#not comically so but he looks like he could handle a bit more than he actually can xD

[milykins]

Hello my dear! ✨️

I was curious if you might be able to write a little something fun/fluffy with Mikey for this prompt:

"Sorry, you're just my type."

I'd love to see what you could come up with for this. Thank you!

🫂💖

Finally ready to post! I hope this doesn't disappoint. I had fun putting my own nerdy spin on this ask and putting it in my AU where they already live among humans just worked really well for this prompt. Thank you for it!

TW: None, set in an AU where they live in the city and have jobs/own businesses. Aged up, adult turtles

Special thanks to @sophiacloud28 for beta reading!

Just My Type

Mikey was kind of a big deal. He was the first of his brothers to go ‘public’ once they had made the decision to reveal themselves. Predictably, Leo had advised him to go about it carefully. Raph followed suit, and Donnie especially. Both were planning to take careful baby steps and advised Mikey to do the same.

Funny that they expected him to listen, did they even know him? Unsurprisingly, he went hard, very much putting himself out there. To him, the choice was easy. If they were to live among the humans, he needed to show them that they meant no harm. The incident at the police station was a painful reminder of how bad things could go and he was willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. Mikey was steadfastly dedicated to shifting humanity’s perspective from ‘monsters’ to ‘heroes’.

To his delight, the expressed reception was largely positive. He was very pleased that his efforts had paid off. Perhaps a little too well. Mikey ended up with a huge fanbase in a matter of months. His popularity exploded across social media and he even appeared on a few talk shows.

Opening his comic book store was huge. People camped outside with lineups around the block for the grand opening. The rush of customers and fans was so intense that Mikey actually had to call his brothers in for assistance. Raph had been more than happy to act as a bouncer for his little brother.

He was quickly becoming very familiar with the term ‘be careful what you wish for’. Our hero in orange was there. The constant fans demanding pictures, autographs, even trying to steal his mask… (he’d lost four so far) had been grating on him a little. He’d been wondering if his brothers were right in telling him he should’ve approached humanity more carefully. Leo certainly had no problem pointing it out. ‘You asked for this, Mikey. What did you expect?’

He couldn’t say. He’d just wanted what they all wanted. Acceptance. Now, it looked like he’d bitten of more than he could chew.

Then you came along.

He’d been watching the day you nervously approached the door. Carefully, you placed your hand on the door handle before abruptly drawing it back like it had been burned. Turning on your heel you left fast, caught up in your own mortification. Stifling a soft chuckle, Mikey went back to his work.

You proceeded to do this twice more over the coming days much to his growing amusement. He couldn’t help but be intrigued and was patiently waiting for the day you summoned enough courage to actually enter the store.

Obviously, you were a huge fan. He was flattered of course but he could tell something was different about you. Typically, his fans had no fear in approaching him and most had even less shame in throwing themselves at him. He found your hesitancy and careful approach to be endearing and a refreshing change.

His heart soared the day you finally summoned your courage and asked to be a part of his weekly one-shot D&D afternoon gaming sessions. Of course it was a resounding yes from him. He was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as he was more than happy to include you.

It was a wonderful thing to see you blossom during the session. To see your confidence grow as you slowly came out of your own proverbial shell. You’d played before, he could tell. The adorable accent you put on as you fell into the role of playing your character nearly dropped him on the back of his shell. It was so cute. He delighted in the fact that you did not need much help in calculating your rolls either. He was really trying to tamp it down but he was already smitten. Soft, sweet, pretty and shy, but hiding this confident player underneath. You were just his type.

As the session came to a close, he felt a surge of pride upon being thanked by you. A wholly grateful smile on your face. Humbly accepting the praise, he secretly hoped this wasn’t the last he’d see of you. To his relief you shyly approached him after the game, not to ask for a picture or an autograph but to ask if he knew of any D&D groups accepting new members. Hope bloomed within him as he explained that actually there was one. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the excitement in your eyes grow. It was a done deal. You were invited to join his very exclusive, only reserved for family and close friends… D&D group.

Those sessions were the most enjoyable he’d ever had the pleasure of dming. Seeing you attend his games became the highlight of his week. You and he soon struck up a solid friendship and for once in his life, Mikey was trying his hardest not to come on too strong. He didn’t want to screw this up by any means. He wanted you to call the shots and was secretly hoping that you liked him as much as he liked you.

Oh, he was in deep. He began noticing the subtle nuances in your behaviour, little things unique only to you. How your cheeks flushed pink when something embarrassing happened or when he’d teased you in-game. Your expression of pure satisfaction and excitement as you rolled a perfect nat20 and your contradictory one of utter disappointment and dramatic woe when you rolled a nat1. He found himself craving these moments, just to see how you’ll react. Truthfully, he’d fudged at least one roll just so you’d have a success instead of a failure. He needed to see the look of pure joy on your face. He wanted to be the cause of that joy.

One day, he couldn’t help it. He had to ask you out. Saying he was nervous was an understatement. You’d think having such a huge fanbase would’ve prepared him for this but alas no. He was still a shy, stuttering mess when he’d quietly suggested dinner and a walk after.

At your soft, surprised yes, he nearly cheered with an overly enthusiastic fist pump. Instead, he tugged you in for a tentative hug and quietly told you how happy that would make him. He had to really hold back from kissing you as your faces grew close. Shyly, you pulled away first to tell him you’ll see him there. He watched you turn with a small wave and a tiny excited smile. You were so adorable it hurt.

The date itself seemed to be a success. He wanted you to be wined and dined, wanted you to feel special, like a princess. He tried to be an absolute gentleman while putting his best romantic foot forward. To his delight, you seemed to be having a wonderful time. If your wide smiles and soft bouts of laughter were any indication. By the time he was carefully holding your hand while walking with you through Central Park he’d thought he'd made it. Reading your body language and how you had glanced up to his face a few times while your cheeks flushed so prettily. He took the cue and leaned in for that once-in-a-lifetime first kiss. It was going to be perfect.

It was… until you pulled away at the last second. Mikey felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. Concern laced his features as he searched your face to find out where he’d gone wrong. Then you started talking, your voice stuttering and unsure.

“I’m sorry… I just… I didn’t think you really liked me like that…”

His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. “You… you don’t feel the same way… do you?” There was no hiding his disappointment this time. He watched your eyes widen as you struggled to pick your next words carefully.

Your tone changes then as you shake your head and then nod, stammering a bit. “Wait, wait, wait! No, I do! I do like you, Mikey… I just didn’t think you’d go for me, I’m nothing special… not like those fangirls of yours. Aren’t they more your type?”

This was the answer he’d least been expecting to hear. He’d been sure you were going to let him down easy… that your heart belonged to another… more human guy. Not a mutated turtle guy.

“Not my… you think that they…” His mind was absolutely blown. This gorgeous, sweet woman thought that she wasn’t good enough for him? That was it, he was in love.

“Sweetheart… sorry to disappoint you, you’re just my type. Exactly my type. You’re the only woman I want to be with. The one that knows the real me.” He gave you a truthful and tender smile as he carefully tucked an errant curl behind your ear.

This time, when he moved in for that kiss, there was no hesitation on your part. He wanted you to feel the joy and tenderness he poured into it, right down to your toes.

A tightening of your grip and a deepening of the kiss was all he needed to know that you did feel it. He’d found what most people had been searching for their entire lives. A deep connection you both shared in the depths of your souls. To heck with ‘types’ he just wanted you.

Until the next ask!

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[timmydraker]

Everyone in the Bat Clan has been noticing something over the years, specially about Tim.

Every so often he will go to do something with his hands or even his entire body, such as swaying or shaking his hands, but always stops himself.

There’s almost this look of annoyance on his face that just barely hides discomfort, but he brushes it off quickly.

Bruce noticed and, thinking about Robin more than anything, offered some kind of fidgeting device to help him stay on task, only for Tim to snap at him for the first time. It was his usual snark or commenting on Bruce’s well being, but a real moment of lashing out.

He decided then not to bother Tim about his clear want to move around it play with something even if it’s just his hands, mainly because he was doing his job well.

Yet, as he starts to really try and be a good parent to his kids and realises that Tim is one of the places he messed up most by basically using him to cope with grief, he decides to ask the rest of the family what they think.

Dick says it could be ADHD and he needs movements, with Barbara backing it up with a few websites in agreement.

Damian says he should mediate and Cass so what agrees but says it probably won’t help someone like Tim that much.

Duke and Steph make up a somewhat chaotic plan of coercing him into telling them what he needs, out of love and somewhat aggressive care.

It’s Jason who just scoffs and says, “It’s stimming, you idiots. He has like, super messed up standards cause of his parents, right? They probably didn’t allow it but he’s got that like, autastic thing.”

Only Jason Todd could say something so smart followed by completely idiocy.

But he is right, very much so. It might also explain why sometimes he seemingly couldn’t handle touch but when he panicked he need to be squeezed as tightly as possible.

Naturally, with a family of emotionally repressed vigilantes, they decide to subtly let him know it’s okay.

Dick is the worst with it, speaking far too loudly about how Autism is okay and how he wants to learn to support autistic kids, while Bruce thinks nodding along to this helps.

Damian just stares at Tim for five minutes before bailing and running away.

When a month passes and Tim seem more like he’s even more ashamed than anything my, Cass smashes her hand on the table at dinner and drags him out of the room to talk to him.

Tim is forced to sit and listen to his sister, who may or may not be his favourite sibling, talk about how he’s not damaged or wrong for needing to stim and move his body. She calls him out on how he is being a hypocrite, for accepting people like Bart and Barbara and and her for their disabilities whether ADHD or something physical but not himself.

Tim wouldn’t have been moved by this if it was anyone else, but never in all the time he’s known her has he heard Cass say so many words in one go nor can see her cry so much. She’s loud when she cries, making up for her silence, but it’s only something any of them have seen twice and that was Bruce and Steph.

He doesn’t just magically accept that he’s neurodivergent, nor does he ever want a title as to what is different about him, but the difference is still noticeable.

A week later him and Dick are watching an episode of their show and something Tim adores, a comic series, is referenced. Instead of what he usually does, that being sitting there as still as he can, he bats his hands around a for a few seconds before pausing and waiting for Dicks reaction.

When Dick beams at him brighter than a sun he continues, smacking the couch and even Dicks arm in his excitement.

A few days later he makes a high pitched noice just to get to an itch in his throat and doesn’t realise that Jason is there, yet when the other responds with the same noice, given a bit deeper, Tim smile. Bruce walks in on them making strange noises at each other in a sort of echo.

It’s months later when it’s his birthday and his family has come together to buy him a new, stupidly expensive camera only to reveal they also added a red light room in the manner for him to print them that they really see how much safer he feels.

He flaps his hands aggressively and jumps in place, rumbling out words that don’t all much and thanking them over and over.

He squeals happily but only has a moment where he looks shamed before Bruce holds out a flat palm for him to smack excitedly.

Later, when he gets overwhelmed and crashes a little, Duke lies on top of him to give him pressure only for Steph to sit on him.

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + WHERE HIS HANDS ARE DURING IT

— ꒰ including ꒱ — wriothesley, alhaitham, scaramouche, ayato x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, established relationship, doggy/office syx,ass slapping (ayato's part), dirty talk, dom characters

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ + over your mouth

"shh, no, keep quiet… that's it, that'll help, yeah?" with how you're pressed between a muscular chest and a chilly wall, it was truly mouth-watering by how wriothesley handled you that it made you hot from head to toe, almost feeling like he could be able to swallow your body whole.

needless to say, you can practically feel that stupid, sneaky smirk emitting with a deep, focused thrust as he nuzzles his head into the back of your neck— and fuck, everything around you two begins to grow warm, neither of you can control the ache developing on your frames as your bofriend set out for a brutal pace.

you were in his office and from the outside noises, it was evident that it's quite busy in the fortress, hence why the duke had suddenly decided to take sweet precautions within this lewd situation and be for certain that nobody was able to listen to those heavenly noises you made.

wriothesley finds it equally comical and a teeny bit embarrassing by how much power you had over him.

how the lingering touch of you was enough to coax out heavy sets of breathes from his throat, how his cock would react and twitch at the sounds spilling from you, how you're grinding desperately back into his thrusts, knowing that when he reaches even deeper, offers you more of his decadent rolls of his hips, he'd race both of you closer to completion. 

with pleasure, he touches you so eagerly with one large palm tightly pressed against your mouth and the tip of his cock bruises along your ribbed walls. with heavy breathes surrounding your frame, you sob into his hand as your eyes roll back, the evident contrast of hot, sloppy grinds pivoting within your soft spots and the cold wall you're being pressed against only adding to your body being doused with a sprinkle of sweat and arousal.

heavy breathing, even heavier movements, accompanied by a racing pulse took over your entire frame— only making it ten times more intense when wriothesley began to come close to his own relief, which meant that he'd shamelessly grunt against your ears, the coil stuffed deep within your guts slowly beginning to reveal itself, your legs jelly-alike and trembling while he pumps into you faster.

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱ + holds your hand

alhaitham peers down at you with his eyes brilliant of translucent lust turning them glossy, his blessed features exuding a strong desire as soft peels of sweat slither down his forehead.

a low, throaty gasp slips through his lips when you draw him into your slick walls, your arousal seeping through each grind he'd give you before dripping along his balls and pelvis. despite the frantic lust that is evident in the tempo of his hips, tonight was more than simple "lust", the scribe was desperate, seeking out more, undoubtedly illuminated in his touch and hold, he was ravenous.

to indulge in your whole body was what he needed to die a happy man after, drown in an ocean of you as he swiftly grabs your hand before pressing it into the mattress, tightly shutting his fingers around it so you could untangle your digits from his, even if you tried, "what's that look on your face, hm?" he brings himself to say it through a tensed jaw as a harsh cry escapes your lips.

"you're so pretty just like this,"

sloppy thrusts, mindless bubbles, and kisses paired within soft pants that had held you in a daze, all you could do was hold on tight to his hand— because here, alhaitham put more effort into his hips, nasty sounds after nasty sounds coming from your hole being repeatedly filled as you dug your heels into his solid back, your orgasm soon after bursting thick upon his restless body snapping forward.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱ + on your tits

with your hands moving to sensually claw on to scaramouche's back, his slicing pace was never faltering, not even a little, especially not when he's hissing from the slight pain you caused with your nails dragging at his skin— but he secretly likes it, it turns him on, yet he leans into your body more afterwards, always so eager to snap his hips further and further until he's able to trace every pulse and twitch on your puffy walls.

what else could be better than pleasuring his loved one? while also toying with your nipples standing erected, presented on a silver plate? you're too much for him, too much all at once that it doesn't matter how often you've already been intimate, he will never get used to all of this.

a rosy hue coats his facial expression with how your pussy was milking him, consuming his life more than he'd ever allow anybody to do so— and his grip gets tighter now, because the moment scaramouche sees how your body begins to react, the force of his thrusts casting upon your sillhouette, he cannot hold back the menacing grin that follows his lips.

his eyes crinkle in delight, "someone's hiding noises, i see," as his hand reaches to roughly squeeze at your breast to make it bounce from equally the impact of his tantalizing tempo and the roughness of his grip on it, "i want to hear you, louder," how he says it was interesting— both sensual and stern, as if it was a direct order, the ones he used to give back as a fatui harbinger.

at bottom, it made you arch greedily beneath him, the tension hanging heavy at each sound, each impassioned noise, all of it ultimately smoothing over fray hairs from your body with tears swelling in your eyes.

