#faded futures prompts

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

-

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse. 

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot. 

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you’ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth. 

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners. 

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest. 

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight. 

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago. 

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living. 

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill. 

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!” 

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back. 

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases. 

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else. 

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again. 

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week. 

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place. 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it. 

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you. 

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing. 

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants. 

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob. 

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap. 

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor. 

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door. 

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips. 

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold. 

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed. 

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that. 

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display. 

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it. 

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch. 

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat. 

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed. 

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him. 

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before. 

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone. 

He leaves anyway. 

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate. 

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view. 

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms. 

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on. 

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate. 

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat. 

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat. 

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire. 

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame. 

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #cod price #price x you #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #mail order bride au

[rivatar]

“Love Bites”

Pairing: Adult!Neteyam x fem!human!reader

W/c: 1.2k

Warnings/content: MDNI smut!, biting/marking, blood thirsty neteyam, a lil somnophilia but not much, established relationship, fingering, demon Teyam

A/n: this is prompt 6 for Pandora’s Bloody Moon, I’m sorry it’s 2 days late, I was so busy this weekend😩 also I’m sorry if it’s not good, it’s def not my best work but still hope you guys can enjoy :)

“I’ll see you tomorrow, paskalin,” Neteyam sweetly bid you goodbye with a peck on the cheek.

“Okay, Teyam,” you softly smiled in return.

He had walked you back to the lab and as much as you both stalled already, it was time to part ways. The upcoming Blood Moon tonight meant an early goodbye for the day. You two have been dating for months now, and the future Olo’eyktan has made it clear he wants to be mates with you, only when you were ready. However, it is not always easy handling your differences between your two species. Like tonight, for example; all the other Na’vi could participate in the night of the Blood Moon but you couldn’t, you’d be ripped apart and possibly killed. So, Neteyam made sure you were safe and sound back in your room in the lab complex well before nighttime settled in. He couldn’t have his little paskalin get eaten by the wolves.

…

Neteyam missed you at dinner but he knew it was for the best. He wanted nothing more than to keep you safe. Safe from the others and even himself. He didn’t know what he would be capable of doing to you. He didn’t even wanna be anywhere near his family, so he set off deep into the forest.

It was now eclipse and the Moon made its appearance. The moonlight made his skin tingle and he watched in bewilderment as his skin faded from azure to a milky gray. Though this happens every year, it never fails to bring an unsettling feeling of not having control over the effects. His breaths quickened and he felt strength and power spread through his limbs, creating the urge to break something. His little bioluminescent freckles turned to red speckles, much like the red irises he now possessed. His brain was processing the physical changes to his body as well as the feelings and urges that flooded his mind. His tongue felt his sharper canines and he thirsted for blood. Not just any blood though, your blood. He imagined your human blood would be much sweeter than anything else here. He knew his right mind was slipping away when his body naturally started carrying him in the direction of you.

…

He forcefully entered the lab and went straight to your room. Opening the door carefully, as to not wake you.

You were peacefully sleeping away, probably having sweet dreams. In the very back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t disturb you— knew he shouldn’t wake you and then watch you be terrified of the way he looked right now. But his instincts consumed him and controlled his thoughts now. He had to have you.

Walking over carefully, he noticed you were wearing a loose tank top, exposing much of your skin. He slowly lifted the cover off of your body and was met with the precious sight of you only wearing panties for bottoms. You were so sweet and small to him, your dainty little night clothes driving him absolutely insane. You were too good to be true in his opinion.

He gently slid his hand over your legs and arms, loving how soft and plush your smooth skin was. You moved some in your sleep, still not noticing him yet. He tried to keep his breathing in control by breathing in his nose and out his mouth quietly.

“So beautiful, yawne,” he whispered admiringly.

He started kneading your flesh, getting extremely aroused by you. He wanted nothing more than to dig his sharp canines into your skin and bite you—hopefully drawing some blood. But he needed you to wake up first so you wouldn’t be scared and flee from him.

He softly shook your form, beckoning you to wake up. You slowly stirred out of your slumber and your eyes blinked open—only to see those red eyes staring back at you. You jumped back at the sight of him and gasped.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay baby, it’s me!” He tried to calm you.

“T-Teyam?” You choked out weakly, “You’re n-not supposed to be here” your mind quickly registered.

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stop myself from coming to see you… you’ll have to forgive me for what I’m going to do”

Your body was stiff and your eyes were full of concern for what he meant and what he might do to you in this state. But you slowly nodded as you relaxed some because it was still your Teyam and you trusted him.

“You look so pretty, baby,” he cooed while stroking your cheek tenderly. You smiled in return, still feeling a bit hesitant.

Then suddenly he leaned back down to your thighs and latched his teeth onto one of them.

“Teyam!!!!” You flew up to sit upright on the bed and looked at him. The pain of his canines impaling your skin combined with the pleasurable feeling of his warm mouth overwhelmed the nerves on your skin.

He only hummed and moaned on your flesh in response. You slightly winced, still staring at him in bewilderment. Then he smoothed his tongue over the wound, licking away the blood from the little pricks he made. He pulled back to admire his work, loving how his bite now marked you as his.

“Don’t think I can’t smell you, sevin. You liked it, didn’t you?” He smirked.

You blushed, still feeling confused at the mix of pain and pleasure and how it really did turn you on. You nodded and got out a weak “yeah..”

This only aroused him more. He wanted to see how you’d look writhing under him as he pleasured your pussy while marking other parts of your body. So he lifted your legs up to your chest and slid your panties to the side to see your glistening little cunt.

“Fuck baby. I might have to bite you more from now on,” he gloated.

He slowly pushed a finger into you and you moaned at the sensation, your head already swirling from the intense pleasure he gave you. He started pumping the digit, stating in awe at the mess you made and the loud squelching sounds.

He hovered over you and positioned himself closer to your face, connecting your lips in a needy kiss. You greedily took the kiss, tongues swirling and your lips getting all puffy. He moved down to your neck and latched onto it, pulling out a guttural moan from you. He hummed in the satisfaction of tasting your sweet blood again and it turned him on more, so he mindlessly dry humped your side and the bed, dying to get some kind of friction for his cock.

His efforts made you cum on his fingers, spewing out whimpers and moans in the process. He was still cleaning your neck wound while you were coming down from the high.

It seemed that having a taste of you only made him want more.

It was going to be a long night.

Taglist: @neteyamssyulang @bambithewriter @professional-yapper @property-of-neteyam @hidden-snow @live-laugh-neteyam @nonamevenus @loakstahni @ikeyniofthetayrangi @sugarsong78 @inolaphoenix @strongheartneteyam

#avatar smut #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar #neteyam #avatar fanfiction #neteyam smut #james cameron avatar #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x reader #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x you #pandorasbloodymoon

[nburkhardt]

Saw a prompt and couldn’t let it go, so enjoy! 🥰 (no dialogue because I can’t figure that part out)

Steve has always craved touch even though he never got it.

His parents found out his unique ability at a young age when Steve touched his aunt and she immediately fell to the floor dead. Just from his skin touching hers. After that he wasn’t allowed any sort of touch, his parents warned anyone and everyone to avoid touching him. Near everyone in town knows, knows to avoid touch with him; stays away from him.

Steve manages, as much as someone can with deadly powers.

He figured out how to get his own comfort from plush toys and once he figured out when others touch his clothes first, nothing happens. He figures wearing sleeves and pants and gloves will always be his best options.

Still touch-starved though.

He has friends, but no one wants to get super close. Too afraid to accidentally touch. His parents leave often, also too afraid of his ability.

Eddie was told by his Uncle Wayne that he was special.

That when he was five, he was in a terrible car accident that should’ve killed him. It did kill his mom, but the emts and doctors were shocked that Eddie was fine. He was hurt, sure, but completely fine otherwise.

So, he grew to be little reckless. Lives on the edge and found out at sixteen that he can’t die. After several visits with specialists, it was officially confirmed.

He’s able to get hurt, pretty badly sometimes. But besides that, he can’t die. Which scares him just a bit but not enough to stop living life on the edge.

Steve leaves his hometown as soon as he can with only his things and a plan to get as far away as he can from all the people who are afraid of him.

He’s also afraid, so afraid that he’s not only touch-starved but also a little touch averse now. Doesn’t want anyone to die just by simply touching him. He might want touch, but will always be afraid.

They meet by chance, but mostly because of Eddie being a reckless idiot and his friends daring him to try running across very busy traffic. Which, as the daredevil he is, Eddie attempts to do it.

He’s only stopped by Steve freaking out at seeing it. For once, Steve acts before his brain catches up with him. Just throws his gloveless hand and grabs hold on Eddie’s arm to force him to stop moving.

Eddie jerks back and for a split second, feels a warmth before it fades. He’s taken back, annoyed at being stopped but also very confused. Most people that live here, know him. Know that he can get hurt but can’t die.

So this random person grabbing hold of his arm is new.

The touch registers in Steve’s head minutes later, as Eddie stares at him. He immediately lets go with wide eyes and panicking. But instead of the guy dropping dead, he’s still standing.

Eventually they’ll talk, they’ll learn each other’s abilities and someday in the future learn to love each other.

~~

Sooo, I can’t figure out how to work out dialogue into this. Or really flesh out their abilities. But it’s a thing! If you want to take this and pick it apart, you’re definitely welcome to do so! (If you do tag me!)

