went to get out of the video, but-

BONUS ROUND: spaghetti talking about Richie to the other losers, flashed onto his screen -some very fast-paced royalty-free music following.

Richie paused for a second, what?

Now, he was looking at a clip from Bev's stream. Her camera up in the top right corner, Richie mindlessly noted that she had looked very pretty that day, good for her. Before focusing on her screen, where just a few steps in front of her Steve (Eddie) was watching Richie run around in circles with Bill. The iron golem, at that moment (it flicked between Bill and himself), was chasing him around the outskirts of the village.

"If he dies," Eddie suddenly spoke, and he watched Bev adjust her vision in the game to look at it, "-he doesn't like... Nothing bad happens, right?"

Richie smiled, gleaming a little bit.

"Nope," Bev smiled, bright, and popped the 'p', "-Worst-case scenario, he ends up back where we started and has to get back to us-"

Richie watched as Bill was suddenly launched into space and the chat snapped onto their screen.

big.bill was slain by an iron golem

He laughed a little at the memory.

"-Just like Bill will have to do now."

"Oh," Eddie responded, still watching Richie get chased around the village with a keen eye. Was he always looking at me?

"C'mon, Eddie," Bev interrupted, "-Let's steal some crops, and then we can tear down their houses for resources-"

"We sound like fucking colonizers," Eddie retorted, and both Bev and Richie started snort laughing in tandem.

And then, he was looking at Mike's screen, facing out onto the flower field. Eddie was stood right beside him, so he knew relatively when this was. Even heard himself a little distantly in the background.

"I'm staying here. I'm living here. My vote's for here-"

Mike was close to Eddie though, so now, he could hear Eddie laugh a little. A soft, sort of affectionate, of all things, laugh that made Richie's head spin a little. Okay, a lot. It made his head spin a lot.

Affectionate? For Richie Tozier? Praise fucking god-

"He's such an idiot," Eddie laughed out.

"In general? Definitely," Mike responded, laughing a little too, "-But for you? God help his brain cells."

"Yeah, well," Eddie spoke, soft, "-I'm an idiot for him to, so."

Ben interrupted the thought, "I agree, it's-"

And then, it cut again to Ben's stream, he was wandering over to where Eddie started building -assumedly from the direction of Bev's house. Unsurprisingly, Richie might add. He was half convinced they shared that house, actually-

"Do you think Richie will like it?" Eddie asked suddenly, Ben shuffling up to his side.

Richie grinned a little.

Ben grinned, big cheeks shot up with the warm motion, before adjusting his vision to see the frame that Eddie had built. It wasn't much, just the corners of each wall, but it was very meticulously done. Different blocks (which it should be said that Richie fetched him) all placed in their exact spot. It was pretty good for his second time playing, honestly. But, he might've been a little biased.

"It's really nice, Eddie," Ben chimed, cheerfully, "-but I do think you could build it out of dirt and Richie would still be stoked."

Very true, his mind agreed.

"I wanna actually put effort in," Eddie replied, flustered (Richie could see his cheeks all puffed up in his head), "-It's our house. Ya know? It's gotta be good."

"I think," Ben smiled, "-As long as you're in it Eddie, Richie will think it's good."

Eddie stayed quiet for a second, looking out at the house, staring. Richie waited with a breath.

"You're such a fucking sap, Ben," Eddie retorted, with no bite at all.

"Yeah, well, apparently," Ben turned to look at him, laughing, "-you are too."

And then, Eddie spoke softly, "Yeah, I am too."

Just like that, it cut to an end card. Subscribe button, next video and all.

Richie blinked, throwing himself back on the bed. Fuck, I love him. So much. Too much probably. Was he supposed to love somebody this much? Like with every fiber of his being? Every single cell? Every single fucking atom?

Taking a peek at the time, he quickly decided on sending a quick message.

trashmouth.tozier ✔️

good morninggggg eddie baby 💞✨️

hope you had dreams of fucking frolicking in meadows or some shit

Fuck it.

With a breath, he stood up and started packing. His tiny little bag, full of definitely too little outfits for a trip this long, but it would not be the first time he re-wore shit. So, he was okay with it. Until, ya know, he saw Eddie. He wanted to be wearing clean shit then (he saved his Marsh original that he liked so much for the occasion).

Humming along with a song that decidedly wasn't playing, grabbing all of his hygiene shit.

"Right now, he's probably dancing with a bleach-blonde tramp, and-" he murmured, before stressing out a word, "-and she's probably getting frisky."

Unzipping a pocket, he shoved his deodorant into it. And his cologne, fancy cologne, that he maybe only bought for meeting Eddie. But he did actually like it too. He wouldn't just buy it for Eddie (he totally did).

"Showing her how to shoot a combo," he sang louder, "-and he don't know-"

He heard his phone vibrate in his pocket. Felt rather.

e.kaspbrak is calling

Richie smiled a little, answering and putting it onto his shoulder (pushed up against the side of his head).

"Hey, Eds," he chimed, bright and smiley, and pulling his bag up off the floor. Day 5.

Eddie took a pause, and Richie heard maybe the scratch of a blanket. Had he just woken up?

And then, his voice came in quiet and sleep-slurred, "Hi, Rich."

Something warm shot through his toes, he'd never heard Eddie just woken up. This was new. And Richie wondered for a second if his hair was messy, or maybe his face had patches of red from where he'd slept. He'd get to see that soon, god.

"Awe, did my lil Spaghetti just wake up?" He cooed -half genuine and half teasing.

"The only thing that's right about that fucking sentence is that I'm yours."

Richie blinked. Mine, Eddie's mine. My Eds. 'I'm yours'. My Spaghetti. My boyfriend. My boyfriend, Eddie. Eddie's mine-

"Fuck yeah you are," Richie chimed -grinning bright and wide.

