#those ones are for freshmen college kids

[schrodingers-slut]

Any other queer disabled ppl feel like it takes multiple spreadsheets to just like. exist/participate in life?

[just-jammin]

oh boi

a week till college :D

[sytoran]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐓.𝟐

following your erotically fantastical encounter with the mother of the kids you babysit, the aftermath is more of a rollercoaster than you could have ever precedented.

🌸 pairing: milf!pregnant!wanda x dom!babysitter!reader

🌸 cont: smut (18+), mommy kink (wanda), lactation kink, body worship, praise kink, power bottom sex-deprived milf 🤝beefy college service top footballer

🌸 word count: 2042

🌸 note: THIS IS SO LONG-AWAITED im sorry..... also i know im supposed to be writing for kinktober but milf!pregnant!wanda was invading every corner of my mind so here ya go. not proof-read!

part one || main masterlist

“Come on, Y/N, you’re not going to the party tonight?” Natasha grumbles, grabbing the sleeve of your bomber jacket as you try your darndest to escape your friends.

It was the fated next day following your erotically fantastical encounter with Wanda, and you had just completed your classes. As you strolled out of campus grounds, the sun was already setting. It painted a picturesque view of the orange horizon, but truthfully, you only cared about getting back to Wanda for that promised ‘tomorrow’. 

“I told you no, Nat,” you reply with a playful sternness that the others laugh at. It was no secret that Natasha had a crush on you, ever since you first sat next to her in the lecture hall and got a little flirty and perhaps a little too handsy. 

It was also no secret that for every lecture after that, you would sit next to a different girl and activities of the same sort would ensue. Most of the time, those encounters would end up with a pretty girl trapped between the wall of a cramped supply closet and you.

“They’ve probably got a secret girlfriend,” Tony adds unhelpfully, with that classic smirk you want to punch off his face sometimes. 

“Really?” Steve asks genuinely, ever the innocently clueless one. “Is she younger than us?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sam chimes in. “Have you seen the freshmen ‘round our beloved Y/N?”

“Feral,” Carol states in resolution. “They crowd at the field to watch Y/N during football practice.”

“And of course, Y/N doesn’t bother to hide the way she leads them all on!” Natasha adds in partial indignation, nudging you suggestively. “That’s totally your type, hm? Younger, pretty girls who chase after you with a puppy love? Is that why my forward advances have always ended in flames?”

You grin half-heartedly, awkward in the spotlight of your love life. For one, your friends couldn’t be more wrong about this ‘secret girlfriend’ you had. Younger, innocent girls? More like smoking hot single moms in their late thirties.

It was strange, even, how you would normally take these girls’ teasing in your stride, almost basking in the glory of being the most sought-after student on campus. 

But with the looming thought of Wanda intercepting every brain wave of yours, months of pining surmounting to a heated make-out session with the hope for something more, all else was forsaken. 

You try not to think about the implications of that too hard.

As your friends continue to bicker about the prospect of your secret girlfriend, you seize the well-earned distraction and weasel your way out.

Sooner than you’d care to admit, you’re standing outside Wanda’s home, skateboard in hand. You’re buzzing in anticipation with your flushed face and windswept hair.

Before you can doubt yourself and backtrack, you knock on the door sharply, twice. You can’t help but smirk at the muffled shriek that follows, then a muted shuffle, then silence. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You really were about to do this.

“Come in, sweetheart,” the mother calls out with a sugary tone that feeds your ever-increasing libido.

You open the unlocked door, mentally preparing yourself to face Wanda once more. 

But then you actually lay your eyes upon her ethereal figure, and your athlete-hardened knees nearly buckle.

Fuck.

Sprawled out on the sofa like something out of a classic Renaissance painting is Wanda, clad in nothing but a lacy set of dark red lingerie, the most sultry look on her face that draws all the air out of your lungs.

You’d never seen a more attractive woman, pregnant or not.

The way the lacy bra hugs her swollen breasts tighter, pushing the cleavage to be even more visible, the way her thick thighs are spread to reveal those beautiful stretch marks.

“Fuck,” you say, a lot higher pitched than you would care to admit. It seems to be the only word currently circulating in your mind, your studied vocabulary flying out of the window at the sight of Wanda presenting herself for you like a well-earned present.

“See something you like?” Wanda dares to tease, left hand trailing along the lace of her bra, dipping into the ample cleavage that leaves you salivating. 

It takes approximately three seconds for you to kick the door shut, yank off your jacket and nearly dislocate your shoulder, then press against Wanda like it was always meant to be.

The kiss you pull her into is the opposite of gentle, your head slanting to deepen the kiss immediately, tongues meeting like planets bound to collide, bound to cross paths and cause an eclipse.

Wanda moans into the kiss, and you can barely hide your pleasure at that noise. You wanted to hear it a thousand times over, the breathless cry of your name, the begging tone of the older woman.

It was so wrong, but nothing had felt more right.

Wanda’s relinquishment of power doesn’t last too long, though, because before you can impatiently rip off the fabric of her lingerie, she threads her fingers into your hair and forcefully tugs you closer to her chest.

“My house, my rules,” Wanda states, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a rush of arousal coursing through your veins at Wanda’s motherly sense of control.

“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, half-jokingly, but when your peripheral view catches Wanda visibly aroused by that, you know it isn’t going to be the last time you address her as that.

Your hand slides under Wanda’s body to unclasp the bra, letting out an affected noise at the sight of her full tits on display.

“Shit,” you grunt, pausing for a moment to admire the view.

Throughout the months of babysitting Billy and Tommy, you had only ever discreetly checked out Wanda’s cleavage, or perhaps stare a little too hard when she wore scanty dresses that showed off her side boobs.

Now, with those perfect, swollen mounds right before your face, you give into your urges to bury your face between them. You groan at the sensation of Wanda’s milk leaking out of her hardened nipples, your mouth moving to suckle at her breasts.

“Shit, baby,” Wanda cries, throwing her head back as you drink right out of her breasts, lapping fervently. It wasn’t entirely sexual per se, but the sheer relief of lightening that weight load in her breasts was a pleasure in itself.

You get slightly drunk off the feeling of Wanda’s breasts in your mouth, and it takes Wanda a surprising amount of strength to get your head away from her chest eventually.

“You’re a bit too obsessed with my tits,” Wanda teases, swiping her milk off your lips with her thumb, tilting your head down to lock eyes with her. The tension between the two of you is palpable, thick in the air, and you long to drown in that desire.

You only smirk back, hands resting on the hem of her thong. “May I undress you now, ma’am?” you emphasise, tilting your head to the side in faux innocence.

“So polite,” Wanda retorts right back, fingertips tracing the curve of your jawline as a smile plays on her lips. “How could I say no to such a gentleman?”

That’s all the confirmation you need before you snap the elastic of Wanda’s red thong, stuffing the flimsy material into the pocket of your pants. What you’d do with it later was for another day.

You kiss down Wanda’s breasts to her swollen belly, firm but gentle, then you flatten out your tongue when it reaches her wet heat.

“I couldn’t pay attention,” you growl, licking a long stripe up Wanda’s pussy. “In any of my fucking classes today,” you continue, tongue flicking at her puffy clit. “‘Cause I was thinking ‘bout all the ways I could fuck that pretty cunt.” 

The filthy moan that leaves Wanda’s lips at your words rings around the confines of the four walls. 

It had been so long since Wanda experienced such mindblowing sex; She had been sexually repressed because of Vision’s busy schedule, and it was torture because pregnancy pretty much solidified her daily sexual arousal. 

But what with her split from him meaning no more mediocre sex, and the prospect of a hot babysitter entering her life, Wanda’s pregnancy hormones had skyrocketed to an all-time high.

Long gone were the nights she held a vibrator against her clit under the sheets, eyes screwed shut as thoughts of you swam in her head. Long gone were the times she helplessly fingered herself in the shower, wishing her fingers belonged to you instead. 

Now, your head was buried between her thighs, your mouth like the devil on her cunt, fast-paced and unforgiving and everything Wanda had always longed for.

“You’re perfect,” you grunt into the older woman’s wet heat, the vibrations of your rough tone sending jolts of arousal up Wanda’s body. “You’re so fucking perfect, Wanda.”

“D-Don’t say that,” she answers breathlessly, fingernails digging into your scalp. “You’ve slept with plenty of other younger, prettier girls than me.” 

The insecurity Wanda felt about her body had mainly stemmed from Vision, who was always going on about how she had become less attractive after pregnancy, with the stretch marks and the added fat and other blemishes on her skin.

“I don’t know about that,” you say, relentless in your worshipping of Wanda’s body. The way you were treating her like a temple was overriding the false beliefs Vision had planted into her head. “‘Cause now when I think about those other girls in bed they all end up looking like you.”

At that, Wanda feels tears prick in the back of her eyes, her gaze blurring as she stares at you. ‘

You, who had entered her life like a ray of hope, brightening up her every day with a blindingly charming smile and a selfless heart. You, who had treated her with more care and respect than any man she had ever been with before. You, who tied up all her loose ends and sewed it up to form the shape of a pretty little heart.

“I love you,” Wanda whispers, the words spilling from the tip of her tongue before she can control it. Her breath constricts afterwards when your mouth finally stops to register her words. 

“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it,” Wanda continues, breathless, pushing aside your hair to properly look at you in the eyes. “But I do love you, Y/N L/N.”

Wanda feels something wet on her inner thigh, something that’s not her own slick. It takes a moment for her to realize that it’s your tears.

“I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you,” you confess, eyes shining. “I think I was just scared to believe it until today, too.”

Heartstrings get tugged like a harp, crescendoing into a beautiful symphony that was finally requited love, finally coming to a high, finally reaching its summit.

The lust that encaptures the two of you dissipates into a warm glow of love, the tension easing into trials of romance. 

When you dive back in between Wanda’s thighs, you’re determined and emotional and ultimately choked with new possibilities.

You could already imagine cooking dinners together with Wanda, reading the kids bedtime stories, chastising them to go and brush their teeth, stealing kisses when they fell asleep.

You could already map out a navigation of your future years, down millions of paths and possibilites that all brought you to Wanda Maximoff. She was your life, your truth, your unbreakable vow.

With that, her first orgasm comes in a tidal wave, like rushing water breaking free from a dam. 

Wanda sobs, riding your face as she comes harder than she’s ever had in her life, squirting all over your face and the sofa, all else forgotten.

Your expert tongue and naturally-skilled fingers bring her to another plane of existence, where she was floating above the universe, where your name was chanted like a mantra.

The world around you faded as Wanda’s thighs wrapped around your head, as you dived down once more to worship, as you dived down once more to chase the love of your life.

This was the only happy ever after you needed.

hope yall liked it 😋 reblogs are much appreciated!!

main masterlist || AO3

[starry-hughes]

wonder who i’m looking for

luke hughes x ex!reader

summary: you don’t go to parties anymore but luke still looks

warnings: angst, implications of sex, mention of losing in frozen four, underage drinking, drinking in general, probably more angst

navigation

The house reeked of cheap beer. For most of the occupants of the house being taken in the NHL Draft, money wasn’t too much of a hardship, especially with the scholarships and everything else they were entitled to as student athletes, but it was still cheap beer. Luke knew everyone here, almost everyone. He wasn’t too familiar with the freshman kids that had came in after he left. He knew some names just through passing and if they were top prospects.

It felt like yesterday he was living in this house with his friends. Now, most of the friends were scattered across the country. Dylan in Tampa, Mackie in Charlotte, sometimes he got to bounce to Sunrise. Luke was leaving for New Jersey. Training camp was going to start and he was no longer on the University of Michigan hockey team. Mark and Ethan still lived in the house, but now the empty rooms were taken by other people. It was part of the life though, Luke had known he wasn’t going to be at Michigan forever.

The party drowned on around him. Cheap beer in his hands, Luke’s eyes scanned the room. He didn’t know who he was looking for. You wouldn’t be there. Why was he still looking?

Luke lived in the dorms his freshman year, as did most. But, because he was a student athlete, he still got invites to parties and events. He didn’t exactly need parties but it was a right of passage, partying in college. But he didn’t even meet you at a party. Those party conversations and meetings came later.

Instead, Luke had met you in one of the buildings he had class in. He walked out of class with Mark when you approached, immediately talking to them. “Your bag,” you handed the bag to Mark. “Thank you. Sorry about that, but I needed it for practice.”

Luke was confused. Who were you? “Oh, right, this is Luke, my teammate,” Mark introduced. “(Y/N),” you stuck your hand out, “I’m the unfortunate person stuck with Mark on our project in Intro to Business.” Luke shook your hand. “He left his bag in my car last night when I drove him to his dorm because of the rain.”

“And (Y/N) happily and graciously brought me the bag because she has class a building over.”

“I should get going, have fun with practice. See you in study group Mark!” And then you were gone. “Are you and her?” Luke finally asked when they got to Yost. “Nope, she’s all yours bud.”

Luke didn’t see you again until Mark yanked you to the group at the football tailgate three weeks later. You were dressed in Michigan colors with an M temporary tattoo on your cheek. “(Y/N)! You remember Luke right?” Mark handed you a cup, presumably alcohol since you were mostly underaged and couldn’t openly drink. “Hi Luke.”

From there, it was meetings at the library, Luke happened to always just be free to attend study session with you and Mark and your other classmates. Then it was text messages and Snapchat picture exchanges from classes when class was boring. Then after the first hockey game of the season, you finally appeared at the party.

The freshmen players weren’t drunk, they were mainly stuck on designated driver duty and bouncer duty. The upperclassmen house was full of students when you arrived. Luke didn’t see you for the first hour or so but he had to admit, he was looking for you. You finally appeared on the back porch of the house, where Luke was. Your roommate was off drinking and you needed out of the stuffy house. “Luke! You didn’t text back after the game so I didn’t know if you would be here,” you hung off his shoulders in a hug. “Are you drinking tonight?” he asked, an arm snaking around your waist. “Yes, my friend is DD!”

Luke smiled. That was the first night you kissed him. Luke wasn’t too proud of it. He felt like you were drunk and you shouldn’t have kissed him. But you wanted to kiss him. It’s why you continued to kiss him the next time you saw him and every time after that. By winter break, you were officially dating.

During the summer in between your freshman and sophomore year, Luke and you were long distance. You were living back with your family for the summer and he was busy with his family and hockey. But when the two of you got back to campus, you were immediately with Luke.

He was living with the boys and you were in an off campus apartment but most of the time you were with him. The excuse for you always being at the house was not just for Luke but also for studying with Ethan and Mark. Mark had taken credit for being the reason you and Luke were together.

At every party, Luke didn’t have to look for you. You were always next to him. Talking to friends and drinking cheap beer or poorly mixed jungle juice. Everything was perfect and good. You were always with him. Most of the times, parties ended late and you slept over with Luke, when sleeping was an option. Most of the time, the two of you were getting hot and heavy behind the locked door of his bedroom.

As sophomore year dragged on, it became more and more apparent to Luke that after the season ended, he would be leaving for New Jersey. Everyone knew it. Well everyone but you. You heard whispers about it but Luke never confirmed it. When the team made it to the Frozen Four, you couldn’t attend the game in Tampa and Luke simply kissed you goodbye and said he would see you soon. But he wouldn’t. He already had bags sent to New Jersey and had his extra sticks packed up. All his teammates knew and you didn’t. It wouldn’t make sense until a week after the Frozen Four as to why Luke had been only hanging out at your apartment, he didn’t want you to know he was packing.

The watch party of the game ended sourly when the boys lost. You texted Luke, telling him you loved him and when he got back you would come over to help cheer him up. Only Luke didn’t come back. He was in New Jersey days later, only telling you when you called crying and angry. Luke had never told you. It was the end of your relationship.

You hated hockey. You hated Michigan. You hated New Jersey. You hate Luke Hughes. Your transfer paperwork went in quickly and your apartment was empty at the end of the semester. You were no longer attending the University of Michigan and it was all because of a boy.

Why hadn’t Luke just told you he was leaving?

Luke had no idea you left. It was almost ironic, him not telling you he was leaving and you not telling him that you transferred schools. Every time he asked Mark or Ethan about you, they dodged his questions. They didn’t want him to know he had caused you so much trouble that you left.

When he finally returned this year, he looked everywhere for you. At the football games, with faces he vaguely recognized, he even debated looking at Mark’s laptop to try and see the class roster, knowing you should be in the same classes. He finally broke and asked the day of the party.

“She left didn’t she?”

“Transferred to OSU after sophomore year,” Ethan admitted. “She’s doing okay if it makes you feel better,” Mark started. Mark was going to continue on but Luke didn’t want to hear it. “No, it doesn’t make me feel better.”

At the party, Luke sat on the couch. All his former teammates and all his friends around him. Cheap beer in his hand. An impending plane ticket to New Jersey for training camp already on his phone. The knowledge that you wouldn’t be at the party, or any party for that matter. All this and more, and yet he still looked for you.

[scoops-aboy86]

By The Heart (Secret Admirer pt 2)

Steddie Week 2024, July 2: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

wc: 2136 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

After the world fell apart a second time in November of ‘84, Steve had finished out the rest of his senior year in a daze. Partly because Billy Hargrove had broken a fucking plate over his head, giving him a small scar by his hairline that the doctor said would fade and recurring headaches that the doctor said might stick around anywhere from a few months to forever. 

It’s been more than a few months and the headaches are only slightly less frequent and a tiny bit less severe. 

He graduated, barely. His dad keeps dropping pointed comments about how his parents let him stay in their house rent-free after high school, how he’d saved up while attending a nearby college by not having to worry about the cost of a dorm or basic meals, and that it is his gratitude towards them that has moved him to offer the same to Steve. Usually said comments come after Steve tries to sidestep some sort of menial task, and it always feels like a threat.Steve just grits his teeth and takes it—refills his dad’s drink when the bottle is already literally right by the man’s hand, washes the family car after dinner when both his parents know that Steve has a shift at Scoops first thing in the morning, whatever. He can’t afford to get kicked out right now. 

His job at Scoops Ahoy is shit, all bright fluorescent lights and kids screaming and everything getting sticky for a measly minimum wage, but that probably reflects the quality of the job application he’d submitted. 

He has no friends, no prospects, no one in his corner except a bunch of incoming freshmen and the only one who really seems to want him around is off at some sort of smart people camp that he’d never even heard of… Go figure. 

But he has Secret Admirer. 

Okay, what Steve has is a pen pal who has a PO box and prefers to remain anonymous, possibly because Steve is an embarrassing person to have a crush on these days. And it’s really stupid that he thinks of them as first name Secret, last name Admirer, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried to come up with better names! Unfortunately, there are so many things Secret Admirer has called him (sweetheart, darling, dearest, honey, baby) that he can’t really think of anything original with those constantly rotating in his head… He can’t use them, though. It’d be weird. 