— ꒰ AYATO ꒱ + on your ass

ayato couldn't possibly keep his hands off your ass, he's greedy, it's both a comfort to have his palms squeeze and jiggle the bouncy skin and the most ideal way to keep you in your place while he's practically pulling your hips against his cock himself.

he's kneading your ass now, taking a handful before giving it a light slap, one more, and slap, just for good measure, you know? — turning it impossible for you to solely focus on one single thing, wether it was the never ending increase of speed his cock had, with his length reaching your throbbing places to stroke and tease at your sore walls, slipping and pushing against the places that would make you end up clawing at his shoulders to drag him into your greedy mouth.

your kisses are mostly tender, except when ayato was fucking you, then it's more teeth and spit than anything else and the kiss was always sloppy that it was arousing again. his wet muscle was raking over your lips before you leans into it more, practically letting him devour you, overtake the slight increase in dominance you had for a second when he heaves and kisses you through growls and bestial flicks of tongue.

his digits press into the plush of your ass the same time he grinds down on your warm cunt, wiping your juices back into your wet walls— but it all happens so fast that you cannot catch your breath anymore, and when you open your eyes weakly to peer up at him, ayato's mouth ghosts over your parted lips.

your mouth feels dry from swallowing the thick lumps in your throat and sobbing out his name on endless repeat— although for the man himself, the searing drags of his shaft pulling the trembles out of you did the talking, he needn't say much.

this night though, his lips part with a silent moan escaping him, like he has to say something.

"you're mine… this is mine," he slaps your ass before ramming himself into you, his hips bucking into your cunt before he repeats it, hushing his swears when he drives his cock back. the area on your flesh burned a little as your moans grow hoarse at every new smack smack of his palm hitting it harder, "—yet surely, my love," ayato sneers, hot breath fanning on your doused lips as he slows his hips to watch you pout at him,

"—surely you can take more?"

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[minghaoes]

pouty cuddles [drabble]

mingyu comes home after a day of filming gose and everyone's been meaner to him than usually. what else could he need than being in your arms and dramatically complain about his members, who he loves dearly?

TAGS: kim mingyu x gn!reader, fluff, established relationship, the members are mean to mingyu but he's handling it like a champ (he isn't)

WORD COUNT: 800 words

a/n: my first seventeen fic !! i haven't written fanfics in a minute and i'm a bit rusty so it's shorter than what i will post in the future, but i hope that y'all will enjoy it nevertheless :) please let me know what you think and happy reading !!

Mingyu was pouting. His lower lip was slightly puffed, his cheeks looked a little rounder than they usually did, and his eyes, his eyes were big and brown as they looked right into yours. His head was resting on your chest close to your chin, and Mingyu could not stop staring at your face. His arms were wrapped around your waist, and he seemed comically small in that moment. 

Your left hand softly caressed the warm skin on his back, as the fingers on your right slowly played with his curls. Mingyu sighed quietly and leaned into your touch, not before exaggerating his pout just a little bit more. It was enough to make you coo at him and press a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose.

“They were mean to me,” Mingyu said, the pout ever so evident in his voice. You suppressed a laugh and indulged in his behaviour. “Who was mean to you, baby?”

Mingyu closed his eyes at the pet name and pressed his body even closer to yours. His body felt heavy on yours, but still comfortable. The warmth radiating from his body was enough to keep you warm, to keep you happy. 

“The members,” he mumbled, and shuffled a bit further up. Nuzzling his face into your neck, he complained: “They said I’m always scared.”

It took you a lot of self restraint to not start laughing. Granted, Mingyu had not been telling you what today’s episode was about, but considering you know how your boyfriend behaved in certain situations, the members’ statement was not that far off from the truth. Yet, the pout on Mingyu’s face was enough to have you reconsider agreeing with them, even playfully. Instead, you opted for lightly scratching his head and pressing a kiss on top of his hair. “My poor baby.”

“Yes, I am,” Mingyu nodded. His lips grazed the skin of your neck and you smiled, hugging him closer to your chest. In response, Mingyu hummed and kissed the same spot softly. He kept kissing you over and over again, until he started speaking again.

“I’m not actually mad at them,” he confessed, and you hummed, “Who would have thought.”

“HOWEVER,” he interrupted you sassily, another pout already forming on his plush lips, “I’m not scared of everything.”

You smiled at him, but Mingyu only furrowed his eyebrows. Your right hand wandered further down from his hair to his forehead, to massage the worry line gently. 

“I’m not scared of being with you,” Mingyu confessed quietly. His eyes flickered back down, feeling less confident now that you reciprocated his gaze. “I’m not scared of committing to you. To give myself to you.”

It was your turn to furrow your eyebrows now. You tried to sit up straight, but Mingyu would not let you. Instead, you opted for hugging him with both of your arms around his neck. 

“Where’s that coming from, darling?”

Mingyu whined and put his head back into place right in the crease of your neck, right on top of your shoulder. 

“Just been thinking ‘bout marriage a lot lately, that’s all,” he replied casually, not knowing that the simple words made your heart beat just a little bit faster than it already did. 

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly, trying your best to maintain your breathing. Mingyu nodded again, sounding a bit more insecure this time. “If that’s what you’re considering too. No pressure if you’re not interested. I mean, I would be hurt by it, but I respect any decision you might mak-” 

Giggling, you pulled Mingyu’s head up to press a kiss on his lips. Your hand was holding his cheek and caressing the soft skin below your fingertips. In turn, Mingyu’s eyes returned to your face, the same big and brown eyes you had grown to love. The pout was evident on his lips again, and in response, you kissed him over and over again, until the lovesick frown returned to his brows, his eyes softer than you have ever seen them.

“Of course I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admitted, pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose. Mingyu turned his head upwards, trying to catch your lips with his. He whined when you pulled away, his lips returning to his natural pout. 

“Baby,” he said, his eyes switching back and forth between your eyes and your lips, “that’s unfair. I’m still sad. Why are all of you always mean to me?”

You cooed and littered his entire face with kisses. Mingyu giggled at your antics and sighed contentedly. For now, you did not have to know that his members had been nagging him about proposing to you. The box he was hiding in his sock drawer was also completely unrelated to his theatrics. 

[froggiewrites]

Midnight Guest

Pairing: Vampire!Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Your roommate is strange, you’ve always known that. Most of his habits seem like harmless eccentricities. His insistence that you lock your door when you sleep, due to his “sleepwalking,” confuses you more than anything. But when you forget one night and awaken to him standing over your bed, teeth bared, you start to think maybe there’s more to Law than meets the eye. Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Vampirism, Biting, Blood Drinking, Possessive/Obsessive Behavior, Vaginal Sex Word Count: 3.2k Halloween Special 2024

Your roommate was a strange man.

You had always known that, of course, from the moment you stepped foot into the house. It was old, built to be so beautiful and grand you could have confused it for a temple, a place of worship. And the rent he offered was far too good to be true. You couldn’t afford a studio for what he asked you to pay, let alone half of a gothic mansion to be shared with a mysterious and handsome man. There had to be something wrong with him, some reason he would give this offer to you of all people. He insisted it was just too big of a house to live in on his own, too lonely for one person. 

“I just…hate being alone,” he had admitted.

You didn’t believe that, not from someone as quiet as him.

You were extra sure he was strange when you had your first real conversation. He remained flat and reserved until you mentioned you had seen his comic collection, which made him light up like a Christmas tree. He told you about Sora, Warrior of the Sea for two hours after that, with a boyish enthusiasm you had never expected from a perpetually exhausted man covered in tattoos. It was cute, though he didn’t appreciate it when you pointed that out, cheeks growing pink and lips growing into what he would insist was not a pout. Yes, you had always known Law was strange, but in a fun way, the kind that brings more fond smiles than exasperation.

But some of his habits were starting to make you think he wasn’t quite as harmless as you had convinced yourself.

The first time you awoke with him standing over you, eyes flashing in the dark, you screamed. He had the nerve to jump back as well, as though you had scared him. Sleep walking, he had called it. You don’t know many people who sleepwalk with their eyes open and their teeth baring down on you. But he was so apologetic, you couldn’t help but let it slide.

“I’ve just been so tired from work lately,” he had admitted quietly, cheeks pink and voice tight with embarrassment. “That hasn’t happened since I was a kid. I’m sorry. I…don’t really know how to stop it, but I’ll try. Maybe I need to get more sleep.”

“I think you should,” you had agreed, dripping with good natured concern. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you look like you haven’t slept in years. I’ve been worried about you, honestly.”

He chuckled. “I appreciate it. Maybe I do need a bit more rest. But…maybe you should sleep with your door locked. Just in case I sleepwalk again. I wouldn’t want to give you such a rude awakening twice.” He had said something else, but frankly you were a little too focused on his hands flexing nervously, showing off his long, tattooed fingers, to catch whatever it was.

And since you had taken his advice, you hadn’t woken up to any more men lurking over your bed. You had, however, woken up to the jiggling of your door handle more than once. One time, you had even heard a knock echoing through the room, though he didn’t answer when you called out to ask him what he wanted.

You also couldn’t help but notice how empty the fridge and pantry were, or how little you saw him eat. He had a small snack here or there, but he seemed to subsist mostly on coffee and whatever he keeps in those tumblers he always has nearby. You had asked once, but he brushed it off, changing the subject not-so-subtly. You assumed they were protein shakes, or some other supplement he used to avoid having to sit down and enjoy a real meal. A lot of Law’s life seemed like he was actively trying to avoid living it. He had his hobbies and friends, of course, but any of the mundane pleasures of life, like eating, sleeping, or even human interaction outside of his chosen few people he avoided like the plague. He focused on his work, and anything else was either carefully penciled in or discarded entirely.

Every conversation you had about it was unproductive. He insisted he was fine, that this was just how he was, but there was always a tension around him, one you can’t help but think would disappear if he would only allow himself to live for once. But you can’t say that to him. How can you ask a man if he even enjoys being alive?

But tonight was the night you would learn your concerns were all for nothing, due only to a lack of information, and nothing more.

You try another conversation about your concerns when he wanders into the kitchen while you’re cleaning up. You know it won’t lead anywhere, but you have to try. “Do you think you’ve been sleeping better, Law?”

He hums noncommittally.

“...Have you actually been trying?”

“I’ve…had a lot to deal with.”

You frown, turning around to face him. “Has work not let up at all? You’ve been running yourself ragged for months.”

He avoids your eyes. “It’ll pass soon.”

“That’s what you said two months ago.” You reach across the counter for his hand, fingers brushing lightly against his, and he frantically pulls his hand back as though he’s been burned. You try not to show your hurt on your face, but from the guilt on his, you know you’ve failed. “I’m…I’m just worried about you. I feel like things have only gotten worse for you since I moved in. Maybe I should just–”

He jumps at that, quick to correct, to move you away from that train of thought as fast as he can. “No, no, that’s not true. And you shouldn’t do anything different. Having you around has been…this is the most alive the house has felt in years. I’m just tired, really.”

“You’re still sleepwalking.”

He tenses. “Am I?” Something about his tone is strange. He doesn’t seem like he’s surprised, or at least not surprised that he is. More surprised that you know.

“Yeah. You really didn’t start doing that until I moved in?”

“Well, no one would be able to tell me if I had.” He still isn’t looking at you.

You sigh. Even knowing how unproductive these talks are, it’s always a disappointment to learn he won’t open up to you. You honestly can’t figure out why he keeps you around. Your presence clearly stresses him out, even if he won’t admit it. “Just…try to get some rest, please. And eat a real meal for once. You’re a doctor, you should know how to take care of yourself.”

He finally looks at you again, self deprecation radiating from his tight smile. “Right. I’ll try.”

He won’t.

But you can. After you finish wiping down the counters, you get ready for a long night of sleep. No point in staying up worrying over things you can’t control. A long, warm shower and comfy pajamas are sure to fix your problems.

And they do, really, for the few hours you remain asleep.

But then you hear the door open.

No jiggling handle, no knocking, nothing. Just the quiet creak of the hinges, and footsteps approaching. You’ve barely opened your eyes before you can feel the bed start to shift, and you look up to see the same sight you did months ago: Law, eyes feral and needy, his mouth open, teeth looking particularly long and sharp in the moonlight. Before you can open your mouth, you can feel his body against yours, every inch of him stiff, his hands clutching your shoulders, his teeth growing closer and closer to your neck.

“Law?”

His eyes are still hazy, his mouth still approaching.

“Law!” You try to push his arms away, but you find you’re not strong enough to make him budge for even a moment. But the fear in your voice when you realize you’re about to feel his teeth against you makes him stop midair, his eyes focusing a little.

“Huh?” He looks down at you in his arms, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and he throws himself back with a speed and strength you didn’t know he had. You can hear him slam against the wall behind him, knocking all of your wall decorations askew and making the wall make a concerning creak. He stares at you, arms out, as though something is pinning him down, and he looks absolutely beautiful bathed in the moonlight that sneaks through your curtains. His eyes are hungry, and you can see his canines peeking out from his lips, almost looking like fangs. He’s naked except for a pair of gray sweatpants, hair mussed and tattoos on full display.

“Law?” He stares at you, still torn between hunger and fear. As you shift to sit up, you can see his eyes flicker between your neck and your breasts, your pajamas giving him a clear view of your cleavage. Normally you would be embarrassed, but the tension in the air makes you forget your vulnerability for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“You forgot to lock your door,” he murmurs, voice thick and deep. He hasn’t looked away from you for even a moment, and he hasn’t moved an inch.

“You were going to bite me.”

He licks his lips, something he often does around you. You had always thought it was a nervous habit, but combined with the look in his eyes, you’re starting to suspect perhaps there’s another reason. “I told you to keep your door locked.” It sounds like speaking takes effort, and you notice his hands trembling slightly.

“Why were you going to bite me?”

“I need to leave,” he says, not moving, staring intently at your exposed skin. He’s breathing heavily. His canines seem to have grown even longer. “Or maybe you should leave.”

“You’re…you haven’t been sleepwalking at all. You’ve been trying to get in every night. To bite me. With your teeth.”

“I…have.”

“Are you…” You can’t bring yourself to say the word, even with all of the evidence in front of you. It feels unreal, so ridiculous you feel as though you’re watching someone else live through it all.

“Yes.”

“And you’re hungry?”

His chest is heaving with the effort of holding himself back. “Very.”

“And you asked me to live with you anyway?”

He forces his eyes closed, pushing his head back against the wall. “It wasn’t very smart of me. I…I knew I couldn’t let you leave the moment you walked through that door. I needed you to stay. You don’t know what it’s like. …I thought I would have more self control than this, really.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

“Why couldn’t you let me leave?” You hate that your voice has a tinge of hope in it, like you aren’t in terrible danger, like your silly little crush on your roommate is more important than the very real threat he poses.

“You’re…you. And god, I need you.” He huffs out another breath. “You need to leave, really. Before I lose control.”

That should not have sent a shiver of excitement up your spine. “What if I didn’t?”

“Then I’d bite you.”

“And what if I wanted that?”

His eyes shoot open, and before you know it you’re pinned to the bed, a starving animal holding you down, every muscle in his body taut. “You…you shouldn’t…” He struggles to even get the words out, to keep up his good guy act when you can see the hunger in his eyes.

