#mini blurb

poly marauders x reader who's quiet at first but as the relationship progresses/as she spends more time around the boys she gets crazier and stuff and like has the sense of humor of a teenage boy or smth 😭

hi ash!!!! sorry for the wait. also, I couldn't really think of anything too long for this but here's a little baby blurb/scene on our reader with the sense of humour of a teenage boy <333

poly!marauders x fem!reader

CW: mention of boners/dicks, insinuation of activities with said dicks idk it's not explicit

“Quick question, Moony; when did our sweet darling angel turn into such a gremlin?” Sirius asked as he watched you and James cackle to yourselves in the dark hallways of the Slytherin dungeons.

The boys had planned a prank on Slytherin tonight, and you had insisted on tagging along. If you had told Sirius a year ago that the shy, quiet girl who could barely hold eye contact and flushed furiously at any compliment would be actively participating in one of their pranks, he would have laughed in your face.

But alas, here you were.

Cackling so hard you were clutching at your stomach and nearly falling over.

All because James had given you the can of muggle spray paint and you used it to draw a dick on the wall.

“I think she’s been hanging out with us too much.” Remus commented with a smile, leaning some of his weight onto the shorter boy as they watched you skip down the hall to paint another.

“I mean, dicks, really?” Sirius harrumphed. “That’s not tasteful at all.”

Remus chuckled and pinched Sirius’ bum. “That’s not quite what you were saying last night.” He said with a wink as he started down the hall after you, leaving Sirius a blushing (and semi-hard) mess in the dark corridor. 

He could only bring himself to follow after the three of you when he heard the likes of Peeves moving through the dungeons and he was horrified at the idea of the poltergeist finding him with a hard on so close to the Slytherin common room. 

i just can’t imagine any other name for the new addition to the williams household

and when the kid grows up (because obviously her intuition was right, it is a boy) she’ll tell him all about who’s he’s named after, grandpa joel, and how he always took care of family-ellie, tommy, sarah. ellie will tell stories that joel told her, and she’ll share all her favourite memories from when he was still alive.

you totally dont have to do this if you don't want to though

note um yes im a whore and live for this

eddie had been thinking of it all day, getting you alone and getting your pretty mouth around his aching dick. he missed you.

Cowboy AU

The past few weeks had been quiet, and Wukong was getting restless. The last exciting thing that had rolled through the town of Dead End was the supernatural bounty hunter, Six, when he had almost kidnapped his deputy and sheriff in training, MK.

It apparently had all been some big misunderstanding, (something about drawing out a pair of bank robbers with a grudge against his protégé, all while using the kid as bait) but that hadn’t stopped him from giving the black clad bounty hunter a black eye the second MK was safe. Six absolutely hadn’t given him a matching bruise, no matter what the kid said.

The xanthous haired lawman sighs as he wipes the bar counter listlessly. There was no news of any villain or thief in the area, no new crimes to investigate in the dusty little town, nothing but small-town grievances and the occasional low-level demon trying to sneak through the town barriers.

Nothing he or MK couldn’t handle.

He would never admit it, but Wukong was growing to miss his wandering misadventures. He’d settled down in Dead End to help train MK up, to take his mantle of Lawman, to pass on his magic weapon and retire; but if this was anything like retirement, he was going to have to find a project to keep himself busy.

Absentmindedly, his hand brushes over the empty holster on his hip, and he ignores the twinge of panic that jumpstarts in his chest. ‘Iron Shot isn’t mine any more,’ he reminds himself, and hates the part of his mind that argues that the kid isn’t ready to wield a sling shot, much less a shapeshifting magic gun.

The saloon doors swing open behind him with a creak, halting the growing bout of self-arguing, and he gives a half-assed waved without turning around, calling out, “Be with you in a minute.”

The newcomer doesn’t answer, just walks to the bar with slow, self-assured steps across the wooden floor.

Wukong crouches and grabs a glass from under the bar, starting to wipe it clean when the person finally speaks.

“‘S been a while since a brawl started in these parts…” A man spoke, and his drawl was dripping with a smug tone that curled familiarly around Wukong’s ears.

“’nd as interestin’ as this counter top is, it sure ain’t a show stopper. So, how’s about a little rough housing, Lawman?”

Wukong raises his eyes to meet the smirk of an unfortunately familiar bounty hunter, and feels his glamour slip, his eyes flashing red, his fangs sharpening as he growls, “YOU.”

Six’s grin only grows, and Wukong succumbs to the urge to wipe that look off the bounty hunter’s face with gusto. He lunges across the counter top, hiking one leg up over the bar as the bounty hunter has the audacity to back petal wildly.

