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jayktoralldaylong · 1 month ago

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One of my favourite things about Arcane is that all the couples can be read as toxic, which is GREAT.

I'm tired of people bringing morality debates into dark media. Let dark media be fucking dark. You guys wouldn't survive a day in the TMA fandom, needing everyone to be as good as gold. How are they going to make for enjoyable complex characters if they're not morally grey. In fact, I wish there'd been more expansion on just how morally black they can become!

"CaitVi is so toxic" According to lesbian statistics, that sounds just about accurate. 💀 Heck, I wish Caitlyn had done more (Not really, but it would have been nice to further explore the darkness in her heart). Isn't it adorable how she immediately folded as soon as Vi called her cupcake? Caitlyn's like one of those villains that will consistently do the most....until it comes to someone else hurting her girlfriend. The only one allowed to hurt her girlfriend is her. 💀

Then let's talk about Vi. Someone pointed out how Vi never cared about Zaun's independence in the first place and many people yelled that they were wrong. But actually, they were right. Vi never wanted Zaun. Zaun was Silco's dream, and Jinx inherited that dream cause Silco would never shut up about it. Vi wanted Piltover to take responsibility for all the shit they allowed to happen in the Undercity. That's a part of the reason she joined up with Caitlyn in the first place. Let's not forget she wasn't dissuaded when she dragged Jayce down to fight with her and he killed a child. Children been dying, it's been her whole life. Someone needed to do something about it, and Zaun would have just isolated the people from all the privileges that Piltover SHOULD have been providing for them. Some people just can't accept that Independence cannot in fact solve every problem, and sometimes independence is colonisers running away from the responsibility of fixing the mess that they started in the first place.

Besides, we all know Vi joined up with the Enforcers because "I feel like I am worthless if I can't be of service." She'd already run out of family members to serve, Caitlyn was the next best thing. She's just like Jayce.

And speaking of Jayce, let's talk about his violent levels of codependency with anyone who'll give him attention. People LOOOOVE to talk about Mel, but it's there with Viktor too. When bro wasn't basing his worth on his inventions, he was centering it around Viktor.

Viktor who decided at some point in his life that he would not LIVE without Jayce. He was fine dying without him, but living without him was unacceptable. Oh how healthy. 🙄😂 Viktor be the kind of toxic ex to threaten divorce 500 times over, then burn the world when you actually leave him. Jayce is no better cause he's the kind of guy to keep going back to his toxic Ex.

Yes, Mel is manipulative. That's what I love about her. How are you guys failing to give this woman the praise of being an outsider in Piltover, but running their entire council. 💀 Girl raises her hand once and the whole government starts spinning. She was the best sugar mummy Jayce and Viktor could ever ask for. She kept the whole city running. Literally the entire of Piltover dancing on her palm. And yes she manipulated Jayce but let's not forget she thought that was a love language. 💀 You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Ambessa for raising her that way.

I also don't think it's fair to blame her for the Undercity situation, she's not native. Monkey see, monkey do, and not a single one of those Council members actually cared about the situation down there, it was deplorable. 💀 Jayce did way more in his two weeks as Councillor than any of those drug pushing, money laundering, Piltovian heads of government.

And that just covers MelJayVik, we don't even need to get fully into TimeBomb, cause we know what's wrong there. 💀 Surely we have not forgotten the many teammates Jinx has killed, but making sure to never kill Ekko cause that's her man. Ekko has a lot to unpack, like how his consistent and unwavering love for Jinx is an indication of a lot of doors he might not be ready to open. I know they dynamics go crazy and I love to see it.

Ambessa and Sevika are a crack ship but I'm sure we all know bedroom dynamics go crazy with Mrs. Warlord and Miss Liberation. I love it when characters clash in a toxic heap. It's insane and should be explored.

Quit saintifying my toxic ships with your woke morality debates. If you want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows then you should be watching literally anything else. 💀 "It's not healthy." GOOD, I like it that way. 💀 Angst, spice and trauma are the recipe for a plethora of explorative fanfiction. Any of their dynamics can be taken in any toxic direction and I want that EXPLORED.

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therealmylesmorales · 1 month ago

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Lover Girl(not really)Sevika Headcannons

Warnings: modern!au, Sevika smokes (obviously) maybe hints at R being masc (you should be used to this by now), she’s a lover girl in her own way

WC: 500

I never needed a butch more until I watch Arcane. This is a little shorter than usual, just testing her character out.

It’s very easy to tell when Sevika’s high. Other people might not notice but you do. Her usual tough face is more relaxed and you always see her actual smile rather than that cocky smirk she gives people. And her constant need to touch you goes up.

Unless you smoke/a stoner as well, she wouldn’t smoke around you especially if you don’t like the smell.

Now I don’t see her using any specific type of nicknames for you other than the classic babe/baby. For herself, you are the only person that can call her “Sev” or “mama”

She will actually get irritated if you offer to pay for things, especially if you are out on a date. She makes the big bucks, and wants to be able to take care of you. If you have a job, cool, but she will make sure you spend her money before you even touch your own.

Sevika’s a natural protector when it comes to you. You would never have to worry about your safety as long as she’s around, because she would fuck a person for you if you asked. You really wouldn’t even need to ask half the time.

Whenever she gets off work (firefighter Sevika? Am I alone in this?) she will always manage to bring you some sort of gift, no matter how long her shift is. Half of the time, it’s usually flowers, or your usual take out.

When you first started dating, you never knew how bad Sevika’s resting bitch face was. Her brows are always furrowed not to mention her semi-permanent frown, you were fighting for your life during the first few months.

”Hey, Sev…are you okay?”

”Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

”You tell me. Did I do something wrong?”

She immediately became suspicious. “Did you?”

”I sure hope not.”

Or alternatively, if you also had an RBF, others would constantly question if you both got into a fight. Obviously they wouldn't voice it…to your faces at least.

Sevika is unreasonably petty. Not in a toxic way (most times) but it can be irritating. She is full of eye rolls and her huffs and grunts but 7/10 she’s just messing around. She’ll also use her height and build to advantage; putting things on high shelves so you wouldn’t be able to reach them or even going dead weight so you couldn’t move her to find out if she’s sitting on the remote. She is.

You love to kiss her cheeks. Why, it’s one of the easiest ways to fluster her. This big strong woman getting shy over a kiss on the cheek? More likely than you think.

”Your cheek feels kind of warm, are you okay?”

”Yes,” she said immediately, turning away from you.

She could tell you were smiling when you kissed her again.

Speaking of kissing; Sevika will always kiss your forehead or the bridge of your nose before going for your lips. You don’t know why but as long as she keeps going, you’d have no complaints.

#sevika x reader #arcane x reader #Myles writing

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covenofagatha · 2 months ago

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Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 2)

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: making out, slight mentions of masturbation, sex toys

You’re on your new laptop the next day when Agatha walks into the bakery. Your face lights up and she smiles at you the second she’s through the door. Like every time you see her, she manages to take your breath away.

“Hey!” You exclaim, motioning your hands around the laptop. “Thank you so much again. You did not have to do this.”

“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to, hon,” she says. Agatha’s now stopped in front of the counter, looking at you expectantly.

“Do you want the usual?”

She smirks playfully. “Do you remember everyone’s order?”