You lean up, exposing your neck fully, and just smile.

You’re pierced in a second.

The sensation is colder than you expected, and for a moment it really and truly feels like you’re going to die. Like you’ve made some horrible mistake for a pretty face and you’re going to pay the price for it. But before long, the ice in your veins fades away, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. It almost feels like you’re drunk, as your eyelids droop and an easy smile comes to your face.

You can feel every inch of Law pressed into you, from his warm tongue against your neck to his solid chest against yours and, most importantly, his hard and aching cock rutting against your thigh as he drinks. He hardly takes any time away from your neck, but whenever he does he’s panting, practically moaning against you. One of his hands goes to your chest, palming clumsily at your breasts, which easily spill out of your flimsy top. He looks down to see them, and groans from deep within his chest. “God, look at you.”

You try to respond, but in an instant he’s against your neck again, suckling, while his hand finds your nipple and pinches it between his fingers. You moan, far louder than you would ever admit, and your hips rut up into his. You can feel a wetness soaking easily through your pajama shorts, which he finds as well as he rubs against you, forcing the fabric between your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Your nails find his hair, gripping for dear life, and you hear him moan again. You can’t see them, but you can practically feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You try to speak again, to tell him to please fuck you, to complete the pleasure of the moment, but the only thing that leaves your lips is a pathetic cry of, “Law!”

He pulls himself back from your neck, lips dripping with your blood, staring at you ravenously. You fear he might swallow you whole. You fear you might enjoy that. His hand comes up, fingers gathering the blood dripping from his lips and chin. He maintains eye contact as he slowly and deliberately licks his fingers clean, refusing to waste even a drop of you. You clench your thighs together, which once again rubs the fabric against your clit just right, making you moan softly. His pupils blow out even further at the sound, his eyes nothing but inky blackness and desire.

You aren’t sure if it’s the warmth in your veins or your desire for Law that leaves you so pliable, so vulnerable underneath him. Either way, you find your thighs falling apart and your arms wrapping around him, begging him to take you. You whisper to him, “Please, Law, please. Finish what you’ve started. Have me.”

He leans down to clean the rest of the blood off of your neck with his tongue. “I want you,” he groans. “I have since the moment I saw you. God, you’re so delicious.” You feel his teeth graze against you again, desperate for a second taste. “You taste even better than I imagined, better than I dreamed.”

“You dreamed about me?”

“Every goddamn night. You’ve been haunting me.” He nips at your neck gently. “I couldn’t let you leave, no matter how much better it would be for you. I’m sick.”

You thrust your hips against his again, making his eyelids flutter and a soft choked noise escape his throat. “I’ve wanted you just as long.”

“I’ve never lost control over myself like this. You’ve done something to me.” He says it almost like an accusation.

You wrap your thighs around his waist in response, forcing your hips together again. “You’ve done something to me, too. I’d like you to finish it, if you don’t mind.”

He growls against your skin, something feral finally unleashing from him, and in one smooth motion he’s ripped off your pajama pants and underwear, leaving you bare and dripping for him. He thrusts into you in one smooth motion, making you nearly scream as your eyes roll back from the sensation. His pace is frantic, like if he stops for even a moment you’ll change your mind, or he’ll come to his senses, and it will all be over.

“Need you,” he mutters. “Need you to stay. Say you’ll stay.” There’s some deeper thread of desperation here, his voice pleading, nearly afraid. Like after all of this you’ll see him for what he is and leave him all alone in this house again, to be forgotten by time and left to rot.

“I’ll stay,” you moan. “I won’t leave you, Law.”

His hand finds your clit, a reward for giving him what he needed. His hands are as skilled as you had always hoped they would be, callused and moving exactly how you want them to. He makes you clench around him, ready to come undone so quickly under his attention. “You’re so alive,” he whispers. “So beautiful. And mine.”

“Yours, yes, yours!”

“Forever,” he insists.

“Forever!”

With your promise, his thrusts quicken, growing sloppy as he loses what little control he had left. His fingers and hips work frantically, bringing you to the edge easily, causing you to tighten around him as your vision goes white. At the same time, his teeth come down on your neck again, and he spills inside of you, filling you to the brim as he freely takes what he wants.

You’re panting, your heart pounding out of your chest, your blood flowing freely into Law’s waiting lips. Once he’s had his fill, he licks you clean again, before raising his head to look you in the eyes. “Forever?” He asks again.

“Forever,” you confirm.

He smiles. You watch as he bites his bottom lip, his fangs easily piercing the soft flesh, and he kisses you deeply and desperately. The taste of iron fills your mouth, at first repulsive but quickly growing into something sweet and irresistible. You lean further into him, sucking on his lip, taking whatever you can get, only stopping when he pulls back, pinning you down so you can’t chase his lips.

“Forever,” he whispers, tone filled with wonder. He kisses you again, tenderly, almost worshiping. “And you won’t have to spend a moment of it alone.”

You’re starting to grow unbearably hot, but even as you squirm, Law doesn’t allow you to move. He holds you there, under him, cock still inside of you. “Law, it’s hot. I need–”

“I know. It’ll pass.” He grins, teeth flashing dangerously in the light.

“What?” The haziness from blood loss and whatever endorphins came from a vampire’s bite start to wear off, and you start to tense. “What’ll pass?”

He doesn’t give you a straight answer. “It won’t hurt much, I promise.”

“Law, what did you do?”

He smiles, nuzzling you affectionately. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know. You won’t have to try to figure it all out alone. It’ll be the two of us, figuring it all out together. And we’ll have forever to do it.” He kisses you again as the heat overtakes you, turning swiftly from discomfort to pain.

But you’ll be alright, of course. Law is right there to walk you through it.

And he will be forever.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl

[flawseer]

On the False Dragonets of Destiny

Recycled art... Forgive me, I can't physically draw more than I currently am.

Just a little while ago I was looking at some replies to my recent work, and I noticed a nice comment from someone who expressed they enjoyed my comics featuring the false dragonets of destiny, but couldn't really get into them in the books. I am thankful for that comment, but even more thankful for the opportunity to ramble at length about something I kind of wanted to talk about, but couldn't find a plausible excuse for. Until now.

All of this is just my reading of the material, of course. You don't need to agree with me on this.

Content Warning: Some discussion of abuse, trauma, violence. I don't know if it's severe enough to warrant a warning, but better be safe.

General discussion

The false dragonets of destiny, the alternates, or whatever one wants to call them. They enter the story proper in book 4, after having made a few minor cameo appearances before, and serve as a kind of hybrid antagonistic force and pseudo-allies for Starflight during his stay on the Nightwing Isle. During that time, they are very abrasive, stand-offish, uncooperative, and a bit annoying, and I guess that doesn't make them come off very well. But like, in spite of that or maybe partially because of it, I am really fond of these guys, and I'd like to take some time talking them up to you.

One can examine how these guys act and conclude that they are a bunch of dysfunctional screw-ups. And they absolutely are that, don't get me wrong. But one should keep in mind: the majority of the time they are in the spotlight, they are in an extreme, tense, and frighteningly uncertain situation. It's easy to forget how stressful these situations are because the books as a whole really like to gloss over the more frightening kind of subjects on account of being written for young readers. You can't really go deep into themes of abuse, trauma, and depression in a story like that without tripping over some kind of censor on the way, but the implications are there, between the lines for you to find.

Understanding the group

Who are the false dragonets of destiny? They are posited as a mirror image of the true dragonets of destiny, who have all been extensively schooled in matters of education and martial prowess. The first thing we see THIS group do on page is brawl, so one may think they must be trained and capable fighters. Viper and Flame constantly throw around death threats and aggressive quips, so one may think they are hyper-violent and dangerous. They are neither. Nautilus admits the Talons haven't bothered training them at all, they haven't seen real combat, they've likely been deliberately kept away from the war as a whole. Flame doesn't even know how to use his fire breath correctly. Starflight, who is by far the least physically adept of the arc 1 protagonists, is able to outpace them even as four of them team up against him.

They are neither killers nor a crack team of badasses, rather they are a bunch of play-fighting, posing delinquents who talk a big game with little in terms of actual skill to back it up. Realizing this is key to understanding just how out of their depth and ill-equipped they are to handle anything that gets thrown at them on the Nightwing homeland, especially past the negotiations at the Skywing outpost.

Abduction and imprisonment

When Starflight first finds them, they have been on the Nightwing Isle for a good while, and they are suitably bristly because of it.

Look at this situation from their perspective. These guys have known nothing other than their semi-peaceful life in the Talon camp. Then the leader of that camp, Nautilus--a figure they all know and trust, essentially sells them to a frightening stranger, who looms over them and is so physically large he could crush each of them easily. This stranger pulls them away from their home without even giving them a chance to say goodbye to their relatives (I'm convinced Avalanche would not have let Morrowseer take her son if there was a chance to intervene, so Flame must have already been gone when she found out).

A contingent of Nightwing awaits them, blindfolds them so they don't know where the entrance to the Nightwing home is. They pass through a kind of eldritch tunnel that pulls at their souls. When they are finally allowed to see again, they find themselves trapped on an island where there is no sunlight and every breath hurts as the air is thick with ash.

The Nightwings won't let them leave, in fact they don't know if they will ever be able to leave again. Nobody tells them what's going on, what they are meant to do, or what the plan is. They are left confined in some room with nothing to do, and they (sans Fatespeaker) can't go outside without being arrested. Food is brought very infrequently, and usually inedible, so they haven't eaten since they were forced to leave home. They don't know where they are, nor where their parents are, nor if their parents know where THEY are. They are completely cut off from anywhere, isolated, trapped in this little slice of hell with no means to escape and little hope to acquire any soon.

I think if I was in a situation like that, I would be pretty cranky too. More than that, I would be scared out of my wits, and I believe that they are as well. If you look at their actions through a lens of them being frightened, their irritating quirks suddenly become very relatable. Viper is coping by throwing out threats and making herself seem bigger and scarier than the thing trapping her. Flame makes offensive jokes about killing Fatespeaker because making light of the situation helps him keep his wits together. Ochre is hard to read, but I think he's just tuning everything out. Squid is convinced that his father--who is the most important and smart dragon in all of Pyrrhia--has made the correct choice and knows what's best for all of them. And Fatespeaker is in complete denial, choosing to trust an inaccurate vision of the future while ignoring all the red flags that don't fit into it.

I think it's interesting that you can read this as all of them having a different strategy to cope with the uncertain and frightening situation they're trapped in. That's part of why I like them; they're very flawed and make interesting decisions.

Trauma and Empathy

You can look at someone like Squid and see his surface traits: He is annoying, he whines and complains constantly, he brags about who his father is, and he seems completely incapable of doing anything useful. If this guy was in any other story, I would probably dislike him. But Squid has the benefit of being a whiny dweeb in a situation where it is very appropriate to whine and be scared. He has a scene where he makes a somewhat goofy speech at Morrowseer where he calls him stupid and wants to go home, and is subsequently exiled. It's a bit silly in execution, but for me it did succeed in making me feel bad for Squid as he desperately and pathetically pleads for Morrowseer not to send him to his death.

But then you can read beyond the lines a little and view the scene in the full context that isn't really dwelt on. Here, you've got Squid, who is inept even among his peers, sheltered and doted on by his father, whom he has never been away from for any real amount of time until now. This guy, who probably can't even feed himself (otherwise he might have been able to catch fish in the waters around the island), keeps telling himself that his father has a plan, that all of this, even the questionable stuff, is happening for a reason. He hasn't eaten in weeks and he's been the punching bag for everyone else's frustrations (because Fatespeaker is not around enough, hanging out with Starflight). Now he has been chased halfway across the world, forced to cross the ocean while tired and starving, to be told he has to talk to a bunch of violent strangers who hate his kind and want to kill him. He tries to hide but is grabbed by the throat and held in the air by a soldier twice his size. This is likely the first time his life has ever been threatened that directly and with genuine intent.

The strange new Nightwing who was sent with them somehow manages to deescalate the situation enough to save him, but then, without warning, more dragons burst into the room. Suddenly everything is on fire, including the soldiers who just a moment ago threatened him. He is close enough to them to watch their forms twist and writhe in agony as they slowly burn to death.

As he is made to watch this horrifying spectacle, all the feelings he repressed by reminding himself of the faith he has in his father come flooding back in at once. It becomes too much for him to bear, and he breaks. He starts crying and verbally lashes out at their abuser for the horrid conditions they have been placed in and demands--half asserting and half pleading--to be allowed to go home. This isn't really whining anymore, this is a full-scale mental breakdown, rendered to be simple and digestible to a young audience. Imagine how harrowing this scene could have been if it wasn't filtered through a child-friendly narrative.

Closing thoughts

There is a scene some time after that I found kind of poignant. At one point, Starflight looks out and he sees Flame just standing out there, silently staring into the distance. There's maybe one line dedicated to it, and when you read the book normally, you don't really dwell on it since it's so nondescript. But this scene happens shortly after the visit to the remote outpost. The soldiers that burned to death in there were all Skywings. Skywings like himself, and like his mother, who also was a soldier before she joined the Talons. Whenever I picture him standing there, I imagine he is reliving that moment, hearing the dying screams of his kinsmen. I think he will be hearing them forever.

So in conclusion: The reason why I like the alternate dragonets so much is because of the enormous, untapped potential they possess as characters, and how deep some of them run if you take some time to look at them. I feel like all of them have a story to tell, and it's a bit of a shame that Sutherland likely won't come around to telling any of them. If I had infinite time, money, and energy, I would love to make many more comics about them, as they are an interesting lot.

Especially Flame's story I feel is such a heartbreaking tragedy, and thinking about the way it ended saddens me. He's one of my six all-time favorite characters in the series, I wish he could have gone out in a happier, healthier way.

[ariseur]

hiii can i req a sephiroth fic where he's a new dad who doesn't really know how to hold his daughter but he wants to while reader mama is asleep hehe thanks

soft shushes left sephiroth’s lips as he held a finger up to them, trying his hardest to calm his little baby before she woke you up. her wails filled the room, bouncing off the walls as he cautiously extended his hand out inside her crib. the white wooden material of the cradle brushed against his hand as sephiroth grazed his daughter’s cheek, her soft skin smooth against his knuckle. she squirmed in her onesie, her head flopping against her small pillow while she sobbed.

