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yearning-for-autumn · 8 months

Note

So, here is my humble request 👀:

Reader is afab Illyrian, got her wings clipped (because we hate this tradition that’s why and because I am too much into enemies to lovers) and the Bat Boys consider her something close to a little sister.

When Eris was making a deal with the NC to get their help to kill Beron and that shit, his bond snapped with reader.

Obviously problematic for him because he has been insulting Illyrians since his mom popped him out about 500+ years ago.

So…bonus points for: smut obvs.- go as filthy as you like, Lucien absolutely mocking Eris for FUMBLING desperately to get his charm going, reader being oblivious.

I hope this sparks some ideas and creativity 🥰🤞🏻

Would That I -- Part 1

A/n: This was too good not to make into a multi-part fic, so expect more soon. Smut will be coming!

Pairing: Eris X Illyrian!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to smut, pining, mentions of mental health

Word Count: 3,638

Summary: You hate him. You hate the very thought of him. And yet he's your mate. The Mother has a cruel sense of humour.

Part 2 Part 3

Fury rippled through your body like a forest fire. You were livid. And Cassian had the nerve to laugh at you. Well, stifle a laugh. Rhysand was watching him with a worried look as he tried to give him a silent warning to stop. This progressed to warning him mind to mind when you got up from the sofa, flinging a pillow so far it almost landed into the fireplace. Azriel flinched.

“Him!?” You seethed, finally breaking the silence you had kept since your return from that damned High Lord meeting. Cassian snorted softly and you rounded on him with a deathly calm. Rhys made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Is this funny to you, brother? I’m shackled to that evil, pompous, ginger-haired freak and you’re laughing?” His smile had dropped and a look of fear was quickly overcoming his rugged features. You stepped closer to him, your finger in his face. “Don’t sleep too deeply tonight.”

Rhysand cleared his throat.

“Look, this doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to accept the bond. We can make sure you never see him again.” The bond snarled through you at that and you growled.

“Sure Rhys, because you were so calm when you found out Feyre was your mate.”

His brow furrowed.

“So you want to be with Eris?” The name seemed to physically disgust him. Azriel scoffed, abruptly rising from the sofa and marching out of the room. Cassian eyed the doorway in his wake. You turned to Rhys.

“No!” You groaned in frustration, pacing up and down on the carpet like a caged animal. Cassian’s eyes darted between Rhys and you. Finally deciding to break things up he manhandled you into a hug. You fought it for a few moments, before giving up and collapsing into your brothers embrace, hot angry sobs wrenching through you. Rhys took this as his cue to leave, and winnowed—probably to his office—out of the room. Cassian rubbed soothing circles on your back, careful to avoid your wings that were ever more sensitive after the clipping.

You were clipped at thirteen, which is how you had come to live with the three brothers. In Windhaven, they clipped your wings the day you started your cycle. Once grounded there was no escaping your duties, nor any chance to leave the camp. Unless, of course, you had grown close with the High Lord’s son, who had a mother with a habit of collecting strays.

You were there through all of it, the highs, the lows, and Morrigan’s tumultuous relationship with one Eris Vanserra. The male you were now mated to.

---

In the Forest House, Eris was pacing. His throat was still sore from the memory of Azriel’s scarred hand, and his cheek burned from the slap that had earned him from his father. But all of that had been overshadowed. He knew as soon as he saw you. His heart had lurched in his chest so hard he had thought he might throw up. You were the most beautiful female he had ever laid his eyes on. And of course, you were from the Night Court. The Mother truly did have a cruel sense of humour.

You had walked in, looking as arrogant as the rest of them, sharing a secret smile with the shadowsinger before sitting down next to the High Lord. Eris, next to his mother, couldn’t rip his eyes from you. Your doe eyes, sharp and intelligent captured his attention first. He wanted nothing more than to get lost in them, to find out everything about you: What you liked to read, your favourite food, how best to pleasure you and have you screaming his name. He was pulled from his fantasies by your wings. Cauldron, your magnificent wings. Their beauty stole breath from his lungs as they unfurled, getting comfortable on the chair. You had smiled at Feyre, warm and supportive, and Eris knew he was utterly lost.

He finally stopped his pacing, locked inside his room, and sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat there, holding his head in his hands until he heard the scratch of claws at the door. Getting up with a weary sigh, he opened it only to be knocked to the ground by his oldest and most loyal smokehound.

“Cheddar.” He chided as she licked his face excitedly. “Cheddar Biscuit.” He said, sternly, and she leapt off of him, waiting by the door expectantly.

“Yes alright, I suppose it’s time for a walk.” Cheddars tail thumped faster against the door frame and Eris couldn’t help the smile that grew. “Go and fetch your brothers and sisters then.” He said, grabbing the leashes off the wall. A walk was one way to clear his mind.

---

As you had predicted, Rhys was holed up in his office when you went looking for him. He barely looked up at you as you entered.

Rhysand’s office was always meticulously organised, but as you came up behind his chair you noticed how messy his desk had become. Letters and notes were piled on every inch of space, his childhood stuffed bat sitting atop one pile as a makeshift paperweight.

He loosed a breath.

“We are going to war, Y/n.” He said quietly, and any thoughts of Eris Vanserra eddied from your mind. Rhys looked up at you with bloodshot eyes. Guilt coursed through you for ever caring about something as trivial as a mating bond when you and your brothers were set for battle. You had only just got Rhys back from under the mountain, only to potentially lose him again.

“Is it certain?” You asked, leaning down to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Is Cass--?”

“Leaving for Windhaven by first light.” He answered.

“Ok.”

Rhys turned, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He knew what you were thinking, though you wished you weren’t.

“Eris is an awful male, Y/n. You know I could never support the bond between you. Azriel is...well, I’m sure you already know.”

You did. The moment he had stormed out of the room you had known this was the beginning of a negative spiral for Az. Not to mention the upcoming war. You stood up straight.

“That being said.” Rhys continued. “Eris is ensuring Autumn allies with us against Hybern. There is a certain political advantage to the match.”

You scoff.

“Like there was with Mor?” Rhys turned green. “What did Eris bargain for in return for Autumn’s support? What did you trade away, Rhys?”

Rhysand looked every bit five centuries old when he turned to you.

“Our support in his bid for the throne. Whenever that may be.”

Hatred for the male burst anew in your gut, fiercer still now that you were mated to him.

“That power hungry bastard.” You spat.

Rhysand sighed.

“He could never deserve you, starlight. I will make sure that he never sees you again. I will not lose another sister.”

---

It wasn’t until midnight that you saw Azriel. The last of your brothers to approach you. He let himself into your room, waking you, tattered blanket draped around his shoulders. Rhys’ mother had sewn it for him years ago, before you had come to live with them. It had helped him through many hard nights. So much so that it was threadbare and faded. Rhys had enchanted it not to break further as a solstice gift one year.

You sat up worried.

“Az? Are you ok? You didn’t—”

“No,” He assured, and you relaxed against the pillows, “I’m ok.”

You shuffled over in your bed to make space for him, and he laid next to you, blanket over the both of you.

“I hate him.” He said into the darkness. “I hate what he did to Mor. I hate everything he stands for. I will not let him have you.” He declared.

You snuggled up to your eldest brother.

“I don’t know why you all seem convinced I’m going to somehow fall for this prick.” You said, and he snorted. “I hate him as much as you do.”

Azriel tucked you under his arm.

“I know.” You smiled tiredly, somehow understanding the words Azriel left unsaid. The words Rhys had been able to express. Azriel’s shadows settled over your heart, confirming, and the two of you fell asleep.

---

Months later, Eris sat in a tent, head between his legs to stop from throwing up. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were surely destined to die. Two of his brothers, and his mate, fought on the battlefield.

He only had a moments warning before he was violently sick into a bucket.

Asher, his youngest brother before Lucien, chose this moment to enter his tent unannounced, scowling at the sight of Eris hunched over and retching.

“Can’t handle the bloodshed, brother?” He teased, though he sat next to Eris and put a warm hand on his shoulder. The gaping wound on his neck was healing quickly, as it should with the High Lords power coursing through his veins, but the sight of it set Eris off again. He heaved into the bucket, choosing to ignore the gagging sound Asher made.

“Eris you need to pull yourself together. Father is only a tent over.”

Eris rolled his eyes.

“Just show me your plans, Ash.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m better off keeping them to myself, seeing as you’re battlesick.” Asher grimaced when Eris finally sat up and pushed the bucket away from him.

“Asher.” Eris’ voice held all the command of General, and eldest brother. Asher groaned petulantly as he handed over the plans.

In Eris’ opinion, not that Beron took any heed, Asher should never have taken on as much responsibility in this war. After Ceres had died, Ash had taken over as Eris’ right hand. Ceres had been more naturally suited to the role, Beron’s bloodlust had run as deep as his bones, and he had a sharp mind for strategy. Eris still mourned the boy he had raised—a quick witted, chess loving, boisterous child—but he had to accept, he had lost Ceres long before he had died. And Eris wasn’t keen on losing anyone else. Asher wasn’t comfortable with a sword, the gash in his neck clear evidence, and he had a wife and child that weakened his resolve. This is what Eris had to work with. And he had a job to do.

He let Asher discuss his plans, though he was unable to rip his mind from providing a hundred different ways that he could die, that Ash or Lucien could die, that you could die.

It took every ounce of training ingrained in him not to falter in his attack the moment he had caught sight of you, fighting your way through the onslaught, Mor by your side. Cauldron, you were ethereal. Your silken wings were spread as if they could carry you into the air, though he had long since guessed that they could not. You cut through your enemies with a frightening ease. Catching his eye, you hesitated just a second, then your face had turned to rage and the next Hybern soldier to cross your path had been beheaded so brutally that even he had to avert his gaze.

When he had looked back up, you were gone, lost in the chaos.

Asher sighed,

“You’re not listening.” He said, and Eris had the decency to feel bad. He looked at Ash wearily.

“Come back in the morning. I’ll be more attentive.” Ash just peered at him over his notes.

“It’s her isn’t it. It’s Y/n.”

“Yes.” Eris said, lacking the energy to lie.

“She’s Night Court. She’s not one of us. One day you’ll find a nice Autumn girl to marry and when you’re High Lord she can pop out a few Autumn court babies.”

“She is my mate.” Eris growled.

“Mate’s aren’t always meant to be Eris. It’s only a biological match, not a political one. When you find an Autumn Court lady you’ll wonder why you ever spent time worrying over some Night Court harlot.” Eris snarled, despite himself. His brothers words were wrenched straight from Beron’s throat and he wouldn’t stand for it. Not from Asher. Not from his kind, loving Ash.

“Get out.” He said. Asher looked surprised, and—Eris was pleased to see—ashamed. He made no moves to leave, so Eris repeated himself, sharper this time.

“Get out.” He snapped, “Come back in the morning with more sense.”

Asher, chastised, fled from the tent, and Eris buried his head in his hands. What use was there protecting you from his brothers when it was certain your own said the same about him. There was no denying the cruel twist of fate the Mother had pulled on the both of you, destined to crash and burn. He imagined you in your own tent, laughing at the thought of him speared on another males sword. Mor sat next to you whispering all the terrible things he had done that day, terrible things to twist your mind and poison the very notion of him. He was too late, he was nothing but soot in the deep pit of your heart, choking the both of you.

He felt blindly for the bond, and found it, rotten.

---

The war was over, but the scars it had left were red raw and bleeding. Rhys had died. Your brother. The one who had sheltered you, loved you, given you a home and a family for a few agonising minutes had been gone. Gone. And yet that Cauldron damned bond had been chafing in the back of your mind. You sat in your bedroom riddled with guilt as it plagued your mind. Eris. Eris. Eris. He infested your mind, your senses, you were consumed by the very thought of him.

Walking through the streets of Velaris had started to feel claustrophobic, being around anyone beginning to suffocate you. You felt safer on your own. Recently you had taken to sheltering in your room, only emerging to eat. Your brothers eyed you with poorly concealed worry every time you walked, ghostlike, through the house, shuffling to the kitchen to fix a plate of leftovers then retreat hastily to your safe space.

Nesta was struggling too, after the war. It had left its scars in all of you. You could feel Cassian’s heart breaking the day Rhys sent her away with him, but all you could think about was whether your brother would do that to you. You thought you knew the looks he gave you.

Disgust.

What use was a flightless Illyrian female, who couldn’t train, couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. He was dead. Rhys was dead. And then he wasn’t. Why were Seren and your mother not afforded the same luxury. You grieved, and cried, and screamed. It truly was a sick thing, to use to the miracle of Rhys’ living to guilt yourself into believing there was hope for them. But then, everything in your mind had twisted of late.

Nesta began training. Nesta began healing. And you were stuck in your room.

Every morning without fail, Azriel came to check on you. He stroked your hair until you woke up, then retreated when you once again rejected his invitations to join them. The Valkyries, they were calling themselves. You would have been proud of Nesta if you could feel anything anymore.

Occasionally, you could feel a light tug on the bond, on the shackles that kept you bound to Eris. The first few times you had thrown up. Now it was little more than an annoyance. You were his dog, disobediently pulling your leash as you fell further and further into nothingness. His face in your mind was as cold as it had been on the battlefield as he yanked you back, choking you. You spluttered. Standing weakly, you made your way down to the kitchen, setting water on the stove to boil.

“Sister.” Cassian’s voice rang out behind you and you flinched, dropping your teaspoon. He bent to pick it up and set it down on the counter. “Azriel says you’ve been ignoring him. You’ve been ignoring all of us.”

You shrugged, the familiar pang of guilt squeezing your chest, making it difficult to breath. You braced both hands on the counter top, taking a ragged breath. Cassian was beside you in a heartbeat, holding you in his arms.

“Y/n, I’m worried about you. We all are.” He squeezed you closer to him, closer than you had allowed anyone in months. “Come and stay with Nes and I. Az is a terrible chaperone, and I need to see you. You could be wasting away down here and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

You shook your head, though you no longer knew why you resisted him. Your body melted against him, muscle memory taking over as he enveloped you in his wings. You swore you heard him sniffling as you hugged him back.

“Please, y/n.” He said, voice shaking. It didn’t take much more convincing.

A few days later, Rhys was helping you unpack your bags in your new room in the House of Wind. You took the room next to Azriel, who—Cassian had explained—was falling into bad habits again: Not eating, not sleeping, waking up in a cold sweat when he did finally drop off. Cassian wasn’t doing as well as he wanted you to believe, either. Twice in the following week you woke up to find him taking things from your room. And once, when you had floated downstairs in a miserable haze, you found him throwing up in the kitchen sink, an empty plate that had once held a batch of Elain’s cookies sitting on the table.

Nesta had dragged you to Valkyrie training a few times, and whilst you were beyond their current skill level, it had taken your mind off of things. Cassian’s eyes gleamed with pride everytime Nesta mastered an attack or a block. He touched her affectionately, he teased her, he lingered as she passed to breath in her scent. Watching them together was as painful as it was sweet. How simple love could be.

