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absentlyabbie · 10 months

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seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

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boydyker · 7 months

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hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies hands you girl scout cookies

Oh wow Haha that sure is a lot!!:) wow no worries thats I’m set!!! all good now !!

#snail mail #guy crushed under boxes giving thumbs up dot jpg #assassination attempt via gluten

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authorhjk1 · 2 months

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https://pbs.twimg.com/media/FyWv3wdWYAg3PsL?format=jpg&name=large

The curves on this girl. Dress so tight just like her body.

Peach

(Huh Yunjin X Male Reader)

"B-Break."

Yunjin groans, her breaths heavy.

"P-Please. Need a..."

Her sentence is left unfinished. A loud sigh of ecstasy leaves her lips.

You only dig deeper at her words. Your tongue roaming her delicious pink pussy. Her legs are being forced apart by your hands, which are groping her thick, juicy thighs.

"Give me a-Ahhhh!"

Huh Yunjin orgasms. Her squirt leaves her pussy and ends up in your mouth. There is no way you can take all of it. You duck to the side as Yunjin mewls and moans. Her juices stain the already wet sheets of her bed.

How many times have you made her cum already? You can't tell. Too many to count.

Lost in your thoughts, trying to count, you don't notice how Yunjin is trying to crawl away. Her peach coloured dress is still clinging to her body. Partially because it's just so tight, but also because she keeps dragging herself through her own squirt.

You let her keep it on, just so she can completely ruin it. There is no way in hell the smell of her juices will ever leave the dress now.

Her whimper, which is forced out of her by her pussy rubbing over the sheets as she drags herself forward, makes you look at her.

"Yunjin.... Yunjin.... Yunjin."

Your sing sang tone makes a shiver run down her spine. She already lost count after three. And she doesn't know how much more she has in her.

"Where are you sneaking off to, beautiful?"

You get a hold of her ankle. Your thumb grazes the small band of her golden high heels.

"One second. Only one second."

She whines, begging you for mercy.

You love how she is a confident, driven, funny, beautiful idol. But you love her the most, when she submits to the pleasure. Submits to you, begging for your touch. Or in this case, the lack thereof.

"One more. I'm sure you can manage one more?"

You can see the back of her head shake in despair. Slowly, you pull at her ankle. Yunjin has been pushed far enough. There is just no energy left inside her. No energy to fight. No energy to resist. Barely enough to properly talk.

It must have been hours already.... Or maybe only 30 minutes? Her feeling for time has completely vanished.

"Please...."

She mumbles into the wet sheets underneath her, her face buried in them, as you drag her towards you.

"Be a good girl, Yunjin."

Once she is close enough, you place one hand on her thigh again. A moan already leaves her mouth, her body knows what comes next.

But instead of feeling your tongue on her clit once more, Yunjin hears your belt and then your pants drop to the floor.

"No, please. Just a second. Do you know-"

The second hand on her other thigh forces another moan out of her.

"D-Do you know how tight I am now? I-I need time t-to be able to take it."

"Just remember to breathe."

Your cheeky reply makes Yunjin groan in lust and fear. Her thighs rest on the edge of the bed, right where you put them. Peeling the tight dress off her ass, you marvel at how nice her ass looks. Two full cheeks, ready to be slapped.

But you do feel something similar to sympathy. Yunjin has already been through enough. You will have your way with her ass next time.

"Ngh!"

Yunjin bites into the sheets as you push inside. Her pussy is dripping wet, her glistening lips wrapping tight around your length. She is right. Yunjin is tighter than usual. Exactly what you were aiming for. She already has the tightest pussy you've ever been in. But after making her cum so many times, it's almost dangerous.

You know you won't be lasting long. Which is fine since Yunjin has had more than enough pleasure for today. Or this week for that matter.

Moments later, you harshly pound Yunjin's tight cunt, sending her mewling and moaning. Her body rocks back and forth on the mattress, her pussy rubbing against the wet fabric.

"Mmmh! Mmmmh! Mmmmh!"

Every thrust earns you a loud moan, which is barely muffled by the sheets between her teeth. Her arms are spread out, her hands limp. You've drained her tight body of her all her juices. In more ways than one.

"Oh shit, Yunjin!"

You groan loudly, your cock almost getting strangled by her walls. You rub along them with every thrust, molding her insides to the shape of your cock.

"I'm gonna cum on you, Yunjin."

You sigh, knowing you don't have much time left.

Yunjin's head sinks into the sheets again. Her moans all quiet.