“shhh— it’s alright.. your father’s here.” how foreign it felt for him to call himself a father in the third person, he still wasn’t used to it yet after four months of officially being a parent although he referred to himself so formally. it was almost comical to you.

he didn’t mind getting up and soothing the baby sometimes, but by the way you were stirring in your sleep when he woke up told him that this would be more diffficult than the previous times; especially considering how his daughter wouldn’t stop crying no matter what tricks he used this time. soft rattles, her pacifier, even her favorite bunny toy didn’t calm her down, instead smacking the plush away when greeted with it. such attitude, he thought. wonder where she got that from.

he cooed at her and rubbed at her cheeks, even going so far as to awkwardly jingle a toy in front of her— instead being met with her iron baby grip. until he finally realized, she wasnt calming down anytime soon. he dreaded having to pick his daughter up, having no experience with babies whatsoever made his fear even worse. he wasn’t built for being a father, and he certainly didn’t know how to handle children with baby talk, but he’d try his damndest to soothe his baby. even hearing her whines made his heart ache.

his rough hands slipped under her tiny body and lifted her head up first, trying to carefully pick her up without letting her wiggle herself out of his grip. his callouses caught on the soft fabric of her pajamas, and although he could pick her up with one hand so easily, he couldn’t take any chances on hurting his own baby. he’d never let himself live it down if he did.

she peeked one eye open at her father, the color similar to yours— and he couldn’t help but watch in awe as she stopped wailing for a split second, looking up at him with wonder. until she finally scrunched her eyes again; frown deepening before it opened again to release a cry.

he adjusted his hold on her, his mind thinking back to the times where he’s watched you hold her, the time where you had gotten back from the hospital and taken her home. sephiroth snaked a hand up behind her neck to support her head, his daughter’s sniffles and sobs gradually getting softer. he brought her to his chest, rocking her a little bit as he replicated your motions. usually, with enough time, she’d fall right back to sleep once she was held enough. looking down at her, she peered up at his mako green eyes in curiosity, watching as they curved with the small smile he gave her.

sephiroth brought her up to his upper chest, having her lean on his shoulder instead as he held her neck and placed his other hand under her bottom for support, rocking her as he hummed a soft lullaby he used to hear in his training days, more like a shanty if anything. although it certainly did the trick— the only thing left in his ear were soft noises and sniffles by the time he had already recited the song twice.

he let his eyes trail across her room, memories flooding back to him in an instant. with all the childproofing around the house, the small loosely colored drawings pinned on the wall, the overhead stars set up above the crib, everything reminded him of you. even looking at his baby girl, she had your eyes. he remembered a few years earlier, having a conversation with you of how you both craved domesticity, a nice life, something better than the one you already had. and now look at him, cradling his baby in his arms and singing sweet lullabies to lull her to a slumber. he never imagined this far into the future, but god, did it make him feel so warm.

sephiroth eyed the tiny couch in the nursery, littered with toys and cartons of formula. through the window behind it, he could see the lightening sky through the sliver of curtains beyond the sofa, signaling that it was probably time for you to wake up soon. he walked back over to the crib, his baby now calm and serene as her head kept lolling downwards when he put her back in his arms.

setting her back down in the cushioned crib, he slid down on the side of it and brought his knees to his chest, hugging them to himself. he listened to her sleepy coos and slight shuffling, waiting a while to ensure she truly fell asleep. when sephiroth looked back at her, his eyes lit up to see she had finally gone back to sleep.

breathing a sigh of relief, he let the back of his head rest against the cradle, closing his eyes with a breath of victory before letting himself fall asleep on his own, occasionally waking up and checking on her sleeping form— making sure that her chest is rising and falling the way it’s supposed to.

and when you woke up, rushing to your baby’s room as it had been way too quiet, you found sephiroth snug against the cradle with your daughter asleep inside, the soft twinkling of a lullaby playing from the overhead rotating mobile hanging above the crib. your mouth dropped into a silent ‘o’ as you took the sight in with awe, a hand flying up to cover your mouth.

sephiroth may not have known how to become a father, but nobody knows. all he knows is that he’d do anything for his baby, he’d do anything for you. your baby was a part of the both of you, a piece of evidence that proved that the both of you existed. below his glare is adoration, and he’ll do anything to protect the ones who have known him before anyone else has; for he is not a war hero, he is a father. he is a lover. he is merely, sephiroth.

[benispunk]

Who's that girl?

Chapter 1: Who’s That Girl?

Wade and Logan are looking for a new roommate. Enters Y/N. How bad could it be?

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, does Deadpool & Wolverine count as a warning?, mentions of dark backgrounds sometimes.

A/N: hello everyone! this is it (I'm so nervous right now), the New Girl AU of my dreams, I hope I'm not going to disappoint you with that series. I'll try to post one chapter every week (and maybe two if I'm efficient). English is not my first language, I have read this chapter way too many times to acknowledge any new mistakes (sorry in advance), alright it's yours now. see you soon!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist

Knock knock knock

The sound of her knuckles against the wood echoed louder than she expected, sending a jolt of anxiety through her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a step back, suddenly hyperaware of every breath she took.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to calm the nervous energy bubbling inside her. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last, as she imagined all the possible ways this could go wrong.

What if they didn’t like her? What if she said something stupid? What if-

The click of the door handle snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. 

Her stomach did a flip as the door swung open with surprising speed, revealing a man with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He wore a bright red t-shirt with some sort of sarcastic slogan on it.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our potential new roommate!” Wade said, his tone playful as he leaned against the doorframe. “You must be the brave soul willing to share a living space with me and the grumpy lumberjack inside.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Wade was already continuing, as if he hadn’t noticed -or didn’t care- that she hadn’t spoken yet. “Quick question before you come in: Ryan Reynolds or Hugh Jackman? Your answer could determine your fate in this apartment.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the randomness of the question. “Uh… Hugh Jackman?”

Wade clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch, right in the ego! But I’ll forgive you, because you seem nice.” He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. “Come on in before Logan gets any more annoyed. He’s been brooding extra hard today.”

As she stepped inside, she couldn’t help but notice that the apartment, while a bit cluttered, had a warm, lived-in feel to it. Her nerves eased a little, but her mind was quick to remind her that this was an interview and that she wasn’t living there yet.

“Logan!” Wade called out as he shut the door behind her. “Our guest has arrived, and she’s team Jackman, so you’re safe for now!”

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, she heard a low, gruff voice grumble in response. Y/N wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but she figured she’d find out soon enough.

Y/N barely had time to take in the surroundings before heavy footsteps signaled Logan’s approach. He emerged from a hallway leading to what she assumed were the bedrooms, his expression as stern as she’d expected. There was something about the man that made it clear he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

He gave her a quick, assessing look, then turned his attention to Wade. “You gonna offer her a seat, or just keep standin’ around like an idiot?”

Wade rolled his eyes but grinned. “Relax, peanut. I was getting to it.” He turned to Y/N and gestured toward the couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee? A shot of whiskey to calm the nerves?”

“Uh, water’s fine,” she replied, taking a seat on the couch. She couldn’t help but notice how the room seemed to reflect the personalities of its inhabitants—one side neat and organized, the other side a chaotic mix of random objects, comic books, and a few unidentifiable gadgets.

Wade disappeared into the kitchen, and Logan took the opportunity to sit in a chair across from her. His intense gaze made her sit up a little straighter. “So, why do you wanna live here?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

Before she could answer, Wade returned with a glass of water and plopped down next to her on the couch, interrupting her thoughts. “Yeah, what Logan said. Also, how much weirdness can you handle? Just asking for a friend,” he said, winking as he handed her the glass.

Y/N took the water gratefully, trying to collect herself. “Well,” she began, glancing between the two of them, “I had to move out quite urgently from my apartment, I’m currently crashing at my colleagues place and I can’t afford an apartment for myself in the city... You guys are actually the only people who replied to my application. Which I appreciate, thank you for considering me.”

Wade, on the other hand, was already nodding enthusiastically. “Well, aren’t we just the Good Samaritans of the roommate world? Don’t worry Y/N, we’ve got plenty of space and...” he paused for dramatic effect, “—an unbeatable blend of charm and wit. Right, Logan?”

Logan just rolled his eyes in response, which seemed to amuse Wade even more. “Don’t mind him. He’s actually a big softie once you get past all the grumbling and scowling.”

“Keep talking, Wade, and you’ll be finding a new place to live,” Logan said, his tone deadpan but with a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N smiled, feeling the tension in her chest ease slightly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. She could already see how living with these two would never be dull.

Logan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he focused on Y/N again. “So, you’re in a tight spot. What about work? You able to hold your own with rent, or do we need to worry about you bailing?”

“Yes,” Y/N confirmed. “I teach in high school. It’s a steady job, so I can definitely cover my share of the rent. It’s just finding an affordable place that’s been the problem.”

Wade grinned, clearly pleased. “See? Told you she’s a responsible one. Just so you know, Logan teaches too. In a special school for special kids or something like that-”

Logan interrupted, “It’s an organisation for kids who can’t go to normal school-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and I work in a bar. And I do gigs on some nights because I’m funny as fuck. We could use some fresh energy around here. Between Logan’s brooding and my, well, awesomeness, you’d be the perfect balance.”

Logan shot Wade a look but then turned back to Y/N. “As long as you can keep up with us and don’t cause trouble, you’re good with me.”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

Wade raised his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to the madhouse, Y/N. Just remember, if things get too crazy, you’re always free to join me on a spontaneous road trip. Logan secretly loves those.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, bub.” Logan muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile too, feeling more at ease. This might just work out after all.

“Alright then, when would be a good time for me to move in?”

“We already have a spare key for you so, whenever really.”

“Okay. Okay. Wow, this is happening. You have no idea how anxious I’ve been feeling for the past few days because of all of this, so, really, thank you so much.”

The two men smiled at her. “ We’re as happy as you!” Wade declared, grinning from ear to ear.

She left the apartment after a while, thanking all the gods out there for this opportunity. She had no idea what would have happened if the answer had been negative. She didn’t want to think about it, preferring thinking about how she would decorate her room and settle down in this new place with those two guys. She knew she was in for an adventure.

____

Logan stared at the laptop screen. Y/N’s application was pulled up, and he read through it for the third time. High school teacher, praised by students and colleagues alike, with glowing references and a bright, friendly photo attached. On paper, she was perfect. Too perfect.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his beard. “I know we don’t have a choice anymore but, » he pointed at the application on the screen. “ Too nice for us.”

Wade was lounging on the couch nearby, flipping through channels on the TV. He glanced over, an easy grin spreading across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? Nice is good. We could use a little nice around here. Plus, it’s done, we gave her the keys.”

He frowned, closing the laptop with a snap. “I know. But we’re not exactly… fucking normal. You’ve got your gigs, your… nightlife. I’m not exactly Mr. Sunshine either. What if she can’t handle it?”

Wade chuckled, tossing the remote aside. “Logan, peanut, buddy…2008 sexiest man alive look-alike-”

Logan cut him, “Quit it.”

Wade continued. “You’re overthinking this. She’s a teacher, right? She’s probably seen it all—teenagers are practically mini versions of us, minus the PTSD and questionable life choices. Plus, she applied to live with us, so she knows what she’s getting into.”

Logan didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, but what if she doesn’t? Our lives aren’t exactly easy to mix with someone like her.”

Wade rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, walking over to where Logan sat. “Look, you’re worried because you think we’ll scare her off. But maybe she’s exactly what we need to lighten this place up. Besides, we already chose her so…Quit it.”

Logan let out a reluctant sigh. “Okay.”

Wade patted the man’s shoulder. “That’s my man!”

He didn't stop patting Logan’s shoulder, his hand slowly lowering to his bicep and squeezing it “Now, that’s one of the reason why she’ll prefer you-” Logan immediately slapped his hand away and got up from his chair, Wade flinching and screaming in fear in the process.

An adventure, that was for sure.

XXX

[empresskylo]

'*•.¸♡ — simon 'ghost' riley' x fem!reader

you wanna kiss me so bad — part 2 (wc 1.4k)

part 1 [this can still be read w/o reading pt 1]

You had taken Ghost’s jests in stride. He clearly wanted to one-up you; wanting to show you and Soap he could be just as comical. 

At least he wasn’t angry when you teased him. But still, you hadn’t expected him to respond the way he had. 

You were used to playful teasing, like you would with a sibling. And normally, you could handle crude remarks, always making those with Soap. But when it came to Ghost, something about the way he said them bothered you more than it should have.

You had refrained from talking to Ghost, saving anything you had to say for a later date. Ghost found your response… odd. You went from slowly opening up, joking with the team lightheartedly, to closed off and seemingly lacking any ounce of humor. 

You pulled your jacket tighter as you made it outside, spotting Soap and Ghost up ahead, loading the truck for the upcoming mission.

Ghost stopped what he was doing and stared at you. You froze, your brows furrowing at his sudden shift. Even Soap paused what he was doing to look up at Lt.

“Yes?” You asked him, a bit confused.

“You’re wearing that?” Ghost asked you exasperated, his eyes looking you up and down. 

You felt your face heat. You were literally wearing the same outfit as half the men on the team. It was a uniform after all. He sounded like Soap with his stupid joke. “I guess I am,” you mumbled. You leaned over and picked up a crate to shove on the truck.

Soap smirked, clearly entertained by the awkwardness between you and Ghost.

You loaded the gear quietly for several moments before Ghost met your rhythm, walking beside you as you both carried duffel bags. 

“Calling me stupid one minute, t’not having my jokes at all,” he mumbled. “Can’t seem to figure you out.”

He thought you might not answer him again. You huffed as you tossed the bag onto the truck then turned to face him. “You ever considered the fact that maybe you’re just not that good at puzzles?”

You couldn’t see, but Ghost smiled under his mask. Soap snickered in the background. Ghost turned and leaned against the truck, all the gear loaded up, and crossed his arms. 

“Guess I just prefer a more hands-on approach.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. You averted his eyes, trying to act like his words weren’t flustering you. Teasing was so much more fun when it was just ludicrous jabs. Whatever this was that Ghost kept pulling, was leaving you speechless, and you hated it. You wonder if you’d respond the same if it was anyone else saying these things to you.

Soap bumped his shoulder against Ghost, finally forcing his eyes away from you. “If y’need the practice L.t., I wouldn’t mind—”

“If you finish that sentence, Johnny, I swear to god.”

Soap laughed and climbed into the back of the humvee. 

You refrained from glaring at Ghost the entire ride, though it took a lot of willpower. You swear you could feel the heat of his gaze along your neck. You were determined to fluster him like he had been doing to you.

And of course, when the team split up, you were somehow stuck with Ghost. It’s like the gods enjoyed torturing you. 

You clutched the sniper closer to your chest, the winter wind sending a chill down your spine. You followed Ghost in silence to the lookout point, your boots crunching the half-melted snow. 

Once on target, you laid prone on your stomach, aiming your rifle into the distance. You checked down the barrel, looking out for any of the men on your team, trying to spot them. Ghost still hadn’t gotten down beside you yet.

“Squattin’ too hard on the joints, Lt.?” You teased, keeping your one eye squared through your scope. 

“If you’re as good a shot as you are at runnin’ your mouth, this is a shoe in,” he muttered, a bit annoyed. You grinned, knowing he couldn’t see, with a bit of satisfaction at getting under his skin. 

Ten minutes had passed and still nothing had happened. You got up onto your knees and looked over at Ghost. He was sitting in the same position, tapping on his tablet to locate the men. You noticed his fingers turning red from the cold, his gloves tucked up under his arm so he could use the screen. 

“Pretty cold out here, Lt.,” you began casually. 

His eyes flickered to you briefly before going right back to what he was doing.

“Should hold my hand. You know… so it doesn’t freeze.”

You heard Ghost laugh through his nose, his eyes still focused downward. 

You turned back to your sniper and saw Ghost shift out of the corner of your eye. You glanced over and you bit your lip to keep from gaping. Ghost had continued what he was doing, but his free hand was nonchalantly outstretched, palm open and turned up for you to take as he concentrated on the GPS tracker.

When you didn’t take his hand he looked up. “What? That all talk, then?” He mocked. 

This whole teasing thing didn’t really work when the participating party wanted all the stupid things you offered.