Permanent tag list:

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#steddie #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #stranger things #nburkhardt writes #Steve x eddie #steddie au #touch starved steve harrington #but ALSO #touch averse Steve Harrington #reckless Eddie Munson #Eddie’s totally a daredevil you can’t tell me otherwise #it’s sorta x-men related but also very much not

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Prompt 7 with Malleus? And the reader as the ghost? 😳

Visions of the Past; Malleus Draconia

Content; Gender-neutral reader, hurt/comfort, pining left unresolved

Content Warning; Reader death (not heavily described)

Word Count; 700+

Please do not put my work into AI. If you would like to see more of my work check out my masterlist!

Time heals all wounds. But Malleus knew that wasn’t true. Yes, time may heal physical wounds, although not always perfectly, but it no longer weeps or festers. Whereas emotional wounds, such as trauma, grief, and anger do not fade or heal in the same manner as a cut would.

Malleus was standing outside the entrance of Ramshackle, once his nightly walking grounds turned to the home of the first person that befriended him for him. The first person who didn’t know or care, even after finding out about his identity, that he was the Malleus Draconia. A magicless human who treated him as they did with others, but with a tad bit more ease, humour, and kindness since they were friends.

Were friends.

His heart knew though that you weren’t just friends. He had felt this emotion before to some extent with his passion for gargoyles, but they paled in comparison to you.

Your brightness. Your laugh. Your little mannerisms that most wouldn’t pay attention to, but he did. 

“Do you think we’ll still be friends when we’re older,” you mused while on one of your nightly walks with Malleus. Malleus furrowed his brow and looked at you quizzically, “Why wouldn’t we be? I have no intention of not being in your life.” You had stopped moving forward and Malleus came to a stop beside you. “Well, I don’t know. You’re a prince, future king, and you might get swapped in royal business and duties…” You pursed your lips, an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “And isn’t that more important?”  “Do you not like spending time with me?” Malleus’ voice was more sharp, on edge. “NO!” You shouted, the word echoing a bit in the quiet night. “I like spending time with you. I love it!” Malleus looked at you with confusion, and if he were looking at anyone else the way he had been in the past minute, they would have been grovelling, asking for forgiveness. But not you.  “Then why did you bring it up in the first place? Should there not be time, I will simply make it,” he said quietly. A small smile and chuckle replaced the irritated look of moments prior, “I will even make it ‘royal business’ as you put it.” You cough-laughed at his statement, but you only laughed harder when you looked at him to see a baffled expression.  Malleus chuckled lightly, joining your amusement, even though he didn’t understand what was so funny that had you tearing up. You let out a long sigh, recollecting yourself. “Well, I’ll be there then, promise.”

And you had held that promise. Despite both of your hectic lives, you both met at least twice a month. If neither of you had the time? Well, Malleus would just show up outside your place, like old times, and you would both go about the property. Sometimes talking away, and other times in silence, just happy to be next to each other again.

Malleus knew he liked you, loved you even — the way he felt more like himself when he was around you, and a tinge of jealousy made that distinction clear — and he was planning on asking you if you felt the same.

But he didn’t have the chance.

He would never have the chance.

He knew that he wouldn’t have many years with you, but he had planned that it was old age that took you away from him.

Ramshackle had not changed, but Malleus could still smell the scent of soot, even after all of these years. The foyer stopped, and Malleus looked into the gloom of the burnt ruins.

“ … do you remember our promise?”

He had been coming here, once a fortnight, asking the same question and hoping for an answer. Every time all he ever received was the sound of rotting wood and the scampering of mice.

He took in a breath and was ready to leave, to go back to his duties, but he stopped.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He couldn’t see you, but you were here. And that was all that mattered to Malleus. That although you may not physically be here anymore, he had not lost you.

Time may heal all wounds, but Malleus didn’t want this wound to heal. He didn’t want to lose you, not again.

. . .

. . .

A/N; Hope you enjoyed what I came up with for this combination! And *hands you an emotional dragon fae that misses you*

~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @bloomstruck @eynnwwyjth @keii-starz @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @syrenkitsune @the-v-lociraptor @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii

#dove does events #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x gn reader #cw reader death #a sudden death he would not heal well with #like it would eat at him for years #but didn't want this being too angsty #ithseem! #finally got some time to write this; yippee!!!!

[acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies]

Flowers

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Azriel x Rhysand sister!reader, future Helion x reader

Warnings: angst without happy ending, i love elain but i love the plot too

Prompts: N/A

Summary: Why didn’t he love you? Did he really love her so much as to marry her? So much that he gave her the wedding dress I had made for myself?

a/n i’m sorry… (i’m not)

It was a normal day, the inner circle was chatting about the newest bakery that had opened near the Sidra. I sat there waiting for Rhysand to come in so I could give him an earful of why he gave my boyfriend (soon to be husband) a mission so close to our wedding.

Seeing Rhys walk in, I jump to my feet, “Rhys why did you give Az a mission?”.

“You gave him a mission so close to their wedding” Cassin grimaces.

“I thought you had a heart Rhys,” Mor jokes.

We’re all laughing now, unable to hear Rhysand’s protests.

Two pairs of footsteps walk inside the house. Turning around, my smile got wiped off my face.

Azriel was wearing the attire for our wedding.

Our wedding, so why does he have is arm wrapped around Elain?

I gasp as I take in what she’s wearing.

“What. Are. You. Wearing?” I seethe towards the blonde clinging to my fiancée.

Suppose I can’t say that anymore.

“Oh Azriel gave it to me,” she answers giggling.

“You what?” My eyes are brimming with tears.

It was a beautiful dress, that I had spent months making. A sweetheart neckline with an A line silhouette, I had made the white dress to fade into black at the bottom as an homage to Azriel’s shadows.

Stepping forward, I mutter out to Elain, “Take the dress off,”. Her giggles fade and she stares and gapes at me like a fish.

“I said take the fucking dress off,” I snarl.

“Y/N it was an accident,” Azriel says placing an arm in front of her.

The audacity. My laugh is wet and cruel. “It wasn’t an accident, tripping down the stairs is an accident, you don’t accidentally give a girl the dress your fiancée worked months on, you don’t accidentally get married to the girl 2 weeks before your wedding date,”

A sense of betrayal courses through me. Was he with her the whole time he told me he loved me? Was he with her when he proposed to me? Did they laugh at how foolish I could be, together?

Nesta and Feyre look at Elain, how could she?

She was mated and Azriel was about to get married for gods sake.

Feyre stayed quite, disappointment taking over her features. Nesta stood silent beside Cassian, while Rhysand tried to get me up from the position I was on the floor.

“I want my wedding dress back. Now” I growl.

“Elain take it off” Feyre whispers. “What, no” she scoffs in response.

“Elain she spent months making that dress with us, take it off right now,” Nesta scolded.

“You know what let her keep it.” Everyone stares at me in shock. “She seems pretty content with my left overs,”.

I walk upto her, I was significantally taller than her, bending down to her level, I whisper “You had a beautiful mate, a promising life, shame that you stole a daemati’s boyfriend,”.

“But I’m glad you did,”

Azriel still stood close to Elain.

“You made flowers grow in my lungs, although they are beautiful, I can’t breathe anymore,”

a/n and the first part is out this is pretty short but the other parts will make up for it lemme know if u wanna be in the taglist 🫶🏻

#acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies #acotar #a court of silver flames #acotar series #book #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel x elain #azriel x you #rhysand acotar #rhysand sister #rhysand #feyre cursebreaker #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre #helion x reader #high lord helion #helion acotar #helion spell cleaver #cassian #10/10 with everyone #flowers #a court of fey and flowers

[bby-deerling]

she's out of my life (law x reader)

part of my 1600 follower event (ignore that i've been putting this off forever, i've rewritten this like 4 times)! prompt is: so i've learned, that love's not possession, and i've learned, that love won't wait, now i've learned, that love needs expression, but i've learned too late

cw: hurt/comfort, angst, night terrors, angst with a happy ending, law is bad with emotions

tagging: @willowbelle @sanjisjuul @eelnoise @sanjisprincesswifey @ragethebunny @kaizokuniichan @mirillua @cloudzoro @risenwrites @atanukileaf

wc: 655 masterlist || commissions

So determined to keep you safe by not fully opening his heart and mind to you, Law hadn’t even realized he was losing you.

He hadn’t been hurting you consciously, and didn’t put the pieces fully together until you cornered him and released a floodgate of emotions that had been steadily creeping up on you for months.  You had a laundry list of complaints—none of them completely unwarranted.  Despite the way he would often fume with jealousy at the slightest hint of provocation, he kept you at arm’s length, unable to open up in the way that you had for him.  He was a vampire, feeding from you, doing nothing but take as he ignored the tears in your eyes that begged for something, anything in return.

You were done—you’d made up your mind before the conversation had even started, and there was nothing he could do or say to change your mind.

He grabs your wrist as you move to leave, and a swell of hope floods his chest as you turn around, only for it to be snuffed out as your hand smacks him brutally hard across the face.  A mixture of pain and tingles from the aftershock spread through his cheek and make him unbearably dizzy as his ears ring unbearably loud; his legs weaken not long after, collapsing under the weight of his own mistakes.