The first letter had been shoved into his locker in the last few weeks of school, looking like someone either wrote it with their non-dominant hand or had also suffered a blow to the head recently, and he hadn’t known what to make of it at first. In fact, he’d considered the possibility that Tommy or Billy were playing some sort of prank on him… but he didn’t think either of them could write “To Steve, the heart of my heart” without bursting into homophobic flames, and if it was Carol she would’ve done her girliest handwriting with hearts dotting the eyes. And his Secret Admirer had mentioned things no one else in his life seemed to care about. 

Like, 

I hope you’re feeling better. Sometimes I notice you squinting or grimacing in the classes we have in common… Are you still getting headaches? Do you get enough rest? You probably already know this, but mental and physical rest are super important for getting your handsome self all recovered, big boy. 

And,

I had a concussion once, not a bad one but it really left an impression. Felt like I was trying to think through a head full of soup for weeks. It sucks that teachers didn’t seem to cut you much slack because, just saying, I noticed they used to do that a lot more when you were still on the basketball and swim teams. Jock privilege placed above consideration of an actual, serious injury? I’m sorry, but that’s the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended nostril, sweetheart, and you deserve better. 

So, yeah. Clearly his Secret Admirer is a nerd who doesn’t necessarily have the best opinion of jocks… but still took the time to notice all those things and write kindly about them. It felt nice, knowing that at least one person out there noticed, maybe even cared. 

And when that letter turned out not to be a one-off, a few more letters in his locker and then one in his mailbox, postmarked and everything, after graduation? Steve was hooked, enough to start writing self-consciously back. 

Which has brought him to the point of wanting so badly to meet this person that he’s stooped to begging, and it’s not even getting him anywhere. 

It’s occurred to him that it could be a guy, of course it has. Steve might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows it happens. He’d had a friend in middle school, Todd Fischer, nice guy, totally normal kid—got caught kissing some boy in the next grade up behind the gym and turned out to be the worst sprinter of the two. The Fischers had moved out of Hawkins a few weeks later and Steve hadn’t heard anything from or about Todd since. They’d been halfway through reading Romeo & Juliet in English at the time, and Steve remembers thinking when they got to the end of the play that at least things hadn’t gone that badly for Todd and whoever the other kid was. He’s old enough now to know that it could have; between Todd being such a nice kid, Barb dying in his own backyard, and the threat of government agents coming out of the woodwork if he ever breathes a word about certain secrets, the thought leaves a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. 

Anyway, if it is a guy, that would explain why Secret Admirer keeps dancing around his pleas to meet. And the initially disguised handwriting—which had been dropped by the second mailed letter, along with a brief, sheepish apology. 

But it could also be a girl who’s really shy or something. Steve doesn’t want to assume and then look like a total idiot further down the road. Whoever it is, all Steve knows is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He has to play this smart, play it cool… because he knows himself, and already knows that they have him by the heart based on words alone. 

The latest letter is in his hands, crinkled a little at the edges, and Steve can’t help himself from rereading the fifth paragraph yet again. 

… those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off…

He’s not scared off. Doesn’t need to know exactly who put pen to paper to imagine hands and lips running up his legs, either, an invisible touch that sends shivers along his spine. 

Okay, maybe it’s been a while. Between striking out from behind the Scoops counter and not really trying all that hard anyway, the only action Steve’s seen is from his own hand… and this letter. He has thoughts, alright, but has a much better idea of how to translate them into action than words. And this is his problem with the whole pen pal only thing, his natural charm (if he has any left) is absolutely useless in this medium. 

The other problem is that he really, really wants to jerk off about this, except he’s got almost no details to fuel the fantasy. He knows that Secret Admirer had a concussion once, but not what color or length or texture or style their hair is; knows they’re on the fringes of popularity and not really into sports, but nothing about their height or build or how they might move against him. Hell, he doesn’t even know if they’re a girl or a guy, isn’t sure if he should try to imagine boobies and painted nails or stubbled cheeks and big hands. 

Secret Admirer has mentioned being a smoker though, of both tobacco and grass, and Steve is not exactly proud of how strongly this makes him want a cigarette just because it’s all he has to go on. He has work in under an hour and Robin hates the smell of cigarettes, will be extra vicious for their entire shift if he comes in reeking of smoke. 

He’ll have to figure out something else…

Dear Secret Admirer, Thanks for writing again, I was really glad to get your letter. I don’t sleep with them under my pillow because sometimes my pillow ends up on the floor and I don’t want to drool all over them. I keep them in a box in the back of my closet, because sometimes my parents have the cleaning lady do my bedroom without telling me and I don’t want her going through my stuff or putting it in weird places that I can never find again.  Sorry for laughing at you You must not have seen me last week when I threw a banana peel at my coworker for It’s not being humble if I don’t deserve Yeah, fuck high school.  Sorry for not rewriting this, I’m running out of paper and my dad’ll kill me if I break into his office to get more I definitely thought about what you said in your last letter. I thought about it a lot. It’s hard to figure out how to explain what though, because I wanted to picture you like you were probably picturing me when you were writing it. You obviously know what I look like, but I don’t know who you are so I had to get creative. (Which isn’t my strong suit. So if this is stupid maybe we could just never mention it again?) Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are? I’m not sure if that makes sense. But anyway, since I don’t know what you look like I pictured you dressed like a ninja.  Hear me out, okay? You’re such a mystery. Ninjas are mysterious, and dressed all black to blend in with the shadows. You can’t see their hair or face and they wear gloves because you can tell a lot about a person by their hands. I guess what I’m saying is I imagined you sneaking into my room at night when the lights are off. Totally silent but with this powerful presence, you know? I think if I were in the same room as you it’d feel like that moment right before the whistle goes off at a swim meet, because that’s just like, holy shit it’s about to happen and your muscles are all tense but ready but you’re waiting, coiled like a snake. So I’m coiled like a snake and you’re still a ninja and I’m not very good at this. I’ve done it over the phone a few times but that’s different. I don’t know where I’m going with this just sitting writing this alone in my room with Genesis playing in the background so I’m going to stop. Just trust me, it was hot. If you ever want to exchange numbers I’d be happy to tell you all about it sometime.  It feels weird to end like that, so I’ll also tell you that I tried reading that Hobbit book you suggested and you were right, it’s a lot easier than the Rings book that the kids I babysit tried to bully me into reading. Bibo is freaking out about all these dwarves in his house and I can relate, it sounds like when those kids all show up and try to rope me into driving them around town. At least they haven’t tried to make me steal anything or try to take on a damn dragon yet. Hopefully this book won’t give them any ideas.  — Steve PS If that was so dumb you changed your mind about still writing to me, please let me down easy. Seriously it would be no hard feelings. At least I still have a great ass and great hair, so I’ve got that going for me.

Tag list (open): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @thetinymm

@practicallybegging @fuzzyduxk @greatwerewolfbeliever

[exhaslo]

So I wanted to request ( that I forgot but remembered 😭) a bully!miguel x a nobody/shy!reader (female)

(college?)

like what I mean by a nobody is someone who’s is shy but is a introvert but do come to party to see if something happens or like to see people crush or goes to party with people if they don’t have anyone. and Miguel is a bully who’s offended involved and invited to party or hang out with his friends also a jerk to everyone. And everyone know him his popular,I mean how could he not when he built like that?! He popular with the female, and the jock? But often tried to ignored them especially the girls. So like one day in the hallway and Miguel is talking his group of friends and telling him “who’s shall we bully next?” But ignoring them as he see you walking in the hallway and see you around the campus like your a new kids (I mean it a big campus but he know everyone except you ?) and going to walk to the library till some other bullies decide to bring them into the game and bully you which make Miguel pissed 😝.(I feel like reader would be bully by many people because she never stand up for herself and Is rather quiet about anything mb it know everything and everyone) so what if that pissed turn into obsessive 🤭? And into making love ?

smut /fluff pls ?

Okie Okie Okie, I gots an idea for this! Hope you enjoy~

Summary: The campus bully wants a private tutor session from you~

Warning: Minors DNI, Smut, bullying, dry humping, fingering, public sex, almost caught, cockwarming

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

Miguel had started to grow bored of his day to day life. Everyday was like the same clock worth motion. Went to class, picked on some wimps and nerds with the guys, women all on his beck and call and the constant nagging of being invited to parties.

Miguel liked his life at first, but things started to grow old and boring. He needed something new. Something to keep things alive. First, it was changes majors, then it was picking on different people. When those didn't work, Miguel tried dating different women. Nothing seemed to have worked and Miguel was wondering if he needed to do something drastic.

"Hey, why don't we play a huge prank on the freshmen this year? They all have to attend that assembly, right?" One of Miguel's friends was saying. Miguel was laying against the campus grass,

"What were you thinking of?"

Miguel grunted lowly to the idea offered. He sat up, fixing his leather jacket before watching his fellow students run amok. People rushing to class or staying out in the quad with friends. Everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves. Everyone but him.

"Hey, watch this."

Miguel's ears perked up as he watched Ben throw his juice towards the center quad. Miguel's gaze followed the juice and noticed that it landed right on your head. His eyes widen as you looked up with tears in your eyes.

Unsure of what came over him, Miguel snapped towards Ben. He growled lowly and made his way over to you. Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to pick up your paperwork that had fallen. Miguel bend down, helping with the papers and took a better look at you.

"T-Thank you," You sniffled.

Miguel felt like he was in a trance. Your glossy eyes were staring into his. Your cheeks were puffy and slightly pink from your tears and your lips. Your outfit was hiding your cleavage and curves. It was like you were waiting to be unwrapped.

"Sorry about them." Miguel snapped out of his daze and went to wipe your tears away, "Let me help you dry these."

"O-Oh...T-Thank you...but....I-I um...I can handle it." Your voice kept getting lower and lower. Miguel glanced around, noticing the other girls,

"You're in my Physics class," Miguel read the top of your paper, "I've never noticed you before. I'm Miguel,"

"I-I know...I um...sit in the back," You kept whispering. Miguel bit the inside of his lip,

"You got a higher mark than me in the last exam. Mind tutoring me?"

Miguel watched as you looked up at him with a sparkle in your eye. You went to reply, but were interrupted by the other girls. Miguel resisted a groan, getting frustrated. He wanted to know more about you. You were different than the others.

"Migueeeeel, come hang out with us! Not this hag!"

"Yea, she's a nobody!"

You hung your shoulders, gripping your work closer to your chest. Tears threaten to spill once more as you ran off. Miguel wanted to reach out to you. He growled lowly, needing to find a way to get to listen to your sweet voice some more.

----------

"Hey, (Y/N), are you free now?" Miguel asked as the Professor dismissed you for the day. You looked around, noticing that everyone was gone,

"I-I am."

"Look," Miguel fixed the chair in front of you, "I want to get to know you and it's difficult as you've seen. Why don't we meet in one of the private rooms in the library? You help me with this class and I'll help you with everything else." Miguel offered. You noticed him sliding his report card to you,

"Y-You're so smart!" You gasped, "B-But the other girls-"

"Don't worry about them. I want to hang out with you."

You could feel your face turn bright red as you hesitantly agreed. Honestly, you were both nervous and excited. Miguel was known as the campus mad dog; the top bully. Yet, here he was, talking to you so gently and asking to hang out with you. It felt like a cruel dream. One where you knew you were going to get hurt in the end.

"H-Here's my number...I'll see....you later?"

"Yea"

-----------

You and Miguel had been meeting for private tutoring sessions for a couple of weeks now. You were slowly getting used to Miguel. Getting a little more comfortable. You were getting closer to him, making your own little jokes. Everything that you felt comfortable doing alone, you shared with Miguel.

Miguel on the other hand felt alive. He enjoyed spending time with you. Miguel loved watching you come out of your shell for him. He eventually found out how truly quiet and shy you were. This fueled Miguel to not only be better for you, but to help you stand up for yourself.

"M-Miguel, s-sorry I'm late," You stuttered, hurrying into the room. Miguel noticed your frantic expression and gently pulled you onto his lap,

"Breathe, tell me what happened."

You trembled softly under his touch, slowly relaxing. Miguel's body was so big and warm. You loved it when he wrapped his arms around you for comfort. It helped ease your nerves. Inhaling deeply, you raised your head, facing Miguel.

"I-It's nothing...Just...Just um...S-Some girls trying to...to get your whereabouts....out of me..."

"Is that why your hair is shorter?" Miguel played with your hair, his head resting against your neck, "It's hard for me to hold back my anger."

"Y-Your turn...t-to breathe!" You told him.

Miguel growled lowly before looking you in the eye. He saw those glossy eyes of yours and sighed. He leaned forward and licked your tears away, earning those soft and embarrassed squeaks from you. He chuckled lowly, his fingers stroking your sides as you trembled from his touch.

Oh, how you already belonged to him. The more Miguel spent with you, the more he tested your limits. He had not gotten a confession out of you yet, knowing how shy you were. Miguel wanted you to scream his name out. Miguel wanted to watch you cry in pleasure because of him.

"W-We should....should s-start...s-studying," You stuttered, your arms slowly wrapping around his neck.

"Why not biology?" Miguel's hands trailed up your back from under your shirt.

"B-But...w-we're not-"

"Right here,"

Miguel licked his lips as he started to slowly grind against you. Your breathing was getting a little louder as you began to whimper. Miguel held your hips down slightly as his hands stroked your back. You whined lowly, your own hips moving with his. Your cheeks were turning redder as you held onto Miguel.

"M-Mig...T-This...T-This isn't-"

"Are you feeling good?" Miguel asked as he kissed your neck.

"Y-Yes."

"Good. Tell me when to stop then,"

Miguel licked the base of your neck as he grinded harder against your clothed cunt. You let out quiet moans, trying to cover your mouth. Oh how cute you were. Miguel resisted a groan, watching you fall apart because of him. Watching his shy little angel come undone because of him.

Miguel lifted your skirt and flipped you over. Your back was now against his chest. Grunting, Miguel took his dick out and started to rub his cock between your thighs against your clothed pussy. You whimpered a moan, feeling a growing heat between your legs. Miguel's hands massaged one of your breasts, while the other reached your clit,

"You know what happens when I touch here, right?" Miguel chuckled as you shook against him, "That isn't the right answer, let me show you."

You kept covering your mouth, moaning into your hand as Miguel started to rub your clit. His cock sliding against your soaked panties, causing you to get hotter. You spread your legs out, moving your hips with his movements. His hot breathe was against your neck as he continued to toy with your body.

"M-Miguel~!" You cried out, arching your back forward as you reached your orgasm. Miguel groaned in response, moving your panties to the side,

"What a good fucking girl you are," He whispered in your ear, his fingers not playing with your throbbing hole, "Do you still want me to teach this tutoring session?" He asked, feeling you clamp against his fingers,

"Mhpm~"

"I need to hear words,"

"Y-Yes, p-please k-keep teaching me." You begged.

You whined softly as he removed his fingers from your hole. Miguel turned your head to capture your lips in a kiss as he slowly pressed his tip against your entrance. You whimpered at first, feeling yourself being stretched out as his dick entered you. He was so large that it made you see stars. His cock reaching so deep inside you and with each squeeze of your pussy, making his shape imbedded into you.

"Hah, look at you. The quietest girl on campus, sucking my dick so well. You were just made for me," Miguel groaned, holding you in place as you squirmed slightly.

"Hey! How much longer do you guys have this room for?" Someone knocked before entering.

Miguel quickly fixed your skirt and held your waist before throwing some random textbooks before the two of you. You squeezed against his dick tighter, fearing being caught.

"Shh, we got another hour in here. She's terrified of failing this class, now fuck off." Miguel hissed.

The person scoffed and left. Miguel let out a sigh of relief and smirked as you whimpered. Your tight gummy walls squeezing the life out of his cock.

"Did almost getting caught turn you on? How naughty." He teased, nibbling against your ear. You whined softly, trying to move, but Miguel refused, "Now, now, I think we actually need to learn something here."

---------

You were hugging Miguel tightly, your head against his shoulder as you whimpered softly against his ear. Miguel had you sitting on his cock for over twenty minutes now. He only moved you once and that was to the currently position the two of you were in. All you wanted was for Miguel to move. His cock felt so hot inside of you. You could feel ever vein of his dick and the little curve of his tip against your cervix.

"Miguel~" You begged lowly. Miguel inhaled at the sound of your moans,

"You've been such a good girl for me. I couldn't help but bully you a little. Are you ready?" Miguel asked.

"Y-Yes. P-Please gimme." You begged.

Miguel groaned at the sound. He kissed you tenderly before thrusting into you. He swallowed the sounds of your yelps and moans as he bullied your pussy. His rough and harsh thrusts, sending you over the moon. You were so wet. So easy to fuck. Miguel knew that he had to prep you before fucking you madly like he was now. Watching the door, Miguel grabbed your panties and stuffed them in your mouth,

"Just cum for me once. It's too dangerous to go all out here," Miguel whispered as he felt you cum against his dick, "Good girl,"

Miguel smirked as he pounded your pussy a few more times. He loved watching your fucked out expression. The wet slapping noises of your bodies every time he thrusted into you. Miguel grunted lowly as he slapped himself deep, filling your desperate hole. Panting softly, he quickly fixed the two of you up, before taking you back to his dorm.

"Fuck, I'm going to fuck you so good tonight, (Y/N). I love you, ya know that?" He groaned, making sure no one saw them. You just held onto Miguel, whimpering lowly,

"I-I love you too...B-But Miguel?"

"Yes?"

"I-I don't think you bullied me enough,"

"I'll make sure to bully you for the rest of your life."

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

Whoops, kind of got a little carried away with this. Hope you enjoy~

[vhstown]

ain't no love; pt. 2

"ain't no love in the heart of town"

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SUMMARY: Miles Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, and the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 →

chapter summary: [MILES POV] Miles thinks there's something sinister going on at Visions. But first, he has to ask you out — to a job fair.

content/warnings: mentions of food/hunger, implied kidnapping, use of drugs (not by miles or reader) and there are some word meanings at the end!

word count: 4.7k

a/n: never thought id make it this far. 2/4 yo! thank you @qiupachups for proofreading 🙏 my g fr

“Take your headphones out.”

“~Ain’t no love… in the hear–”

Miles slipped his earbud out before putting his hand into his pocket again; it’d go back in once he left the counsellor’s office anyhow. First, he had to deal with the woman in front of him — Ms. Weber, the woman he’d been avoiding all week.

“Why didn’t you come to see me yesterday?” The woman peered at him through her red-framed glasses. Her disapproving gaze was one Miles was yet to get used to.

