Fanfiction Fandoms - Arcane, Brooklyn Nine Nine, Call of Duty, Criminal Minds, [WIP] Date Everything, Harry Potter, Marvel, The Dragon Prince / King, The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings, Twilight and Shadowhunters.
Nicholas Lupin-Black is the adopted son of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, and, among his many hardships while being at Hogwarts, he has to learn how to keep his lycanthropy secret on the down low, while also falling in love with his best friend - George Weasley. Amongst all of his normal(ish) teenage problems, Nicholas has to learn how to live throughout a war, and finally meet his father, all while simply trying to get through his school years.
ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴏꜱᴜʀᴇ - ᴀ ᴘɪᴇᴛʀᴏ ᴍᴀxɪᴍᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄ - ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
Cecelia Winslow, a twenty-five year old S.H.I.E.L.D agent, fights closely with the Avengers and with one small mistake, she ends up meeting the love of her life in a life or death situation. Though, with old memories coming back up due to a certain Maximoff twin, it gets difficult to save the world all the while managing her anxiety., alongside trying to deal with a Speedster's attractive looks and relentless flirtations.
I really love my woke show about agents whose organization becomes a clandestine one after their fall from grace so much, especially considering the scrutiny it would face in today's political climate
S.H.I.E.L.D: falls out of the US government's favors but still goes on for the good of all humanity
Daisy: Half chinese anarchist inhuman female field agent
Sousa: disabled field agent
Mack: Black male field agent
Elena: Disabled Latino inhuman female field agent
Joey: Latino inhuman gay male field agent
Bobbi: Tall female field agent who tops her ex husband
Lance Hunter (0.125/4ish): Shorter than his girlfriend
May: Asian female field agent
Coulson: Disabled director of S.H.I.E.L.D, also a field agent
Fitz: Disabled short genius scientist possibly neurodivergent male field agent (We know he is neurodivergent but yeah)
Simmons: genius female biochemist that does field work
Deke: Whimsy queer (both in the unusual and gay sense)
Mike: Disabled cyborg black male that would be considered an anarchist
Peggy: Female field agent that establishes the greatest Espionage organization in the world
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Summary: Sam and Bucky are confused about how you and Joaquín — two polar opposites — ended up together. But you love each other just the way you are.
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Content: established relationship. sunshine x quiet. almost sunshine x grumpy? allusions to trauma. soft fluff. reader likes fruit #real. no use of y/n. some obligatory sambucky banter
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Word Count: 1.1k
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ A/N: needed a cutesy song for my first joaquín fic!! and this one (lemon and salt hehe, analyzed and roughly translated here🫰) felt perfect🥰 also to the peeps who requested snippets of this fic in the wip game, tysm!! you motivated me to finish it :D <3
Chuckling to himself, Sam shakes his head. “Torres should start a podcast.”
“I’ll say. The kid’s mouth runs a hundred miles an hour,” Bucky huffs from the bench press.
“She loves listening to him, though,” he observes. “And he, like, absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”
“Great perception. Now can you focus and not drop this dumbbell on my face?”
“Good for them,” Sam muses, ignoring him.
Arm day was blocked out on this afternoon’s training schedule, so naturally that meant a spotting partnership between you and Joaquín – and all the conversation that comes with it.
Upbeat as ever, the team’s resident yapper talks about anything and everything with you during your post-workout stretches. His warm voice carries from his place on the mat all the way across the room. You lean against the wall, listening with a soft smile like always, a plastic container of berries that he brought for you in hand.
Exhaling as he brings his own weight on the rack, Bucky turns towards you two. He stares for a moment — not out of malice or judgement, but as if he’s genuinely trying to solve a puzzle.
“Did you ever think they’d end up together?” he blurts.
“What?”
“I mean, it’s none of my business or anything. Just curious.”
“Well…” Sam is suddenly invested in Bucky’s investment. He wonders how much ragebait the super soldier can take today. “You’re right. It’s none of our business.”
He frowns. “You literally pointed them out first.”