Your hands on her ass squeeze her cheeks. You enjoy playing with them as you deliver your final thrusts. A teaser to what's to come next time.

"Yunjin."

You groan her name, your fingers digging into her flesh, before you pull out. You aim at her body. Ropes of cum shoot along its length. You cover her dress, her hair, some of her ass. Your white cum finally ruins her dress completely.

To your surprise, you don't hear the usual moans from her. You walk to her side and roll her over.

Yunjin's mouth hangs open, her lips smeared with spit. Her eyes shut, makeup ruined by her own squirt. Her hair is not better off. You wonder how many times she has to wash it until the she gets rid of the smell.

Yunjin is completely knocked out.

#ask #anon #kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #le sserafim #le sserafim yunjin #huh yunjin #jennifer huh #yunjin #yunjin smut #le sserafim smut

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 7 months

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along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items.

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email [email protected] with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you.

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns.

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme.

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him.

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink.

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!”

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?”

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher.

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core.

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door.

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body.

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch.

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him.

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there.

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure.

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck.

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #tlou fanfiction #tommy tlou

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estrellami-1 · 8 months

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(Healing From the) Pain

Steve spent most of his life feeling pain. At this point, he characterizes his life by it.

The pain of a backhand, courtesy of his father, at six years old. His lip doesn’t split, but it’s a near thing.

The pain in his wrist when he falls wrong at nine years old. His parent won’t take him to the doctor initially, so he goes to school the next day. When the teacher notices, she sends him to the nurse, who calls his parents. They’re upset at him. He doesn’t know why, but he promises them it won’t happen again.

The pain all over at fourteen when he gets into wrestling. He’s good, manages to pin his opponent four times out of five.

The pain at sixteen, getting his face bashed in by Jonathan Byers. Then the demogorgon, and really, Steve is just a walking bruise at that point.

Then there’s the Russians. The less said about that, the better. The only silver lining is Robin.

Now he’s trailing behind Dustin, breaking into Reefer Rick’s boathouse, and Steve is sure this is going to end painfully.

He’s shoved against the wall, something sharp against his neck, and he thinks he was right as he groans.

The something sharp against his neck digs in as he looks Eddie Munson in the eye, and a few things happen simultaneously.

Eddie drops the shard of glass, steps back with a gasp, and brings his hand up to his own neck.

Steve blinks at him, thinks there’s no fuckin’ way, and stoops to scoop up the piece of glass and test it.

He presses the point into his left palm. Eddie reaches out to stop him, then flinches away.

“Well,” Steve says, because finding his soulmate in a boathouse was not on his Bingo card for this year, but here he is, with the burning brand of a soulmark on his neck to prove it.

Eddie skitters back, breathing growing heavy, looking around with wild eyes. He doesn’t seem to see Dustin, and something snaps in Steve’s chest.

He drops the glass and steps forward. “Dustin, out,” he says, and something in his voice must be different, because Dustin doesn’t hesitate before closing the door behind him. “Eddie,” Steve says softly. “You’re okay. It’s alright. I know you didn’t kill Chrissy.”

Eddie glances at Steve’s neck, then his hand, before looking away. Something else breaks open in Steve’s chest. “I’m not mad,” he admits quietly. “Eddie, please. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He steps forward again, hope unfurling in his chest when Eddie doesn’t move. He takes another cautious step, then another, until finally he’s in front of Eddie.

Still being cautious, he raises a hand, well within Eddie’s line of sight, and lets it rest gently on Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie flinches violently, but doesn’t move away. Steve takes it as permission and places his other hand on Eddie’s other forearm. He gently rubs them up Eddie’s arms until they’re resting on his shoulders. “You’re shaking,” he whispers, swiping a thumb up and down the side of Eddie’s neck. The something in his chest heals a little.

“Y-you’re-”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still whispering. “I am.”

“How-”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really care. I’m just- is it weird if I say I’m glad I found you?”

Eddie manages a hysterical bray of a laugh. “A girl died on my ceiling, man, this is not the weirdest part of my day.”

Steve nods. “Let’s go back to my place,” he suggests. “It’ll be a lot easier to hide there, no one will think to look for you, and we can explain everything.”

