#ugh i wish school was usually like this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

7-deadly-cats · 2 months ago

Text

killing me softly | 11

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, rafe being a little shit, reader being FLUSTERED, not as much overthinking as before (a round of applause for her pls), rafe being in an uncharacteristically good mood (possibility of him being on white powder stuff 😒)

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ after you headed home for your usual movie night with your dad, rafe was left behind with a strange sense of emptiness, making him think he's having coke withdrawals. before heading off to barry's, he found your apple pencil in the dining room and texted you annoyed, asking if you’d left it there on purpose. what followed was some light teasing between the two of you, casual and playful, but it only seemed to throw him off more. a mental image of you making out with some random guy at friday's party was the breaking point for him. irritated and on edge, he drove to barry’s.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 4.2k+

✿ A / N ✿ back to school with this one hihihhi and ong their dynamic? i physically have to hold myself back from making them kiss bc AHHHH. *cough* anyway, next part's gonna include some party preparations and part 13 is about the good shit MUAHAHAH. hope you guys enjoy this one, lmk what you think <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // T H U R S D A Y

“Shit, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N,” Cara said as she turned the corner in her dad’s big-ass Jeep. “Fuck, I’m just—ugh, goddamn it, shit—”

“C.”

“My brain, seriously. Like, you think you have a lot going on up there?” She let out a dry laugh. “Fuck, I completely forgot.”

“Cara.”

But she just shook her head, her hands gripping the wheel with a focus that was halfway concentrated, halfway lost in her own head. “Ugh, no, it's my fault. You know what? I’ll just tell my mom it’s an emergency—like, dead grandma or something, I don’t know, she’ll understand. Then—”

“Holy shit, Cara, will you shut up for one second?” you cut in loudly—not out of anger, just trying to cut through the noise.

Cara snapped her mouth shut and glanced at you before shifting her focus back to the road.

“It’s okay. Really.” You smiled, amused. “Please don’t make up any dead grandmas or whatever. I don’t want you lying to your mom, and I definitely don't want you skipping out on her for this.”

“PAH,” Cara let out a sharp laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? Skipping out over this? Girl, I mean, HELLO?” She shot you a disbelieving look. “This is Kelce’s party. You think I’m letting my shy little gremlin go alone? Have you lost your mind?”

You smiled again, a little touched. “Yeah, and it’s your mom’s 50th birthday. I am not letting you miss that.”

Cara raised her eyebrows and waved a hand like it was no big deal (you kinda wished she’d keep both hands on the wheel). “Oh, fuck that. She has a birthday every year. But getting a personal invite from Rafe fucking Cameron? That’s once in a lifetime.”

She kind of had a point. It was a one-in-a-million chance. And even though Rafe’s reasons for inviting you were…questionable at best, an invite was still an invite. Especially from him.

You shook your head. “Cara, seriously. I don’t want you to skip it. I know how important it is to her—and I get it, I really do.” You fiddled with the strap of your bag in your lap. “I’ll just thank him and say I changed my mind or whatever.”

There was no point in going alone. Cara was your comfort person—she’d pull you into conversations, disappear with you when things got too overwhelming, and somehow always managed to make parties fun for the both of you.

At the red light ahead, Cara practically slammed the brakes. She turned to you, expression fierce and determined. “Absolutely not. You are going to that party, and you’re going to have the best damn night of your life. With or without me. Don’t look at me like that—I’m dead serious.”

You just frowned. “I don’t even belong at a party like that. It’s gonna be full of Ruthies and Kelces.”

And every single one of them would probably lowkey laugh at you behind your back—how awkward you were, how out of place you acted. God, just thinking about it made your skin crawl.

“But there’s only one Y/N,” Cara said, surprisingly serious for once despite how cheesy she sounded. Her blue eyes locked on yours, intense in a way that almost reminded you of Rafe. “Just for your information, in case your brain hasn’t caught up yet: as far as I know—and I make it my job to know every piece of gossip out there—Rafe has never, not once, personally invited a girl to a party. Not. Once. Okay?”

She shook her head again like she couldn’t make sense of your brain (welcome to the club). “He’s made time for you every single day this week. AND WE ARE JUST FOUR DAYS IN. Two of those times were in his free time, HELLO?! That’s… holy shit, if I were you—I mean—it’s so obvious he’s into you. Why won’t you let yourself believe it?”

I want to, you thought. Because honestly, Rafe had given you signs. Cara’s argument made sense, too. But…

There it was. That small, quiet but oh-so-loud but.

See, Rafe was just that kind of person. He was open, experimental, the type to try a bunch of things and toss half of them away when he got bored. He liked to have fun.

So, sure, it made sense that he’d flirt with some random girl to make a boring school project less boring. Maybe it was just about keeping himself entertained.

And then there was that other side of him. The emotionally walled-off side that you’d only seen in rare, fleeting moments—but when it showed, it showed.

He clearly struggled with expressing his thoughts properly, and when he did speak up, it usually came out sounding more like “You’re pissing me off” than anything remotely soft.

He either charged into conflict head-on or acted like he was above it—especially when the conflict was about him. He was the type who hated losing, hated backing down. That had been very obvious over the last few days.

And something deep inside you believed that if he was trying to find a middle ground, if he was even attempting to fix something… it meant that the other person—whoever they were—somehow mattered.

Not that you dared to define what that meant.

Did that make any sense?

“Yeah… maybe,” you finally said, just as the light turned green and the Jeep started moving again. “But, and I mean this seriously—sometimes you have to be realistic.” You glanced at her with a small, amused smile. “And I really don’t want him to see just how insanely awkward I can be in an actual, real-life situation. If all my social skills go out the window? That’s it. Game over. He’s gonna be running for the hills.”

Cara pulled into the Kildare Academy parking lot and raised her brows at you like girl, seriously? “You know what? Maybe he’s right—fuck it all.”

You blinked at her, confused.

She pulled into a random empty spot and stopped the Jeep with a jolt. Then she turned to you with that same determined fire in her eyes. “You’re going tomorrow. Not for him—God, never for a guy, ew. No. You’re going for you. This is a Kelce party, sweetie. It’s gonna be the worst and best night of your life. Project X level chaos whatever. And if I can’t be there with you, I swear I’ll still make sure you feel comfortable. I don’t know how yet—but I promise I'll make it work.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Speaking of feeling comfortable.

Right now, you felt… weird. Crappy. No—just tense.

You were currently sitting in the second-to-last row of the art room. iPad, notes, and pencil case spread out in front of you, and while all the other pairs of the two-week project were settling in with their partners per Mr. Smith’s instructions, you were left on your own.

No sign of Rafe.

And aside from the fact that you felt ridiculously awkward and just plain dumb being the only one without their partner, it also stung that he hadn’t even bothered texting you. Like, a quick message would’ve done it. Just a simple “not coming today” or whatever.

But no. The real kicker was that you'd tried to set up another meeting with him last night before leaving his place—having totally forgotten that you'd have a chance to work together again today during class anyway. Which probably made you look like you desperately wanted to hang out with him outside of school again.

Ughh. You quickly shook that thought off.

He doesn’t think that. At least, that’s what you tried telling yourself.

That was your new strategy: when your thoughts started spiraling, you’d throw in a positive line to shut it down… even if you didn’t fully believe it.

...

Okay, it had been ten minutes now, and you could feel Mr. Smith’s eyes on you (and probably those wannabe art girlies too, whispering god-knows-what about you—help).

You were already leaning down to grab your phone and shoot Rafe a friendly little hey u coming today? text, when the door opened—and there he was.

Mr. Cameron himself.

AND HOLY FUCKING SHIT OMGMGMGM.

Okay, guys with caps? Hot. Guys with caps on backward? Whew. And RAFE CAMERON with a backward cap? WOWOWOWOWOWOWOWW.

Jesus Christ. You didn’t even register what half-assed excuse he gave Mr. Smith for being late—some charming little lie, judging by his smile—because, like, WOW.

There was just something about him today that made your nerves buzz in a good way.

With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he turned away from Mr. Smith, eyes scanning the room for a second until those striking blue eyes landed on you—AHHHHH—and you immediately felt caught.

You didn’t know if you should look away or smile or maybe give him a small wave, and somehow you did all three, which—oh god—embarrassing. Cringe. End me.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Rafe stopped at your workbench, that crooked little grin on his face as he let his backpack fall onto the table with a soft thunk.

God, he always looked good, but today—with the cap and the black polo and that stupid cocky aura of his? Fine shyt.

"Your damn Apple Pencil," he said, placing the stylus in front of you, his tone lacking any real bite. "Which you accidentally forgot."

Right. The pencil you’d left at his place yesterday. Probably rolled off the table or slipped out of your bag during all the chaos while working on your project. An accident.

Not like he had suggested yesterday.

Ugh, that whole thing had been so awkward, trying to explain yourself and—nope. We are not going there again. It's okay, I'm in the right.

With warm cheeks nonetheless, you raised your brows and slid the stylus back into your iPad case. “Thanks. I believe we already went over this yesterday.”

Rafe let out a small amused breath. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not some creep who leaves their stuff at my place so I’ll chase after them. I got that.”

Seriously? The fact that he brought it up again made you think he actually believed that — and that was more than just uncomfortable.

"Yeah, more like chasing me down with dumb jokes and absurd accusations." Two could play that game.

Rafe’s lips curled into a small smirk as he reached into his backpack. “Shit, use that attitude on Ruthie sometime. I’d give everything to get that look from her.”

Not everything, just your undying love and attention — the stuff I’ve been silently reserving for you since fifth grade, hahahahahhahahah #mentallyill.

But all you said (still confused why he was standing there rifling through his bag like you were about to go on a trip or something) was, “A bit more motivation for this project would be enough for me.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows at you and just now you noticed how dilated his pupils appeared.

You found yourself hoping he was just happy to see you (stay delusional) and not because of some sketchy substance he'd snorted before school (bfr the second option was more likely).

His body language shifted into that ready-to-argue stance again, but you just looked at him — half sheepish, half deadpan.

“A joke,” you clarified.

The tension in his jaw eased, and he just shook his head with that you-piss-me-off-but-it-lowkey-amuses-me look. With a dull thud, he dropped a stack of random magazines onto the table, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Say I’m not motivated one more time.”

FUCK.

You had totally forgotten — holy shit.

Yesterday, while finalizing your concept for the “Greek gods reinterpretation” project, you’d agreed on doing a collage, both of you deciding to bring in magazines for the next time.

And because you absolutely blanked on the fact that “next time” meant today’s class, you’d brought exactly nothing.

And now Rafe had actually remembered?

Honestly, you were genuinely surprised. The fact that he’d put in such effort meant… certainly something. Whether it was because he didn’t wanna fail art, or because he took deals seriously, or just wanted to have bragging rights over pulling more weight than you — whatever it was, it made your chest feel weirdly warm.

You furrowed your brows in genuine guilt and looked up at him. “Shit, I’m sorry, I completely blanked — I thought, like, I don’t know, I just—”

His head shake cut you off. “Shit, just say you fucked up and leave it at that. No over-explaining bullshit.”

His tone was slightly irritated, and it kind of gave you flashbacks to yesterday's dispute, but there was a softness in his voice. The kind that made you think he actually meant well — in his weird Rafe way.

“Okay, yeah… I fucked up,” you said finally. And he was right: not over-justifying it actually felt… good.

Rafe looked at you for a second, then tapped his finger to his temple. “See? That’s how easy it is to not piss people off.”

With that, he dropped into the seat beside you, finally taking his backpack off the table.

Aaaand just like that, he ruined the moment with another one of his dumbass comments.

It’s not me, he’s just bad at communication.

Ugh. Thinking positively was so much harder than assuming the worst.

You let his remark slide and grabbed the top magazine—Teen Vogue. Underneath it, you spotted NYLON and National Geographic and more of these kinds. Not exactly the kind of magazines someone like Rafe Cameron would buy or read voluntarily.

Funny enough, there was someone in his household they totally did suit.

You frowned and met his gaze — only for him to beat you to it with a boyish grin. “Shit, don’t look at me like that. I asked Wheezie, okay?”

“Asking and getting permission are two different things,” you replied, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe scoffed, amused. “You know how fucking exhausting you are?”

"Do you?"

There was a fifty-fifty chance he’d either be offended or amused—depending on what kind of mood his inner compass landed on.

Luckily for you, it was the latter.

And the way he let out a cheeky chuckle and leaned back, arms crossed, made the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely feral—bringing a soft smile to your lips.

"These are old issues," Rafe finally said with a nod toward the magazines. "She said I could have them." Then his eyes met yours. "Does that calm the voices in your head?"

The honesty in his tone—and the fact he’d actually taken your ramblings from yesterday to heart (not to mention the fact he had once again called you crazy)—made your cheeks burn with heat.

You smiled, awkwardly looking away, pretending to study the Teen Vogue pages. "A little, yeah."

Rafe just muttered a quiet "Jesus Christ," and the two of you finally turned to the actual topic at hand: your project.

You skimmed over the notes and sketches from yesterday one more time, then decided—well, actually, Rafe just started—ripping out pages from the magazines that looked interesting or fitting for your collage.

The idea was this: The final product would be two big A2 posters, each representing a Greek god reimagined in modern times. You know, like a contemporary interpretation. And because Rafe had the drawing skills of a toddler and absolutely zero patience for anything remotely sculptural (let’s be real, he’d probably have a full-on meltdown and throw the clay or whatever at the wall), you'd decided to go with collages.

Your solution: tear out interesting pages from modern magazines, scan them, reprint them in large format, then rip out the elements you needed and glue them onto the posters.

Simple, but creative.

Plus, you knew Mr. Smith was a total sucker for any kind of collage. Would’ve been a waste not to use that to your advantage (and when he passed by your table and you told him the idea, his eyes lit up—and so did Rafe’s, because it meant he was likely to get a decent grade for once).

So: teacher happy, Rafe happy. Win-win.

"Your friend as excited for tomorrow as you are?" Rafe tore a page out of National Geographic as he snapped you out of your thoughts.