“Only the ones that tip about 500% and buy me laptops,” you joke, but there’s some truth to it. You’ve had customers that have come in every day for a week and you don’t even realize it’s the same person. She seems satisfied with your quip and nods.

“I’d love the ‘usual,’ thank you.”

This time, though, when she holds out the typical $50, you pull out the change from the register and insist she take it. She raises an eyebrow.

“Please, Agatha, you just bought me a computer,” you say, the beg coming out a little whiny. She teasingly rolls her eyes and takes the money from you. “Thank you. Your coffee will be right up.”

“Actually, can you make it two?”

Your heart skips a beat. Who is joining her? A friend? Her partner?

And then you inwardly scold yourself for caring.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Another espresso?”

She shrugs slyly and skates a finger over the countertop. “I don’t know. What kind of coffee do you want?”

You stare at her blankly, trying to make sense of her question. She must see your puzzled expression because she tosses her head back with a laugh.

“I’m asking you to have coffee with me, doll,” she explains and the lightbulb clicks in your mind.

“Oh–oh my god! I’m sorry.” Of course you’re making a fool out of yourself in front of the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“You don’t have to.” This is the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of doubt on her face.

“No, no, I want to. Go sit down and I’ll bring the coffee over when I’m ready.”

She sits down at the normal booth and you busy yourself making an espresso and a pumpkin spice latte. This time, you allow yourself to glance at Agatha and you feel something in your stomach when you notice that she’s already looking at you, a fond smile on her lips. There’s a tug in your gut and you smile back. You’re not sure why the older woman is drawn to you this much, but you are not complaining.

There’s something about her too. Something that pulls you in and doesn’t want to let you go.

You successfully make the coffee this time without any broken laptops and you bring them over to the table, sitting across from her before she has to ask. She looks pleased and blows on her coffee before taking a sip.

“What’s your drink of choice?” She asks, nodding at your cup.

“Oh, just a pumpkin spice latte,” you say dismissively. “I’m a big pumpkin fan.” She nods like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever heard. “And, thank you again. For the laptop. You really didn’t have to do that. Is there anything I can do to repay you?” You don’t mean for it to sound as dirty as it does and she smirks like she hears it too.

“There is one thing you can do.” You urge her earnestly with your eyes. “Go ice skating with me tonight?” It’s getting colder in Westview and the winter festivities are being broken out, including the Winter Wonderland in the square. Complete with an ice skating rink, hot chocolate stands, a snow pit, a hill for the kids to sled down, and even more, it was a town favorite.

You frown but your heart skips a beat at the thought of her wanting to hang with you. As a date? “How is that repaying you?”

She flicks her hand. “The money isn’t a big deal. I just want to get to know you better. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I have literally nothing to do later,” you say, shaking your head. She looks relieved. “Can I at least pay for the tickets?”

“Honey,” she scoffs playfully. “I asked, so I’m paying. If you want to pay, you’ll just have to ask me to do something another time.”

“This sounds an awful lot like a date,” you say before you can stop yourself. The corners of her mouth quirk up and she raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yeah,” you answer almost immediately, your voice hoarse at the thought. A date. With a rich, hot, older woman. She smiles genuinely. “What time? Oh, I hope all my winter clothes aren’t at home.” You haven’t been back in awhile to your parents’ house and you only brought the necessities to make it until you go back. You’re not sure how many cute options you’ll have.

“I’ll pick you up around five-thirty? And do you have warm clothes?” She gives you a once-over. You’re in jeans and your uniform top. In the back, you have the heavy coat you wear when you have to go outside, and back at your dorm, you have sweatpants. Not exactly up to par with this gorgeous woman.

You smile and nod and try to not appear too nervous. What to wear is always a point of stress for you. She must sense this because she reaches over to pat your hand reassuringly and then pulls out her wallet from her pocket.

Before you can protest, she slaps a credit card down on the table. Your jaw drops and you look back and forth between it and Agatha.

“Go to the mall and get whatever you want,” she tells you, and there is not even a trace of a joke in her tone.

“How do you know I won’t just buy a car or something crazy?”

She laughs. “I trust you. And I don’t think you would. You seem like a good girl.” She puts a lot of emphasis on those words and it makes you feel hot. You’re sure your cheeks have turned red. “Text me your address before tonight, yeah?”

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to talk at this point. What kind of woman just casually hands over her credit card to someone she barely knows?

“Um, thank you,” is all you can muster the strength to say. She gives you one last smile before getting up from the table.

“I’ll see you tonight, doll.”

The moment you’re done with your shift, you head to the mall. You’re not exactly sure what will suffice for the date, but you hope you’ll know it when you see it.

You eventually find some black pants that make your ass look great and a cute purple sweater with a blue vest. It’s a little pricey though. You know Agatha said to get whatever you wanted, but you still feel a little guilty, especially after she’s thrown so much other money at you.

So you text her. Hey Agatha! At the mall right now. Just want to check if there was a limit to how much I could spend? I found some stuff but it’s almost $200. If that’s too much, no worries at all! You send her your address as well before you can forget.

She immediately replies. Get the stuff and anything else you want. I can’t wait to see what you’ve picked out ;) see you later.

The winky face causes heat to pump through your veins and you bite your lip. You clear your throat and head to the check-out, heart beating fast when you press Agatha’s credit card to the reader. It goes through and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You still can’t believe she just handed it over so willingly.

Is she your sugar mommy now?

The question weighs on your mind until she texts you that she’s outside your building later that afternoon. You give yourself a once-over and run downstairs to her car. The new clothes are comfy and warm and she looks at you approvingly when you slide into the passenger seat.

“Good choice,” she says.

“Thank you again,” you reply, a little breathless from the cold and your speed. You take out her card from your wallet and hand it to her. “I can’t believe you just gave your card to some random stranger like that.”

She laughs along with you. “I know you wouldn’t do anything. You seem too desperate to please.” Your face heats and you’re not really sure what to say. She isn’t wrong. There’s something about Agatha that makes you want to do whatever she says. “How was the rest of work?”

“Oh, good.” You wave a hand dismissively. “It was a pretty slow day today. Did you have work?”

She launches into telling you about her newest court case and you find yourself absolutely fascinated to the point of not even realizing that you’ve arrived. Everything Agatha says has you absolutely enthralled and by the faint smirk on her face, she knows it too.

She leads you over to the ticket stand, her hand on your lower back, and confidently buys two.

“Thank you,” you say again, a little flustered by how she hasn’t let you pay for anything. You’ll be damned if you leave without buying her a drink or something.

“Of course, doll. Do you want to skate first?” You nod eagerly, causing her to chuckle, and you both go to pick out skates. She has to help you lace them up after you fumble with them for a while since your hands have become so cold.

“Full disclosure, I’m not very good at skating,” you warn her when she’s holding onto your arm at the gate.

“I can help you, sweetheart,” she says and your heart feels so full.

She gets onto the ice first and lets go of the railing so she can grab your hands and assist you in stepping onto the rink. Your eyes widen when you almost fall after moving your foot forward and it shoots back, but Agatha catches you in her strong arms.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim as she stands you back up, never letting go of her tight grip on you.

“It takes a bit to figure out. How many times have you ice skated?”

“None,” you say, tongue poking through your lips as you look down at your feet and focus on sliding them forward. She glides backwards with you effortlessly. When you finally look up at her, she’s staring at you with something written on her face you can’t quite read. “What?”