Eddie takes a breath. Another. Lets his fingers trail along Steve’s arm. Nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Steve whispers back, smiling a little, and Eddie copies him. His chest heals a little bit more, and suddenly Steve knows everything’s going to work out just fine.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @mischivarien @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @inadequatecowboy @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #soulmates #soulmate au #at this point I can’t tell if this is any good anymore #this is NOT a part one to something #it is its own standalone fic #starambles

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cuubism · 2 years

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I see your "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make me have feelings for Hob!!'" and raise you "Dream yelling at Desire because 'how dare you make Hob have feelings for me!!'" because it's the only logical explanation for why Hob would claim to want someone like Dream

[ cat screaming crying . jpg ]

Dream storms into Desire’s realm, steps thudding on the uneven floor, rage propelling him forward. He cannot remember ever feeling such anger, such betrayal towards his sibling, not even when he had learned they were behind his imprisonment.

Desire’s games have always gone too far, but this is beyond trying to teach him a lesson, this is beyond what Dream can reconcile, this is simply cruelty.

“YOU,” he thunders, the air shaking around him as he stalks up to where Desire is lying casually on a chaise lounge as if they haven’t just ripped Dream’s one comfort in this life out from under him. “How dare you.”

“Brother, dear,” drawls Desire, popping a grape into their mouth with not a care in the world, “it is rude to simply fly in without even knocking on the door. You wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.”

Blind with fury, Dream grabs them by the throat and hauls them to their feet. Desire lets out a choked gasp, genuinely startled by his vitriol. Their pulse trips under Dream’s thumb.

Desire cannot be killed through something as simple as strangulation, but it truly is tempting to try. “What,” Dream snarls, grip tightening, “what have you done to Hob Gadling?”

Desire blinks at him, torn from their alarm by confusion. “Whomst? Listen, I know you know everybody’s name and their kinkiest fantasy but I honestly can’t be bothered with the details, you’re going to have to fill me in.”

The rage in Dream’s core only flares hotter. “Enough of this charade, you know exactly what you’ve done.”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re—”

Dream whirls away, leaving his sibling staggering in the wake of his grasp. “Was it not enough?” he demands, staring sightlessly into the gleaming red curves of Desire’s realm. “Was the vortex not enough? Was a century of imprisonment not enough for you?” His voice cracks halfway through, and it’s mortifying. “Truly, your hatred of me is untempered by even the slightest compassion.”

Desire’s voice is quizzical when they next speak. “I am starting to wish I was behind whatever this is that seems to have pierced you straight through the heart. I’m afraid my own arrows have missed that organ thus far.”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream insists, but Desire’s seemingly-genuine confusion has him wavering. It’s not like them not to revel in their own victory, and oh, this has been a victory, Dream feels laid lower than even a century in a cage had managed. “You are manipulating him.”

“Once again, I don’t know who that is. But he’s clearly excellent ammunition so I’m certainly going to find out once you leave.”

Dream flexes his hands at his sides, summoning his control. If Desire truly was not behind this, then he’s already made a mistake in coming here. Best not to offer anything else.

Being in Desire’s realm makes this stoicism difficult. The very space brings emotions to the surface, drags feelings up from his stomach that he’s tried so very hard to tamp down. He tastes blood at the back of his throat, his stomach churns, his skin prickles with sweat.

Desire stalks up behind him, sensing all of this. “Now I am curious,” they murmur, dragging a finger up his shoulder, over the collar of his coat and along the back of his neck. “Now I must know what’s go you so riled up.”

“You think you have earned such things?” Dream says through gritted teeth. His heart is pounding hard and uneven such that it physically hurts in his chest, the weight of the Threshold bearing down.

“No need to earn, you can hide nothing from me here.” Desire circles around him to his front, dragging their finger along his collarbone until it lands right at the base of his throat. They look at him from under their lashes, all smug satisfaction. “You are all tangled up in the realm of Desire, aren’t you?”

Dream moves to storm off, but Desire blocks him, nails pressing into his skin.

“Nah-ah, no running away. Let your little sibling help you, hm? As you may know, I am rather wise in matters of the heart.”

The look on Desire’s face is craftiness, glee, not charity or wisdom.

“I neither need nor wish for your assistance,” says Dream, voice hard. “On this, or any other matter.”

“But there is a matter.” Desire leans in and speaks right in his ear. “I can smell the heartsickness on you, Dream.”

There is nothing Dream can say in response to this. Any denial would only be read as falsehood, for Desire does not lie – of late, Dream feels sick with wanting in Hob’s presence, hunger so sharp it turns over into nausea, much like the first time Hob had pushed him to eat after his captivity. How cruel, then, to have his pain eased, his desires sated by a reciprocation that cannot possibly be truly felt.