The burning slap across his face dampens into soft taps across his cheeks, and the metaphorical weight on his chest feels so much more tangible as his vision goes fuzzy and fades to black.  Far away mumbles of his name sprinkled in between soft pleas for him to wake up become clearer as his mind rolls around in his skull, disoriented and deep in shock.  The sweet sound of your voice coaxes him back into lucidity, though the sight of you hovering over him, thighs on either side of his torso and your worried gaze locked onto his stormy, glazed over eyes does little to soothe his racing heart.  Chapped lips press roughly against his cheek as the palm of your hand cups his face; many nights on both your parts had been spent comforting each other after being trapped in the throes of a night terror, but they always revolved around the past—for the first time, Law is terrified of the future.  Scared of his lack of verbal reassurance to you coming back to bite him, of his inability to express how much he cares about you having the potential to push you away, and of the unspoken secrets he keeps close to his chest driving him apart from you.

Ignorant to the overwhelming swirling of emotions coursing through his veins, you nuzzle into the crook of his neck and lazily press sleepy kisses along seam connecting his neck to his collarbone. “I love you, Law.” you whisper softly into his skin.  He can feel the strings of your heart tug bittersweetly as the words leave your mouth, making his heart twinge with guilt as the contents of his nightmare flood his mind once more. 

Each night before bed, you murmur those words to him with such devotion and care, and with full knowledge they wouldn’t be returned, and yet still, hope hangs on the tip of your tongue and remains unaddressed—you simply tuck the unpleasant lack of reciprocation away, press a kiss to his forehead and tangle your limbs with his.

Each night you give yourself to him whole, only to get chewed up and spit out.

It’s not sustainable, and he knows it.

So determined to not lose you, Law swallows the lump in his throat and whispers, “Me too—so much.”  He isn’t quite able to get the words out just yet, but the starry look in your eyes as you push yourself up to meet his gaze with a bright smile tells him it’s more than enough for now.

#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x you #law x you #law x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece drabble #one piece scenario #one piece fanfic

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;

78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.

Rating: E Words: 3.3K cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy. Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??. Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship. a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.

There was a time when you loved John Price.

With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).

That time was when you were young.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

#ikea writes 💚 #ocaptainchallenge #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #call of duty #cod fandom #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain price mw2 #price mw2 #price

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞wish you back

✰ pairings: ex!han x fem!reader

✰ genre: romance + angst with comfort ending

✰ warning: mentions of insecurities, deep talks, indirect mentions of miscommunications and getting back together

✰ request: If you’re taking requests or would like some ideas for your future writings then could I suggest/request an angsty fight but with a comfort ending with prompts 1, 10 and 12 with skz Han or it could even be an ot8 whichever is comfortable for you :)

✰ note: hi hi love! i hope you like it >< i made it exes to lovers and it hope it suits to what you requested for! thanks to @planetkiimchi for beta reading this and helping me with it 🤍

✰ word count: 2k + words

meeting him was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be your favourite. meeting him was like rewatching every movie you ever loved with your favourite flavour of popcorn. meeting him was truly beautiful.

then, suddenly, you didn’t like that song anymore. you hated those movies as well. and you didn’t even bother touching that last packet of popcorn kept in the cabinet of your kitchen. it had been a month precisely since you and jisung parted ways.

a month of half-heartedly listening to your best friend’s ‘not-getting-back-to-your-ex’ rules. you don’t even remember the last time you saw him. but all you could do was think of him. was he eating well? was his hair as long as before? or has he trimmed them? it was foolish, you knew that very well. but the way your heart belonged to him, you couldn’t help it.

your mind keeps replaying the evening of your breakup. that very evening, when the two of you would be completing two whole years as a couple. all of it—now shattered. it doesn’t matter what you do, or what he does, the deed is done. there’s no going back now. or is there?

you know you shouldn’t be doing this and instead sending someone else. despite this, you find yourself driving to his home. after his last text, which told you to go pick up your stuff. you nearly felt your heart burst out of your chest the moment you saw his name pop in your notifications, but all of it faded when you saw his text. you know it meant nothing, but you felt yourself tear apart when the thought that he's trying to erase you crosses your mind. that’s what the voices in your head said. he’s trying to remove you from his life. and you know it shouldn’t hurt that much– but it does.

you hated whenever he overworked himself. you hated the way he would always come home exhausted but would still manage to muster up a smile you knew was fake. and when the limit runs, it’s the two of you against each other– screaming at each other’s throats. the eyes that used to be filled with love and warmth, were replaced with tiredness and anger.

maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, but the words can’t be unsaid. the apartment that used to be filled with memories in each corner, just rests there in dust and dirt.

you lift your hand to knock on the door and not even a second later, the door opens wide allowing you to see the apartment once again, and jisung as well.

he looks almost the same, except for his hair that he has curled slightly. if it would’ve been a stranger, they wouldn’t have been able to pick on any difference. but knowing him for years, you know everything from the beat of his heart to the dip in his voice when he’s about to break down– you have lived it all as well.

“hi,” he manages to croak out when you enter the apartment. you let out a silent nod, but prevent yourself from getting into a long conversation with him. your friend advised you not to if you didn’t want to end up getting hurt.

“how have you been?” he asks, his voice no louder than a mutter.

“how do you expect me to be?” you chuckle dryly, rubbing salt onto his wounds without even sparing him a glance. you look around, eyes stopping on the fridge that has various fridge magnets which you stuck on. maybe it was just a you thing, but it marked as the evidence of your happy relationship. there’s a small magnet with a polaroid of you two sitting on a couch with a cake in your hand.

it almost makes you laugh, how quickly the memory rushes into your head. it was your birthday and jisung surprised you with homemade meals and handmade gifts. it was a simple meal with just the two of you, yet his sincerity never failed to amaze you.

“i’m trying to talk to you nicely,” he hisses back, frustration creeping its way into his tone. it makes you gulp. you pause to stare at him, for the second time of the day before sighing.

“where’s my stuff?” you whisper, not breaking eye contact, which makes him stare back at you just as fiercely.

there’s something in his expression that makes you want to run straight into his arms and embrace him, kiss him and tell him you love him. but you can’t. he was the main character in the movie called “you”, but now he seemed to play more of a side role. it seems discarded yet you will remember it forever.

he takes a long minute to reply and points to the bedroom, “it’s under the bed, in a box.”

you nod and make your way in the bedroom. the sight of the room itself makes your heart heavy. you look around, and where there used to be a brown heart couch, it’s now empty. the room takes you back to the days when the two of you first moved in. the two of you were so excited to bring in the new furniture and rearrange it according to your preference. it almost felt surreal at first. you still remember spending three weeks just to arrange the furniture. it was tiring, but you didn’t know that it was even more tiring to look at this now-almost-empty bedroom.

you crouch down and pull out a wooden box. it’s a bit dusty, so you carry it and keep it on the mattress. you blow away the dust as much as possible and open the box. it’s filled with photos, letters, gifts varying from sizes to colours and occasions. it’s a wonder how he kept all your stuff neatly arranged. even if there’s a few things missing, you don’t mention it when you return back to the living room.

he shoots up from his seat upon seeing you, and there’s a determined look on his face which you don’t quite like.

“can i know one thing before you go?” there’s fresh pain in his eyes which he no longer attempts to hide from you. when you take a look at him, you see the eyebags, the tiredness seeps through his eyes and it’s painful to see him that way.

when you don’t reply, he takes that as his cue to step towards you and hold both of your hands in his, the familiar warmth immediately soothing you and making you breathe in relief.

“do you still love me?” it’s just a question, you tell yourself. it’s just a normal question, just say no and you’ll be fine. instead, you stare down at your intertwined hands and slowly rub your thumb against his.

“what if i say yes? how would it change anything? remember, you left me first,” you look back at him with tears brimming your eyes. there’s a softness in his expression that almost makes you cry but you manage to hold it in.

“because you told me to! you told me how annoying i was and how i wasn’t giving you time. and i thought about it, i really did and i realised it was better for us this way.”

“you’ll decide that on your own? you could’ve talked to me once ji! i would have stopped you and told you just how much you mean to me!” you say while jabbing a finger at his chest in fury.

“how does that change it? you had that thought across your head. how could you even think of us separating? we were happy, weren’t we? and then suddenly you weren’t there when i returned. i didn’t call you because i thought… i thought that maybe you didn’t want me anymore,” he chuckles bitterly and runs a hand through his unruly hair, impatiently waiting for a response.

“i… you’re the only one i want, ji. there’s not been a single day where i didn’t think of you. if you would’ve called me even in the middle of the night, i’d run back to you without hesitation,” there’s raw pain reflecting in his eyes that flick to your continuously.

“then… why?” you squeeze your eyes shut at his question. was it the way he was too blunt with it? or was it the way you knew that the truth would hurt?

“it’s easy for you to ask that because you’re not the one constantly thinking about whether you’re being controlling or not. you’re not the one who has to constantly keep yourself in check, wondering whether or not you’re overthinking! do you know how hard it was for me to not ask you anything every hour just because it will make you look pushy? i didn’t want to be that kind of girlfriend that bugs you, or the one that has to call you a hundred times a day to remind you that i’ll be waiting! it’s a mess, jisung. i-i’m a mess.”

“do you trust me?” he asks, his eyes shining with determination with this new shift in him.

“no– don’t do this to me,” you shake your head and try to slip your hand out of his grasp, but he stays still.