“And who’s continuing this?”
After giving him a sharp look, Bucky sighs. “Whatever. I’m just saying, you know, now that we’re on it…I think it’s so interesting, I guess? That they make it work somehow.”
Sam places his mission to irritate Bucky on hold. Watching you two as subtly as possible, he will admit it’s a little confusing.
A ball of energy and a collected, professional strategist. Someone who would strike up a conversation with literally any stranger, and someone who prefers to speak with her ever-observant eyes. It was a miracle that you two became friends, let alone partners who bring each other fruit as gym day snacks.
“So you wonder too,” Bucky comments.
Nope. Sam’s not about to admit that. He only shrugs. “Yeah, I wonder why you’re an idiot.”
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
While listening to Joaquín’s latest inquiries, a tart sweetness bursts on your tongue — the last blueberry was literally perfect. You sigh.
You finished your stretches a long time ago. You’re here for the company. And the fruit.
About a week ago, you noticed your limbs would get more sore after training. Their aches were a lingering reminder of the Red Room’s darkest physical brutality, the memory of which hurts your psyche as much as your body. On your worst days, it feels like you’re still there.
So as soon as you found that your favorite fruits are good for post-workout inflammation, Joaquín practically dropped everything to buy them.
As an expression of gratitude, you’ve started packing his favorite in return: pineapple. But today he doesn’t know you sprinkled it in Tajín, the tangy spice he loves to put on a variety of summer fruits. Popping another berry into your mouth, you let out a breathy laugh — both out of excitement for his reaction, and amusement.
Because Sam and Bucky are talking about you again.
“What is it?” Joaquín asks, wrapping up his rant about the functionality of water bottles with washable straws.
You nod towards your now fully bickering coworkers. “Them.”
“Oh, yeah. Guess they’re back at it again.” He glances Sam and Bucky’s way, then stares up at you like their very existence is unserious. “Do they really think we can’t hear them talking about us?”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” you murmur, entertained.
As Joaquín extends his leg in the latest stretch, a comfortable silence between you settles. You sit next to his mat, propping your berries on your lap in thought.
Truth be told, there was a time you didn’t think you two would become friends. Or get that close to anyone, for that matter.
But this team became your family. Sam knows how to take a chance on anybody. Bucky’s personality is similar to yours. Then Joaquín – well, it turns out he brings an unapologetic enthusiasm to your days.
In turn, you bring stability. Strong, sure. A perfect equilibrium.
You didn’t save each other from anything. There’s simply a mutual acceptance.
And that’s enough.
“So,” Joaquín pipes up with a mischievous look, practically sensing your train of thought. “They think I’m annoying. Do you?”
Pausing, you pretend to think. “You’re manageable.”
“Hey!”
“I’m kidding!”
“I know.” He throws his head back in a laugh. “You’re not as mean as you look.”
“I look mean?” you ask innocently, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, mean as hell. I used to be afraid of you.”
The mutual teasing is never mean-spirited. If anything, it’s a testament to how comfortable you feel around each other now.
You purse your lips. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Right,” he says. “But now you’re not that scary.”
“You either.” And by scary you mean it in a I’m-talking-to-an-extrovert way. Which he also knows.
He laughs again. “Only if there’s a little lemon and salt to curb my kick, probably.”
“Oh, speaking of lemon and salt! Or, lime and salt and chili”— you lean over and pull the pineapple, its container still cold from the fridge, out of your gym bag —“I brought this.”
“Tajín?” Joaquín gasps, taking the fruit like it’s gold. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Wow, I love you.” The phrase leaves his mouth instantly. As if saying it were second nature.
He always does that. It makes your heart swell.
“I love you, too, baby.” With a glint in your eye, you smile earnestly. “With or without the lemon and salt.”
You press a gentle kiss to his cheek, savoring the closeness. When you pull away, his deep brown eyes are shining, lit up as much as the rest of his face. You could look at him like this forever. In this moment, it’s just you and him.
Never mind the rehearsed chorus of groans from Sam and Bucky. You’re all used to it at this point.