Eddie giggled a little (and Richie wondered if he was rubbing his eyes like a little toddler would), "Why are you up so early?"

"Dunno," Richie answered honestly, throwing his bag into the passenger seat (per usual), "-I just woke up this early, Eds. Aren't you normally up this early? Earlier, actually-"

"I don't have a job anymore, dipshit," Eddie explained, "-and I think I overdid it last run, so I slept in. Fuck you."

"Jeez," Richie laughed, connecting him to the radio, "-I was just asking a question. You wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"

"No," Eddie replied, quickly, "-Speaking of, I sleep on the left-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "O-kay, Eds. What's-"

"-So, if you do too, you have to just fucking deal with it."

Oh.

Richie blinked, before answering awkwardly, "No problem, Eddie baby, I kinda just sleep in the middle."

"What the fuck do you mean-" Eddie mocked his voice, and Richie smiled (what a shithead), "-'I sleep in the middle'?"

"I spread out like a starfish," Richie clarified, listing, "-on my stomach, and sleep in the middle."

He could almost hear Eddie's nose scrunch up, "What the fuck? You're such a freak."

"What?" Richie asked, a little genuinely, "-Is that problem? I can just move over to the right side so-"

"No, it's not a fucking problem," Eddie interrupted, "-We're boyfriends, we can cuddle, idiot."

Richie blinked, Oh.

Cuddling with Eddie? Richie nearly pressed the gas to go fucking faster.

"Unless," Eddie paused, quieter -uncertain, "-Unless, you don't want to, I guess-"

"No, what," Richie clarified, swinging his hand around, and focusing on the car in front of him, "-Eds, that sounds like fucking... heaven. I just... I haven't thought about that shit. Because we were so far apart, it'd just make me sad as fuck-"

"Oh," Eddie spoke, blankly. Maybe a little flustered.

Richie wanted to see his face so badly right now that it made his skin itch. God, seriously-

"Yeah, well," Eddie pushed through his thoughts, "-you're gonna fucking kiss me when you get here, so. You better get fucking used to it."

Something swirled in his stomach. Kissing Eddie? Jesus, he hadn't thought about this shit at all. I get to kiss Eddie, god. In like a day-

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Richie laughed a little, splotchy red blush crawling to his cheeks.

"Because," Eddie answered, plainly, "-I want you to kiss me, asshole."

And I'd do anything you wanted, Richie's mind added.

"Yeah, okay, Eddie baby," Richie spoke softly, before switching up, "-As your celebrity crush, I know you've been dreaming of this moment for a long time-"

"Oh, shut the fuck up, dickweed," Eddie snapped back, short laughter cutting into the tone.

"-Although, I should clarify, I won't be as good as dream Trashmouth," Richie commented, "-I may not hold up against the competition. But jokes on you, you can't leave me for me so."

"I haven't dreamed about you kissing me, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-and you need to get over that shit."

"No way," Richie laughed, turning slightly, "-That shit is sticking forever. Sorry, Eds."

"It's not that fucking important-"

"It is," Richie interrupted, "-It so is. I was your celebrity crush! That's so fucking sick."

"How?" Eddie asked, curiously.

"Well," Richie drummed his fingers along the wheel, "-you fucking watched my streams and thought, shit, he's handsome-"

"That wasn't-" Eddie paused, exhaling a breath, "-You're handsome, but it wasn't... How do I fucking-"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "Eds?"

"It was like-" he started, before decidedly restarting, "-It wasn't like a celebrity crush, where you just kinda think they're handsome and just like their voice or some shit-"

Richie listened.

"-It was like... It was like having a crush on my best friend. Because you're just-" Eddie paused, "-You're just so... you on your streams, so fucking... human. Celebrities are intangible as fuck, but you... You wore ugly fucking shirts, and you have the dumbest fucking jokes, and your hair is a mess on your head. You're a fucking person, and I just... I just wanted that. Wanted you."

Richie pressed his lips together, heart skipping a beat.

"So, it was like-" he continued, slow but deliberate, "-like we were, ya know, friends, and I just knew you. Saw all that shit firsthand. And I liked that. Liked you."

He blinked. Fuck, I love him so much.

"Well," Richie let out a breath, smiling too bright, "-that just makes it more important so. You've fucked yourself."

Eddie paused, "Shit."

Richie started snort laughing, eyes clear on the road despite the laugh wracking through him. He heard Eddie break into his own laughter, and it only made him smile brighter because, god, did he love the shit out of Eddie's laugh. Well, he loved the shit out of Eddie in general-

"Are you driving already?" Eddie asked, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

"Yeah," Richie replied, turning off where he needed to, "-I woke up early and got fucking antsy. I'm not a patient man, Eds."

Eddie hummed a little, almost like he was still a little tired, "How long are you gonna drive today, then?"

"Well," he pursed his lips, trying to remember shit, "-I've got like 14 hours left, maybe less. You won't let me push shit but I have already driven 9 hours in a day before-"

"Richie," Eddie warned.

"-I know, Eds, I know. But it's either I do the long drive today or tomorrow, and I really don't want to be fucking passed out on my first day with you."

"I'm gonna make you rest either way, dipshit," Eddie countered, "-You've been through every fucking timezone in America, your brain must be totally fucking fried."

"C'mon, Eds," Richie chimed, going into a cliché New Yorker accent, "-ya gotta show me the city."

"The shitty city?" Eddie clarified, flatly, "-The one I hate?"

"It's New York," Richie laughed a little, "-There's gotta be something worthwhile."

"I know the shit you're trying to pull. You're not gonna change my mind, Richie," Eddie replied, pointedly, "-Even if you do all those hours today, when you get here, you're gonna fucking rest."