... Oh. Right. That.

Truth was, you weren’t really in the mood—or rather, brave enough—to show up at Kelce’s without Cara. Holy shit, just the thought of arriving alone, walking in by yourself, knowing no one there that well... Fuck AHHHH, who even goes to huge parties like that alone???

Your eyes stayed glued to the Teen Vogue pages, a slight furrow forming on your brow. "She won't come. Her mom’s turning fifty."

And yeah, fuck, you couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of your voice. Of course, her mom came first, it wasn’t just some random birthday, and Cara’s mom was super family-oriented anyway. You weren’t mad at her, obviously not. You didn’t want her to ditch her mom for some random Kelce party.

But still... you really would’ve liked to have her there. As your anchor and your friend.

With an amused "Shiiiiiit," Rafe leaned back in his chair—ugh, that smug-ass smile on his face. "Guess you’re all on your own then."

Asshole.

"I don’t need a babysitter." You looked away and kept working.

But now that he’d actually said it, the thought hit you like a truck and settled like a nasty weight in your chest. Because he was right. Without Cara, there was no one you could really stick with that night.

Admitting that to Rafe? No way in hell. That would officially be the lowest of all confessions you’d made to him recently. Then he’d really think you were some socially inept loser.

Maybe Cara's dead grandma excuse wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

"I heard Ruthie’s pre-gaming with her girls at her place," Rafe said, turning back to the magazine. "I’m sure she’d love for you to join them."

"Very funny," you replied dryly.

Rafe let out an amused breath as he ripped a page from the magazine and held it up in front of your face. "You."

A front-facing portrait of an ostrich, and from this angle, it looked extremely ridiculous and very grumpy.

Is he seriously showing me a reaction pic in real life?

You frowned. And this from the guy who called you mentally ill for using silly little pictures in your convo yesterday...

However, you couldn’t stop the faint smile that crept onto your lips when you saw how smug he looked—like a little boy proudly showing off a cool rock he found.

"So, you calling me a weird bird now?" you asked, trying your best to sound dead serious.

Rafe shrugged, putting the page aside. "Weird, yeah. But not chatty enough to be a bird."

"Right. According to you I'm more like a rock," you shot back, thinking of your conversation yesterday when he’d compared you to a mute rock. "Also, you do know ostriches aren’t songbirds, right? Far as I know, they just hiss or something—if they even make noise at all."

"Sounds like a perfect match for you then," Rafe said, and because apparently he was feeling extra cheeky today, he added, “Could be your ideal date for tomorrow night.”

Ha. Ha. Why the fuck was he in such a good mood today?

Oh, right, he probably had a little helper in his system.

You shrugged and ripped a page out of NYLON. "Still a better date than any guy in this school."

Silence.

Then: "Me included?"

And the way this went over his lips, so smooth and teasing...

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

RED ALERT. WARNING. BRAIN SWITCHING TO EMERGENCY MODE.

OMG. THIS.

THIS COUNTS AS A REAL FLIRT, RIGHT??? RIGHT??? HOLY SHIT.

Your cheeks flared up so hard, you had no idea how to react. Eyes still locked on the page in front of you, you let out a nervous little chuckle and furrowed your brows as if he’d just made a dumb joke, but you could feel it—he was watching you.

And just when it was already getting too much, Rafe decided to double down: "You even into guys?"

Completely caught off guard by the question, you met his gaze, and he responded with an innocent smile, shrugging. "Shit, I'm just asking. Gotta know what type of target group you and me are looking for tomorrow."

THIS GUY HAD NEVER HEARD OF SUBTLETY IN HIS LIFE.

You raised your eyebrows dryly. "'You and me'...?"

Did he seriously want to play wingman for you? Which, in turn, made you question whether he’d just project-partner-zoned you or what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

A huge cocky grin spread across his lips. "Is that a question or an invitation?"

THIS MOTHERFUCKER. BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

With your cheeks burning criminally hot, you quickly averted your gaze, completely flustered and using every ounce of strength in your body just to get a single response out.

"I think I’m staying home tomorrow."

And for the first time in this goddamn week, the universe showed you mercy—because before Rafe could say anything else that would’ve completely reduced you to a high-grade flustered mess, Mr. Smith took over the class again for the last twenty minutes.

What he talked about? You had zero idea.

Your mind was entirely stuck on what had just happened—because Rafe fucking Cameron had actually flirted with you.

Like, for real.

This time you were 99% sure. Fuck, okay, make it 100%.

Oh goood, your stupid new "positive thinking transformation system" was feeding you fucking delusions.

But be. For. Fucking. Real. That wasn’t just his usual I’m-gonna-annoy-you-because-it’s-fun tone. That—DID HE ACTUALLY FIND YOU ATTRACTIVE??? INTERESTING??? IN ANY WAY???

And the fact, he had to be in a disgustingly good mood today (surely because of you and not some sketchy substances, right, haha?), looking YUMMY AS HELL, and yeah, obviously you wanted it to be real.

And screw it—holding on to delusions like that was... kind of exciting.

Holy fucking shit, you were seriously turning into a copy of Cara.

And after that sensational art class, Rafe—to your luck—didn’t circle back to his whatever-the-hell-that-was-supposed-to-mean-comment.

THANK YOU, UNIVERSE.

Since you both were headed in different directions, you said a quick "See you tomorrow" to each other, which, of course, you managed to make unbearably awkward.

At least that gave you a moment to breathe again but before you could spiral into a huge overthinking session about WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED, the next horror hit in physics class:

WHAT. WHERE. HOW. WHAT???

Why the hell was Topper texting you? And more importantly—who the hell had told him you'd need a ride?

Because you definitely didn't. Your place was just a short ten-minute walk to Kelce's.

You seriously doubted it had been Rafe. Like he cared how you got to Kelce’s party. And no way he’d have one of his buddies play taxi.

So that left one option—and you vaguely remembered that this option, just a few hours ago, had mentioned she’d try to make the party more tolerable for you.

OKOKOKOKOK—this was just Topper Thornton. Not big mouth Kelce Statter. Definitely not big crush Rafe Cameron. So, no reason for you to panic about saying the wrong thing to him.

You weren’t trying to win him over.

HAHAHAHA well... in a way, you were. If Topper thought you were cool... that could maybe earn you some points with Rafe? Since they were like besties or whatever.

God, falling into delusions was way too easy.

Screw it. Just be nice, and the rest will fall into place... right?

Dude.

That. Jesus Christ, that had been one of the most uncomfortable conversations of your life.

How fake did you wanna sound? Yes.

Fuck, oh my God, Topper was actually really nice, no question. Making sure you'd get home safe and even offering to take you to Kelce’s—even though you were pretty sure that was still a detour for him though he claimed otherwise (yeah, he was obviously doing it to impress Cara, but still).

That was genuinely sweet and all, but GOD, why did he text like... so dry and robotically polite and also just??? Like what.

Okay, no, I’m just being a hater for no reason, you told yourself, immediately feeling bad about it.

If anything, you had been the one acting super stiff. UGH, and the way you'd tried to explain that dumb joke so he wouldn’t think you were being rude???

And then he'd actually responded really nicely.

Rafe was right: overexplaining just made everything worse.

HELP. Speaking of Rafe—DEAR GOD, HOPEFULLY TOPPER DOESN’T SHOW HIM THAT CHAT. Your painfully polite awkwardness and all—fuck, you could already hear Rafe clowning on you tomorrow and—

No. Topper’s nice. He’s not gonna use this as ammo to make fun of me.

...

Fucking hell, you really needed to work on this whole “positive thinking” thing.

Because tomorrow, at the party, you'd really need it. Being surrounded by drunk, horny, and fake-ass schoolmates was definitely not the ideal time to spiral—that would actually ruin your night and brain.

Is it still possible to get a lobotomy last minute? Asking for a friend.

Ugh. Okay.

One thing at a time.

And hey, at least one major hurdle was already taken care of: not having to show up to the party alone and awkwardly trying to insert yourself into a conversation with people you barely knew like a fucking weirdo.

Now the only question was whether Topper was actually the right person to latch onto for the night—and whether he was truly as kind as Cara seemed to think he was...

Or if you'd actually go mute like a rock, being all to yourself in a crowd of Kelces and Ruthies. And by then, Rafe would lose whatever apparent interest he’d seemingly shown in you for good.

For him, it wouldn’t change a thing. He’d have to tolerate you for one more week until the project was done, then he could drop you. But for you, this would mean the biggest opportunity of your life slipping right through your fingers.

Meaning, maybe, just maybe, it was time for you to leave your comfort bubble and actually make a tiny, pathetic little move on Rafe to make him realize that you could be a potential option for ... whatsoever (oh my god, am i actually going insane for this guy?).

And even if the thought made your stomach twist, your skin crawl, and your nerves go absolutely buzzing, honestly, what better opportunity for an introvert to come out of their shell than a couple of drinks to open up and a party full of people too drunk to notice how awkward you were?

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA, easy enough… right?

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M If you're only interested in this series, it's enough to drop a comment, no need to fill out the form

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @lunaleah @akobx @cokewithcameron @b00klvrs @rafesdrew @mattyskies @yktayy9669 @beabafreakbee @c1gsafterwhat @drewstarkeyswife-7 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @wintercrows @miaaaoa @setmefreemyg @pogueprincesa @chimchimjiminie16 @drewstarkeysrightarm @wtfdudesblog @wolfstarsimpxx @emmiesummers @brycesfav @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @louvrgirl @chaoticromantic @drewstarkeysrealwife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @psychicnatural @mysticbby2009 @oreocheesecake-12 @miniiminie

225 notes · View notes

robin-evry · 2 months ago

Note

What about twst Yuu is like The Herta from hsr?

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🪄🪞🔮

Esteemed Genius Society #83, human, female, young, beautiful, attractive. It's said that she lives in the far edge of the Cosmos, almost never leaving. Sounds like her appearance this time... must be for some issue that requires a personal touch, right?

Credits towards the artist

Is highly interested in twst, imagine herta!yuu studying in their lab and suddenly a black carriage appears in their vision and teleports them towards another universe.

How amusing, when they walk out of the coffin and realize the area they're in isn't the same universe they immediately burst out laughing finding this situation amusing, which means there are other universes proving herald hunch theory over the imaginary tree is correct meaning there are other worlds outside of their universe. A way to expend their knowledge.

another universe where there's no nous meaning they have grasp over knowledge that nous doesn't have even excess due to being in another universe, feeling them with excitement.

Herta!yuu has no interest in going back home, they have more knowledge to discover in this world and plus if they want to they can go home at anytime.

When the mirror declared them as magicless, herta!yuu would be a little offended but still understand they are in another universe with a different set of rules and structure.

And Crowley brought them towards ramshackle, herta!yuu give Crowley the most disgusted look ever towards him that even manages to scar him mentally, HOW DARE HE PUT A GENIUS LIKE THEM INTO SOMEWHERE SO INHATEBLE.

Overnight the ramshackle was turn into a castle perfect for a genius like them as well instead of resting, herta!yuu immediately went straight into the Library studying the world and its magic. They manage to understand and excel in the magical system as well as understanding highly complicated magical structures to the point manage to reverse engineering spells.

They by far manage to learn the entire NRC education just within overnights even the ones that most developed mages in the world lack to understand, so during at class they realize, they already learn about this and so they don't need to learn about this again. So herta!yuu after one class literally skip school for the entire day to focus on much more complicated topics.

They visited Sam shop and asked whether or not he got some scraps laying around that he wishes to get rid off and good thing he has some willing to give away in return herta!yuu gave him a manuscript that could sell over a million thaumarks.

Similar towards back in their universe their manuscript would carry millions towards billions worth due to it carrying highly advance research that no one has ever managed to enter it or solve it. It's wanted by many kingdoms and students, Crowley would try to negotiate with them to give him some of their manuscript but was usually met with rejection and ruggie would try to steal one but since herta!yuu rarely go to school it's hard so he tried to get close with the first years so if they ever went to visit herta!yuu he would manage to snatch one. As well as having a large collection of ancient magical artifacts they use for studies and if they find them boring will put them on displays or use them in the ridiculous ways, the first years was gagged when finding one of those artifacts being used as mixer some of this artifacts could also be auction as well destroy the school if use it wrong.

Alright back towards the scraps from Sam, herta!yuu use those leftovers to create their signature puppets to help them manage their studies as well attend school in their place. This could lead to moments where others are unsure if they're speaking to the real herta!yuu or just another puppet.

they rarely exert effort unless something truly interests them. They often sigh and say, "Ugh, do I really have to do this?" before eventually solving a problem in record time.

The ramshackle has an army of puppets that have different duties, some fill in herta!yuu attendance at school meanwhile helps them manage their research, some function as servants and babysitter for grim. Idia are by far curious about their puppets and want to study them but don't know how to approach herta!yuu.

Many students seen herta!yuu as an enigma, rarely appearing or never even once appear towards school only using puppets believing that they have better things to do. The smartest student in nrc that never ever once made an appearance physically because they have better things to do.

And even when herta!yuu make an appearance they will always be accompanied by puppets making sure their needs are taken care of, food, water and more and when kalim ask them why would they use puppets, herta!yuu response with saying that puppets are more efficient as well not carrying the burden of humans. As well finding themselves more capable than others.

The teachers have a love and hate relationship with them, trein and Vargas wish them to physically attend classes without using puppets as well as manage to find ways to outsmart them for crewel sees herta!yuu as a genius no doubt but finds them mostly focus on themselves than other other people

Herta!yuu prefer not to socialise with people they prefer over themselves rather than people who would socialize when the person isn't even the same level of intelligence as you causing them to have complications towards interaction.

They are also very blunt and if they find things uninterested they just usually drop it not giving effort, they lack understanding over emotions due to them always choosing logic, they have never once panicked. Not during Overblots, not when lost, not when Grim sets something on fire. "Screaming won’t solve the problem. Calculations will."

During kverblot Situations herta!yuu slowly claps and says, "Oh wow, another dramatic transformation. So original." before actually stepping in to help.