But you wouldn’t have it any other way.
This life you built for yourself — it feels like a daily second chance.
Now the pain of the memories washes away bit by bit, rolling off your mind like droplets of water on berries rinsed by Joaquín in the sink.
Can you write vigilante/superhero!Reader and Spider-Man(Tom Holland) being partners. One day Spider-Man gets really hurt and Reader has to patch him up. Reader decides to confess their feelings and finds out Spider-Man is Peter Parker. Please?
This was no unfamiliar predicament. Your suit stained with blood, more so someone else's than yours, and Spider-Man having his suit awkwardly shuffled off so that his identity was revealed.
You were far from offended when he said he wanted to be careful about showing you his face, because you had been the same, and you made sure that there was no pressure for him to show you what he looked like; and the same went for you to show him what you looked like.
It did make this situation a lot harder than needed, though.
He would stubble into your apartment through the widow, then shuffle out of his suit without trying to pull his mask off —which was a harder fete said than done because it was all basically connected.
You would sigh most times, and turn around so that he could pull his suit half down and take his mask off without you finding out who he really was, just so he could pull it back on.
"You good now, Spidey?" You question after about a minute of waiting for him.
"Yep- yep, all good." He said, and you turned around just in time to see his awkward thumbs up, you ignored that and quickly focused on the bruises and cuts lingering on his torso.
"Okay," You said slowly, examining his injuries for a few seconds before you stepped away. "It's nothing serious, this time."
"Oh, that's something." He said with a small nod.
You chuckled as you went into your bathroom just a few paces outside of your bedroom. "Oh, yeah, I'm glad I don't have to stitch up a knife wound."
"That was one time!" He shouted over to you, slumping in your desk chair. "And that was just because you owed me."
Yeah, you couldn't argue with that; you had been stabbed two weeks prior to him getting almost the exact same wound.
You came back a few seconds later, bruise cream and plasters in your hand (yours and Spider-Man best friends, at this point). You saw his slumped figure and sighed quietly, perhaps his adrenaline was wearing thin now that the two of you were safe.
"I don't think I'm gonna need plasters." He said when he watched you place the two items on the desk beside him.
"It's for your face." You pointed out. "Just in case. You can check later, but I saw the hits you took. Besides, I'm pretty sure these fuckin' boots are giving me blisters now."
"Really, I thought they were old?" He asked as you undid the lid for the bruise cream.
You laughed out, then started to slowly apply the cream to the bruises that scattered his body. "A bit too old, the bottom of them are completely worn out, it's hard as hell as it hurts every time I walk."
"Landing must suck." He muttered absentmindedly. "I got this."
You let him take over and you wondered over to your bed to take off your boots, taking two platers to put on your heels —you couldn't do anything for the forming blisters on the literal bottom of your feet, though.
"Oh, yeah." You said with a hum, taking the plastic off. "It sucks. I'm surprised they're not bleeding right now."
"Speaking of bleeding, how are your knuckles?"
You looked down at one of your hands, some of the knuckles were split, dried blood covering them. "Oh, peachy, obviously."
"You should invest in gloves." He chuckled.
"Like your thin ones?" You laughed, shaking your head. "I'm good. My last pair got basically ripped apart."
"My gloves are part of my suit, thank you." He said, looking over at you.
You looked up at him at basically the same time (well, your eyes, and his masked eyes), you swallowed faintly.
"Hey, Spidey?" You cleared your throat, looking down at you're boots as you pulled your socks back on. "Got a question for you."
He turned to face you properly then, even though his muscles deeply disagreed with the action. "What is it?"
You inhaled slowly, it was better to just say it, there was no point keeping it in, especially not now. "We've been fighting alongside each other a while now."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess we have. Time flies."
"Yeah, it does." You said with a small nod. "And I would like to say that we've gotten pretty close with each other from it, right?"
"Yeah. I mean, I would hope so, we've patched each other up countless times now."
"So... would it be so crazy to say that I like you?" You said, heart starting to race in your chest.