“Had to uh, see a teacher.” Her gaze became more disbelieving than disapproving. It was true, though, his calc teacher wasn’t the only faculty member he seemed to be annoying today.

“Right, and they didn’t tell you to take out your headphones?” The woman leaned over on her desk much like Mr. Wellston had, except it actually had the intended effect, like he was talking to his mother; Miles fumbled a bit with the earbud in his pocket. “We need to discuss your extracurriculars.”

“Do I need extracurriculars? I mean, I kinda already got some.”

“Such as?”

“An extra calc class. And Spanish catch-up. And English—”

“Something that isn’t to do with your academics, Miles — hence extra-curricular. College applications are right around the corner.”

“I’m doin’ fine right now,” he shrugged. Weber didn’t look very impressed.

“If you wanna go out of state, "fine" isn’t enough. You’re not the only kid applying.”

“Not like I said that.” He leaned back, making his chair creak loudly.

Talking to Ms. Weber felt like a chore. Sure, she had his best interest at heart, but she’d never know the half of it. His cooperativeness was running thin as the ache in his muscles worsened — if only Aaron didn’t make him get so serious all of a sudden. Miles couldn't listen to everyone, he guessed.

The woman leaned forward, tilting her head, maybe for emphasis. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Miles.”

Leaning back wasn’t helping with the soreness, or Ms. Weber. “Not if there was no cake to begin with.”

She let out a breath, a more civil version of the loud sigh building up in Miles’ lungs. “How about this? You try your hand at some volunteering.”

“Volunteering?” He was already sure that he wouldn’t bother. He did plenty volunteering already — if illegal vigilantism counted.

“There’s a careers fair for freshmen soon. It’d look good on your application if you helped to organise.”

“Aren’t teachers supposed to do that?”

“I’m right in front of you.” Her tone was drier than his.

“You’re just a counsellor though—” Miles’ lips pressed together, Ms. Weber’s eyes narrowing at him. He didn’t want the same fate that guy had calling his mom “just a nurse”, but it came out before he could stop himself.

“The week after winter break,” she continued. Being a counsellor was less stressful than a nurse, it seemed.

Winter break was after this week — that was when he’d finally stop training for a little while. The week after was the job fair, and…

“So it’s just me that’s doin’ it?”

The counsellor contemplated for a moment, her own lips pursing. “You could ask someone to do it with you. One of your friends, maybe.”

Like he had one of those.

“Huh? What’d you say? Someone’s waiting? You got friends?”

“Miles, c’mon.”

Maybe he did.

“Yeah, fine — I’ll do it,” he muttered. Weber’s expression relaxed, as much as it could with that gruff air still about her.

“Okay, good. Just bring your friend here after school.” Miles simply nodded — now with another thing to think about. “You can go back to lunch.”

He got out of the chair, his hand already on the door handle before Weber spoke again.

“Well done on coming in, by the way.” Miles turned back for a moment, mumbling something like a thanks. He tried not to feel weird about the odd sincerity of her words as he walked through the hallways.

“~Ain’t no love, and in the heart of the city…”

Miles had a lot to think about in general, but only about 20 minutes to think about what he was going to say to you. He also thought about what he was going to eat later — maybe his mom made something. He hoped his uncle didn’t finish the stew. At least his stomach didn’t grumble… Miles tried not to smile, even if nobody was watching.

Though he wanted to talk to you outside of class, he never really had any excuse. The only reason he’d talked to you at all was because that Rafa asshole decided bothering Mrs. Hernandéz wasn’t enough. Miles wasn’t stupid, but Rafael had drawn a massive red target on his own back. It was a miracle that you decided to say something, for Miles and Rafael.

A little height difference wouldn’t make his ankles any harder to break. He half-shook away the thought. No need to get expelled when he had to be here for long enough to confirm his suspicions.

“He went missing, and now he’s teaching calculus at Visions?”

“Yup.”

“That’s my high school.”

“…Jeff did us a service with these files, huh man?”

And so Miles had gone to Mr. Wellston’s classroom with you. It only left him with more questions.

Wellston almost seemed askance when you two walked in together — he didn’t even mention Miles’ earbud. The man was reluctant to let Miles take the extra class with you, for some reason, but Miles could play dumb when he needed to. Something about the whole arrangement was off to him — like it had set off a sixth sense Miles didn’t have.

Really and truly, you were just some kid from his class that happened to be caught up in all of this. If he had a reason, he’d tell you to not go to that stupid class in the first place. He was probably a better tutor anyway — Wellston didn’t seem like the teacher type anyway.

But he was just some kid from your class too — Miles Morales. Gonzalo Morales, though he doubted you knew, or cared. Probably the only person who knew his middle name was his mom; she was always talking about it, his name — to be proud. He had his mother’s last name for a reason, one he never knew about until Aaron told him: keeping him away from crime — his dad’s side. If only she knew what he was up to now.

If only his dad knew what he was up to now.

Miles Gonzalo Morales — whoever that was, was sweating a little at the moment. That was walking quickly, not because he had to figure out what to say in the next 10 seconds. Talking to you? No big deal. He’d done it before… once.

Miles had talked to you once. This past week, all he’d learnt about you was your first name and the fact that you sucked at using your calculator.

Hunched over a textbook with a crumpled up juice box in your hand, Miles spotted you sitting by yourself in the corner of the cafeteria. It’d be an easy conversation: he could bring up the textbook and talk to you alone. The pang of embarrassment that shot through him said otherwise. You looked like you did in Spanish, quiet, focused, a little stressed — like the sketch of you that was crumpled up in his blazer pocket. In the sketch, you were facing away. Right now, your eyes were on him. Mier— (Shi—)

“Can you move?” Miles hastily stepped away, realising he was blocking the line. He tried not to catch the girl’s annoyed stare, and the many others, holding back his grimace and heading for your table.

He sat opposite you; the seat was cold, and he wished he’d brought his jacket. What if it looked like he was shaking, or something? This was stupid. It wasn’t that cold. Just ask, dumbass.

“Hey uh, pana.” Your eyes were on his again, and he tried to smile. “You studyin’?”.

“Trying to.” Gaze trailing back to the textbook, you closed it with a sigh he could only imagine with his music playing in-between the cafeteria noise.

The cover read “AP CALCULUS BC: 1st Edition” — he knew there were at least ten revisions. Maybe you liked collecting old textbooks like he did old comics — that’d be stupid.

“Still don’t know how you got six.” He took out his earphone, before realising what you meant.

“Litres per hour,” he corrected, immediately feeling like punching himself for it. “Could explain it… if you want.” The cold plastic cafeteria bench dug into his palm as his grip on it tightened. Miles Morales — Brooklyn’s only vigilante, and now an AP Calc tutor

“Uh, sure.” You took out a pencil, which clattered far too loudly on the table. He watched you grit your teeth at the sound before giving him an expectant, somewhat unsure look. Miles took the pencil in his hand and started scribbling in the back page of the textbook, with you watching intently.

It was slightly warm, and wrote nicely — would probably draw nicely too. Not important. Just solve the damn thing.

“Why does this equal to the derivative, though?” you interrupted, pointing at the garble of letters and numbers. He had to hold back a sigh, like he wasn’t the one to offer you help. If there’s one thing he didn’t get from his mom, that was his patience — no wonder she was a nurse and he wasn’t a tutor.

“Cause if you take g of x as like, let’s say v or sumn’…” he murmured, brows knitting together as he scribbled out a couple more lines on the side. Rewriting the equation, he glanced at you occasionally, hoping you were getting it.

“Wait, wait, so…”

A flash of realisation came over your face before you abruptly took the pencil from his hand, making his jaw clench as your hand brushed his. You continued the line of working, explaining it to yourself while Miles gave quiet “yeah”s and nods.

“Then all of that should equal six.” The pencil dropped with a quiet thud, rolling onto the inside of the textbook. “Litres per hour,” you added quickly, giving him a meek smile.

“…Yeah. You got it.” Miles could only hold your gaze for a moment, until the eagerness in your eyes had dissipated, and the two of you were left staring at each other. The bend of his knees practically hooked around the seat as he reeled back, realising he’d been leaning over a little too close.

Miles cleared his throat, pushing the textbook back towards you. “You get it now?”

“Yeah.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up; maybe you were a little proud of yourself. All you needed was a little guidance — and he was able to make you understand. He smiled — mentally, of course. Miles Morales — best AP Calc tutor in Brookly—

“Did you need something?”

“Uh, yeah actually, uh…”

Uhhhhhh…

“Uh…?” you repeated.

Miles held his breath; maybe some survival instinct would force him to spit it out. How was he supposed to say this?

“You free? In a couple weeks?”

“…Huh?” Your eyes widened. The cafeteria seemed to go silent.

Definitely not like that.

“Uh, like, for a… volunteer thing,” he corrected, hastily. The way he grit his teeth made his voice sound funny. Nice going, Morales. “I’m doing it. Just thought I’d ask.”

“Oh, um…” Your eyes narrowed in thought, as Miles recovered from un-asking you out. “Maybe? What’s it for?”

“Some job fair — for freshmen.” Your expression turned uncertain. Miles bit the inside of his lip so hard he thought he might split it

“Um…” The way your eyes narrowed was making doubt pool in his stomach. “You know what? Yeah, sure.”

“Really?” Yes, you idiot. “I mean, uh cool.”

“Cool…”

The cleaners were starting to wipe away at the tables. No wonder it seemed so silent — most people had left. “So what do I have to do?” you

“You gotta go to the counsellor’s office after school. We’re gonna uh, help organise and stuff.” He swallowed dry. As much as he didn’t want to be the kid that was always in the counsellor’s office, it wasn’t like he could avoid it. You didn’t ever mention it, but it’s not like anyone did outright.

“Okay,” you nodded simply, letting out a sigh and throwing the ancient textbook into your bag. Miles stood up after you, flexing his sore, bench-marked hand.

“Are you sure you wanna go to that calc class?” you asked, making him look up.

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice — but you didn’t know that. “If you go to that fair.”

You smiled again, probably at the situation — maybe at him.

“Deal. See you Friday.” You waved, and Miles let out a sigh as you walked away.

Being a vigilante was way easier than talking to people.

“~When you were mine, oh I was feeling so good…”

The rest of the day dragged on with the soft kick of bass and the hum of a guitar in his ear. The only thing Miles could think about was the fact that he had to meet you after school. The fact that you said yes surprised him. You were classmates, acquaintances at most — maybe you could actually live up to the “pana” thing.

“~Cause your love lit up, the whole neighbourhood…”

“Miles — question eight?” Miles lifted his head from the desk, staring at the question sheet for a moment.

“Uh… forty two thousand,” he guessed, eyes narrowing at Ms. Calleros in a mix of doubt and hope.

“Forty two thousand what?”

“Six… Litres per hour.”

“Lit— Joules,” he stuttered out.

“…Yeah. You got it.”

Damn it.

RIIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING! Miles was thinking about you too much, and thinking about AP Physics too little.

“Remember your homework due next week!” his teacher called out as everyone scrambled to pack up and leave.

Miles let himself sigh; it was one of many he wanted to let out today. He drew his hand away from the ear with his earbud in. At the same time, he locked eyes with his teacher. Mierda. (Shit.)

She gestured for him to come to her desk with a not-so entertained look on her face. Nothing new, he supposed.

“You know you can’t have your headphones in during class,” she started, glancing at his palm with the earbud in it.

It was faintly murmuring. Miles just awkwardly pressed the pause button.

“I know.”

“There seems to be a lot you know and don’t put into practice, Miles.” It was like every teacher was out to get him. Guess he wasn’t being as sneaky about the music as he thought.

“Sorry,” he offered, half-heartedly. Might as well get this over with.

“What were you listening to?” she asked, eyebrow lightly raised. “Apart from my lesson.”

“Uh… don’t know the name.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s been playing all class.” And since lunch — he hadn’t bothered to turn it off. He didn’t know it was that loud, though.

“I gotta to go to the counsellor’s office…” Miles said in a way that sounded more like a question. He pointed to the door like it would help.

“And I have to go to a meeting, but here I am.” She readjusted her glasses, looking at him curiously — maybe more knowingly.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been pretty quiet today.”

“Nah. Just tired today,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. There was an unconvincing beat of silence, before she unfolded her arms.

“…Well, I hope you feel more energetic soon.” Miles just nodded, making his way to the door.

Gracias a Dios… (Thank God.) She was leaving him alone.

“Oh, and good job on the quiz — one of the highest in this class.” Miles bit back the fleeting warmth in his cheeks, digging his hands further into his pockets.

“Thanks.”

Sometimes it was hard to remember that he wasn’t the Prowler all the time. Right know, he was just a kid: a kid who listened to his uncle’s favourite tracks and lived in a box with his mom in the city he called home — a city that was falling apart day by day.

“Miles!” That kid. That’s who he was — Miles Morales. And you were just you, jogging right behind him.

Stealing a glance of your expression — and hopefully nothing more — he kept ahead of you as the two of you walked to the counsellors office. Neither of you had anything to say, but Miles had so much to think about. You agreed to do the fair with him; maybe he shouldn’t have asked — he wasn’t here to make friends, after all. But you were here now, and he didn’t hesitate when he knocked on the door to the counsellors office.

“Come in!”

There was a screech of chairs as you two sat opposite the guidance counsellor, who was tapping away at her keyboard as usual. Miles’ eyes met yours for a brief second, and when you gave him a smile, he spent so long debating on whether or not to return it with his own that Ms. Weber had already placed a stack of freshly-printed papers on her desk.

“Firstly, you’re going to have to post these around school.” Miles looked at the obnoxiously modern and colourful posters, with “FRESHMAN CAREERS FAIR” in a dull font that was meant to look modern. He could probably make a better version himself, but he’d rather not spend any more time on the fair than he had to.

“I have a question,” you interrupted, straining to try and be polite. “Is this something I can put on my college application?”

“I’d assume so, since your friend is doing it for his,” Ms. Weber replied, glancing unassumingly at Miles through her red-framed glasses.

Like I wasn’t forced to. But you weren’t forced to. You chose to do this — for your… college application. Right.

“Okay, got it.” You nodded, letting Weber continue.

“Secondly, there’s a list of start-ups that will be here on the day. You should familiarise yourselves with them — you could find a useful connection.” Weber put a white piece of paper with some writing on top of the stack of posters.

“The ones that are highlighted are places we haven’t contacted yet.” There were only a few different businesses marked in yellow, one of which had “OSCORP” written next to it.

“Oscorp?” You seemed to notice too. Miles could only narrow his eyes.

“Their junior apprenticeship program starts soon” Weber explained, looking at Miles for a moment. “Maybe you should apply — especially you, Morales.”

Like Miles would ever work for Oscorp. They were the reason that his mom’s hospital was so underfunded. Unfortunately for him, he was supposed to pay them a visit anyway, regardless of how much he wanted to get into that tech school out of state.

“The fair’s going to be the Tuesday after winter break. Don’t forget.” She was looking more at Miles than you.

“Got it… Thank you, Ms…?” you trailed off, giving her a hopeful look.

She tapped sharply at the nameplate propped up on her desk. “Weber.”

“Ms. Weber,” you mirrored, nodding again and offering an awkward smile. “Thank you — we’ll try our best.

The two of you stepped out of the office, glancing at each other for a moment too long as you made it a couple of metres from the door.

“So uh…” you started. “Could I get your number?” …Huh?!

“Uh, I mean, like, so we can stay in contact,” you backtracked, trying not to grimace. “I mean, in case we need to talk over winter break.” He almost mirrored your grimace before nodding.

“Yeah, here.” Miles handed you his phone, careful to avoid brushing your hand this time before taking yours. He typed in his number, and then “Miles M.”

When he got his phone back, all you’d put in was your number. Without thinking, he typed in four letters: Pana. He slipped his phone in his pocket before he could question himself.

An extra class on Friday — with his pana. Miles could only rub his temples at the thought.

This whole school thing had gone farther than he’d hoped.

“As you exit, please be careful of the gap between the platform and the—”

Miles held back a grunt as people shoved past to leave the train carriage, eyes searching for you as he was practically being bounced around. If it wasn’t for Mr. Wellston’s useless rambling, he wouldn’t be going home on a Friday during rush hour, let alone on the last day before winter break.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

The top of your backpack peeked out and just as quickly disappeared as someone in office wear, and an enormous jacket, ploughed through right before the doors closed; he could hear your stumble.

“Cabrón… (Asshole…)” Miles muttered under his breath.

Truthfully, he’d passed his stop ages ago, but he wasn’t about to let you go home alone this late. He hadn’t even been this far down the line before, but he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. Every night since you two went to the counsellor’s office, he’d been up, slinking through Brooklyn in his Prowler suit. People like you wouldn’t know, of course, but both Miles and his Uncle were picking up on things. With those dusty old police reports, the slew of missing people didn’t seem like much of a coincidence — and Miles didn’t think this “class” was one either.

In fact, Wellston himself didn’t seem like someone who was right to teach AP Calc. He certainly didn’t seem like the teacher type, and apart from that first class Miles had attended, all he really gave at this point were packs to do. And in that extra class of his, it was the exact same thing — except for that fact that he seemed to do everything to keep the two of you there.

“Are you sure you get it?” — “How did you get that number?” — “Where’s your calculator, Morales?”. Miles got you two out of there as fast as possible. At one point, he’d even written answers on your worksheet while Wellston wasn’t paying attention.

It was a hunch at most, but he’d always take his dad’s advice in stride, no matter how often he used to say it.

“Trust your gut, Miles.”

He wasn’t being over-protective, he was being cautious—

“What’s your problem, man?” Miles’ core tensed — like he’d done when training. He looked over to see you, and a total stranger.

“You got a place to be, huh? Can’t look where you’re goin’?”

Miles squeezed through a blockade of people to see you just standing there, unable to reply as a man blew up at you for seemingly no reason. The man’s words were getting progressively worse, his voice louder and his face so close to yours it made Miles cringe. The man’s eyes seemed to bulge out, but he wasn’t looking at you — or anything, really. He was clearly on drugs.

Miles was meant to get groceries for his mom. He kissed his teeth at the memory. Damn Wellston — and this guy.

The carriage was pretty much empty, being at the last few stops. Of course nobody cared when it came to stuff like this. Miles watched the veins in the man’s neck tighten, and his teeth were gritted together so hard it hurt to look at. He stopped his fist from clenching — he’d rather not start a fight with a junkie.

“Oy.” He put his hand on your shoulder, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Let’s get off here.”

“Wh—”

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” You two were out in about a second before the doors shut between you and the man, now violently knocking against the glass.

Holding onto your jacket, Miles kept you from falling as the train zipped past, the junkie long gone. He let out a sigh, eyes squeezing shut. This train station was stupidly bright.