“You could’ve told me that you hadn’t, I would’ve taken you to dinner or something else,” she says.

“No, no, it’s totally fine. I would’ve done whatever you wanted to do,” you reply half-mindedly. You’re more focused on skating around the corner. Once you do so successfully, her hands move from your wrists to only one hand holding your hip.

But her touch makes you jump, fire igniting in your stomach, and you slip and fall on the ice.

You groan in pain and Agatha stifles a laugh before squatting down to check on you. The cold has seeped into your wet pants and the humiliation burns your cheeks.

“You okay, doll?”

You nod your head defeatedly. “Yeah, just a little wet.” The moment you say it, you can see her eyes darken just the slightest. Your breath catches when you realize the innuendo and there’s a tense silence with the two of you just staring at each other while others skate around you.

“Well, let’s get you up. Want to keep trying?” Agatha asks finally. She gets back on her feet as gracefully as ever.

“As long as you don’t let me fall again,” you joke and take her outstretched hands.

“I didn’t let you fall, you did that all on your own,” she says playfully.

She carefully lifts you up and you grab onto her biceps when you’re fully standing so you don’t crash back down. Her hands grab your waist again to hold you steady and when you look at her face, she’s staring at your lips.

“Agatha,” you say, but you’re not sure what else to add because now you’re staring at her lips too. She leans in an imperceptible amount and your mouth parts involuntarily, ready for a kiss.

“Look out!” Someone shouts and the next thing you know, a three foot tall blur runs straight into you, knocking you, Agatha, and the random person down.

“Sorry!” The kid exclaims and jumps up to skate away, leaving you and Agatha wincing on the ice.

“Why don’t we go find something else to do?” She asks and you’ve never been more happy to agree.

Agatha helps you up once again and this time, interlocks her fingers with yours and slowly skates with you to the exit.

Once you’ve gotten your shoes back on, Agatha buys the two of you cups of hot chocolate and a pretzel to split and leads you over to a bench so you can sit.

“Thank you for this,” you say, shoving a piece of the pretzel into your mouth.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

The pet name does things to you that you can’t say and you find yourself wishing that the almost-kiss on the ice actually happened. You feel so connected and attracted to Agatha, even though you’re not sure why.

“Why do you keep tipping me so much and buying me all these nice things?” You’re finally brave enough to voice the question that’s been on your mind since the first day she came into the bakery.

She smiles and reaches over to squeeze your hand. “You deserve it. And I like spoiling you. You get this cute little look in your eye.” You blush instantly and she laughs. “Like that.”

“Well, can I take you out sometime soon? Maybe for dinner or a movie or something?”

“I’d like that. I’m free Tuesday or Thursday night this week.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” you say, happy that she’s finally going to let you treat her to something. “Unless I see you at the bakery first. It seems to have become an integral part of your morning.” You’re teasing but part of you wants her to elaborate on what she’s doing.

“What can I say? The cinnamon crumb cake and the espresso are to die for,” she says with a wink. You laugh despite yourself.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you sip on your drinks and eat the pretzel.

“Is there anything else you want to do?” She asks.

“Can we go on the ferris wheel?”

“Of course, dear.” She stands up and offers you her hand and you obviously take it.

The line for the ride isn’t long at all so you basically walk right into a passenger car. Agatha sits next to you instead of across from you so she can wrap an arm around your shoulders. The wheel starts turning and something on the ceiling catches your eye.

“Is that mistletoe?” You ask, pointing up at it and then looking at Agatha, who is also peering up at it, corners of her mouth quirking up.

“Looks like it,” she answers thoughtfully and then glances at you playfully. “Shall we?”

You don’t even answer, just clasp her cheek with your hand and pull her in.

It’s a slow kiss at first, just a press of your mouth against hers, but then she opens her lips and slides her tongue into your mouth. You moan into her mouth and try to pull her even closer to you so you can feel more of her. She sucks on your tongue and your teeth make a clicking noise when they clash against each other.

When you have to pull back for air, she kisses down your jaw and then gently bites on your neck. You gasp and your hips jump against nothing.

“Agatha,” you breathe and you can feel her smirking as she nibbles on your earlobe. A fire stokes to life in your stomach and your body feels like a lifewire. One of her hands dips under your vest so she can cup your breast through your sweater. You whimper and she chuckles lowly. “Please.”

“Is this okay?” She asks and you nod so hard your head hurts. She smirks and her hand slides down and under your sweater.

The coldness of her fingers against your warm stomach makes you gasp but you like it and you pull her back in for a kiss. Her hand keeps moving up under your shirt and she’s about to reach your bra—

—and the Ferris wheel stops. You let out a sigh of disappointment and Agatha laughs.

The door to your car opens and the two of you step out. You wonder if your face is as red as it seems and you hope that no one accidentally saw you two making out.

“So what now?” She asks once you’re back in the middle of the fair. But there’s only one thing on your mind right now.

You don’t care that you’re surrounded by people right now; you stand up on your tiptoes and give her a searing kiss which she returns immediately. Your hands wrap around her neck and hers find their place on your waist. You end the kiss by tugging on her bottom lip and when you pull back, her blue eyes are dark and hooded.

“Can we do more of that?” You breathe and she chuckles. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly in your life and you think if you don’t have her hands on you in the next ten minutes you might die.

“Anything you want,” she whispers and presses one last chaste kiss to your lips. “Does this mean you want to leave?”

“Please,” you beg and she smirks at how visibly desperate you are. You’ve become so wet and needy since she put her hand on your waist on the ice. You practically drag her back to the car and when she pulls back in front of your dorm, you look at her with begging eyes. “Come in?”

The moment you say it, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. Bringing a hot, rich, older woman up to your living space that’s probably the size of her closet so she can fuck you in your twin sized bed? Plus it was your first date and you’ve known her for less than a week.

She’s clearly thinking the same thing because she smiles softly and says, “Maybe on Tuesday, doll.”

And yet, you whine. “Why can’t we just go back to your place right now? Please, I’m so-” You cut yourself off before you can tell her just how much you really need her.

Her smile turns into a knowing smirk. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take care of that yourself then?” You gape and a flush climbs up your neck and to your face, but she leans in and keeps going. “Use your hand, or a toy, to think about me. Just to tide you over for a bit.”

“I don’t have a toy,” is all you can think to say with your brain short-circuiting. That shouldn’t have been the part to focus on, but Agatha pulls back with wide eyes.

“You don’t?”

And then the image of Agatha using a toy on herself inserts itself in your brain and you have to cross a leg over the other to get some sense of relief. “No,” you squeak out.

The glint in her eyes is positively evil. “Have a good night, doll.” She gives you one last kiss and then unlocks the car door. You give her a playful glare and then go upstairs.

After you’ve showered and put on pajamas, you slide your hand down your sweatpants and touch yourself.

It takes all of three minutes before you cum all over your hand, just replaying the kiss with Agatha in your mind.

You fall asleep quickly after that and in the morning, you’re surprised to see a notification saying that you have a package in the delivery room. You throw on a sweatshirt and head down and it’s a medium sized brown box with your name and an A. Harkness as the mailer.

Frowning, you take it back to your room and cut it open. Moving the flaps aside, you peer in the box and gasp.

There’s at least four sex toys. A vibrator, a dildo, a different type of toy, and then a small box. You pick up the box and immediately drop it.