He was silent for a few seconds, until an almost confused expression fell upon his face. "Well, yeah. I would assume you liked me, we're friends."
"No- no, not like that, Spidey." You shook your head, eyes boring into his as you waited for him to understand.
He sat there thinking for one, two, three seconds too long, and you felt your stomach twist in regret.
"Oh." He said. "Oh!"
"I'm not asking you to feel the same." You quickly said, shaking your head, running your hand over your face. "It was stupid of me to say it now, maybe I was hit in the head."
"No- wait, no!" He said probably even quicker than you.
He was on his feet in an instant, standing before you as you sat down. It took you a few seconds until you looked up at him too.
"I, uh... like you too." He said with a nervous smile, his hands anxiously rubbing against each other.
You let out a breath of relief at that. "Thank fuck I didn't just embarrass myself."
He chuckled, nodding along. "Yeah... uh, well, I suppose I should..."
Without any hesitation on his part, he pulled his mask off of his head. His hair ruffled up at the action, messy and sticking up in strange ways because of how long he had it on. He was cute, you thought, soft faced, with brown eyes and brunette hair. Though, because of the fight the two of you just got out of, he had cuts over his face, splotches of blood here and there.
"You're battered." You said, even though it wasn't the first thing that came to your mind.
"Uh, yeah, I can feel it." He said, one hand rubbing the back of his head.
"Cute, though." You said with a faint mutter.
"Huh- uh, you what?"
"Come on, let's go clean up your face." You said, pulling him out of your room and to the bathroom.
"Oh, uh. My name is actually Peter by the way." He said as you dragged him along.
When yours and Loki's union was finally blessed by both his mother and father, the All-Father and the All-Mother, you both silently were overjoyed; and were very loudly celebrating with Thor, the Warriors Three and Sif later on.
The two of you had been waiting years to admit to each other your feelings, waited longer to be blessed to court one another, until finally there was a date set for your marriage. You were buzzing and jittery at the idea, Loki less so —at least, he was good at hiding if he was.
However, as excited as the two of you were, you wee also dying to be able to be affectionate with one another. With the rules of a prince, and the expectations of society, the two of you were very rarely able to show much affection to one another and, even when you were, it was in the presence of a third party; which was never romantic.
The most the two of you were able to do were link arms, he would guide you and you walked and you would have your hand on his arm. Though, after months of courtship, you were wishing to be a little closer. Maybe that was one of the reasons you were wishing the wedding date would come quicker, you were sick of pretending like you were happy with showing your fiancé zero affection!
While you were, however, strict on keeping to the rules dictated by society, Loki was far from it.
At the start, it was subtle, and you barely even realised it. He would stand a little closer to you, his hand would brush against yours once too many times, he'd interlink your pinkies together. You were happy enough with that, in all honesty, it was pressing against the boundaries but not going past them.
Then Loki started to get bolder.
When there was a moment where no eyes were on the two of you, he would press a kiss to your check or temple (rarely your lips), his hand would rest on your arm as he passed, or he would snake his arm around your waist for a few seconds. Did he want there to be judgement amongst your peers for the two of you acting in such a way before you were married? People would start to think your tricked the prince into acting in such a scandalous way.
You were stressed, to say the least.
And Loki was amused, to say the least.
You saw the way a smirk pulled on his lips every time your expression hardened and you shot him a glare —unfazed by the wordless telling off that you sent his way. He would simply walk away and go about your day, while you were stuck looking around to make sure that no one had noticed.
Of course, when it came to being around his brother, Thor, or the Warriors Three and Sif, the restrictions placed upon the two of you were lightened; that still did not cease your anxieties for the opinions that would float around if any other Asgardian saw his actions.
"Loki!" You whisper-yelled once day, after he had placed a kiss to your cheek before walking away.
He turned around to face him with an oh-so innocent look on his face. "Yes, my love?"
You frowned at him, and crossed your arms over your chest, he took the sign to walk a little closer to you. "You know that we cannot be acting such as this until we are wed."