Would that you could be half as lucky.

Slowly you were emerging from your shell. You could smile again. Nesta invited you to read with her and the Valkyries, and in the silence you found firm friendship. Emerie was a gift from the Mother herself. You bonded instantly, both of you clipped, grounded, but neither broken. Many late nights were spent talking, about books, your brothers, or about Eris. Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn knew little of the Autumn prince, but you appreciated their outside perspective on the bond. It was still a bitter taste in your mouth, but it was becoming more bearable with each passing week.

---

There was a ball approaching in the Hewn City and Rhys had asked Nesta to attend. Not long after, she asked you to join her.

“I can’t do this alone, Y/n, please.” She said one night, sitting at the end of your bed. You bit your lip, unsure.

“Eris will be there.” You said.

“I’ll be the one dancing with him. Rhys wants him falling madly in love with me. He won’t look your way, I promise.” Nesta said. You knew she meant well by that. You had never wanted him anywhere near you before. But something about her oath left a sting. You frowned, which she took to mean you were still unconvinced.

“Please, Y/n. My sisters will be there, Rhys will be there. I’m not ready to face them all on my own, not yet.”

And so you found yourself stood atop the stairs the following week, draped in a black dress with a slit so high up one side your whole leg was practically exposed. The back scooped so low the dimples at the bottom of your spine peeked over top. You were devastating. Death in midnight silk. Rhys’ smile was that of pure brotherly pride as you walked down the steps, your hair pinned in braids and curls.

Nesta stole your breath away as she appeared in the hallway, but it wasn’t your gaze she sought out. You looked towards Cassian and could have sworn he was drooling. Eris would be blind-sided by her, of that you had no doubt.

In the Hewn City, they danced like lovers. Nesta as dangerous in the ballroom as she had become on the training grounds. Every move was calculated, every parting of her lips a dance of the mind, designed to ensnare Eris in her dastardly web. Eris was caught. And you burned.

Standing next to Azriel, heat rolled off you in waves. He took a step towards you, perhaps to offer you a drink, but found something in your eyes to make him change his mind. You hadn’t taken your eyes off of Eris all night. He was sinful. A courtier and a Prince. His hair pooled over his shoulders, one strand to the front neatly braided. You reminded yourself that this was the male that left your cousin for dead at his Court border. Biting your lip, your mind wandered to see yourself lying prone beneath him as he stood, smile widening, cock hardening in his—

“Get me a drink.” You ordered Az. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s the magic word.”

“Azriel.” You growled, and he turned on his heel. Your eyes stayed pinned on Eris as he led Nesta across the dancefloor in a tantalizing waltz. His gaze finally met yours, and you saw a fraction of surprise before his emerald eyes darkened. He licked his lips, eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Nesta’s neck.

A/N: I have to thank @fandomsmultiverse for talking to me and giving me about 100 ideas to flesh this story out, I really hope you like it! There will be a part 2 coming soon! I wouldn't just leave you on a cliffhanger like that. We will see more of Eris and Reader interacting, and maybe.....some smut...

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cooliestghouliest · 9 months

Text

THE MIDDLE BEDROOM

PAIRING: established Billy/Reader relationship, bff!Eddie is a Peeping Tom

TAGS and C/W’s: this is basically just smut (which means 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), pining undertones, oral (f!receiving), Billy's filthy mouth, SPIT, Eddie's a pervert but Billy's kinda setting him up so really Eddie is just advantageous, m!masturbation, unprotected PiV

WORD COUNT: 3.4k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. basically, i’m trying to revamp everything i’ve published in hopes that an inspiration bug crawls deep, deep inside me and just fucking explodes, leaving only creativity and motivation to replace all of my blood and oxygen. it’s almost 2024, who needs to bleed and breathe anyway??? please remember that likes are greatly appreciated, but comments and reblogs are what make the writer’s world go round. :-) <33

—

It happened at Rick Lipton's annual Halloween party. '86, baby.

There were many nameless faces wandering about the bungalow, all in varying states of sobriety. Eddie only recognized a handful of people, one of them being Billy Hargrove... and the other being you, Eddie's best friend, but also Hargrove's drop-dead, knock-the-fuck-out gorgeous girlfriend.

Eddie had overheard someone guess that you were dressed as a witch. Someone else guessed that you were dressed as Stevie Nicks. With a shrug, you'd answered, "Those are the same thing," like it was the most obvious certainty in the entire world.

You were in a sheer black off-the-shoulder maxi dress, the form-fitting fabric tight in all the right places. There was a long, gracious slit down the side that ran from hip to foot. When you moved in a certain way, Eddie could see that you were wearing black suede thigh-high boots, a little kitten heel clicking against the hardwood floors as you walked.

Right up to him.

"Hi, Eddie," you'd greeted with a smile, eyes wide and welcoming. You swirled the train of your dress a bit, swaying along to some Joni Mitchell song playing in the background. "Happy Halloween."

Eddie didn't get the chance to answer, though he was sure he'd have ended up stumbling over his words anyway, because you just looked so pretty tonight. He was only able to return the smile before Billy appeared beside you.

"Hey, man," Hargrove prompted, Eddie watching as the honey blonde rested lucky fingers on the small of your back. The other palm extended to clap Eddie on the shoulder a few times. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, it's just... uh..." Eddie dug his hand around in the front pockets of his jeans, then in the back pockets of his jeans, then eventually found what he was looking for in the pocket of his denim jacket, bypassing a broken button to reach for the little baggie in question.

As he was about to pull it out, Billy’s hand gripped his forearm, halting him. "Not here," Hargrove instructed. He stepped an inch closer to Eddie, voice lowering to just above a whisper. Eddie had to dip his head forward to try and hear the blonde over the music and commotion around them. "Come upstairs. Like fifteen minutes. Middle bedroom." At Eddie's confused expression (they were at a Halloween party thrown by Hawkins' most profitable drug dealer, for fuck's sake -- who the hell would care about a little coke?), Billy fashioned him a grin, stepping back. "Don't need everybody knowing my business and shit, ya know?"

Eddie guessed that was a decent enough explanation, so he shrugged the absurdity off. He'd always thought Billy was a little weird, anyway. And coming from Eddie Munson, the biggest fucking weirdo of all, that characterization spoke volumes.

After that, you and Billy disappeared. Eddie had followed the tail-end of your dress until you were lost in a sea of strangers, then decided to try and push the rest of the weed he had onto other partygoers, wanting to leave tonight with his current debt to Rick paid and his lunch box full of fresh goodies for the new month ahead.

It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Eddie began his ascent of the stairs to Rick's second floor. He weaved in and out of groping couples, stepped over sleeping Lettermen, and gave a tight-lipped smile to a group of girls that stumbled out of the bathroom and slammed right into him. He stepped to the side, giving them the right of way, before crossing the hallway to his destination: the middle bedroom.

The door was shut, so Eddie knocked. Waited a few seconds, then knocked again.

Still with no answer, he took a large step back, surveying the other doors around him to verify he hadn't gotten turned around and was in fact standing in front of the right room, which he was.

Eddie huffed a sigh. He glanced around the hallway again, checking to see if maybe Hargrove was just running late, but there was no blonde mullet in sight.

Figuring Billy must have been inside and was just... busy or something (actively ignoring him? suddenly gone deaf?), Eddie brought his hand to the knob to twist it and enter.

The room was mostly dark. Not exactly pitch black, thanks to a streetlight seen through the big bay window, but still dark enough that Eddie needed to blink rapidly several times to adjust his eyes to the new lighting.

His immediate thought was that Billy must have either forgotten to meet him up here or had ditched the party entirely and left the dealer packing with a now homeless dimebag of blow.

Off to the right, however, was a thick slab of pale-yellow light emanating from a partially closed door. It was the bathroom, which Eddie knew from sleeping in this very bedroom more than a handful of times since first meeting Rick Lipton a few years back.

And that’s when Eddie started to hear it.

Or, as he would soon come to find out, hear you.

He had at first mistaken the quick, soft breaths of air for sounds of pain or distress, which was why he'd begun inching towards the bathroom in the first place.

But now, standing in the shadow of the ajar door, he was able to peek inside. At the sight before him, Eddie felt his eyes widen, and a prickling warmth started to spread throughout his body.

Those were definitely not sounds of pain or distress.

Billy sat kneeled in front of where you were currently spread out on the bathroom counter. Your knees were hiked up towards your chest, your dress laying in a heap on the ground, and you were left only in a bright red bra. And those goddamn suede thigh-highs.

He should have walked away right then, he knew that. He was going to, really, but then you arched your back, your head falling lax behind you, and the fucking obscene moan you let out had Eddie biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted blood.

How was he supposed to leave now?

He couldn't help himself.

You were just... you.

Thoughtful, generous, creative. You went out of your way to ensure no one ever felt judged or left out; you were known to drop everything without debate in order to help anyone who really needed it; you let him host Hellfire in your basement when the club needed a new location in a pinch, and even helped him plot twists in his campaigns.

Truly, Eddie had a very hard time seeing what you saw in that prick Billy Hargrove, but that was something to ponder at a later point. Because right now, Eddie was getting to see you in a position he'd only ever dreamed of seeing you in.

When would he ever get this chance again?

Eddie refused to think too deeply into this, deciding to pretend he didn't have a moral compass for a bit. It was probably bad. Likely even made him a pervert, but he'd been called much worse, so he figured he'd just add this one to the list now, too.

He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to be able to face either one of you again, but his feet just weren't working when his brain tried to tell them to move, and now his cock was starting to fill out the confines of his jeans in a way that had him seeking the relief of the doorframe, his hips acting of their own accord, finding a slow, rocking rhythm.

Billy had his palms splayed out on either side of your inner thighs, holding your legs open. Eddie quickly grew irritated that he couldn't see exactly what the blonde's tongue was doing. He thought that if he couldn't be the one with his own face buried against you, he wanted to at least have an unobstructed, close-up view.

He wanted to see Hargrove's lips wet with your slick, wanted to watch them wrap around your aching clit and suck until you tried to push him away. If Eddie could, he'd hold your arms down while Billy devoured you, wanting you to feel so much pleasure it was borderline painful.

He was pulled out of his fantasy by the sound of Billy's voice, raspy and teasing. "Love when you give me this sloppy fucking cunt," he said, the words themselves demeaning but his tone singing nothing but praises. Billy lowered his head back down, giving you a few long, loud licks.

Eddie knew he himself could be theatrical, but Billy Hargrove was dramatic in his own ways, and it did certainly seem like the blonde loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Apparently, eating pussy and its associated noises fell under this umbrella of Hargrove Histrionics.

Billy pulled his head back to spit several times on your well-loved cunt. Eddie didn't dare to blink as the other man brought two fingers to spread your lips and spit again, this time with your hardened nub as target. Both him and Billy watched intently as the saliva dripped slowly down your slit, past your empty hole, and leaked off of you entirely to darken an already present wet spot on Hargrove's blue jeans.

And fuck, you loved it.

With each assault of Billy's spit, you let out faint little gasps (fucking cute, Eddie had thought), body jolting at the contact, your eyes fluttering open and shut as the moisture filled in every curve of your core.

"So fucking messy, aren't you?" Billy taunted, his free hand moving to palm at his clothed length. Eddie was relieved to see Hargrove finally begin to touch himself, honestly impressed at the self-control the blonde had to disregard his pleasure and focus solely on yours. "Makes it feel so good when I finally fuck this thick cock inside you," he continued, unzipping his jeans as he stood. "You think this pussy's ready to soak me?"

Eddie felt like his skin was boiling. He wished he could eliminate some layers. Or all layers, preferably.

You were staring earnestly up at your boyfriend, a desperate pout on your face as you nodded in vigor. "Please, Billy," you begged, and Eddie couldn't take it any longer. He needed to fist his cock raw, having had enough of this grinding against the wall bullshit.

At the same time Billy dropped his jeans, Eddie did the same, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs. He muffled a groan of relief by biting down on the knuckles of his free hand, his other wrapping around the girth of his dick and just squeezing. He didn’t want to give in before Billy had gotten inside you.

The blonde sure was taking his sweet fucking time though, only wetting his length by sliding himself repeatedly between your lips. You were whining, and Eddie could tell you were trying to angle your hips in such a way that it would trip Billy up and he would slip inside. Good girl, get that fucking cock, Eddie thought, impatient and eager to cum, but not wanting to do so without first catching a glimpse at what you looked like stuffed and fucked full.

"Hmm, I dunno," Billy provoked, tapping his cock against your cunt with loud slaps. "Feels really good just like this, baby. Maybe I'll use the outside to fuck myself instead, cum all over this pretty little pussy, make an even bigger mess. You want that?"

You and Eddie both shook your heads at the same time.

You gave a grumble of annoyance (more of like a testy whimper, really) and brought a hand up to slap playfully at Billy's chest. "Fuck me, Billy," you demanded, your voice throaty and yearning. You dropped the hand at his chest to circle his cock, wrapping delicate fingers around his own and helping to stroke. "Need it inside."

"Oh, you need it, greedy girl?" It appeared he was going to listen to you, much to yours and Eddie's respite, because he lined himself up against your hole with one hand, the other moving to wrap around the nape of your neck. "I didn't know that. I gotta give my girl what she needs then. Can't have anyone thinking I don't take care of you."

Finally -- finally -- Eddie watched as Billy took one thrust to bury his cock inside you completely, the blonde releasing a loud, lewd moan. Eddie gave his own throbbing, sweat-slick length the same treatment, fucking into his fist from tip to base until he felt his tightening balls press against his twitching fingers.

You looked better stretched open than Eddie could have ever imagined -- a natural flush glowed on your skin, your bottom lip tugged tight between your upper teeth, your brows furrowed deep.

Your eyes rolled back as Billy began to move, a satisfied moan escaping your lips at the pace he was setting. The sound, contented yet desperate, was music to Eddie's ears. He wanted to record it and hear it on loop -- as a wake-up call, an afternoon pick-me-up, a bedtime lullaby.

Your hands moved to rest on either side of the surface of the sink below you, supporting your weight as Billy rocked into you with long, languid thrusts. Eddie tried to match Hargrove's pace with the stroke of his hand, envisioning it was his own cock giving you exactly what you needed.

You must have felt fucking good to be buried deep inside of, because Billy, always with something to say, was awfully quiet now.

He watched the other man's face through the reflection in the mirror, saw as Billy's baby blues fervently took in the sight underneath him, knowing he himself would be donning the same expression if positions were switched. Eddie knew Hargrove was admiring your perfect tits bouncing with the force of each thrust, knew he was lost in the dissipated doe-eyes that stared back up at him like he hung the fucking moon, when in reality he was just feeding your cunt some very well-deserved cock.