“Wait, no, no, w-wait, I was just kiddin’,” the demon splutters, his hands up in a placating gesture, but Wukong dives towards him, arm already cocked back for a punch as he connects with the bounty hunter.

The two tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs as Six yelps and swears as Wukong lands his first punch.

“The audacity of you, to come back to MY town!” the lawman snarls, and the bounty hunter glares at him before elbowing him in the gut.

Wukong lurches to the side, grimacing as Six kicks out from under his hold.

“I’m a Bounty Hunter,” Six hisses, and yanks his hat free from where it was trapped under Wukong’s leg. “I end up everywhere, I didn’t choose to be here, asshole.”  

“Excuses,” Wukong bites out, and then he’s throwing himself towards the bounty hunter once more.

“Excuses?” Six parrots as he blocks Wukong’s punch. “What do you – Hey! Not the tail!”

Wukong grins triumphantly through his mouthful of black fur, and bites down harder when he feels a tug on his braid.

“Could you not?” The bounty hunter grits out, trying and failing to pull the other stubborn supernatural off his tail.    

“Get out of my town,” is what Wukong tried to say, but it sounded more like, “G’t ou’ ma to’n.”

Six looks down at him with a mix of distain and bewilderment. “I speak seven languages and that wasn’t nothing but gibberish.”    

and now... some dr. rose *dances a little jig* based off this tweet!!!

-*-

Too often it felt like that Dr. Vin was losing control. And now, with Ellie having gone through some freak accident during one of her missions with the boys, she couldn’t help but spiral.

How could she lose her cool? If not a professional surgeon, if not the government’s first choice doctor and professional in cybernetics, then how dare she ever expect to be Ellie’s partner??

Fingers too trembly to even hold up a scalpel, blanking at the gaping wound despite having seen far, far worse before, she had to be escorted out and replaced by another doctor.

...It was irrational, it was controlling--but she didn’t know what else to do, how else to help, but to go on and create an entire blueprint of optional augmentations for Ellie. After all, this was her domain. Cybernetics, dodging death, keeping her safe.

Of course it’s okay! I love it and I hope you like this!! 💕 a little longer than I expected but I love it 😂

“What the heck is that?” Warren plopped down in the seat next to yours, gesturing to the frilly heart box that sat perched on the end of your desk. “A box of chocolates.” You answered, waving him off as you turned back to your work.

“I know that.” He scoffed, kicking the leg of your chair. “Who’s it from?” You noticed the tinge of jealously in his voice and smiled to yourself.

“I never imagined myself in a wedding dress,” you say. You study your reflection for a moment in the floor-length mirror before your eyes drift towards Calum. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, pushpins balancing dangerously in between his lips. You can tell he’s trying not to look up at you, his eyes trained on the hem he’s working on. You stifle a sigh and push on. “I always thought if I got married, I’d just show up at the courthouse in jeans and a t-shirt. Oh! Maybe a bikini fresh from a dip in a hotel pool!”

The pushpins scatter, flying in all different directions as Calum lets out a hearty laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?” He drops the hem of the gown and runs his now free hands through his hair.

“You’d be so bored without me,” you pipe. 

Bored doesn’t even begin to describe it; he thinks as he steals a glance at you for the first time. He thinks back to the moment he first laid eyes on you, all those years ago. You guys were seven, and you were hanging upside down on the monkey bars, pigtails grazing the wood chip-covered ground in the breeze. He was drawn to you instantly, even when you let out the most menacing, Wicked Witch of the West style laugh.

Calum’s so lost in the memory he doesn’t even have time to process what you’re doing until it’s too late. You’re on your hands and knees, helping him pick up the stray pins. His heart nearly stops when the delicate lace on the bodice catches on the crystal appliqués of the floor-length mirror.

“Would you please just stand there and look pretty,” Calum hisses, shaking his head.

His words may be harsh, but you know there’s nothing but love underneath them. There’s never been anything but love underneath his words. Even that time he told you to “fuck off” when you barged into his dorm room freshman year, moments before he lost his virginity. You shake your head, willing the memory to go back into its box in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind.

You stand, looking down at Calum with a pout forming on her face. The Y/N Pout™ as Calum has come to refer to it as. “Am I not always pretty?”