Richie paused, continuing hesitantly, "So, you're okay with me doing the long drive today?"

"You don't," Eddie paused, seeming a little too quiet and working himself up, "-You don't need my permission to do shit, I didn't mean to-"

"Eddie baby, stop," Richie soothed, immediately, "-It's not a permission thing. It's a 'for your well-being' thing. I don't want to do shit that will stress you out. I refuse to do shit that would make you feel scared when I can't 100% be there to fix it. Or at least fucking... help you through it."

"Really?" Eddie questioned, quietly.

"Of fucking course, Eds, I love the shit out of you," Richie laughed a little, "-and the idea of you being stressed the fuck out, alone, makes me want to bite my own fucking head off. So-"

Richie took a breath.

"-are you okay with me driving that long today?"

Eddie paused, before slowly saying, "You promise you'll stop driving if you need to?"

"Absolutely," Richie agreed, "-I'm not gonna push myself beyond my limits, Eddie baby. I promise."

There was a spare second of silence, and Richie started drumming his fingers along the wheel. It was the beat of 'Before He Cheats' (the song he was singing before). And his eyes remained squarely on the road -straightforward and focused.

"Okay," Eddie sighed out, "-Okay, yeah, you can drive 9 hours. That's... I'll be okay."

"Yeah?" Richie asked, genuinely.

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie laughed a little, "-Just make sure to eat and drink properly, and maybe hit the rest areas so you can stretch out your freakishly fucking long legs-"

"Can't call 'em freaks, if that's how ya like 'em," Richie interrupted with a Southern accent, "-Mr. 'my type is tall idiots'."

"I was hitting on you, moron," Eddie huffed out, "-You're my first boyfriend. I don't even know if I have a type."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," Richie laughed a little, "-That text drove me fucking crazy for weeks."

"Yeah, well," Eddie cleared his throat, "-fucking imagine what I felt when you told me your type."

Richie paused. ("But yeah, Spaghetti, teeny little brunettes who are mean to me.")

"Wait," Richie started, "-you... I, your celebrity crush, described you, a teeny little brunette who is mean to me, as my type. And you... what?"

Eddie didn't say anything for a second.

"Don't make fun of me. Or else I'll kick your ass."

"Roger that, Spaghetti," Richie echoed in a growly voice (like it was coming out of a walkie-talkie), "-please proceed."

"I... Ugh," Eddie exhaled like the words hurt to say, "-I threw my phone across the room. It cracked my whole fucking screen-"

"You what?" Richie interjected.

"It's just-" Eddie started to explain, increasingly flustered, "-You were... you. And I was, I was the exact description. And it hit me for a second that, you know, you were kinda tangible. That, with like... the right fucking circumstances, I could have you. Easy."

Richie blinked, before sputtering, "You could. You did. You do, you do have me now."

"Well," Eddie paused, smiling (Richie could hear the cheesy grin), "-I guess I got the right fucking circumstances."

"The best ones," Richie chimed, heart rattling in his ribs (Eddie, Eddie, Eddie), "-maybe."

"Yeah, shithead," Eddie replied, "-the best ones."

#reddie #watchoutwriting #reddie fanfiction #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #it chapter one #reddie fluff #the losers club #streamer au #achievement unlocked 🔓

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fangirling-heart · 2 months ago

Note

Hi Heart! Good morning ^w^

For the fandom Ask Game, how about The Owl House?

Hello! And good day/evening (it's evening for me)! Thank you for the chance to ramble about my favorite show! :)

my favorite female character

Luz Noceda my beloved! I have mentioned the numerous reasons why I like her so many times, I've probably become annoying, so I'll keep it brief: She's sweet, she's enthusiastic, she's unapologetically herself, she's smart, she's headstrong, she's extremely relatable to me, she's a weirdo, she's a legend and she is the moment!

my favorite male character

Hunter! Hunter is a really great character, who I absolutely love for his story and arc, his awesome design, his relationships with other characters, his personality...

He basically has everything it takes for me to love a character, including the antagonistic starting point (I do have a soft spot for redemption arcs), but he didn't really have a redemption arc, because he didn't really need it. Hunter was always a good person, trapped in the bad situation, but that doesn't make his arc any less impactful and wonderful.

my favorite book/season/etc

Definitely season 2. Literally every element in it bounces off each other perfectly. The character arcs get moving, we see many relationships grow and develop, we meet a lot new characters whose entrance to the show feels completely natural and very impactful and everything develops more and more! The story, the relationships, the characters! And then everything is comes together for a marvelous final act (Hollow Mind-King's Tide)!

my favorite episode (if its a tv show)

Thanks To Them. Yes, it's not a season 2 episode, but it's my absolute favorite one!

I will forever be pissed at disney for cutting this show short, but I will also forever be in awe for the way the crew handled the last season and especially this episode. It does an excellent job balancing out all the characters, a bunch of dynamics and I never thought that one scene was taking time from another one. Also, it focuses on a lot of the stuff I love the most about the show, like the dynamics of Luz and Hunter and Hunter and Flapjack, the lore of the Wittebanes, the shenanigans of the Hexsquad, Camila and her relationship with Luz, Belos being a creepy bitch (the fact that we didn't see him get hit by a car is a crime, but I gotta admit the idea of having him quietly getting stronger by possessing critters in the background to set the atmosphere and build up the ending part was great) and an awesome confrontation with a bunch of emotions for the end! 10/10 episode! (I still cry with Flapjack's sacrifice...)

my favorite cast member

The man, the myth, the legend, Alex Hirsch!

my favorite ship

I honestly have so many ships I love in this show, it's hard to choose just one. So I'm gonna say my top 3 (in no specific order):

Lumity

Huntlow

Raeda

a character I’d die defending

Camila Noceda! None of that "Camila is a bad mom!" crap is allowed here! In this house, we love and appreciate mama Noceda!

a character I just can’t sympathize with

Odalia Blight. That's an actual bad mom and horrible person! Screw her!

a character I grew to love

Probably King. I did like him from the beginning, just not so much when compared to other characters. But during season 2, when we got to explore his character more, outside of cute comic relief, I grew to love him.

my anti otp

Well, aside from obvious choices (incest, pedophilic ships), I personally don't like ships with the Hexsquad and Boscha, especially Boschlow. Aside from just, not really liking Boscha as a character, I just can’t see in general the appeal of the bully x victim of their bullying ship type.