It’s a remote controlled, long-distance vibrator.

Your breathing has quickened and you feel your underwear growing wet yet again because of Agatha.

And then you see a piece of paper. Hands shaking, you pull it out and open it.

Hope you enjoy ;) Maybe you can wear the vibrator on Tuesday. See you soon.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along

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mcrdvcks · 3 months ago

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Call It What You Want

Summary: A single sneeze turns into something more, at least to your husband Logan.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Notes: i'm feeling a bit sick and i remember i had written this a while ago so here it is :)

i actually have a few other ideas and short oneshots written in this universe so i might upload some more sporadically

(also thank you for 500 followers! really means a lot to me <3)

Warnings/tags: sickness (sneezing, stuffy nose), reader has powers (sonic screams), pet names (darlin', baby, sweetheart)

A simple sneeze. That’s how it started.

You and Logan were in your shared bedroom, both at your respective desks, grading papers in silence. The quiet was only interrupted by the occasional sound of paper rustling or the scratch of a pen. It was peaceful, really. Until you sneezed into your elbow, trying not to make a big deal of it.

Logan glanced over, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything at first. You grabbed a tissue and blew your nose, tossing it into the wastebasket nearby.

"That time of year again?" Logan asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

"Maybe," you replied, rubbing your nose. "’m fine."

He let out a low chuckle, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, ‘cause you always say you’re fine, then next thing I know you’re curled up under six blankets, complainin’ about not bein’ able to breathe.” He walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I’m not always like that," you protested, looking up at him with a small smile.

"Sure, princess." Logan smirked, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “But if you’re gettin’ sick, you should rest. You work too hard.”

"I don’t have time to be sick." You glanced at the pile of essays that still needed grading. “Besides, these students aren’t going to grade themselves.”

"Bet you I could convince Chuck to get a telepath to grade these for ya," Logan teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Now, go lay down.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest at his concern. "Logan, I’m fine. It’s just a sneeze."

"Uh-huh," he grumbled. “Just a sneeze, until it ain’t.”

"I’ll be fine," you insisted. "Besides, you're not the boss of me."

Logan smirked again, his voice dropping to that low, gruff tone that always made your stomach flip. "Ain’t I though?"

You shot him a playful glare, knowing exactly where this was going. "No, you’re not."

He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, darlin’… but if you start feelin’ worse, you better let me take care of ya. You hear?"

You smiled, unable to help it. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine, tough guy."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss before pulling back. "You better be. Ain’t in the mood to deal with a cranky version of you.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Like you’re never cranky.”

“I’m lovable,” he grunted, moving back to his desk. "You, on the other hand…”

“I’m adorable,” you finished for him, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You turned back to your papers, feeling the slightest tickle in your nose again. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" Logan repeated, eyeing you cautiously.

And then, you sneezed again—this time louder. The vibration from your powers caused a low hum in the room, the soundwaves vibrating through the air, making the picture frames on the wall tremble slightly.

Logan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "That didn’t sound like just a sneeze, baby."

You winced, looking around at the small vibrations that still lingered in the room. "Oops."

He sighed, walking back over to you. "Come on, Y/N, that’s your body tellin’ you to take a break." He bent down to your level, his face now inches from yours. "Or do I need to carry ya to bed?"

You bit your lip, trying to keep the smirk from your face. "You wouldn’t."

"Wanna test me?" Logan’s voice was low, full of challenge.

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it. "Well, when you put it that way…”

Without another word, Logan scooped you up from your chair, making you let out a surprised laugh. “Logan! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, carrying you toward the bed with ease. “You had your chance, sweetheart.”

You kicked your feet lightly in protest but didn’t really try to escape. Being wrapped up in his arms was hardly a punishment. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yup,” he agreed, laying you down gently on the bed and pulling the covers up over you. “Now, you’re gonna stay right here, and I’m gonna make sure you’re comfortable.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile was already spreading across your face. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” Logan raised an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Remember the last time you got sick? You nearly took out half the mansion with your soundwaves ‘cause you were sneezin’ so much.”

You sighed, relenting. “Okay, maybe a little rest won’t hurt.”

Logan grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Atta girl.”

You settled back into the pillows, the warmth of the blankets and Logan’s presence making you feel more relaxed. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly.

He gave you a soft smile, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Anytime, darlin’. Now get some rest before you blow up the whole room.”

---

After days of trying to convince Logan, and the others, that it was just allergies, Logan had enough. He had dragged you to Jean after you finished teaching your first class of the day, and after accidentally shattering your computer screen with your sneeze.

Jean was already prepared, a bottle of cough syrup on a nearby medical table. “See? Told you it was a cold,” she said, holding up the bottle like it was proof.

You groaned, slumping in the chair next to her. “It’s just a little cold, Jean. You all act like I’m on my deathbed.”

Logan crossed his arms, standing behind you. “That little cold shattered a computer screen, Y/N. If it wasn’t for your powers, maybe we’d take your word for it, but—” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “We’ve seen what happens.”

Jean smirked at Logan’s comment but quickly turned her attention back to you. “He’s right, you know. We’ve got to be careful with your powers. Your body’s trying to rest, and that includes your control.”

You shot Logan a half-hearted glare. “You dragged me here for this?”

“Yup,” he replied, entirely unbothered. “And now that you’re here, Jean’s gonna make sure you actually take care of yourself.”

Jean held out the bottle of syrup. “Bottoms up.”

You stared at it like it was some sort of punishment. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Logan let out a chuckle, moving to stand beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “Come on, princess, just take the damn syrup. The faster you do, the faster we get back to our room.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bottle from Jean’s hand and downed the syrup. The taste made you wince, and you immediately regretted it. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

Jean patted you on the back, her smile widening. “It’ll help, though. Now, you’ll need rest, fluids, and minimal stress. I don’t want to see you teaching for a couple of days, at least.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Logan cut you off before you could say anything. “You heard the doc, darlin’. No teaching, no grading. Just rest.”

You turned in your seat to look up at him, narrowing your eyes. “It’s just a cold. I’m not dyin’ or anything.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Not dyin’, huh? Try tellin’ that to your computer screen."

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in the chair with a groan. "That was an accident, and you know it."

"Doesn’t matter," he shot back, folding his arms across his chest. “Still proves my point.”

Jean chuckled from where she stood, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Logan’s right, Y/N. Your body’s using up energy to fight this cold, and with your powers, that means less control. It’s not just about you—it's about keeping everyone around you safe.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

Logan didn’t even try to hide the grin on his face. “Oh yeah. And I’ll keep doin’ it ‘til you get your stubborn ass to bed.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I hate when you’re right.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Get used to it, sweetheart. Happens more often than you’d like.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you, shaking her head. “Okay, lovebirds. I’ll give you some privacy while Y/N gets some rest. Logan, make sure she takes it easy.”

Logan nodded as Jean left the room, then turned back to you with a smug look. “So, no more arguments, right?”

You glared at him, but it lacked any real heat. “Fine. But just so you know, when I’m better, I’m gonna remind you of this moment. Payback’s a bitch, Logan.”

He chuckled again, unphased. “I’ll take my chances, darlin’.” Then, without warning, he bent down and scooped you up in his arms again.

"Logan!" You yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Making sure you actually rest," he replied, his voice casual as if carrying you around was the most normal thing in the world. “Figured this way, there’s no chance of you sneakin’ back to your desk.”