Calum lets out an exasperated sigh. This is what he gets for asking you to fill in for a bride-to-be who had to cancel her fitting for a “venue emergency.” As if the wedding venue was more important than the wedding dress that cost the same as several month’s worths of rent at his shitty studio apartment.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N; you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it,” you say, sticking your tongue out. Truthfully, he’s the only one who has ever called you gorgeous, but you’re not about to tell him that. It’ll just make him blush. And if there’s one thing you can’t resist, it’s a blushing Calum. Instead, you make a big show of getting back onto the pedestal, picking the bottom of the gown up as if you’re an eighteenth-century Princess who has just let the love of her life walk out on her. “How does she expect to dance in this thing?”

Calum reclaims his spot, kneeling in front of you. One hand holding the delicate fabric, the other working a pushpin through it for the seamstress. “She won’t. That’s what the reception dress is for.”

“A reception dress?” you choke out. “But she spent,” you pause, looking at the receipt on the small side table. “$10,000!” You fan yourself and turn around. “Ty, I don’t think I should be wearing this dress.”

Calum grunts in response, pushpins back between his lips. If there’s anyone who should be wearing this dress, it’s you. He quickly shakes the thought away, steadying his hands as he works the pushpin through.

“What kind of monster spends $10,000 on a dress she’s not even going to wear the whole night! I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t you dare,” Calum warns, working the final pushpin through the fabric, securing the hemline. He stands, wiping his hands on his pants before offering you his hand. “Come on queasy, let’s get you out of that dress before you do something stupid.”

“I don’t think anything is stupider than spending $10,000 on a wedding dress,” you say, accepting his hand. You try to ignore the static shock that jolts through your body at the contact. He’s helped you up millions of times, and this should be no different. Before you have time to dwell, you carefully make your way back to the small dressing room.

Calum cleans up as you wrestle with the gown in the dressing room. A thread of profanities falls from your lips before you emerges a moment later in a bright pair of jeans and a polka-dotted sweater. You gently hand the gown to Calum, who gingerly hangs it back up on a rack full of white dresses — none of which sparkle quite like this one.

“I feel human again!” you shout, dancing around the room. “Next time you need a fill-in bride for a fitting, do me a favor and don’t call me.”

It’s Calum’s turn to pout, brown eyes growing three times the size. “But whatever are best friends for if not for trying on ridiculously expensive wedding dresses?”

“Fine,” you say, giving in. “But I expected a proper proposal next time. None of this five am emergency text nonsense.”

Calum grabs your hand and immediately drops to his knees; a playful glint dances across his eyes. You look at him wide-eyed, lips tugging up at the corners. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you be my fake bride from now until eternity?”

You clap your free hand over your mouth. “Oh, Calum,” you say, taking on a British accent for reasons not even she knows. “It would be my honor.”

Calum laughs so hard he loses his balance, sending you both tumbling to the pearly white floor. “What was that accent?” Calum manages to get out between laughs and gasps for air.

“I don’t know!” you shout, eyes brimming with tears from laughter. “It sort of just popped out.”

“Don’t you mean it, popped out?” Calum says, delivering the last part in his own take on a terrible British accent.

You shove him away before quickly pulling him back towards you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I hate you.”

“Hate you too,” he says as his smile spreads across his face revealing a dimple on his cheek.

You stay like that for a moment. A tangled web of limbs, laughing and enjoying each other’s closeness. It’s been a while since you’ve just reveled in each other’s company even though you both live in the same city. Calum’s been busy, working crazy hours to prove himself at Something Blue, the wedding gown boutique that specializes in outrageous, occasionally blue-dyed wedding gowns. And you’ve been holed up in random libraries, working on your dissertation. You do text throughout the day. You send him various gifs of a person jumping off a bridge, and Calum responds with various pictures of glorious diner food items you’d miss if you did it. And you try to FaceTime at least once a week, but it’s not the same as being in each other’s presence. When the two of you are together, it’s almost like you’re two sides of the same person. You complete each other.

Neither of you is ready to pull apart, but your stomach doesn’t get the memo, sending an echoing growl through Something Blue. You move from the crook of Calum’s neck and instead muffle your laughter in his chest. Calum does his best to keep his heartbeat under control.

“Come on. I think I owe you and your Hungry, Hungry Hippo stomach breakfast.”

“Frankie’s breakfast extravaganza?” you ask, pulling away from Calum so you can look up into his eyes. It takes all your might not to reach out and poke the dimple on his cheek.

Calum gasps dramatically, “I’m offended you have to ask!”

Just as quickly as you fell, you’re back on your feet and standing a safe distance away from each other. The loss of contact is immediately felt between both of you but neither wants to admit it, out loud or to yourselves. Calum runs a nervous hand through his hair as his cheek dimple disappears. You tug at your sweater that had ridden up before you turn towards him, smiling again.

“Shall we,” you ask, British accent back in full force.

.

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