#Thanks for the ask!#:)#Sorry I took so long #I'm so slow lol!#Answered asks #The owl house

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what-gs-watching · 10 months ago

Text

“Cease and desist, bitch!”

News flash friends: job hunting is still terrible. Like, four months in and it’s still the worst. I finished two interview loops recently and I’m waiting to hear back and I have two others I’m trying to get through and it’s all hurry up and wait.

But then Netflix told me that GIRLS5EVA was coming to the platform, complete with a new season, and I got soooo excited.

I’m sure no one has heard of this show, it was born on Peacock and it’s a Tina Fey joint but there’s definitely a super specific audience for it which is, basically, me.

Were you born in the 80’s/early 90’s? Did you love all the random girl groups/boybands? Are you now barreling toward 40 and it’s just really depressing and terrible? Then Girls5eva is also for you.

Wherein, four millennial women decide to reunite their early 2000’s girl group after their one-hit wonder is sampled on a new hip hop track.

It’s hilarious. And really specific. And starring SARA BAREILLES who in real life is an incredible musician. Y’all remember “Gravity”? No? Even though it was featured in a Community episode where Annie cuts to a montage because she’s trying to convince everyone that she and Jeff have had a ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing going on all year? “Gravity” is the theme of that montage!

While you’re checking out Girls5eva, also listen to Sara Bareilles. The girl is a true fucking talent.

ALSO, Busy Philipps. I LOVE Busy Philipps. And have loved her since Dawson’s freakin’ Creek and then AGAIN in Cougartown.

(Side rant - Cougartown really is a wonderful show. Terrible name, but honestly incredibly funny and there are a ton of good running jokes and it’s just fun as hell. Courteney Cox got shagged on that one, it really is a gem.)

Anyway. There are 3 seasons and it follows the ladies valiantly trying to make a comeback while dealing with being normal people again after their brief shot at fame in the early 2000’s. Which, I think we all remember fondly but was actually a pretty gross time and the show makes sure you remember that - it was not great for women by any means and it’s still not great now but Girls5eva make it work. And it’s endearing.

And y’all, some of the songs are a fuckin’ bop. BPE? Aka “Big Pussy Energy” (the club remix) is the anthem we all need right now. “Kick down the doors no locks / I don't need a key / Eyes down here, yeah, I'm the centerpiece / Animal queendom feline synergy / Kickin’ down the doors, big pussy energy!” That shit gets you in the right frame of mind. I need more semi-cheesy female anthems in my life and I’m pretty sure you do too.

Honestly, the show is really just about the fact that life doesn’t have to end after your 20’s, you can keep going after your dreams even if they’re ridiculous. And you can balance your regular shit while you do it. And you don’t need a man to define who you are. And you can leave toxic relationships if you need to. And you can grow as a person. And you can still be a crazy bitch sometimes and your friends will support you.

There’s a lot going on, and it’s all wonderful. Honestly, we need more shows about olderish female friends, with a touch of insanity. I don’t want regular female friends, I want batshit female friends doing ridiculous things.

Also, lastly, Wickie Roy is a fucking icon. In a weird way because she’s struggling to live in a normal world and she refuses to compromise and she’s an absolute nutbag but in the best way possible.

Basically, Girls5eva is making me feel better about my life. If they can get back into pop music, I can get myself another boring job and BPE is gonna help me get it done.

“Momentum yeah / um it’s our moment / we’re contenders…”

#what g's watching #girls5eva #wickie roy #sara bareilles #famous5eva #BPE

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buckyarchives · 2 years ago

Text

we’re not really strangers | S. Stan [1.]

summary: a broken and washed up writer keeps showing up in Sebastian life as he struggles with his own loneliness. two people in two different world, but the tug is so intense it begins to eat Sebastian raw. he has to learn to love full heartedly and you need to learn to trust again after you got cheated out of your entire life.

word count : 4.9k

warnings: topics of depression, brief mentions of sewerslide, body dysmorphia

author note: i’ve never wrote an rpf and i used to dislike them but i just read a really good one and i watched doll eyes so that started this. i’m basing sebastian’s character based off of psychoanalysis him over that past 4 years (i can’t help it i’m sorry) and the couple of times i’ve met him. but i hope he’s not this depressed irl. take a place a before fresh and it’s mostly his pov. will probably be like 3-5 chapters. also wrote this in like 2 hours please be kind

masterlist | read on AO3

Sebastian stan likes blondes, he likes coffee after noon, working out, his mom, space and all its possibilities. He likes European countries yet he won't leave New York no matter how hard he thinks about it. He loves his family and friends. He likes when people tell him good job and are nice to him; even if it’s only because he's Sebastian Stan.

Sometimes he wonders if he really likes that last one or if he hates it, it depends on the day.

He will spend his days reading and talking with actors or directors, getting flowers for his girlfriend of the season. He doesn't read reviews about his movies. He’ll talk to his mom on the phone as often as he can, he works out almost every morning but he hates running. He stands in front of a mirror before going to bed, alone and vulnerable, picking apart everything he sees and wonders if everyone else sees it too. Probably.