When your mouth dropped open unprompted, your pink tongue sticking out as far as it could go, that was the beginning of the end for Eddie. Both men knew exactly what you were asking for. Hargrove smirked approvingly at the sight before him, and he slowed the speed of his hips for better accuracy. He gathered as much saliva in his mouth as he could before leaning over you, parting his lips and letting gravity do its job.

Once your mouth was filled, Billy brought a hand to your jaw, forcing it shut. "Don't swallow," he instructed, his thrusts no longer slow and unhurried, but now posthaste and unrelenting.

Eddie could feel the familiar tingle in his lower abdomen, alerting him that his release was maybe a minute away. He fleetingly realized that he was going to have to very quickly clean his upcoming mess and get the hell out of the room before he was caught, but his attention was reeled back in when he heard a series of deep, breathless grunts.

"Okay, shit... spit it out now, baby," Billy was muttering, speech rushed, his head dipped to stare unwaveringly at where your bodies connected. "Oh fuck, spit on my fucking cock."

Eddie watched as you leaned yourself forward, angling your head down to release the spit you'd been holding in from your mouth, just adding to the noisy wetness between your legs.

And that did it. The visual — someone as soft and sweet as you doing something so filthy — had Eddie's toes curling in on themselves in his gym shoes, his hand pulsating around his cock to mimic a clenching cunt as he fucked himself into it. His release spilled out over his fist, dampening the ground below him and the bathroom doorframe. He saw stars.

Billy had followed Eddie right off the brink, muttering praises and obscenities interchangeably as you both came down from your highs. "Listen so well, dirty fucking girl. Always make me cum so hard, fuck, this pussy's so fucking full of me right now."

The sound of the quiet giggles urged out of you by Billy's tickling kisses on your neck were what brought Eddie back to the present reality. He wasn't back at home watching the hottest fucking porno he'd ever seen -- no, he was actually standing in a dimly lit bedroom, covered in his own cum, having just spied on his best friend while she got railed by her boyfriend.

Shit.

Eddie's moral compass came back with a vengeance. He cringed as he rubbed his sticky fingers on the inside of his band tee to clean them, not wanting anyone to catch a glimpse of crusty white as he made his getaway. He found a towel in a laundry basket and wiped away any remnants of his release from the wall and floor, then tossed it back into the hamper.

Not even able to glance back into the bathroom, his skin now heated from shame and embarrassment rather than arousal, Eddie buttoned up his jeans and hurried out of the room, ready to try and forget that all of that just happened.

About ten minutes later, he was perched against his van about a block from Rick's, where he'd parked. He was smoking a cigarette, having finally began to cool off and calm down. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could convince himself this was all a really vivid hallucination, and maybe he'd be able to compartmentalize his moment of perversion that way.

He just needed to stay away from the two of you for a little while.

But then, because of course...

"Munson!"

Eddie quietly groaned, taking a deep drag off his cigarette to quell his already rapidly growing nerves from just the sound of the other man's voice alone. He turned to face Billy, plastering what he hoped was an easygoing grin on his face.

"Hey, man," Eddie greeted, his voice surprisingly steady.

Billy held his hands up in a 'What the fuck?' kind of way, brows furrowed. "Thought we had a plan," the blonde replied, stopping just a foot away from the tall metalhead. One side of Hargrove's mouth lifted. He looked predatory. Eddie fought back a hard swallow. "Did you even come upstairs?"

"What..." Eddie's brain went blank at the question. Or was it an accusation? It definitely sounded like one, but Billy didn't seem mad. The blonde was just staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Y'know," Billy continued. "Because I told you to meet me in the middle bedroom? For the coke?" What had started as the slight of a smirk had turned into a full-blown grin on Hargrove's face. "You good, Munson? Lookin' a little spooked.”

To this, Eddie sobered his expression, shaking his head. "No, just like, busy night, that's all," Eddie answered lamely. Maybe Billy really didn't know. Maybe Eddie was just hyper-paranoid about having been caught that he was reading too deeply into this. After all, wouldn't Hargrove have been pissed to find out he'd been spying? Wouldn't he already have Eddie pinned against the van, spewing threats? "Lotsa deals. Kinda forgot about yours, my bad. Here, lemme get it..."

Eddie began digging around in his pockets, having forgotten again where the coke was. He blamed the alarms of anxiety going off in his brain (thoughts like fuck, he probably knows, which means she knows, and now she's gonna fucking hate me plaguing him).

But Billy said, "Don't worry about it, I'm good. Got my energy hit a little bit ago." The blonde then looked like he had remembered something, and began looking in his own pockets, "Shit, actually. Ya know what? I have something for you."

Eddie was sure the look of confusion on his face was readable. This whole night was turning out to be a fucking fever dream. He didn't think anything else could happen to make it any more surreal.

And then Billy was reaching his hand out to give Eddie something, that I-know-something-you-don't smirk present again, and Eddie took it without looking. He just wanted Billy to walk away so he could go crawl into the back of his van and smoke himself stupid to avoid any and all realizations and repercussions.

"See you ‘round," were Billy's parting words and Eddie just nodded dumbly, mute, and watched him go.

Once Hargrove was out of sight, Eddie opened his hand. At first, it just looked like an unassuming wad of fabric, maybe a sock or something, small compared to the size of his palm.

Eddie unraveled it, holding it out in front of him, and then very quickly tossed it inside his open passenger window, eyes darting around to make sure no one had seen what Billy Hargrove had just given him —

The matching pair of panties to your bright red bra.

#billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #mungrove x reader #billy hargrove smut #eddie munson smut

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algae-tm · 4 months

Text

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau

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eyesxxyou · 1 year

Note

Not anon since I actually wanna see this in my notifications if you do this requestlmao:

HOBIE WITH A VIRGIN READER, But:

Plot twist, reader is vulgar, she wears semi-skimpy clothing, always making stupid (yet creative) sex jokes like ‘that’s what she said’ etc, Make-out champ and stuff but in reality she just does whatever and it works for Hobie when it was a wild guess. Like- sexually experienced she definitely isn’t yet always acts confident

Knocking out 2 requests in one

{★} .. hobie brown x black!plus size!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.3k

synopsis. hobie never expected you to be a virgin and he's totally okay with that but you are not.

you and hobie mutually masterbate

🍓・．warnings❕no p in v sex, mutual masturbation, unprotected sex not advised, clothed sex, fingering, praise, cum on pussy, pussy job, Hobie as a dick piercing, mentions of religion and blasphemy, aftercare

If you had told Hobie you of all people were a virgin before the two of you had started dating, he would have thought you were pulling his leg. You? You in your skimpy clothes that deliciously left nothing to the imagination? You and the well-developed curves you loved to show off? You and your teasing innuendos? No way in hell you were a virgin, but alas, here you were after making out with him for the past 10 minutes, stalling really because you— in a crop top so small he could see the beginnings of your full breasts and low-rise jeans that showed off your waist beads partially hidden under the pudge of your stomach— had no idea what the hell to do beyond that.

Not that Hobie believed in the concept of “virginity”. He simply believed that people either have had sex before or they haven’t and either way, one does not make the more pure or better than the other. But still, you never had sex? With the confidence you had in your body— confidence well deserved— he assumed that you had left a long line of broken hearts in your sexy stride.

“Well, is this sometin’ you wanna do? I don’ want you to feel like you gotta do anytin’ wit’ me.” Communication was important in moments like these. If he was going to be your first sexual experience, he wanted to make a good impression, didn’t want to leave you scarred and traumatized.

You signed a little, your confident demeanor melting away just a little while you spoke. “I just don’t think I’m ready to go all the way, ya know? I’m sorry if you wanted mor—”

“Don’t be sorry, luv. Never be sorry ova tha’. We don’t gotta do anytin’,” Hobie assured you with a slight caress to your thick thigh the size of his literal head. There was something almost commercial about the difference in your sizes and body types. No one would expect someone so tall and lanky to be with a person so short and chubby but anyone who dared to comment on it could expect get their head bashed in by Hobie’s guitar.

“NO, no, I want to do something, just not that yet. I’m still a little…unsure about it but you think we can try something else?” You asked, hopeful that he’d be down for something a little more unconventional, but you knew Hobie preferred unconventional to anything else. “Of course, wha’cha thinkin’?” He siddled up next to you, his lips caressing the round of your cheek while his hand grasped the fat of your ass. All of this, so much of your to love and worship. He wanted to leave a mark on every piece of flesh he could get his hands on, lavish over every part no revealed to the world, parts few and far between but all the more sacred because of it.

You gently scratched at the nape of his neck while his hands roamed tenderly across you body, careful not to make you uncomfortable and fully prepared to pull away at any sign that you weren’t feeling it anymore. “Let's masturbate in front of each other.”

“You’ve been tinkin’ ‘bout this fo a while, then?” It came too fast from your lips to be anything you thought of on the spot. You slapped him on the shoulder but did not deny his claim because you have. It would be a lie to say you haven’t been thinking of him sitting in one of his many bean bag chairs with his legs spread apart, his hand stroking the length of his cock while he watched you use your fingers to stretch out your unused pussy. You thought about what he’d look like when he came. What the consistency of his cum looked like, what it tasted like. Did he shudder when he came, did he whine a little, did he moan and groan, you needed to know.

“Please Hobie, I really wanna try it.” You pulled back to give him your infamous puppy eyes, hoping that might be what convinces him. If only you knew he’d do absolutely anything you asked him to because his worship of you bordered on the lines of blasphemy. “Of course, luv.”

WIth one last kiss, the two of you parted completely, Hobie getting up to go sit on a chair across from his bed where he left you. A bit anxious, you began to fumble with the button to your your spared jeans in a some rush to get them off like you were going to miss some deadline.

“Come’ere.” Hobie motioned you over with his fingers and without a second to hesitate, you obeyed, walking over to him with a wrinkle in your jeans at your embarrassing attempt to get them off. He reached up, his eyes locking in with yours while his long, slender fingers skillfully doing what your chubby, stout ones could not. His hands traced the curve of your hip as he placed a soft kiss against the pudge of your belly. “Take’em off slow fa me. Gimme a show, luv.” WIth that, he removed his hands from your body and leaned back in the chair to enjoy the performance he prompted you to put on.

Pretending to be sexy was something you absolutely could do. You stepped back a bit, trailing your hands up and down the length of your torso to caress the curves of your body. Hobie let out something of a sigh as you slipped your thumbs into the waist of your pants and the band of your thong to pull them down simultaneously.

You turned around to face away from him, working your pants down your hips and your legs in a seductive manner before taking them all the way to the floor and flashing just a peek of that little pussy of yours at him as you stepped out of your clothes and kicked them to the side. And by the time you turned back around, Hobie already had his cock out, half-hard in his hand as he stroked his twitching length.

It was pretty, long, veiny, chocolate brown in color with a slightly lighter tip leaking dribbles of precum over his knuckles. He had a piercing through the head of it, a Prince Albert. You wanted to kiss it, have it in your mouth, slave over it, suck it like it was your favorite flavor of lolli. Anything Hobie-flavored was your favorite.

You moved back, maintaining eye contact with your boyfriend as the back of your knees his the edge of the bed and you fell onto it, now making eye contact with the thick monster he had between his legs. The sight of it made your pussy quiver at the thought of it being closer, being inside of you one day, fucking the daylights out of you.

"Go ahead, spread those legs fa me, baby. I wanna see tha' pretty pussy of ya's." Hobie sighed out, his cock now to its full length. If he were to let it go, it would rest well to his belly button. He stoked a little harder, anticipating the sight of your cunt on display for him to enjoy and him alone. There was an odd sort of perverted satisfaction he got knowing that you’d never had a sexual experience with anyone else other than him. No one in the entire world got to see this beautiful sight as your propped your feet up on the bed and spread them to reveal your sacred little hole, glistening and wet with arousal leaking out of it.

You used one hand to place behind you so you could hold yourself up while the other was used to rub your fingers in the mess your pussy made of itself, spreading the slick to your clit where you put most of your focus. Hobie hummed from across the room, a soft, wet fapping sound emanating from him as he fucked his hand a little harder, using his precum as lube to slick his path while he pretended it was in fact your sticky juices coating his cock.

You bit your bottom lip, watching with hooded eyes the way he fucked his own hand like he wanted to fuck you, nice and evenly paced but ultimately desperate for release. In some feeble attempt to imitate what his length might feel like stirring up your guts, you slipped a finger into your inexperienced hole, that being the most you could ever manage to fit. But it left you severely disappointed as you knew one of your tiny fingers could never even imagine imitating the length and girth of that pretty cock of his.

You thumb at your clit to the pace that his hand rubbed his cock, his own thumb stroking his sensitive head each time it got the chance to. “Hobie~” You whined for him as your head fell back and your eyes closed, the pleasure of it all so overwhelming. But Hobie snapped at you between breathless groans. “Keep ya eyes on me, baby. I wanna see ya eyes.” So you opened them and looked at him, his hand fucking himself even harder now, his hips bucking uncontrollably from pleasure.

You could only imagine what the sight for him looked like, a finger in your pussy with your thumb on your clit, fingers wet down to the knuckle, lips wet from your tongue. Open and desperate for him as your back arched and your pussy trembled. “Please–” You begged of him. “I want your cum on my cunt. Please…Hobie.” You didn’t just want it, you needed it. You needed to feel the essence of him coating your pussy you wanted your fingers to play in in, to slip your messy fingers into your mouth and taste him.

“You wan’ me to cum on ya pussy, dirty girl?” Hobie began to sit up, ready to give you just what you asked for. You whimpered, nodding in desperation, watching him make his way over and push you back onto the bed. He pulled your hand away from your core and tapped the tip of his weeping cock against your clit, letting out a few wet smacks at the contact before he grabbed the thickest part of your thighs and forced them up to your chest. “‘m gonna give ya jus’ what’cha wan’.” His voice was dark, feral. His piercing glistened with precum as he stroked his cock between your swollen, wet pussy lips.

Everytime he pulled back, his tip positioned itself right at your entrance, always threatening to push itself inside and give you all you were looking for. But it never did. It just stroked yoru hole a bit before gliding over it, his cock rubbing your pussy and clit until you were crying out his name like it was the only thing you could remember to say.

Each stroke of his cock left you more sensitive than the last, each rub of your clit sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. An orgasm just on the horizon threatened to crash over you and destroy you much like a tsunami. It built itself in the pit of your stomach, your legs trembling and flexing in an attempt to close themselves and cast him out to avoid the unfamiliar feeling but Hobie forced them open without a care. “Open, keep’em open fa me.”

“Hobie, please, I can’t!”

“Yes you can, luv. I’m almost there.” He thrust against your pussy so hard his balls began to slap against your ass. “You wan’ my cum on ya pussy, righ’? You wan’ me to defile you, make ya all dirty fo me?” You nodded vigorously. You wanted that more than anything else in the world right now.