You tried to fight back a smile, though it was nearly impossible when you were cradled against him like this. “I wasn’t gonna sneak back.”

“Sure, princess,” he said, clearly not believing you for a second. “But just in case.”

He carried you back to your shared bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed and pulling the covers over you. He gave you a stern look, but there was warmth behind his eyes. "Stay."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You act like I’m a dog.”

"Not a dog,” Logan corrected, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just a stubborn wife who doesn’t know when to quit."

You reached up to swat at his arm playfully. “I’m not that bad.”

He caught your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You’re worse, but I still love ya.”

Your heart swelled at the soft look in his eyes, and for a moment, you forgot all about your cold. “I love you too,” you murmured.

Logan’s expression softened even further, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Now rest, sweetheart. You need it.”

You sighed, snuggling deeper into the blankets. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead once more. “I’ll take it.”

He stood up, moving toward the door, but you called after him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “What, miss me already?”

You rolled your eyes, but your tone softened. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he made his way back to the bed. “Alright, darlin’. I’ll stay.”

He kicked off his boots and slid into bed next to you, pulling you into his arms. You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, the cold, the shattered computer, and everything else melted away. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace.

"You’re lucky I love you," you mumbled, already feeling yourself start to drift off.

Logan chuckled softly, his hand running through your hair. “Damn right, I am."

As sleep began to claim you, Logan’s steady presence beside you was the last thing you felt, a reminder that no matter how tough things got—or how stubborn you were—he’d always be there, ready to hold you close and make sure you were safe.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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all444miles · 2 years ago

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— JERSEY LUV PT.2

— pairing: e42!miles x blackcoded!fem!reader — genre: suggestive but fluff — summary: attractive things Miles does that makes you fold. — a/n: TY YALL FOR 500 OMG N HAPPY LATE BDAY TO MY MAN + WE BACK W A PT TWOOOO, i folded js as hard w this one so i hope yall do too!! i do have those two fics comin in, im js posting this to keep yall entertained! mwah, enjoy !!

part 1 part 3 !

MILES MORALES that's gets mad jealous, like, maddd jealous. When he's with others, he'll always call you "my girl" so that they know you're his girlfriend. He wont hesitate to kiss you in front of smb that thinks they have a chance. p.s, they don't.

MILES MORALES that cuddles for hours and won't let you leave unless your practically dying to go to the bathroom. If you try, he'll just hold you tighter.

"Nah amor, you gon stay right here." "Miles, I-" Nuh uh."

MILES MORALES who always has you sat on his lap. he's playing games? you on his lap. y'all talking? you on his lap. y'all making out? oh, you are most definitely on his lap.

speaking of making out..

MILES MORALES who has his hands all over you when you make out. there's no place it stays, your face, your neck, your hips, waist, thighs, its always there.

MILES MORALES who likes (and you do too) to have music play while yall kiss. summer walker, kehlani, he does not care. as long as its in your playlist and its slow, he's playing it.

MILES MORALES who invites you to go the gym with him. it dont matter if you actually work out or not, he just asks so he can have you there and watch him work out. he aint gon admit it though.

"ma! im bouta go to the gym, come wit me." "baby, you know ion work out." "ian ask if you wanted to. i just want you to be with me, so come onn." "you just want me to watch you, huh?" "..mami, im not bouta ask you twice, come with me."

MILES MORALES that will happily let you borrow his clothes, there's not even much of a point of trying to steal them because he's already handed them to you.

MILES MORALES who dances bachata with you in private. he's not too much of a public dancer, but when you to are in private, it's a whole different story.

MILES MORALES who will listen to you talk about anything becuase he adores your voice with all his heart. If it's something you like, he'll buy it for you, just as a reminder than he listens.

"Go on ma, keep talking to me, I'm all ears."

MILES MORALES who grabs your waist instead of saying excuse me because he knows you like it.

MILES MORALES who has most definitely graffitied a place with both y'alls initials on it.

"awwee, my man breaking the law for me." "you like it?" "love it."

tags: @seraaphicss @laaailuh @mayeluvsu @iwannagohomesaystamaki @onginlove @sheluvv-jen @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @thatgirlmiah @paraccosm @tinkerbelle05 @fictarian @zalayni @m4rihrts @whitejxsmine @444morales @writings-ofthe-heart

likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly.

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?”

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek.

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.”

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition.

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?”

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.”

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.

“How long have you been asleep?”

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented.

“10:20.”

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep. "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.”

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?”

He laughs, running a hand through your hair.

“I don’t even know where you got that number.”

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow.

“Honey, that’s Algebra.”

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear.

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?”

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom.

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?”

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt.

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.”

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum.

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-”

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?”

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you.

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.”

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better.

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him.

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise.

“Of course. What do you want to hear?”

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.”

“What? No Jane Austen?”

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.”

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection.

“You are utterly ridiculous.”

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm.

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater.

“Just get the book, Spencer.”

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub.

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down.

“Ready to get out?”

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air.

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly.

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.”

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up.

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.”

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic

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bunny-1111 · 6 months ago

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Doctor Nott - Theo Nott x reader

Description: Theo takes care of the reader while she's sick

Short Fluff <3 - word count 500 words

reblogs and comments are appreciated Xx

...

Theodore waited in the great hall. And waited, and waited. 'She's probably just slept in', he thought until more time passed, and breakfast was nearing finished.

Thats when his mind drove him mad, he snapped his head at Pansy. "Pans, where the hell is she" he asked, worry written all over his face

"Oh, she didn't tell you? She's sick Theo, probably didn't want you worrying" Pansy explained biting into her toast

"Fuck sake" Theo muttered, leaving his seat immediately, heading straight for your dorm

"See, Theo, this is why she didn't tell you!" Pansy called out

he shook his head as he walked towards your dorm; why the fuck didn't you tell him? Why wouldn't you want his help? When he had explained to you so many times, that's all he wanted to do. Take care of you, in every way.

Turning the doorknob, Theodore wasted no time letting himself in.

He was met with the sight of sickness in the human form.

"Fuck, baby you look like shit" he called out, quickly sitting by your side, hand on your forehead, feeling your temperature.

"I'm Ok, Theo, really, I'm much better than last night, even Pansy agreed this morning" you say trying to smile.

"You were worse than THIS last night and neither of you called me?!" he exclaimed eyes widening

"Teddy, I didn't want to stress you out, look at you!" you explained

"No this, this is what stressing me out, you not telling me, pushed me over the edge, what about when we get married one day, huh, through sickness and health, alright that doesn't start in the future, it's starts now" he ranted on

before you could even reply he was huffing, crawling into your bed, you tried to push him away

"No Theo, I'll get you sick!"

He stopped for a moment scoffed his face at you, and said

"Baby, does it really look or sound like I care about getting sick, let me take care of you".

How could you say no to that.

So, for the rest of the day, he nursed you better, and by two passing days, you were back to perfect health.

Walking to the great hall, arm around Theos, you express your gratitude

"Thank you, doctor Nott. I wouldn't have at all survived without you" you laugh, giving him a kiss

He laughed back and returned the kiss deeper.

As you sat side-by-side in the great hall, you noticed Theodore's body start to heat up beside you. Looking over, Theodore let out a sneeze,

"Oh no," you said "I'm fine", he quickly retorted, followed by another sneeze.