Vil absolutely hates to despise their behavior of laziness or valuing other things, as well as very bitter due to their natural beauty and when he asks why would they not thrive for betterment herta!yuu response with "I'm already perfect what else do I need to improve ".

#twisted wonderland #not canon #twst scenario #disney twst #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst yuu au #twst x reader #the herta #herta hsr #herta!yuu

264 notes · View notes

namelessgakusei · 2 months ago

Text

And you are...?

Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: Idiots who swapped their bodies, mentions of Invincible War, gender neutral use of "guy"

Notes: Gaku's been busy from uni in the past few days, but the itch to write kept me distracted lmao. Brought to you by Gaku who's having an indigestion and procrastinating an assignment.

Synopsis: You've always wanted to be a superhero.

"Some mornings, I wake up crying without knowing why. That sort of thing happens now and again."

You've always admired heroes.

Flying up in the sky, saving innocents, basking in the praise and glory, overall being a good person, it's something a powerless nobody like you can't have. Still, it's nice to dream. Who knows, maybe one day you'll wake up with powers, right?

In your half-delusional mind, you tried every wishing tactics to get you out of your mundane life: wishing on a wishing fountain, a well, 11:11, shooting stars, manifesting with the Shrek meme, praying for 100 days straight, folding a thousand paper cranes—

You can't help but yearn for a change, an excitement, adrenaline of high pressure situations where people depend on you.

—Obviously, it did not work, but you still kept your wish in the back of your mind. The daydreams about being the one seen on tv, a superhero that everyone can rely onto, kept you entertained during boring college classes. You're not fully romanticizing it, as you have an inkling about what heroes go through. If celebrities, who are powerless like you, get harassed 24/7, what's to say about the superpowered individuals?

A glance from the window of your classroom granted you the sight of Invincible. Damn, if you have flight, you won't have to commute all the way to your uni. In a way, he's like Seance Dog. The resemblance reminded you to buy the upcoming edition tomorrow.

...Ugh, will this day get any worse? First, the train back home was too cramped that you're forced to go on your tiptoes, barely balancing yourself whenever it comes to a stop. Then, you missed the bus after running out of the station. You nearly missed the last copy of Seance Dog if not for that one guy who pitied your despaired expression. Thanks, cute guy.

But, your bad luck hadn't stopped when you nearly got caught in the crossfire between a group of armed robbers and some superheroes. Seriously, why rob a rural bank?! You made a run for it, clutching the latest edition of Seance Dog like a lifeline as you rushed out of the fight.

"I HATE THIS LIFE!" You screamed as you stopped about a good distance away from the chaos. "I hate how mundane everything is! How weak I am! Please! Let me be born as a superhero in my next life!" You cried to the air as you heaved for breath, uncaring if anyone looked at you strangely. It was cathartic for a moment, until thunder boomed and you got soaked on your way back home.

At least you managed to get the comic safe and dry.

You took a short shower and changed to comfortable clothes before plopping to bed, too tired to even read Seance Dog. With how bad your day is, you don't want to risk doing anything more today. You just want to rest.

Yes... You'll reward yourself tomorrow by reading the comic first thing in the morning.

An alarm rang obnoxiously, with a tune of distant show theme. Mark woke up with a groan, body aching for some reason. Did he slept wrong? It's been so long since he woke up with body pains that he instinctively thought that he was attacked. No, he really slept in a wrong angle— has his bed always been this soft? There's more pillows that usual—

Wait. This is not his room.

Did he got kidnapped? No, this is too sloppy. Where is he? How did he got here? This looks like someone's bedroom...? Upon sitting up, he got a better look at his surroundings. There's a cluttered desk full of papers and notes, with a school bag by the floor. The window's nearby! Maybe he can slip out and go home—

Mark fell unceremoniously on the floor. ??? What? He... can't fly? Wait, what?! His arms look different! His clothes are too...! This isn't what he slept on yesterday! He wasn't drunk and clearly remembers retreating to his room after another day of helping out with the city clean up. Scrambling to his feet, towards the full body mirror by the wall, Mark's eyes widened at he saw.

Who is this?!??!

Who—

"Morning!" You waved at your friends just after you opened the door, with them greeting back. Ah, it was a shame that your alarm didn't ring this morning, you didn't got to have a grace period to read the comic you bought! Surprisingly, the plastic was removed and it was placed on your shelf? Did you tossed and turned on your sleep so much that you started sleepwalking? You don't remember cleaning up your desk though...

Huh? Today's Wednesday? But yesterday was just Monday, right?? Why can't you remember anything that happened yesterday?? Oh no, did they gave out homework? Did you do it? You still have time to cram, you can bullshit it out—

Oh, you did. But... this isn't your handwriting...? You write neater than this, the equations are right but there are too many erasures, and the order of writing is different from how you usually do it... You don't even remember this lesson! There are earlier notes, hastily scribbled unlike how you usually do it. The assignment for yesterday was also done and graded, though with the way it's barely recognizable made you raise your brow.

You were met with your peers chuckling about you returning to normal. What? Did something happened yesterday? They said that you were too awkward and jittery whenever someone talks to you. What??

It was when lunch came around that you noticed something in your phone. A note, pinned on top of your notes app.

"Who are you?"

Suddenly, yesterday's events seem to came back to you in a hazy recollection.

You woke up from falling to the ground, it's been a long time since you fell out of your bed, you were confident about your learned ability to sleep like a log after all. Did you really got stressed out from the events last night? Hopefully you didn't crease the Seance Dog comic, you didn't put it on your table and slept beside it after all.

Wait, why do you smell everything at once? Blanching at the mix of scents, you sit up and rubbed the back of your head. Your alarm might've not woken you up, but this sure did. Hopefully you weren't late, ugh, where's your phone...?

With groggy eyes, you squinted when you can't find it by blindly patting the bed, and well, you weren't sure why the sheets feel different too.

"Huh? Huh?!" You visibly flinched at the sound of your voice, instinctively clutching your throat. What? "What?" Huh? "Huh?!"

"Hello...?"

It wasn't just your voice. Your hands, your arms, your body, your skin! It's not yours! This isn't your room! Is this a dream? Wow, did your wish manifested to your dreams too. What the hell, sure.

Standing up, you slowly adjusted at the feeling of this foreign body, snooping around the room to find out more about your dream's direction. This room's bland. Like someone just sleep here and doesn't live. There are ghosts of posters and other memorabilia but it has faded over time. Yikes, this really is your dream if Seance Dog is the first poster you see lol.

"Mark?" A woman looking in her late thirties opened the door and peeked inside, looking confused as to why you're gawking to nothing. "Yes—?!"

"I heard a thump earlier, are you alright...?"

"Yes! Yeah, yeah, sorry 'bout that." Okay, so your name is Mark. Who's this diva? Gotta placate her to not rouse any suspicion. Smile, (Y/N). "I'm fine, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed." It's not entirely a lie, but apparently it's enough for her to retreat out, albeit with a worried and reluctant expression, before closing the door.

Mark? That's your name in this dream? You can name a number of Marks you know. Wait, what does this Mark look like?

Wow. Pretty privilege will surely work if you have this kind of face in real life. You look a bit like the lady from earlier, are you her son? Should you call her Mom, now? Mother? Surely there must be clues here and there.

You're a bit too excited and treated this more like a game than a dream. A mystery game where you have to navigate through clues to figure things out. You don't know the plot of this dream, but it's been so long that you had something so realistic that it had you giddy as you swung the door open, smiling from ear to ear.

You nearly screeched when you saw a purple boy floating, with an equally shocked expression as he stares at you.

You snapped back to reality when your friend called your name, completely forgetting about the events of yesterday.

Mark was panicking. Who is this?! Okay, don't panic. This is clearly a civilian. A civilian who's supposed to be going to school based on the readied uniform and how much the alarm has been blaring for the past few minutes. Okay. This could be a dream, or not. Regardless, he won't risk it, he'd done— he... had done so much damage in the past, he won't let this add up to the pile.

He considered calling Cecil for help, but quickly revoked the idea. Mark still has his aversions to the man, and he won't let an innocent person get involved into his mess. For now, he'll try to go through the day and try to contact his allies later.

An unopened Seance Dog volume caught his eye from the mirror. Is this guy also a fan? Upon closed inspection, this issue is months old! Are they a collector? If they're a student, then they should have an ID, right? Oh, there it is.

(L/N), (Y/N).

What a busy student they are. Why does their phone keep on ringing, damn it. Mark sighs and picks it up before tripping over his own feet to prepare for school. The alarm was for them to do their assignment and Mark just spent it having a crisis. What do they do first? Breakfast? Bath? He's so slow in this body, do you even exercise? Where even is your school?!

He would've laughed at the situation, saying that he's like an cliche anime school girl if he's not scurrying around your home like a headless chicken, trying desperately to keep your schedule on track. Your notes are neatly (shoved) inside your bag, as well as other essentials that he's gambling on being needed later. He'll do your assignment on the bus or something. Sorry (Y/N), it's been so long since he had to go to school without being interrupted by his duties.

Barely making it on time, and sweating buckets, Mark heaved for breath inside the bus, looking like a dying fawn as he practically begged for the driver to bring him to your school. He wonders about your social life, is it like his? Or are you on the popular side? God, are you a bully?! He hoped not.

What the, what's this homework?? He doesn't know this! He's sure he missed this part in class (if he even has this subject), due to how many times he has to ditch school to fight villains. Do you have notes? Did he even pick the right ones???

Mark spent the next 30 minutes cramming it, using your notes as a reference. It was messy, but he thinks it makes sense. He... actually had fun with those questions. It made him feel normal, even for a bit.

The final boss battle is how to act like you in your uni. He won't ditch class, the last thing he wants is to ruin your life, but he needs to find a way to get back to his own body. Is this... Upstate University? But, wasn't it burned down? So this is a dream, then?

Why would he dream of his university when he dropped out??

Was it guilt for what happened? For the lives lost during the war? Maybe. But this dream doesn't look like the usual nightmares. No, it's mundane. Like the everyday life of a student.

Your classes are different from his, and he had to adjust with how fast paced your lectures are. By the end of the day, his hand is numb from keeping up with note taking.

If this is a dream, why is he working so hard? Your friends kept looking at him weird, that's why. Subtle questions about your well-being are constantly asked of him almost every period; you are pretty well liked, (Y/N). Mark can't keep up with the social pressure, leading him to keep up the farce.

Mark plopped to your bed with a tired sigh. This dream is too stressful for him and he just wants to rest! Why does he have to relive being a college student in his sleep?? A crinkle of plastic made him open an eye as he noticed the brand new comic from earlier. At least he could read Seance Dog in peace.

The issue is nostalgic, he remembers looking at this particular one online due to the relinquishing the last physical copy over someone who looked too haggard upon arriving at the store. Mark smiles at the memory, though he can't remember their face anymore, their meeting left a funny feeling inside him.

While this dream is strange, it made Mark a bit happy to see everything like it was before. Back when things were still manageable despite being fucked up. Before people started dying left and right. Before being a hero is more of a burden than a mantle.

Mark sighs and closes his eyes, but not before reaching out for your phone and opening it with your fingerprint. He's thankful he figured it out before locking you out the device. Typing something in the notes app, Mark figured out that it won't hurt to leave something for you. Dream or not, he's a bit curious over this school mate he didn't knew, who shared the same interests as him and was too busy for their own good.

This time, he woke up in his bedroom. So, it was a dream after all. Not that it matters, the memories are slowly slipping out of him. Mark was about to get up when his fingers bumped with his phone, an unsent message to an unknown number flashing in the screen.

"Holy shit, I'm Invincible."

#mark grayson x reader #invincible #mark grayson #invincible x reader #gaku's works!#is it obvious that I'll make a follow up part about this

170 notes · View notes

literaila · 1 year ago

Text

sick

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get the 'flu' that you have, or why you can't take megumi to the bookstore

warnings: symptoms of the flu, satoru is a bastard, cute kids

last part | next part

year two.

you: can you take megumi to the bookstore? i can't make it

"megumi wants me to ask you what you mean by 'i can't make it.'"

your phone rings as soon as the message is sent, making you groan and roll over in bed. your palms are sweaty, and your body feels a bit like you got eaten alive.

you probably shouldn't have answered, but honestly, how can you be expected to make smart decisions in this state?

you sigh into the phone. "it means that i can't make it, satoru."

usually, his voice would make you smile but right now it just makes you want to die. and sleep for a couple... billion years, at least.

"megumi wants me to ask what you mean by that?" satoru says again like you can't tell he's grinning.

"just let me talk to him," you sigh, turning over on your side, which does nothing to ease the ache in your abdomen, by the way. you feel briefly nauseous like you might need the bowl you dragged under the covers, but it eases. you swallow bile.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks, still teasing, and doesn't put megumi on the phone because he has never, not once in his life done anything without an argument.

really, why do you put up with him?

"nothing."

"well you just forgot that both of the kids are in school right now, like they are every day, so..."

you close your eyes, pulling the covers up even higher. "oh. yeah."

"did you get hurt, or something?" satoru asks, no concern evident in his voice, "going on another mission?"

"no."

satoru is silent, waiting. and you really truly do hate him. anyone else would just do you this favor.

but not your best friend, no, he does nothing you ask.

"i'm sick," you tell him, after a whole minute of silence.

you can almost hear it as his brows furrow. "what?"

"i have the flu or something," you cough into the receiver, hoping that it hurts his ear.

"how?"

"ugh," you groan, trying to rub the ache out of your jaw. "not all of us are immune to getting sick, you freak. will you take megumi to the bookstore for me? please?"

"i don't think he wants to go with me."

"satoru," you whine.

"...and also i'm not allowed to enter the premises anymore."

you sniff, wishing that you had more tissues, "what? since when?"

"a couple weeks ago," he answers, nonchalantly. you can hear him moving around, probably wreaking havoc on the house you'll have to deep clean in a couple of days.

not to mention your room. seriously, getting sick is the worst.