“please don’t try to ignore me, my love. please don’t go… why do you keep shaking my whole world and then leaving like nothing ever happened? why? why are you so desperately trying to run away from me? did you forget that we promised to help each other with our problems? or do those promises mean nothing?”

“we broke up, jisung! we are not together anymore. there’s no us, it’s just you and i,” you look away to avoid his burning gaze.

“look at me, babe,” he whispers, his words are careful to not try and trigger you any more.

and when you do, he looks down at you with a soft gaze, “i want you to know one thing. there’s nothing in this world that will make me love you less. it’s okay to worry. you worry for the one you love and it’s normal. there is no such thing as worrying too much, okay? don’t you ever think that you are less or that you are more. you are just the perfect amount, like the sugar i need in my coffee,” he jokes a bit and it does indeed manage to make you chuckle through tears.

“there was a day where i almost knocked at your front door, but then i saw how happy you looked. and i feel like i was trying to snatch away your happiness, but then you told me how you felt and honestly, it just feels like we’re two dumb people who are scared to communicate. a talk was all we needed.”

“i’m sorry for hurting you that night, and for not even bothering to tell you that i’m was leaving.” after every word, he smiles wider, and it’s as if you’re seconds away from mending his broken heart along with yours. “is it too late to stop the shifting of the furniture?” he laughs, before shaking his head, and pulling you to his chest. his arms wrap around you and he embraces you tightly, cherishing every bit of you for as long as he can.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“i suppose i should call the guy before it gets too late,” he huffs in annoyance and you smile at his words.

“you should! it’s your fault you’re trying to give away our stuff,” you mock, with a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“putting the blame on me now?” he pouts before stealing a kiss from you and his fingers are already vigorously typing digits on his phone.

there’s something about this house that will never change; you and him. perhaps those magnets too.

PERM TAGLIST: @taeriffic 🥽 @hello-2-u-from-me 🥽 @ilychee08 🥽 @sleepyleeji 🥽 @spacegirlstuff

#ॱଳ͘ #k-labels #kflixnet #straykidsland #straykids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids fic #bang chan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #han angst #skz han #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader

[saintmuses]

❝𝙣𝙤 𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙢 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣❞

Pairing:

Judge!Jonathan Crane x Arkham Fugitive!Reader

Summary:

It had been several years since Gotham as society obliterated into pieces. Several years since Jonathan had seen his favorite Arkham patient escape from the asylum with a promise on her lips.  

Warning(s): SMUT. P in V. Mentions of violence. Implied attempted assault (not from Crane). Brief description of threat. Minors, dni! Note: I realized that I haven’t been giving Jonathan especially Judge!Crane some love lately! That being said, it’s sorta set in the final installment of The Dark Knight Trilogy with allusions of Batman Begins scenes.

Word Count: 1.7k

The city of Gotham’s corruption was never ending; endless explosions, crimes and more deaths continued.

It had been two years since he had last seen Y/N. Echoes of her boots surrounded him as she sprinted away from him and the rubbles that was the Arkham Asylum; never looking back after whispering to him while he was bounded in an unoccupied cell that she was going to kill him was still fresh in his mind ever since.

She was indicted for bashing a stranger’s head with a brick after he tried to take her in the alley. When he saw her in the courtroom, he was simply enthralled by how she was stoic and yet her eyes were filled with fire. He then knew he had to admit her into the asylum so he could be closer to her, and his words held power in swaying the judge to prompt the sentencing.

That was why she was his favorite subject; he could tell she despised him by the way she refused to look at him. The tone of her voice was hard and colder than ice, and he reveled in the feeling. Of course, she would indulge him in sessions, out of fear he would use fear toxin on her. It was their deal, if she talked then he wouldn’t have to take his scarecrow burlap mask filled with his experiment out of his metal storage briefcase.

His feelings for her, whatever he could classify as much as he could since he despised emotions that connected to romantic sense, had developed during his tenure as her psychiatrist that he was angry when she escaped after Batman showed up, destroying the restoration of future order of Gotham with his creation. 

"Let go of me you son of a bitch!" 

His eyes widened at the familiar sound of a woman seething, and he had to settle for a stoic expression before turning around just in time to see two of his henchmen with their hands wrapped around the woman's body dragging her down the hallway.

She cursed out loud when they dropped her aggressively, still folding onto her upper body, and her hair swayed wildly as she jerked her legs and bounded wrists.

He could see that his henchmen had to use ropes to put her in binds, which indicated she tried to attack them, and was unsuccessful with her mission.

Of course, she still had the fire in her. He thought wryly.

"Gentlemen, what is the meaning of this?" He inquired, taking a step forward which made Y/N stop thrashing in their grips.

Eyeing her stilled form, he smirked at her when her eyes widened as she looked up at him.

"Leave her," he ordered, glaring at two young men until they released her arms allowing her to kneel on the floor.

Waiting until he heard the sound of a click to indicate his henchmen left the room, and he turned his head to look back at her when the sounds of footsteps faded away.

He took a step toward her, crouching before her as she eyed him warily. He then reached out with his fingers to her face, relishing in the feeling of her skin; he trailed his fingers over her cheeks and up her jaw where he pinched her earlobe between index and thumb. He gave it a little tug, experimental, though sharp enough to incite a sting. "I didn't expect to see you," he paused, a smirk grew on his lips. "Thought you were smarter than to get caught."

Before she could fight against him vehemently, he clasped her arms, dragging her up along with him as he straightened his form, and he marched across the room until he reached for the door that led to the sitting room.

He pushed her aside before slamming the door and pushed the lock button to ensure no one would come in especially the rogues. 

"What the hell are you doing?" He heard her speaking up from behind him before he turned towards her.

He didn't answer her, although he did stare at her for a few moments before reaching for her arm and pushed her along until he reached another door that led to the room where his office resided.

Once they crossed the threshold, he pushed her against the wall after he activated the lock for his office.

Her eyes widened when he brought his face close to her, he reached between them to unfasten the rope around her wrists before he brought one hand around her waist to push her body against his after dropping the rope to the side.

She was embarrassed to hear a slight mewling sound escape her own lips as the arm that had been around her waist slid up; he let her slide a few inches down the wall before his hand entangled itself in her hair. 

Tugging her hair firmly, Jonathan pulled her head back so that her mouth fell open and her throat was exposed. He leant forward and ran his nose up the side of her neck and her chin, nuzzling her ear.

"You're going to lay on the desk, and I'm going to do what I should've done before you escaped from me." He muttered; a command etched in his tone.

She nodded; her eyes wide. His authoritarian tone was such a turn on, she didn't think she would have been turned on by the authority in his voice since she had never liked his tone during their sessions before she had escaped, but that was not the case.

He lifted her arms once again, carrying her across the room until he placed her onto his desk unceremoniously.

He leaned back to unbutton her pants before pushing them down from her legs. Once it hit the floor, she lifted her legs to spread before him, only panting in her underwear and t-shirt in the room.

He then reached under her shirt, ghosting his fingers across her skin as he slid his hands towards her breasts. 

She gasped into his mouth as he palmed her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples that were becoming erect before drawing his hands back to remove his ragged blazer that seemed to confine him.

He was thankful that he had requested a large ornate desk as he propped himself on top of the furniture, leaning over her. Sweat began to dampen his skin as well as hers. Chest touched chest as he planted a hot kiss to her jaw, then her chin as he trailed his lips across her face. She squirmed as he dipped two fingers into her cunt and withdrew only to bring them to her lips where he traced her mouth leaving a slick trail behind.

He pushed her underwear aside, away from her slit, before reaching with his other hand to unbutton his pants, unzipping it, and his cock sprung free. Before she could reach for it with her hand, she squeezed her eyes shut when his cock filled her up with a single hard thrust, leaning with his forehead against hers as he savored the feeling of her walls milking his cock. 

He withdrew his hips slightly before slamming back into her, relishing in the feeling over again.

The way she breathed against his face, the tiny whimpers leaving her mouth, the way she adjusted her hips to allow him better access, the way she reacted to every thrust, every push and pull, it hurt him inside in a most magnificent manner.

"Fuck," he rasped as he pulled out again. He hovered for a moment, with just the head inside her, and she felt empty. He gripped her hips and slammed inside of her, causing her to cry out and arched her back off the desk.

Her hands pulled him closer, gripping his back with her nails. Her legs still wrapped around him; she pushed her heels into his ass. He fell on top of her, holding himself up by his forearms and leaning his head down into the crook of her neck. She could feel him planting sloppy kisses on her neck and shoulder. He curled his lips and reached for the curve of her neck to dig his teeth into her skin, and she gasped as the sensation went right to her clit, pushing her higher which made her throw her head back.

He pounded into her brutally in abandon, riding her orgasm as she continued to recite his name like she was spellbound. 

He spontaneously wrapped an arm around her waist and reared back upright on his knees, holding her against him and thrusting up harshly. He gave several more thrusts before groaning hoarsely, chasing his own release. Her head fell forward on his shoulder, and she moaned softly at the feel of him filling her.

He slowly descended them back to the desk, caressing her abdomen softly, and panting in her ear, still buried deep inside her. He kissed her temple, her cheek, then urged her to meet him in a lazy kiss, which she complied in daze. Her lips were swollen and torn from his previous kisses and her own teeth as she had bit them down harshly as he fucked her.