“What was that for?” you asked, brows knitting together. “We could’ve just, I dunno, walked to a different carriage.”

“You serious?”

“The next train’s in…” Both of your eyes went to the screen, and you frowned. “20 minutes, Miles.”

“Well you would’ve had exactly zero minutes if that guy tried something.”

“Okay, that’s too far. There were other people—”

“They wouldn’t have done shit.” His annoyance only grew, and he couldn’t hold back when you were looking at him like that. “Where do you live? Cause it’s not Brooklyn — nobody gives a damn here.”

People were starting to look at you. “Are you gonna let go of my arm or what?”

Miles’ hand fell from your shoulder. He bit the inside of his cheek, his own heartbeat only muffled by the sound of the train approaching on the other platform.

“Do you really live that far?”

“Yes?” You said, almost incredulously. “Like, two stations away from here.”

“Then we’re walking.”

Your head snapped back to look at him. “Seriously?”

“You want me to leave you here?”

It came out more like a threat than a question. The realisation made Miles’ eye twitch, but that only served to make him look more pissed.

“Go on,” you replied, your expression lacking any conviction.

“Cabezón…” he muttered to himself, before turning to walk to the exit.

“What was that?”

Miles kept walking, and the sound of your footsteps a couple seconds later made him breath a sigh of relief. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he was almost certain someone was watching you back there.

When you both got to the gates, he waited before pulling you through the emergency exit with him. Despite your protest, you followed him through it, blending into the crowd of people leaving and entering the station. Metro cards were a waste of money anyway.

It was a long, silent and somewhat unsettling walk. Miles had been through every corner of Brooklyn, and right here was about where he’d start looking behind his back, even as the Prowler. For some reason, you just had to live a light year away from school and in one of the worst neighbourhoods in this damned concrete jungle.

Despite the regret building in his stomach from how he’d talked to you, he was forcing more rational concerns into his head: the turns you were taking, the people they passed, how close he should stay to you. All of it was habitual at this point, but he couldn’t risk being caught off-guard, especially when every adult man you passed was starting to look a bit too much like Wellston. If you were closer, maybe he could’ve kept an arm around you, or something. Good thing his mom wasn’t here to beat his ass for thinking like an idiot.

Trying not to imagine his mom’s voice, Miles kept just a few inches behind you, right until you reached the front door.

“…Thanks.” He couldn’t read your expression — when was the last time he overthought something?

“Don’t worry about it.”

There was another beat of silence, interrupted only by the “beep!” of your electronic key fob at the door.

“See you.” Your voice echoed through the hall, followed by footsteps as the door slowly shut in front of him. “Be safe.”

Like he needed to be told that. “…You too.”

Miles lingered by the door, looking at you for a moment longer before he forced himself to turn away. Almost immediately after, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket — Uncle Aaron.

42nd street

Special delivery for your ma

A supply interception — his mom’s hospital was probably short by now. Miles squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away the exhaustion before replying.

omw Delivered

His day hadn’t ended yet — not by a long shot. The Prowler was always on the clock.

pana = casual term used to refer to friends, means "buddy" or "pal" (used in puerto rico, venezuela etc)

cabezón = means "stubborn" or "big-headed"

from here on out it's just straight up drafting cause i wrote part 1 and 2 ages ago but i don't have anything for part 3 and 4 so !!!!

upload schedule if you didn't know is gonna be: this series one week and then a random one shot the next week (so hopefully ill post part 3 in around 2 weeks? im DROWNING in school work atm so don't hope too hard...) anyways have a good one ^^

reblogs appreciated as always <3 go back to the series masterlist here or go to my atsv masterlist here!

[crow-stars]

❝LITTLE BITS OF GOLD❞

❦summary; how can something so small and practically worthless make him want to protect it with all his heart. how unfair... ♪the characters in this story; gn!reader, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech ✎word count; 2,151 ❀what do the ghosts say?; ambiguous, azul and reader are childhood friends, reader is a jellyfish, going to a carnival/fair with the tweels, azul calls reader dumb but not in a bad way ☛the author's notes; went to an event today, so posting this at who knows what am. also i suck ass at darts ☪look at the catalogue?

Azul doesn’t understand you. In all honesty, ever since the two of you were kids, he didn’t understand you that much. 

You were a pretty merfolk, skin that glowed a soft gold and purple in the dark of the sea, that see through domed hood framing your head in a beautiful manner that Azul still finds pretty even as he’s grown up. Jade and Floyd always liked dragging you around during the night as their own personal flashlight. And, of course, Azul was taken along for the ride, sticking close to you during those stupid night trips. You were always around the three, idly drifting along and going along with whatever adventure or antic the tweels decided to do for the day. 

You always liked Azul though, for whatever reason. In his eyes, you were like a barnacle stuck to his side, following after him for whatever he was doing or silently watching from the side. In all honesty, Azul was sure you were more of an airhead than anything else, not that was a bad thing, always talking about the future and things that Azul knows are a far distance in the future. Despite that, he still listened, sometimes even daring to daydream alongside you on the rare days where he let himself relax. 

A few years before Azul had been accepted into Night Raven College, you had to move away, or do a “migration”, as your parents had told you. You slowly slipped from Azul’s thoughts as studying magic and his enrollment in Night Raven College took priority. He had almost completely forgotten about  you (though not really), until the beginning of his sophomore year, having attained the role of housewarden and having built his reputation, Azul was ready to escort the new batch of freshmen into when someone called out to him with a familiar nickname. 

“Azu! Azu!” Before Azul could even register it, two arms wrapped around his abdomen and a cheery smile greeted him. There was only one person who would ever call him that and it was you. 

Azul’s cool facade was broken as embarrassment struck across his features, cheeks burning a pink hue as he looked at you. You were smiling so brightly at him, giggling in glee and bouncing on your heels. Your eyes had an undertone of gold to them, little gold and purple specks akin to freckles across your cheeks that remind Azul of your underwater form. Azul didn’t know whether to scold you or push you away, but it wasn’t the time for pleasantries. 

That was how his reunion went with you and it brings him back to the present, with you and Floyd stacking plates in a precarious manner. Another game that Floyd’s most likely pulled you into. Ever since you arrived at NRC, Floyd was doing the same thing he did when they were kids, dragging you along after him on whatever whim he pleased and you would always happily follow along, drifting and following whatever came to you. 

“Could you two stop that?” Azul grumbled as he raised his head from his work, eyes narrowing at you and Floyd. 

“Ah, sorry Azu.” Your eyes looked over to Azul, hands folding in your lap and tilting your head, giving Azul that blank look that he identified you with. Floyd, meanwhile, pouted his lips in protest and groaned, rolling his eyes. 

“Hmmm... Azul’s no fun. Hey, Jelly, here.” Floyd places the plate that was in his hands on your head, balancing it on top of you while you sit still. Your eyes glanced up at the plate before a soft laugh slipped past your lips, the little gold freckles on your cheeks pulsing a gentle glow that it seemed to do whenever you laughed or giggled. Floyd clapped and Jade, who just passed by, stopped to watch his brother as Floyd began to grab the plates from the stack to transfer onto your head. 

Azul heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his head. He lets his pen drop from his hands, knowing he’s not getting much work done when Floyd was doing things such as this. Especially when it was a somewhat interesting spectacle. Azul rubs his temple, watching as Floyd stacks plate after plate atop your head while you happily sit there. 

“Oh! Azu, Azu!”

“Hm? What is it?” 

Azul's eyes look over at you with a light smile, Floyd still stacking plates on your head. You were smiling that smile that only you could smile, swaying a bit from side to side and making the plates teeter precariously. It made Azul anxious to watch and he lightly stopped your swaying with a gentle hand. 

You didn't pay much mind to Azul's hand and only continued on with what you were saying. “I read about this thing that land people do sometimes called a carnival.” Floyd stopped stacking plates on your head and looked down at you, a curious look in his eyes. Jade had stopped behind the booth where the other three were, eyebrow quirked in curiosity along with his twin. 

“Do you think we can go to one please? My classmates say that there’s one this weekend!”

Before Azul could get his opinion in, Floyd was already agreeing with you, babbling and clamoring next to you, throwing his arms around you while cheering that it was an awesome idea. 

That was how Azul’s weekend got taken up with going to the carnival. And also how he had to replace at least 10 plates after they came crashing down when Floyd hugged you. 

Azul could see that you and Floyd were looking around with childish glee, the only thing keeping you two around being Azul’s plea to stay within eye line of him and Jade. The sun was only just barely beginning to set, streaking golden lines over the sky and mixing blue with oranges and yellows. 

The carnival wasn’t all that bad, typical in look to what one would expect. There were game and food booths, varying enticing smells that made Azul’s mouth water and prizes that had you pointing them out everytime you passed by. 

“Look, look! It’s an octopus! Can we go get it, please?” 

The octopus plush was relatively small, big black eyes and little details under the tentacles for the suction cups. It was definitely cute at least, though Floyd was also grinning at Azul as he pointed at it. 

“Azul, it looks just like you! We should get it, hehe!” Azul rolled his eyes with a sigh, shaking his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses shifting up a bit. 

“Floyd, please...” 

“You know Floyd... You could try winning it.” Jade’s smile turned into a grin, sharp teeth on display as he looked at the booth with a smile. “I think it’ll be an interesting addition to the Mostro Lounge, don’t you think?” 

Azul groaned as Floyd rushed to the booth to play, eagerly giving the carney enough thaumarks for a turn to play. It was some game where you would have to knock down some milk glasses. The carny stood by the side as they gave Floyd some balls to throw at the stacked glasses. Azul sighed as his eyes roamed away from the tweels to see what you were up to. 

You, however, were not in the spot where you should have been. This made a bolt of anxiety shoot through Azul as his eyes swept across the crowds and booths. He knew he should have invested in one of those weird child leashes that he once saw. It wasn’t much different when he and the tweels would wrap seaweed around your waist to keep you from wandering too far from them. 

With a groan, Azul informed Jade of what he was doing and went into the crowd, weaving through people as his eyes darted from booth to booth, trying to find you among the masses. 

Azul’s eyes catch that purple and gold glow nearby a balloon darts booth, staring up at one of the prizes. The sight of you safe and sound helped alleviate Azul’s anxiety, though it didn’t stop the irritation of you suddenly up and disappearing. 

“What have we told you about wandering off? You know how dangerous it could be after the incident with the current and─” 

“Azu.” Your hand points to one of the carnival prizes, stars in your eyes. You were captivated by a set of match heart charm necklaces, colored gold that looked cheap. The strings of the necklace were only black strings even, one bad stress from fraying and falling apart. “I want them.”  

Azul gave you a scrutinizing look, eyebrows furrowed a bit. “Those are the most flimsy looking things ever.”

“But they say best friends on them! We have to get them!” Another look at them and the necklaces did, indeed, say best friends in small letters that were harder to read from where Azul was standing. 

Another look at you made Azul sigh, grabbing your wrist and walking over to the booth. He took out the required amount of thaumarks, placing it down on the counter. “Five darts please.”

You made a little cheer as the carny provided the darts to Azul, watching him pick up one of the darts and prepare to throw it. It would be easy, surely, it’s just aiming darts and popping balloons. 

His first dart falls short and falls to the floor. The second dart manages to hit a balloon, but not pop it. The third hits a balloon, thankfully. The fourth one hits, but doesn’t pop and the fifth somehow slips in between the balloons. The look of disbelief on Azul’s face is almost laughable, though your look of disappointment made Azul pull out another five thaumarks for another five darts. 

The second’s round’s results were the same as the first, either missing or slipping in between the cracks of the balloons. Another five thaumarks, another five darts, another round of failure. Azul groaned and dragged his hands down his face, feeling frustration begin to bubble under his skin. This damn game was getting annoying. 

Another five, another round, but Azul managed to get two balloons this time. He rubbed his temples. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. Azul took out another five thaumarks and received his five darts. 

This time, Azul takes a few moments to try and aim it, maybe hoping it’ll finally land for once. After what seemed like forever of aiming, steadying his arm, Azul throws the dart. He hears a pop and his heart jumps in excitement. You let out a small exclaim, clinging onto Azul’s arm as you watched him. The second dart, aim, steady, raise his hand just a bit, and throw the dart. Another pop. Pop after pop, the darts fly into the board and hit the balloons 

Finally, finally, the balloons popped, all the darts hitting their target. You cheered so loudly, jumping up and down and shaking Azul’s shoulder. “You did it, you did it, you did it!” 

A sense of relief runs through Azul, from finally popping those damn balloons and keeping his pride intact, but also being able to win those charm necklaces. It was an oddly nice feeling, watching as you excitedly point to those flimsy things, little freckled spots pulsing and glowing golden as the carny hands you the necklaces. You held them up to Azul, grin wide and chest full of laughter. 

“Azu! C’mere!” Despite what you said, you came closer to Azul, putting the necklace on for him and putting your own on. 

“We match, we match!” Azul watches as you point at his necklace and yours bouncing on the heels of your feet, smiling so bright. 

The rest of the trip was relatively fun, meeting back up with Jade and Floyd, who had won that octopus and more. Apparently he had decided he wanted all the plushes the carney had and took them. Whether through legitimate means or by other means, the tweels refused to elaborate. You managed to get the octopus off of Floyd and carried it around with you, Azul looping an arm with yours that helped him keep track of you as you tugged against his hold multiple times whenever you saw something that caught your eye. 

Eventually, you all had to go back to the dorms, though Floyd kept whining about how he wanted to stay longer. It was dark by the time you all returned and Azul sent you and the tweels to bed, heading to his room himself just as tired. 

As he was changing, Azul took off the charm necklace, inspecting it for a bit before taking out a container that he had kept full of coins and allowing the necklace into the container. The fake gold sheen contrasted with the coins of silver and gold, yet it felt just as precious.

[xcherryerim]

˖⁺ ⊹୨ Fogged up ୧⊹ ⁺˖

Derek with glasses x gn!reader (wc: 3k)

I might make it wonderful for once. In my life but nothing's quite like it was. Surprised something inside me is a blur. Hindsight I should've lifted my eyes — Blur by The marías

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

WARNING: Sexual tension | friends with benefits | thigh riding | handjob | penetration | in the middle of sex love confession and rambles | Porn with plot | Not proofread (literally did not revised this once so, shitty probably) | no use of y/n. | quicky | Needy Derek for life!

credits for the derek with glasses edit: strwbrryhutch

Backstory: In a sudden visit to your best friend's house, you stepped inside, immediately taking notice of something different, Derek was wearing glasses, a sight you had not seen since your freshman year in college. The sight of him wearing glasses immediately brought back a flood of memories of the old Derek.

Today was a drag, and what does a bored person do? Meddle in someone's business just for shits and giggles.

You summoned your driver, instructing him to take you straight to Derek's mansion. Unsolicited visits were common between you two, it never phased him or you, especially if it meant fucking his brains out. 

Stepping into the white palace, you couldn't help but admire the gaudy paintings adorning the walls. The colors and patterns were disgusting and loud to the eye, a familiar sight at that. It was, truly…Derek. 

You strutted in, hands swaying rhythmically, plotting ways to tease the man, but upon entering his office, surprise struck: Derek, the epitome of irresponsibility, was actually working? And to top it off, he had the audacity to wear glasses.

A soft snicker escaped your lips, but before you could voice your thoughts, Derek flipped you off, his gaze still glued to his laptop. "Fuck off." Derek's voice was rough, weary, and irritated.

"Hello to you too, prick." You retorted, lowering his raised finger before leaning closer to his desk, curious at this newish side of him. "What's up?" 

"I need to write an email to some asshole I don't care about." He sighed.

"Isn't your secretary the one who's supposed to handle that?" You questioned, bewildered by his predicament. You snatched his vape, blowing the air back at him in a show of defiance.

"Yeah, but she’s on a break because she just popped out a kid or something."

"Derek! You knocked up your secretary?!"

"What?! No," he stuttered, backtracking. "I haven't— never mind." Derek reclaimed his mint-colored e-cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoky air from his plump lips. 

"Let me see your masterpiece." Inclining beside him, you scrutinized the Word document. Your eyes widened in amusement as you saw only three meek words. 

"Motherfucker, you wrote three words. You're like SpongeBob in that meme, taking forever to write, 'The.' "

Derek's face flushed bright red as he realized how embarrassing this situation had become. His arrogance and self-assuredness crumbled momentarily as he was caught in such a vulnerable state. A small whimper escaped his lips, but he quickly regained his composure. “What does that even mean? You’re fucking weird.” He muttered, trying to salvage his pride. 

"Whatever." You waved your hand as if to vanish the conversation, then you asked, "Why the glasses, though?" 

"My contacts were drying the fuck out of my eyes from overuse, so the eye doctor or whatever, suggested I wear these more often." Derek explained, mumbling to himself, trying to decide what next words to write.

God," you grinned, your eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "I haven't seen you wear those glasses since we were freshmen.”

“Don’t fucking remind me.” Derek groaned, tugging at his face, a tic indicative of his discomfort.

“You were such a dork.” Laughter escaped you, and you idly ran your finger along the rim of his dark blue sleeve, the material smooth and luxurious.

"Don't you have anything better to do than bothering me?!" His squinty eyes held a hint of annoyance.

“Honestly? no, not really.” You replied nonchalantly, moving behind the chair to get close to him. Your index finger lightly tapped the temples of his spectacles, sporting a distinctive animal print. If he wasn’t wearing the glasses, you would mistake them for an old lady's pair. 

“Does it look like a give a fuck? Because I don’t.” Derek mocked, standing tall. “Now, go do something while I finish this dumbass fucking email.” Derek orders, typing on his laptop as he bit his lip, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. 

Tilting your head, you eyed the man with sun-bleached locks, in dire need of root touch-ups. It was like an impromptu trip down memory lane to the college library, where the studious Derek sat.

His square-rimmed glasses, unkempt hair, and outfit fit for Mister Rogers made him appear as a librarian in disguise, until you noticed the dumbass was wearing his student ID like a first grader. Despite looking like a librarian, there was something charming and endearing about his appearance. You couldn't help but fantasize about seducing him, pinning him against the nearest wall, and making him surrender to you.

Fate, however, took its time. Instead, a deep friendship between you and Derek developed. As time passed, you watched him transform into the man he is today. The memory of that encounter lingered in your mind, like a sweet, comforting scent, as you observed him in the present moment.

You chuckled to yourself as you reflected on the past, watching Derek in the present moment. A thought suddenly crossed your mind: "How would my younger self react if I said that Derek and I would actually become friends with benefits?"