"why?"

"nuh uh," he says to you, very seriously. "that's between me and the children. they swore me to secrecy, and you're the one that's always going on and on about trust and how easily it's broken..."

"you mean that you swore them to secrecy."

"i bribed them," satoru agrees as if it's not an insane thing to say about your seven and eight-year-olds.

"with what?!"

"tsumiki took the offer of picking whatever takeout she wanted, and i think megumi was just glad i couldn't bring him anymore, the brat."

you can hear his eyes roll, and the mention of the little boy's name reminds you of why you're having this discussion in the first place.

"satoru... i really can't take him and i promised we'd go today," you groan into your pillow, voice feeling very sore. you shouldn't be talking to this insane man right now, you should be asleep.

he pauses. "i can wear a disguise, i guess?"

you groan again, hopefully, louder. "no, you're right about him not wanting to go with you."

"rude."

"i guess i'll just..." you attempt to sit up for the third time, feeling a bit dizzy as you do so. "i'll take some medicine and see if i feel better by the time they get out of school."

you're already mentally checking your medicine cabinet, not even sure if you have anything to help this ease by later in the afternoon. just some pain relief would be nice, but if you're contagious...

"what? no."

"well, you can't take him," you answer, still annoyed.

"he doesn't need to go..."

you hope that satoru can feel your scowl. "i promised."

"he's a reasonable kid..." satoru says, clearly not remembering the brooding that happened the last time megumi had to re-read one of his books. "i think."

you're silent.

"look, i'll talk to him, okay?" he settles on, finally. "and i'll give him a couple hundred yen, it'll be fine.

your mouth opens, and you cough, before, "no, satoru--"

"get some rest," he exclaims, unpleasantly.

"have him call me when you pick them up, satoru--"

"don't die of the flu or anything."

and then he's gone, and now you've got a headache, too.

you think you might be dreaming when you open your front door.

the knocking had woken you up--you think--but with how long it took to walk from your room, into the hallway, and then the door, honestly, you might've fainted. or decided to take another nap against the wall.

because once you open it, it feels like you've done this before.

once again, three people are standing in front of you, two of them already arguing before you even take a step back to swing the door all the way open.

the light hurts your head as you squint at the three of them.

"it was my idea--" megumi is saying to satoru, grumpy, you know, from all day at school, and because he's talking to satoru.

"you're not taking all of the credit," satoru says back, "i bought everything."

"'cause you're rich."

"wow, so you're objectifying me?"

"yes," megumi answers immediately, even though you doubt that he even knows what objectifying means (actually, you're pretty certain satoru doesn't even know). you cough, and it feels like something has died inside of you.

the three of them turn towards you, tsumiki with a pleading look.

"it was my idea, okay?" megumi tells you before anyone else can say anything, and then he pulls tsumiki along with him as they move past you, through the door, into your apartment.

yes, it's clear that satoru has raised them.

"i said we should bring soup," tsumiki looks up at you, waiting for the praise she knows you'll give her.

"our idea," megumi amends, easily.

then they're out of your reach, going to sit on the very same couch they'd slept on a year ago, probably trying to escape satoru.

who you turn to, with a frown. his hair is so white it hurts to look at.

he points into your apartment, "those are devil spawn."

you cough. "don't call them that."

he raises a brow at you. probably at how soft your voice is, or the fact that you haven't hit him in the thirty seconds he's been standing there.

it's a new record.

"why are you here?" you rasp out, wiping some snot from your nose.

"no 'hello?'"

"hello, satoru," your voice is retched, "why are you here?"

"you look kinda rough, kid,"

you sniff, leaning against the doorjam. you could fall asleep here in an instant. "i'm sick, you jerk."

"so this is sickness..." satoru says, intrigued, pretending to inspect you closely like you're some lab experiment.

"i distinctly remember a cold that had you shaking on the floor of your dorm, begging shoko to heal you."

satoru points a finger at you. "that was an uncurable illness."

"and yet we're still stuck with you."

satoru just smirks, pretending to be an angel he is not.

you cough again and then sigh. it's cold with the door open. "are you just here to annoy me?"

"no," satoru shakes his head, giving you a ridiculous look, "well, i was telling megumi that you couldn't take him to the bookstore, cause of your disease or whatever," he ignores your weak protest, "and then i suggested that maybe we could see how you were feeling, bring you a little gift basket--"

"no, he didn't!" megumi calls.

satoru frowns. "devil. spawn."

you snort, somehow amused at all of them, finally moving aside so he can walk through the door.

satoru passes, suddenly brighter, but not before leaving an obnoxious kiss on your cheek--a resounding smack following. to which, you promptly wipe off.

he frowns, and you push him so you can close the door. and then you trail into the kitchen, sitting down immediately before you fall.

it's so embarrassing that just standing for too long has made you this lightheaded.

satoru sets a bag on your kitchen counter and begins to unpack it.

you try to see over his hands. "what did you bring me?"

"you guys are so unappreciative," satoru tells you, pouting, "you only want me for my goods."

"and the view," you answer, easily. "what'd you get?"

megumi and tsumiki comes over to you, both of them giving you a short (megumi) and tight (tsumiki) hug. you've trained them well.

"soup!" tsumiki tells you, grabbing the container from satoru's hands, despite his look. and then she walks over to your stove, looking in the cupboards for a pot to heat it in.

because she's used to taking care of herself. they both are.

"satoru," you nod to her, and he frowns, but reluctantly takes over, pushing tsumiki away from the stove. you're both familiar with this behavior from her.

most days when you make dinner, tsumiki is trying to sneak into the kitchen, refusing to let you take care of it.

she pouts a little now, but lets satoru handle the soup.

"gojo got you all of these," megumi tells you, bringing your eyes away from the other man, pushing a stack of pill bottles and medicine containers your way. "i don't think he knows what any of them are."

"hey! that's a great selection," satoru pours the soup into a pot and sets it on the stove, returning to the counter with the three of you.

"this is a muscle relaxant," you tell him, frowning as you look at the packages--most of which are not for the flu. this is why he's not allowed to go to the store without you.

"well, your muscles need to relax, don't they?" satoru asks, dryly. "wish we could find some of those for your brain..." he mutters, afterward, and you throw the packet right at his face.

"i found those little sour things you like," megumi continues, smirking just a moment at satoru. "they didn't have a big bag."

"thanks, megs."

"there's tissues, and chapstick if your lips get dry. and i picked out the cough drops because gojo wanted to get chocolate flavored or something--"

"strawberry!"

megumi rolls his eyes.

tsumiki steps to your side again. "and we got flowers, but those are still in the car."

"no, they're not," satoru suddenly has a bouquet of roses in his hands, almost covering his entire face. "they're right here."

"when did you do that?"

"when you guys were ridiculing my excellent taste," he pouts, white hair falling over his glasses.

you laugh.

"where's your vase?" he asks, going through every cupboard before finally listening to your answer. he settles on the other end of your kitchen, cutting and arranging the bouquet.

tsumiki taps you. "are you feeling bad?"

"just a little out of it, sweetie, don't worry."

"did we get everything you need?" megumi chimes in, giving you a brief moment of eye contact before looking away.

"yes. you guys did great, thank you both. you're very sweet."

satoru ahems loudly. "and what about me?"

"you could've done better."

the kids both laugh and you push them into the living room, telling them to go sit down for a bit--knowing that satoru dragged them from school to the store to here without a break--and that you'll find a snack for them.

and then you sigh, a bit nauseous from sitting up for so long.

"do you need to lay down?" satoru peers at you, setting the bouquet on your table. "you look green."

"thanks. how'd you learn to do that?" you gesture to the flowers which are arranged beautifully. honestly, you're surprised he didn't leave them on the counter for you to deal with.

"i am a gentleman."

"ha. no, seriously."

"...i may, or may not have looked up what to bring someone who has the flu--and the flowers were extra, but!" he pauses as you laugh at him, resting your head against the cool counter. "i only had to do that because i don't get affected by stupid things like the flu or whatever you have."

"of course," you whisper, closing your eyes.

and then there's a hand on your forehead. "you're really warm."

you press your head into his hand, which is also pleasantly cold. "yeah."

"did you sleep all day?"

you nod.

"really? that's so lazy."

you push him away, and he laughs, just loud enough for you to hear it. you open your eyes again when you hear him move away, watching him stir the soup on the stove.

"you probably shouldn't have brought them here," you tell him, gesturing to the living room. "i don't want to get them sick."

"they missed you," satoru shrugs. "you wouldn't want them to be sick alone."

"yeah, but..."

"i'm the worrier today," he interrupts, wrapping his hand around your wrist so he can pull you. "go lay down on the couch with them and i'll get your soup ready."

"you'll burn it, you mean?"

"as a punishment for all of the cruel things you say to me," and satoru smiles as he nudges the top of your head with his nose.

his eyes are almost stern (almost, but not quite) as he watches you lay down on the couch, your hands gestured in defeat, and nods when you're settled in.

when he walks away, you call, "bring us some water!"

there's no response, but you know he'll do it.

tsumiki just slightly nudges you with her hand and you smile, opening your arms for her to cuddle under.

megumi doesn't do the same, but you don't fail to notice when he scooches just a little bit closer to you both, his thigh touching yours.

your head still hurts and even the smell of the soup is making you a bit sick, but you'll deal with it as long as they're all here.

you're arguing with satoru about dinner, several days later, when tsumiki and megumi sneeze at exactly the same time.

it took a couple of days for you to recover, but now you're better than ever, happily fighting with satoru over the stupidest things and watching over both of the children for any defects that happened while you were out of sorts.

they're mostly okay.

but now the both of you look over to them, your eyes wide, satoru almost wincing.

and then you look back to him, already scowling.

"hey, it was just a sneeze," he tells you, quickly, already knowing what you're about to say.

"i told you--"

and then he sneezes, taking a step away from you.

you groan, giving up on dinner. it looks like the next few days are going to be spent coddling all of your children.

next part

944 notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 1 year ago

Text

Ok, I have two alternatives, pick which one you like the best.

Reader get picked to tutor Eddie even though they have always been at each other's throat, she thinking he's a drama queen, pissed that the popular people doesn't like him and he thinks she's a stuck up bitch without humor.

So they go back and forth but maybe one day when she's having a bad day and Eddie says something and she starts crying he gets all "what, how, why? What did I do, please don't cry!"

Or, that he catches her reading a romance novel and outwardly she has always just read classics - books that are 'high education'

Request by @somethingvicked 🫶💞 went with the first option 💞

Warnings; Little bit of angst, meanish Eddie, fluff. Accidental kiss.

💌🎀💌🎀

"You've got to be kidding me?" you gawk at Miss O'Donnell who has called you back at the end of class. She's asked you to tutor someone and at first you were all for it.

That's until you found out it was Eddie Munson, Munson who is currently sitting at the back of the class with his feet up on the desk in front of him, he gives you a sarcastic little wave and you turn back to Miss O'Donnell and hope she comes to her senses.

"He needs a tutor if he wants to graduate. You're the best student in the class. It will look wonderful on your college applications that you tutored Mr Munson" shit there was really no getting out of this.

Reluctantly you turn to Eddie who already doesn't like you. In his honest opinion you seemed prissy and stuck up. The two of you spent half your time at each other's throats, it had been like that for so long.

Equally you couldn't stand Eddie either. He was loud, a show off and you were sure he was jealous of the popular people he claimed to hate.

How you would manage to tutor him for weeks on end was anyone's guess. One thing's for sure, you were dreading this.

"Meet me after school tomorrow and we can get started okay?" You say to him already grumpy at having to spend extra time with him. Eddie swings his legs off the desk and smirks, then bows.

"As you wish princess" ugh, you storm out but not before hearing Eddie's laughter.

Asshole.

🎀💌🎀💌

The first week of tutoring Eddie is as horrible as you expected. He's antagonistic, makes no effort and needles at your patience until it's paper thin.

"How can you be expected to graduate if you don't make an effort?" You snap as Eddie strums on his guitar.

"That old bat has it in for me, even when I try my best she still doesn't care" Eddie hisses back and you feel the beginnings of a headache come on.

"You just need to apply yourself better, if you want to graduate then you need to ace this Munson" he glares at you.

"Don't you think I know that? It's easy for you though isn't it princess, since your little miss perfect" the insult flares up your annoyance and you and Eddie devolve into your usual arguments.

"Don't you think I have better things to do then tutor you Munson? So do us both a favour and start paying attention, so we can go our separate ways sooner".

He huffs and places down his guitar with gentle care, grabs his notebook and

"Did you draw these?" you ask curious as you trace your fingers over the images on his notebook. He nods and looks at you like he's expecting you to give him shit.

"They are really good Munson, you could think about applying to an art course after graduation" Eddie scoffs and takes his notebook back.

"Yeah like anyone's going to take me with my grades" his tone is all annoyance and it pisses you off.

"I was only trying to compliment you, why do you have to be so touchy all the time" you look away from him stubbornly, he is silent for a few seconds and when he speaks again his voice is soft.

"I'm sorry, I'm not used to a lot of compliments from people" this softens you as well and you turn to face him and give him a small smile.

"Well you're really good" there's a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks when you say this. He nods and settles back down beside you.

"You know uh, you're pretty good with the whole writing thing, uh shit, you know what I mean" pleased and a little flustered at his compliment you clear your throat and mutter thank you, then get started with the book you and Eddie are reading for class.

🎀💌🎀💌

Today has been the worst day. You overslept, forgot to hand your essay in to your biology teacher, the rain soaked you completely as soon as you left your home and you've been verging on a cold ever since.

So the thought of having to tutor Munson again does not fill you with joy, in all honesty all you want is your bed and to sleep. You couldn't get sick, you had too much to do.

Of course from the moment you meet up with Eddie he's difficult. All because it's Friday and he has a Hellfire meeting.

"I have to set everything up princess, I don't have time to waste here with you" furious you round on him.