He looked around the two of you exaggeratedly. "I see no one who would say otherwise."
"Well, that is because we are in this hallway alone." You pointed out, "Which makes me even more worrisome for someone could walk past at any moment."
Loki sighed, placing his hands on your shoulders, only for you to send him a stern look. He rolled his eyes at that and dropped his arms dramatically to his sides. "At this rate, I would assume that you do not want me to touch you until we are married."
You tilted your head to the side. "If that would be easier, and if it would steer anyone away from talking about us."
He chuckled, motioning with his hands. "People will talk regardless, I am a prince who is set to be married, the same prince who his subjects once believed would not marry."
You frowned at that, crossing your arms over your chest. "They belittle you."
Loki sighed, head hung low for a few seconds before he looked back at you. "Far from it. They have opinions, dearest. Just as I or you."
You chewed the inside of your lip at that, he was speaking the truth (funny for a God known for lying), and you couldn't argue with it either; as much as you wanted to.
His hand gripped your chin lightly, causing your eyes to fall upon his again. "You will bleed if you keep chewing."
"You aren't to be touching me, Loki. People will assume things." You said, keeping your eyes on his green ones.
He laughed out, but his hand did not move, instead it moved to cup your cheek. "But I am deeply in love with you, what if I want to be holding you like this?"
You couldn't help the grin that spread on your lips. "Then I would urge you to finish this ordeal swiftly, else we will be caught."
Content enough with the answer, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips.
"I must find my brother, like I was to five minutes ago." He whispered against your lips. "I will find you soon."
"I will hold you to that, Prince." You hummed gently.
Getting soaked on the way to college but it’s okay because I’m pretending I just got out the blood ocean because I just got my ironlung tshirt and I get to wear it today
So sorry, I’m actually not writing for twilight characters for a while anymore. I know I’ve written one for Edward recently but tbf that was a one off situation. I’m very sorry!
Some antis claim that the fact that Arnim Zola was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. makes Howard Stark a Nazi collaborator (let's skip the detail that there is no evidence that he was the one who initiated his hiring, and also the detail that they do not accuse Peggy of the same thing).
If Hydra = Nazis, and recruiting one of the "former" Hydra members makes you a collaborator (which it doesn't. But that's a topic for another post), then does that mean Captain America is a Nazi collaborator because he recruited not even one, but two former Hydra members?
two former Hydra members that also willing signed up to be part of Hydra, too. It's not some Bucky situation where they were forced into it, they signed up (and if we really wanna get into it; like Steve did for the US and any other former Hydra members and even Nazi members who were doing what they wanted to bring honour, glory, ect to their country. a.k.a. the one thing that really links all of them together)
Accusing Howard of being a Nazi collaborater would drag in Wanda and Pietro, like said, but also characters like Yelena, Natasha, Bucky, and Melina, and anyone I might be forgetting, AND also the SHIELD agents who were bringing those German scientists into SHIELD
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck.
anyways they’re fucking dead it’s not like you’re enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
Can I Sleep With You Part 2 | Joaquin Torres x Reader
Summary: Since coming out of hospital Joaquin hasn’t slept well, he’s hoping sleeping next you will help.
Warnings: fluff, mentions of drowning/injuries, ptsd if you’re reading between the lines
Word Count: 1k-ish?
A/N: I feel like I’ve been neglecting you guys so thought I’d do one of my 2am quick one shots with Joaquin. I say one shot but it’s also a call back to another short I wrote with the same prompt except this time it’s Joaquin who can’t sleep and is coming to you. I know this is bread crumbs, I’ve been a busy bee and my writing has taken a backseat lately/I’ve been writing stuff for other hyperfixation characters but not actually finishing anything. Hopefully I have something proper to feed you guys with soon.
As he stands outside your door his heart is racing. His knuckles hesitate before knocking because it’s late and you’re probably already asleep and this is so very stupid. He feels very stupid. But ever since he came out of the hospital he hasn’t been able to sleep. It was okay at first because the drugs made him drowsy. But they were wearing off now. The doctors were weaning him off them.