Withdrawing from her, wincing slightly at the sensitivity as his cock slipped out of her cunt. His tongue swiped the bottom of his lip as he spotted his cum trickling out of her hole.

Fuck.

He inhaled deeply as he eased himself off the desk before placing himself on the leather chair before tucking his softened cock back in his dress pants.

Bringing his gaze to the ceiling of his office, he traced on the skin of her calf absentmindedly, only to snap his eyes to her face when he heard a sharp noise.

She held a knife, fingers wrapped around the finely detailed handle as she angled it towards his jaw where it was sparsely with light hair sprinkled across his skin.

"What are you doing?" he asked, unamused as he gripped the back of her neck.

Her eyes flickered to his nonchalantly before moving them to the metal before her.

Tracing the grooves of the weapon, she lightly wetted her lips before closing the inches between them, only to pause when her lips barely brushed his.

"Fulfilling my promise, Doctor Crane."

#jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #the dark knight trilogy #jonathan crane x y/n

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Giving into Temptation ~Melissa Schemmenti xFem Teacher!Reader

🥸 Anon ask— Hey!! ❤️❤️ I love your fics so much! These are just some ideas I had for! Feel free to mix it up if you want!! 4, 8, & 23 Melissa Schemmenti x reader‬— Hope you Enjoy 🥸 anon!!

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#4. One bed troupe

#8. “Fuck you.” “That’s what I’m trying to do...”

#23. “Like my name that much, do you…? Moan it then… Moan my name, [insert pet-name]…”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, One bed troupe, enemies to lovers vibes, future implied smut, smut, fingering, thigh grinding, wet dreams, degrading kink, praise kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

Melissa had really been looking forward to PECSA weekend. Until Barbara had invited you to join their drinking party.

It’s not like the two of you hated each other. It’s just that you were both very opinionated and couldn’t have a conversation without somehow butting heads. For one, you were from Cleveland. And that was all Melissa needed to know to not like you.

“Uh no no no, Barb…” Melissa complained, “I’m not letting my weekend get ruined by *Ohio*…”

Ohio was Melissa’s nickname for you…

“Now Melissa…” Barbara chided, “You will let Y/N join us. She’s new in town and to the school, she shouldn’t be all on her own at PECSA…”

Melissa grumbled a bit more about it, but eventually gave way.

~~~

“Oh Hell No…!” Melissa exclaimed, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, miss, it’s the only room left available at the moment…” the hotel check-in attendant said.

You gulped and blushed.

“Barb please…” Melissa looked to the poised kindergarten teacher for help.

“Oh no, I’m sorry Melissa, but I need my private time…” Barbara told the desperate red head, shaking her head.

The red head groaned in frustration.

“I am not sharing a room with her…!” Melissa growled in a low tone to Barbara.

But you heard the woman…

Eventually, she gave in, as there were no other options. You all got into the elevator and traveled up to your rooms. Barbara’s room ended up being right next to yours and Melissa’s.

“Shall we say the pool bar in 45 minutes?” Barbara suggested.

You both nodded in agreement, entering your shared room. Melissa slammed the door behind you as she huffed. But you stood still in your tracks. You gulped at the sight in front of you.

There was only one bed…

As Melissa came to your side, her eyes widened at the same realization.

“Oh Fuck No…” she murmured, carrying her things in reluctantly.

“It’s fine, I uh… I can sleep on the floor…”

She looked at you quizzically.

“No. That’s disgusting. It’s fine. We’ll share.” She huffed.

“And I’ll just get hammered anyways to not remember…” she murmured to herself.

~~~

The night went by and Melissa did indeed have a lot of alcohol, but so did you. By the end of the night, you both crashed into your room and immediately collapsed on the bed. Melissa was quick to establish her side of the bed, before promptly turning away from you. You were worn out and quickly faded into a slumber after that.

~~~

“You're so wet, baby… Is that all for me…?” The woman cooed, teasing your drenched folds with her fingers and holding your legs wide open.

You bit down on your lip to muffle a moan trying to escape your lips, you nodded vigorously and panted heavily.

“Obviously it's for me… You're my little whore, aren't you?” She lustfully sneered, sliding her two digits back into your sensitive cunt.

You gasped at the sensation and her words, mewling in pleasurable overstimulation.

“I’m such a good fuck that you can't get enough of me, can you?”

“Yes yes yes…!! Please pleaseeee—!” You chanted, arching your back into her form as her fingers pounded into you. Your hips began to grind against her hand… hard…

“Such a cum slut… You would do anything to get fucked…” the woman wickedly purred.

You nodded vigorously, approaching another high quite quickly.

“You wanna cum…?” She taunted, “Say my name… Say it…”

“Mel…!” You mewl.

“Louder.”

“Melissa…!!” You cry out.

“Good slut… Cum with my name on your tongue…” the red head growls.

“Fuck— MELISSA!!” You scream, cumming all over her fingers.

~~~

You suddenly jolt awake, trembling and all hot. You look at the clock.

3:37am

You then gasp as you feel a hand on your arm. You turn around to find Melissa starring at you. She moves slightly and your breath hitches as you feel your core on her thigh. And your dripping… All over your thighs… and hers… You gulp and go red.

“I… I’m so sorry…” you whisper, immediately retracting yourself and keeping to your side of the bed.

“Nice dream…?” She chuckled.

“Shut up…” you mumbled, going an even darker shade of red.

“You know… you were talking in your sleep…” she continued.

Your eyes widened slightly. Shit shit shit… This was all becoming too much.

“You were whimpering… a name… my name.” Melissa continued.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Melissa.” You seethed through gritted tone.

At that, the red head tugged you to the middle of the bed, pinning you below her. You yelped, but she shut you up by smashing her lips into yours.

“That’s what I’m trying to do...” she growled.

You tried to contain the moan threatening to escape your lips. Melissa then suddenly backed away, backing herself up against the headboard. You rolled back up and we’re now in between her legs. You looked at the red head in anticipation.

“Why don’t you make even more of a mess on my thighs…?” The red head taunted.

You gulped breathlessly and nodded. You quickly straddled the woman’s thigh and began grinding against it. She tensed her thigh and you mewled out in pleasure.

“Like that, baby…?” Melissa taunted.

You nodded vigorously. Suddenly, you felt the woman’s hand stabilize your sides and start really rutting you against her thigh. You were a desperate, slick mess.

“Like my name that much, do you…? Moan it then… Moan my name, baby…” The red head growled.

“Melissa please Oh God—!!” You cried out.

The red head brought you over your edge on her thigh, leaving you a panting mess. You went to lay back down, but Melissa stopped you.