But not tonight.

No, tonight he feels good - better. Recently casted for a new movie, a movie with a script and a director he feels confident about, which is always the best feeling. Last year was good for him, but this year needs to be better. Sebastian is tired and needs to get away from commercial movies and Marvel, but Bucky Barnes will always haunt over his shoulders like the way Carter Baizen did for so long.

And tonight is only the beginning. They haven't started filming yet, not close. Daisy is in the middle of filming and it's still early, too much workshopping and bonding as a team before that. Sebastian likes to know who he's working with, the director and their work ethic and past projects. The co-stars and their humor and if they can cry on command or not.

Mimi is a nice director. She's new and has fresh ideas - ha, that's a pun. She makes Sebastian laugh and not feel like a character even off-screen. Sebastian likes her curly hair.

She laughs and the air is cool, Sebastian can see her breath. “It was a nice day, I'm really looking forward to working with you.”

Sebastian is lonely and this feel like a nice way to segway to ‘i have to leave, goodnight.’

“Me too, and the script is just - wow.” Sebastian exaggerates his words to match his feelings, “it's deep.”

He wants to hold onto the conversation forever and drag it out until it's so awkward he has to grit his teeth. Sebastian doesn't want to go home now - but it's late, past midnight - and despite the rumors, New York does have to sleep sometimes. His stomach grumbles and he suddenly has the appetite of a teengers first hangover.

Mimi nods and thanks him and they continue to walk. Sebastian speaks up, “is it weird to say iI'mhungry and not tired.” he looks down at his watch again, it's almost 2 am.

And Mimi understands, she smiles. “Not weird, I agree. It might be the excitement for this project but – what are you hungry for?”

“Coffee, breakfast food,” Sebastian replies honestly.

The director smiles, Sebastian hopes there are no paparazzi - this looks like a date - no, it doesn’t but the press latch onto any woman he's seen with as a date.

“I know a perfect place, and it is empty,” she says. Sebastian is suspicious - it's late, he repeats in his head.

“This late?” his eyebrows quirked up.

“I know the owner,” she affirms. Sebastian nodded and they continued walking.

Mimi talks about the movie more, how she's close friends with the writer and coincidentally, she met her through the owner of the said cafe they'd soon find a safe haven in. Sebastian nods along to her words and listens, he hates the sound of his own voice sometimes. Listening is nice.

They reach a cafe-deli type. The sign says it is closed and no one is inside but the lights are on. Mimi had a grin on her face as she knocks on the door. Sebastian watched as you came from the back and unlocked the door, Mimi smiles and greets you excitedly but your face remains monotone - almost cold. Mimi takes no offense, this must be how you always are.

You don't take immediate notice of Sebastian, which is nice for once. Mimi talks about how starved she is and desperately needs an egg sandwich from you, Sebastian agrees in his head. You hold your head high and strong like you know better, but not in a snobby way. Sebastian can tell when someone is snobby pretty soon on, people like that end up surrounding him more often than not, unfortunately.

Sebastian's eyes are an icy blue that reminds you of the winter lakes back in the midwest. That’s the first thing you notice, Mimi acts like this is her home as she plops down at the bar. You still don't say anything. Sebastian wonders if you're a writer too, or maybe an actor. He doesn’t recognize you. Sebastian sits next to mimi, he feels weirdly comfortable despite how cold and empty the cafe is.

The sound of an espresso machine starts before Mimi can even order sometimes, she must go a lot and then a coffee is in front of her in no time. You finally turn to him, you're wearing lipgloss, and he notices way too quickly.

“Would you like a coffee, Sebastian?” you ask him plainly. He didn't tell you his name, neither did Mimi. You must know him then, it wouldn't be surprising but weirdly it did.

“Yeah, anything you have. And eggs - sunny side up if you can.” you don’t reply, nodding and your mouth is thin-lipped. Not a smile nor a frown. You leave in the back, Sebastian doesn’t realize his eyebrows were furrowed until Mimi says something.

“Don't worry, she's always like that. I promise she's not miserable or mean.” mimi says, gesturing to the cold demeanor that you carry. Sebastian wonders if Mimi has to explain this to everyone, or if you hate the Captain America movies and mimi just want to make it less awkward.

It's a comfortable silence for a while, aside from the city whispering from behind the glass windows and the sound of your cooking. Sebastian catches glimpses of your face and he can't help but think you're beautiful in a stone-cold, greek statue, model type way. He can imagine seeing your face in a famous painting from the renaissance time.

Maybe you caught him staring, or maybe it was just the cold demeanor again but he swore you glared at him.

“Cooks out - so it might not be as good as usual,” you say and place the food in front of them. Mimi grins and begins to eat. Sebastian pulls out his billfold to pay, he doesn't know you and feels a twang of guilt at the thought of keeping you up past closing time. He wants to pay extra.

You notice him before he can pull out any money, “it's on the house.”

Sebastian thinks of that as a sign that you don't hate him, and you're just monotone.

“Y/N helped Lauryn write the movie, specifically your character too.” Mimimumbled through cheese and bacon.

That’s the first time he's heard your name, Sebastian repeats it in his head so as to not forget.

You scoff and Sebastian thinks for a moment you're mad, you're not. “Helped? I practically gave her the entire idea. And I swear, Mimi if you don't use La jardin for the dance scene, I'll riot in front of your house.”

“You get so defensive every time, but whenever we ask to add you as co writers you say no.” Mimi snarks, shaking her head and smiling. “Mysterious, mysterious girl.”

“Can't say I imagined Sebastian Stan as Steve though, I was thinking more of Chris Pine.” you joke, Mimi knows you're joking but your flat tone makes Sebastian second guess if you are actually upset about it or not. “was he busy?”