That particular day was indelibly etched in your memory. It was Mickey's birthday, and Derek, intoxicated by merriment and possibly something stronger, seized your hand amidst Mickey's rambling speech. He led you to Mickey's room, and once the door closed, his unsteady form collided with yours. His mouth found your lips, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He proceeded by telling his desire to fuck you in that black outfit you were wearing at the party. From that night on, things had remained the same yet shifted in the shadows, with a newfound intimacy between the two of you.

The flood of memories overwhelmed you, your mind spinning. Your gaze settled on Derek, who appeared perplexed and agitated. 

“What are you looking at? Why are you still—“ 

Invading his space as you sat on his thigh, you prompted a sharp intake of breath from him. The lenses of his glasses misted over, a testament to the rapidity of Derek's breathing. 

He swallowed hard, trying to regain control. “Really, right now? When I'm busy? I swear you always pick the worst time on purpose. Fucking brat.” 

His fingers gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white as he struggled to focus on anything other than the sensation of your body on his thigh. His eyes scanned your body, taking in your every curve and movement. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You growled, tugging at his hair to emphasize your point, garnering a lustful rumble from his lips. "You know you love it." Moving your hips, you teased him, causing his head to roll back, a smirk spreading across his face.

“And if you wanna talk about brats, I suggest taking a look in the mirror.” 

“Pfff.” Derek muttered, hands trying to remove his glasses before you stopped him. “What?!” He asked, clearly annoyed.

“Keep them.” You said, more than a demand than a request. 

“What, why? I look goofy as shit.” Derek huffed, giving you a look that screamed annoyance.

A quiet moan slipped from Derek's lips as your hands roamed over the fabric, his excitement growing more apparent. His voice came out muffled, "H-how am I supposed to fuck you with these glasses on?"

"You'll figure it out," you replied playfully, slowly tugging the glasses down his nose. The intoxicating scent of his desire permeated the air.

In a swift motion, you dominated his body, your lips hungrily seeking his. Derek, still fumbling to discard his glasses due to the steamy makeout session, met your demanding grip.

Grabbing his wrist, you halted his attempts to remove them. After enduring his persistent complaints, he finally relented, accepting your terms – if he wanted to be fucked, he'd have to keep the glasses on for you.

“Great, now I can’t see shit.” Derek grumbled as you created some distance between you two.

"Exactly," you chimed, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Hey, if you're into that, we could always try a literal blindfold. We've done it before, haven't we?”

"True, but it's not the same, Derek." You replied, your warm hands caressing the cold zipper of his pants. Slowly, you pulled it down, exposing his cheetah-print boxers.

“You look hot with glasses, you know? I didn't think I'd miss such a small detail, but... I guess I did." You shrugged, a wistful smile playing on your lips.

Derek caught your expression, picking up on the bittersweet nostalgia that seemed to surround you.

"Wait, so you're implying that you found me attractive back in college?" Derek asked, seeking validation for his former self more than genuine inquiry.

"Come on, you dress like a mess and people still think you're hot. A pair of glasses isn't going to change that." You teased, followed by a soft sigh. "But yeah, I did have a thing for you back then. I actually had a little crush on you."

Derek's eyes widened, the glasses making them appear even larger and more vibrant, perfectly complementing the blush that crept across his tanned skin. You see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulps hard, his lips quivering as he struggles to find the right words. It's clear he's desperate to say something, anything, but he remains tongue-tied.

Finally, he places his hands on you, guiding your body to grind against his neglected leg. "So... you're not saying anything?" Your voice carries a delicate mix of playfulness and uncertainty. You can't help but wonder if you've crossed a line by being so honest, or if you're just setting yourself up for rejection.

Those fears race through your mind, but you try to mask them with a lighthearted tone. You can't help but feel exposed, vulnerable, as you wait for his response.

"I don't know what to say," Derek stumbled over his words, his hands shaking as they gripped your hips. "I've had feelings for you since day one, but I never felt good enough for you. So finding out you've liked me all this time... it makes me feel fucking pathetic."

His breathing grew ragged, heart pounding against his chest, rendered speechless by the vulnerability of his confession and the intense burn coursing through him from your touch.

"You're still pathetic," you whispered, lips trailing along his neck, fingers deftly freeing his straining erection from his boxers. "But you're my pathetic."

The declaration hung in the air, charged with a mix of affection and desire. Derek's entire being was consumed by the sensation of your touch, the weight of your words, leaving him utterly at your mercy.

"Oh, fuck," Derek whimpered, his back arching in response to your kisses and nibbles along his neck. Your fingers traced his veins, adding to the sensory overload caused by the foggy glasses.

"I have to finish writing this email before five," he insisted, biting his lip to stifle any further cries.

"So what? I'm just here to help. You can still write your email without being too distracted," you replied mischievously, guiding his trembling hands back to the keyboard.

Annoyed but complying, Derek attempted to type as your hand began to stroke him. His fingers moved clumsily across the keys, resulting in a disjointed and sloppy email. He grunted, struggling to focus on the task at hand and the intense sensations consuming him.

"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be," he growled, his voice dripping with desire.

"That's my favorite part," you replied with a wicked grin, increasing the tempo of your strokes. Your fingers teased the tip each time they reached the top, driving Derek wild with pleasure.

As he cursed under his breath, you pressed your hips against his leg once more, making his head roll back in ecstasy. 

Derek let out a guttural hiss, clenching his jaw to suppress the urge to cry out in pleasure. His body tense, veins popping in his neck as he fought to maintain control.

"Oh Derek, we're just getting started," you teased. "Come on baby, finish that email for me so we can have some real fun."

“Ugh! I’m going to kill you... eventually, once I’m done with this.” Derek's eyes were twitching as he tried to focus on the screen, those glasses now a nuisance amidst his stress. 

"You know you'd miss me terribly if I wasn't around to pester you all the time, you bitch," you whispered in his ear, your breath hot against his skin.

Derek's body shook, barely able to contain thirst, the overwhelming sensations threatening to push him past the point of no return. His whiny, desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as you dismissed his empty threats.

"Let me take a look at what you've got so far," you insisted, turning your head slightly to scan the jumbled words on the screen. "C'mon Derek, I won't let you finish until you've written something actually decent."

Derek's eyes widened in shock as he realized the gibberish he'd been typing, which only added to his frustration. He growled, his grip on the keyboard tightening as his thrusts into your hand became more forceful, bordering on desperate.

With great effort, he managed to string together a few coherent sentences, his arousal and irritation bleeding into every word. His breaths came in ragged gasps, heart pounding, as he fought to focus on the task at hand.

Finally, Derek declared he was done, but instead of relief, you intensified your assault on his aching shaft and thigh, teasing him mercilessly as you slowly read the email aloud.

"Wow, looks like you really do need to pay people to do your work for you," you mumbled with a light chuckle.

Derek's face flushed a deep crimson, his skin burning with a mix of embarrassment and pure, raw desire. "Fuck you, you're not helping," he spat, his voice strained with longing.

Despite his determination to stay composed, the relentless teasing combined with the foggy glasses and your skilled hand on his length pushed Derek closer and closer to the end. His eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the intense sensations surging through his body.

"Please, just fuck me," he whimpered, the words barely audible as he struggled to contain his desperation.

Unable to resist his pleading, puppy-dog eyes, you swiftly straddled him, guiding his shaft to your waiting sex.

A thrill of anticipation ran through him, the feeling of your warmth surrounding him almost driving him over the edge. Derek's grip on your waist tightened as his cockhead teased your entrance. The anticipation was maddening, and he could feel his control slipping with each passing second.

"Please, just take me." His voice was a hoarse whisper, desperation thick in every word. He was at your mercy, the heat and wetness around his tip driving him wild.

“You’re so fucking impatient.” You growled, as you slowly sank into him, taking all of him inside you. 

Derek let out a loud cry, his body arching up off the chair as you enveloped him. The feeling was intense, and he clutched at you, his nails digging into your skin.

He was at your mercy, his body shuddering as you took your time with him, savoring the feeling of being so completely inside you. His mouth opened, but no words came out, the sensation too overwhelming to form even a coherent thought.

His glasses, still fogged, only added to the sensory overload, the world outside blurring as all he could focus on was the way you moved on him.

Each inch inside you was a gift, a blessing, and he was lost in the feeling of possessing you, even for a moment.

“Well you being teasing me all fucking night.” Derek replied back in between ragged breaths 

Derek's breathing grew more erratic, the wish to claim you, to be inside you, to taste you, to possess you, all-consuming. "Fuck, just... ride me."

He gripped your waist, his body arching off the chair, desperate for more. His heart raced, and he could barely breathe as he awaited your next move.

“Someone really needs to teach you fucking patience.” You replied moving your body against his, with each word using more force than the last, the harsh sound of skin against skin echoing in the room of the mansion. 

Derek's moans grew louder, each word you spoke followed by a groan, his body bucking against you, desperate for more.

“So fucking tight." Derek cried, his voice heavy with lust. He couldn't help but buck his waist, trying to take you deeper, leaving faint crescents in their wake. "Fuck... I need to fill you up." He gritted out. The crave to mark you, overwhelming him. His glasses, still mist over, served only as a lens to the whirlwind of lust consuming him. 

“Till I'm dripping with your cum Derek.” You answered, nibbling in his ear. Derek grabbed your ass, guiding it and bouncing it up and down around his length. 

"I'm not gonna- I’m not going to last much longer." He gasped out, his voice thick with lust, the words barely coherent as he struggled to maintain control.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, their movements growing more urgent, more primal. Derek's glasses clouded, his vision blurred, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of possessing you, the way your body fit around him, the way you rode him.

He was powerless against the tide of lust that washed over him, the line between desire and need blurring as he teetered on the brink.

“Me neither.” You replied, your body jumping above his as you took him in and out. 

Derek's body tensed, the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils, driving him further into the abyss. "Baby, I'm... I'm gonna..."

His voice hitched, the warning barely out before a hot spurt of cum filled you, the orgasm tearing through him like a tidal wave. His grip on your tightened, his nails digging in as he shuddered, each spurt a testament to his lust.

You soon reach your orgasm after, your tight walls milking him dry. 

The world spun around him, the fogged glasses only adding to the dizzying sensation. He was left panting, his body spent, the aftershocks of the orgasm coursing through him as he tried to regain his breath.

Derek's eyelids fluttered, and he leaned his head back against the chair, the realization that he'd just been completely dominated, sinking in.

The nepo baby, the spoiled son of the president, had been brought to his knees by his closest friend. It was both humiliating and exhilarating, an experience he knew he wouldn't forget.

He whispered, nipping gently. "You win, brat." 

Thank you for taking the time to read my work! If you're specifically interested in my explicit content, be sure to follow me on @xxxcherryerim, where I'll be reblogging my work from there. Alternatively, you could join my taglist

tags 🍒: @wemnui @freak-accident419 @joshfutturman

@sleepyhutcherson @h3len1602

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: I know I shouldn't but I say that every time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 

Finally, you’re going to college but it can’t be a smooth transition. No, there’s always a hurdle in the road. You have your acceptance and your tuition scraped together, and there’s only one box left unticked; housing.  

It’s as if the ad was meant for you. ‘Book your room now. Single rooms available for campus students.’ 

Maybe people are right when they say your devices are listening to you. Still, you can’t exactly pass up the opportunity. All summer you searched yet just like the rest of your life, you’re running behind. 

The response is so quick, you almost can’t believe it’s real. It isn’t, not yet. It’s just an offer of a walk-through. You’ve done a dozen of those at least and each time, the room went to someone else. But you have to try. You can’t just give up, not after everything you’ve gone through to get here. 

Better late than never. That could be your motto. You should get it inscribed in Latin on something. Maybe a jacket? Are letterman’s out of style? 

You head out for the noon-hour meeting with the building manager. The posting said it was a new development. Hopefully, that means you don’t have to deal with anyone elses' leftover grime. Not that you’re picky. You’ve lived in worse. 

You let Marla know you’re heading out. Your mom’s friend will be even more ecstatic if you get this one. Neither of you expected you to be crashing for so long. It’s getting a bit crowded with her own kids still under the same roof. 

You catch the downtown route and get the connection just before it drives off. The building is slightly off-campus. You don’t mind. You're a bit too old to be kept awake by the frat house ragers. The reminder sparks another swell of insecurity. 

High school feels distant and you feel a bit pathetic running to catch up from behind. You’ll be older than most of the freshmen, even those who took a gap year. At least you’re doing it. Yeah, that’s something. An achievement is still that even if it’s not on the same schedule as everyone else. 

You miss your stop and curse yourself. It’s only a block away from where you need to be but you’re getting close to twelve as you spot the same building from the ad.

It’s a nice place. Modern and sleek. You wonder why anyone would convert it to student housing. Financially, it’s likely a windfall yet students do have a way of ruining a good thing. 

As you come up the walk, the curtain flutters in one of the windows. The boxy building isn’t quite as big as the on-campus dorms. That’s another relief. Not having to deal with the crush of students. 

The more you think about it, the more this seems like the perfect opportunity. You don’t want to get your hopes up. You know better. 

The door opens before you can reach it. You falter as a lithe man breezes through and grins in your direction. His blond hair pales in the sunlight and his blue eyes twinkle. He’s at least a decade, maybe two, older than you but he’s not aged poorly. 

“Ah, you must be Ann,” he extends his arm in a formal greeting, “Jonathan, we emailed.” 

“Oh, yes,” you shake his hand and show your teeth sheepishly. “Sorry if I’m late.” 

“Right on time,” he lets go and checks his watch. “I thought we could have our tour and then get to the usual questions. You understand, we have a strict screening process for residents. We can never be too careful.” 

He turns and strides back to the door and opens it, waiting for you as he steps to the side. You approach as he beckons within. 

“It is as much about out safety as those we choose to live here. We have seen the recent scandals at the college and what with the world the way it is. He tuts as you precede him through the door. His accent soothes your bubbling nerves. 

The entry way is tidy and neat. There’s a shelf of cubbies for shoes and a rack opposite with at least a dozen hooks for jackets and the like. You kick the dirt on your soles onto the mat. 

“You may leave your shoes on for the tour. We will have the house cleaned prior to move-in day. Of course, once you and your flat mates are in-house, it will be up to you to determine house rules.” He points you ahead. ��Of course, if you choose to stay with us.” 

“Right, er, yeah, makes sense.” 

“Is this your first year?” He asks. His overly cordial manner helps ease you. 

“Mhmm, um, finally. I had to delay it a bit but happy to finally be going to school,” you explain. 

“Never too late to do something new,” he remarks. He gestures into the front room. 

“We’ve two common rooms, seeing as there will be six residents. We would like you to have all the amenities as a typical building. You see, this is a pilot program. We’ve a government grant for development of student housing.” 

You nod. You don’t really care about the money behind it but you appreciate his explanation. You’d rather know more than you need to. 

“A sitting area; television, sofas, perfect for a movie night, should you choose to spend a night in.” He lets you look around as he keeps to the wall and waits, “in the next,” he leads you on, “some games. Table tennis. A table should you wish to partake in any other sort of gaming.” 

The place is nice. Everything is brand new and shiny. There’s a shelf of board games by the sleek black table with chairs. The ping pong table has four paddles and there’s a basket of balls on a wall shelf. It’s all arranged so perfectly. 

You carry on into the kitchen. It’s huge. You marvel at the pale blue and black aesthetic, accented in silver and crystal. It’s immaculate. A bit much for college kids. 

“Uh,” you turn to him and twiddle your fingers, “did I read the rent correctly? I don’t know if I can afford this.” 

“Yes, two-hundred plus utilities. As I’ve said, we get a supplement from the government for housing students.” 

“Oh, sure, makes sense,” you sway and look around again. 

“There are a few things to go over, do let me know if you have any questions as we go,” he stands back as you tentatively explore without touching anything. “We’ve continuous security in place. You may see any of our staff on the grounds throughout your day. You will of course be acquainted on move-in. And we have on-site maintenance.” 

You nod as you listen and he takes you back around to the entryway and shows you the bedrooms on the other side of the house, only two down there, four upstairs according to him. He allows you even to peek into the bathroom behind the staircase. 

“Now, before I go through the typical questions, there is one condition I might confirm before wasting your time,” he says. “It was in the application but I do like to double-check these things. You are comfortable with co-ed residence? A mix of boys, girls, and all?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you smile.  

It’s not ideal. You’ve never really lived with men but you can make it work. 

“Splendid, well, how about we go and see the verandah? It is a sunny day and I hate to miss the sunlight, especially as autumn approaches so quickly.” 

“Oh, okay,” you agree and reroute as he directs you with an open hand. “This place is really nice.” 

“Thank you. I’ve overseen the design myself so I will happily accept that praise,” he chuckles as he trails after you. “Oh, you’ve not even seen the garden.” 

As if the flight wasn’t enough, you’re met with an endless wait in line to have your visa and documents checked before you can leave the airport. Even after all that, you’re far from settled. 

You pull out your notebook as the signs bring you down to the underground station. It’s neat that there’s a whole set of tracks right underneath the airport. Everything about this new place is so astounding but scary... 

You check your scribbles and stop at the wall map to confirm the information. Your platform is a little further down. You better hurry! 

You drag your bag behind you as you scurry down the scuzzy concrete, your carry-on bouncing on your shoulder. It won’t be long, you just need to get to the town centre and go from there. You can’t wait to see your room.  

You hope the real thing lives up to the pictures. The man on the video chat seemed honest. He was friendly. Jonathan... or maybe Jaime. Oh! You shouldn’t forget. 

You're out of breath as you reach the train door. It's like it's waiting for you as once you board, the compartment door shuts. You find a seat and keep your suitcase stuffed in front of you. It's already cramped without the luggage.  

You keep an eye on the digital banner near the exit. You won't miss your stop. When it comes, you're the first up and waiting to get off. 

Outside, you're swept up in vertigo. The distance between you and home finally catches up to you. You're really there. All on your own. 

You're shaky as you take out your notebook and your phone. You just need to go around the corner... every twist and turn is written down. From the airport to the station to your residence. 

Your bag rolls and rattles as you go down the next street. You recognise the house from the pictures. The lawns are vibrant and green and the front gate adds a homey touch. 

You stop just outside and scroll through your emails. Jonathan said to call when you got there as he'd have the key for you. You find his number and tap it, your phone popping open the call screen. You wait, there's no answer. Hmmm. 

The sudden roar of a motor and blast of air startles you. You look over the hedges at the man with a leaf blower. He clears the trimmings of the finely-groomed bushes. As you glance over, he spots you and shuts off the gadget. 

You smile, tight-lipped and teetering, as he approaches. It's not Jonathan. This man is much the opposite, burly, bald, and bearded. 

"Can I help ya?" He asks in a drawl. 

"Oh, sorry," you giggle nervously "I must look like a mouse in a swimming pool. I'm looking for Jonathan Pine." 

He tilts his head slightly, a squint as he seems to chew on his thoughts. 