"you're sick, I got you sick" you frowned

"I'm not." Theodore insisted, voice straining by the second

"Let's go. Your turn to get healthy," You say, forcing his body off his seat

"Please, really, I'm-" he started

"Like you said, baby, in sickness and health," he smiled at the fact that you were able to use his own words against him so soon, dragging him towards his dorm. Theodore secretly wanted to smile; a couple of days of you taking care of him couldn't hurt; actually, it was just the remedy.

Requests now open x

reblogs appreciated my loves Xx

Oh to have Theodore take care of your whole being sick, fml

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lizardkingeliot · 7 months ago

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Okay so we're all in agreement that it was Lestat who pulled Louis out of the wall in the theatre right? The episode doesn't make it explicitly clear and they only show us Lestat saving Louis during the trial. And in fact they have Louis say he knew the blood he tasted upon being freed was Armand's...

But in the context of everything else that... doesn't actually make much sense? Because here's what actually happened...

First, Louis woke up in the sewer alone...

Why would Armand just leave him there if he suddenly decided to choose Louis over the coven after Lestat saved him from imminent death? After listening to him screaming in agony as he starved in that coffin for... how long? The opportunity that presented itself wasn't Louis being saved from death at the trial on the stage and being locked in a vault. Armand could have taken him out at any time. He chose not to. He chose to listen to him screaming in agony for... days? Weeks????

Armand didn't care. He chose the coven. He discovered Louis was gone and only then did he reach out to him telepathically while he was in the crypt plotting his revenge. Louis asked Armand if he saved him at the trial AND if he pulled him out of the wall. Armand gave the same monotone "yes" as an answer to both. And I think we're meant to understand these are both equal lies in hindsight.

And when Armand told Louis to leave Paris it was clear his only aim was to save the coven. If Armand wanted to be with him he would have been. He only decided to choose Louis after the coven was gone and he had no other choice. Armand was at full strength the whole time. 500 years old. Powerful enough to walk in the sun. He could control the coven with a snap of his fingers.

But you know who wasn't at full strength at the time? Who couldn't have just gone to him right away even though he wanted to save Louis more than anything in the world?

Lestat only let Louis stay in that situation for as long as he did because he was so weakened by doing the mind trick that saved him in the first place. We all saw how rough he looked after Louis had been taken away in 2x07. The way he was standing there swaying on his feet...

He had to regain his strength to go back to the theatre, get Louis out, give him his blood at full strength so that it might heal him. And he only left him there because he believed he needed to let Louis go. Because he was not worthy of Louis' forgiveness etc...

This is probably a conclusion lots of you have already come to but I didn't pick up on it during my first watch because I was so emotionally compromised. I don't know why they had Louis say it was Armand's blood, but maybe we're meant to understand it as another misremembering. Louis trying to reason with himself that it had to have been Armand's blood. Because before Daniel gave him the final pieces of the puzzle, he very much believed Armand had been the one to save him at the trial. The one to pull him out of the wall...

#interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire spoilers #iwtv meta #loustat #otp: all my love belongs to you #this feels so obvious now i'm not sure this post is necessary but we all know i can't shut up

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mockerycrow · 2 years ago

Note

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

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sugarwarachan · 22 days ago

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title: better than most to say the least

pairing: dabi x reader (also on ao3)

wc: oops this is almost 3k

CWs: soulmate!au, fem!reader, slight angst if you squint, no condoms used (wrap it up in real life yall), Dabi's a little mean, reader's a little into it, the unbearable burden of being seen, i haven't written fic in years be gentle

Dabi doesn’t care about much. You can’t in the sort of world he inhabits. It’s much easier to scorch the earth behind you than to plan for good things to come. So he’s furious when he hears your voice, a real soft and low number, like a siren out in the fucking fog, say, “That’ll be ¥500.”

His brother laughed when the soul mark activated; even at the age of three, he’d known just how mundane the words were. Part of him had laughed as well; maybe you and he would laugh about it, too, when you met. The laughter died in his throat when he saw his father’s disapproving face.

He looks down at the packaged onigiri in something like disbelief. Your face is starting to express apprehension. He still hasn’t said anything, and it doesn’t even look like he’ll pay. He’s not surprised you’re weirded out, and fuck, something is pressing against his chest, like a buoy rising up, pulling him to the surface so he can finally suck down oxygen.

He feels fucking free, giddy with it. You’re real. He never once imagined you would be.

The grin that cracks his face must look a touch maniacal because your eyes widen, and he watches you press yourself against the counter as he says, “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, princess?”

He’s not all that pleasant to look at.

You know that’s not a nice thing to think, especially about your soul mate, but you can’t help that your first thought upon seeing the guy was holy fucking shit what happened to you?

A moment ago, he was glaring at you, and now he’s radiating a nervous energy that puts you on edge. It’s like he thinks you’ll disappear the moment he takes his eyes off you.

You’re no criminal, but you’re no hero, either. You’ve got a quirk that makes most people wary of you, so your nonsense detector is finely tuned, and fuck, your soul mate is definitely the kind of dude who ends up on the other side of those hero compilations your coworker streams on her lunch break.

“Not done talking to me, are you?” He pouts, pushing out his lips and pulling at the staples in his face. His voice is nice. It relaxes you somehow, even when every nerve in your body is shrieking in alarm.

“Where’s yours?”

This throws him. A part of you doesn’t like forcing his hand like this, but another part of you thinks this could be a really convenient trap.

“Your soul mark?” You tap the side of your wrist. “Mine’s along the radial bone.”

He reaches over the till to grab your arm, pulling you closer. You yelp in protest. His touch is hot, familiar. You’re grateful no one else is in the store right now. Explaining this to yourself is going to be enough of a hassle later on.

There’s a menace in his voice when he addresses you. “You think I’m a liar?”

You don’t, actually. Even without the soul mark you would take this man at his word.

“No. But you’ve been in here a whole lot, and I’m a naturally suspicious person. So, pony up and show me.”

You’ve gotta be smart about this. Heroes and villains alike would do a lot to get a person with your quirk on their side, and you’re not so naïve as to think that soul marks can’t be discovered and used against you.

He grins, and you feel it like a twist to the gut. This guy might actually kill you; you don’t really know. But something—the little bond between the tug of you that threaded your lives together the moment he opened his mouth—is already tugging at your brain for answers, for knowledge, all to better assemble who your soulmate is.

“We’ve gotta go somewhere safe for me to do that, doll.” He leers at you, and you wonder if he’s trying to intimidate, trying to imprint on your brain that, yes, he is, in fact, dangerous. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it.”

Fat fucking chance.

You don’t take him at his word. You call him every name he’s ever heard and then some, and then you close your eyes and hum, and a feeling like sugared caramel slides into his head. Fuck is he floating? he thinks before he crumples to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

When he comes to, his head is splitting. He’s sitting in what he assumes is the store’s backroom, judging by the shelves lined with cleaning products. You’re on a crate watching him with an annoyed expression, lips kicked out in a pout. It draws attention to the fullness of your lower lip. He tries not to notice.

“You could have just shown me,” you grouse.

“And miss out on the chance to have you hit me with your quirk? What kind of masochist would I be then?”

He doesn’t know what you’re doing as a cashier, but it’s safe to say you’re hiding. He has no idea what you did to him, but just before he’d knocked out, he remembered the first time he mastered the flames, that sticky-sweet feeling of hope in his chest. He has no idea how you managed to dig that out after all these years.