‘Fuck’ Joaquin muttered to himself before he finally mustered the courage to just knock.
It’s silent at first on the other side of the door, so he tries again, this time knocking a little louder, his sleep deprived desperation taking over. It takes a moment, but this time he can hear the heavy thuds of your feet moving towards the door.
The second he sees you he feels like this is a mistake. You’re in a tank top and a pair of pyjama shorts that are both riding up on one side, a small slither of your mid riff becoming exposed. Your hair is sticks up slightly where it’s been rubbing against your pillow and you have the softest most innocent and sleepy look on your face as you rub them awake and stare up at him.
“Joaquin?” You question, your voice a little hoarse from misuse. It takes you a second, but you suddenly become alert, because why else would he be knocking on your door in the middle of the night if it wasn’t an emergency. He immediately feels guilty. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You say to him, your eyes now wide awake, no doubt a flood of adrenaline coursing through your body.
He can’t speak. His tongue feels numb. How the hell is he supposed to tell you he can’t sleep. That’s it. No emergency, just he can’t sleep.
“Joaquin?” You press him, your voice growing soft with worry as you search the sorrowful look on his face for all the answers he won’t say.
“I- uh- I can’t sleep,” he finally stammers, his eyes now looking at the floor instead of you.
“What?”
“I can’t sleep,” he says again, clearer this time, his eyes finally meeting yours now the worst part was out the way.
You don’t respond right away, like your brain is still processing his words. He uses the silence to fill in the extra information you’re missing.
“Ever since I got out the hospital, I’ve not been able to sleep,” he continues his confession. “My room is too quiet. When I was in the hospital I had all the noise to distract me, but here. In my room… it’s too quiet. There’s no distraction. Every time I try to close my eyes and go to sleep, I’m back in the water. My suit weighting me down.” He doesn’t say drowning, but you know.
He had told you when you’d visited him in the hospital. He had blacked out when the missile exploded. Was shocked back into consciousness the second he hit the cold water. But then his suit had hindered his movement in the water, the damage on it making parts rub and grind together in ways they hadn’t before. The damaged wings weighed him down, pulling him below the surface and with his injuries, there was nothing he could do.
“Can I sleep with you?” he finally asked.
You didn’t need to think about it. Of course he could. You’d been there before. Knew how comforting it was to have the energy of someone else beside you that you trusted to make you feel safe. To be there when you woke from the nightmares. To regulate your breathing. To match their breaths as their chest rose and fell. To feel their heart beat beneath their skin and know you were okay. That you would be okay.
As you climbed back into bed, you heard him shuffle around in the dark until he could climb in on the other side.
“Just nudge me if I snore,” you joked with him.
“No chance,” he quipped.
At first he continued to feel guilty, cortisol rushing his body with every move and shuffle of his body as he tried to get comfortable. Fear pulsing through him, feeling like he was disturbing your rest. But then he turned towards you. Not quite close enough to be the big spoon, but close enough that when he rested his hand on the mattress, he could feel the warmth of your body. He could hear your steady heavy breathes, could see your body shift slightly in the barely there light in the room.
He breathed in deeply through his nose, the smell of your shampoo flooding his nostrils, the scent of your body lotion mixing together in the air between you. Gradually he felt his body growing heavier, his eyes becoming drowsier. Until finally, nestled in the safety of your bedroom, he fell asleep.
Edward was told by Alice that you were drunk in your own home and home alone, and he was instantly worried (if you've read Midnight Sun, Twilight in Edward's PoV, you know he had insane worries for Bella).
He was at your house within a second, and got in without you even needing to open the door.
You were pouring yourself another drink when he came in, and he interjected immediately, claiming that you had had enough. With the sight of him suddenly in front of you, you cooed his name and you threw yourself into his arms.
He tutted, reading your mind, and realising how drunk you actually were. He wasn't mad, but he was disappointed, at least.