"He's 'round. I can get him for ya. Can I get who's askin'?" 

"Oh, Lulu. I'm supposed to be moving in, sir," you push your shoulders up as another uneasy trill crawls from your throat. 

"Ah, you best come on in," he goes to the gate and unlatches it, "here." As you near, he reaches out and grabs the handle of your rolling bag, "you come far?" 

You let him drag the overpacked suitcase. Your shoulders are killing you. You follow him down the paved walk. 

"Yes, I flew in. From overseas," you answer. 

"Shoulda known. You sound like him." 

You laugh again. Your accent is not as refined as Jonathan's but certainly is nothing close to the local one either. 

"Name's Sy, I fix this place up and all. Do the garden, unclog the sink," you stops at the door and sets your bag to stand on it's own. "I'll get Jon for ya." 

You nod and he disappears through the front door. You sway as you peer around. The place is amazing. The facade is just as gleaming as the advert and the gardens are lovely. You've always liked oak trees and you're sure the leaves will be a beautiful shade of copper once the seasons change. 

The door opens again and startles you back to the present. You look up as Sy dips his chin in your direction and keeps the door open. A familiar face emerges and a tiny bit of pressure lifts off your chest. You're definitely in the right place.  

"A pleasure to finally meet in person," Jonathan offers his hand. You shake it and a giggle crackles in your throat, the habit harder to suppress as your stress mounts. "I am glad that you made it and I trust you had a safe journey?" 

"Oh, yes, sir, yes," you answer, "thanks." 

"Sy," he glances at the other man who promptly retreats. 

"Well then, please, let us get you set. You are the first to arrive. Of course, there is no trouble accommodating you early given the circumstances. Such a far way to travel. You must be terribly tired." 

"Oh, a little, but excited too." You go to grab your suitcase but he's much quicker.  

He directs you in first and follows as he rolls your bag with him. 

"I've put you upstairs but if the first floor is preferable, we can rearrange," he explains. 

"Upstairs is fine!" You squeak in a tone higher than your usual tenor. 

"Ah, I recall my first time abroad myself, it was surely nerve-racking. Don't be shy, eh, it does help to have someone who understands the plight, hm?" 

"Thank you, sir. Yes, it's... it's all so new." 

"Mm, you needn't call me sir, Jonathan is fine enough," he insists as you begin up the stairs. "Perhaps you won't feel so out of place once the others come." 

[ladykailitha]

Serial Killer!Steve and P.I.!Eddie

Thanks to @dreamercec and @bookworm0690 for the inspiration and helping me work out the kinks in this juicy plot bunny!

Steve was a serial killer of serial killers (a la Dexter) who got his start when he accidentally killed Jason Carver rescuing a girl he was about to murder for the sin of being gay (Robin). And even though he didn’t mean to do it, killing a murderer gave him a rush.

But after he killed Jason he skipped town.

Jason had started killing after Chrissy broke up with him for Eddie because he was being controlling and killed her. Then he started killing other girls whom he decided were sinners and/or sluts.

The unfortunate side effect of Steve blowing town was that he wasn’t in town for the fall out. Eddie Munson was accused of not only the murder of Jason Carver, but all the other girls. It’s not until Robin tells the police that the one who saved her didn’t have tattoos and Eddie finally gives up his alibi for the majority of the murders (a gay club in Indy) that the police even look for other suspects.

Steve never even blips on their radar.

Eddie decides that the cops are useless and becomes a PI to find out who the real killer was.

Steve in the mean time due to a hefty sum from his trust fund becoming available, decides to travel the country at first and the world later, hunting down serial killers and taking them out. He never does a murder the same way twice. He never visits the actual town it’s happening in. And he never leaves immediately after.

Then he accidentally got to close to one. He didn’t realize that the reason this guy was getting away with murder was because he had a partner in the local law enforcement and now suddenly a lot more eyes are on this murder than usual. So he has to kill the cop and make it look like a murder/suicide to get away.

As in the cop murdered his partner, started a manhunt to throw the scent off himself and then committed suicide when the guilt got too much to bear.

So he retires to a nice country with very little extradition treaties and settles back to enjoy life with the rest of his money.

Only now he’s bored.

So he started writing about his murders. Changed the names, places, and how he killed them, but the bones of his murders are there in those pages. And at the end the character always goes to confession and admits his crimes to the priest.

Eddie loves the books. They’re really well written and remind him of the times he would write mysteries for his D&D campaigns. He remembers Steve Harrington from the fact they had freshmen in common, but didn’t really know him.

Then the third book comes out. “Murder in the Heartlands” does he start to connect the dots. The books sounds too close to his own case and starts digging into it. Makes Hopper pissed when he steals police files.

And then he figures it out around the fifth book that all of them are murders and not just his. And this author knows way to much about certain things. So he joins forums and things and while there are some fringe people thinking Steve’s a serial killer, a lot of people wisely point out that Law & Order had been pumping tragic news stories for decades and that Steve is likely doing the same.

So he gets the address from Robin and Dustin who both write Steve all the time and starts trying to see if he can trick him into confessing. But the more they write, the more that Eddie realizes he’s hoping for a different confession.

Then murders start happening in Steve’s new town and he’s freaking out. So Eddie decides to come out to the town and help Steve figure out who this person is that’s doing this.

Well, they figure it out, and Steve is all for tossing his weighted body into the ocean forgetting that this thing every happened. Eddie is for NOT doing that. Like turn him into the cops at least, or blackmail the guy. But no more murder. The kids are about to hit college and need his support now more than ever and picking up and moving elsewhere will hurt them. Especially if they don’t know why.

But they are overheard by the killer and he kidnaps Steve to kill him before he blows out of town.

Eddie comes to Steve’s rescue and has to kill the guy to protect them both. Eddie is standing over the corpse of a very bad man and turns to Steve.

“Oh, I think I get why you do this now.”

Steve snorts and confesses his feelings for Eddie. And they kiss about it .

They call the police, Eddie gets heralded as a hero and Steve goes back to writing.

Finally the day comes and Steve has written his last book.

"Well, that's the last of the cases,” Steve says as he mails it off to his publisher, ”I guess it's time to retire from writing, too."

"I really liked that last ending, sweetheart. You did a good job. Let me take care you now. I'll write all about about a PI chasing a serial killer writing about his kills."

Only now Eddie’s book is popular as hell, and he’s getting questions about whether or not there is any truth the story. And each time he dismisses it as fiction. It’s fantasy. Not real. But the true crime podcasts and mystery shows like “Unsolved Mysteries” think that there has to be something to them. Like maybe cases Eddie solved as a PI. But there is no evidence. Nothing to connect Eddie or Steve to the other crimes and while Steve’s last book was semi-autobiographical, there is nothing that suggest the rest were.

Steve and Eddie both refuse to do interviews and only furthers speculation on either side of the debate.

So because Eddie and Steve are also petty assholes, they write a mystery/fantasy/horror series together called “Stranger Things”.

It has five books.

[harlowhockeystick]

wordless apology being accepted

pretty pls need this with sidney, can be coach!sidney or not, whatever you wanna do 💞

february prompts | coach!sidney x fem!reader

remember how y'all said you wanted the angst....yeah...

"hey, ryan's doing great in practice. he is the best kid a coach could ask for, really," sidney gave his players parents praise in the stands. it was thirty minutes until puck drop. occasionally before games sidney would go up in the bleachers and talk to parents while he could. he wanted to keep the relationship with his player's parent's strong, knowing that he was for their kids just as much as they were.

he sat next to y/n right before going back down to the bench on the ice. his hand subtly rested on her thigh as he listened to you talk about all you did that day, the parent meetings after class. he wished that he had time to actually talk to her, had time to sit with y/n and hear her go into more detail. but mid season he has to find a little bit of time to sit with her where he can.

"carter's getting better every day. i talked to the coach from arizona state today, he called wanting to know about him." sidney said, taking some of the popcorn she held in her hand. whipping her head to make eye contact she felt a few butterflies fluttering about in her stomach, college coaches already?

"but he's a freshman? are they even allowed to reach out when they're freshmen?" those were the questions that y/n was able to put words to, but in her head she had a thousand and one roaming about.

"all i told him was that he's everything a good program needs, he'll only get better with time, but to give me a call in a couple more years. coaches can go look and scout players as young as they want, but typically they don't get offered until they're a junior," sidney explained, "but if they're good...which carter is, then yeah. they can call, i got calls when i was in the eighth grade."

y/n felt intimidated, she isn't ready for conversations with college coaches and she knows carter isn't either. y/n just wants carter to enjoy the innocence of it all before dollar signs get thrown in his face.

"ten minute mark, i better get down there. want me to meet you guys at the restaurant?" she nodded her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek for good luck. by now parents had put two and two together of y/n and sindey's relationship. she had been approached and so has sidney, but for the most part it's been supportive. a few rumors here and there, but how can they complain when their son has the best coach in the country?

sidney starts to walk down the steps and takes a second to get somewhat of an outside perspective on warmups. hands in his pants pocket watching the opposing team but his thoughts were interrupted when a man approached him.

"i have a, uh, question," the man seemed nervous. he was stuttering over his words, not in a drunk way but he was extremely anxious over something. "can you maybe tell me," he took a breath before moving on, "which one my son is?"

sidney was taken back- no, he was floored. is this a joke? is this man serious?

"are you joking with me man?" sidney asked, taking a half step back to face the mans body with his. but from the way sidney looked in his eyes, they were nearly glossed over with fear and intimidation. the man shook his head as he looked on the ice again.

"i've been out of his life, i haven't been a good man and i'll be the first to admit that but, please i gotta start somewhere. saw his picture in the paper and i recognized him from the letters and stuff my mom sends me- his name's carter."

sidney pulled his lip between his teeth. he felt his leg start to shake and his stomach coil from anger, his hands grew sweaty as he balled them up in fists. he looked this man, this small weak man in the eye, he leaned into his level, "your son is number eighty in black. now get the fuck out of my arena before i have you kicked out, you fuckin-"

before sidney could say what he wanted to he felt y/n's hands on his chest pushing him back, "go to the bench, i'll handle him."

sidney looked down at her then back at the man behind y/n. he was still raging with anger on the inside, but did as told and walked down to the bench. when he got down there he watched as she talked to him a little bit before walking him out of the arena.

"what the hell are you doing here, john?" y/n finally asked as they stood out in the cold. she had kept in vague contact with john, trying since they divorced when carter was five to get him to come by at least once. for a birthday, christmas, or even an easter. but he never did.

occasionally he would send a gift card or a card with some cash, but y/n wasn't fully convinced it was him. she had her suspicions that his mother did it. she was involved in her grandson's life; she repeatedly apologized for her son's actions and for his absence. she was just as disappointed as anyone else was.

"'cause i feel horrible, y/n." was all he could say. it was all he had been thinking the past year. "i...i started going to therapy, and i've been trying to get the courage over a year and i just...i wanna be involved. i wanna be there, i wanna get to know my son."

"well you should've thought about that before you walked out on me and your son with your secretary, john. you should have thought about that before you chose a woman who was barely twenty years old over your wife and your child, you had the chance but you lost it."

y/n had so much more to say. she had thought for a long time what she would say if she got the chance. she often rehearsed in her head all that she would say, all that she would yell and scream at john for. she thought about all of it.

"y/n just give me a chance!" john shouted, taking a step closer to y/n not caring about the people who were walking past.

"no. it's not my chance to give. if carter wants to meet up with you then i'll get with your mom, but i could care less. to me you're a fucking loser, john." she felt tears begin to fall down her cheeks as she looked the man she loathed in the eyes for the first time since she last saw him after the divorce was finalized ten years ago.

"leave, just leave. this isn't how carter would want to see you for the first time in ten years anyway," john ducked his head and walked toward the parking lot. y/n turned and went back into the arena to where she was sitting.

a few parents asked her if she was okay, those who knew her and carter's story giving her a hug and a pat on the back. she was appreciative of those around her who supported her and her son.

y/n could barely focus on the game that had already started when she sat back down, her perspective and head space too foggy to even comprehend the game unfolding before her. all she could do was think about the worst days of her life replaying over and over in her head. she was replaying the minute she found out about john's affair, when she packed up her and carter's things and went to her parents house for the time being. she was replaying the divorce meetings, the arguments, the tears.

she was replaying having to explain to her five year old son where his dad went and why he wasn't going to be at home anymore. y/n hadn't gone into full detail with sidney about all of this yet. their relationship was just a few months old and she wanted to protect carter as much as she could. y/n knows and trusts that sidney was and is a good man, but she wants carter to tell what he wants to, not tell for him.

but now she will probably have to.

-

she went ahead and sat in sidney's office, she walked down there a few minutes before the last period ended. she knew that carter had a couple of points on the board, but y/n couldn't remember how he got them. her mind was full of remembering the worst years of her life with her ex husband.

she sat in a chair next to his desk, silently staring at the mess of practice plans, rosters, and scheduling papers strung along his desk. he walked in and shut the door behind him with a thud, plopping his game folder down on his desk. he didn't sit down, he stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at her as she remained sitting.

"you okay?" he asked. she could tell that he was tense, she couldn't figure out why though. they had won the game, the boys played well, and he didn't have anything to worry about. why was he so tense?

y/n nodded her head in response.

"i'll uh, make sure that he doesn't come to another game again." sidney sat down in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. there was an awkward tension in the room. sidney didn't know much about her past marriage, she didn't reveal too much to him. but now he had more questions than ever, he wanted to ask but it was clear she wanted nothing but to keep everything bottled at the moment.

"he seemed like a dick, don't know why anyone would want to marry him." sidney muttered, moving a few things around his desk. but y/n heard him loud and clear.

"what did you just say?" she asked, speaking for the first time since he walked into his office. oh no. he registered what he said, he didn't think before he spoke. he just let his thoughts flow freely off his tongue, shoulda held that one in.

"i- i didn't mean it, y/n i-"

"no, you think i don't regret being married to a man like that? one who was a complete horror of a man? who cheated, who left his wife and child? do you think i'm not embarrassed?" y/n felt tears brim her eyes and she stood up in front of him.

"y/n you know that's not what i meant," he stood up with her and walked around the desk. he put his hands on her shoulders but she slapped them away walking toward the door. she quickly opened it and headed toward the stairs. he thought about running after her but he didn't want to cause a scene. walking back into his office and closing the door he took a spare hockey stick that sat in the corner of the small space and smashed it as hard as he could against the wall, solving his anger in just that moment.

he fucked up.

-

sidney saw a text from carter which had him gathering his keys and putting shoes on his feet.

hey mom hasn't stopped crying since we got home, you know something i don't?

sidney picked up a to-go order on the way to her house, he knew that she wouldn't have eaten anything since leaving the arena. when sidney walked into her house he saw carter sitting at the dinner table eating a bowl of soup watching youtube videos on his laptop. "everything okay?" sidney asked, dumb question.

"i don't know, when i got in the car she was crying. i asked what was wrong and she just shook her head, i thought you guys broke up or something. did you?" carter asked, pausing the video.

"no, we didn't. it's not my place to tell you what happened, but i'll go talk to her." sidney patted carter on the back and walked toward the back master bedroom. he softly knocked on the door, he tried turning the doorknob but she had it locked. "y/n?" he softly asked, knocking again.

he heard sniffles and light footsteps across the wooden door. she unlocked the door and opened it. his heart softened at the sight, her eyes were puffy and her lips were chapped, she wore soft clothes.

walking back to her bed she got in it, pulling the covers over her legs. sidney sat at the foot of her bed and handed the greasy paper sack to her, his form of an apology in that moment. she took the bag and looked inside, a little grin coming on her lips as she saw the bag was full of fries.

she ate the fries in silence, her brain is dull and her head is hurting from crying for two hours straight. sidney sat on the bed with his hand on her leg, just hoping she feels comforted by his presence. he thinks she is, since she didn't take the bag of fries and kick him out.

she sat up, setting the now empty bag on her bedside table, leaned forward to take his hand in hers. sidney scooted closer to her on the bed when she folded her legs. then she gave him a kiss on the cheek, accepting his apology that came in the form of fries.

"i'm sorry for what i said y/n," he whispered again, pressing his forehead against hers. "it slipped out, i shouldn't have said it, i didn't even mean it i-"

"shh, you're forgiven sidney." y/n placed both hands on either side of his face, keeping her forehead against his. she sniffled and sidney parted for a moment, pressing his lips against her soft skin, taking both of her hands in his.

"you don't have to tell me anything about your marriage right now, but i promise, you say the word and i will make sure that he never steps foot anywhere near you or carter again." he tucked some hair behind her ears and kissed the top of her hands.

y/n shook her head, "you don't have to do that." she scooted back toward the pillows that leaned against the headboard, sidney moved on the bed to sit next to her. he put his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head while she laced her fingers with his.

she told him everything that happened in her marriage; she told him about the way john would speak to her in such degrading ways, how john never really made efforts to go to carters special events, how he would make excuses and say things he's in preschool how special could it be? she explained how she found out about john's affair and the messy divorce. right after the divorce john left the state and she never heard from him until five years later. y/n explained how john's mom still keeps in contact with herself and carter, and that she sends john letters and cards with pictures of carter.

sidney felt himself boiling with anger inside, how could someone be that bad of a person? why would anyone want to do such a thing?

"this was the first time in...years that i had seen him in person and it just brought back, everything." tears began to flow through once more and sidney wrapped both arms around her and pulled her in as close as she could. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 03

PREVIOUS

In the Fluent Freshman AU I could see a moment where Andrew kind of misses having Renee around. She was a nice quiet support for him during her time at Palmetto and now she’s graduated. Bee suggests that Andrew try and make a new friend, he can try with someone on the team even.

Andrew, initially, thinks it’s a stupid idea. He real hates pretty much every sophomore (Jack’s group) and pretty much all of the new freshmen irritate him since they’re always trying to steal Neil’s attention with all their fucking problems. The only freshman that he has no opinion on (and therefore is miles and miles ahead of everyone else) is the quiet one that he glowered at pretty early on for staring at Neil’s scars.

Except now, with the knowledge that the kid is a foreign language major, he was probably just trying to figure out what language him and Neil were talking in since the kid isn’t phased at all when Neil absentmindedly used his shirt to wipe away sweat on his face. Everyone else had LOOKED but the kid had just continued on as if it were nothing.

Nicky likes him a fair bit and has assured both Andrew and Neil, after the fourth time the kid power walked away from them, that he’s not homophobic just due to circumstances public displays of affection make him deeply uncomfortable. The Foxes have pasts and if the kid isn’t going to make it their problem then Andrew isn’t about to get irritated over it.