You decided to play things his way then. You reached out and slid your hand into his. He glared at you, almost like he was overly confident you weren’t going to call his bluff. 

You wanted to show him you were just as committed to the bit as he was. 

“Didn’t take you for the affectionate type, Lieutenant.” You laced your fingers together and gave him a saccharine smile. 

He shook his head, shoving his tool back into his bag before tugging you towards him, his grip firm around your hand. “Affection is a weakness,” he explained. 

“Oh! So is that why you haven’t kissed me yet? Afraid to be weak?”

He knew exactly what you were doing. You were intimidated when he fired remarks back at you, ones that stumped you and left you flustered. You were trying to outdo him; to make him flustered. And Ghost was more than pleased.

He tugged you so close you had to use your hand not tangled in his to catch his chest, stopping you from flying into him. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

“So, what if I would?” You threw his words from the other day back at him.

“This is a game you can’t win, sergeant,” he growled out, his eyes locked on yours, unwavering as he stared you down. 

“No? N’ why’s that?” You asked cooly, trying to mask the fact that your heart was racing. “You think I’m lying?” You were… weren’t you?

Ghost’s eyes narrowed, his mind reeling behind his glare. You swallowed and he traced the way your throat bobbed. Before you had the chance to say more, Ghost used his free hand to push his mask up to his nose, baring his chin and lips to you. He grabbed the front of your tactical vest, his fingers looping into the fabric, and pulled you level with him, your eyes turning to moons. 

“What are ya gonna have t’say once I prove ya wrong?” He asked.

You bit your lip, steadying your rapid breaths. “You won’t.” 

Ghost grinned and you were so shocked by seeing his mouth for the first time, watching his lips tip up into a smile, that you didn’t realize he had closed the distance between the two of you until it was too late. 

The kiss wasn’t long, just enough to be more than a peck. You were surprised at how soft his lips were, and how his faint stubble tickled. 

He broke apart, pushing you backwards and dropping both his hands. 

Maybe he had taken things too far. He averted his gaze while you stared up at him dumbly. Ghost smirked, a bit too proud of himself for stumping you. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t actually wanted to kiss you. No, he was itching to kiss you far more than what just unfolded.

“At least that got you to finally shut your mouth.” You could hear the playful lilt in his voice and it made your chest beat rapidly. You never expected to share a kiss with your lieutenant. And you never thought you’d catch feelings for him. But here you were.

What had you gotten yourself into?

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

would love to request a "friends to lovers" story between Hiccup and the reader.

They could have been friends since childhood, but I’m not sure what you think about the idea where, as they grow up, it becomes completely normal for them to hold hands or even share more intimate moments, like a kiss. (Don’t let it show how much I love this dynamic).

I’d love to see how you would develop this story (only if you feel like it, of course). I seriously ADORE your writing! Blessings and kisses, MUAK! ❤💗

One of These Days

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 3,740

You didn’t know when it started; maybe it had been when he’d smiled at you for the first time, or he’d held your hand, or leaned his head over yours. 

Tags:  httyd 1, httyd 2, friends to lovers

It was growing darker outside. 

Frigid air licked at the frame of your back, slithering and scraping past cracks in the walls and shutters. It tasted just as cool as it smelt.

You didn’t know when it started, nor were you sure how to feel about it, what with that odd thing sitting between the two of you. You could tell he expected something, what with the way he often shuffled closer than was necessary and fumbled over his own words in an effort to impress.

“Pass me the hammer?” He asked you without looking, lanky shoulders square, hands pressed against parchment, fingers sliding absentmindedly over scrawled-out charcoal and past thick-handled tools.

You snuffled, blinking from where you sat just beside him.

It was just to the right of you on one slightly uneven workbench, closer to the forge’s main window than away. You grabbed at it with slightly wobbly fingers, grimacing as it nearly fell from your hands.

At twelve winters, you still had some time left before you’d really be expected to bloody your hands, and by bloody your hands, you meant to be able to take down a full-grown dragon on your own.’ Of course, most children by now had done their fair share of slaughtering, both animals and otherwise, but none had been able to make it during a raid without help. While you hadn’t done any of it, putting you sorely behind, you were still fine.

For Hiccup, son of Stoick the Vast, feared dragon-killer, the deadlines were a little bit tighter.

You placed the hammer firmly, determinedly into Hiccup’s open palm, the tips of your fingers dragging against slightly sweaty skin.

Gobber had been generous enough to let you in. He didn’t often or ever stop the two of you from doing things. Even still, this was the first time you’d been invited into the forge, and he hadn’t said anything.

Hiccup had also been generous enough to invite you in. You hadn’t quite recognized the invitation for what it was, nor did you think Hiccup did, either. Really, the experience was proving to be rather close. It was the first time you’d ever seen him so enraptured in his work, though, to be fair, you hadn’t known him for long. He’d hardly talked about it.

You doubted he’d told anyone else- it was going to be a larger machine. He definitely didn’t have everything he needed to make it. Not the wood, which would make up a frame large enough to swarf half your body, or all the metals and ores he’d need to make all the levers and rods.

He wasn’t wearing any fur coat, just an apron and his green tunic. He scribbled notes down like the world might be swallowed if he didn’t. You could tell he’d never done that before- made such detailed instructions, thought up such an elaborate contraction.

You liked him happy. You’d seen him frustrated and you thought that was alright too, puzzling over his own work, tongue peeking out slightly from between two teeth, not comically. It was more a subtle, awkward thing.

With his back to you, he worked with a dedicated, single-minded focus, almost tireless. He worked from the moment he sat down to the moment he finished his task with a passion usually only meant for the battlefield, spotted in the eyes of the hungry past floating ashes and spraying gore. It was a passion that said that nothing had ever come natural to him.

He taught himself how to try.

You thought that he must be daring, more than any Viking warrior.

Maybe he wasn’t yet a man, but you could see the shadow of the man he would be-mature, confident, skilled, focused. The way he worked in the forge- his need to shoot down a dragon paled in comparison.

You wondered if anyone else would ever get to see him the way you did, red-and-orange firelight warming his cheeks.

He caught you looking and he smiled, something almost half-toothless and completely crooked, revealing brown-auburn hair made to glow in the light of the fires, spotted gaps in rows of teeth, freckles dusting over a nose’s bridge like speckles on bird’s feathers.

He spoke almost hesitantly, confusedly, as if he’d just realized he’d forgotten to respond, and hadn’t realized it was that important, or that you would have been expecting it, though that didn’t matter to you, because he’d hardly needed to, “Thanks.”

Even unsure, he was much more at home here than out in the open world.

You felt your head perk, shoulders dropping as a soft, gawky thing curled and writhed bashfully in your stomach, not unlike the way a worm reveled in soft, blooming dirt.

Wow.

It hadn’t occurred to you that during all of a fortnight, you hadn’t seen him smile. Now that you’d seen it, you weren’t sure how you’d ever lived without it. 

You thought you could feel the heat radiating from his body as you shuffled closer to him, your fingers curling around his bicep, slightly damp through thick cloth. Your legs were nearly brushing then, leather smock teasing against cloth trouser as you pondered what it might feel like to be handed back soft, honeyed flowers by those very same sooted hands.

You shifted, the grass beneath you wet, dew clinging to the sides of your skirt like a few shiny glass beads. You felt the warm sun against your face, tickling against small hairs and soft skin. Your journal was to your front, scratched up leather cover pressed to your hands, a charcoal stick laying abandoned across empty parchment.

Nearby was a trickling stream, water weaving past water, spraying hollowly against rocks and moss- you could have likened it to yourself and the feeling in your soul, knotting up your chest and mixing up all kinds of squishy insides.

The last you’d seen, Hiccup had been walking. Now, he was nearly falling over himself, legs jerking as his saddle’s straps and reins restricted the movement of his ankles. His shouts echoed around the whole cove, sound bouncing off cold, stone-basin walls.

His dragon slunk off in the distance, still apprehensive and avoidant. It hadn’t quite gotten used to you yet, which was fine, because you were alright with keeping your distance.

Even after you’d had your hand on its slightly-sticky snout, whenever you saw it, you thought of wide, razor-sharp maws and torsos torn from small bodies. A dragon was always going to be a dragon and they were very much deadly creatures- his reassurances of the fact that the Night Fury was just as harmless as any man did you no favors. After all, the only creatures as deadly as a dragon were, in fact, bears… and men. It made you nervous.

It had large, slitted serpent’s eyes, though its scales were flatter and its skin more leathery than warted or slimy as you’d expected from such a fearsome beast. Its face was oddly symmetrical and squat in an abhorrently off-putting way, its horns or fins or whatever else that came sproutings from its skull sort of floppy and bashful and sort of too-big and not-grown-into-yet, just like it’s bulky, soft-looking paws, sort of like Hiccup.

“T-Toothless!” Hiccup practically yowled, distressed and scolding as he fell over, face-planting into dirt and short grass, half helped-along by the wet nose of his dragon. The difference- you felt almost enraptured by it.

He was awful and very often sort of standoffish and sarcastic though not often crude. He was picky and sort of insensitive and he often trampled over boundaries like he was dancing hand-in-hand with trouble, except he didn’t know how to dance, and the hall’s fires hadn’t been lit in a while- not for a celebration, at the very least. 

In that moment, though, you remembered the way it felt to have his folded knuckle digging slightly into your shoulders as he nudged against you distractedly,  just out of view behind the wooden barricade as he was scolded by Gobber. There was something about it that you thought might be either meaningful or accidental that turned over something in your stomach, most particularly because -and not in spite of- the fact that it had come from such a scrawny, lanky, often very, very clumsy-footed boy. 

The way he’d seemed, looking off reminded you of his father a little bit. You saw it, really- all the good and awful parts of the Chief that he’d most definitely inherited, even when most others couldn’t see it. You were scared of it somewhat; of how confident it made him, how distracted and sort of brave-like he could be, even if it only ever ended up making things work for the worst.

Past all your yearning, aching, wanting, and needing-to-have-ings, it scared you just as much as you thought you could watch forever. Did he ever feel the same way about you?

You hadn’t noticed as Hiccup had untangled himself from his trappings. He must have though, and quickly, as during the time you’d spent thinking, he’d walked up close enough to you to cast a long shadow over your face, pulling you out of your own reverie. 

You blinked aimlessly as he settled down next to you. You spoke hesitantly, “So, uhm, how did the saddle…?”

“He didn’t let me put it on.” Hiccup grumbled petulantly. While nothing more or less than sort of scrawny, with the way you were slumping and the way he was sitting with his back straight, he looked sort of tall. It did nothing to erase the pout from his face or the nasal from his voice.

You started, squeaking as his dragon -for the dragon was most definitely his, now- stepped out from the shadows, melded to its back like a fresh set of armor as it stalked its way around the clearing, eternally predatory. 

Hiccup seemed to relax some as you leaned against him, sort of using his shoulder as a shield, scooting behind it as the Night Fury grew closer. You felt particularly offended, even as he let you drape his arm over your middle, leaving his hand dangling awkwardly in the air. Protect me!

“Wow. What did I do?” Hiccup asked, half-smiling, shifting where he sat, unintentionally pressing your shoulder into slightly jagged rock as he got comfortable.

Sometimes you caught him looking, eyes agonizingly blank though the rest of his expression looked to be somewhat soft, the corners of his mouth pressing into a sweeter-looking half-smile. 

You grumbled incomprehensibly as you felt yourself once again eclipsed by shadow, much bigger this time. 

You leaned harder against his shoulder, one hand coming to tangle in his sleeve. You eyed it apprehensively, feeling thin twine catch against the place nail met skin. He didn’t get it.

“Don’t leave me behind.” You said suddenly, abruptly. “Ever.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, freckles and thin fingers easily losing themselves under the mop of your hair.

“I-ah, yeah, okay.” Hiccup said, brows crinkled, slight confusion evident in his voice, though it didn’t seem any less calm or comfortable for it. He especially didn’t seem to mind as you clung closer to him, something in his face glowing a blotchy, raw pink. “Alright.”

You were in danger. Really, if enjoyment was all he could bother to feel for your predicament, then you took back all of your praises.

You scoffed miffed-ly at a brown, quirked, knowing brow. The devil- He was such a boy. 

It didn’t matter what configuration of the face you had or your height or size of hair color. That wasn’t what he thought of when he thought of you, at least not at first. 

He looked back at you, sitting in the grass, leaning behind him and he couldn’t help but to think about how pretty your smile was, the way the sun lay over the side of your face and made you look as if you were glowing. Something in his neck twinged as he did, probably sprung or pulled earlier while he was trying to wrestle the saddle onto Toothless.

You were smart- a lot smarter than him on a lot of fronts, though he was pretty ingenious on his own, something anyone, even you, was hard-pressed to match.

Now, he realized, you were just as squirrely as you were cynical.

He’d never really thought of you as someone that needed shielding. You were just as capable and incapable as him in equal measure… mostly. But  in that moment, the realization came to him that maybe you… wanted to be?

He looked at you as you muttered something foul under your breath, feeling the same way he did trying to figure out a puzzle and the same way he felt piecing axles, barrels, ropes and wheels together to make up something interesting.

There really wasn’t much else to it, was there?

Really, if that was what you wanted, Hiccup was anyone but the right man for the job, but, well, if you wanted him… Hiccup winced as you dug your nails into his arm, leaving what was probably a deep set of crescent-shaped imprints in his arm, even through his tunic.

Yeah, he still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“It’s cold,” You mumbled absentmindedly, eyes shutting some as a breeze brushed over your cheeks and past your ears. 

You were right. It was chilly, of course, so high up in the watchtower. It was only your second time up there.

“Yeah…” Hiccup said, leaning closer to the fire.

The two of you bumped shoulders, using a spare piece of kindling like a chair. Your ankles were hooked together, tied like a knot in a rope. The sides of your legs were so closely pressed together that they were nearly flush, despite the fact that no one else was there besides the two of you, everyone else having long since packed up their things and left. He wasn’t sure what they’d talked about. He couldn’t remember.

Hiccup kept his eyes exactly where he shouldn’t, watching you.

Your eyes were half-lidded. You leaned over your knees more than not as you turned over a small, split spit, a chunk of lamb speared over one end, his fur coat draped over your shoulders, one hand clutching at the opposite, empty sleeve. You looked very pretty like that, contented.

“They’ve got to add some walls up here, you know,” You said, your head tilting upwards as you examined a particularly soft bit of meat, thumb sliding up your skewer as you tilted it slightly downwards. 

Wow. Hiccup’s eyes were half-lidded, even as he poked at the fires with a stick, nudging the ends of charred logs closer to the fire half-heartedly.

He could hold you by the waist and sway with you and touch your foreheads together and you could play-wrestle and fight in the grass but he couldn’t kiss you and tug his hands through your hair unless he was braiding it and it was driving him crazy. He didn’t want to or have to but now that he knew he could, he thought about it pretty often. He was a teenage boy and you were a teenage girl and he’d always been curious, so of course he’d considered it.

He needed to. He had for years with all the force of a child who’d just learned how to dream. It was- It was… The feeling was surprisingly moral, but no less impassioned.

“One of these days…” HIccup mumbled distractedly. 

One of these days. He thought that every morning, now.

Hiccup blinked, the two of you standing in front of each other, curling your fingers around each other, with your fingers still relaxed. It was comfortable, warm… easy. He turned it over in his head, again and again. 