“Then take this dick.” Something about those words sent you over the edge. The tsunami crashed over you and seized your body like a demon. Your back arched off of the bed, muscles spasming and thrashing with an orgasm of an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Hobie!” You cried out his name, pussy spasming as you came. Hobie kept stroking, kept fucking, kept pleasing despite your calls, his breathy moans all you can hear as he nears his own orgasm.

And when it comes, so does he. His hips still and his cock twitches as he releases all over the face of your cunt. He coats your clit, your lips, your hole and paints them in milky white before spreading it about with his cock. “Goood girl.” He cooed at you in praise, slapping his cock in the mess he’s made of you. He claimed you as his, his for life. He owned this pretty pussy. It belonged to him. “Why does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Hobie, you.” You whimpered as he slapped his dick a little more against your pussy, sending jolts of overstimulating pleasure through your body until your toes curled.

“Tha’s righ’, don’ forget i’.” He bent over between your legs and kissed you, sliding his tongue into your mouth as his hand grabbed a fistful of your breasts. His cock was soft now, but it if kept stroking against your pussy, it would quickly be otherwise so he better stop while he’s ahead. “You did so good, luv. So good to me, so good fa me.” He bit your bottom lip as you hummed breathlessly into his mouth. “Lemme get you cleaned up.”

Hobie stood up and tucked himself away before going to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. You heard the water running for a little, some shuffling in the bathroom before Hobie came back with the washcloth damp. He parted your legs a little more and used the cloth to watch you, apologizing with a soft kiss to your knee and you jolted and whined when he went over your clit. And once he’s done he tosses the cloth into the dirty clothes and climbs into bed with you to hold you, whispering soft praises into you ear so you don’t feel used or taken advantage of.

“I love you.” He whispered as you were just on the cusp of slumber and took no offense when you snored softly as a response.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #atsv #spiderman #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #spider punk #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie broen x plus size!reader

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abiiors · 3 months

Text

a midsummer night's dream - matty x reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔆:✧˚.🍉⋆𖧧🐚

a/n: i will be so honest, there is no plot. the plot is matty and bug being in love for 4.5k words. also alex turner cameo hehehe cw: i'm warning all of you that there's a lot of fade to black smut in this because writing smut is my mortal enemy wc: 4.5k

matty wakes up to a scream on one fine day mid june.

he scrambles awake, drenched in sweat because it’s already so warm in london, and because the scream is startling. he’s about to run to make sure she’s okay when he hears another one—a squeal this time. a high-pitched, excited sound.

“bug?” he calls out, his voice scratchy still, “what’s happening?”

footsteps thud on the floor. a moment later the door swings open and she comes into view, laptop balanced precariously in one hand and her eyes as round as saucers. matty sits up on the bed. the covers fall around his waist, exposing his entire torso right down to his happy trail.

“what—”

“i got it!” she hoists the laptop high up in the air. “that summer gig with arctic monkeys! i got it! i got it, matty, me!”

matty’s sure his eyes widen an equal amount then, and he jumps off the bed. there he is, standing naked as the day he was born in the middle of their room. the kisses on his chest from the night before have already darkened, leaving a neat little trail from his sternum to just below his belly button. and yet, matty cares about none of it.

“you got it! fuck, bug—”

“i got it!” she squeals, eyes brimming with tears now that it’s sinking in, and almost chucks the laptop on the bed. none of them care that he’s naked and she’s not. she makes a run at him, jumping into his open arms and wrapping her bare legs around his middle. she even presses a kiss square on his lips, too excited to deepen it. he just twirls them around until they both end up in a heap on the bed.

“shit!”

“shit!” he laughs. “you’d be in europe all summer, one country after the other. surrounded by hot rockstars—”

“matty!” she chastises even though he can tell she’s busy trying to stifle her shit-eating grin. “i’m going to work. take photos!”

“of hot rockstars,” he bumps his shoulder into hers.

she turns and eyes him properly, from his messy curls to his naked chest and down. he doesn’t shy away from her though, if anything he feels a little smug.

“i already take photos of hot rockstars,” she giggles, tracing a finger over the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “sexy photos too.”

“oh is that right?” he takes a hold of her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. her day old perfume surrounds him. his too, he realises, is in the mix, clinging to her skin like it’s meant to. “you won’t be here all summer…” he kisses her shoulder and pulls her leg over his waist.

“i’ll send you postcards,” she giggles, “like we’re in the 90s or something.”

“sexy…postcards?”

she pinches the skin on his stomach lightly making him hiss. “pervert.”

“you’re a photographer, bug,” matty’s mouth moves from her shoulder to her chest, right where the fabric of her cami ends, not exactly where he wants to be. “i’m sure, you can get…creative.”

she quirks an eyebrow. “and what will i get in return, hmm? i’ll be ‘surrounded by hot rockstars’, don’t you forget.”

“oh, all of this isn’t enough?” matty points at his naked body, earning a flirty giggle from her.

he already feels hot all over again, simmering right beneath his skin, and from the looks of it, she feels it too. gently, she pushes him on his back, climbing on top of him until she’d on his stomach, her ass touching his dick. matty pulls the strings of her shorts and helps her out of them, out of her underwear too.

“gorgeous,” he murmurs once she chucks her cami somewhere in the corner, entirely naked and on top of him, grinding on his stomach until she’s practically dripping onto him. matty loves it when she uses him like that, when she gets lost chasing her own pleasure and forgets the world around her.

matty loves looking at her then—now—when her lips are parted and eyes rolled to the back of her head, when her jaw is slack with pleasure and she moves her hips in a hypnotising rhythm. getting herself off on his stomach.

his hand snakes up her naked thigh till he's grabbing her ass. praise after praise tumbles out of his mouth and each one has her moving faster, rocking hips. his head spins from the blood running so fast through his veins. it's electric, to see her like that, to feel her like that. he’s dying to feel her around him too, but right now matty is just content to lie back and watch.

when she finally finds her release and slumps forward on his chest, breathing hard, matty presses a kiss on her crown.

“had your fun, didn’t you?”

she hmms, giggling a little. “your turn?”

and of course, he doesn’t need to be asked twice.

the week before she’s set to leave, she makes him sit in front of the dresser, bleach and blue dye held up in her gloved hands. matty’s doing it because she won’t. because she wants to ‘look professional’. and so he agrees to dyeing his hair blue.

she’s more than happy to do it too, pressing kisses on his bare shoulder and neck every two seconds. matty dips a finger in the dye and flicks her nose, painting it blue.

“oh i will kill you,” she screeches, giggling away from him when he tries to get more dye on her, on her clothes and skin, and tries to kiss her while he reeks of bleach.

and even though they're happy, somewhere in the back of his mind he already misses her, even when she’s right here in his arms.

“i love you…” he murmurs and places a soft kiss on her lips, she indulges for a few seconds before frowning.

“why did you say it like that?”

“like what?”

“like it’s a sad thing.”

she can be quite perceptive when she wants to be. but matty simply shakes his head and hooks a hand under her knees. she laughs so loud when he throws her over his shoulder that it echoes around the house. matty hopes the house traps it, her laughs and her giggles and moans, he’s going to miss hearing it.

“matty?” she nips his earlobe.

“hmm?”

“i love you too. more than you’ll ever know.”

he doesn’t bother correcting her, or telling her that he knows. he knows because he feels it in all of her touches and her kisses and her smiles. and he knows because no matter how upset he is about spending two months apart, he knows she’s coming home to him at the end of it.

he only sets her down once they get to the bathroom, kissing her so deeply that her whole body reacts to him. the dye on her nose smears against his cheek, the dye on his hair gets on her hands, but matty cannot stop smiling like a fucking idiot. smiling and touching her and kissing her while they shed their clothes and get under the shower.

the water turns blue instantly, rivulets running under their feet, and matty gets down on his knees.

“let me…” he breathes, throwing her leg over his shoulder. his mouth is instantly between her legs, hands grabbing onto her thighs and her ass, while he looks up at her. her head is thrown back in ecstasy, fingers tangled in his freshly dyed hair.

he keeps going until she cums on his tongue and cums again. he keeps going until his knees hurt and the water runs clear. he keeps going until she can quite literally no longer stand.

then matty picks her up in his arms, and carries her to bed.

“i’ll be in brussels this time tomorrow,” she murmurs next to him the night before she’s set to leave.

it’s so late at night, she should be asleep. he should be asleep too, but he suspects they’re both up thinking the same thing. trying not to toss and turn and wake the other up… matty laughs at the irony.

“go to bed, bug,” he whispers. “you’ve got to be up by 7.”

she turns to him, barely visible in the moonlight. and yet matty doesn’t need to see her face to know what she’s thinking and how she’s feeling. he simply needs to listen to her breathing as it turns shallow.

“i do,” she nods and moves closer to him. matty opens up his arms and lets her find a comfy spot until she’s practically on top of him, until they’re one tangled entity. “i’ll be in brussels and you’ll be here.”

“we’ve been apart before,” he replies lamely.

“that was different! we were just friends then, and…”

“and?”

she shrugs, pressing a kiss onto his shoulder. “and i’d learned to suppress my feelings for you. it was fine then, i was fine!”

matty presses a kiss into her head. “i wasn’t. i missed you everyday.”

“liar!”

“i’d never lie to you, bug,” he giggles. “and i know it’s different now, but we have options. i can call you everyday, text you 24/7, fuck, i could show up to any country you’re in. it’s only europe, you’re right here!”

she laughs, and matty can hear the wobble in it. a second later, wetness touches his shoulder. “i don’t think the band does ‘bring your boyfriend to work’ days.”

“alex would love to have me around,” he teases.

that makes her snort properly. “you’re such a fanboy, it’s adorable.”

“rude!” he flicks her forehead. “go to bed now, i don’t want you feeling like a zombie tomorrow.”

she doesn’t respond after that, she just snuggles more into him, drawing circles on his arm until eventually her breathing deepens and her fingers stop moving. matty doesn’t sleep a wink though. he stays awake playing with her hair, fingers trying to memorise its softness, the precise texture of it. it’s only when the sky is on the verge of twilight does he manage to fall asleep.

it’s a quick, dreamless sleep, over like a flash in the pan, and before he knows it, her alarm goes off and matty groans awake.

she’s waking up too, eyes still closed and face so sleepy and soft that matty wants to tuck her back in bed and not let her go. but no matter how hard he wishes for it, she has to go. it’s a good opportunity for her, it will be so good for her career.

and yet and yet and yet.

matty sighs and places a kiss on her head.

“bug? you up?”

she mumbles sleepily. matty laughs.

“come on, you won’t be ready in time if you don’t wake up now.”

and that’s how they go back and forth—matty tries to coax her out of bed, she mumbles something and buries her face wherever she can, until finally he manages to shake her hard enough.

it’s funny to him how she stomps to the bathroom and comes out as a completely new person once she’s had her shower. he’s ready for her though, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand. it’s the last time they will sit across from each other and have coffee for two months. last time before he’s sentenced to seeing her face on a tiny phone screen.

“you’re not gonna cry are you?” her eyes widen, and matty schools his face back into a smile. “if you cry, i’ll cry and then none of us is going anywhere.”

“i’m not a crybaby, love,” he flicks her nose, kissing it straight after. “i’ll miss you though. more than you’ll ever know.”

there’s not much he can say that won’t make him actually start crying. so he just enjoys the coffee with her and holds her close. he stays there, for as long as she needs until she has to finally get up and get ready to leave.

“matty, look!” she holds up a snail to the phone screen, eyes bright, excited. “i’m having snails.” then she puts on an exaggerated french accent. “escargot!”

matty laughs. “you don’t even like them, bug.”

“i do when they’re given to me in bed by room service.”

he briefly looks away from her face and behind her. there’s not much of a view, just the fancy headboard and a nightstand littered with jewellery and contact lens case and her frayed old headphones. matty smiles at it fondly and looks at the nightstand on her side of their bed—it’s empty, clean. he feels a pang in his chest.

matty looks back at her just in time to watch her make a face.

“okay maybe i’ll have them later,” she tries not cringe, he just snickers at her.

a bit later once she’s done eating, she gives him a tour of the room. it’s much of the same really, similar to the rooms she’d stayed in in rome and milan and berlin. he’s no stranger to any of it either, and yet he gives her his full attention, cooing at the view from her window even though they can barely see the eiffel tower. she looks happy about it, and so he is too.

“how was you day?” she asks once they’ve both settled in bed.

matty sighs, “much of the same really. worked a bit, then worked out a bit and now i’m talking to you.”

he doesn’t say that he could barely eat because he hates eating alone and misses her so bad. he doesn’t tell her that he forced george to be on call with him while he ate his sad little dinner of day old pizza and some chicken tenders.

“worked out,” she waggles her eyebrows, “gonna be fit before i come back to you?”

“for you? maybe.”

her breath quivers a little and matty sees the precise second her face shifts from a teasing smirk to something a little more intense. he sits up too, propped against his pillow. and sure it is july, the nights have already grown hotter, but something tells him the heat in the room is not because of that.

“did i show you photos from the show?”

“of alex?” matty raises a brow and she rolls her eyes, biting her lip a little.

“of me, idiot! was dressed like a proper 2013 arctic monkeys fan.”

he can see the image so clearly—her in a black mini-skirt and knee socks—and when she sends him a few photos his guess is confirmed. except there’s also her tight-fitting t-shirt that shows off everything matty wishes he could touch right now. he lets out a shaky breath, swiping through the photos.

“you like them?” her voice is shier than before, matty smirks.

“you look like a fantasy,” he breathes down the line, already half hard in his pyjama shorts. her breathy, seductive giggle doesn’t help matters. matty can’t help but palm himself lightly at the sound, imagining doing things to her in that tiny little skirt.

“what are you thinking?,” she speaks into the phone, mischief dancing in her tone.

“what do you want me to think?”

she twirls a little strand of hair around her finger, one long fingernail combing through her soft hair. he’s been dying to touch them again, dying to feel her fingernails scratch on his back while she moans and screams his name over and over again.

she touches her lips subconsciously, and that’s pretty much the last straw for him.

“what were you doing?” he asks. and then, pulls down his shorts.

he’s painfully hard by now, aching and desperate to feel her around him. but she’s a million kilometres away, alone and cold in a foreign bed and not in his arms like she should. so he has no other option but to touch himself like a sixteen year old boy. the thought of her doing just the same drives him insane.

“nothing. just wondering what you’d do if you would have seen me in that outfit.”

he hears her breath quiver over the last words.

“you want to know?” matty wraps a hand around the base of his cock, letting her uneven breathing wash over him. this is so horny and reckless. he can’t even go a few weeks without her for fuck’s sake…

but he can’t help himself, not when it comes to her.

“touch yourself like i would,” he says, “and then i’ll tell you everything i want to do to you…”

the phone sex doesn’t stop after that. if anything it opens up so many new avenues for him. almost every night a week, while he’s in the same old bed and she’s in a different bed each time, matty finds himself spilling in his own hand, wishing it was her hand, her face, her stomach. wishing it was her.

sex aside he misses her so dearly it’s like a hole has been carved in his chest precisely big enough to fit her.