“Oh, we aren’t done, Sweet girl…” the red head chuckled.

~~~

Melissa Schemmenti Masterlist

#🥸 anon #melissa schemmenti smut #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa x reader #lisa ann walter #lisa ann walter x reader #Lisa Ann Walter character #abbott elementary fandom #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary x reader #Abbott elementary smut #one bed trope #enemies to lovers #Spotify

[oh-stars]

Boring

Love is wanting to tell someone every little detail of your day and wanting to hear about theirs.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1309 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

Steve isn’t exciting. He knows this, he’s always known this. It’s why he hides behind fake smiles and follows the same beat as the rest of his peers rather than finding his own path like Eddie. He follows the local teams because that’s what everyone else did; he listens to pop music because that’s what’s played at parties and the first thing he hears when he turns on the radio; he wears boring clothes because his mom buys it for him and he actually likes how they look on him. 

It’s not something he put a lot of thought into until he started hanging out with Dustin and his friends, only growing when Robin came into his life and then it became this glaringly obvious problem when Eddie took an interest in him as a friend. Steve likes the mainstream, everyday boring shit that makes him blend into his peers, and fully fade to the background when he’s around his wonderfully eccentric new family. 

And now that he and Eddie are more than friends, Steve feels even more inadequate. 

His date ideas are cheesy and stereotypical. His ambitions in life start and stop at having a family in the future (which has changed since he was a kid – now he doesn’t equate having a family to a wife and 2.5 kids, but rather a cozy little life with his partner, maybe a few pets, and any nieces or nephews the party gives him. As long as he has Robin in his life and a partner, be it a wife or husband, who actually loves him, he’ll be content). Steve doesn’t have any passions he can turn into a career, and the few he did have, it’s far fetched or his body couldn’t keep up anymore even if he had the chance. 

Then there’s Eddie who shines so brightly and takes up so much space with every ounce of his personality. He has so many hobbies that could become actual careers, too many choices for him to pick from that there have been plenty of nights where he’s stayed up and talked Steve in circles over his choices. He has such strong opinions about everything, could rant for days about the lint he found in the dryer if he needed to. Nancy always says he’d be a great Phillip-buster, whatever that is, because he can just keep going without losing steam. 

He’s incredible and Steve is decidedly not. 

It’s something he ponders on his way home, nodding along to the Springsteen song playing on the radio as he heads for the trailer. It’s been a great day, one of Steve’s better ones lately, and he’s itching to revel in its many wonders with Eddie when he gets home. Nothing exciting happened, just a lot of little, wonderful moments that feel perfect to Steve. 

But they’re boring. He knows that. 

When he was a kid, he used to hear his grandparents talk about the most mundane things. His grandmother would fill his grandpa in on all the gossip she gathered from their neighbor or the way the price of milk went up at Bradley Big Buy. She’d have serious conversations with him about whether they should switch grocery stores or if going to one of the farms directly for their produce was a better idea. And in turn, he’d complain about the squeaky wheel on the mail cart at work or would go into detail about how lovely the lunch she packed him was, complimenting the sandwich like it was made of gold. 

They were the perfect couple in Steve’s eyes. He’s always wanted what they have. But his grandparents were so similar, they shared interests in ways that Steve and Eddie don’t. On paper, Steve and Eddie should clash and he knows opposites attract and all, but it doesn’t mean you want a life with them. 

So he holds in his excitement about his day. He’s just happy to have Eddie to come home to at all, that he’s allowed to just walk into the trailer and be a part of Eddie’s life. 

He parks next to Eddie’s van and pockets his keys. 

Eddie’s waiting for him by the door, perched on the dining chair. “Thought you’d be coming home soon,” Eddie says with a grin as he pops up. He loops his arms around Steve’s neck and kisses him, so sweet and soft. Another addition to Steve’s perfect day. 

Steve can’t keep the smile off his face. “I missed you,” he says, even though it’s probably too much, too sappy for Eddie. 

Instead of wrinkling his nose and making a snide comment, Eddie’s arms tighten around him as he beams, eyes crinkling with how wide his smile is. “I missed you too.” Another kiss, this one a little longer and deeper before Eddie’s pulling away with a peck. “C’mon. I’ve been losing my mind being here all by myself,” he laments, hanging from Steve a little. 

“Where are we going?” Steve asks as Eddie straightens up to drag Steve to the couch. He gets pushed onto one side as Eddie takes the other, sitting cross-legged and sideways so he can stare directly at Steve. 

“Okay,” Eddie says seriously, “tell me everything.” 

“What?” 

Eddie nudges Steve’s knee. “About your day. I want the…” His brow furrows as he looks up at the ceiling, eyes glazing over as he thinks. “What’s the sports thing I’m thinking of? With the scripts?” 

Steve cocks his head to the side. “A play?” 

“Yes!” Eddie snaps his fingers and bounces a little. “I want the play-by-play.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, quiet despite the way his heart is picking up. “It was just a day at Family Video. It’s not like I’m a doctor or something more exciting.” 

Eddie leans forward and cups his hands over Steve’s face. “Everything you do is exciting to me, baby. I like seeing the world through your eyes. So yes, tell me everything,” he says, leaning forward with each word as he squishes Steve’s cheeks. He ends it with another peck, then two more like he can’t help himself. 

Steve laughs, but twists his body to mirror Eddie’s. “It’s been a great day,” he admits, eyes drawn to the loose thread on Eddie’s cushion. “Robin brought me coffee from that new shop on Main and her dad dropped off donuts for us on his way to work. Then Mrs. Peterson came in and she wasn’t a demonic she-beast from the underworld and was actually lovely for once,” Steve says. 

“Mrs. Peterson?” Eddie gasps. “The same woman who yelled at me for almost two hours for biking through her yard as a kid?” 

“The very one,” Steve says. “I think Rob and I were both too stunned to speak for a good thirty minutes after.” 

Eddie shakes his head, eyes bright with genuine interest – almost like he’s mystified. “See, this is the shit I wouldn’t believe if it came from anyone else but you.”

“What’s that mean?” Steve asks, softer but not harsh like he thought it would sound. Not that he wants to – he just knows how he comes off sometimes. 

“You,” Eddie says, poking Steve’s chest, “are special. You always bring the best out of people, man. Including grouchy old ladies who sold their souls to the devil for fresh gardenias in their flowerbeds.” 

Steve laughs and tilts forward so he’s practically in Eddie’s lap. They shift quietly so Steve’s laying on Eddie fully, arms wrapped around his middle. “You make it sound like I’ve got something exciting to say. It’s just boring shit.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong. You, Steve Harrington, are so far from boring,” Eddie whispers against his ear. 

And deep down, Steve thinks he may actually believe him. 

Steve lifts his head to kiss Eddie’s cheek. “Your turn. Tell me something about your day.” 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

[supernaturalfreewill]

"Listen up, asshole!" Sam slammed his hand down on the table and the man on the other side jumped. "This isn't good cop/bad cop. This is bad cop/worse cop. And trust me, you don't want to find out which is which. So I suggest you think real hard before you answer my next question!"

It was at about that point in the interview that you mentally checked out... Something about Sam being so assertive had you floating in your head for the next ten minutes and it wasn't until you both stepped back out into the hall that the spell seemed to break. Was it hot in here? You didn't even know if you'd gotten the info you needed for the case, but you assumed so since Sam seemed to be leading you back toward the parking lot.

"What happened to you back there?" he asked as you stepped out into the bright sunshine.

"Hmm? What do you mean?" you asked.

He laughed lightly. "You sort of dropped off the radar during the interview. Felt like I was in there alone toward the end." He pulled out the keys and made a beeline for the car.

"Oh..." Your cheeks flushed and your mind wandered back to Sam really taking control with that guy and—oh, shit. You were floating away in your head again...

"...Are you okay?" Sam was asking you, concern painting his features.

"Huh? No—YES! I mean, yes. Yes, I'm fine," you said, laughing nervously. You tugged at the collar of your shirt which suddenly seemed like it was suffocating you.

"...Are you feeling okay?" he asked, his usual sweet and concerned self.

Your cheeks were still flushed. You could feel the heat. "Yeah. Yeah... I think I just needed some air. It was stuffy in the station."

Sam cocked an eyebrow at you and continued unlocking the car. "Okay... it just isn't like you to fade out like that with a witness on a case. You're sure you're alright? You look a little flushed..."

"I just—must not have drank enough water today or something. I don't know," you murmured, praying he would drop it.

"Well, what did you think?" he asked as you both slipped into the car.

"Uhh... about... ?"

Now, Sam stopped halfway to putting the key in the ignition and he turned completely and stared at you, his brow deeply furrowed. "Alright, what's going on? You're never this checked out on a case!"

You mouthed wordlessly for a moment, shrugging. "I—I—"

"You're seriously starting to worry me!" he interrupted.

You put a hand up to your face. "Oh my God," you murmured to yourself.

"What?" he pressed you, gentle but insistent.

"I've never seen you do aggressive bad cop before!" you burst out. "It was—" you searched for the right word that would make this less soul-crushingly embarrassing. "—distracting!" you said, your cheeks burning with another blush. "Fuck," you muttered behind your hand again. "Happy now?!"

Sam look perplexed for a long moment and then let out a relieved laugh, before starting the car. "Wow. Uhh... I didn't know that was your thing," he said quietly, nervously laughing again.

You slumped in your seat. Dear God, please strike me with a lightning bolt. "Well, me either," you said, avoiding his eyes. "It—took me by surprise!"

Sam laughed again to himself. "Filing this away for future use," he joked, shooting a sideways glance at you, smiling.

You sighed and shook your head. "Promise me one thing, Sam."

"What's that?"

"Not a word of this to Dean..."

He laughed again. "I promise. I couldn't do that to you."

"Thank you," you sighed with relief.

Prompt: "This isn't good cop/bad cop. This is bad cop/worse cop. And trust me, you don't want to find out which is which."

#sam winchester #sam winchester fluff #spn fluff #supernatural #spn imagines #sammy imagines #sam winchester drabbles #spn fics

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Champagne Problems

Requested: fucking HIGHLY requested

Prompt: it's basically how Max and Y/n began their little affair from Farewell

Farewell: Part 1, Part 2

Champagne Problems: Part 2

Warnings: cheating, FICTION

Y/n smiled politely as the cameras flashed around her. This would be the first time she would be at the FIA Gala as an F1 driver. She was there when she was in F2 two years ago, and ultimately missed out last year after a very disappointing year in Williams. She posed and laughed, becoming more or less effortlessly gorgeous, easily the most gracious woman in the room and it didn't go unnoticed.