There is nothing to say, so Dream doesn’t speak. Silence, of course, is its own answer.

“You know, if there’s one thing I have always admired about you, big brother, it’s your willingness to destroy yourself for the sake of passion,” Desire continues. “You’d think that’d be my sort of thing. Who’ve you lost yourself on this time? Demigod? Demon? Dryad? Vampire?”

Dream glares at them, but does not speak.

Desire’s face absolutely lights up as they realize. “Oh. My. God. Is he human? Dreeaaammmmm, my my, maybe your little time out did change you, after all.”

Dream turns away, refusing to give them the satisfaction of confirming. Though he knows this reaction is also a confirmation.

Desire claps their hands. “Oh! I’m so proud of myself. Look at this! Look at the softness of your heart. Look how I can bruise it.”

Dream’s heart, indeed, gives a painful thump. “Should you dare to touch him, even the old laws will not protect you.”

Desire sighs, flopping back onto a couch, legs crossed, head propped in their hand. “Why bother? You’ll destroy it yourself, and that’ll be much more fun.”

I hate you, Dream thinks, like a petulant child. He hates, also, how any argument with Desire makes him feel that way, feelings crowding at the surface of his skin, throat tightening, mind spinning in a chaotic churn. His muscles clench so hard he thinks they might have snapped, were he human, then he forces himself back into a semblance of ease.

There is no extracting himself from this situation with any dignity.

“Interfere with my affairs again,” he warns darkly, “and I will destroy you.”

Then he storms out of the Threshold.

“Love you too!” Desire calls after him, a grin in their voice. “Good luck with your human!”

When he’d found Hob at the New Inn, thirty-three years after he’d meant to arrive, Dream had not known how he might be received. Friendship extended once may not be extended again after so brutal a rejection, and so prolonged an absence, no matter that the latter offense was not within his control.

Being met with a smile, then, and an easy acceptance of his apology, like Hob had already forgiven him long before Dream had stepped through the door, had been a revelation. Something had settled in him that he had not known was knocked askew. Could there, truly, be one thing in his life that was allowed to be easy? Where Dream’s missteps were not met with scorn or vitriol or world-shaking consequences, but with grace and the chance to try again?

It seemed improbable, but still Dream had grabbed for it with cold, shaking fingers. Had held that unlikely flame between his palms. Had watched as it grew, hotter and brighter with each smile Hob sent his way, with each gentle brush of fingers as he pressed cups of tea into Dream’s hands, with the hug Hob finally managed to wind him into, once Dream had told him of the true reason for his absence in 1989.

Hob’s grace, Hob’s generosity in inviting someone, something like him into his home, into his life… Dream did not quite know how to hold it, so unlikely it was. He tried, though, oh he tried. And he swore he would not mess it up, not like he had when Hob had first offered his friendship.

He has now, quite royally, messed it up.

He very much doubts Hob will be so generous this time.

He finds Hob where he left him, sitting on the couch in his flat, a book in his hand. He doesn’t seem to be concentrating on it; his thoughts feel scattered in ragged, disturbed daydreams.

He doesn’t even startle when Dream materializes next to him. Though he knows it can be startling to humans, Dream has not been able to break himself of just appearing where he needs to – traversing the long way from point to point is not how he works. But aside from the occasional, teasing, I have a door, you know, Hob never truly complains about these disturbances to his day.

Dream means to offer him an apology. To say, I should not have walked out when you said that you loved me. To say, I am supposed to be better, I am trying to be better.

Instead, just as Hob looks up, the words that trip out of Dream’s mouth, pushed by the flurry of Desire’s realm still pounding within him, are, “Did you speak truly, Hob Gadling?”

Which is a ridiculous question. Dream does not think he has ever heard Hob speak a lie. Still, Dream must have the answer.

Hob’s expression shifts through several incarnations, none of which Dream feels capable of reading. Finally, it settles on the same soft, exasperated understanding Dream remembers being presented with when he’d said, I know thirty years is truly quite late, at their reunion, before he’d told Hob why he was late.

Grace, then. He is to be offered grace, again.

His emotions are still so close to the surface that he has to physically swallow down what he feels about that.

“Of course, I did,” Hob says, and there’s a hint of nerves in it, but he pushes through, he always does. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

His gaze is genuine, open, and no, Desire had not lied – Hob’s feelings are no manipulation of theirs. And while it is tempting to search for other answers, spells or illusions or any number of other causes, Dream knows, deep down, that he will come up empty.