The cheering of the arena was nearly deafening to his back, the sound of metal weapons crashing against cage bars grating to his ears. They wanted him, blood, the Nightmare… Astrid was waiting behind you, eyes burning holes into him with all the conflicted feelings of a lost warrior. Even past all that, it wasn’t hard, he found, to focus on you; the lines of your face, the soft and hard curves, each and every blemish and soft patch of skin.

Huh. He thought.

He leaned forward and pressed his face against your bowed head, your forehead touching his shoulder dully past thick brown furs. He felt the split of your hairline against the tip of his nose. His eyes were closed tightly shut.

He reveled in the feeling for the moment, taking in the way your hair felt against his cheeks and the way the leftover grasses and burnt wood and juniper left a scent that laid thick over your scalp, both dusty and spiced, a lot like pine.

Ultimately, he was doing this for Toothless, but now, today, he thought that he might be doing it a little for you, too.

The whistling of Toothless' -no, the Fury’s- wings nearly stunned him, loud enough to make it more difficult to think.

Hiccup nearly choked on wind as he gripped onto the handles he’d built into Toothless’ saddle. For a moment, he thought they wouldn’t hold. After all, one small strap of leather was nearly nothing against the full force of the Gods’ cursed offspring.

They had never gone this fast before, his body felt hollow, both as if he was being nailed to the back of his dragon and as if he might just float off at any moment. The feeling It made him cautious just as much as he was focused.

Even past all of that, the space to his back felt abhorrently empty, and not just because of the way they pierced through the sky. Your tears staining the back of his shirt as he and Toothless dived and shot… He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you cry before. He still hadn’t- it was silent for the most part, and he’d just felt it, really. If he ever had, it hadn’t been like this.

He couldn’t bring you up with him. He couldn’t. Just as he’d almost died in the ring, you had too.

It wasn’t merely a roar, more of a phenomenon, something that shook even the air around him. It was all-consuming and nearly inescapable. The Queen had followed.

Hiccup furrowed his brows and kept urging his dragon upwards.

Rain beat heavily against the roof of the Chief’s hut, making the world around you feel even more cold, weak and hollow. Thunder roared violently outside as the storm raged on.

“Hiccup,” You choked on air and spit and half a sob as you stared down at a sickly, freckled face, sweat running down both too-pale and blotchy red cheeks, staining his shirt dark. Freshly-changed bandages bled a deep crimson, changing with the color of hot blood and foul puss as his knees, one foot-less and the other not, jerked reflexively against the sheets of his blanket.

He’d been consistently out between long bouts of delirium and fever, his eyes rolling beneath his lids, just barely visible under the flickering light of a single, dying candle, twitching viciously. You clutched at Hiccup’s slick palm with both hands as he fitfully fought his way past conscious dreams.

You’d stayed- you’d stayed all night and day.

If dedication had ever really meant anything, if worship and hope and work had ever really meant a damn, if the Gods had ever been real and if their decree had ever meant anything, you hoped your will reached the heavens.

“Lass,” The Chief rumbled deeply from behind you, his heavy weight causing old floorboards to creak deeply as he shifted. 

You didn’t even have the energy to shake off the nearly unbearable heat of his father’s palm on your shoulder as you cried yourself nearly sick with tears and snot and spit gathering at every orifice. It was an ugly cry, an undignified, ungainly one, followed with all your fears and hopes and despairs.

You had your own injuries to tend to, yet you felt as if you couldn’t, not in that moment, not even if it meant that you’d have to be fighting off your own pains and fevers later, if you hadn’t already fallen under their grasp. The only thing you could do was watch and feel a need for Hiccup to be okay so deep it rendered you helpless. Ultimately, though, you knew his recovery had nothing to do with you.  

Hiccup’s dragon had left to cauterwal outside, to wail and wreak havoc and feast on the latest fisherman’s catch. He seemed less worried than you and the Chief but more worried than everyone else, and rightly so.

Suddenly, you started.

With a voice both intensely raspy and wet, Hiccup mumbled your name. It hadn’t been anything special, more a simple expression of his recognition, yet you sniveled as Hiccup clutched back at your hand, his grip weak compared to yours, his eyes dull with the force of his fever. For a very long moment, he held it.

“Hiccup.” You tried again.

The Chief’s hand tightened over your shoulder, squeezing already stiff and sore muscles.

The last time you’d seen his eyes, he’d been staring you in the face, mouth opening and closing pointedly and yet no words had come out. He’d dropped you then, right before rushing up into the sky on Toothless’ back.

Parts of you had been pinned by the rubble after and you had nearly been left behind. You could barely think past the pain, yet you still remembered how it felt to be left on the ground, hands clutched to your chest, mind completely fogged with pain and fear, hoping and hoping and hoping, cringing and in pain as the sky flashed. The terrifying outline of the dragon queen in the sky, smoke and fog larger than life, everyone certain Hiccup was going to die, himself most certainly… It seared a painful picture into your mind.

Part of you had been in danger, then. You weren’t anymore. Now, you really loved Hiccup Haddock, and you needed him to be okay.

He hoped you were safe. He didn’t know what he would do otherwise.

He couldn’t ever let you go. Never. Not until- Not unless he died, even if it hurt and his forehead felt weighted with the pressure of all the world’s fires.

[bairdthereader]

Nick gets a lot of (well-deserved) credit for being an amazing boyfriend to Charlie, and we know by now that he's a great friend, too. But what's almost more interesting to me is the underlying core personality trait that enables him to be both of those things--his emotional intuition and intelligence.

You see this in the comics mostly through Nick's facial expressions (no one can look worried like Nick Nelson can), but the show takes it a bit further. He's incredibly in tune with Charlie almost from the get-go. Nick watches him for small emotional cues and recognizes what they could mean, most notably before the confrontation with Ben after rugby practice. He reads between the lines of Charlie's deflections and falsely cheerful texts and pushes (with trademark Nick Nelson sensitivity) for the truth. He notices when Charlie is beset with intrusive thoughts, even if he doesn't know (at least early on) what they're about, and proceeds to interrupt those thoughts. He can read Charlie so well not only because he pays attention, real attention, but because he already has the emotional intuition required to interpret Charlie's inner complexities.

There are many moments throughout the show where we see Nick display this keen insight with everyone in his life, not just Charlie. When Elle, who he barely knows at this point, is upset about being set up with Tao, he immediately seeks to alleviate her distress by offering a true explanation of why she and Tao were invited in the first place--to be part of a triple date. He wants Elle to know that it was important to him (and Charlie, Tara, and Darcy) that she and Tao be there not just to try to set them up, but because they wanted to include them in an important step for both couples (Nick and Charlie just beginning to share their relationship, and Tara and Darcy trying to find acceptance after coming out as a couple). Nick knows that Elle values truth and honesty, and he gives her that so she can feel comfortable with her friends again.

Nick is also incredibly understanding of Tao, who, it has to be said, barely even understands himself for much of the show. There are a lot of scenes where Nick is trying to connect with Tao but maybe oversteps just a tad because he sees more of Tao than Tao is ready to have seen. The moment outside Charlie's house when Tao tells Nick about Elle's art college ambitions, Nick cuts through to the heart of the matter--Tao's concern about missing Elle if she's far away. Nick is the first person in the friend group to connect the dots about what Elle's college acceptance might mean for Tao, and immediately tries to help Tao process those feelings. He's met with anger, but only because he managed to hit a lightning bolt of a nerve in Tao's emotional storm.

And of course there's Imogen, who Nick has known for a long time but begins to understand and appreciate on a deeper level as their relationship moves from superficial connection to true friendship. He sees how sensitive she is, how lonely in some ways, and is always looking out for her, keeping a concerned eye on her. He gives her the space she requests, but also comfort when she lets her walls down enough to ask for it. His innate understanding of what people need--especially when what they need is just someone to be there--is impeccable.

It almost goes without saying, but Nick's emotional wavelength with his mom is similarly strong and nuanced. When Nick comes out to Sarah, he makes sure she understands how important it is to him that she knows--not only that she knows that he's bi, or that Charlie is his boyfriend, but that she knows him. That their relationship is so important to him that he can overcome his fears to share this most vital part of himself. Nick's value of Sarah extends to caring for her when she's dealing with the stress of having his dad and David around. Of course, Nick is still a teenager and there are a lot of scenes that show Sarah's deft handling of Nick's emotions, but it's a two-way street. Nick takes care of her in his own way too.

Nick starts his relationship with Tara and Darcy leaning on them for advice and guidance, but by the end of the show they're leaning on him. Nick sees their struggles, especially Tara's, possibly more clearly than anyone else does because he recognizes some similarities between their situation and his with Charlie. When they're in trouble, he knows Tara needs care and honest advice, even if it's not the most comforting advice. He knows that what they both need is strength and security and tries, in his careful way, to give them those things.

Nick Nelson, always looking out for everyone he loves, keeping them safe as much as he can, hugging them when he can't.

[astermath]

“So? Whatever.”

pairing: dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader 

summary: The preppy girl that just about everyone admires has more in common with Dave than he expects. He doesn’t quite know how to handle this information, but it excites him nonetheless.

word count: 2K

♡ LANDING PAGE♡

notes: I haven’t written something like this in a good while, so please bear with me if I’m rusty or there are some mistakes here and there. Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, I tried to be as non descriptive as possible about her appearance. I do love writing a bit of a mean reader like this, but don’t worry, she’ll warm up to him. This fic takes place in senior year for age purposes, I’m pretty much fully ignoring the timeline of the film. Comments and/or requests are super welcome btw!! Hope you enjoy!! <3

(ps this will get a part two don’t worry xx)

To Dave, girls like you were unreachable. You could hear about them, you could listen to them talk in the hallways, sneak a glance their way… But talk to them? Any single one of their group would consider that social suicide. The only reason any of them even looked in his direction was to ask him to do their homework. So why in god’s name were you at his locker? Why were you acknowledging his existence at all?

“What’s that?” You leaned against the locker next to his, pointing at the piece of a comic book panel he’d taped to the door. It pictured Spider-man putting on his mask for the first time, something Dave looked to when he needed some motivation for the day. 

He struggled to get basically any words out, still not fully registering that you’re within such close range. He could smell you… God that was really weird to think about, he felt like a creep already, but you just… Smelled really nice. Like vanilla, mixed with something sweet. He realized he hadn’t answered your question yet and was just staring in front of him like a weirdo. “O-Oh, yeah, that’s uh… That’s Spider-man. It’s this… This superhero I like.” He adjusted the strap of his backpack to keep his hands busy.

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Duh, I know who Spider-man is, please.” You couldn’t help but think he was doing anything to avoid looking into your eyes, as if you’d turn him to stone if he dared to do so. Which, yes, was exactly how he felt.

“I wanted to know which comic that was from. The art style looks a lot different than the ones I’ve seen.” Now this part was pretty much making his teenage brain short circuit. He probably didn’t hear that right, there’s no way a popular girl like you read comics, right? This had to be some kind of elaborate joke, like you were trying to pull a prank on him by making him ramble about his favorite superheroes. However, he wasn’t close minded. Even if this was a prank, at least you were talking to him, right?

“Yeah, sorry, I uh… Forget he’s a pretty popular character sometimes. This one’s from a collector’s edition. One of the pages was kinda falling apart so I just… Taped my favorite panel to my locker.” Again, he tried to look anywhere else, but it felt rude not to be making eye contact with the person who’s trying to give you a chance at a conversation. His eyes met yours and he realised he hadn’t ever actually seen you up close like this. You were really pretty, he knew that, but he never noticed these particular things about you before. The way your hair framed your features so nicely, the little beauty mark that seemed to be somehow perfectly placed, or the way a dimple appeared on your right cheek when you smiled.

“Hopefully you didn’t pay too much for it, those things cost like, a fortune.” You followed, snapping him out of his haze as you twirled a piece of hair between your index and middle finger. Dave was much taller than you, so you had to look up to match his gaze, which was already hard since he kept avoiding your eyes. You never realized how much he’d matured since freshman year. He looked pretty cute… Really cute, actually. 

“S-So, uhm, I really don‘t wanna be rude, but…” He closed his locker before looking at you with a rather awkward expression. “Why are you here? Why are you… talking to me?” Honestly, not an unjustified question. Dave was often the subject of bullying, and the popular girls clique made no exception to that rule. He doesn’t remember you specifically doing anything, although... He has a vague memory of you being in the car with those jocks when they threw spoiled milk at him.

“What? A girl can’t talk to her fellow classmate? This is a free country, you know.” You pretended to be a little hurt by his assumption that you were probably just here to make fun of him. In all honesty he was still a little dumbfounded by this whole ordeal, and the fact that half the people that passed you were giving you two weird looks really wasn’t helping. “You know I sit behind you in English, right?” He responds by nodding. He is painfully aware of this fact, as your friends had expressed their empathy for you when your seat was assigned behind him, though you honestly didn’t mind. And also the fact that he got a fair share of gossip from you and your best friend always whispering to each other. “Well,” you flipped a bit of hair over your shoulder. “I saw you had a copy of Birth of Venom in your backpack, and I... Wanted to ask if I could borrow it...” You looked to the side, muttering the last part. As much as you tried not to care what people thought, you did have a bit of a reputation that you were stuck to. Liking comics wasn’t for you, you were a cheerleader, you went to parties, you liked shopping. Okay, you secretly liked comics.

Dave looked at you with a puzzled expression. “I-I’m sorry, can you repeat tha--”

“Can I borrow your stupid comic or what?” You interrupted him, clearly looking a bit embarrassed. 

“Oh!” His face was getting hot, this conversation was lasting way longer than he imagined it would. Usually he’d have his face shoved into his locker by now. “U-Uhm, sure! It’s a bit expensive, but... Well, just don’t damage it, please.” He took his backpack off his shoulder and was about to pull it out before you grabbed his arm. 

“Not here you dumbass! Just, like... Ugh, meet me at my car after school’s over, you can hand it to me then.” You were acting like this was some kind of illegal drug deal, but this truly was something important to you. Your dad had already made it very clear that he didn’t want his little girl becoming some kind of tomboy and have her mind run rampant with superhero stories. Especially with this Kickass guy running around...

The bell rang and you silently thanked it for doing so. “Look, I gotta go. White Corvette, by the vending machines.” You walked past him, and a waft of that lovely vanilla scent hit his nose. He damn near melted into the floor when your arm brushed against his. “Later, Lizewksi.”

You leaned against the hood of your car, scrolling on your phone as you waited for the brunette to show up. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that you were just meeting him in secret like this. It’s not like you were embarrassed to be seen with him, or that you didn’t like him, it’s just that liking comics and superheroes was just about the dorkiest thing anyone could be into. Especially with Kickass running around, and, well, kicking ass, people would probably be thinking you’d be into this whole vigilante business yourself. Sure, you thought it was cool that people were doing something about all the crime, but you’d rather die than mess up your hair beating some thug’s ass. 

You noticed someone approaching and noticed that Dave wasn’t alone. With a bit of a disgusted expression, you gestured to his two sidekicks. “I don’t remember inviting the entire geek entourage to come see me. This isn’t some kinda meet and greet, you know.” Todd and Marty seemed, just like Dave before, a little shocked that you were talking to them. 

“S-Sorry, they just uh...” Dave began.

“We didn’t believe him.” Todd followed.