“alex was so good today!” she squeals down the phone one night while she’s in madrid.

better than me? he almost says but keeps the words to himself. it’s jealousy rearing its ugly head, nothing more.

“oh yeah?”

she frowns at his disinterested tone. “you alright?”

“i’m just tired, bug.” matty runs a hand over his face, “i just want to sleep.”

“oh.”

her small voice instantly makes him open his eyes. she’s smiling at him, of course she is, but he can tell when her smiles are fake and when they are real. and the one right now is stretched so forcefully over her face that he wonders if it hurts.

“no, no,” he shakes his head, “i can stay up for a bit, it’s no big deal.”

“are you sure?”

he hates that he’s made her feel so unsure. of course he wants to stay awake and talk to her, all night if it weren’t for the fact she has busy days and long hours to work.

the sun hasn’t even properly set yet and she’s already in bed, looking quite tired if he’s being honest. she looks different than he’d last seen her too, suntanned and freckled—probably after spending fun afternoons at the beach with all these attractive people all around her—

stop it.

“we should go to the beach when you come back.” matty changes the topic abruptly. “just us, a proper beach day. it will be fun i think.”

“yeah?”

she settles deeper under her covers, resting her phone against a pillow so she won’t have to hold it upright. matty does the same, sleeping on his side. if he fools himself enough, it’s like they’re sleeping side by side again. if he fools himself, she’s back in his arms, snuggled up with him no matter how hot it is.

“you look so sleepy, bug,” he laughs, touching his phone screen like he’s caressing her cheek. “oh wait, a snug bug.”

“poetry,” she snorts, stifling a yawn. “i’m fine matty, i wanna talk to you. tomorrow’s a busy day, dunno if i can even text you all day.”

his mood sours instantly, but he tries not to show it on his face. she is working. this is not some holiday where she can set time aside to call and text him. besides he’s seen some of her photos posted on the band’s social media—her hard work shines through instantly. and ever time he sees them, pride swells in his chest.

“do you want to hear something george and i came up with the other day?”

she nods, pulling the covers up to her chin.

matty doesn't waste more time explaining what it is, he just starts humming. it’s at the very beginning stages of its creation—a song inspired by this summer—and yet, the more he hums, the more the melody just comes to him. the lyrics are gibberish, mostly just a lot of oohs and hmms but it’s accomplishing the goal he’s set out with.

her eyes droop more and more with each passing second, breathing deepening more, until he’s almost at the end of the song and she’s fast asleep.

her mouth is parted like always, hands tucked under her chin and knees pulled up to her chest like she’s preserving warmth even on a summer night. he wonders if she feels cold in hotel rooms, he wonders if she misses him just as much as he misses her, so strong it keeps him up at night sometimes, touching her side of the bed and her pillow.

he doesn’t hang up though. he stays on call, watching her sleep. he stays on call until she’s completely unmoving and unaware of anything else happening around her. he stays on call until her phone dies eventually and his screen goes black. then he cradles the device to his chest like it’s trapped her essence. and maybe it has.

when matty falls into a restless sleep that night, he only dreams of her.

the dreams become a permanent fixture. not like he’s complaining, not when he’s sleeping anyway. but then he has to wake up to the bleak reality that she’s not here, day after day, week after week.

they talk on the phone every single day of course, and with each passing day he knows her homecoming gets closer. somehow it’s harder.

days before she’s supposed to come, matty’s in a mood so foul that he doesn’t even call her. he just makes up some silly excuse and skips out on it.

her :( text makes him feel worse, but all he does is get in bed at 8 pm when it’s still light outside, and bury himself under blankets no matter how hot it is.

somewhere hours later, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

“shh, go back to sleep,” matty feels the bed dip in the wee hours of the morning, her voice a hoarse whisper. it’s a dream, his sleep-addled brain tells him, it’s another dream fueled by loneliness and missing her and being so so cold every night. it’s—

“baby?”

“hmm?”

“you’re not cold, are you?” she slides in behind him, still fully clothed. her soft, worn jeans rub against his thigh, then she drapes a bare arm over him. “you’ve got goosebumps.”

“you’re a dream,” matty mumbles, sleep coating each word. her deep laugh resonates all around him, surrounding him like a warm blanket.

“am i?” she kisses the shell of his ear. “how do you know?”

sleep threatens to take him under once again in the comfort of her arms. the feel of her hair brushing against is shoulder is familiar, it smells like her—like peaches and lilies. matty smiles to himself, this is by far the most realistic dream his brain has produced all summer.

“hey,” she kisses his shoulder, sending butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“you’re a dream…” matty repeats, “because i’ve had this dream before.”

“oh yeah?” he feels himself being pulled into a chest—so solid and real and warm. her fingers dance on his arms, from his shoulder to his elbow and back up, tickling just a little—not enough to fully wake him up, but definitely enough to hold him there, suspended in a limbo between sleep and consciousness. “what happens in your dream?”

“you come into our bed…”

“like this?” the smile in her voice is prominent.

“mm-hmm,” matty nods and turns, eyes closed, face burrowed into her chest now. her scent surrounds him stronger than before, with new things added to it—faint smell of coffee and the outdoors in general. he can feel his face squished between her boobs, which isn’t a new detail as far as his dreams go, but his brain has certainly upped the quality of it tonight.

it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream, matty chants in his head over and over again till the words meld into each other and turn gibberish.

“and then?” her voice cuts through his spiral.

“and then you hold me, bug”

“i am holding you…” he feel her nod, and yet her arms tighten, cuddling him closer. the next time she speak, matty feels the vibrations of her voice running through his chest, passing through his heart.

“and then?”

instead of answering, he focuses on her fingers—up and down, up and down. from his shoulder to his elbow and back up. “sometimes you touch me,” he breathes into the crook of her neck, “other times you hold me until i wake up.” his voice is muffled, barely audible. it’s alright, though. she’s just a dream, a figment of his imagination, a part of him. how could she ever not understand him?

“i touch you?” she laughs, a little giggly, and matty nods. “how do i touch you?”

he takes her hand in his, traces the pads of her fingers, the lines on her palm. then he places her hands on his bare chest—smooth, small fingers touching his ribs, trailing downward toward his stomach and his belly button. matty sighs. “you touch me like that. like you do when you’re really here…”

“matty, i am really here!” she laughs, kissing his head this time. her thumb moves in circles on his collarbone. “open your eyes, ‘m right here.”

“‘s a trick,” he mumbles. a moment later his mouth finds the hollow of her throat. her skin is slightly cold to the touch, halfway to warming up. against his lips he feels the chain she always wears, like she’s come back home and gotten straight into bed. matty scoffs, what a strange thought.

“you’ll disappear if i open my eyes. and i want you to stay. i miss you…” he says, “i can’t wait two more days till you’re home.”

“you don’t have to,” she giggles—it’s a giddy, breathless sound that makes him smile too.

“you’re a good dream,” matty holds onto her tight, relishing how solid she feels in his arms. “the best dream i’ve ever had.”

her hands move over his body again until they’re on his face, cradling his cheek. then he feels her tilting his chin up, feels her lips on his—just one tiny, soft kiss. she smiles against his mouth, says something too but the words don’t fully register in his mind.

“i’ll see you soon,” matty murmurs, properly sleepy now, unable to hold on for much longer.

“you will,” her voice holds a promise. “go to sleep now, i can’t wait to see you in the morning.”

he chuckles at her words. just before sleep properly drags him under, he places his hand on her cheek, feels the familiar soft skin under his palm and hears her sigh.

“and you’ll be here in the morning?” he teases, “will you be here as a daydream, bug?”

she threads her fingers through his hair, playing with them till it’s impossible to hold on to consciousness. just as he’s about to slip under, he hears her exhale. “i’ll be here as anything you want me to be,” she murmurs, kissing the crown of his head.

matty succumbs to sleep.

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @indierockgirrl @tonguepiercedanyway75 @if-my-heart-bleeds @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny @wrongendofyourcigarettte

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#summer fics #seasons #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you

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lilynotdilly · 5 months

Text

Swagger

I haven't seen anyone strutting round Manc like this for ages, then I saw one- parka, swinging arms, feet turned out… I figured pre army Ghost was probably a swagger boy…

"Smile love" Simon tells Johnny as he poses with the statue of Emmeline Pankhurst in St Peters Square. Johnny hops onto her chair beside her, slings his arm over her shoulder, and leans in to snog the lady for the camera.

"Jesus wept, you fuckin’ mutt! Are you trying to set feminism back half a century? Mrs Pankhurst was the leading figure in womens suffrage, and certainly deserves better than being pawed by a grubby mitted Glaswegian like you!"

"Sorry Mrs P"

Johnny climbs down, a little shamefaced, and poses like a normal person for a holiday snap. "Where to next, babe?" He asks as he slips his hand into Simons. They start wandering towards Oxford Street.

"Almost everything happened on this road Johnny" Simon starts pontificating.

"Workers rights, Pankhurst, Rutherford's first nuclear reaction, Turing's computers. Even Noel Gallagher got his first guitar on this street."

Johnny rolls his eyes. "I thought this trip was gonna be more about you, Simon. Not you tryin’ out for the Manchester Tourist Board…”

“...Had my first blowjob at Jilly's Rock World...” Simon points down to his left. “Got me first tattoo, bit further down…”

"Tha's more like it!" Johnny grins. "Any more filthy Riley history you wish to share?"

"...Saw my first porno down there. Dad snuck us into t'mucky picture house." A sly smirk crosses Simons face, as a memory of seventies porn and salt and vinegar crisps flashed by.

"Fuck-ola! It really does all happen on this street!" Laughs Johnny. "I think I'm gonna need a sit down if it's gonna continue in such an ungodly manner!" He wafts himself like Victorian woman having a fit of the vapours.

Simon pulls Johnny's hand and leads him across the road, and down Lower Moseley Street. "You're in luck then babe. I thought we'd go to the Britons for a drink. It's the pub I went to for some Dutch courage before I enlisted. It's got over 300 different whiskeys! I thought it'd be right up your street!"

As they walk past the Bridgewater Hall, it's clear Simon is in his element. His gait has changed, it's looser, somehow baggy with a pronounced bounce in his step. By the time they can see the Britons Protection, his shoulders are rolling, his arms are swinging and he's walking crotch first!

Johnny drops his hand, and observes this strange phenomenon that's taken over his boyfriend. "You OK babe?" He asks.

"Yeah, course"

"Are your trews riding up?"

"Wha'?"

"Your undercrackers giving you trouble?"

"The fuck you on about Johnny?"

Johnny cocks his head, like a golden retriever, as if he's trying to make sense of Simon's strange behaviour. "It's just that you're walking like someone is dragging you by your dick!"

You can take the lad out of Manchester, but you can't take the Manc swagger out of the lad!

Animation- Mancunian by Nat Wood

#ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #cod mw2 #Manchester #task force 141 #be kind its my first fic

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a-d-nox · 10 months

Text

what your tarot deck thinks about how you spend your time

grab your tarot deck, a piece of paper, and a pen! make a list of everything you do that takes up a majority of your time - number these tasks (this is the number that corresponds to the task AND how many cards you need). ask your deck "what do you think about the time i spend on my tasks?" while looking at your list. below are some ideas of what the cards you get could mean.

fool

upright: it's new to you but totally worth the risk OR you could delve deeper into it

reversed: you should spend your time doing something else

empress

upright: you are in your element

reversed: take a break OR try approaching this activity from a different perspective

emperor

upright: this activity makes you stronger and is well worth its time

reversed: reallocate your energy

hierophant

upright: time to take some classes OR to start offering your own courses to others

reversed: take a break, you'll come back to it

lovers

reversed: you and this activity are co-dependent (this is really unhealthy, if it has to do with social media), consider setting boundaries or managing the time you spend on the task

chariot / strength

upright: take this activity to the next level

reversed: practice makes proficiency - keep trying, you'll get there

wheel of fortune

reversed: time to let this activity go

justice

reversed: have you considered that this might be a case of "square peg, round hole"?

hanged man

take a step back; there is something you aren't seeing that will help you to make your activity even easier or more fun for you

death/tower/judgment

something about this activity has changed and you have to let it (this is very important, if it has to do with socializing)

temperance

upright: don't do this activity alone, if you can help it

reversed: stop forcing the situation - take a break

devil

upright: this activity is not good for you physically, emotionally, and/or mentally

star

upright: this activity is perfect for you and it will likely inspire you in other areas of your life

reversed: don't lose hope - give it some time

world

upright: time to wrap up this activity OR you might win/gain something by doing this activity

ace of cups

upright: it's perfect for you

reversed: it's exhausting you - spend your time doing something else

2 of cups

reversed: you might be using too much of your time doing this activity - make space for other things in your life

3 of cups

upright: do this activity with others

4 of cups

you should should spend your time doing things you love, not things that make you feel disappointed

6 of cups

upright: prefect activity

reversed: it's time for you to move on

8 of cups

move on

9 of cups

upright: you are working hard to be good at this activity; keep it up

reversed: you need to not be so cocky about how good you are at this activity, and practice moderation when doing this activity too

10 of cups

upright: perfect and fulfilling activity

page of cups

upright: love this card, especially for creative activities

2 of pentacles

upright: you need to find balance, you are spending too much of your time doing this activity

reversed: you are being irresponsible with your time and your money - you really should reevaluate how you are spending your time

3 of pentacles

upright: this is a great sign that you might make this activity a side hustle

reversed: its okay to take a break

5 of pentacles

upright: i don't believe this activity is good for your mental health

7 of pentacles

upright: you are getting there, you are almost at your goal with this activity - but if you feel like the juice is not worth the squeeze, you can and should stop

8 of pentacles

upright: this activity is well worth it

reversed: you are likely feeling burnt out, so take a break

ace of swords

upright: side hustle potential, for sure

4 of swords

take a break

6 of swords

upright: explore new activities

7 of swords

reversed: try a new approach when it comes to this activity

10 of swords

move on to something else; abandon this activity

3 of wands

upright: delegate other tasks and activities, so you can do this one

5 of wands

reversed: the devils in the details; stop debating what to do with this task, and how to approach it - just jump in and start ("start by starting")

6 of wands

you are going to win something for this activity, keep working on it

8 of wands

do this activity when the mood strikes

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cowgurrrl · 9 months

Text

It Ain't Me Babe

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: A holiday present from me to you ❣️

Summary: Ellie’s first art club meeting [2.8k]

Warnings: creative insecurity, mentions of financial instability, teacher things, Ellie talking about Sarah, more flirty flirt, I think that’s it??