Many of her fellow drivers watched from the sidelines, one of these was Max who had his girlfriend tapping away on her phone mindlessly as he watched on. There was something about her when he first met her. Her honesty, her urge to befriend the grid. It made her likable from the get go and now that she was his teammate, he couldn't help but steal glances at her from across the garage. Despite the six-year age gap, there was an undeniable connection between them. Max, usually confident on the track, found himself feeling a bit uneasy around her. "Our turn." Kelly said, taking Max from his trance. He looked up to see Y/n gone and all the cameras noe turned in anticipation of who was to come next. "Right. Let's go." He smiled,grabbing her hand and leading her to the carpet.

Max walked backstage, being briefed on how the whole main event of the two teammates walking out would work. "So I just have to stand in the bit on the floor eith white tape?" Max asked. "Yes well you have to-" The voice faded away as he spotted Y/n smiling as she got her makeup touched up. God she looked stunning, but that's not something anyone should ever feel about their teammate, especially when she's younger. Max stood looking forward beside Y/n. They stood silently before Max coughed and managed to get a "hello" out. "I was beginning to think you were ignoring me." Y/n chuckled. "Never. I could never ignore you. You're far too loud and bubbly." Y/n turned to look at him and he did the same for her. "Don't pretend you hate it." She smiled.

"If you don't mind me saying-" He paused and looked between both of her eyes. "You look very good tonight." She nodded and smiled. "I know." Max chuckled. "I'd say you do." The pair looked forward, returning to their professional composure. "You know, I don't like these kind of events." She said. Max turned his head slightly so he could look at her in the corner of his eye. "I don't like having to dress up. I would prefer for us to just head somewhere with our Red Bull stuff on." She joked making Max laugh. "I mean if it suits you wear it."

"Introducing, newly crowned two time World Champion, Max Verstappen and the first woman to grace the grid in years, his 19 year old teammate, Y/n Y/l/n."

As Max stood next to his World Championship trophy, he searched the room for his teammate, desperately wanting to find her. Eventually he spotted her face, once bright and smiley now looking bored as she found herself surrounded by men. He chuckled and set his glass aside before grabbing the bottle of champagne beside him and making his way over to the small group. "But you see, crypto is the future and I would even go as far to say-"

"Hello Y/n!" She turned to see her teammate with a beaming smile upon his face. "Max." She replied. "Sorry to interrupt, but would you mind if I borrowed her from you. Y/n and I need to discuss some things. Excuse us." Max said, guiding her away with a knowing smile. As they walked away, Y/n couldn't help but feel the magnetic pull between them. "Of course." She turned to the guests and excused herself before quickly rushing off with Max. "Thank god. I don't think I could've listened to them talking about crypto currency for another minute." Max laughed, whisking her away with a charming smile. "Saved by the Max Verstappen." Y/n teased, her eyes meeting Max's. "Just returning the favor for you helping me this year." Max replied, a playful glint in his eyes. "You hardly needed me for something, did you?" She asked. "No, I just thought you needed help out of that situation and I happen to have a full bottle of champagne."

The pair found themselves on the balcony of the gala, away from prying eyes, continuing their conversation. Max, still hesitant to admit his feelings, spoke about the unique dynamics of their partnership on the track. "You know," Max began, clearing his throat. He turned to see Y/n looking at him. His knees went weak before continuing on. "We make a great team out there. I mean you're young, you're basically fearless and then...me?" He stopped, confused where he was going with this. "Old and wise?" He looked at her offended. "I'm not that old." She looked back out onto the view with a subtle smirk. "Well, you're not so bad yourself, Max. Maybe it's the teamwork that's making us stand out."

"Maybe it's something else?" Y/n took a deep breath in as Max continued on. "How do you mean?" She asked. Max fought in his head whether or not he should admit to these immoral thoughts he had about her. "Nothing." He muttered back, grabbing the champagne from Y/n and taking a swig sipping from the bottle. "Well you've started it now, you may as well finish it." Y/n said. The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, and Y/n could sense Max's internal struggle, torn between his feelings and loyalty to his girlfriend. "Just say it." She whispered. Max let out a sigh and kept looking out onto the view, not brave enough to look into her eyes in case he fell in love. "There's something about you, Y/n. I can't put a name to it but it's there."

"I've noticed, Max. It's been there all season." He let out a breath of relief, knowing she felt the same. "So, what exactly do we do now?" He asked. "Because-" He turned to her, taking her hand into his. She locked eyes with him. She never realised how blue they were before but now she can't help it, seeing the twinkling lights within them. "I can't promise anything, but I can't deny what I feel either." She nodded. "I understand, Max. I just-" He closed the gap between them, pecking her lips gently. He pulled away, staring at her in disbelief of what he had just done. "I am so sorry." He whispered. She took a deep breath. "Do it again."

It didn't take long for his hands to cup her face and pull her in again for another kiss. The kiss deepened and his hands dropped to her waist, while hers went under his buttoned shirt. This is the passion he had wanted with her. Y/n, her head generally always thinking of what others would say if they saw this, didn't care as Max pushed her back towards the ledge on the balcony and began to kiss her neck. Her fingers twirled through his hair, messing it as his now stained lips drew lilac bruises from her skin. She grinned, pulling him back up to engulf him yet another kiss when-

"Max!" The pair jumped apart by the sound of the sudden voice. "Max!" Their PR manager. "Yeah?" He called back, fixing his shirt back into his trousers. "We just need you for some photos!" Max wiped Y/n's smudged lipstick away from her lips and allowed her to fix his tie and his own lips. "Coming!" He shouted back. "If you find Y/n on the way in, can you call her in too?" Max looked down to Y/n grinning. "Of course!"

"Max?" He turned back, looking at her. "How about a movie at my hotel tonight?" She asked, twiddling with her fingers. Max didn't know what to do. "Um, maybe it's not such a good idea right now. I mean-" He paused gesturing inside. "My girlfriend is here and I don't think she would-"

"No, no, I get it. I think we just let the champagne get to us." She said. "Yeah. But if its any consolation, if I was single, you would- I mean I would love to- you- yeah." He couldn't quite finish his sentence. Y/n nodded. "Thanks." She mumbled. "I will-" He stopped. "I'll talk to you later." Y/n nodded again. "I'll be in soon. I. Just going to have a look at the view." She smiled, reassuringly. Max nodded and turned to leave. How could he do that? How stupid was he? Then again, she asked him to kiss her again. Did it mean anything?

As the gala drew to a close, Max and Y/n lingered closely to one another, their eyes speaking volumes. Max hesitated, his unspoken desire evident, but his unspoken loyalty to his girlfriend still there, but being questioned. "Should we leave?" Kelly asked, sensing that Max was not feeling it anymore. He nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "Alright. We should say goodbye to the other guests then." Kelly held his hand gently and pulled him along to say goodbye to everybody. "Leaving so early? You're not drunk already, are you?" Christian chuckled, patting Max on the back. Max chuckled as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "I don't know. I've had a lot of people buying me drinks and then a whole bottle of champa-"

Max looked to Christian's right to see Y/n, looking between both his eyes. He felt the air stuck in his lungs as she stared right into his very soul. "I'll see you on the track, Y/n," Max finally said, his voice carrying a mix of regret and longing. Y/n, understanding the complexity of their situation, smiled softly. "Looking forward to it, Max." He opened his arms for a hug to which Y/n reluctantly fell into. How long would this awkwardness go on for? And how long would it take for someone to figure it out? The pair pulled away with Max giving an awkward smile. "See you next year." He whispered. "Likewise." And so, she watched him as he walked away, out of sight but most definitely not out of mind.

#f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine

[genshinwomenontop]

"Mama's little one"

☆Prompt: Headcannons about Mama Yae miko and her youngest, you.

☆Warnings: None

☆Author's note: I just decided to delete the poll and write all those ideas 😭

As a kitsune, Miko had a litter of pups running around the Shrine. Her little pups took her mischievous nature and have wrecked havoc all around Inazuma.

You weren't like your siblings, as the youngest, you were surprisingly the quietest, and Miko's favourite.

Though she may not show it, Miko deemed you special, saying that you'd achieve great things in life; not that her other kids won't, but you just have a very bright future ahead.

While her other kids played around the Shrine, you sat beneath the scared Sakura, your fluffy tail swaying a bit as you read. Miko stared at you with adoration in her eyes, and though her others kids would hog her for attention, you were peaceful.

"What are you reading there, little one?" She would peek over your shoulders to see the book.

"It's a travel guide about the other nations," you beamer brightly.

Your dreams were to become a traveler, which meant leaving your mother alone. It was heartbreaking for Miko, but she supported you nonetheless.

Sometimes the other shrine maidens were tasked with handling the others while she took you to the yae publishing house, attached to her hip was a small baby. You loved visiting the publishing house because you got to read even more books.

At night, Miko held you in her arms as she showered you with kisses and compliments.

"You're such a beautiful/handsome little one aren't you?~"

"You'll always be my little one you know~"

"Mama's so proud of you"

Her other kids knew you were her favourite but they didn't mind because Miko had never made them feel neglected.

As you got older, Miko's love for you never faded, infact, it had increased even more. Once you were of age, you started your travels going from Liyue to Mondstadt back to Liyue to Fontaine.

You were the only child she had that left Inazuma, all her other kids had married and settled down. Oh how she longed to have you in her arms again. When you did arrive back, you brought back souvenirs for your siblings as well as your mother but she didn't care for those trinkets, she embraced you into a hug. Immediately checking all over your body, you had saw a side of your mother you never had; a more panicked and nervous version.

When you found someone you loved and you introduced them to Miko, she was a bit hesitant to let you go, after all, you're Mama's little one. Over time, she opened her arms to your lover.

Overall, Miko is the best mother you could ever ask for, despite her having such a mischievous nature, when it comes to her kids, especially her little one, Miko became the best mature version of herself and she absolutely loves you to bits.

#yae miko x reader #yae miko #genshin impact yae miko #yae miko genshin #yae miko genshin impact #miko x reader #genshin impact