“...believe what?” You questioned, crossing your arms.

“That a chick like you was into comics.” Marty said, before Todd smacked him on the back of the head. “Dude! Don’t say it like that!”

You got a bit flustered, and looked at Dave. “You told them!? What the fuck, Lizewski?”

“I-I’m sorry!” He held up his hands. “They were asking me what we were talking about, and... I panicked.” They were more so insinuating that he was flirting with her, and he didn’t want that rumor going around, in case your jock brother caught wind of that and beat his ass for flirting with his sister.

You sighed, looking down and pinching the bridge of your nose before waving your hand out in a dismissive manner. “It’s... whatever, just leave. Before I change my mind and throw a bitch fit.” His two friends gave him a suggestive look before heading out. “Those two better not snitch or I’ll cut off their shrimps.” He nodded, just a little intimidated by the threat.

He got out his backpack and handed you the comic. “I’m still surprised I uh... I never knew you were into this stuff.” His breath hitched in his throat when your finger brushed over his as you took it from him. You flipped through it, keeping your eyes on the pages.

“Yeah, well... There’s a lot you don’t know about me, as much as I’m sure you guys love to assume.” You realized you hadn’t even told him your name, so you looked up at him and held out your hand, introducing yourself. You know, out of courtesy. 

“I-I know your name, but uhm... I’m Dave.” Your hand felt so soft, your beautifully manicured fingers being a real juxtaposition to his. His hand was much bigger and rougher than yours. You wondered why his hand was so calloused anyways... He didn’t look like he did many sports.

“Wait... Your name isn’t Lizewski?” You chuckled. “Christ, my bad... I always thought that was just your first name.” Your feeling of guilt for the boy before you flared up a bit again. He was being really nice to you, offering you something personal of his that he probably spent a pretty penny on. And you didn’t even know his actual name before. No wonder some people thought you were a bit of a bitch, you thought to yourself. 

“Hey, uhm... I know you got a bunch of these, and my dad would kill me if he knew I was reading them. He hates vigilantes, and he thinks reading comics will get me into the whole thing. Stupid, I know, but... He takes it surprisingly seriously.” You put the comic away carefully. “So I have a proposition for you.”

His eyebrows rose a little. A proposition, alright. No big deal. Could be literally anything though. 

“Come to my house this Saturday, bring a bunch of these, and I’ll tell my dad you’re coming to tutor me for physics or something.” You tilted your head a little, your locks falling gently over your shoulders. “I’ll pay you. Money’s not a problem. It’ll be like I’m renting them from you.”

He thought for a second, but in all honesty... How was this not a total win/win situation? He got to be in a pretty girl’s room, read comics with her, talk about them and make money. What kind of idiot would say no to that? “Yeah! Sounds good to me, uh... What do you want me to...” His words trailed off as you pulled out a pen and reached for his hand, writing a string of numbers on the back of it. 

“I’ll text you the address, and which series I like. I’ll let you do the picking. Oh, and Dave?”

“Y-Yeah?” He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. This is the closest you’ve ever stood to him. 

Your grip on his hand tightens, and you look up at him with a death stare. “Not a word to anyone about this.” You followed with a cutesy smile. “Alrighty?” You let go of his hand and put your stuff away before pulling out your car keys. 

Dave stands frozen in place, a faint blush already spread across his cheeks. He swore you were going to be the death of him. He looked down for a second and realized that what you wrote down wasn’t just some random numbers. It was your phone number. It all just suddenly felt very real to him, he’d never gotten a girl’s number before. And you were just about the last person he’d expect it from too.

You got in your car and turned on your engine. “See ya on Saturday, Lizewski! Don’t be late or I’ll kill you!” You smile, before driving off at a totally normal and acceptable speed. 

He gave a nervous wave before he looked back down at his hand. There was a little heart scribbled behind the phone number. It probably meant nothing.

But boy did it make his heart flutter. 

[stellayuta]

Your boyfriend Yuta, albeit known as a gentleman in public has his days when he is an utter, unexplainable freak. Much like your periods derails your mood for a week, there will be certain days each month, where Yuta is so lust driven, that he starts being not so gentlemanly.

Warnings: smut, mdni, 18+

On some mornings when you would be bustling about the kitchen fixing some breakfast or getting ready for work, you'd find Yuta lounging on his cush sofa, head propped on the arm of the seat, eyes watching your every moment hungrily as his other hand would fidget on his lap, tracing patterns in the linen of his pants while maintaining eye contact.

When he'd get back from his missions, dusty and weary, he'd plop himself down on the nearest chair, his katana hanging in between his legs with his head resting on the handle. You'd come round the corner, asking him about his day and he'd tell you, in a low, composed voice - as his hands went up and down the covered blade, smoothly like a cat's movement. You'd eye the shaft of his sword and bite your lip sheepishly.

It had been a few weeks since you and Yuta had last done the dirty, owing to his busy schedule and now, you were needier than ever, trying to get him alone and hot and pounce on him. You would always fail though, because Yuta would have to rush to his work, planting a kiss on your forehead. This was the daily routine now for a fortnight and you were utterly puzzled. Yuta would NEVER say no when you looked at him like you'd suck the life out of his cock.

On one of these busier nights, you unassumingly entered your house, unlocking the door and heading to your shared room with a tired sigh. It would be a bit till Yuta would be back, maybe you could take a steaming shower...

"ugghh..." You hear the unmistaken grunt, a familiar, welcome sound.

What the?

You hesitate at the doorknob but take a deep breath and open the door a crack, just enough to get a view of your bed. There in the eeriness of the moonlight night sky sat Yuta. The angle allowed you to watch him like a peeping tom with a gaping mouth as you saw him stroke and glide a needy hand over his erect shaft that peeked out of his pants. In between his thighs, his katana stood as he held on to it, more like gripped it for his life as he increased the pace of pumping his length.

Your ears bled from happiness at the noises Yuta made, hungry whimpers and angry grunts that echoed and bounced off the walls of the otherwise quiet house. You saw the moonlight illuminate his cock and make it look godly - tall and veiny.

Before he could cum though, he let himself go for a second and you could stand there simply watching anymore. You bust through the door and face him, huffing with longing. He turns and eyes you with sad, doe like eyes - his signature expression. It almost looks comical - sad, teddy bear Yuta plopped on your bed with his vain dick on full display.

"Yuta.." you gasp, approaching him, unbuttoning the top of your dress shirt.

"Please-" you whisper, reaching out and pressing your hands on his chest as he looks up at you. "Please, fuck me."

"Please..." You beg again as he starts removing his white button up and places his katana on the bed. You are quick to rid yourself of your clothes in the meantime. He grabs you by your hips and makes you sit on his lap, back plush against his chest, your thighs spread out on his muscular ones.

He places his chin on your neck as he carefully slides you atop his hardened cock.

"Yuta.. I've wanted this so bad.." you kiss his cheek tenderly. "For so long..."

"Baby, I wanted one peaceful night with you..." He rasped needily, putting his palm on your clit and stroking, just like he was stroking his sword the other day.

"One night away from this damned job so O could satisfy the woman I love."

"Yuta, shut up and go harder!" You whine, trying to bounce on his lap to increase the friction as he keeps his pace devilishly slow.

"two weeks made you this impatient?"

He asks, cocking his hear to side, eyeing you from your left. He begins to accelerate, his fingers intertwining with the folds in your nether region, earning a pleasing moan from you.

"Y-yu-Yutah-I-Pl-"

"What's wrong baby?" He asks, pushing up into you hard.

"Can't form words?"

You can't and so you resort to screaming his name out as your orgasm crashes onto you.

The next few seconds are pure bliss as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your muscles relax atop his body.

"Feel better now?" A sweet voice cuts through your fog. Generic Yuta with his aftercare.

"Okkotsu Yuta." You kiss him harshly.

"If you ever stroke a f*cking sword better than you stroke me, you're never getting head again!"

You relish Yuta's shocked expression as you hop off his dick and go about your merry way.

~~

(I edited the pic a bit. Gege always makes him look so depressed haha)

[myosotisa]

i'm starvin, darlin - e.m.

Eddie Munson x Reader

ǁ summary: Since coming back from the Upside Down, Eddie has slowly been changing. Each week seems to bring something different and he finds himself doing things he never thought he would.

ǁ tags: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no y/n. nickname used (sweetheart). mentions of season 4 final episode and what occurred. canon divergent (every one lived). it's not smut, but smut adjacent. it's sexy

ǁ word count: 2k

ǁ notes: i sat down and wrote an entire one shot in one sitting again. and i am also not going to edit this one. and i do not feel bad for lowercase hozier title, so don't even try me like that. if y'all really like it, i can add a part 2 with smut, but this is it for now

-

There are still a lot of things Eddie is having to come to terms with since the night his heart stopped.

That night in the Upside Down, laying in Dustin’s arms, he had died. Without a doubt. Dustin had felt his pulse and there was nothing there. And though he didn’t know CPR, had no idea what he was doing, Dustin had laid him down on the ground and started to beat against his chest. Like maybe if he hit hard enough and in the right place, his friend would come back to life.

Somehow it worked. No one bothered to ask why.

But they all knew something was wrong two days later. Eddie, barely breathing and with a weak heartbeat, had been dragged back to the surface and hidden away in the RV they had stolen. Someone watched him round the clock as they debated what to do. If they should try to get him to a hospital, how they’d be able to explain it. But then something miraculous began to happen:

Eddie started healing. All on his own. Way faster than any person should have been able to.

His skin stitched itself back together faster than should be possible, leaving less scar tissue than it should have behind. His chest began to rise and fall in more steady breaths, his heart beat getting stronger, bones resetting themselves with slow and quiet creaks as he laid in that RV bed and slept. He’d been asleep since they brought him back.

The day he woke up, his body had almost entirely healed itself. From the brink of death, having even stepped over to the other side, and now he was almost back to before it ever happened. It had only been a week.

Everyone rejoiced, refusing to question anything weird that may have happened in the Upside Down and just thinking they finally won for once. Max had casts on both her arms but was otherwise unharmed, Steve had recovered from his own injuries at the rate of a normal human and now sported a scar around his throat that he sometimes felt self conscious about. Dustin was on crutches with his broken leg for another month at least. Eddie was alive and whole and back to himself. They’d made it, everyone had made it.

He began to notice more and more things that were different as the days went on.

The first thing he caught on to was that he had the capability to be strong. Way stronger than someone who had recently been bed ridden should be. It was like in the comic books with the Hulk – if he wasn’t paying attention or if he got too emotional, he could easily break anything. A walkman destroyed, a ceramic bowl reduced to shards, a metal pipe bent beyond fixing, the wooden handle of a hammer shattered in his grip. The boys were all present for the hammer incident and sighted it as one of the coolest things they had ever seen. They swarmed him, asking him how he did it, what else he could do, how strong he really was.

Only the other teens, Steve, Nancy, Robin, you, started to look a little bit closer.

When the next few changes became apparent, it was clear something unnatural had happened to Eddie that night in the Upside Down. He could feel other people's feelings. They brushed against his consciousness like ghosts whenever he looked at someone. Happiness like warm rays of sunshine, fear like a shuddering gust of wind, anger like hot coals pressed to his skin. It wasn’t a conscious effort – in fact, there were a lot of times he wished he could turn it off. Whenever he looked too hard at someone, it’s like his brain adjusted to a different frequency and their emotions reached out to him, no matter what they were. And he didn’t struggle to make sense of the sensations like he thought he might, his brain completed the dots easily at first, but then he began to recognize them consciously. It was certainly useful sometimes, especially when it came to you, but it still felt a bit invasive. When he’d explained it to a few people, he assured he tried to ignore it whenever he could, but sometimes he couldn’t help but react. The icey spike of terror he felt when you woke up next to him from a nightmare. The velvet comfort that enveloped you and him when he held you after.

The first time he spoke into someone’s mind it was an accident. Steve had whipped toward him, breath catching in his chest, eyes wide and mouth open in a gasp. Eddie felt it like ice down his spine. “Did you… You did that?” He’d asked breathlessly. It had been so shocking, Eddie wasn’t even sure what’d he said, or projected, or whatever it was.

“I - I don’t know.”

Steve stepped closer, suddenly looking determined. “Try to do it again.”

It was a slithering feeling when he dipped back into Steve’s mind. Like sliding his way in between cracks to a place he didn’t belong, seeping into the forefront of his thoughts to plant one of his own. It made him feel dirty, uncomfortable, and wrong. But it worked. Steve explained it as having a thought like his own but it came out in Eddie’s voice instead. An intrusive thought but not an uncomfortable one.

As with all of the other discoveries, a meeting was called. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Will, El, Robin, Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and you. Steve did most of the talking while Eddie sat and looked at his hands. These meetings, while he acknowledged were important for everyone to keep track of his progression into… something, it still made him feel a bit like a zoo animal in a cage. A magician with a magic trick. All the boys immediately begged him to do it to them, they wanted to see what it felt like, wanted to see how easy it was for him to do it. 

Nancy and Jonathan had shooed them, catching on to how overwhelmed Eddie was, their excitement and curiosity battering against him like a whipping wind of too much. Once it was just the older people in the room, you crossed over to where he was, kneeled down in front of him, reached out to hold his hand.

Pity felt like someone was pissing in his pants.

“Are you okay?”

How could he say no? How could he admit that he was scared, confused, and feeling more and more like a monster with the passing days? “It’s just a lot. To deal with.”

Your smile was pained as you pushed yourself up onto your calves and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His came around your waist on instinct, the breath feeling like a wheeze in his lungs as he held tight. Face pressed into your hair with his eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled deep in relief.

That was when the next thing changed.

It was a desire. A need. One he couldn’t place a name to. Like he was desperately missing something, desperately craving something and he didn’t know it was. It crawled under his skin like ants and sent him scratching for a feeling that couldn’t be satiated. No matter what he tried: eating, drinking, masturbating, exercising. The feeling wouldn’t go away. It got stronger day after day, his mind focusing more and more on the void it left behind until it was all he could think about.

Steve threw a little get together at his house once a month or so. Just time for everyone to get together, eat some food, listen to music, play board games, maybe watch a movie. This was the first get together since his hunger began.

He was sitting on the couch on his own, decompressing. While normally he was right in the middle of everything, today it was a lot to handle when he was hyperfocused on the crawling beneath his skin. He had his legs spread wide, hands resting on them, leaning deep into the cushions of the couch in Steve’s basement. While he had initially tried to close his eyes, hang his head back, maybe stare at the ceiling – he couldn’t stop his attention from drifting back to you.

You and Eddie had been friends for a long time. Understandably, you’d gotten much closer after the events in March. The two of you had helped each other through hard nights of nightmares, panic attacks in parking lots, flashbacks in public. You’d been a great comfort to him since he came back. But today your laugh sounded like music. The smell of your perfume hit him even across the room. Each emotion crashed over him in waves, pushing and receding like the tide as he tried to get off your frequency, unentangle himself from you before he did something he didn’t mean to do.

I’m starving.

Your back stiffened, the grip on your plastic cup getting just a bit tighter. A moment of fear quickly shifted to mellowed surprise, curiosity. He’d never spoken into your mind before, hadn’t meant to do so now. But you still shifted, your eyes slowly coasting across the room until you caught sight of him on the couch.