Nothing has ever been as annoying or guilt-inducing as an unfinished piece of art. Sure, every artist— no matter the medium— has felt like an uncreative, unoriginal hack, but it still feels just as new as it did the first time. Moonlight streams through your window as you glare at the canvas, hoping for an idea or stroke of genius. It's late. You should be in bed, especially since it's a Sunday night and you spent your weekend working at the bar down the street. But you're holding a paintbrush between stained fingers and praying for a miracle. It's been eight months since you last sold a piece for a whopping $200, chump change when it comes to living in Austin these days. Even with two jobs and doing commission work, you're living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe that's why it's so hard to create? That has to be the reason. You don't remember it being this hard when you were younger.

Creating art was the only thing that brought you solace during your teenage years. It didn't matter if it was drawing, pottery, painting, sculpting. All that mattered was that you were doing it and you were good. You won awards, scholarships, and attention. Your art teacher, Ms. Henry, was a godsend. Grey-haired, glasses-wearing, colorful Ms. Henry glided through lessons and projects like it was second nature. She always had pencils in her hair, a mug in her hands, and a kind word on her lips when you entered her classroom. She's the one who pushed you to go to your artsy liberal arts college full of people richer and better than you. Even with her love and support, you struggled and almost dropped out after that first semester.

"There's always someone better," she told you when you ended up crying across from her in a coffee shop. "But there's nobody in the world who can make what you will because there is and never will be another you. I mean, God, what a gift. I'd hate to see you waste it." That sobered you enough to keep going and eventually pursue a teaching certification. Ms. Henry has since retired to the Pacific Northwest with her wife, Mable, and sends you a postcard every once in a while because she believes smartphones will be the downfall of civilization. After so many years in education, you're ready to agree with her.

You sigh, feeling your motivation fluttering away with your breath, and plop your paintbrush down in the cup engraved with the words "DO NOT DRINK" in bold. The canvas doesn't look like much of anything right now— just a mass of colors and shapes that could potentially pass as an abstract version of a landscape. It looks like the other painting you left at the school to work on when you have time. And the painting before that. And the one before that. You curse at exactly the same time your phone buzzes with a text.

You awake?

You don't bother responding and go straight to FaceTiming her. She picks up on the second ring, her beautiful, round face greeting you with a smile. You met Andie during high school, and her effortlessly cool attitude and bulky violin kit quickly became a part of your heart. You two were inseparable all four years of high school, dividing your time between rehearsals and time spent in the studio, but college took you to art school and her to a prestigious orchestra program in Vienna. She's been there ever since graduation, playing for diplomats and royals alike, but she comes home for holidays, and you've been trying to save money to go see her. Being so far from her is hard, but you make it work.

"Why are you awake?" You ask by way of a greeting, more than accustomed to your seven-hour time difference and her early riser habits. She laughs, and you hear a tea kettle whistle in the background.

"Well, hello to you, too," she says. "I have rehearsals all day today, so I got an early start. Why are you awake?"

"I'm staring at my waking nightmare."

"Oh, God, are you having another spiral?"

"I'm a hack."

"You're an artist."

"I got rejected again this weekend," you say as if to prove your point, and she sucks her teeth. "They said my art didn't fit their vision for their exhibition, but to feel free and submit another time."

"Well, they must not know great art when they see it. There will be another exhibition and another chance for you to show off your amazing skills. And when you get accepted, which I know you will, I'll fly in, and we'll drink fancy champagne and talk shit the entire opening night." She says, and you sigh. Her persistent optimism is one of the things you love about her, but sometimes, all you want to do is sulk.

"Or I could fly to you when your first composition gets performed, and we could do all those things in Austria instead of this shithole."

"Hey, some of us like that shithole."

"Some of us haven't lived in the shithole in ten years."

"Touche," she concedes. "But I'm serious about what I said. You're a good artist, just going through a little bump in the road. One day, we'll be really sexy and successful, and we'll look back at this and laugh with our rich spouses while drinking expensive wine."

"One day," you say, smiling. "How are rehearsals going?" She groans at the question, and you laugh. Whenever you talk to her, she's working on a new show or with a new conductor and always has something to say. There are many things you could call your best friend, but lazy is not one of them.

"I feel like we're stuck on this one part, but the conductor won't listen to me. He says he knows better than I do, which might be true, but also, if he just listened to me, then we can move on. I don't know. I'm sure if I poke him enough, he'll have to listen to me."

"Sounds reasonable."

"That's what I'm saying," she says as she shuffles her coffee mug and breakfast to her dining room table before checking the time. "It's midnight there. Don't you have school tomorrow?" She asks, and you sigh.

"And an early morning staff meeting and art club after school."

"Sometimes, I worry about your mental health." She says, and you laugh a little too deliriously to prove her wrong. You stay up talking with her for a while before finally getting hit with a wave of fatigue and crashing into bed.

The next day is not any less hectic than your weekend was. The staff meeting early in the morning is mind-numbing and completely unnecessary. The printer in the teacher's lounge breaks halfway through a heavy-duty print job, and you're left scrambling for new activities and lessons. Not only that, but your students were more out of control than usual, prompting a veteran teacher to come in and scold your class on your behalf. It would be kind if it didn't make you feel two inches tall and your students didn't look at you like you betrayed them. You spend your planning period indulging in the silence of your empty classroom and fighting off a migraine.

The second the final bell sounds, your art club kids are knocking down your door, more than ready to work on their projects for the winter showcase. The winter showcase is hosted by a local art gallery that opens for submissions from students every fall. If a student's work is taken, it gets shown in the gallery, and they get entered into a prize to win money and a chance to paint a mural downtown. It's a big deal. So far, you haven't had a student win first place, but you've had them get very close. You always assure them you're proud of them no matter what, which is especially true when Ellie slinks into your classroom with a shy smile.

"Hey! We're just setting up supplies to work on stuff for the showcase. Do you have something to work on?" You ask, gesturing to the students working around the room in a buzz.

"I think so. Are you gonna play music?"

"Who do you think I am?" You make a face, and she laughs. "Why don't you find a spot and get comfortable while I queue up a playlist?" She hesitates for a second before she takes a deep breath and musters up the courage to approach another student to ask if she can sit with them. They start chatting easily, and her shoulders relax as she gets more and more comfortable with all the new people. You put on a random playlist and move around the room to answer any questions about colors or give an opinion when asked for one. Over the course of an hour, Ellie makes her own little group of friends, and they all talk as if they've known each other forever as they work. She seems so in her own element, and you can't fight the pride beaming in your chest. Okay, so maybe your job can be pretty cool sometimes. Not fame and fortune cool or traveling overseas cool, but cool nevertheless.

Students gradually start packing up their things and leaving when they get texts from impatient parents in the parking lot or close to dinner time, but Ellie stays behind, bobbing her head to a beat or bouncing her knee under the table. She's the only one left in the classroom when you start packing your stuff and preparing the room for the next day. "You've got a ride home, honey?" You ask, and she glances nervously between you and her phone.

"Yeah. My dad should be here soon." She says.

"Alright, well, I've gotta lock up here, but I'll wait outside with you until he gets here."

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"It'd make me feel better knowing you weren't left behind. Plus, I'm the adult responsible for you until he picks you up, so it's kinda illegal for me to just leave you here." You say, and she looks hesitant again but nods. Together, you walk out of the classroom and through the empty hallways until you get out to the scorching September afternoon. You stand outside in silence for a few seconds, taking in the sunset, before you turn to look at her.

"How'd you like the club?" You ask.

"It was fun! I met lots of cool people."

"I told you, kid. You just needed to give it a chance."

"I know, I know," she rolls her eyes, and you smile. "Thank you for pushing me to go. I don't think I would've gone without you." She's so genuine and kind in her tone that it throws you off-kilter. You're used to being berated by students, staff, and parents. To be told you actually had an impact on someone is not commonplace, to say the least.

"I'm sure you would've found your way there without me."

"Maybe, but you helped me get there a lot sooner than I would've on my own." She says, and you take a deep breath. It feels nice to be acknowledged, especially after the day you've had, and Ellie seems to sense it. You're looking for something to say when she looks down at her shoes and kicks a stray rock. "Just take the compliment and move on. Don't make it a thing."

"Alright." You say, laughing, and she cracks a smile, too. Traffic will be horrible on the way home, and you have nothing to eat for dinner, but it's okay. You did one good thing today. That's all you need.

"Sorry, my dad is taking so long." She changes the subject, a touch of anxiety creeping in, and you shake your head.

"Does he always work late?" You ask, and she shrugs.

"Sometimes. Dad and Uncle Tommy have been picking up jobs to send money to my sister in Boston. "

"What's in Boston for your sister?"

"Medical school. She's about to go into her internship at a hospital there."

"That's a big deal." You say, and she hums.

"Yeah. She'll probably save the world or something one day." There's a hint of something nostalgic in her voice, and you decide to push just a little.

"Do you miss her?"

"A lot," she says. "She's my best friend."

"She's lucky to have you." You say. She smiles but doesn't say anything. You want to ask more about her family, but a rickety, greenish pickup truck comes rumbling through the parking lot before you can. Ellie shifts her backpack on her shoulder as her dad and uncle come into view, and you smile at them. Joel, however, looks frantic.

He's unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the driver's side door before the car can even finish moving. There's dirt on his pants and a little bit of a sunburn across his arms, the muscles straining across the black fabric. He politely pulls the ball cap off his head to reveal sweaty curls as he approaches you, jerking his head toward the truck at Ellie. "Why don't you wait in the truck with Uncle Tommy? He's got a snack for you." He says, and Ellie lights up at the mention of food. When you're alone, he tucks his hands in his pockets and gives you an apologetic look.

"'M so sorry. We got caught up at work and lost track of time. It won't happen again." He says, wringing his hands like he's waiting to be scolded, but you wave him off.

"It's okay. Things happen, and I'm just glad she's got someone picking her up." You say.

"How'd she do today?"

"Really good. I think she fits right in."

"She make some friends?"

"I can't give away all my secrets. What else are y'all gonna talk about at the dinner table?" You tease.

"I guess that's right," he says as he stares at you, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "Thanks for waitin' with her."

"It was my pleasure." You say. You stand awkwardly for a few seconds, rocking back and forth on your feet. His eyes are locked in yours, and there's a silent competition to see who's gonna blink first. "Well, I should let you get home. Have a good night."

"Uh," he starts, stopping you before you can even fully take a step. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable," you say a little too quickly, and he smirks. "I was very flattered. Besides, it's not the first time."

"Beautiful woman like you, I'm sure you've got 'em linin' the block for a chance with you." He says. You're dancing a delicate dance here. You're not not flirting, and you're not not interested in him, but if your principal finds out, it could cause a whole new world of problems. Still, it's nice to be wanted after so long of being on your own. You're not a saint, but you're also not doing anything inherently wrong, right?

"The teacher thing usually freaks 'em out before they can get very far."

"That's a damn shame." He's quick with it, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the line. A buzz in your bag reminds you of the time and why you're still at school, and you find your footing again.

"Uh, I usually give out my contact information to the parents of my art club kids in case they need anything or need to contact me quickly. Since Ellie's an official part of that, I figured I should give you my phone number in case anything comes up. If that's alright?" You say, and he pulls his cracked phone from his back pocket.

"Yeah, yeah. That's more than alright." He says, handing it to you to punch in your information.

"It's for emergency purposes only."

"What d'you consider an emergency?"

"Mr. Miller-"

"Joel." He corrects, and you give him a look as you pass his phone back.

"Don't abuse it. I'd hate to have to put you in a group chat with all the PTA moms."

"You're evil." He groans, and you laugh. Tommy, leaning over and honking the truck horn, interrupts your conversation, and he shoots daggers through the back window.

"I'll see you next week, Joel." You say, dismissing him, and he hesitates for another second before nodding.

"See you next week." He says and turns on his heels to get back in his truck. You think you vaguely catch Joel scolding Tommy for being impatient, but you ignore his deep voice and the engine sputtering as you walk to your own car with a little more pep in your step than this morning.

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#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #the last of us x reader #joel tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fic #the last of us au #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #joel au #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #tlou hbo #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction

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hollyoongs · 4 days

Text

˗ˏˋ 𝝡𝝪ꓴ𝖭𝗚ᒍ𝖠𝗘'𝗦 ᒍ𝝤ꓴ𝙍𝖭𝖠𝗟 (𝗇𝗼t 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝙧𝘆!!!) || M.J.H

—0.0: expand your creativity, son

ᨓ 。bnd myungjae × fem reader ꒰🍭꒱﹕teeth rooting fluff ﹕+2.3k

𝙨𝗂𝗇𝗼𝗽𝙨𝗂𝙨

Jungkook didn't know what to do; he tried everything to tone down his son's energetic behavior after countless teacher's notes, but when he saw how his son loved to write him appreciation letters ever since he learned how to write (and how calm he stayed for more than five minutes), the idea of a diary came to his mind. But he didn't know that his son would love that journal (his son's words) so much to even write about his first love, but also how much she hated that girl with pigtails and a beautiful smile who didn't share some of her crayons with him.

Jungkook walked to Jaehyun's classroom, smiling fondly at the rest of the parents that were picking up their children when he saw them. Almost all of the parents there were going to turn forty, dressed in their corporate suits or gym clothes, carrying an air of experience and stability. And there he was, a twenty-two-year-old single dad, standing out not just because of his age but because he felt like he was living in a world entirely different from theirs. He had an all black outfit pair with some combat boots of the same color and his leather jacket, and the small smile that reached his lips was more out of habit than ease.

At the fresh age of sixteen, he had won and lost something at the same time: he won the love of his life, his little boy Jaehyun, whose wide eyes and mischievous smile were a mirror image of his own. The first time he saw Jaehyun after his ex gave birth, he cried—because he couldn’t believe something so perfect had come from him and because he knew how much responsibility had landed on his young shoulders. His girlfriend, Jaehyun’s mother, had been quick to back out. The reality of teenage parenthood was too much for her, and after a few months of tearful arguments and sleepless nights, she left without saying much. One day, there was a note on the table, and her things were gone. She didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

Jungkook had been scared—terrified, really. He was barely figuring out who he was at sixteen; how was he supposed to raise a baby? But the moment Jaehyun grabbed his finger with that tiny hand, all the fear was replaced by an overwhelming sense of purpose. He wasn’t just a teenager anymore; he was Jaehyun’s dad.

The first few years had been tough. He had to grow up fast, faster than any of his friends. While they were still figuring out how to sneak into clubs, Jungkook was learning how to change diapers in the middle of the night. He remembered the nights he would stay awake, not because Jaehyun was crying, but because he was worried—worried if he was doing enough, if he could provide the life his son deserved. He dropped out of high school to work odd jobs, from a delivery boy to a part-time barista, doing whatever it took to make ends meet.