"You think that I want to be here? No. I'd rather be at home so sit down and let's get on with this so I don't have to sit with your annoying ass any longer than I have to"

"Well at least I'm not a stuck up bitch with no sense of humour and a permanent stick up my ass"

Eddie's words cut to the bone and you stiffen in response. Don't cry, don't cry you chant to yourself, but you can't help as the tears roll down your cheeks, Eddie's big brown eyes widen in shock as you begin to cry.

Humiliated, you're just about to leave when he steps in front of you. "Wait, what did I do?" The two of you exchanged insults on a daily basis and you had never cried before, Eddie begins to panic as your sobs continue.

"Please don't cry" he says, he hates seeing you cry. Your little whimper stabs at his aching heart and on instinct he reaches over to you and takes your hand, the gesture surprises you both and it dries up your tears.

"I'm sorry, I don't like seeing you cry, please stop" you sniff and wipe the remainder of the tears away, Eddie's hand is still holding yours and it's making you feel things that you never expected.

Eddie gently strokes your hand with his thumb, marvels at the soft skin and how your hand fits perfectly in his own.

Uh, shit. This was new. You smile at him, suddenly seeming shy. His heart skips a beat. Jesus h Christ.

"I didn't mean it" he stumbles over his words and you sigh sadly, peer at him with an expression that tugs at his heart.

"Yes you did" he shakes his head fervently and assured you that he didn't.

"I just snapped back without thinking, I'm sorry" he pleads with you and you hear the sincerity in his voice and calm down a bit.

"I'm sorry too. Today has been so shit, I'm tired and I feel like crap. I just want to sleep" Eddie immediately grabs his notebook and pencil and sits down, he looks to you patiently.

"Let's do half an hour and I'll cram as much as I can in my brain and then I'm going to drive you home okay?" relived you nod but still feel worried.

"Miss O'Donnell won't be happy" you tell him and he shrugs as if he doesn't care one bit.

"Leave the old dragon to me okay princess?" touched at his sweetness you take his hand and squeeze it as a thank you. Surprisingly the half hour passes by cordially and Eddie is still sweet.

Before you know it the half hour has ended and Eddie is true to his word and drives you home. You don't feel much better and your stomach is fluttering like crazy being so close to Eddie.

What the hell was happening? Was this some side effect of the flu? Eddie's big brown eyes meet yours, "Thanks for driving me home Eddie"

He shrugs like it's no big deal and on impulse you reach over to kiss his cheek. The only thing is he moves so you miss completely and end up pressing your lips against his.

His eyes widen and you pull away embarrassed, your heart is racing and your lips are tingling from the kiss. You stammer out an apology but Eddie waves it off, you race out the door and into your house.

All the while Eddie is touching his lips, his own heart is racing a mile a minute and all he can think about is that he really wants to kiss you again.

💌🎀💌🎀

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #mean!eddie munson #enemies to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson

577 notes · View notes

silkenwinger · 5 months ago

Text

cherry

mdni. one sided enemies to lovers (?) konig x reader. 5k something. part two here

You wish he would just disappear. That some way or another, you could get him out of your hair. Sure, there’s always leaving your job, but that’s not really convenient, is it.

You wish he was outright antagonistic, mean or just an asshole. Someone who abuses his power over underlings. A self centered idiot who can only think with his dick, who gets other people in danger for his pride.

Yet he’s none of that, and you have to cope with it. Which you are unable to do.

“This fucking thing— ugh!” Snarls Roze, still trying to set up the new tent as shown in the diagram. It falls over with a soft thump and she kicks it again.

“These have to be the wrong instructions,” you tell her, turning around the leaflet. You’ve been at it for more than half an hour now, and they usually don’t take this long. Still, better the dryness of the desert to find out there’s been a manufacturing mishap than pouring rain. KorTac has deployed you here before, which is why you know you can’t just wing it and sleep outside. The night chill is unbearable.

“C’mon. Let me try,” says Horangi, holding out an arm. For all his male pride, he comes to the same conclusion as you and Roze. You’re collectively scratching your heads when a shadow falls over you.

“What is the issue?” König asks, hands on his hips and sun behind him, like some sort of Superman figure. Ugh.

“It’s not setting up.”

“Let me see.” He grabs the leaflet from Horangi’s hands, looks at it for fifteen long seconds, returns it to him and crouches down to pick at the tent. It’s odd, seeing such a big man working on something small. Comical, you’d say.

He sets it up in seven minutes (timed), but admits the instructions could be clearer and less misleading. He rises up and claps his hands on his thighs.

“I used to do a lot of camping, ah-ha,” he says, thumbing at his stupid hood.

“Well, thank you König. We would be sleeping outside without you,” says Roze.

“Yeah man, thanks,” Horangi adds.

You can feel his eyes on you. Those blue eyes, always in such weird expressions. Maybe you would read him more easily if he didn’t have the mask. You don’t care anyway. You muster a little smile so you don’t read as completely sociopathic to the whole group, and he seems happy enough. But you’re not satisfied with him being the hero of the night.

“Camping, uh? Wasn’t it hard, with your height and all?” It’s meant to be a jab to his clear struggles with his size. Something that only really shows outside of the battlefield, you have to admit.

“No, not really. Eh, my parents are tall as well, we would always buy big tents. With friends… a bit. I slept outside once.” His voice is shy revealing this. From previous conversations, you know he wasn’t the most sociable boy in his school. Neither were you but you didn’t end up wearing odd masks.

The normal reaction would be to commiserate him, coddle him for the harsh events of his youth. You’re incapable of that.

“Must have been a pretty clear cut decision from all the others.”

You can feel the side-eye from Roze and Horangi through your head.

“Ahah, yes it was… I was taking two whole spaces for myself…” he says, sounding a bit sad and lost in memories.

“That’s not going to happen now, this is pretty roomy,” interrupts Horangi, and your session of tormenting your team leader is abruptly brought to an end. Pity, but maybe it’s better to keep this a little more private.

“Dibs on the first watch!” Roze yells, and you groan. She always gets it before anyone else!

König, Horangi and you play rock scissor paper to decide the other turn. You lose first and you pout slightly: you hate second watch more than anything. Shaking it off, you start to head to the side, but you're stopped by an arm in front of you.

“We can switch. If you want,” says König, who got the third watch. You crook an eyebrow at him. Does he think you're unprofessional, that you can't even do your job? The fucking gall.

“No thanks. I don’t need handouts,” you turn your nose up. Horangi scoffs, which makes you turn to glare at him. König has no real reaction, just murmurs something between himself. This time you really leave.

Hour later, peaking your head out of the tent door, you shiver at the difference in temperature. You hate missions without safe houses…

“Ah, nice. Slept well?” Greets Roze when she sees you. You shake your head.

“More of a nap than a night’s rest,” you sigh as you turn to sit down next to her. You suppose she’s not really sleepy, but anyway, you enjoy her company.

“Hey,” she calls your name. You hum to show her you’re paying attention.

“You know I respect you. You’re a great fighter,” you preen at that, “but what is up with that?” Your face falls at that.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and König, c’mon. You’re bullying the guy! And I’m always in favor of mistreating men, but then he doesn’t fight back at all, and it’s just pathetic to watch. What even is the satisfaction in that?” She sounds genuinely baffled. Panic rises in you: you never actually thought you’d get cornered like this.

“He irks me, okay?” You try to justify yourself as you shift in your seat. You haven’t really interrogated much on why you feel this way. You figured it was just a normal reaction to König himself, and everyone was just better at hiding it.

“Irks you… yeah, he isn’t the smoothest guy or anything, but you’d think he was Satan the way you describe him. He really just fights, eats, sleeps and talks with you and Horangi.” She sits with that for a moment and just looks at you, really looks at you. “Maybe you’ve got something going on, I think he’s quite fond of you actually.”

“Fond of me… Roze, what the fuck are you going on about?” You exclaim, on edge. It’s far too late (or early?) to really express yourself in any way that makes sense. “He probably feels the same way I do about him, which is annoyance. He can’t be that thick not to realize I’m being antagonistic.”

“Hmm, if you say so.” She gets up and pats your shoulder, tiredness showing up in her limbs. “It’s not really my business. See you tomorrow,” she waves as she enters the tent, dismissively. It’s like she saw you being too defensive and thought you were a lost cause…

Your watch is uneventful and boring and cold and you can’t stop thinking about what Roze told you. Recounting your experiences with König, you think back to the first time you met. It stings to say it, but you’d felt intimidated, shaking the hand of a man almost feet taller than you, clad in an executioner hood. His hand was a bit cold and clammy, which was in contrast with his appearance. The way he shook your hand was unusual too. Men in the military are quick to establish dominance– the sadistic ones grip women’s hands so hard, it almost feels like they’re trying to strangle them. König’s handshake was delicate, and his eyes were oddly wide. Far from what imagination could conjure about his figure.

Starting from when you were put under his command, you’d seen König make an ass out of himself pretty often. Never on the battlefield– he was akin to a god on there, his strides decisive, his bullets accurate, and his violence lavish. For that alone you’d never send in a request to change teams: you know what you leave but you don’t know what you’re going to find. The issues with König lay in that creepy high pitched tone of voice he has sometimes while narrating stories, or the way he appears to have zero space awareness while moving around base. You witnessed him hitting his head or side on door frames far too many times for comfort. In some ways, it kinda killed the respect you could have for him as a leader. But then you’d watch him clear a room in a few bloody seconds, and you’d have to give it to him again. Unfortunately. But it’s now apparent that you can’t cling to any justification that will make sense to other people without you sounding completely out of your mind or like a bitch. Which you can be.

Checking your watch, it’s indeed time to go back to sleep. König hasn’t shown up by himself, the oaf, so you need to go wake him up. Ugh…

Crouching, you enter the tent. Horangi is still snoring away, thankfully not too loudly. You get on your knees to move more quietly and crawl your way to the horizontal column on the back. It’s hard to see well in the darkness, but König feels oddly still in his cot. You’d think he trashed around in his sleep like he does when awake.

Once you reach him, you touch his shoulder, murmuring his callsign not too loudly. No reaction. You do it again, this time a bit stronger, and he still doesn’t wake up beside grumbling some incomprehensible gibberish. Already irritated, you grab him by both shoulders and shake him alright. You realize you’ve made a mistake only when your arms are being coiled by something so tight you think your blood flow has stopped. Loud breathing can be heard in the closeness of the space– it is right in front of you.

“König,” you whisper, “it’s me. I’ve come to wake you up.” If there’s any fear in your voice you hope your disgust still dominates it.

“Scheiße– sorry,” he says, voice thick with sleep, and you think he blinks or starts to understand where you two are. You relax a bit in his hold, shifting on your folded legs, and he finally realizes he’s still holding you.

“I’m sorry, sorry. I was dreaming,” his hands brush the sides of your arms before releasing you, as if appeasing a dog he accidentally stepped on. You scowl. He finally starts to move and sits up, his torso an even darker mountain in the obscurity.

“Are you going to sleep here?” He asks, voice high pitched, you’d say almost nervous as you move closer and don’t retreat to the other side of the tent. Your scowl gets deeper.

“I’m already here and they’re all the same size,” you say, taking your place in the cot. It’s comfortably tepid, to your pleasure. “It’s warm, too. You can sleep on mine when you’re done.” Considering the affair over, you bring the cover over your body and settle down. It smells a bit like him.

König is still crouching next to you: other than his breath, you can tell he’s there by the noise of his nails scratching up and down on his pants. Still not hearing him move, you raise your head.

“Aren’t you going outside?” Your tone could be meaner and more acidic, but drowsiness softens you, too.

“Yes… I’m going…” He sounds uncharacteristically reluctant, like he wants to oppose but knows he can’t. What, is watch duty too common for your team leader? You tut and turn over, and finally you hear him put his gloves on and walk outside.

You wake up to the sound of people speaking some hours after. Sighing, you get up, stretching away the ache from basically sleeping on the ground. It takes you a second to understand you’re not in your own bed and you’re in König’s instead. Getting up, you grab your utilities from your bed and exit the tent. In the makeshift camp, you see Roze and Horangi chattering away with instant coffee cups, and König working on his rifle. Roze sends you a charged look, to which you reply with a confused expression.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. That your new callsign?” She pokes at you, laughing.

You groan and walk over the coffee pot.

“Why didn't you wake me up?”

She shrugs, turning over in her thermal jacket. “We don’t have to be there before oh nine hundred. You can sleep on company time,” she finishes her coffee, throws the cup away and enters the tent again to dress up. You bite your lower lip and pour some for yourself, casually glancing over your male teammates. Horangi is just hovering, no doubt done with his preparations since he’s been awake for longer. König is still cleaning his rifle, and he hasn’t spared you a glance. You decide to fix that.

“You want to clean it so hard you can look at yourself during fights?” Snickering, you come up behind him. König slightly jumps, his hands clutching the rifle hard in order for it not to fall.

“Ahah, it was a bit filthy from yesterday. But now it’s clean,” he puts it down gently and carefully, always careful around guns. You look at him from behind your coffee cup. As always, it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling with the mask in the way, but he’s being particularly evasive today. To the point he hasn’t even looked you in the eye yet. Still, he turns to face you.

“What’s up with you today?” You ask him. You’re used to seeing him a little less down. If he isn’t feeling well, it could turn massively bad for all involved.

“Nothing. I hope the mission goes well.” He sounds more sure now. You shrug. His body moves as he stands up, and as always it unsettles you. But you refuse to address whatever that means, so you reply nonchalantly, “It seems pretty straightforward.”

“Ja…” He shuffles over his feet. You lean a bit over, wondering if he has anything else to say. He doesn’t, but he finally looks you in the eye: you keep looking at each other until Horangi speaks out of the blue and says it’s time to move. You turn abruptly and go join Roze in the tent.

It could have been over in a second. The building you were meant to go in, or what remains of it, has been reduced to a pile of burning debris, explosives turning it outside down. And you would have been none the wiser as it’d turn your guts out, too.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, and Horangi next to you urges you to move along, to follow König. König, who was the one to actively tell you and Horangi to not split from his command. You’d cringed, but followed him anyway, unkeen to disobey, and Horangi always listens to König anyway. And now you were alive because of a decision König made. Again.