You shrug, ignoring him.

“Too good to fucking explain?” he snaps.

You saw something vulnerable, so personal that not even the league knows he has those thoughts, those memories. If he could scrub them from your brain, he would.

“I can make you dream,” you snap back. “When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my own head. It worried my parents. They got me tested because they thought I was quirkless. The doctor said I had a minor empathy quirk. Nothing to worry about. What kid wouldn’t want the advantage of knowing how others feel?”

You clench your hands.

“I didn’t know if I could implant a dream into someone’s head, but I spun that dream the night before, and my parents were never the wiser. Up until the day they died, they never knew I’d planned out that scenario already and made that man lie to them.”

He’s floored. He can’t believe you’re willingly offering up such valuable information to him. What would Shigaraki do with you, he wonders, before a violent pain follows the thought. No, Shigaraki isn’t getting his hands on you. He doesn’t exactly know what happens to the things that kid collects for his master.

“Not at the top of the list for hero candidates?”

Your lips pull back in a sneer before you realize. You’re bad at hiding your feelings, he realizes, something that makes him feel oddly protective. You’ll need to get better at that.

He turns his hands out, palms up. A thin blue flame erupts. You jump, but your eyes don’t leave his.

“We’re gonna need to move, sweets. Neither one of us is exactly hero material.”

He takes you to a sorry excuse for a safe house because it’s just some guy on vacation who was stupid enough to leave a spare key behind, but it works in a pinch. He can’t take you to the league just yet. He already barely knows you, and there he would have to split your time with everyone else.

You’re standing in the doorway like a spooked animal. That you agreed to come is shocking in itself, but then again, he would have followed you into a coffin if you asked it of him. Maybe there was something to those soul mate stories Toga pretended not to read after all. He thought the whole bond thing was exaggerated, but maybe not.

He clenches his jaw and grabs a beer from the fridge.

“I’m not gonna fucking hurt you. You can take the bedroom,” he says, even though he wants you to sit next to him, to look at him, to share something again the way you had in the storeroom. But you’re already shuffling away, and before he knows it, the door shuts with a click, and he’s alone in the dark.

Confirmed villain.

It took you all of two seconds to search the web for League of Villains and/or criminal activity across the country, and bam, there he is, menacing even in blurry camera footage.

You stare up at the ceiling and wonder if you should be horrified at yourself that this confirmation changes nothing. He’s just your soulmate, for better or for worse.

And you’re a coward for sitting in here rather than performing the simple task of sharing a drink with him.

The blue glow of the television lights up the living room. He’s moved to the couch, long legs spread open, arms resting along the back. Desire drops low in your stomach at the sight, an almost innate need flashing in your body to climb into his lap.

He catches your eye and smirks like he can read your thoughts. You blush furiously. “Did you realize hiding doesn’t solve shit?”

“Shut up,” you retort, like a child, which makes him laugh. It’s a nice laugh. A little subdued, you think, but warm, hard-won. You don’t imagine he laughs often.

When you settle down next to him, he seems to barely register, but something in you knows he’s pleased. You curl toward the feeling like a cat seeking a sunbeam.

“Really, though. What made you come out?”

Looking him in the eye is a mistake. He has beautiful eyes, a cerulean blue that puts the sky to shame.

“I don’t like running from things,” you manage. You were wrong to think he wasn’t pretty. “What’s your name?”

He snorts. “You’ve gotta know it, doll, didn’t you spend ten minutes in there panic-searching for violent crime?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d still like to be introduced.”

“It’s Dabi.”

You raise a brow. “That’s it?”

“For now. I’ll tell you the real one later, okay?”

“Fine.”

He’s watching compilation videos of pro heroes, the footage flickering on the walls around you.

“This is what you do in your spare time?”

He shrugs. “Just what was on.”

You don’t believe that for a second, but it’s fine, because you’re a liar, too. You’d do anything to avoid painful topics, like the possibility that your soulmate already has plans outside of you that you won’t be able to change.

“You know, your words used to get me in a lot of trouble,” you say, to get you back into familiar territory.

He smiles, like that pleases him. You bet it does.

“Oh yeah? What sort of trouble?”

“Just the usual. Your soulmate has a potty mouth, your soul mate’s probably a villain…”

His shoulder tenses against you. You don’t remember scooting closer, but the sheer fucking heat of him is searing into your skin.

You want him. If you’re being honest, you’ve probably wanted him since he first appeared in the store. The part of you that doesn’t exactly abide by societal standards saw a kindred flame in him.

“That sort of thing used to bother me when I was a kid, I guess. But the older I got, the more I realized how much I liked them.”

Your hands ache to touch him. His thigh tenses alongside yours.

“What do you like about them now?” he asks.

You have a whole slew of thoughts in your head about them, the characteristics you assumed based on one little question, but for now all you can say is, “That you finally said them.”

He doesn’t know who moves first.

You tumble into his lap inelegantly, but he doesn’t care; he wants you closer. He’s wanted you closer since he arrived at this shitty studio apartment, has been trying to rein in the overwhelming feeling of possession swarming under his skin, but he wants.

He's a villain, and he’s never been good at waiting for what he wants.

His hands press into the meat of your hips, and he savors the little gasp you make. He’s hard as iron already and all you’ve done is settle your clothed cunt on top of him.

“You’re already fucking scorching, baby, can feel you through your fucking jeans,” he hisses, dragging you along his thigh. You whimper. “I know, fuck, I know, you’re driving me crazy, too.”

Your hands are everywhere, sliding over his scarred skin like you were born to it, fingers exploring the cool metal of his staples. You’re gentle but also not, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt in his entire life. You move to kiss him, your hips moving more and more, a desperate noise bubbling up in your throat.

“Please, Dabi, please.” You sound so fucked out, and he hasn’t even touched you all that much. “I wanna kiss you, don’t you wanna kiss me?”

He smirks. A little brat, begging for kisses.

He does want to kiss you, has been staring at the plushness of your lips for the better part of since he met you, but his mouth aches today.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna kiss me now,” you’re saying, tongue licking and tasting and sucking at his neck. He bucks against you. “We can feel good in other ways.”

The whimper that comes out of him feels ripped from his soul. His arms cage you closer, one palm snaking up to cup your neck, the other under your shirt.

Neither of you talk as you make quick work of each other’s clothes, discarding them to the floor. He tries not to feel insecure as you take in his body. Over the years, his appearance is as much a part of him as his past. He can’t shed either, no matter how much he might want to.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think you were pretty at first.”

You look so devastated that he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t fucking care,” he says, pulling you to him and kissing you despite how much his lips ache, because fuck, he has someone, finally, and he’s so glad it’s you. “Just want you.”

He punctuates this by cupping your bare pussy with his hand. Just from grinding on him earlier, you’re slippery and warm, and his fingers part your folds easily. You sigh into his mouth as he rubs the pad of his thumb around the sides of your clit, huffing a laugh when your hips buck for more.

“Getting desperate for it, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you grit out. “Just fucking touch me –" you roll your hips forward – “like you fucking mean it.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll have you dumb on my cock before long.”