Hob’s feelings are true, are his truth, confounding though that is.

Dream no longer feels capable of holding any of this in his hands.

Instead, he kisses him.

It’s like he is pulled forward by a force outside his own body. He goes to Hob like he had gone to the sugar in the tea Hob had made him, that night at the inn when Dream had first realized how long it had truly been since he’d eaten; he goes to him like he had gone back to the Dreaming after being freed, returning home breathless, lost, changed.

Hob catches him against his mouth, hands cradling Dream’s face. His grip is solid and warm, and he kisses Dream like he looks at him like he speaks to him, with a care Dream hardly knows how to accept. He leans into it anyway, he leans in.

“I wasn’t fishing for a kiss when I said that, you know,” Hob says when they part, still lingering close enough that Dream can feel his heat, his breath. “I meant it in more of— well, that way, for certain, but really, any way you wanted to take it.”

“Any way,” Dream repeats, not sure he comprehends Hob’s meaning.

“Yeah, you—” Hob cuts himself off, letting out a breath, thinking. His hands slide from Dream’s face down to his shoulders, and he holds him there. “I. You just. I want you to know that you’re loved. Not demanding anything of it. Just telling you. Take it however serves you best.”

Dream stares at him, his whole being tripped and restarted at a new rhythm, and Hob gives him a sad smile.

“It’s too big to hold,” he says, and taps his chest. “In here. And besides, I wanted you to have it.”

Dream had had it. Only he hadn’t quite known what he had. The sunshine of Hob’s smiles, sustaining him, a bridge between distant points of light.

Finally, he manages to say, “I felt it. You have been my succor. My… only.”

Hob has captured him more effectively than Burgess’s snare, but this capture is not a prison. It hurts, oh, it aches, but it never wounds.

Hob smiles at him again. There’s still something pained in the creases around his eyes. “I know.”

He’s still touching Dream. His hands run over him, up his neck, over his throat, along his collarbone, and—

catch, on the collar of his shirt, above his heart.

“What happened?”

His voice is tight, now, worried, and— yes. There are bruises on Dream’s chest, crawling up over his breastbone. He had felt them form, and hadn’t stopped them.

Hob’s expression darkens further the longer he looks; he drags the collar of Dream’s shirt down, trying to see how far the damage spreads. “You’ve got bruises all over you. Dream, what happened?”

What happened is Dream stood in the Threshold and his heart beat so hard it drummed right through to the surface of his skin. What happened is it hurt so badly his form shifted to give reason for the pain.

“Desire,” he says, and he does not mean his sibling.

Hob doesn’t seem to understand, but he smoothes a hand over Dream’s heart as if to wipe the bruises away. Dream could will his body to return to its original, unharmed state, but he does not. He lets the blood stay pooled beneath his skin.

Hob sighs, tugging Dream’s coat tighter around him, shielding him from further injury. “Come here, you. You strange creature.”

He pulls Dream in, though he does not have to pull hard. Dream tucks his face into Hob’s neck, reveling in the warm scent of him, woodsmoke from the fireplace down in the inn where they’ve now spent many a long evening, basking in the heat of the flames. Hob’s arms go around him.

Absolution. Dream does not think this is a gift that has ever been granted to him.

“I would also love you,” he says. “If you would accept it.”

“If I would accept it?” Hob repeats. “Darling, your love is a privilege.”

Dream’s heart, in all its bruises and blood, finds rhythm again, and he thinks, though he certainly doesn’t pull away from Hob to check, that his skin clears up partway, too.

#dream literally STOMPING into desire's house and screaming at them #desire being like why are you hitting yourself? while wacking him in the head #truly sibling behavior #dreamling #the sandman #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #desire of the endless #my writing #i made dream like. way too self aware in the first draft of this. then i had to go back and make him LESS self aware lmao #like first draft dream: hm i think perhaps i am doing this because of my past trauma 🤔#me: babygirl u are not that self aware try again #as per usual. this started as a short little drabble. and got much longer. and much more serious XD

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quigonswife8 · 11 months

Text

Training: Leon Kennedy x reader

Leon trains you and teaches you to protect yourself

gif creds: @leon-jpg

Warnings: swearing, getting hurt.

Leon speaking is bold.

---

"You're not standing correctly"

He paces the room; his eyes locked onto you. The blueness of his eyes seem to compliment the uniform he wears, his right hand gripping onto his knife.

"...you have to adjust your positioning because if you stand like that while fighting you'll be hurt."