But as tough as those early years were, they were also filled with moments of quiet joy—Jaehyun’s first steps, his first word. Dad. The first time he toddled over to Jungkook with a crayon drawing, showing off the crooked lines like it was the most important piece of art in the world. Each of those moments reminded Jungkook that, even though his life had taken a completely unexpected turn, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Now, at twenty-two, things were a little more stable. He had gotten his GED, was working as a tattoo artist part-time and as a photographer and video editor for a very well-known brand, and while life was still chaotic, they had a rhythm—a bond that was unbreakable. It wasn’t always easy, especially when he saw parents who had their lives neatly organized, with their pristine schedules and picture-perfect families. But every time Jaehyun looked up at him with those same round, sparkling eyes, he knew he was doing okay. More than okay. He was doing his best.

And that was enough.

As Jungkook approached the classroom door, he saw Jaehyun still scribbling away on a piece of paper in the small playground next to the classroom with some of his friends, oblivious to the world around them. His son’s tongue stuck out a little in concentration, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile.

Just as he was about to call Jaehyun’s name, a voice stopped him.

“Jungkook-ah!” Taehyung’s warm, familiar voice carried across the room. They smiled at each other as he strode over with his signature boxy smile, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Jungkook chuckled. “What’s up, Tae?”

Taehyung motioned toward Jaehyun with a tilt of his head. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your little guy. Let's go inside.” Both of them went into the classroom, with Taehyung taking a seat in his chair and Jungkook at his friend's desk.

Taehyung and Jungkook met each other on their first day of high school and were also the first to know that Jungkook was going to be a father.

Taehyung had been by his side through it all—the late-night talks, the moments when Jungkook didn’t know if he could handle the pressure, and even the small victories like Jaehyun’s first birthday party. After graduating, Taehyung didn't have second thoughts and decided that teaching was his passion, later on becoming a teacher for kids.

He was even the one that recommended to Jungkook to enroll Jaehyun in it. It was only fitting that Taehyung ended up being Jaehyun’s teacher.

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asked, leaning forward slightly, a trace of concern in his voice.

Taehyung sighed, running a hand through his hair before resting his elbows on the desk. “Jaehyun’s a great kid. You know that. Bright, imaginative, kind.” He paused, giving Jungkook a reassuring smile. “But I’ve noticed he’s having a little trouble sitting still, especially during lessons. It’s nothing we can’t work through, but I just thought it might be good to talk about it.”

Jungkook nodded, though he already knew where this was heading. He had received more than a few notes from Taehyung and other teachers in the past about Jaehyun’s boundless energy. No matter how much they tried to redirect it, Jaehyun seemed to always have an endless well of enthusiasm that couldn’t be contained by a classroom setting.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out, too,” Jungkook admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve tried cutting down on his sugar intake, setting earlier bedtimes, giving him more outside playtime—but nothing seems to work long-term.”

Taehyung smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes, it’s not about toning down the energy, but finding the right outlet for it.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well,” Taehyung began thoughtfully, “I’ve noticed that whenever we do creative writing or any drawing activity, Jaehyun is one of the few kids who actually sits down and focuses. He really gets into it. He wrote me a story the other day about a superhero who could run faster than the speed of light.” Taehyung chuckled, pulling out a piece of paper from his desk drawer. “We both know that he wrote "Flash," but I have to say. It was pretty impressive the approach he had, to be honest.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up as he took the paper from Taehyung. He recognized the messy handwriting, grammatical errors, and colorful doodles along the edges. Jaehyun had always been expressive with his drawings, leaving notes for Jungkook all over their apartment, little tokens of appreciation, or just random thoughts. He never realized it was a way to help his son focus.

“That’s actually really cool,” Jungkook said, staring at the paper with a growing sense of pride.

"He has your art and writing skills, JK." Taehyung leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Maybe you could encourage him to keep writing. Let him express all that energy. It might not solve everything, but it could help him channel his thoughts and feelings in a more structured way.”

Jungkook thought about it for a moment, his thoughts being interrumped by a gasp.

"Dad!" he saw Jaehyun running to him with another paper in hand and a big smile on his face. “Look what I drew today!” Jaehyun beamed, holding up a crumpled sheet filled with colorful crayon drawings. His energy was contagious, and even though Jungkook had just been discussing his struggles, all he could do was smile.

“Whoa, buddy, this looks amazing!” Jungkook kneeled down to Jaehyun’s level, ruffling his hair as he inspected the picture. It was another one of Jaehyun’s imaginative masterpieces, this time depicting a castle with dragons and knights. “Did you make this all by yourself?”

Jaehyun nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement. “Yeah! And Mr. Kim said it was really cool too!”

Taehyung chuckled from behind his desk. “I sure did. I even said he could teach me a thing or two about drawing.”

Jungkook laughed lightly, but his thoughts lingered on what Taehyung had suggested earlier. Writing. Drawing. Maybe Jaehyun didn’t need to be calmed down; maybe he just needed a way to express all those thoughts buzzing around in his little head.

"Okay, Jaehyun. Take your stuff and wait for me outside. I'll go in a minute." Jaehyun gave a soft kiss on his dad's cheek and started running to his table, taking his superhero bagpack and doing as he said. He turned again to his friend. "I think I have an idea and, thankfully, something."

Taehyung grinned, standing up and giving Jungkook a firm pat on the back. “You’re a good dad, Jungkook. You’ve always been. Jaehyun’s lucky to have you.”

Jungkook felt a warmth spread through his chest at the words. He didn’t always feel like he was doing things right—most of the time, he was just winging it—but hearing that from Taehyung, someone who had known him for so long, gave him a small boost of confidence.

“Thanks, Tae,” Jungkook said quietly.

As they walked back outside, Jungkook’s eyes landed on Jaehyun again, now chasing one of his friends around the playground, laughing wildly. His heart swelled with affection, and in that moment, he decided he’d do whatever it took to help his son, no matter how small the steps.

"Let's go, Jae!"

Jungkook watched Jaehyun race across the playground; he knew this was one of those moments. The ones where everything seemed to fall into place, where the love he had for his son overshadowed any doubts or fears he held inside. Jaehyun was a whirlwind of energy, yes, but he was also a whirlwind of joy. That was what mattered most.

On their way home, Jaehyun couldn’t stop talking. About his day, about his friends and activities, and about the new superhero team he was imagining. Jungkook listened, smiling, but his mind was focused on the idea that Taehyung had planted.

Jaehyun is really similar to him, just in his extrovert form. And if he really was similar to him, then he will need something that would allow him to be himself.

Later that evening, after dinner and a bath, Jungkook sat down with Jaehyun. “Hey, buddy, I’ve been thinking,” he started, pulling out a small notebook from behind his back. “How about you write in this every night before bed? You can write stories, draw, or even tell me about your day.”

"Like a secret diary? That's for girls, dad."

Jaehyun’s laugh echoed in the room, but Jungkook caught the hint of uncertainty in his son's eyes. He sat down beside Jaehyun on the bed, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You know, buddy,” he began, his tone soft but thoughtful, “there aren’t things that are just for boys or just for girls. Anyone can do what makes them happy.”

Jaehyun tilted his head, still clutching the small notebook. “But my friends at school say diaries are for girls. They don’t have any.”

Jungkook gave a warm smile, leaning in a bit closer. “Well, your friends might not know the whole picture. Some boys don’t talk about the things they write or draw, but that doesn’t mean they don’t do it. Writing in a diary or a journal doesn’t make someone any less of who they are—whether they’re a boy, a girl, or anything else. It just helps them express their feelings, and that’s something anyone can do.”

Jaehyun furrowed his brows, considering his dad’s words. Jungkook continued, choosing his words carefully. “You see, everyone has feelings, right? Sometimes we get happy, sad, frustrated, or excited. Writing them down helps us understand what we’re feeling and why. It’s kind of like when you draw—when you’re in your own world, making up stories about superheroes and castles. That’s for everyone.”

Jaehyun looked at the journal again, his little fingers running over the cover. “So… it’s okay if I have a diary?”

Jungkook smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely. It’s more than okay. It’s yours, and you can fill it with whatever you want—your thoughts, your dreams, your drawings. And it doesn’t matter if other people think diaries are for girls, because it’s not about them. It’s about what makes you happy.”

“But Dad,” Jaehyun asked, his voice quieter now, “do other boys really have diaries?”

Jungkook nodded again. “Lots of boys do. I do. And even if they don’t call it a diary, they might write stories or keep track of things they love, like songs, drawings, or goals they want to reach. Everyone has different ways of keeping track of what’s important to them.”

Jaehyun seemed to relax a bit, his fingers flipping the notebook open again. “So I can write whatever I want? No one will laugh.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook reassured him. “And if anyone does laugh, it just means they don’t understand it yet. But that’s okay—they’ll learn. And remember, being kind and respectful is the most important thing, whether someone likes drawing, writing, or even just playing outside. It’s all good as long as it makes them happy.”

Jaehyun nodded, his expression brightening as he held the notebook a little closer to his chest. “Okay, Dad. I’ll write in it. But can it be any time?”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “You can write about anything and anytime, buddy. And when you’re ready, I’d love to hear about it.”

Jaehyun smiled, flipping the notebook open, already scribbling away on the first page. Jungkook watched him for a moment, feeling a sense of pride as he saw his son begin to understand that there were no limits to what he could do, no matter what anyone said.

@onedoornet @loserlvrss @tkooooop @jvngw0nlvr @hees-love @astrae4 @fae-renjun @nicholasluvbot @txtbrainrot @kwiwin @kkumistars @lynnimini @dalliesque @cherrycolaberry @seokkiez

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#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦'𝑠 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ #onedoornet #kpop #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor #myung jaehyun #han dongmin #taesan #kim woonhak #kim donghyun #leehan #lee sanghyuk #park sungho #boynextdoor au #social media au #boynextdoor fanfic

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baguettehead · 6 months

Text

Luke Castellan X Child of Hades (she/her reader)

Summary - Y/n first arrived at Camp Half-blood when she was 16, it was weird and difficult at first but she met people who made it better and maybe the love of her life?? They're not quite sure yet...

A/n - I know I haven't posted since 2021 but look, the creative juices are flowing and Luke Castellan has me by the balls and he's twisting real fucking hard so...

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When you first arrived at Camp Half-Blood you were bloody and confused, to say the least. You had just finished fighting, and killing, a Cyclops. Which apparently exist now, before stumbling into Camp Half-Blood and passing out from blood loss. Honestly, pretty cool way to die you thought as you looked up to the clear sky before your eyes closed and you were out. You woke up in a weird room, got told you were a child of a Greek God, and had a new scar stretching from your collar bone to your shoulder, cool.

Two months later you were claimed. You're sitting in the Hermes cabin when you hear screams from outside. Being fairly new to the whole demi-god thing, you don't immediately jump out of bed and rush to the noise like the others in the Hermes cabin. Instead, you count to ten and slowly rise from your bed and peek your head out of the door to the cabin, only to come face to face with a hellhound. How it got into camp, no ones quite sure, but its staring you down and you're sweating bullets.

"hello.." did you just fucking talk to the hellhound? You could've sworn your survival skills were better than this. But it just tilts its head at you, almost like it recognized you.

As kids with spears and swords begin to circle the creature it sits, staring straight at you, as if waiting. Everyone stops and stares, most looking from the hellhound to you and back again. You look up, confusion in your eyes, begging for help, but they just stare like they're waiting for something. Whether that is for the hound to maul you or not you're not quite sure. Looking up from the hellhound once more you lock eyes with Luke Castellan, someone you had slowly begun to trust at camp. He nods his head as if to tell you to continue and signals the others to wait. Taking a deep breath you straighten your back and look directly into the hell hounds red eyes, "Go home" you say firmly. The hound nods its head, turns around, and begins to walk out of camp. You hold your breath as you watch the hellhound leave over the hill until its gone. The large crowd that accumulated stares in awe before someone lets out a gasp and points above your head. You look up immediately, honestly expecting a dragon or something to fly down at you, only to see the mark of Hades floating above your head.

It's been three years since then, three years as a year round camper, and three years with some of the best friends you ever made.

"sup dickhead" Luke says as he sets his tray down next to you and slips onto the bench. "aw I love pet names" you sarcastically drawl while picking at your food. "Would you rather I call you sweetness? Or my Princess of darkness" he practically purrs the last name as your eyes go wide and a blush coats your cheeks. Your head snaps up to look at him.

His cheeks are red and blushing as he stares at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. Like he thinks you are the most beautiful thing in the world, blessed by Aphrodite herself, but not fragile. No, Luke knows you're anything but fragile and can easily hold your own, and that makes him fall even deeper into this pit you have dug for him that he swears will be his grave.

But you don't see this, of course you don't, you're stuck in this treacherous loop of convincing yourself he only see's you as a friend while you're hopelessly in love with him.

Looking back down at your tray you mumble "Princess of darkness doesn't sound half bad", he laughs and pushes your shoulder, "Don't get pompous on me love, being a kid of the big 3 is getting to your head". You muster up the best innocent face you can before saying "what's it like hating from the outside?" you dissolve into a smug smirk as he deadpans at you causing you to fall into a fit of giggles he quickly joins.

As you're both laughing, you leaning on Luke and holding your stomach, Chris and Clarisse join you both setting their trays down. Lunch continues with he two of you bickering, Clarisse and Chris sharing knowing looks.

Later that day you join Luke again, this time for training. Chris mediates as well as you two tend to get carried away.

You often train together as your skill sets are pretty evenly matched even though he loves to hold the title of 'best swordsman in camps history' over your head, like daily. You're warming up and sparring when a group of campers join, notably a few Aphrodite girls, and begin to watch. You roll your eyes as Luke sends them a wave and cheeky smile, they blush and giggle, and you ignore the burning feeling in your stomach. One of the girls even sends you a dirty look, oh fuck no you're not doing this today.

"can you stop flirting with the Aphrodite girls for one minute so we can spar?" you grind out through your teeth, and Luke has the audacity to look smug. "jealous?" he raises his eyebrows looking you in the eyes.

Yea you're definitely kicking his ass.

Chris begins to look uneasy as you raise your sword and he signals the fight to start.

You circle each other before Luke initiates combat, swords making a loud clink as they mash together. You start out somewhat lazy, if theirs anything you know about Luke its his ego. So you let him think he's winning before focusing in on his week points. Luke might be better with a sword than you but you have more stamina. You start striking hard and fast barely giving him a break before you're able to sweep one of his feet and knock him to ground. Crouched over him, holding down the hand holding his sword with your right foot and pressing your sword to his neck, you smile at him. Right as you're about to claim your win he uses his body weight to flip you over and straddle your waist, holding your hands above your head. You struggle for a minute but give up, looking up at him, and realizing just how close to you he is.

His face is inches from yours and you can feel his panting breath on your face. Your breath hitches and a blush rises to your cheeks, but all you can seem to do is stare directly into his eyes. He pulls that stupid cocky grin once more and whispers for only you to hear "nice try princess" and all you want to do is grab the back of neck and smash your lips into his. You probably would have too if it weren't for Chris clearing his throat. Luke quickly jumps off you running over to Chris and you slowly sit up still processing what he said mere seconds ago. As you're staring off into space Luke walks back over to you and extends a hand, a worried look on his face.