A shock of electricity shot down his spine as you made eye contact, his hands tightening over his thighs in reaction. Unsure exactly what to do, he settled for projecting again. Slithered his way into your ears and settled a respectful distance from the area he’d never been brave enough to venture. Sorry, he offered with a wince, didn’t mean to.

What he didn’t expect was the utter flood of feeling that hit him next. Like a drip of warm honey settling into the space between his hips, pooling there in a subtle swirl as the warmth from it started to diffuse outward. You realized you’d been staring and your eyes flit away, but the feeling didn’t cease. In fact, it only got stronger. Your lower lip caught on your teeth as you shifted between your feet. Things that would be completely normal to see, wouldn’t have anyone looking twice, but Eddie could. Your desire. The want that poured from you like water when your eyes first met his.

Was this the first time? Had something changed between you and him? Or had he just never caught on before?

The ants beneath his skin began to vibrate as he narrowed in on the feeling, on you. Like the part of him that had slithered into your thoughts was now bearing down, digging in for purchase, wanting to stay awhile and feed on this new feeling, what you were offering. It didn’t even occur to him what he was doing, how invasive it might be, how wrong he normally would have felt. All he knew is that it felt like licking at the thing he’d been craving for so long and he was helpless to chase after it.

Sweetheart. It came easy as breathing now, teeth sunk into your consciousness from where you stood across the room. You whirled on him again, another flood of warmth hitting him deep as you leaned your hip against the counter you were standing next to and focused on him. What’s got you so worked up?

He couldn’t even consider how bold he was suddenly being, the fear that he might ruin this friendship well out of his grasp. Especially when your embarrassment spiked along with the want, the pool of warmth now suddenly coming to life to have a heartbeat of its own. Your eyes widened, shifting on your feet again as you broke eye contact. It only took a few moments before you couldn’t help but look back at him again. The buzzing settled further, now like a purr beneath his skin. It was bearable as long as you kept your eyes on him.

You wanna do something about it?

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thanks for reading, please reblog and leave a comment if you liked it!

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 25 - Human Furniture

Ghost x Price - 1.8k (on ao3)

summary: Price helps Ghost settle after a hard mission.

cw: person used as an ashtray

note: this is the least sexual of this month's prompts! there's actually no sexual acts in this at all, it's more of a sort of study of a priceghost dynamic i enjoy :) definitely inspired by this comic

“Settle,” Price rumbles quietly, watching the way Simon shudders and forces himself still, muscles trembling.

He’s not quite used to the sight of Simon so submissive beneath him, such a large powerhouse of a man gone soft between his feet. You’d never think it, looking at them, but uncertainty still hovers in the back of John’s head every time he has Simon like this.

It’s taken them a while to reach this tentative understanding, for Simon to be even slightly open about what he needs. Price isn’t sure either of them could really put it into words, this odd sort of dynamic they’ve developed, but it works.

As best he can describe, it’s like this - Ghost needs a handler, someone he can trust blindly to always point his aggression in the right direction. But Simon struggles to trust, to give up any bit of control he doesn’t have to. 

So Price takes it from him. 

It’s an odd sort of dynamic, he’s well aware, and it only works because on some deep level Simon wants it to work. That’s the thrill for John - the knowledge that at any moment Simon could hurt him, could probably kill him, but he won’t because he knows that nobody else can help him control himself like Price

It’s a responsibility he doesn’t take lightly. Ghost is probably the most dangerous soldier he’s ever met - ever will meet, if he’s lucky - and he’d slit his fellow soldiers; throat without question if John gave him a reason to. That kind of power isn’t given for long if the receiver is a fool, and while Price is a lot of things - ornery, strict, bull-headed - no one could call him a fool.  

Price knows that Simon accepts their dynamic, but he plays at disliking it sometimes, almost like a test. Trying to see if Price will put his foot down when Ghost needs it, see if he can stretch the boundaries he’s been given.

He can’t. Price has no problem reestablishing which one is freshly Captain and which one is still Sergeant when it’s needed. And after a few weeks, the little tests phase out. Price can’t help but feel like he’s passed a test once he realizes.

Ghost is volatile still, even months into their shifted dynamic, but he rarely lashes out against John anymore. The mask had helped, being under Price’s hand helped more, but there are still moments when he slips, where he needs more help than he realizes.

Which is what led to their current situation.

Simon had come back from a mission relatively uninjured - a few bruises, a few scrapes, but nothing he had even needed a medic for. But the Lieutenant he’d been lent out to had done a number on him mentally.

Part of the source of Simon’s inner turmoil is his own constant war between the desire to be a good soldier and his inability to trust. It leaves him short-tempered and aggressive around unsure COs. He’s a bit like a dog being retrained - he knows when his superiors are weak, and he knows they have no right pretending to be above him. 

It’s hard to lead successful missions when the Sergeant spends the entire deployment glaring and intimidating the Lieutenant. It’s even harder when the intimidation works, and the power structure crumbles.

Simon always comes back unsure after missions like that. He comes to Price, snarling and biting, looking for reassurance in the power structure. Looking for affirmation that Price is still his superior, that he’s still his leader.

It’s what he’d come home needing today.

The mission had been rough - a Lieutenant just promoted never knew how to handle Ghost, and this one had been no different - and John could see it in every line of Simon’s body as soon as he’d come knocking.

Neither of them had said a word as Price opened his office door enough to let Simon in, then closed and locked it behind him. He lights a cigar as he watches Ghost move, taking a long puff from it.

Simon stands at parade between the two guest chairs he’s forced to have in the office, and after a few moments Price moves back to his desk, settling back into his seat and folding his hands on the table.

He watches Simon for a few long moments, takes a puff of his cigar. The soldier’s not quite still, his shoulders trembling from pent up energy and his knees locked. His jaw is clenched so tightly, Price wouldn’t be shocked if he’s managed to crack a tooth.

“Debrief, Sergeant,” he finally commands, voice hard and leaving no room for debate. Simon’s shoulder’s stop twitching as he starts to speak, relaxing into a less straining position.

There’s nothing of note to be reported, really. Ghost isn’t the type of man to stand and rave about what’s really bothering him, he wouldn’t make anything that easy. He tells the story as it happened and leaves Price to pick up the hints he drops.

They’re easy to spot this time - unnecessary civilian casualty, a close call with a fellow Sergeant, a flustered Lieutenant and their absolute refusal to listen to any of Ghost’s suggestions. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. But that doesn’t matter - for whatever reason, this mission and this CO on this night has dragged Ghost to the very brink of shattering.

And Price won’t let that happen. Not when Simon has placed so much faith in him, not when he needs to prove to himself that he can take care of his men.

Simon’s nearly panting when he finishes his debrief, the stress working him up all over again. John knows he has to work quickly, or things will spiral.

“Good, Sergeant,” he praises, leaning back in his chair and planting his feet wide. “Now strip.”

The relief is palpable. It’s taken them a long time for Ghost to reach such a comfortable point, and Price can’t help the surge of pride at the way Simon almost eagerly takes his clothes off. He’s a good boy, even remembers to fold his uniform when he sets it on the coffee table.

Price taps his right foot twice and pushes his chair back from the desk a bit, the boot loud against his hardwood floor, and takes a long drag. Simon is on his knees between John’s feet in the next heartbeat.

He hums a pleased note, nodding down at Simon. Even just that tiny bit of praise coaxes a bit more tension out of his frame, leaving him angled towards Price instead of kneeling straight. He debates within himself for a moment, then decides to drop a heavy hand onto Simon’s head, stroking slowly over the fabric.

He’s still got the mask on, but Price doesn’t make any move to take it off. He knows the fabric isn’t a barrier between the two of them, more a safety net holding all of his pieces together. 

John would collect those pieces if Simon dropped them, but he would never take them from him. He’s the one who gave Ghost the mask, he’d never take it away.

He considers his plan of action for a few long moments. With each breath, each pull, each slow stroke over his head, Simon relaxes a bit more. It’s soothing for John too, this physical evidence that he knows how to take care of what’s his. Calming in a way little else is in their line of work.

“You’re a good soldier, Simon,” Price finally says. “Sometimes too good, I think. Makes it difficult to stop sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Simon pants, nodding and leaning further into Price’s hand. “Yes, sir.”

���Hmm, I know. You’re alright, boy, deep breaths now.”

He listens, and a few moments later relaxes further. Simon’s body slumps to the side a bit, leaning his weight onto Price’s leg. It’s difficult to not jerk away, but John plants his foot and tenses his muscle so he doesn’t send Simon sprawling. If the Sergeant notices how hard his thigh is, it doesn’t seem to bother him.

“I think you need to stop being a soldier for a bit, yeah?” Price asks, shifting his hand to lift Simon up by the chin. He moves slowly, tugging the mask up until it rests on the bridge of his nose. Ghost flinches a bit at the air against his skin, and John hushes him, stroking over his jaw.

If they were different people - or even just further into their dynamic - Price might slip his cock down Ghost’s throat. Push him down until his lips meet John’s stomach, hold him there for a few hours while he gets some work done. He thinks it would be good for Simon, to have a mindless task he can succeed in.

But they haven’t reached that point. Price isn’t sure if they ever will, if they ever should, so he contents himself with an alternative.

“Tongue out for me, Simon,” he says, putting a bit of a command into his voice. It’s not necessary - Simon’s mouth opens, pink tongue coming out to rest on his lip immediately. “Good boy,” Price praises, stroking a thumb down the muscle.

“Stay still for me, now.”

He takes the cigar from the corner of his lips, presses the glowing bud to the center of Simon’s wet tongue. He doesn’t react much past a grunt and some tension returning to his muscles.

“You’re alright,” John dismisses, tightening his grip on the soldier’s jaw and pushing the cigar a bit further in, twisting it. He knows Simon, knows he needs to feel this pain, needs to feel it from John.

Simon whimpers when he finally takes the cigar away, pushing his tongue a little further out.

“I know, you’re alright. Good boy, Simon. Relax for me, now,” he comforts, stroking a thumb over his chin while he leans forward to set the now useless stick on his desk. “You make a good ashtray, boy. Just stay down there and relax for me, you’re alright. I’ll let you go in a bit.

He shifts back into his seat, staring down at Ghost for a few moments.

His tongue still rests on his chin, a little drop of spit dripping down the center, right down the ring of soot left behind. His eyes are clear but his pupils are blown, like he’s still here but his emotions are trying to drag him away.

Simon shifts on his knees, tongue twitching like he wants to take it back into his mouth.

“Settle,” Price rumbles. Simon exhales loudly and obeys, shifting back to his knees. “Tongue out, come on. Might need to use it again.”

He smiles when Simon obeys without question, gives him a comforting pet to the head and an approving hum.

Price shifts closer to the desk, locking Simon more securely beneath him, and lights a cigar. He’s got a few hours of paperwork to catch up on, and he knows Simon can last far longer than that using an ashtray.

He takes a deep breath, settles himself, and gets to work. The cigar smoke fills his lungs, and Simon breaths deeply beneath him. Price feels centered, steady, as he picks up his pen and starts reading.

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Okay but now I feel compelled to wonder, in that fun AU of CC and Marilyn being Captain and Mary Marvel, what their lives as heroes would be like

Like, villains are the same for the most part with probable lack of antagonism with Sivana, he’s the dude who hired them for the dog in the first place with the public intent of a historical attraction at a park and on the side of the bus he’s campaigning for mayor. Other than that, villains seem to be the same from the brief moments we see.

They stay out of the limelight, they prioritize keeping their identities hidden for the sake of Billy and Mary’s saftey and childhoods, and they take their duties seriously.

But what’s tingling at the brain right now is how they’d interact with the rest of the world of DC, heroes and teams and whatnot, outside of Fawcett and the menagerie of characters there. We know CC accidentally stumbled onto some daring scene with Spy Smasher and the bunch (no joke, time was funky in Fawcett and CC was alive at that time) but I’d love to see him with other heroes

Like, say he fills the normal roles in comics Billy would’ve, joins JLI and, like his son, tries calling the other heroes out for acting like bigger juveniles than his actual kids and ditches bc apparently the people who save the world on the regular cant not try and fist fight the other every few hours. He’s on and off some team, focusing on his city and his family more and more, pops in for bigger fights when they occur but is mostly hometown based and handles his own issues.

Of newer stuff, I turn to YJ’s tv show for another idea. Aka, CC also being a chaperone for the Team at the same time Billy comes in but with a twist, turns out his kids have a percolation for magic and have been getting the hang of some spells so they’re joining the Team too while CC is on chaperone duty. So leads Billy and Mary’s attempt at a slow entrance into heroism that immediately backfires when they get captured, cue heartwarming scene of dad hugging his kids after a dangerous situation that follows him tearing the base apart looking for them. True dad fashion and all that. What becomes complicated is the World Without Grown Ups plot, in which I say have Billy and his had pre-the plot agree that Billy can have Shazam powers for super big emergencies and Billy definitely counts all adults disappearing as an emergency. Cue once more the fun father son bonding of Billy looking just like his old man with Shazam powers.

Onto Marilyn, who unfortunately doesn’t seem to have more beyond “clever” and “good mom” from comics, but she’s got her hutzpah and would probably be as active a hero as CC while still prioritizing her life and family over heroism. The whole Shazam thing is definitely more a job than it is what kind of person she is, she’s an archeologist and likes that profession more than she likes worrying about everyone else. She’s definitely more no nonsense and, if there’s a difference, she’d probably prefer the more grounded crime fighting than the mystical shenanigans CC would do in her stead. Billy and Mary end up closer to her in quality time since that focus of crime fighting keeps her grounded.

Also, the general vibes of the Captain Marvel tropes. Such as the identity shenanigans.

It is a fun thing of fanfic that, since his civilian identity is very vulnerable and people like their identity plots, Billy has his questioned or revealed a lot. Add in CC as Marvel instead and it flips a bit to be a man who is well known in his home city whose entire family, non-powered children included, could easily become targets if anyone knew who he was. And he’s deliberately secretive about it for that purpose, he’s protecting his children with his wife. So, perspective, there’s a new hero who comes in with a hero partner who is also their life partner. They have the power of actual gods and titans, they don’t explain anything past some nebulous Wizard they can’t name as to how they got their powers, they are very hush-hush on their normal lives but everyone knows they have to have one. It’s hard to contact them, you don’t know they’re working or traveling or with their kids because you don’t know they do work or that they have kids, so you worry what they’re up to for what seems to be every hour they aren’t begrudgingly saving the world with the rest of the heroes. You catch them talking to the other but the minute they hear you they clam up and change everything about how they were just a second ago, you could swear they were talking about digs or gods or bringing someone home but you don’t know anything because you don’t know them.

Cue the mistrust, the reveals, how it all goes wrong and someone gets hurt, be it the other when they don’t have their powers or their kids and suddenly you’ve pissed off the man who loves his family so much he was tearing the multiverse open to try and keep the timeline going where they were all alive and happy together and the woman who loves those kids just as much. Or, say that reveal had villains get both of the Batsons, and now those heroes have to look those orphans in the eye and beg forgiveness, and when fate still demands its heroes out comes two new ones that make it seem like the whole Batson sham was fake and no way Marilyn and CC were the Marvels, the marvels are still flying around after they’ve gone and gotten dead and buried. Cue those heroes looking at the new Captain and Mary Marvel, knowing it’s the kids they accidentally made orphans wearing the faces of the friends they betrayed.