Another successful assignment from KorTac. Please feel free to contact us again for any inquiry.

Looking outside the helo, you observe the silent dunes you’ve just left.

This always happens, you reason. Someone has a hunch. Another got a call from his grandma telling him not to go. You dream of a different path from the one that you’re supposed to take.

Why is König so good at this? It’s good that he’s good at this. You’d be missing your limbs otherwise. He sits across from you, knees brushing with yours. His eyes are glazed over, drowsy, hands folded together. An innocent visage, if one discards the blood over his clothes.

Ire crashes over you like waves. This fumbling man, almost stuck eternally in his adolescent, awkward state, is fucking great at his job. Far better than you could ever hope to be. Not only is he genetically built for hard conditions, but he’s also gifted with a natural sense for the battlefield and military tactics.

You’ve been thinking about him far too much lately. Looking at his back, at his incredibly toned legs. Torn between the long lasting distaste you’ve had for him and… whatever admiration you begrudgingly hold for him.

A light turns on in your mind.

That makes sense.

The Hungarian base is one of KorTac’s smallest. It’s usually bare from anything but the basic necessaries, and it has very few permanent workers. It’s the same case this time. The four of you and the pilot walk in a ghost town. One worker greets you like he had no idea you were even supposed to land there. They need to stop firing communication people in this company.

“König,” you muster a sweet tone, fighting the bile that comes up in your throat. König turns from walking with the others to face you, immediately alert.

“Can we go… somewhere private?” He freezes for a second, and then nods, eyes a bit wary. Fine. You honestly thought he’d be more hesitant. Maybe Roze does have a point.

You walk for a bit side to side and then open a random room in the corridor, furnished with just a long table and a number of chairs not appropriate for its length. You close the door and stand there, deciding you’re not going to sit. Yet?

Fuck, you don’t actually know how to go about this.

“So,” you start, “how do you think we’ve been getting along?” You ask, trying to test the waters.

“Ehm. Pretty good, I’d say,” he replies, accent thicker than usual. Your doe-like expression immediately changes to a skeptic one. You tilt your head, calculating.

“You don’t think I treat you a bit differently than the rest of our teammates?”

He looks around, like he knows this question is a trap. You’d be more annoyed if it wasn’t so fun to have him all for yourself to tease.

“I think we are friends… you get along more with Roze, but still…” He fidgets at his missing belt loop. Ah, goddamn, that’s another stupid thing about him, why can’t he put a belt on properly?

“Friends? We are friends to you?” You ask, tone clearly disbelieving.

“Yes… are we not…?” König’s voice is a whisper now, insecurity leaking over and filling the whole room. Oh Jesus. Now you really feel like a middle school bully.

“I think… that I kind of have a problem with you, König…” You tell him, weirdly meek. There’s no other way to go about it. You wish he had the same mixed feelings you obviously hold for him, but instead his are tragically simple and gentle minded… What a contrast from the cold, calculating man that saved your life this morning.

“What problem?”

“Nothing really… it’s just that you distract me… a little too much.”

“Distract you like how? Is it something I do?”

“Yes, but you can’t change anyway,” you confess. And, deep inside you, you don’t want him to change. Part of the reason you can’t stand König, after all, is how he embodies some part of you— the one not carefully curated to be as badass and hardhearted as possible, but one that instead just is, even if it’s uncool. You’ve desperately tried to hide it all this time, convinced it could only hinder you in your career– and then König shows up, and not only is he one of the best soldiers you’ve met in your life, but he’s also unapologetically himself all the time. And it doesn’t stop him from achieving anything.

This plan is stupid anyway. König doesn’t seem to be the man who agrees to casual sex. Hell, sometimes it doesn’t seem like he’s even aware of the concept.

“Maybe I’m the one that has to change teams… If we just can’t find a solution to this problem of mine…” This is bait: you could be more explicit, but maybe you really do need to change teams. You can’t be consumed by thoughts of your team leader, it’s just embarrassing. This sexual attraction (but also resentment) you hold for König can’t have you zone out in an active combat zone.

“No!” He says, voice loud and clear, his tone filled with panic. “Please… I…”

“You what?”

“I… I like you.” He confesses, eyes low. His hands are trembling a little.

Five seconds pass before you elaborate a reply to that.

“König, I treat you like shit!” The exclamation probably surprises you more than it does him.

“S-So?” He pants, what little of eyebrows you can see low, pupils dilated only a slight blue circle remains of his irids.

“So? How low is your confidence to like me when I insult you all the time?” You hiss, mere centimeters away from his face. How bad have his relationships with people been so far if he considers you a person worth liking?

You lower your eyes and see that his knees are bent in order to be closer to your height. If your mind wasn’t already made up, this would be the turning point. He follows your gaze down his body with his eyes and whimpers when your eyes lock on his bulge. Your little stress problem is going to get solved alright.

“You like me? Alright. We can go there, if you want. But remember, this is for me and my problem. Got it?” You point at his chest and he nods frantically at that, like he can’t believe this is really happening.

“Fine then. Take off your clothes.” You order, taking a step back and leaning your back on the absurdly long table. You’d make him remove his mask, but that feels like an additional step in intimacy you’re not sure you can ask of a man you claim to hate to the majority of people you know. And, most of all, you can’t force him. You’re out of bitterness for the day. It doesn’t mean that you’ll make it easy for him, though.

König clutches at his pants, taking one long leg out and then the other, remaining in his standard boxers, erection barely hidden behind them. He then moves to his jacket, which he drops to the ground, and then his compression shirt– his pecs are reddened by the blush you’re sure covers his whole neck and face. Your hand points down, and König immediately drops to the ground, so you can beckon him over with a slight gesture. He crawls over to you, stopping right in front of your booted feet.

You deeply enjoy ordering him around, so why stop now.

“Unhook my pants,” you tell him, “but don’t remove my panties yet.” He nods and brings his trembling hands to your belt, undoing it faster than expected, to then lower your pants to your ankles so he can move more comfortably between your legs.

“König,” you call out his name.

“Hmm?” he purrs, barely taking away his eyes from your clothed pussy. You think he’s been getting progressively closer.

“What are we going to do… with your mask?”

“Don’t worry,” he raises a thumbs up, like a huge fucking loser that you’re somehow attracted to, “I can manage.”

“Well then, manager,” you snark, irritated once again, “proceed. Eat me out.” He takes one hand off your leg to uncover his lower face– you only see a flash of it before it is hidden to you again.

He digs in, at first sniffing you, and then licking you through the cotton of your underwear. The warmth of his body is scorching in the chill air of the unused room. His tongue diligently brushes against your clit and slit until your gusset is soaked, and only then he moves them to the side to make direct contact with your pussy. You hiss as your elbow falls down on the table, your legs now spread open even further as he sucks on your clit. Apparently he does know what sex is.

“Can I use my fingers? Please?” He looks up, hood now covering him completely again.

“Hm… let me think on it…” you pretend to really ponder on it, and you see his eyes get bigger and wetter.

“Please!” he begs again.

“Alright, go ahead big guy,” you decide to throw in a compliment for his begging. After all, he’s being quite good. So much for the strict dominance.

His finger penetrates your entrance slowly at first, maybe afraid of going too fast. He takes his sweet time exploring, seeing which movements or spots really make you welp.

“Don’t get distracted now,” you tell him, kicking him lightly on his back with your heel. This is about you, not his curiosity. He straightens his back and starts licking you again, eager and enthusiastic. To think you’ve been just boiling over in your anger when you could have made good use of him.

You can feel your climax readily rising up, spurred by König’s slobbering care. Your hand reaches to keep him closer to you, and you think you can almost feel his hair under the hood. Longer than you expected. The mounting sensation and heat comes to a high and you come, strangled moan and head thrown on the table. König keeps licking and fingering you until you forcibly tear him apart from your pussy.

After the momentary bliss, there’s a moment there when you think about what you’re doing. If this is simply about getting off, the encounter can end here, even though you could be more satisfied. You’re not sure it’s only about that, though. König is panting in front of you when you raise your head, calm besides his breathing. You look at the sheer size of him, and think of his selflessness and his patience dealing with you. And then you look down at the stain of precum on his briefs and go what the hell, sure.

“Can I touch you?” You ask him, but before you can even finish the question he’s already saying yes yes yes.

Your hand brushes his bulge and he jolts, toes high. You scoff a little, entertained by his always so vivid reactions. When you take his impressive cock out, you give it an experimental jerk and see him jump even higher.

“God, König, keep it together, will you now?” You laugh derisively at him, to which he just grumbles a bit sadly.

“What do you want, huh? Want me to jerk you off? Want to fuck me?” You ask teasingly, getting even closer to his masked face and stroking his cock. Once again, he just mumbles. The still unresolved irritation rears its ugly head, and after squeezing his head until he yelps you let go of him.

“I’m not going to do anything if you don’t tell me. I’ve had it with your mumbling,” you snarl and cross your arms. König’s entire body animates and tightens at his panic, and his arms leave his sides to tentatively reach out to you.

“Y-You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Pathetic answer. Pick something, or I’m getting out of here and leaving you hard and leaking.” He finishes reaching out then, and grabs your hips softly, almost as if afraid of hurting you. One of your legs snakes around his.

“I want…” He starts, unsure and twitchy.

“You want?” You encourage him, squeezing his arm not so gently.

“... to fuck you.” He whispers, ashamed. You laugh in his face. He must come from a different planet, a different universe altogether. How can a man of his size be so submissive? It feels like an impossible combination, but you’re not complaining.

“Go ahead, then,” you tell him sweetly, and he nods only once this time, decisive. He grabs his dick then and reaches your entrance. Both of you are so soaked it’s almost effortless: his cock fills you and more, to the point the last inch of him takes more time and care. But you can almost feel him in your guts due to his length. König groans when settles inside you, and moves his arms to hold you in a lover’s embrace. You can feel his ragged breath next to your ear. A bit baffled, you move your arms to hold him too. The smell you inhale is the same you felt last night, so utterly him.

“Alright?” You whisper next to his ear, the soft brush of his hood on your cheek.

“Perfect… so hot…” he replies, squeezing you even harder. You sputter a bit at that, not expecting it, but squeeze back.

“You can start moving now.”

His first thrusts are uncertain and slow. You caress his mighty back to encourage him, and then your hand goes lower and you grab a handful of that ass. He gasps and you laugh again.

“You’re so big,” you tell him, “I don’t know how you even fit in me.” He straight up moans then, and drives so hard in you he almost knocks the wind out of you. Feeling him get more desperate, you sneak a hand between you to brush at your clit, helping yourself get there. König rushes when he feels you get tighter, and you have to hush him to calm him down.

“Just a bit more,” you tell him, “resist a bit more.” He just heaves as an answer.

He keeps a good pace, not too slow or too rushed, but when he starts jamming a little you know he’s close. He calls out your name, tone worried.

“I’m about to…” You grab him by the neck then, at least what you can hold, and he stills, in what is no doubt a great exercise of restraint. The torture could go on for longer, but all things considered he’s endured enough from you. Somewhere along the way this has stopped being about you and your problem, and has begun to be his as well.

“Let’s do it together,” you just whisper as you let go of him, hand going back to touch yourself. He mewls, this big puppy of a man, and you moan when his cock hits that special spot inside you. You come again, locking your legs around his waist, and he stutters and groans as he releases inside you, nosing at your neck. You swear you can feel his cum spilling out.

The two of you lay there for a moment, or two, or three. König’s face is still hidden in your neck, his back no doubt uncomfortable. He mouths something against your neck you don’t know how to decipher. Slowly, and reluctantly, you push at his shoulders. He rises then, and you immediately miss his heat and the feel of his body caging you in. Worst of all is when he takes his cock out of you– the gaping feeling is unbearable, coldness of the air hitting directly your tender core. König is looking at you like he doesn’t know what to do, which is exactly the case. You’re not so sure yourself. It’s the first time you sleep with a coworker you have a complicated relationship with.

“There’s the debrief…” you tell him, unconvinced. He knocks his head up, like you just reminded him, woken him from a spell.

You put your pants back on while König redresses. Looking at him, as those big muscles move and flex, you feel your desire for him rise again, but you’ve been gone for long enough. Roze and Horangi will already be suspicious.

Before you exit the room, you grab König by the arm. He takes a step closer to you, and you flex a bit on your toes to look at him in the eyes better. Moving your hand, you tenderly touch his face. He closes his eyes.

“König… you can’t let yourself be bullied all the time,” you brush his cheek through the mask and he leans on your hand.

“But I like when you tease me,” he says, head bowed. You giggle a bit at that.

“Then only I can do it, okay?”

He nods. You swear you can feel his smile through the cheap cotton of his mask.

#will i be shadowbanned again. we shall see #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #konig x reader #yours truly #konig

214 notes · View notes

misseviehyde · 7 months ago

Text

PHONE CLONE

Molly was pissed off and she wasn't a woman you wanted to get on the wrong side of when she was angry.

The school her daughter Jenny attended was doing next to nothing to deal with the bullying her daughter was receiving from the head cheerleader. Chloe was a fucking bitch - a spoiled manipulative gaslighting slut - and Molly was going to take her down.

"We need evidence if we are going to act," the insipid teacher at school had told her, so Molly was going to find that evidence. She was going to find evidence that couldn't be dismissed and she was going to free her daughter from this torture.

"What are you doing Mom?" asked Jenny curiously as her Mom sat on the bed and grinned as she scrolled through her phone.

"I've found a way to get the proof we need. I downloaded a piece of software - Phone Clone, and I've used it to clone and copy Chloe's mobile. Now I have her entire life in my hand."

Molly picked up her note pad. "I'll scroll through and find the evidence we need. She's bound to have made a mistake somewhere... said something that proves she is your bully."

Jenny smiled proudly at how smart her Mom was.

"Ugh, she's such a stuck up little bitch. There are so many selfies on her phone it's incredible... even if she is... ughhh kind of pretty."