Leon Kennedy is your teacher: the age gap between the two of you is quite noticeable yet that doesn't seem to bring any problems. He is nearing his 30's, while you're in your early 20's which reminds Leon of when he was also in his early 20's, training to be a cop.

He's also your boyfriend ; the two of you hit it off pretty much straightaway a few years back. During a conversation where you laid with your head on his lap, he decided to teach you how to defend yourself not wanting anything to happen to you.

Over the course of your training Leon has been very instructive, very thorough. He looks out for you as not only your boyfriend but also as your mentor, while also maintaining that sternness and sense of leadership that is needed. Though this is his first trainee be it his partner, he has been doing super well in training you.

The sweat runs down your forehead, as you adjust your positioning like he had suggested- well, told. "Nearly, but not quite." the 27 year old approaches, he tucks his knife away and comes up behind you; you feel your breathing still for a moment, which makes Leon smirk a little, and when he places his hands on your back, you blush a bit.

"Okay now..." he shifts your body, hands shifting to your arms to adjust them. His touch is electric, intimate, and your heart beat begins to pick up- "..and keep your positioning like this..."

He leans in, breath against your ear and he decides to tease you a bit by keeping his hands on your arms a moment longer. Then he lets you go and turns around to face you. "Okay now show me what I just demonstrated to you."- he watches, and when you do it, a smile appears.

"That's good!"- he pats you on the back and nods.

"...you're learning very quickly i'm impressed. Although i'm always impressed with you sweetheart." and god if you didn't melt into a puddle right then and there. He really knows how to get you even if it's a simple word, or simple teasing.

"Thanks love."

Leon tosses you a bottle of water and let's you take a break for ten minutes. He sits nearby drinking his own water, although during this silence you notice him stealing glances at you every-so-often. His eyes soften, and he can't help the smile that plays on his lips; even while sweaty and your clothes messy, you still look perfect.

"I'm proud of you sweetheart.", he takes a chug of his water, pushing some blonde locks out of his eyes.

"...you're not a d.s.o. agent, or had any prior experience, but you're still holding your own so well."

"Well I have the perfect teacher to thank for that..."

Leon's heart melts; he reaches his hand out and takes yours, giving it a quick squeeze. The agent rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his touch so gentle and soft, he's memorizing your hand with his own. Then he raises it to his lips and presses a quick kiss to it, getting caught up in the intimacy of this moment.

"You're welcome sweetheart."-

Leon lets out a soft sigh and hesitantly lets your hand go. He props his water up nearby and then stands, "You ready for more sweetheart?"- unable to hide the smile you follow suit, tossing the water bottle on top of your jacket on the floor. Then raising to your feet and resuming the previous position with a confident look, one that wasn't there before.

"Ready."

-----

"AGH!"

"Shit." he curses and rushes to you, trying to get you to uncover your face. "Sweetheart let me see your eye.", with a groan you take your hand away and show him; his eyes widen though he keeps his composure.

"You have a black eye, sit down and i'll go and get you an icepack.", and, so you do. You wait in pain for your partner to return, and once he does he kneels in front of you and presses the icepack to your eye gently.

"Hold this on your eye, it should help bring down the swelling."

What happened? When Leon had told you to attack, you managed to hit yourself in the eye hence the black eye. Now he kneels in front of you worry on his features, his right hand moving to take the one of yours not holding the icepack. Now he feels bad, and you try and reassure him but it doesn't really work.

"It was my own fault baby, not yours-"

"I still feel like it is."

"Well it's not, don't worry..."

Leon is hesitant, he isn't fully convinced though he drops that part of the subject...for the meantime. Instead deciding to caress your cheek and look into your eyes, wanting to be close to you and care for you.

"Well apart from the black eye, today was great. I can't wait for tomorrow."

"We should wait until your black eye is healed up before we continue."- his fingers trail to your chin, and then back to your cheek, his fingers tracing so delicately. "...but you're right today was great and like I always say, i'm so proud of you."

The two of you, sitting there in the training room of your house, sit in silence until you leave. The two of you shower, and then Leon carries you to the couch and sets up a movie [your favourite movie]. He makes up some popcorn and then lets you cuddle up to him on the couch.

As the movie plays, the pain from the blackeye seems to subside enough to not be annoying, and Leon keeps an arm wrapped around your waist. It's nice just being able to spend time together, after a long day of training, and as you look at Leon out of the corner of your eye, you can't help but smile.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #comfort character #leon #resident evil 4 remake

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