[verybadatwriting]

To Be Held

Summary: Reader is injured.

Warnings: Angst, blood, and wounds

Notes: Thank you so much @arctrooper69 for the request and @promptsbytaurie for the prompts! :D

Prompts:

“You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.”

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

“I know, I know it hurts.” 

Gn!reader

Word count: 1,019

Tech often held you like this. Your head tucked against his neck and shoulder, his arms wrapped around you, holding your chest to his, you were safe. Sometimes the two of you were curled up on your bed, sometimes you were seated atop the Marauder, Tech quietly mumbling about the stars, but never before in a pool of your own blood. You tried to drift away in these good memories, let go of the pain.

A surge brought you back. Tech’s hand pushed against the wound on your upper back. The blood quickly seeped through his fingers.

“Aah.” You writhed at the pain. 

“I know,” He said, “I know it hurts. Just stay awake. Please.” 

“Did…” You started to ask. “Did we do it?”

“Yeah,” Tech said after a moment, amazed you could be thinking of the mission while bleeding out “You did it. You did such a good job.”

“Really?” You asked, a slight waver to your voice.

“Don’t worry, you–you did so good.”

“I-is anyone else… hurt?” You managed between shaking breaths. 

“No,” Tech held you tighter. “The rest of the Batch is fine. They’re on their way. They’ll be here soon. You’ll be okay…. You’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” You said, taking another deep, shaky breath. “It’s that bad?”

You leaned back, pushing away from him so you could see his face. His front was soaked with blood. Your blood. You looked up at his eyes, but they were focused on the horizon. 

“They’ll be here soon,” He repeated. He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than you. 

“Hey.” You said, reaching a hand up to his face and tilting it down to face you. Your bloody fingers left four lines on his cheek. He lifted his similarly bloody hand from your back and grasped your fingers. 

“We need to keep pressure on the wounds,” He said, “Or else… or else you’ll …”

You nodded, and allowed him to pull you closer. His chin was tucked on the crown of your head, your cheek pressed to his collar. Seeping into the ground was your blood. Too much of it. 

“Tech,” you started, surprised at how weak your voice sounded, “I love you.”

“Shh, no, no. Don’t talk that way.” He shook slightly as he soothed you. “Shhh. Shhh. You’re okay.”

“Please,” You pleaded, “Just say it back.”

A few moments passed. Tech seemed to be mulling it over, coming to terms with something. 

“I love you, too,” He eventually whispered, as if the words were so fragile that saying them too loudly would shatter them. 

Reassured after hearing that, your breathing changed. The slow shaky breaths became shallow, and too fast.

“I love you,” Tech continued. “And all the little inside jokes we have. And how you can always find a way to make Omega laugh. And how… how you listen when I ramble. And when you talk about the future and your eyes fill with life. And when you smile.”

When he said that you smiled weakly against his shirt. Listening to him, you almost didn't mind the cold numbness spreading from your fingers and toes. Or the pain in your torso. One again, you could be lost in his voice. 

Your body was slowly shutting down in a last ditch effort to save you. Your entire being went numb, every muscle and tendon relaxing. At least that meant your breathing finally slowed. Your eyes drifted closed. The coppery taste of blood faded, along with the burnt smell from the ash and rubble. 

“Hey?” Tech squeezed you tighter. “Stay with me. Please.”

As your hearing – your last lifeline to the world of the living – faded, you faintly heard the sound of the Marauder flying low. 

Then there was nothing but darkness and a dull ache that you couldn’t quite place. You felt it deep inside, like you had been gutted, and smoldering coals had replaced your insides. It was the deepest grief you’d ever felt. It started to fade away, but you heard a familiar voice.

“Stay with me. Please.”

Tech. You thought. I need to get back to Tech. 

Although it felt like your limbs were made of lead, and weighed down in tar, you fought. This dark abyss wasn’t it for you. Not yet. You tore yourself from the inescapable stillness, despite the coals burning from inside.

You had to see Tech again. Hug him. Hold him. Tell him it would be alright. Save him from the pain you’d seen in his eyes.

After what felt like a lifetime, you heard something. It was muffled voices, ones you recognized, which slowly became crisper. You smelled sterile medical supplies, and felt your chest rising up and falling down with each breath. 

Pain accompanied consciousness. You could stop fighting, slide back into the abyss, but that would mean never seeing Tech again, so you soldiered on. 

With one last push you flung your eyes open, and you were back. Breathing, living, hurting. You’d escaped from the void, and you were back in your body.

You turned your head, and saw Tech in the seat next to your bed. He hadn’t changed his clothes, as evidenced by your dried blood. You didn’t know if it would ever come out. He had a faraway look in his eyes. The same one he had while waiting for the rest of the Batch to come save you two.

You shifted slightly, and he snapped to attention at the sound.

“Cyare,” He whispered, reaching out to take your hand. “Welcome back.” 

His eyes scanned your face, as if he was trying to make sure you were real. You squeezed his hand to reassure him.

“I am,” You said, voice scratchy and weak. You cleared your throat, which triggered a sharp pain. You let out a small gasp.

“Are you okay?” Tech asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. You looked at the lines in his face, deepened by a lack of sleep and surplus of concern. Reaching one hand up, you cupped his face.

“I’m fine, love,” You smiled up at him, and he returned a weary smile.

#star wars #tcw #writing #tech x reader #tbb #the bad batch #bad batch #x reader #gn!reader #tbb tech x reader #tech angst #tech x reader angst #angst tech x reader #tech x you

[cranberrymoons]

breaking frozen ground

prompt: uncle wayne adopts steve (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 998 rated: t tags: fluff, gardening, appalachian wayne!! notes: this is part of the future fic series! it stands alone but takes place after Day 18 – a home for the holidays

welcome to Day 23 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

It’s a quiet morning, early enough that Eddie had just grunted and curled further around his pillow when Steve slipped out of bed and stumbled around the room looking for clothes. 

But Wayne’s awake, feet propped on the coffee table and paging through the local paper with a cup of coffee at his elbow.

He looks up when Steve enters, lifts his chin in greeting then turns over a page in his paper and goes back to it without a word. Steve pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot in the kitchen and carries it into the living room, curling in the corner at the other end of the couch. 

After a moment, when Wayne’s finished with his section of the paper, he folds it neatly in half and holds it out toward Steve, waiting for him to take it before moving on to the next.

They sit like that in comfortable silence for a long time, until Steve’s finished his coffee and Wayne has passed him the sports section before collecting both their mugs to carry them into the kitchen for a refill.

“Milk?” Wayne asks over his shoulder. It’s the first word either of them have said. Steve smiles to himself.

“I take it black, actually,” he says. Then, flipping over to read the score from last night’s Colts game, “Thank you.”

Wayne just grunts, giving him the small lift of a smile as he fills their cups. He squints out the window over the sink as he does. 

“Supposed to be warm out today,” he says, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Could use some help in the garden, if you’re up for getting your hands a little dirty.”

“Sure,” Steve says, accepting the refilled mug from Wayne. It’s the one that’s become his in the past few months, ever since he started sometimes spending the night here. It’s nothing special, just a faded Hawkins Tigers logo, but he likes the weight of it in his hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you wouldn’t mind some help, but I didn’t think there’d be anything to do until Spring.”

Wayne hums, nodding slightly. “Always something to do, son.”

---

Eddie’s still all but dead to the world when Steve reenters the bedroom to find something warm enough to wear outside – it might be a sunny day for December, but it is still December, after all. He stirs a little when Steve perches on the edge of the bed to tug on a thick pair of socks, head popping up from his nest of pillows, hair frizzing out around his head.

“Wha’s ‘at?”

Steve just grins, leaning over to brush a kiss over his lips. Eddie shuffles closer, drawing him in, until Steve places a hand on his chest and pulls back a few inches. 

“I’m going to help Wayne in the garden for a while,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m awake now, though,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “And way more interesting than a pile of old dirt in the backyard.”

He swipes his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip then follows it up with another kiss before slipping out of his hold to tug his sweater on over the faded Sabbath shirt that he’s got tucked into his jeans. Eddie groans and makes grabby hands for him, but Steve just smiles as he runs a last hand back through his own hair.

“Come meet us outside,” he says. “You can heckle us from the back porch, if you want.”

---

Wayne’s busy dragging piles of dead brush out of the beds when Steve makes his way to the backyard, and Steve pulls on a pair of work gloves before joining him, shoulder to shoulder as they pile sticks and pieces of fallen limbs against the side of the house for chopping into firewood. 

“Garlic has to freeze to grow,” Wayne tells him as they poke individual cloves into little holes in the freshly-revealed dirt before spreading a layer of leaves over the earth to cover it up. “It’ll be ready to pull up by the summer.”

Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Where did you learn all this?” 

Wayne sits back on his heels, pulling his work gloves off before running a hand back through his hair. He squints up at the thin sunlight overhead where it’s peeking through the clouds. 

“My dad,” he says after a moment. “Got us through the Depression like this, just sticking stuff in the dirt and waiting to see what popped up.”

Steve feels a small smile spread across his face, and he tilts his head to the side. “Did you grow up around here?” he asks. “Eddie’s never really said.”

Wayne lets out a little laugh, cheek dimpling on one side in the same way Eddie’s does whenever he’s thinking something through. 

“Nah,” he says after a moment. “We were down in West Virginia until after the war, then our parents packed us in the car and came here for better jobs.” He laughs again. “That turned out about as well as you think.”

Steve takes a breath and nods a little. The ground is cold under his knees, and his cheeks feel flushed from the chill in the air, the light sweat from the work they’ve been doing drying tight on his skin. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did,” he says. “You know.”

He casts a look back at the house where he can see Eddie puttering around the kitchen, pulling breakfast together. When he looks back, Wayne is watching him with a quiet expression on his face, and Steve feels himself flush. He shrugs. 

Before either of them can say anything else, the back door slides open, and Eddie sticks his head out the door, hair pulled back from his face. He gives an exaggerated shiver. 

“I made pancakes,” he says. “For whenever you two are done rolling around in the mud.”

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic #wayne munson