"Mom are you okay?"

Jenny had noticed something weird about her Mom's posture. Molly was sitting cross legged like a teenager would. She was sitting up straighter than usual too and she flicked her hair back with an uncharacteristically bitchy gesture as she hungrily scrolled through the phone.

"Like yeah... course I'm alright. There's like soooo much hot stuff on this phone. Haha the power Chloe must have over others... she's got the entire school at her fingertips. Mmmh its kind of sexy."

Molly groaned, the light from the phone illuminating her features and making her face look younger and meaner somehow.

"Mmmmh Tik Tok videos, hot boys numbers, shopping accounts for her spoiled little wardrobe. This is just so fucking good. I wish I had a life like this."

Jenny stared at her Mom in horror. She watched in unbelieving dismay as her Mom's nails became painted yellow... the same colour that Chloe had been wearing today.

"Mom... stop... something is wrong. Put down your phone."

But Molly wasn't listening. She grinned as she accessed more and more of Chloe's cloned phone and let the bitches selfish life was over her.

"Mmmmmh feel fucking yummy... gimmee gimmee gimmeeeeeee!"

Molly moaned as youth and vitality flooded her body. Her eyes flickered like she was being reprogrammed as the images from the phone burned into her mind.

Her flabby body began to tighten and tone. Sagging skin firmed up and she became younger and younger till she was the same age as her daughter.

Molly's boobs got even bigger and they rose higher on her chest than they had for years. Perky and firm, they were now in your face and impossible to ignore.

Her split ends cleared up as the curls fell out of her hair and it became totally straight and silky like that of a supermodel fresh from the hairdressers.

"Mmmmh fuck yesssss, change meeeee," groaned Molly as she gave into the delicious feelings and exalted in her transforming body.

Her waist crunched in and her hips pushed out. She was a toned athletic hottie now and this bitch could RIDE if she needed to.

"Fuck yeah," giggled Molly her voice becoming higher and taking on a bratty whine. "Mmmh like almost there loser. Are you ready?"

Giggling Molly deliberately lowered her head so her new silky blonde hair obscured her features.

"Mom?" whimpered Jenny.

"No... not Mommy," laughed Molly as she suddenly tossed her head back and revealed her new features... Chloe's features.

Plump pouty pink lips curved into a mean smile as sexy brown eyes sparkled with mischief and Molly's transformation into a perfect clone of Chloe completed itself.

Even Molly's clothes had changed. She was now wearing the sexy clothes that Chloe would wear and Jenny felt a pang of jealousy as she saw her Mom's long tanned legs on show and barely constrained cleavage.

"I... am.... fucking... hot," laughed Molly as she admired herself and took a selfie on her phone which had also changed to the latest model.

"Nooooo Mom, what's happened?"

"Shut up loser. Your dumb Mommy is me now and she fucking loves it. I don't feel anything for you anymore. Haha I wanted proof you were being bullied and now I AM your bully."

The new Chloe smirked as she leapt forward and pinned Jenny down. Leering into her victims face she hissed evilly.

"Don't worry though loser. I'm gonna help you. We're gonna delete all the data on the real Chloe's phone using my app and replace it with the backup data of your stupid Mom, so she turns into a nobody loser like you. Then when I replace her you're going to have a new Mommy. I'm Chloe now and I'm not going back.'

Jenny cried as she looked at the evil bitch her Mom had become and realised she was never getting her real Mom back. Molly had been over-cloned and she loved it.

#evie hyde #bitchification #f2f transformation #f2f corruption #phone #bully #phone clone #replacement #evil bitch

204 notes · View notes

fratttymatty · 17 days ago

Text

The Popular Effect

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Price was the kind of eighteen-year-old who made other nerds look cool. Buttoned-up shirt, tucked too tightly into khakis, a pen always clipped to his shirt pocket—even though he took notes on a laptop. He had straight A’s, no social life, and a permanent seat in the front row of every class.

Especially in Mrs. Davis’s Literature class.

Mrs. Davis was the kind of teacher students actually liked—strict but kind, fair but tough, with a way of making Shakespeare sound exciting and grammar seem like a tool of power. Elliot adored her. If he could've nominated her for sainthood, he would've.

The same couldn’t be said for Matt Carver.

Matt was the golden boy. Captain of the football team. Killer smile. Swagger in every step. And the worst part? He got away with everything. Teachers, girls, guys—everyone loved him. Everyone except Elliot.

It was fifth period on a Thursday. Elliot sat with his laptop open, ready to soak in every syllable of Mrs. Davis’s lecture on The Great Gatsby, when Matt slouched into class five minutes late, grinning like he owned the room.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Carver,” Mrs. Davis said, only slightly annoyed.

Matt flopped into his seat at the back and pulled a pen from someone else’s bag. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to hear you talk about how tragic rich people are.”

The class chuckled. Mrs. Davis rolled her eyes but continued. That was when Matt started really going off.

“You ever think about how boring this book is?” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I bet Gatsby was just another loser nerd like Elliot.”

The class burst out laughing.

Elliot turned bright red.

Mrs. Davis cleared her throat sharply. “That’s enough, Matt.”

But Matt wasn’t done. Leaning back, he smirked and said, “Yo, Mrs. Davis. Don’t ya wish you were a popular girl? Bet you were a nerd in school. Probably sat where Elliot’s sittin’, huh?”

A ripple of laughter ran through the class. Mrs. Davis’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she just told everyone to focus and carried on with the lesson.

Matt and his friends left early for football practice. Elliot watched him swagger out, slapping hands and tossing his usual charm around like confetti. But what Elliot didn’t see was the way Matt subtly placed a small, glittery pink bottle on Mrs. Davis’s desk.

It was Mia’s lip gloss. Mia was Matt’s girlfriend—head cheerleader, the queen bee of the school. Why her lip gloss was now on Mrs. Davis’s desk… no one noticed. No one except Matt. And maybe Mia.

After class, Elliot lingered for a moment, gathering his notes. Mrs. Davis stood at her desk, staring at the lip gloss.

She looked around the empty classroom, hesitating.

Then she uncapped it.

A sugary bubblegum scent filled the room as she dabbed a little on her lips.

And then—

Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

She staggered slightly, clutching the desk, her features shifting before Elliot’s stunned eyes. Her brown hair brightened into a platinum blonde, straightening into silky locks that bounced with every sudden head-tilt. Her glasses vanished. Her makeup became vibrant, lashes thick and fluttery.

Her business-casual clothes shimmered and transformed into a skintight, sparkly pink crop top and a cheer skirt with “CVHS” printed on it in rhinestones.

Mrs. Davis—the forty-something, wise, literary woman—was gone.

In her place stood an 18-year-old bombshell with a giggle that made Elliot’s stomach twist.

“Oh my gawd,” she squealed, flipping her hair. “Like, this is totes wild, y’know?”

Elliot stared, mouth open.

She looked down at herself and squealed again. “Ugh, finally! Being all, like, serious and teacher-y was sooo lame. I’m Lexi now. OMG, how adorbs is that?!”

“Mrs… Davis?” Elliot managed.

She rolled her eyes. “Ew, no! Like, who’s that even? I’m Lexi Summers, duh.” She popped her gum—where did that come from?—and winked. “Later, nerd-boy!”

And with that, Lexi strutted out of the classroom, hips swaying, texting on a hot-pink phone that hadn’t existed seconds earlier.

Elliot sat frozen in his seat, feeling the ground beneath his world begin to crack.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Elliot didn’t sleep.

How could he? The image of Mrs. Davis transforming into Lexi Summers played over and over in his mind, like some twisted magical TikTok filter that had hijacked his entire sense of reality.

But when he walked into school Friday morning, reality hit harder.

There she was.

In the middle of the courtyard, sitting cross-legged on a picnic table in her cheer skirt and bubblegum-pink crop top, surrounded by Matt, Mia, and the rest of the popular crew, was Lexi—giggling, flipping her platinum-blonde hair, twirling a rhinestone-covered pen between her fingers.

And the most messed-up part? No one seemed to remember Mrs. Davis at all. Not the teachers. Not the students. Not even the principal. Everyone acted like Lexi had always been there.

Elliot lingered behind a tree, stunned. He clutched his books to his chest like a shield. His world had flipped, and he was the only one who noticed.

Then Lexi spotted him.

“O.M.G.,” she gasped, hopping off the table with a sparkly bounce. “Elliot! You look so… same-y. That’s, like, a tragedy.”

She was in front of him before he could move, practically bouncing on her toes, eyes wide and bright like polished glass.

“W-what happened to you?” Elliot stammered. “You were… you were a teacher.”

Lexi tilted her head. “Ugh. Gag me. Don’t even say that. I was, like, so boring before. But now I’m me—Lexi Summers. Queen of vibes, duh.”

Matt swaggered up behind her, tossing an arm around her waist. “Told you, nerd. You saw the glow-up. Now it’s your turn.”

“I—I don’t want a glow-up,” Elliot said weakly.

“Oh, honey,” Lexi cooed, patting his cheek. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what you could be.”

Mia twirled a blue bottle of glittery lip gloss between her fingers, smiling like a villain from a sugar-sweet fairy tale. “This isn’t just about making you hot. It’s about making you, like, relevant.”

Lexi turned to Elliot, eyes sparkling. “After school. Boys’ locker room. Don’t make us come get you.”

And then they were gone, strutting away in perfect sync.

Elliot should have run.

He should have taken the long way home, blocked the school on every map, and transferred.

But something deep in his chest—something weak, bitter, and curious—dragged him to the locker room.

It was empty.

Except for Lexi, Mia, and Matt—waiting by a glowing mirror propped up against the lockers, shimmering with pulses of neon blue and pink.

“This is the Mirror of Makeover,” Lexi said dramatically, like she was hosting a reality show. “And this—” she held up a glowing blue sports drink with glitter swirling inside “—is your invitation to not be a total loser anymore.”

Elliot backed away. “I don’t want this.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Nobody wants kale either. But it’s good for you.”

Before he could bolt, Matt grabbed his arms, and Lexi slid the drink into his hands.

“Just one sip,” she whispered. “You’ll totes thank us.”

The bottle was warm in his hands. It shimmered. His fingers moved almost without permission.

He drank.

The liquid was cold and sweet and fizzy—and then it burned.

Not in his mouth.

Everywhere.

His knees buckled as the mirror’s glow flared, pulling him forward. He stumbled into the reflection—and everything shattered.

His shoes melted into spotless white high-tops with gold accents. His khakis dissolved into tailored, ripped jeans. His polo shirt vanished, replaced by a fitted designer hoodie zipped halfway down to show a sculpted chest that hadn’t existed a second ago.

His skin cleared—blemishes smoothing out into a golden tan. His frame grew broader, more athletic, like someone carved out of gym selfies and protein powder. His wiry arms thickened with lean muscle. His posture straightened.

He saw his reflection—and it smiled back differently.

Then came the hair: shaggy brown locks turned sleek, stylish, effortlessly tousled like he'd just stepped out of a modeling shoot. His glasses vanished. His jaw sharpened. Cheekbones lifted.

And then his thoughts shifted.

Worry? Gone.

Self-doubt? Deleted.

He wasn’t nervous. He was confident. No—cocky.

He smirked. “Damn, I look good.”

Lexi clapped her hands. “Yesss! You’re, like, SO ready.”

Mia bit her lip. “Okay, he’s hot. What’s the name?”

“Not Elliot,” Matt said. “Too try-hard.”

Lexi giggled. “He’s totally an Ethan. Like, varsity vibes, bad boy energy, but still gives killer hugs.”

“Ethan,” the boy in the mirror repeated. He rolled the name around on his tongue. “Yeah. I’m Ethan now.”

The last piece fell into place—his memories of being Elliot faded like a dream. The humiliation, the awkwardness, the loneliness. All gone.

He turned from the mirror, grinning wide. “Let’s show this school what I’m made of.”

Lexi bounced over and wrapped her arms around him. “We’re gonna slay, babe.”

Ethan leaned down and kissed her—confident, bold, magnetic. Matt and Mia whooped and high-fived.

They left the locker room like royalty.

And behind them, in the flickering mirror, a lonely reflection of Elliot Price faded to nothing.

Monday morning arrived, and Crystal Valley High didn’t know what hit it.

The halls, once filled with the usual chaos of half-asleep students and boring announcements, now pulsed with something electric. Something bold. Something beautiful.

It wasn’t just the outfits, or the strut, or the perfect couple selfies taken at their lockers. It was the energy—the way Ethan and Lexi owned every step, every glance, every whisper behind their backs.

They were more than students now.

They were legends.

Lexi was perched on her glitter-covered throne—also known as the lunch table—legs crossed, sipping a matcha she absolutely did not pay for. Her blonde hair caught the light like a spotlight, and her laugh echoed across the courtyard like a pop song.

Ethan leaned against the table beside her, toned arms folded, exuding lazy confidence. He’d already been asked to try out for the football team—twice—even though he hadn’t touched a football in his life. Didn’t matter. He looked the part. He was the part.

“You see the way Coach tripped over himself trying to talk to you?” Lexi said, smirking up at him.

“Poor guy,” Ethan said, shrugging. “Can’t blame him. I’d trip over me too.”

She giggled, twirling her scrunchie around her finger. “Ugh, you’re like, perfect. Honestly, how were you ever a nerd?”

Ethan leaned in close. “Don’t remember. Don’t care.”

He meant it. The name Elliot Price was like an outdated username—forgettable, awkward, completely deleted. Who needed flashcards and extra credit when you had a face that turned heads and a girlfriend like Lexi?

Across the courtyard, people watched. They whispered. They admired.

Even Matt and Mia—once the top of the food chain—now orbited around Ethan and Lexi like backup dancers. And they were fine with it. Everyone was.

Because Lexi didn’t just command attention. She fed on it. And Ethan? He thrived on it.

By Wednesday, Lexi had completely taken over the cheer squad. The girls practically worshipped her. She introduced a new “mandatory sparkle quota,” and no one dared question it.