Mimi laughs, good - a joke.

“Not even a second choice?” Sebastian smiles sheepishly, he hopes you were joking.

Sebastian thinks you're going to smile, and your lip twitches. You hum and it sounds as smooth as the coffee tastes, like honey. “Maybe third.”

Your eyes warm in his direction, the feeling in his chest is foreign.

“You’re a better critic than you are a casting director.” Mimi jokes again. Sebastian wonders how long you've been friends.

“a critic?” Sebastian perks up, critics are his worst enemy in life. No matter how much he can ignore them, one well-written article can make or break an entire year for him.

“Not actually, I just watch a lot of movies and have strong opinions.” your eyes land back on him.

“Harsh. Harsh opinions.” Mimi makes a point, and you roll your eyes and almost smile again. Almost. Sebastian wants to see you smile, what a weird thought for a stranger he’s only known for 20 minutes. You do make good eggs, but how do you fuck up eggs?

“Anything you recognize me from?'' Sebastian slaps on a cheeky smile, and maybe it's arrogant to think he knows the answer to that. But he is Sebastian Stan and you watch a lot of movies. You open your mouth to speak but Mimi interrupts again, not in an annoying way.

“Don't bruise his ego,” she warns.

How harsh could you be? Sebastian starts to regret asking about himself.

“Anyways, how could I not? I vividly remember seeing the covenant play in the hospital when my baby sister was born; a weird choice for hospital cinema.”

Sebastian's glad you don't mention Marvel or gossip girl, the covenant isn't any much better either though.

“That is very weird. Any critics?” Sebastian doesn't even know why he asked tt, he's going to regret it.

Mimi whispers an ‘oh boy’ under her breath and Sebastian feels like he needs to buckle down and brace himself. Even worse as your eyes scan him, judging him.

“I'm not here was your worst movie and you need to fire your agents or whoever told you that was a good idea.”

Oh?

“I thought it was a good script.”

You look at him as if he had three heads. Mimi looks scared.

“I can see the vision but the story tries too hard to be deep and pretentious - it settles on just being a cry fest and it doesn't even do that well. The main character is just a shitty person with a shitty life and the writing fails to make me feel bad for him, no matter how good you or J.K Simmons's acting was”

Sebastian hangs onto the small compliment hidden in there by his fingernails. You're not done yet.

“I, Tonya was really good. Marvel is… Marvel, same thing for gossip girl. The rest of your characters have been the same angry or toxic men trope over and over again, no offense, you need more range.”

That hurt a lot less than Sebastian expected. He feels speechless, mimi is still eating and is silent. Sebastian isn't hungry anymore and your cold eyes are stripping him down naked. He still thinks you're beautiful.

“Do you like anything I've been in?” why does he keep asking questions he knows he won't like?

You think for a moment, look him dead in the eye, and smile. And even if it's meant to be snarky or sarcastic, Sebastian thinks it's beautiful and warm. Warmer than the coffee in his hands. It reaches your eyes and crinkles at the end and he knows it's genuine, it utterly stuns him and he almost thinks he missed your response.

“Once upon a time.”

Sebastian can’t help but smile at that, “give me one complaint so you don't send me home with a broken heart.” he bargains, half joking with small doubt it won't be back handed.

“I have controversial opinions on superhero movies and the people that play them, but you portray Bucky Barnes really well.'' You say quietly like you're scared of being nice, Sebastian takes it and he doesn't notice he's grinning with a light in his eyes. You don't either, mimi does - she is already texting Lauryn about it.

“I don't like to comment on people's acting abilities because I'm not an actor, but I can tell when someone is good or bad.”

Sebastian narrows his eyes at you. “You sure do comment on people's writing and directing though, you're a writer?”

Your eyes are cold again and your back straightens, even Mimi tenses and Sebastian wonders if he said something wrong. He gets no reply from you, and Sebastian sees a mask fall from your face - one he didn't notice you were wearing until now.

“No, I'm not.” your voice is monotone again. When did it have feelings? Sebastian doesn't remember when you started to sound humane and passionate, he said something wrong.

Mimi rushes the rest of her food in her mouth and reads the room as you retreat behind to the kitchen again, so quickly and quietly Sebastian almost doesn't notice.

“It's now late-late, I'm heading home.” Mimi sighs, heavily implying he needs to leave too. Sebastian agrees.

He glances back at you once more when Mimi yells goodbye, you don't look at Sebastian.

Sebastian prepares for the movie, he doesn’t think about you or the cafe for two weeks. He goes on a date and he doesn’t call her back.

his house is suffocating, it’s too big for him and he knows it. women and friends stay over but it feels empty. He needs air - paparazzi - he groans. suck it up, Sebastian. put on a coat and find a place to eat, he chooses a blue sweatshirt and sunglasses.

Every time he goes out he thinks maybe no one will recognize him. He's always wrong. He should know better.

aimlessly he walks. Sebastian knows the streets of New York like the back of his hand. He feels lost despite the fact he’s walked down this street many times, so much changed anyways.

Jones' place.

he remembers the place from a few weeks ago, remembers you and your cold face. Sebastian remembers you smiling and him feeling giddy about it, but now he can’t imagine it in his head. Sebastian had said something wrong, he remembers that. He wishes he got your number.

you knew him and you didn’t dance around him like a celebrity - when did the person get erased and celebrity scribbled in its place? you were normal and not on vogue or GQ and you talked to him like he wasn’t either.

in a daze, he walks in and sits down. it’s open this time, and a group of teenagers sits at a booth in the corner. an elderly man sits alone at a table, Sebastian wonders if he’s married, and if she passed and that’s where they used to sit together. maybe you’d know.

but he doesn’t see you at first. tapping his finger on the bar - you appear and you don’t look at him, don’t notice him. walking straight past him and giving a chocolate croissant to the elderly man, maybe you did see him and are just insanely good at covering it up, you don’t smile at the man but your features lighten.

you turn back around and your eyes hit Sebastian dead center like you knew he was there because Sebastian was right.