“Big fucking talk for a man who hasn’t even – “

He cuts you off by stuffing your pussy with two of his fingers, the stretch of it making you whine. You can feel the cool metal in the staples at the heel of his hand as he strokes, in and out, a steady and rough rhythm that feels impossibly good for it to just be fucking fingering.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without even seeing him. Splayed out on his lap like this, your tits bouncing as you shift your body closer to him, you bet you look like a fucking mess. But you don’t care, because he's right, no one has ever made you feel like this, and it’s important to you that he feels just as fucking good.

His cock curves along his stomach, weeping pre-cum and jerking up whenever your voice hitches. You think it’s so hot, how in tune he already is with you, how much he wants to please you, that you grab him in the palm of your hand and stroke, relishing the groan that rumbles in his throat.

“No one ever made you feel this way?” you taunt. His eyes flash, and before you know it, you’re both on the ground, his hips slotting in between your legs and his cock notching up at your entrance. He looks up at you, pupils blown, chest heaving.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’ll fucking murder you –"

He cuts you off with one quick rock of his hips. You burn at the stretch. He’s big, and it’s been a while, but he’s already moving before you have time to process that little blip of pain before the pleasure is overwhelming you. You squeal when he lifts your hips up, but it’s just to slip a pillow under you before he’s manhandling your hips and fucking into you like a man possessed.

His breath is hot against your ear, whispering a litany of confessions while he drags his cock in and out. It’s so purposeful, you feel every stroke of him in your fucking skull. His pubic bone grinds against your clit with every thrust, and before you know it, you’re chanting praises, begging him to let you come.

He knows the neighbors will complain, that the safe house is absolutely busted, but he can’t fucking care, because your perfect little cunt is squeezing him like a vice, and your eyes are so blissful as you come that he feels, finally, at peace.

“That’s it, princess,” he says as your orgasm shatters through you. “Make a fucking mess, just for me, god yes –"

He comes so hard that his vision whites out. All he can feel and hear and see and think is you.

He collapses on top of you, nosing at the baby hairs damp with sweat along your neck. He smiles. Maybe later he’ll take you to a bed and tell you his real name.

#sugarwarachanwrites #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya smut #mha dabi #mha x reader #league of villains x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha #boku no hero academia

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donutz · 1 year ago

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Catnap & Dogday being silly with reader

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Zeki aph☆

—☆You are a smiling critter in this, if u want to know which one(but don't know what animal or insect to pick) you could start out as a sheep!

It’s early in the morning, and the kids have woken up(some of them, those are the early birds).

You and PickyPiggy help out with the breakfast, surprisingly you two never get tired of it.

PickyPiggy is very familiar with food so of course she won't get bored, but you? It can be confusing on why you never get tired.. Of cooking and baking for the kids.

Both of you cook everyday, at least for breakfast. Cooking over 500 pancakes, bacon(sometimes), and eggs isn't thattt bad!!

That's what PickyPiggy and you say.

So while you were cooking pancakes, you were by yourself. PickyPiggy already took care of the bacon. Seems.. Weird. Because y'know, bacon is pork. But she doesn't know that so let's keep it a secret.

You had 400 already done, just 100 left. Then you and Picky have to work together to set the table and place down the plates of food.

You finished pouring out the batter for a few pancakes then sat down somewhere on the couch.

You're cooking for all the kids, but the little ones come first. The little ones are 1-6, the youth is 7-10, then the older ones are 11-17. Why do the little ones wake up earlier? You're not sure.

Since there isn’t anything to watch except Smiling Critter videos. You decide to watch that. While it was playing, you kind of— zoned out..

‘Why don’t I have hands instead of hooves’?

Then Dogday and Catnap came out of nowhere.

“Sheepy”!

“...”

Dogday jumped on you while Catnap crawled on the couch and sat next to you.

“What’cha doin?!” Dogday asked, he was always so interested in what you do in your everyday life. It’s just a routine, sometimes it doesn’t always stick to that but it’s okay.

“Waiting for the pancakes to cook—” While you were speaking, apparently PickyPiggy woke up and wanted to check on the cooking.

“Oh that’s great! Your pancakes are amazing! As always!” Dogday always compliments you on your cooking.

“What’s the ingredients for em? Again..?” And for some reason he couldn’t remember the ingredients every single time you told him. But you don’t mind.

(This is a real recipe by the way you can actually make this, it’s how I make pancakes!) While making eye contact with Picky, you were stating the ingredients.

“So I first use 1 cup of pancake flour”(You can use any, I think, I’m not sure since I’ve been using the same one every time I make pancakes)

“Then a ⅔ cup of water(If the flour looks like it needs more water you can do a full cup!)” You were hand motioning to Picky to flip over the pancakes since they should be done by now. She did it so you don’t have to worry too much, now.

She’s taking care of the pancakes now that you’re explaining the ingredients to a very interested puppy, and a very much listening kitty.

“Then three slices of butter, after getting the pieces I put it in the microwave, for 30 seconds or 1 minute, depending on how big the slices were”

“And to add some yummy flavor to it I use cinnamon, as much as you want really, also if you want to make it really sweet, you can use milk”!

“After putting the ingredients together, you mix 'em up! And now you pour the batter on the griddle, as much as you want”.

“Also if it’s too dry you could add more liquids(any of them, the melted butter, the water, the milk) or if it’s too liquidy you could add more flour”.

“... Wow! Sheepy you’re so cool when it comes to cooking and stuff!” The puppy was wagging his tail at how amazing you were with your knowledge about making food.

Then he gave you a big hug, he was on your left side so you put your left arm around his back.

“Thanks—”

Then Catnap rubbed his head against yours while purring.

Even if Picky is still in the area, she’s too sleepy to process Catnap’s affection.

You didn’t want to sleep here on the couch so you suggested to the polar opposites that, “We should move to our critter bedroom or something”.

While you three were walking to the critter room, remember how I said that some kids were early birds? Yeah, and someee of those kids were out of their bedrooms. So you and Catnap had to deal with having them go back into their rooms, since Dogday isn’t too good at that stuff.

He sometimes gets.. Manipulated by the kids.. They reason with him and tell him that it’s okay to stay out of the rooms. Then he goes, “Okay!” It’s not annoying, but it is annoying that the kids were taking advantage of Dogday’s kindness.

After that frenzy, you guys were actually heading back to the critters’ room.

Luckily, the workers thankfully had sympathy for the critters so you all actually have a place to rest. Even if you don’t need to sleep.

All the critters, except Picky, were playing around in the room. Then your trio came in and walked in on a party. Like a teenage birthday party, it was actually crazy. And somehow Craftycorn was drawing during all of this??

Catnap, Dogday and you were going towards your bed, just sitting on it, watching the madness. There was so much laughing, the room could be mistaken for a bunch of 3 year olds.

Then, KickinChicken threw a pillow and it hit Catnap’s face..

The room went silent, though, Craftycorn was still drawing.

“Oh! Sorry Catnap! I’ll try not to hit you again”!

He slowly turned his head towards the chicken, looking scary as ever.

But then you scratched the underside of his chin with your wrist(since you’re a sheep and have wool) or if your critter actually has hands then you scratched under his chin with your hand.

“Sorry about him, continue.” And then the playing started again.

And yes, Catnap started purring.

#poppy playtime #dogday #dogday x reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #gn reader #poppy platime fanfic #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime 3 #catnap #catnap x reader #smiling critters #kickinchicken #pickypiggy #craftycorn

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