(Nicky doesn’t elaborate that those circumstances being that he understands that Andrew is telling Neil all the places (geographical locations) that he wants to kiss Neil and where he’d do it. He’s really not a prude but how did watching Cars 2 result in this level of dirty talk?! He’s just trying to actually get to see these movies everyone keeps referencing so that he can join in on the conversation)

The kid’s quiet company the few times Andrew’s been in it and Neil has been making some slow progress on getting the kid to open up. Andrew knows that the kid has his own weekly meetings with Betsy and he’s not about to pry.

(It’s social anxiety and stress related. No he has not told Betsy about the whole Russian situation because she’d be mad at him right? Everyone keeps telling him that Betsy and Andrew Minyard are close and that Andrew is her favorite even if she can’t admit to having something like that. She’s nice but what if she gets mad about it and tells Wymack that he’s not fit mentally to be on the team? Then what? He can’t afford college without a sports scholarship. Oh god- Betsy spends a lot of time walking him through stress relief and not worst case scenario-ing every interaction)

Andrew figures that if nothing else this kid is fine with sitting in stony silence. If it doesn’t work then w/e he tried.

So, to Fluent Freshman’s absolute horror and dismay, Andrew Minyard starts to hang around him even when Captain Neil ISN’T AROUND. He becomes unbeatable at Poker and fluent in Japanese if not fully literate.

Once it’s just Andrew and Fluent Freshman sitting in absolute silence for an hour. This might be the nicest time Andrew’s had with someone not part of his family since Renee left. “You ever consider learning Russian?” Andrew asks.

Fluent Freshman’s award winning performance starts here.

“No, I have never considered taking Russian classes here.” He responds turning a page in his book on Esperanto (he thinks it’d be fun) because why take a class for a language he’s already fluent in. He’s bad at lying but he’s GREAT at just not saying the truth.

Andrew doesn’t say anything in response and they continue to sit in silence until Fluent Freshman has to get up and go quietly have a panic attack.

Everyone, except Nicky, all think that Fluent Freshman’s the second coming of Andrew’s general apathy. Bee is proud of Andrew for willingly sitting next to someone in almost complete silence. Andrew says it helps that there’s someone else like him (Bee is confused because Fluent Freshman is known to bring his own brown paper bag to hyper-ventilate into but she says nothing.)

Only Nicky knows the full extent. Fluent Freshman is doing breathing exercises, taking pepto bismol to help his stress related stomach ulcer, and considering using his art gen-ed for theater so that he can commit to this bit better.

Fluent Freshman kind of gets used to Andrew’s quiet company until one day they’re an hour and a half into their usual absolute silence when Fluent Freshman gets up to grab something Andrew looks at him and goes “Hey wanna learn how to use a knife?” And Fluent Freshman stiffens up and straight up faints.

NEXT

[thegoldencontracts]

What's In A Bird: The Topsy-Turvy Ceremony

Many folks say that the freshmen of Night Raven College grow odder and odder by the year. And, of course, in this year, Riddle Rosehearts, Ruggie Bucchi, Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Jamil Viper, Silver, and one transfer student soon to arrive from Royal Sword Academy - Kalim Al Asim - will prove this notion correct for yet another year.

Length: 2.4k words

Notes: A fic of the sophomores in freshman year like I promised, at last! Here's to hoping this doesn't completely flop. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

This also serves as a kind of 400 follower special (not really though), I'm very grateful to everyone who's supported my fics, and feel free to send in any requests for this series! Anyways, on with the fic.

It was a known fact among the students and staff of Night Raven College that every single year of freshmen was odder than the last. For the one-hundred years or so that Dire Crowley had been headmage, he had never once been proven wrong.

And it seemed as if the headmage would be proven right once more.

This year's freshmen were all an odd bunch, it seemed. Divus looked over them scrutinizingly.

"Have any of them caught your attention?" Mozus asked. "I for one find the notion that you've deigned to pay attention to the ceremony and ensure no mishaps occur for once much too good to be true."

Divus merely sighed.

"The ceremony's going wrong either way, no need to be so uptight about 'supervision', or whatnot. The pups'll turn out just fine."

Mozus scoffed.

"Even some of our incoming freshmen have more responsibility than you, it seems," he said.

"Like that one redhead?"

It was so odd how - despite red being a common hair color - they immediately knew which boy Divus was referring to. Oh, Dire was so magnanimous for putting up with all these peculiar students!

"All of you, get in line at once, or it shall be Off With Your Head!" said the redhead boy in question. Threatening to- chop people's heads off? How odd.

Dire knew his name; like the kind and attentive headmage he was, he always cared for his students!

Yes - Puzzle Flowershape. Something like that.

"Riddle Rosehearts, no?" Mozus said. Close enough! "He's a rather good student from what I've seen."

Come to think of it, why were so many of the freshmen wearing clunky looking collars? That was a horrible fashion choice, was it not?

Oh, well. Dire would put up with that terrible fashion choice. The things he did for his students!

"Those things around their neck'll really get in the way of their exercise!" Ashton scoffed. "It looks like I'll have to teach these kids the proper way to dress for maximum power!"

"It looks like those kids have no magical aura! The collar's a curse, now isn't that tragic?" Sam said. "I'll be there if those poor kids need any help undoing that curse of theirs."

"I do hope you'll provide the aid for free?"

"No promises!" Sam said, before looking at the students in curiosity.

A few seconds later, Sam pointed to two of the students in the crowd.

"Those two seem smart," he said, pointing first to a hyena beastman, then to a grey-haired boy. By sharp, of course, Sam was referring to business-smart. There was quite a difference between that, and academic prowess. The hyena boy only seemed to possess the second with those wide eyes of his, and the grey-haired boy, hiding behind two identical twins, seemed to possess neither.

Of course, Dire was a kind man. He'd give Sam a chance to explain his reasoning.

"Are you certain?" Dire asked. Sam merely nodded with a chuckle.

"Clever hawks hide their talons, you know," he said. That was true.

And, come to think of it, the boy's behavior still required observing.

"Hey there," said the boy to the Pomefiore Housewarden. "I got you that makeup you wanted."

How exactly had he acquired that brand? Dire vaguely recalled some talk of how difficult it was to acquire. Truly, he was such a good headmage, always listening to his students!

"Thanks," said the Pomefiore Housewarden in turn, handing the hyena boy a massive wad of cash. How- How had the boy already acquired that much money?

"Those wide, shrunken eyes are likely a product of a lack of access to food," Sam said. Come to think of it, the boy was, well, a hyena. Did that not mean he was from the slums? And, considering the ingenuity required to survive in the slums as a mage, well-

"You're quite right!" he said with a laugh. "But what of the other boy?"

Of an average, unremarkable height, and a frail stature, the grey-haired boy had lodged himself between two twins.

"We should be looking at those two!" Ashton said, pointing to the tall, muscular twin boys. "They'd be great for the basketball team with those athletic reflexes of theirs!"

It would be best to observe first before coming to judgments,

"Dude," said one of the twins, practically shoving the phone into the grey-haired boy's face. "Check out this rare pepe."

The grey-haired boy scoffed, pushing the phone away with a scowl.

"The only thing I'll be 'checking out' is the socials of our peers," he said. "And the picture of the dearest headmage looking at cat photos while a student is attempting to get his attention," said the other twin.

How- How had they even seen that? Dire would have to do whatever it took to ensure that photo for the sake of avoiding bad PR- er, avoiding the entirely false notion that he was anything less than a kind-hearted and diligent headmage who would never ignore his students!

"I think you understand what I mean now," Sam said.

"Indeed," said Dire. "To think, he'd so viciously use photoshop to make it seem as if I'd ever do such a thing!"

"You would," Mozus said. "I find myself more concerned with how exactly they attained that picture."

However, before any further discussion could occur, a shriek was heard.

"Ugh!" said one of the twin boys - the droopy-eyed one. "This is boring."

That was never a good sign. 'This is boring' was the last thing said before the ceremony had gone wrong ten years ago, or twenty-three years ago, or thiry-five years ago, or fourty-two years ago, or fifty-two years ago, or during one of those ceremonies over sixty years ago that Dire had forgetten about.

Out of all the phrases said before ceremonies had gone wrong, 'This is boring' was - by far - the most common.

"Hey!" the droopy-eyed boy said, eyes on that one redhead who was surrounded by students in collars. "You look interesting, Goldfishie."

"My name is Riddle Rosehearts, not 'Goldfishie'," said the redheaded boy, Riddle. "And you'd do well to return to your place in the line."

"Nah," said the droopy-eyed boy, flicking his pen and causing a vine to settle itself on the ground. "Hey, this stuff's pretty cool!"

"I will not stand for this insolence! Off With Your Head!"

A collar wrapped itself around the droopy-eyed boy's neck.

"H-Huh?" he said, pulling at it in confusion. Riddle smirked.

"I warned you," he said. So that was what he meant by 'off with your head'. "You've broken the rules, and now you must-"

And then the fire-bolt was hurled.

It was a terrible, terrible thing, catching fire on the conjured vine and spreading further from there, sending students fleeing.

"Holy shit, dude!" the droopy-eyed boy said, eyes sparkling with glee. "You really are interesting, Goldfishie!"

Riddle had been the one to send the fire-bolt? This whole thing was simply growing more and more absurd!

"I didn't send that!" Cried Riddle.

...T-Then who had?

"Dire," Divus said through grit teeth. "Our top priority right now is ensuring no one gets burned. We can figure out which naughty pup did this later."

That was true. There was a bit of panicking, to say the least.

Which was to say that every student was in a frenzy.

"We're all gonna die!"

"I'm too young for this, Lord Hades! Spare me!"

"Take him instead!"

"H-Hey, don't take me, take him!"

"Are you going to put out the fire, or what?" Divus said, tapping his foot impatiently. Dire could somewhat hear him over the sound of screams.

"What have you done, Floyd?" said the grey-haired boy. "From now on we'll all be labelled as delinquents!" "Hey!" The droopy-eyed boy - Floyd - said. "Don't blame me for that thing, Azul!"

Azul just sighed.

"Jade, was this your doing?"

The other twin - Jade - shook his head.

"I do look forward to seeing the face of the man who disrupted the ceremony in such a manner," he said with a laugh.

Those three were odd. But even odder was the raven-haired boy who seemed entirely calm in the midst of the mess, merely putting out the fire gathering around him.

"Hello there," he said without so much as a glance as the hyena-beastman approached him.

"Heeeyyyy there, bud!" The hyena boy said. "You seem- not freaked out."

"My name is Jamil Viper," said the raven-haired boy - Jamil - almost robotically. "Please do not concern yourself with my affairs. I am but a humble se-"

And all of a sudden, Jamil snapped out of his robotic little monologue, looking down at his hands in shock.

"Nevermind," he said, mumbling a smug "I'm free for now" underneath his breath. The hyena boy blinked in confusion.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Jamil said. "What's your name?"

"Ruggie," Ruggie answered hastily. "And what's got you so calm? Isn't the school on fire or something? Don't tell me-"

Ruggie flashed a conspiratorial grin.

"Did you start it?" He asked. Jamil shook his head.

"I didn't," he said. "This just isn't all that severe an emergency. We'll put out the fire with ease."

With ease? By himself? Was Jamil not a mere freshman? He knew naught but basic magic, certainly not enough to put out a fire as big as this one!

"Uh, putting it out ourselves?" Ruggie said. "Don't you wanna get like, the headmage or something- Oh, hey there, headmage!" Ruggie shouted in an attempt to be heard through the screams of other students.

Ruggie had finally noticed him, it seemed.

"Hello, esteemed students!" Dire said. "My name is Dire Crowley, headmage of Night Raven College, a-"

"Can you put out the fire?" Ruggie shouted. Why did no one wish to hear about his extremely important information?

"Yes, yes, of course," Dire said. "I will put out the fire."

But he didn't have to. Divus was already there, getting the students attention with the crack of his whip.

"Pups!" he said. "No need to panic. The fire will be put out shortly. Next time any such emergency occurs, I expect you all to follow the procedure constantly taught to you during fire drills instead of flailing around like blind chihuahuas."

A thin sheet of water was summoned upon the floor, Divus flicked his magic-pen. The fire was put out. Phew.

Floyd raised his hand.

"Yes?" Divus asked.

"What's a fire drill?"

"Keep quiet, Floyd," Azul hissed to him in what he likely thought was so quiet no one could hear. However, on top of immense magnanimity and diligence, Dire also had impeccable hearing. One of the many blessings of being a fae, before turning to the Octavinelle housewarden. "I apologize for any inconvenience you've been caused."

He knew he was going to be sorted into Octavinelle, didn't he? Azul was most likely correct about that. However, it would be rather comedic if he was sorted somewhere else.

"You'd do well to apologize to everyone, er- Floyd," said Riddle. "I shall take off the collar if you can prove you've thoroughly repented."

"Uh," Floyd paused, before going completely off-topic. "I think the guppy that's under the chair next to me leg should wake up."

Riddle looked at him incredulously.

"What in the name of the Seven are you blathering on about-" A glance underneath the chair next to Floyd's leg revealed a silver-haired boy, a thin shield of water conjured around him.

Smart.

He'd fallen asleep though.

Ruggie creeped over towards the silver-haired boy, shaking his shoulders awkwardly.

"You good?" Jamil motioned for him to stop.

"He likely has some underlying condition," he said. "I'd wager it's magically induced narcolepsy."

All the oddest freshmen, gathered in one place while the others celebrated the fact that they weren't dead. How- quaint.

A few seconds later, the silver-haired boy's eyes fluttered open, as he took a second to process his surroundings.

"H-Huh?" he said, before realizing what had happened. "E-Er, apologies."

"Please prepare yourself for sorting," Riddle said, voice much less snippy than it ordinarily was. "You've managed to wake up just in time."

"T-Thank you," said the silver-haired boy. The quiet sort, it seemed.

"You really ought to get back in line yourself, dearest Riddle!" said Azul, bearing a saccharine grin.

"The same would go for you, I believe," said Jade with a grin even more sickly sweet. Azul groaned.

"Tell Floyd that."

"Yeah, yeah," Floyd said. "I'm gettin' in line."

Azul glared at him. "And I'm sorry," he said, despite the fact that he clearly didn't want to. Azul looked at Riddle expectantly. Riddle merely sighed.

"I wouldn't call this thorough repenting," he said.

"Please remove the collar from my business partner's neck." Business partners? Was that was kids these days callhed their friends? Dire had clearly fallen behind on trends.

Riddle scoffed.

"Have him apologize to me personally first," he said. Floyd rolled his eyes.

"Stop talking' about me like I'm not here."

"I do believe that collar restricts your magic, dearest brother." And all of a sudden, Floyd had become the most positively contrite person to ever grace Twisted Wonderland.

"I'm so, so sorry," he said through sniffles. "I'll never do it again, honest!"

It was only when Floyd conjured a ukelele that Riddle finally backed down, removing the collar.

"T-That's more than enough!" he said. "I do hope you've learned from this."

But Floyd wasn't listening.

"Whoo!" he said, all contriteness gone from sight. Floyd was quite the good actor, thought Dire idly.

"Get back in line quickly, pups," said Divus with the crack of a whip. The students scrambled to fall in line.

Well then, at least the chaotic part of the ceremony was over.

--------

A few hours later, the sorting was over. And frankly, Dire was most interested in the positions of seven particular students.

"The Rosehearts boy was placed in Heartslabyul," Mozus said in the break-room, sipping on a cup of tea.

"No one was shocked by that," said Divus. "The sortings were quite obvious. Bucchi in Savannaclaw, Viper in Scarabia, Ashengrotto and Leech in Octavinelle, and Silver in Diasomnia. And that means-" he turned to Dire. Curses. "I won all the bets. Pay up."

His poor wallet was aching, crying out in pain!

"Fine, fine," said Dire, forced to cruelly rip those precious thaumarks from their home in his wallet. "Here you are."

Mozus sighed.

"This school is known as Night Raven College," he said. "I was under the impression that - despite their mischievousness, ravens are smart. Not foolish enough to start fires before the first day."

Dire merely laughed.

"Well, Mozus," he said. "Do recall the old adage 'What's in a name'? The name of the school won't change the intellect of our students!"

"Yes, yes."

"So tell me," he continued.

"What's in a bird?"

[corpsebasil]

The Summer I Loved You -> E.L. 🐚🍸🪝

Summary: you’re spending time with your friends for the end of the summer before senior year, and your childhood best friend is catching your eye more than you’d like him to

Part 1!

The sun was burning hot as you walked across the beach, the sand baking the soles of your feet and crackling with tiny shells. Tara, rambling about her latest date with a guy named Mark, passed you the Yeti cup filled with rosé so you could take a lofty sip.

A wine walk, she called it. Which is the only feasible excuse you could think of as to why the both of you were guzzling down a jumbo bottle of wine at noon, the hot Sun making you feel slightly nauseated. Or maybe, to your chagrin, the reason your stomach was turning was because of the two boys you saw up ahead.

Chads Meeks-Martin, your college roommate of three years, and your childhood best friend, Ethan Landry. Chad had a cute girl with platinum streaks in her hair tossed over his shoulder, spinning her around as she screamed with laughter. Her girlfriend, and Chad’s sister, watched in amusement. As Tara and you approached Ethan turned first, his brown curls made wilder by the salt-infused air, his toned arms tanned and bigger than they’d been when you’d seen him two months before.

The five of you would be spending two weeks in Charleston, staying at Anika’s family beach house for a last minute summer vacation before senior year of college. You’d been excited; you hadn’t seen any of them besides Tara, Chad, and Mindy since the end of the semester and, even if you shouldn’t, even if it was ridiculous, you’d missed Ethan more than anyone.

“Y/N,” he greeted, jogging over with a smile you’d known since you were kids. He nodded to Tara, sparing her a quick ‘hey’ before he tugged you into a hug, arms lifting you an inch off the sandy ground. Despite yourself you hugged him tight around the neck, your stomach twisting further at the scent of his cologne mixed with the coconut scent of Mindy’s sunscreen. “when did you guys get here? I thought you’d be here like an hour ago.”

“Tara wanted wine first.” You said, smiling sheepishly as he set you down, eyebrows raised.

You passed him the Yeti as Tara darted off to greet the other three of your friends, and he took a sip. Then he let out a long-suffering sigh, tossing those puppy-eyes of his onto your face.

“I missed you.” He said, passing the cup back as he slung an arm around your shoulders. “Mom’s been on my ass about Senior year. Internships and jobs and all that.” His expression pinched, a hint of stress tugging the corners of his mouth down. “Can you tell her to go easy on me? You’re her favorite.”

“You’re her son.”

“A biological technicality, Y/N.” His hand looped further around your shoulders to hook onto the necklace you wore, a thin chain with a small golden heart. His expression relaxed as he touched a finger to the charm. “I’m surprised you kept this.”