“same as last time?” you ask, of course you’d remember his order. it was simple and that was your job.

Sebastian nods, “no egg, just coffee.”

“It's not on the house this time!” you yell as you disappear into the back.

Sebastian smiles for some reason.

Daisy Edgar-Jones' accent makes Sebastian feel weirdly at home despite the fact he’s not from England and has never found any sense of comfort there.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek as he listens to Mimi speak about the movie, he dozed off, to be honest. the writers and producer speak over each other in the zoom call. Daisy is still in England and they start filming in two weeks. Sebastian is excited - the type of excitement that you mix with anxiety because it also makes you want to throw up.

Your name is mentioned briefly and Sebastian is paying attention now. Lauryn dances around the fact you practically wrote the whole script - why don’t you take credit? Lauryn is an extroverted woman who smiles a lot and tries to make everyone as comfortable as possible, the same with Mimi.

It makes no sense. Why are you so distant and monotone?

Sebastian opens Instagram for the first time in a week. He realized recently most social media was bullshit, he was turning 40 this year, and there are more important things to focus on.

search history.

(imsebastianstan) y/n l/n writer

(imsebastianstan) y/n l/n

(imsebastianstan) sundance film fest

(imsebastianstan) daisyedgarjones

(imsebastianstan) mjonf

Sebastian has been acting since a kid, he took a break between then and his first real job but he's been surrounded by film and cameras most of his life. Being in front of a camera should come naturally to him. Maybe it's just a mid-life crisis thing but he feels like he wants to throw up.

Coming back from some stupid junket, he doesn't remember when the feeling of needing to hurl settled in his stomach but even hours after, it hasn't left. Sebastian wonders how many people know that he paces in his room before filming, he'll anxiously bite on his nails and look in the mirror and wonder if he should have skipped that meal earlier.

Home feels foreign now. He misses his mom and he can't seem to find time to go see her. His stomach feels empty - it is empty. He's only had a salad today.

Sebastian wants to flee, where it's private and warm. His steps carried him through the city, maybe he should call that girl back? He doesn't want to be lonely tonight.

Suddenly, he feels the presence of cameras snapping pictures of his panic attacks across the street. It's like a sixth sense now, he hates it. Sometimes when his day will blur and depression hits, he'll see the photos of himself later not recognize the person on his phone. Or he'll just hate what he sees.

He doesn’t want to have to do that routine again tomorrow morning.

Then he remembers you, remembers the street he's on. and then before he can realize his breath is already suffocating him and your cafe is in front of him. It's closed but the lights are on - why is he here? Why is he knocking on the door?

Your face is concerned when you open it, Sebastian's chest feels heavy, can you tell? You must have, you must be familiar with the look of despair, panic, and the intense feelings of doom, because you let him in with no word.

Sebastian's staring again as you make him the same coffees he's ordered twice now. You're nice but guarded, Sebastian wonders if you'll ever let it down. Because he is now. Your hair is tied up and your full face is in view, no muscles move and you look just as monotone and bored as before. You look like statues, beautiful statues. Like your cheekbones and exposed collarbone were sculpted with stone or clay. Your lips are plump, you're not smiling - not frowning. You remind him of the Mona Lisa.

Embarrassment washed over him when he jolted like a paranoid creep as you set his coffee down. Sebastian mumbled a sorry under his breath and you don't say anything still, why haven't you said anything?

A laptop and cup of tea are set in front of the seat next to him, a google doc is open and he sees a script. He’ll feel guilty about it later but his neck cranes to see what is written. Sebastian barely reads a line before the laptop closes with a slam, you're looking at him with a glare, and he flinches again.

“You're nosy.” you say, making your way to sitting next to him now, sipping on the tea and staring off into space.

“Thought you said you weren't a writer?” Sebastian feels like he's going into tricky territory, scratch that - he knows he is.

Mumbled through your lips, “I'm not.”

You sound haunted, Sebastian wants to know why.

Maybe he is nosy.

Sebastian needs to keep talking or else his anxiety will eat him raw, he’ll choke on his thoughts and die in the middle of your cafe. Then he'd feel really bad. At least he doesn't feel lonely, a ghost of a person sits next to him yet he feels more comfortable than in a room full of people. How odd.

“You're not going to ask why I knocked on your door at 11 pm? Or do you just let any stranger in at night?” he tries to joke, but it comes out half-hearted like most things.

“You looked like you were going to die, I'm not going to be responsible for Sebastian stan's death,” you say, scrolling through your phone. Twitter. “I'm sure some 16 year old would dox me or something.”

Sebastian laughs, slowly picking up on your dry humor, but he knows you're unfortunately right.

“How'd you meet Lauryn?” Sebastian asks, clawing at your guarded walls as he also tries to calm himself down. He doesn't even remember why he was panicking earlier.

“A film festival in Greece, 2009 - I think,” you answer honestly, sipping your coffee again. Sebastian notices the rings on your fingers.

Sebastian wants to ask how you got into films - he feels like that's the wrong thing to say again. He doesn't want you to drive him out again, hoping to get your number before he leaves.

The iPhone in his pocket dings, it's Ellie, his date from a few days ago. She's asking if he wants to come over with a winky face, that her bed feels cold and Sebastian wants to throw up again.

“Girlfriend?” you ask, side-eyeing his phone.

“No, I don't have time for that right now.” part lie, not his girlfriend but somehow he always finds time to date. Sometimes he hates himself for it because he always loves half heartedly. He never liked commitment anyways. “You?”