Ethan? He casually accepted the captain’s jacket of the football team after the actual captain “mysteriously” got a sprained ankle. He didn’t ask questions. He just looked good in the jacket.

During lunch, Lexi redesigned the social layout of the quad. Literally.

“We’re moving the art kids over there, the drama dweebs get that patch of shade, and our table needs a charging station and more sun.”

And it happened. Just like that.

No one argued. No one even tried.

They ruled with a smile, a wink, and a perfectly timed eye-roll. They didn’t need to be cruel—though they could be. Their power came from being so obviously better.

One afternoon, as the sun bathed the school in a golden haze, Lexi lay back on the cheer mat during practice, her pom-poms abandoned beside her.

Ethan walked up, tossing a Gatorade at her. “Thirsty?”

“Only for attention,” she purred.

They laughed.

“You ever miss being a teacher?” Ethan asked lazily, not because he cared—just curious.

Lexi rolled her eyes so hard they practically did a cartwheel. “Ew. No. I was, like, so repressed. Now I’m hot, happy, and I get to say ‘literally’ as often as I want.”

“Same,” Ethan said, stretching. “I used to freak out about homework. Now? I just get people to do it for me.”

Lexi sat up and crawled onto his lap, draping her arms around his neck. “We’re, like, the main characters, babe.”

“Damn right we are.”

They kissed, surrounded by the cheers of their squad, the stares of jealous classmates, and the soft buzz of their names whispered in awe.

No guilt.

No second thoughts.

Just glitter, glory, and total domination.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #smart to dumb #gym bro tf #female tf #female tf story #age regression

70 notes · View notes

nylacouldntmakeit · 3 months ago

Note

heyyyy!!! i absolutely LOVED your hcs for soda x ditzy!reader, so i was wondering if you could do the same for ponyboy? i imagine it would be different since he’s a lot smarter then soda is, maybe get annoyed a bit but he could never stay mad? tysm!!!!!!!!

yayyy! n’ yes i can <3

Ponyboy Curtis x ditzy! y/n

tw: swear words (thats all.)

Ponyboy teaching his sweetheart how to sound out hard words because he thinks with the mindset that, “if i can do it, so can you.”

Ponyboy who is just a tad envious with the far-away look in your eyes, because he wishes life could be so blissful to him as it is to you.

Ponyboy and his dense love who have weekly dates at the playground, and though pony finds your childish behavior occasionally annoying, he cant help but grin at your laugh as you swing.

Ponyboy who reads stories to you with words you couldn’t even imagine trying to say, but he pauses every so often telling you what a word means without you having to ask.

When you ramble about the latest trends, or about the rude girl who scuffed your new mary-janes at school, he’ll feel his heart flutter.

(teensy drabble because why nawt.)

“She stepped all over em’! Ugh, and-and um…I forgot what I was gonna say.” You frowned, starring intently at the clouds while trying your hardest to remember what in Gods name you were gonna say next.

“Thats okay, how bout’ you tell me somethin’ more positive instead hm?” Pony sat next to you, his hands clasped together. He peered at you occasionally with a raised eyebrow, a key signifier that he was indeed listening.

“Kay’! uhm…oh yes! Today I explained to Mr.Auther that I did write my history paper on my own! He said “there’s no way on God’s green earth that I knew what fluncuate meant”, but I told him I really did!” You jutted your lip out in a pout.

“That ain’ too kind of em’ is it? Well, you’ll just have to keep provin’ em’ wrong.” Pony shrugged, his voice laced with nonchalance. He knew you could do it, you just needed a few small pushes from him.

“Everybody always callin’ me dumb. I ain’ dumb! But…I ain’ to smart neither…” you shook your head. Sure you didn’t know what most words meant, or how to say em’, and you sure as hell didn’t know quadratics, but that didn’t make you dumb!

“I know it, so like I said, just keep provin em’ wrong.”

Pony never was one to hop on your pity train. He knew you better than anyone. If he gave in and gave you the sympathy you agged for, he’d end up just doing everything for you.

“Well, can you read this book for me? Oh and do the thing you usually do, where you stop n’ ‘splain it for me! ‘kay?” You batted your eyes at him while holding the worn book up with both your hands.

“I will, let’s head back to my place alright? Ain’ no sense in reading out here in the cold.” He stood and stretched before offering you his palened hand.

“Okay!” You grabbed his hand and stood with a bounce, sure school and stuff was hard, but pony made learning oh so sweet.

57 notes · View notes

featherdusterbelphie · 4 months ago

Text

Sick Day w Luci <3

C/W: uh fluff? and uhm, mention of pills and sickness and stuff.

A/n: got so sick last year and it took me two weeks to recover ugh. so i wrote this to make me feel better :)

Word count: 787 words total.

"I had thought it odd when you didn't accompany me to the common room as usual. Beel passed me your message, how are you feeling?"

He sat down beside you on the bed, his hand missing its glove as he checks your temperature.

"My, you're heating up yet you're cocooned in your blankets...."

"I'm cold," you rasp out, voice scratchy and weak due to your cough. "I've already taken medicine but I'm still cold...."

Lucifer sighs, a furrow in his brows as his hand brush your sweaty hair back from your face. His touch is soft and warm, you feel drowsy from the sensation. "Have you eaten anything before you took your medicine?"

You grunt, slowly shaking your head from where it pokes out from the top of your blanket. Lucifer sighs again, you feel the bed shift and his weight disappearing followed by the sound of your door closing. You close your eyes, curling up even more underneath your blankets. You'll have to eat something later, or else the flu meds might make you even sicker. Ah, but how could you even do so when the outside air is so freezing cold....

You don't know how much time passed but you hear the door open again, and you don't react, expecting it to be Mammon checking in on you one last time before going to school. But the smell of food wafts into your nose, your stomach growling in want.

You finally turn back and come face to face with a bowl of something steaming hot and delicious, making you sit up slowly as Lucifer sets it down on the nightstand. When you finally see what's inside, you see ramen noodles.

"I didn't have enough ingredients to make something filling for you, but I'll make you something better at lunch."

"Is this Mam's spicy ramen....?" You hesitate to grab the bowl, lifting it up slowly to take a little sip. You cough a little as the temperature and the spiciness assault your throat at the same time.

"I had heard that spicy food helps reduce inflammation in humans. Please eat, I'll give you another pill later after lunch."

You cross your legs underneath the blanket, slowly lowering the bowl in the space between and start to eat. You were lethargic, but still had an appetite, which was all Lucifer could wish for in your current state. He had read that some humans get so sick that they couldn't even swallow water and their fever gets worse. He didn't want that happening to you.

While lifting the bowl again to take a sip of the soup, you glance up from the rim to watch as Lucifer flips through a folder in his hands. Slowly lowering the bowl to your legs again, you clear your throat, "what is that?"

"My work."

You blink, a bit confused. "Here? In my room?"

"Yes," Lucifer gives you a quick glance before returning back to his papers, flipping through them with a gloved hand. "don't bother fighting me on this, I can do my work while at home. I've already told Diavolo, and he's allowed it."

"But you didn't have to...." You argue, voice getting smaller as you feel guilty for keeping him here at home with you. He could've gone to R.A.D. with the others instead, and you feel like you're burdening him by making him take care of you.

"Yes, but I wanted to. Besides, who would look after you while you're like this? You can't even get up to eat, how could you get better at this rate..."

You fall silent. Although you still feel a little guilty for disturbing his work, Lucifer has a point. If he wasn't here, you'd probably just be waiting for your fever to go down before eating anything, assuming that your fever ever goes down with just sleeping it off...

After a few minutes of sorting through his stack of papers, your pride demon lifts up a now bare hand and places it on in your neck to check your temperature. With the way he sighs, you guess it hasn't changed from the last time he checked. He instead places his cool palm on your forehead to brush your hair back, you close your eyes at the comforting feeling that brings back memories of your childhood. You feel like that troublesome child once again, who's being taken care of by your mother.

"Get some rest." His voice sounds a bit muffled as sleep tried to pull you away again, the combination of your breakfast, the flu pill and the weariness of your body lulling you into a peaceful dream. You vaguely feel the bed shift beside you before all goes dark.

(AO3 version :)

#obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #sick fic #my stuff #obey me fluff

76 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 years ago

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 11

Part 1 Part 10

Steve Harrington is stoned out of his mind in Eddie Munson’s bed. His eyes are red and periodically drooping closed, and he’s been smiling goofily up at the ceiling for the last ten minutes.

He’d started out sitting but has been steadily melting into Eddie’s pillows ever since. What a lightweight. Eddie refuses to be charmed.

“I’m hungry,” Steve whines, smacking Eddie’s hip repeatedly with his good arm.

“It’s the munchies, man. It’ll pass.”

Steve fucking Harrington fucking pouts in Eddie fucking Munson’s fucking bed in the fucking underworld. “I’ve never had them before,” he mutters.

Eddie eases down next to him until they’re hip to hip, so he doesn’t have to keep looking at him. “You don’t usually get hungry when you’re high?” he asks before remembering this is somehow his first time.

“Weed virgin,” he says, before dissolving into laughter, drawing out the E in weed so much that it sounds like he’s saying an extremely unenthusiastic “whee!”

Eddie can’t control himself. “Well, if you ever get too hungry, I’ve been told I taste delicious.” It comes out lascivious, just like he meant it.

When Harrington starts laughing, he wants to shove the words back down his throat and let them curdle like spoiled milk. “Like, like, the Donner party?” he asks, gasping through his laughter. It’s starting to sound a little hysterical.

“So caught up in the hilarity of cannibalism you didn’t get the innuendo,” he squeezes Steve’s cheek mockingly, caught up in the joke now, in the high of making a pretty boy laugh with a stupid quip and not getting punched about it.

“What’s an innuendo?” His eyes are wide and trusting, face flushed by the hilarity of the moment.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, “you’re high out of your gourd.”

Steve smiles over at him, nuzzling into the pillow.

“Oh, no.” Steve Harrington is sweet when high. He may never recover.

“Hmm?” It’s barely a sound with the way Steve’s smushing his face into Eddie’s pillowcase.

“Go to sleep, pretty boy.” He does. It takes Eddie much longer.

Eddie wakes in the night to Steve muttering in his sleep. He sounds distressed. On instinct, Eddie movies his hand to pat the other boy’s head, running his fingers through his oily hair until he falls back asleep.

He’d think it was a dream, but when he wakes up again, first this time, his hand is still in Steve’s hair. He removes it hastily, pulling at the strands as he extricates himself. Steve murmurs, blinking his eyes open.

“Mom?” Steve blinks his eyes blearily a few more times.

“What day do you think it is?” Eddie asks, breezing past the moment. “It has to be at least Monday, right?”

Eddie can almost see Steve’s brain rebooting, changing tracks. “Ugh,” he says, levering himself upright. “I’m going to fail Chemistry.”

“I already did!” Eddie says, smiling brightly, like the thought of summer school doesn’t make him feel like dying.

“Dude,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s November. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Eddie thinks of the missed quizzes, failed labs, unfinished homework, and wishes it worked like that. Maybe it does for people like Steve with rich parents and jock tendencies. Someone who teachers like. But Eddie’s a Munson straight through – there’s no way this is coming up heads.

“You know, maybe this whole thing will be worth it if I never have to see Mrs. Click’s face ever again.”

Steve finally stands from the bed, putting a hand on his hip and wagging the other in Eddie’s face. “Young man, if you don’t apply yourself, how will you ever get anywhere in life?” He pitches his voice high. The intonation’s off, but the tone is eerily accurate. Eddie shudders.

“Never say that to me again.”

Steve laughs. They lapse into silence.

Eddie wants to offer the other boy breakfast, an extra toothbrush, some coffee, but he settles for grabbing one of the water bottles and handing it over, reveling in Steve’s quiet, “thanks.”

“What now?” Steve asks.

“Truth or dare?” Eddie asks, just to be an ass.

“Truth,” Steve says, no hesitation, like he’s used to answering fast at intimate parties Eddie’s never been invited to.

“When did you first have sex?” he asks, just to be an ass again.

“Jenni Bartley, seventh grade.”

“Dude gross,” Eddie says, nose wrinkling. “You were like a child!”

Steve shrugs, crosses his arms defensively, “I was thirteen!” Then his nose wrinkles, too. “Oh, gross.”

Eddie laughs.

“Well, what about you?” Steve asks wiggling his eyebrows dorkily. “When did you pop your cherry?”

Eddie feels his cheeks blooming pink. “Nu uh!” he says, crossing his arms like he’s seen umpires on TV do. “You can’t just repeat the same question back, man. That’s cheating.”

Steve throws his hands in the air. “Fine! What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out?”

The first thing that crosses his mind is a shower, followed closely by a milkshake and a basket of fries from the diner. That’s not what sticks, though. “Give Uncle Wayne a hug.” Steve’s mouth drops open. “Why do you look surprised?”

He picks at his nails, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. “I don’t know.” He picks the skin around his thumb, sucks up the bead of blood that blooms up. “I just wouldn’t have even thought of that.”

Eddie thinks of what all the kids in the halls used to say, big house, no parents, and can’t say he blames him. “What would you do?”

“I thought we couldn’t just repeat the question,” he says, but continues before Eddie can mount his defense. “I want a full breakfast from the diner.” He sighs, like he’s imagining it now. Steam rising off a hot cup of coffee, butter melting into pancakes fresh out of the gridle, hash browns fried just right, bacon dripping with fat. “I’d kill for some bacon.”

Eddie clutches his hand to his chest with a theatrical gasp. The smack of his dislocated then relocated finger against his chest hurts, but the show must go on. “I thought you said you wouldn’t eat me!”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. “Last resort, man.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks.

“Obviously black.”

“Black isn’t a color, man,” Steve says. “You really are flunking chemistry, huh?”

“That is not chemistry!” Eddie says with faux indignation.

He pushes the hunger pangs down and continues the game. They’ll have breakfast at the diner again someday, even if he has to kill for it.

Part 12

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic

404 notes · View notes