Your face tinged with a hint of pink and you ducked out of his grip.

“Why?” You asked, adjusting the necklace. “It was a gift.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Y/N!” Chad yelled, dashing over to scoop you up the same way he had Anika, yanking you away from Ethan and the topic of the necklace he’d purchased you. “My girl!”

You protested in vain, unable to stop a laugh from leaving you. Chad was one of your closest friends—had been since you’d been stuck together freshmen year—and it was no secret that he’d hit on you once or twice. You’d even matched at a Halloween party sophomore year, he as a shirtless (and stupidly hot) cowboy, you as a sheriff.

The two of you had inside jokes, fought over who did what chores, cooked meals together, and occasionally yelled at each other when he stayed for way too long in the bathroom or you took an everything shower.

But Ethan..

Ethan was your friend since childhood.

Ethan was the one who you called when you were upset, or tired, or bored.

Ethan had been drunk when he’d shown up to you and Chad’s shared apartment months ago, your roommate somewhere else for the night. Ethan had pounded on the door for five minutes straight while you were in the shower, his eyes red when you finally opened up the door. He was tired, he said, he couldn’t sleep, midterms were coming up and he needed you, needed to sleep on your bed. So you’d let him inside, let him collapse under your sheets, let him steal back the oversized shirt he’d left—just in case—inside your bottom drawer.

And when he’d given you the necklace he’d kept shoved in his pocket, moments before passing out, saying he’d bought it for your birthday months before but had been too chicken-shit to hand it over, you’d felt a pull to him that you’d been suppressing since you’d been a kid.

Now though, as you glanced up, eyes locking with Ethan’s, you felt a twinge in your gut as his smile faltered, his focus moving from you to Chad. You smacked your roommate’s back lightly so he’d let you down, your feet crashing back onto hot sand as you righted yourself.

“We’re barbecuing later, and then there’s a party on the beach, and then..” Chad talked as you walked, leading you towards Tara and the others, Ethan trailing behind a step.

When you glanced back he was looking at some point in the distance, seemingly deep in thought. So you hung back, shooing Chad onwards as you fell into step with Ethan, his tiny glance at you making your skin hum. He didn’t even have to say anything—his look towards Chad had ‘your roommate is obnoxious’ written all over it, and you suppressed a laugh.

“Be nice.” You whispered. It was no secret that Ethan’d never been a huge fan of Chad, though you weren’t sure why.

“I am nice. I’m so nice.”

“Surrrre.” You grinned and he bumped a shoulder against yours, tan skin brushing the untouched version of yours that would soon be just as dark. “We’ll have You and Me time, later. Don’t worry.” You said, referring to what he’d started coining as the moments the both of you would sneak off whenever his social battery inevitably drained.

“I need it.” He sighed, his head tilting, a small smile playing on his mouth, and damn you if the sight of his eyes on yours wasn’t the most gorgeous thing you’d seen all summer. But he was Ethan. And that wasn’t something you should be thinking about.

So when his fingers laced through yours, tugging you a bit quicker towards the others, snippets of their conversation coming into focus, you reminded yourself that it meant nothing.

Even if he meant everything.

-

IM MAKING THIS A MINI SERIES

[into-crazy]

don't wanna miss a thing

》 chapter 3

Negan Smith x Female Reader

Non-apocalyptic AU // The Walking Dead AU

Other Characters(mentioned): Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes, and Carl Grimes

Summary: You get harassed by some guys on your way home and someone comes to your rescue. They walk you home, reflecting on moments from your shared past.

Warnings- mature language, alcohol consumption, age gap(reader's in her early 20s), slow burn, angst, comfort, fluff, ages 18+

Other chapters & info -> RIGHT HERE

💕divider by @saradika-graphics

It was a painful walk down the driveway.

Even in your state, you still respectfully chose not to cut through the grass for a shortcut. Rick was proud of his grass, he worked hard to keep it nice and healthy. But now that you were finally out of there you let your tears fall freely.

You were so fucking stupid. Completely delusional to think that you could ever be with Negan. Who were you kidding? There was never a chance. You're just a kid to him. You've always been, and he'll never see you as anything other than that. Though what hurt you even more was seeing that he had his eyes set on someone else. You know that you have no right to be upset. Negan doesn't owe you anything, he can be with who ever he wants. However it doesn't stop the fact that deep down inside of you it still hurt.

Reaching the sidewalk, you turn towards your house and continue on. The sun is close to setting, casting long shadows all over the ground. That is how you noticed a vehicle coming up from behind, by it's shadow. At first you didn't think anything of it, assuming that it was going to keep going in the direction it was heading. But then it suddenly slowed and someone called out to you from the passenger window.

"Hey there, cutie!"

Wiping your eyes, you look up to see that it's a group of guys in a small SUV. They look like they could be high school seniors or college freshmen. Blasting their music loud enough for the whole street to hear. Whatever they were listening to it's rather obnoxious.

"Where are you heading off to?" The same guy from the passenger window asks you. You spot the can of beer in his hand. Well that's great, they're drinking in a moving vehicle. Hopefully they have a designated driver.

"No where," you return indifferently. "I'm just going home."

"She's not into you bro." The driver states to him lowly.

However he brushes it off and tries again. "Shut up man.. So we're uh, heading over to a party tonight over on the east side. How about I get your number and maybe I could see you there?"

The way he asked you felt as though he wasn't even asking you at all. It sounded more like a demand. That or he was rather confident that you were going to give him your number. Either way you weren't interested.

"No thanks." You toss back, hoping that they'll get the hint and move on.

Your rejection is heard by the other guys, they immediately poke fun at their friend. Which only stirs him on more.

He then attempts to cover up his embarrassment with a laugh, licking his lips before replying, "well see, that doesn't work for me sweetheart."

You stop in your tracks, turning to look at him in shock and wondering if you had heard that right. The arrogant smirk on his face indicates that you had. You hated hearing the word sweetheart come from his mouth. All of a sudden you start to feel very exposed. Remembering that you are wearing nothing but a bikini because your clothes are in your bag. It doesn't help that every one of those guys are leering at you like you're a hooker selling on the street. You nervously clutch on to the bag around your shoulder.

He opens his mouth again to speak. "So how about it? Give me your number and we'll meet up. Then I can fix that little attitude problem you got." He winks at you while his friends laugh and exchange high fives.

This whole situation makes your stomach churn. You want nothing more for them to leave you alone. Anger bubbles up in your throat too quickly before you can contain it.

"I said no!" You snap at him. "Now do me a favor and fuck off!"

He scoffs at that. "You bitch!"

He launches his beer at you from the window. Luckily it misses you. Instead it lands right by your feet. The can smashes against the concrete with a loud crashing sound and beer slashes all over your feet. It startles you into dropping your bag on the floor.

Everyone in the car breaks out into a laughing fit. You, well you stand there. Dumbfounded and utterly defeated. And you didn't think this day could get any worse, yet it had. This was the soggy cherry on top of a shit sundae.

"Hey!" A voice is unexpectedly heard from behind you, snapping the guys out of their guffawing.

The one who launched the beer motions at the driver to go. "Oh shit, let's go!"

The car speeds off as Negan rushes over to your side. It catches you by surprise, because what is he doing here?

"That's it- get the hell out of here!" He shouts at the car before mumbling under his breath, "little pricks." He then turns his attention towards you. "Hey.. you okay?"

You break down in tears, hugging yourself for comfort. Negan wraps his jacket around your shoulders to cover you up. Then he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. You hug him back tightly and sob into his chest. Not caring anymore as you let it all go.

"I know, it's alright. I've got you now." His voice is low and soft as he strokes your hair. "Come on, let's get you home."

You nod at that, using the back of your hand to wipe away your tears. He collects your bag off the ground and walks you the rest of the way to your house.

"Rick send you to check on me?"

A scoff leaves his lips, "No. Rick didn't send me to do shit. I came because I wanted to make sure my girl got home safely. Good thing I did, too."

Negan calling you his girl would have brought a smile and a blush to your face, if you weren't still upset.

Coming up to the front door, he thinks of what to say. "Listen I uh.." his sentence trails off as he gently hands you your bag. "You should go on inside. I can come by for the jacket tomorrow."

There's no response or movement from you. When he turns to leave you snap up to look at him. "Stay?"

He immediately stops at that. Meeting your sad eyes, he doesn't say anything.

"Please stay with me for a while?" You plead quietly, hands clutching tighter on to the jacket.

Sighing deeply, he takes a second to ponder on it before agreeing. "Alright."

It's silent again as you unlock the door and step inside. He follows right after you, taking the liberty of closing and locking the door behind him. The chill of the air inside brushes against your skin, making you shiver. It didn't help that your hair was still damp from the pool.

Negan notices that you're cold. "You wanna go get cleaned up and put on something comfortable?" You flash him a worried pout and he chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll wait down here for you. I won't sneak out or anything. Promise."

You take his word for it. But before you ascend up the stairs you make a suggestion, "I don't want to come back down afterwards. Would you come up with me? You can wait in my room."

His eyes widen, he's taken aback by your invitation. Even though it was an innocent request it was rather unexpected, and that was what threw him off. Plus he's never seen or been in your room before. He briefly clears his throat, "I mean, sure. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," you return. "I just.. I'd feel better knowing you're close by. Knowing that I'm not alone."

There was no way he could say no to you. He hums and follows you up the stairs all the way to your bedroom.

The sun had finally set, casting the last bit of light through the curtains into your room. You navigate through the dimly lit space to turn on a table lamp beside your bed. As the light flicks on Negan takes in your bedroom for the first time. It was certainly a reflection of your personality, and that in itself made him feel welcome. He notices that you didn't change rooms since you're not in the master. He doubts that your aunt took it over either but that's a question he'll save for another day.

You scramble around, picking a few things up from the floor and moving others out of the way. Negan stood there, lazily following your movements. You collect a fresh pair of clothes from the dresser and let out a small sigh, "I'm going to go wash up."

He keeps his focus on you as you slide off his jacket and set it down on the bed. "Take your time. I'll be here." He assures.

"Feel free to sit on the bed if you want. I won't mind." And with that, you leave the room.

Negan decides to look around some more. He caught a glimpse of a photo collage on the wall, so he went over for a closer look. There were pictures of your parents, some with the three of you together. All with huge smiles and warm vibes. There were a couple snaps of the Grimes, looking like the picture perfect family as usual. One photo was of him and your dad in the garage, laughing as they posed for the camera. Negan remembers all the good times he'd spent with him.

He then came across the only photo of you and him up there. Right in the middle, it was a selfie you'd taken with him a while back. Your smile was so bright, and he couldn't help but notice the glimmer in your eyes. He really liked that photo. Negan spots your camera on the desk near the pictures. He remembers how you used to carry it everywhere, capturing the moments up on the wall above. You don't carry it around anymore, not since your parents..

A few more steps and he finds himself by the window. Peaking through the curtains, he's got a perfect view of his house from here. Everything from his driveway to the front door. It makes him wonder if you've ever watched him from here.

The sound of the door creaking brings him to turn, finding you coming back into the room. Your hair is damp from the shower this time, and you're wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a cropped tshirt. It was a bit revealing, however the man has already seen you in a bikini so you didn't think much of it. Besides, he'd told you to put on something comfortable and what better than the close you sleep in.

He looks you over briefly. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I needed that." You admit. There's a guilty look on your face, like you have something you need to confess. A secret that you can no longer contain. Inhaling sharply you breathe out, "actually, there's something that I need to tell you."

He fixes his gaze on you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I know."

**

Flashback:

It was a sad, gloomy day. Even the sky looked melancholy, filling up with puffy grey clouds to shield away the sun. Not allowing the warmth of the rays to reach you or anyone else.

Many people had shown up to pay their respects and offer their condolences for your loss. Most of those people you knew, and very few in which you didn't.

The burial was especially the hardest for you. You couldn't exactly describe the feeling you experienced while watching your parent's caskets being lowered into the ground. You don't think you'll ever be able to describe it. But it was at that moment in which you knew that you would never see them again. At least, not in this life.

Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, and you didn't talk much at all. Relying mostly on head gestures. Only having enough mental energy to mutter a few words to certain people that talked to you. Aunt Rena never left your side throughout the whole event. Even Rick, Lori, and little Carl were always close by. As for Negan, he kept a bit of a distance.

There was already so many people around you, he didn't want to smother you with his presence as well. Though he did come by to offer his own condolences when he had the chance to talk to you more privately. You hugged him tight and never wanted to let him go. He kept you tight in his embrace, letting you hold on to him as long as you needed. It was up until other people came over to talk to you when he had to gently pull back.

It is a quarter to 8 pm. You've been home for a while now. Aunt Rena was exhausted from the day and had went to bed early. You had other plans.

Drained and full of grief, you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from your dad's cabinet and sat on the front porch looking through your family photo album. Since it's the middle of November it is cold. So you brought a blanket to keep warm. You sat by yourself, with shaky hands and teary eyes. Flipping through the pages and pouring glass after glass. Laughing at some of the memories through the photos then taking swigs of your drink when your laughter turns into soft sobs. You probably shouldn't be out here like this but you were. You didn't want your aunt to know, or worry. That you're slowly numbing yourself with alcohol so that you could stop feeling for a while. It seemed to do it's job. As you felt yourself gradually slipping in and out of consciousness.

Negan is pulling into his driveway when he spots you on your porch all by yourself. Immediately he notices that something's not right. You're not moving.

Getting out of his car he rushes over. Calling your name but no response. You are passed out and there's a half empty bottle of whiskey on the table next to you. At first he's very worried and assumes the worst. Though the panic fades when he hears the soft snores coming from you. He checks you over again, you're sound asleep with an open photo album tucked in your arms.

"Shit kid.."

Relief washes over him, though he's concerned with how long you might've been out here. Especially out cold the way you are. It's freezing and you only have a thin blanket wrapped around your body. Brushing some hair out of your face, he could tell you had been crying again. Your cheeks were flushed and dried streams ran down your cheeks and nose. He attempts to wake you up by shaking you gently. When that doesn't work he does it more firmly.

"Y/n.. hey, wake up."

You only mumble and tuck further into your blanket in response. Brows furrowing then letting up as soon as you get comfortable again.

The sight of you made his heart ache. He can't imagine what you're going through, though he really does feel for you. He had lost two of his good friends, but you had lost both your parents. It hurt you both, yet it wasn't a pain in which he would try to compare to yours. He only wanted you to know that you weren't alone. That he will be here for you when you need him. After all you've become his friend, too.

Negan takes the book from your freezing hands and places it on the table before ringing the doorbell. He waits there at the door for a moment until Rena answers.

"Oh Negan, hello." She is surprised to see him at this time of night. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Rena. I uh, well I found y/n asleep out here on the porch." Stepping aside, he motions over to where you're at.

Rena gasps into her hands, rushing to your side, "I- oh dear, I didn't even know she was out here!" She strokes your hair, a frown on her face as she examines the contents on the table.

"I figured you didn't," Negan shrugs. "I know you wouldn't have left her out here like this."

"Oh no, I would never." She shakes her head. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I was asleep, she could have been out here all night."

"She's alright. Gotta get her inside though."

"If she really drank that much, it might be hard to get her up in this state." Your aunt worries.

It's clear to Negan that it would be a rather difficult task for your aunt to do by herself. So he offers his help. "If you want, I can carry her inside."

"Would you?"

"Sure."

Negan carefully scoops you up into his arms and takes you inside. Your aunt follows behind, with the photo album held closely to her chest.

"You can set her down on the couch, she'll be fine there for the night."

He takes you into the living room and lowers you on to the couch. You stir from the movement, slipping in and out of your deep sleep.

Your aunt decides that the cover you currently have won't suffice. "I'm going to run upstairs and grab her another blanket. Can you watch her for a minute?"

Negan nods, a quiet 'yeah' leaving his lips.

Your aunt goes to retrieve the item, leaving Negan with you. The sound of you mumbling grabs his attention.

"What.. what happened?" You ask, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"It's alright sweetheart." Negan shushes you. "You're safe. You fell asleep outside but you're inside now."

Giggling to yourself, you reply, "oh yeah.." You briefly look around, recognizing your surroundings. Last you remembered, you were outside on the porch. "How'd I get in here?"

Negan drops to his haunches directly beside you. "I carried you."

"You carried me?"

"Sure did." There's a proud grin on his face after saying that.

Taken aback, your eyes gleam up at him. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem." He brushes it off. "Just want to make sure you're okay. Your aunt's coming back with a blanket. Now close your eyes and get some sleep."

"M'kay." You shut your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. "Hm.. Negan?"

He leans in a bit closer. "Yeah?"

"I love you." It comes out just above a whisper. Though the room was so quiet that he had heard it perfectly clear as if you'd said it aloud.

He chuckles awkwardly in response because you have never said that to him before. But you are drunk and he is your friend, so he figured you were just saying sappy shit. Like the kind of things you'd tell the girl holding your hair back while you're throwing up the alcohol you've ingested in a toilet. He gives your shoulder a playful nudge, muttering back, "love ya too, kid."

With your eyes still closed, you shake your head. "No Negan, I don't mean as a friend.." Your voice is low and soft. "I love, love you. Always have." That is the last thing you say before drifting off to sleep.

Your confession comes as a total shock to him. He is left completely speechless, wondering if you'd really meant what you said. However, he doesn't want to wake you again to find out. There are so many questions going through his mind when your aunt comes back. Pulling him away from you and halting his thoughts.

"There now," Rena places a thicker covering on top of you. Negan stands there, staring at you while she tucks you in. "She should be alright down here for the night. Thank you so much for bringing her in."

Her gratitude snaps him out of his haze. "Not a problem, you're welcome."

Your words are all Negan thinks about on his walk home. You love him? Did you really mean that? It's possible that you were just spewing nonsense since you were intoxicated. But what if it was the truth and it had managed to slip out because you were drunk? He believes in that old saying, "a drunk mind speaks a sober heart." So if what you'd said is true, then how long have you had these feelings for him? Must have been a long time, you did say you always have.

Negan thinks back, to a few instances where he had caught you looking at him a little too long. The times you've blushed because of something he said. Moments where you wanted to be near him. That twinkle in your eyes every single time you looked at him. He had always thought he was crazy when even the tiniest of a suspicion that you were interested in him popped into his head. Maybe she's got a little crush. Nah, she doesn't.. She's looking at me like that again. Cut the shit, she's only being nice.. Those suspensions bugged him for a while. And each time they'd come up he would dismiss them.

The thing is, he has always been very fond of you, but he wouldn't think of you in that way. He couldn't. There was no way. You were his friend's daughter.

Knowing what he knows now, however, he doesn't think he could forget or brush that away.

**