“No,” you say plainly. Changing the subject at an uncharacteristic rate, “why have you so shaken up at such a time?”

Sebastian wonders if he should lie and make up some stereotypical actor excuse, or just say he doesn't know. Avoid the topic that he’s spent the past 3 weeks with new people every day but he still feels lonely. That he wants to crumble in front of any camera. That he's tired of picking himself apart.

But you sit there so mysteriously and Sebastian wants to know you too. Maybe if he gets vulnerable you'd feel okay doing the same, he tries to avoid the thought of expecting that from you, because he shouldn't. This will be an olive branch.

“I feel lonely.” he starts. “I don’t want to be home right now, so I went for a walk, and then the paps -“

he cuts himself off before he turns into word vomit. you're sitting next to him, not looking at his face. Sebastian wants you to look at him.

“you live in the city?”

“Rockland county.”

you hum, “far way to go for a walk.”

“I know.”

a moment of silence, Sebastian wants to cry for some reason. “Are you going to that girl's house?”

Sebastian's eyebrows furrow for a second, you're referring to the text. you were just as nosy as him it seems. and maybe he could go to her house, either it would destroy him or he’d feel a little better. she’d probably ask him about the new movie, flirt, and have sex, she’d talk to him like a character and he’d go home. He doesn't want to go home.

“no.” Sebastian almost whispers, “I'm not sure where I'm going.”

he was so lost, it’s pathetic.

you look at him for once you don’t look frozen. Sebastian wants to know what’s going on behind your eyes. you’re thinking, that’s obvious enough. eyes scanning him up and down he feels vulnerable. it’s unfair how much he doesn't know about you.

“I have a spare room if you're desperate.” you offer. an olive branch. Sebastian feels like choking.

He also feels guilty, because he doesn't know you and you’ve already made him coffee for free when you didn’t need to. “no, you don’t have-“

“You feel so small and tiny in a big house like that, it’s like living with a ghost when you are lonely, right? it feels taunting, even." You speak honestly, speaking from experience, you’ve been where Sebastian has. He still feels like crying but now he understands, the loneliness slowly drains from his body without realizing it.

“okay.” he whispers, almost scared to accept.

this is you being vulnerable, he soon realizes as you tell him you’ll finish closing up - living only across the alleyway in the back. you're being vulnerable by sharing a space, we’re he’ll see you raw and open.

and he saw it. old coffee mugs and everywhere the matching stains in the wood. a sweatshirt is thrown over your couch. a record playing with 80s goth music. bright orange bottles of pills. Banksy prints are nailed on the wall. books on screenwriting stacked on the coffee table. a cut-off and discarded hospital bracelet on the counter.

Sebastian asks about the vinyl, but he doesn’t bring up the empty Xanax bottles or the bracelet. you're glad.

The apartment is small and he feels warm. it’s foreign and strange - but it’s the most comfortable he’s felt in at least a week. you show him the extra bedroom, the beds made and it's mostly empty. a side table with a lamb and a wall full of shelves. books and movie scripts fill it, he sees an oscar award hidden and dusty behind a copy of pride and prejudice.

the front room is filled with warm lights, it’s settled the fog in his brain and he feels better You're sitting on a green couch that you found on the Facebook market place and he thinks you’re beautiful. Sebastian sits next to you and understanding is shared between you two, what it is? he’s not sure. but he feels safe and understood and he doesn’t want to leave.

Sebastian is not tired and neither are you, your leaning intoSebastian'sn touch and he doesn’t question why.

“thank you.” is all he can think to say.

“don’t, not yet.” you sound tortured and Sebastian can’t stop the word from leaving his mouth. he just has to know.

“what broke you?”

too much. everything. nothing at all. a man. my talent and my desire to be my loved, you think. a shaky exhale leaves your mouth and Sebastian thinks he carry your sorrows if you’d just smile at him again.

“I don’t know.” you settle on and Sebastian understands.

Sebastian's hand grazed above your arm, you don’t flinch out of his touch. your warm and soft and he melts. he wants to ask you why you have an Oscar, if it’s yours and why you were at the hospital 2 days ago and why you're chasing him with a stone-cold face

the extra bedroom goes unused and his limbs are warm and feel perfect against yours. the warm lights lull him to sleep, your breath is steady and Sebastian realized you smile in your sleep and he hopes it’s because he’s caressed your back as you dazed off. Sebastian wraps a blanket around the two of you.

now don’t get anything incorrect. Sebastian stan doesn’t believe in love at first sight, sometimes he wonders if he even believes in love at all because sometimes it feels impossible to love. his mother and father taught him commitments are lies and his partners convinced him of that. he loves his friends - he thinks - but they always come and go. they never knew him anyways.

but as the sun hits his face and he feels the blanket around him on your couch. Faye Webster is spinning on the record playing softly and you’re swaying your hips in the kitchen. you don’t realize he’s awake and your mask falls down. your cooking something and humming along, a thin-lipped smile on your face.

Sebastian doesn’t know you but at this moment he does. he feels normal and like he’s known you his entire life. it’s scary and he feels oncoming doom but he lets himself be and watches.

you seemed more alive this morning as you gave him toast. he didn’t ask for it but it was the best toast he has had in a while. Sebastian asks if you slept on the couch all night, you smiled and he almost dropped dead. no reply but that was enough. he danced with you in the kitchen, it was weird and domestic and Sebastian is looking at you like he’s in love.

but he’s not. and neither are you. The fog settles and you say goodbye and open the shop. Sebastian goes home and he never got your number.

and he has to leave tomorrow for Canada and go back to his life.

Sebastian doesn’t talk to you for another week.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan rpf #seb stan #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x ofc #sebastian stan x you #actor rpf

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