He lectured you as he led you up to your room, telling you to get changed and get to bed. Without much thinking, you started undressing in front of him, and he quickly made himself busy with getting you a glass of water (not using his speed, so that you had time to change).
He ushered you into bed, despite your arguments against doing so. He could only get you into bed when he agreed to stay with you during the night.
He held you as you slept, making sure to wrap you in a blanket to make sure that you were cozy and warm.
He only got up about an hour after you fell asleep, but he wasn't away from you for long. He quickly cleaned up the mess that you had made, even washed up the dirty dishes that you were too drunk to wash up before he showed up.
He never told you that he had, and he never took the credit for it (he wasn't even sure that you noticed) because he didn't want thanks for taking care of his partner.
Before you, Edward would have considered himself the 'dominant' one in the relationship. Even though he hadn't been with anyone prior to you, he never imagined himself 'submitting' to, or 'melting' for someone else.
Then there was you.
He grew very flustered around you, found himself at a lost for words on more accounts than one (Emmett knew though, he always counted, then later teased Edward about it).
The worst part was that he could read your mind and hear how it amused you every time he grew frustratingly flustered. He heard how you referred to him, called him cute and adorable and any synonym under the sun that followed the same idea.
He thought that it would piss him off, he thought he would storm off and sulk every time he heard how you thought about him.
He never did.
He thought that, if he had a heart, it would pound in his chest every time he heard how you would talk about him, he was sure that his face would redden and he would start shaking with... embarrassment? excitement? anticipation?
He wondered what doors that might have opened every single time you made him flustered.
He let you do all sorts of thing he had originally thought that he would have done. You initiated the kisses, you reached out to hold his hand, you wrapped your arms around him, you pulled him onto your lap or onto your chest, you carried his books, took his bag, you opened doors for him and pulled out chairs for him. Everything.
I understand, well thank you for allowing me to make a request. Or requestS because I'm starved for that emo vampire and I really like your writings!! So I have a bunch of random ideas and you do with that what you want obviously haha <3 So: 1) HC of Edwards partner being a former spy/intelligece agent. 2) HC of Edward being a sub (doesn't need to be sexual if you don't want to, can just be him getting very flustered or shy or cuddly with reader due to their natural authority/soft dom vibe). 3) HC of yandere Edward where he comes home to find reader very drunk because they were just gonna have some "me"-time but the wine was, like, really good yk...oops.. I am a woman btw so I'd love it if you'd make it gn if you decide to go for it xx
Edward had a feeling about you when the two of you first met, it seemed so strange that you seemed closed off, even in your mind. Even when reading it, it seemed like you had everything locked up tightly.
He thought that it must have been because you were a vampire who spent a lot of time alone, that you didn't trust anyone. Maybe you've met a mind reader before you came to Forks and they had used your own thoughts against you, so you had learnt to close your mind off.
He couldn't exactly pin down the exact reason.
When you came clean and told him that you used to be a spy (this being after the two of you got together), he saw how all the dots started connecting.
With this new found information being out in the open, he inquired about it on multiple occasions, and you were glad to talk about it. Maybe things you were now allowed to talk about, despite them previously being classified, because it was years ago and you were a vampire now.
This then led to you explaining how you were turned in the first place.
You explained how you were once sent on a mission that was said to be fine, get some information and get out easy. Though, it didn't work that way, clearly.
How in the hell were you supposed to know it was going to be a supernatural thing interfering with the organisation's plan? You were put down easily, no surprise there because you were human, and surprisingly turned.
You were declared KIA (killed in action for those who don't know), and your family were informed that you had died. You had no choice but to reinvent yourself, especially because you couldn't stay near humans for all that long.
Skip forwards about two decades later, and you were there, in Forks, and a new member of the Cullen Coven. You didn't have any qualms about it, and Edward was glad.
Edward did, however, have to get used to the random thoughts that circled around in your head. You were always thinking strategically, planning on how to get out of somewhere the moment you stepped foot in, always analysing the people around you, the list goes on.
He was able to quickly learn how to stop you from getting in your own head and getting too paranoid, though, and you were grateful for that.