"Are you okay?" he quickly asks pulling you up "m' fine" you mutter as you begin to pull away but he pulls you into his chest and begins looking you over for injuries. "did you hit your head? was i too rough? Gods I'm so sorry I got carried away" you cut him off by hugging him and muttering "I'm fine Luke, just got distracted a bit" he holds you there for minute, relishing in your touch, and you make a point to stick your tongue out at the Aphrodite girl over Luke's shoulder as she leaves with her friends. Chris laughs loudly but covers it with a cough as you send him a glare.

Eventually, and much to your dismay, Luke pulls away. He holds your shoulders, still keeping you close, and stares at you with the same look from earlier.

"You're beautiful" he mutters without breaking eye contact "I'm sweating like a pig" you retort and he laughs shaking his head. "go get cleaned up" and with that he kisses your forehead and jogs over to Chris to head back to the Hermes cabin.

You head back to the Hades cabin and bask in the silence for a minute. Silence is a rarity at camp. Hopping in the shower you let the cool water wash away all the dirt and grime on your skin and you think about what he said. Sure, he's called you pretty quite a few times but it was different this time. You've always been touchy with each other and forehead kisses are common but, for some reason this one gave you a spark of hope. As you're questioning basically the past 2 years of your life you hear a knock at the bathroom door and a muffled "almost done?". You realize you've been in the shower for longer than you planned and quickly turn off the water shouting "let me get dressed I'll be right out!" before stepping out and putting on a pair of shorts and oversized hoodie, one that you stole from Luke actually. You step out of the bathroom, still drying your hair, and see Luke on your bed flipping through one of your books.

He looks up and freezes. Sure, he's seen you in his hoodies many times but every time it takes his breath away. It doesn't help that you look ethereal right now. As you sit next to him he pulls you down to lay on his chest and begins scratching your head, your absolute weakness. You melt into him and his touch realizing just how tired you were after that match. You close your eyes and begin to drift into sleep when you feel him plant a kiss to your temple before whispering a barely audible "I'm in love with you".

Your eyes snap open and you can feel his breathing pick up. Raising your head you meet his eyes, not moving from his chest, and he begins "I knew I liked you when you stood up to the hellhound, you looked so scared" you stare at him while he looks past you with a soft smile on his face "but you did it anyways" he shakes his head "I knew I liked you but Gods" he pauses and you hold your breath "I never knew I held the ability to love someone this much" his eyes finally meet yours and he cups your face in his hands "I never knew i could hold my whole world in my hands" your eyes well up with tears and you try to speak but nothing comes out. So instead, you gently press your lips to his and try your hardest to convey all your emotions into one kiss. Pulling away you rest your forehead on his "you make everything worth it" you say staring into his eyes "all the monsters and the absent father, I would go through all of it a thousand times over if it meant I got to meet you" You wipe a fallen tear on his cheek and kiss him again both of you smiling into the kiss. Once you pull away you rest your head back on his chest, both of you adorning dopey grins.

"looks like we have a lot of time to make up for" he says

"we have the rest of our lives to do so" you reply before drifting off to sleep laying on the boy you love more than anything.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackon and the olympians #x reader #child of hades #hades #Luke Castellan x hades reader #hades cabin #pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom

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jarofstyles · 2 years

Text

Sugar Sugar 8

Here we are… the first taste of sugar sugar smut 🫶 I’m sorry to have kept you waiting but it was for the world building 😭

Check out our Patreon!

Warnings: talk of body issues, internalized fat phobia, etc, smut 😁

—-

It was that bad.

Sitting in her back office on the couch, their thighs touching, Y/N looked at him a bit slack jawed as she listened to him list off what he had.

“Harry… babe.” She whispered. “You have a bed… a dresser… a arm chair… a coffee table, maybe?” She shot him a look. “How does one maybe have a coffe table?”

“Cause it’s like… I think it’s supposed to be a entryway table.” The man scratched the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “I told you it wasn’t good! I didn’t have much.” He whined, looking down at the paper pad in her lap. It was cute, he noticed, with her shop’s logo on the top. “I need help. And who better than my pretty, creative, talented girl.” There was a bit of schmoozing going on, Y/N cutting him a look with a tiny smirk on her face as she scribbled down what he needed.

“So we need to get you night stands, a desk, a dining room table and chairs, a proper couch or love seat… a tv stand?” She looked at him but scribbled it out when he shook his head, clarifying his was mounted. At least that was done. “And bookshelves. Luckily with the look you're going for, it can be a bit mismatched. It’s easier to thrift.”

Harry and Y/N had sat on her couch with her laptop pulled up on Pinterest, beginning to make the board for his place. He was very 60s and 70s inspired, with the warm colors and round edges he seemed to like. Funky and cool but also grown. The color palette was her favorite part, considering she was on board with it too. There would be stuff they’d need to buy new, like paint and stuff like that, but it would be easy to get art and frames.

It was almost embarrassing to be this excited to decorate someone’s space- but it was Harry’s. Her lovers.

It still shocked her to think about. Her lover. He had his arm around her shoulders and his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the ends of her hair, looking at her hand as she wrote things down. Clingy was a good word for him, physically, and Y/N had never imagined herself craving it just as much. But here she was. Eating up every single touch he gave her.

Delilah was manning the front of the store as Y/N took her break, sitting with Harry and getting a head star in it. “We can go thrifting this week when I’m off, and I know you’re letting Anika start her full time tomorrow yeah?” She placed the pen down, turning to look at him. What she hadn’t expected was his face to be so close, causing her to squeak a little as she jumped.

“Easy, darling.” He grinned at her reaction. There was no move made to go back. It was hard to keep his behavior good right now when she smelled so good and was so warm pressed against his side. Maybe it was partially how new the relationship was, but he was aching to get and keep his fingers on her. To be as close as physically possible. “I think we can do that. But you’re already stressin’ yourself out.”

The deep croon made her want to shiver. His voice was so close, and she could feel his body heat as he angled further towards her. His fingers tucked some of the stray hair from her face right behind her ear, leaning in slowly to kiss the underside of it. “You’re doing me a favor, Sugar. And m’so grateful for it, but you’ve got t’relax. Didn’t come to see you to get you all worked up. At least…” he chuckled against her skin, making the shiver she suppressed come to life. “Not like that.”

Her throat dried.

Holy fuck.

Harry was hot. He was attentive and smooth and sexy and his large hand held her thigh while his opposite fingers had moved now to trail down her neck. It wasn’t as if she was a blushing virgin with no idea how to handle a man- but god, this man was one that had her feeling frazzled.

“You’re a menace.” She huffed, squirming slightly in her seat as she felt the heat in her cheeks. “I just… I want to make it nice for you. Especially considering I think we should spend some time there ourselves. I can’t date you if you’ve got the whole lawn chair and TV set up, H. I can’t.” The tease made his mouth drop, a gentle smack given to her leg as he scoffed. Realistically though, he found it hot too. Knowing she could keep up with the banter. Enjoyed it.

“Okay? I have an arm chair. It’s upholstered and everything. Not a lawn chair. I am not a Reddit post.” He scoffed again, rolling his head back on the couch. “Jesus. What do you think I am? Hm? So rude t’me. Breaking my heart here, Sugar. Maybe I should start callin’ you salt.”

“Absolutely not.” Y/N quipped, scrolling through Pinterest with a chuckle. “I’ve got a sweet tooth and I’m dating a baker. A bakery owner, actually, so how could I be your Salt?” She nudged his knee with hers. “Blasphemy, actually. Can’t believe you’d even joke. I’m sweet as peach pie. I just don’t take your shit.”

Harry smirked. Oh, she set herself up good. The back and forth, the close proximity and in relative privacy, it was making him feel bolder and comfortable and his attraction to her feeling like it was bubbling over the pot… it was getting to him, really.

Cool fingers gently nudged her chin away from the laptop screen, Y/N jumping again slightly at how close his face was when she turned her eyes. Their noses almost brushed, a shaky breath exhaled over his lips. All the smart ass remarks dried up as he quite literally stole her breath, a slightly predatory glint in his eye. “Trust me… I know you’re sweet. Want t’find all the places you taste like peaches. Maybe strawberries..: though, I’ve got my money on my girl tasting like honey.” The drawl went straight to her chest, zapping her right between her legs.

Green glanced at her lips, back up at her eyes. She was so sweet, even with her salty moments. But never, ever bitter. Even then, he’s pretty positive she would find a way to make bitterness taste like citrus. “Lots of places M’gonna taste. You just got to let me.” He rubbed his thumb over her chin, leaning in to peck her lips with a quiet hum.

It lit her up. The nervous breath she released was covered again with another kiss, Harry taking his time with this one. His biggest addiction was her lips, feeling them press against his own. It was insane to him to think that so quickly in their relationship that he would be needy like this, that he felt like all he wanted to do was be around her. Yet here he was. Pressing slow kisses to her lips, warming her up a little bit. The warmth of her cheek bit into his fingers, caressing the smooth skin as he pulled back for a moment, letting the soft snap sound of their lips pulling apart fill the air.

Y/N swallowed the tiny bubble in her throat, making no move to pull away. It was hard because she had been thinking about his kisses since their date. He kissed her with a confident ease, a natural ability it almost made her jealous. She had found herself overthinking it a bit at first, but Harry was a natural leader, able to show her exactly how to follow him. She had the ability to lead, she had in most of her past relationships, but Harry gave her a bit of a choice. Letting a moment pass, she decided- fuck it.

Fingers curled into his shirt, shifting in her seat so she was facing him fully, she brought herself back to him. Kissing him again, there had been a weight lifted. Like Harry had been waiting for her to give him a signal, their undeniable tension cutting in as he mirrored her. He didn’t hesitate anymore, covering her lips with his. The buzzing she felt rang across her body, chills going over her arms as she leaned further into her and his hand went to her waist. There was no self conscious feeling, nothing but longing for his hands in more places.

The man could kiss. He could kiss and kiss and kiss and she would let him until her lungs gave out, a soft whimper leaving her throat as she felt him go ton pull away for a moment. His sticky lips pulled into a slight smirk against her swollen ones, nudging her nose with his own. “Shh. S’alright. Need you to breathe, sweetheart.” He teased, pecking her bottom lip and pulling back again. “Want you closer. C’mere.”

There was a slight hesitation in her as he tried to help pull her into his lap. Old Demons on her shoulders trying to pull her back as she took a breath, trying to move again only to be stopped by Harry’s lips pulling away from hers. “Shit. M’sorry.” He swallowed. He had felt her stop, her hesitancy and was acutely aware that they were in her place of business and the relationship was still new. His addiction to her had been clouding his mind but he hadn’t meant to push. “Don’t have to do that, got a bit carried away.” His fingers fluttered over her flushed cheek, feeling the heat he was quite fond of already. “It’s your pace.”

“No- no.” She squeaked. “Just- I want to. I really, really do. I love being close to you.” She reassured him. This was definitely not too fast, in fact she could go a few miles over his current speed limit- but the mental hang up was something she was trying to get over. “Just… don’t want to hurt you. I’m kind of heavy.” As muscular as he seemed, he was also not her size.

Harry felt a twinge of pain in his chest. Christ. It made him sad that she even had to think about that. That it was even a thought in her mind. That someone in the past had probably made her feel like she wasn’t able to do that to them. It was relieving to know he wasn’t the issue, but this was almost worse.

“Baby…” he coaxed. “I know that you’ve probably had these types of thoughts for a while, but it won’t hurt. Trust me.” He met her hesitant gaze. He didn’t like the nerves. Part of him wanted to get mad, wanted to feel insulted that maybe she would think he would be hurt by this or woulnd’t want it. But he remembered that she had mentioned being slow with it, to be cautious with her unlearning the things people had tried to hammer into her head. “Come sit on my lap. Been dying for it for ages. Want you on top of me… trust me.” He grinned lazily up at her, a dirty tinge to his words. “Love these hips,, your thighs. I’ve been thinking some dirty things about them.” He said bluntly. Hopefully it wasn’t too much.

“You have?” She whispered, looking down at his chest and back up to his eyes. All she had to do was look into them again to know he was telling the truth, but he nodded anyways. It had her flushing under her skin. Harry had thought dirty things about her, just as she had for him. “O-OKay. But you’ve got to promise to tell me if m’hurting you.”

His look was pointed. It wouldn’t hurt- but he sighed. “Yes. I’lll tell you. But you won’t hurt me, Sugar. Just get up here.” He tugged again, knowing she probably needed him to push her a bit to climb on. Her eyes avoided his for a moment as she finally gave in, straddling his thighs. It elevated her a bit, and she was extra cautious to not put too much weight on his body as she leaned back down to kiss him.

Harry, though? He wasn’t having any of that. His hands collared her hips, groaning into her mouth as he pulled her down to sit on his thighs. Y/N merely squeaked, being pressed into his body as he fully leaned back into the couch and pulled her with him. He had been dying to get his hands on her, but was something that the man had been hesitant about. Her comfort was key, though now he saw she needed a bit of a push. To be shown that it didn’t hurt. If anything, it turned him on to feel the heat, the weight, feeling her push forwards.

Y/N was shockingly aroused by his direction. How he took it without asking because she had been hesitant. Her kisses got a bit deeper, grabbing a soft handful of the couch behind him to keep balance as she sunk into the feeling. Harry felt so right, the fluttering in her stomach sinking lower to the hot place between her thighs. It wasn’t often that an actual man got her aroused, though harry never seemed to have that issue with her. The giddiness in her veins urged her forward, wanting to feel him squeezing something else. The languid stroking and squeezing of her hips and waist was amazing, but… she had a feeling he wanted more than just that.

Harry was curious when he felt her hand grab at his wrist, pulling it down slightly. If she wanted to have his hands somewhere else, he welcomed it, but when he realized the direction, he groaned. Her hand positioned his right on her ass, placing it directly where he had been thinking of grabbing. With the go ahead, he smirked a little against her lips and did as he pleased.

His hands were big, they knew where to touch, and it made her moan a little against his mouth. Cupping the bottom of her ass, he pushed her closer and squeezed. Fulfilling the dreams he’s been having every time he looks at her with her pretty dresses that clung to it, the jeans that accentuate it, he was in heaven. Feeling her warm, soft body leaning into his own, given the blessing to touch as he needed. “Fuck’s sake.” He whispered, awe in his tone as he pulled back for a moment. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Her flush felt hotter as she nervously giggled, looking down from his eyes to his lips. It was almost juvenile, their make out session on the couch, but she could feel her heartbeat in between her thighs and she wanted to feel more of it. “Shhh. I know.” Pulling from the confidence she had worked so hard to bring up, she pressed her ass back into his hand and gave him a smile that went straight to his damn dick. Nibbling lightly on her lip, she ran her fingers through the locks ahain and watched as he licked his own lips at the vision in front of him.

“Thank fuck. You should know.” His other hand came down and took hold of the other side of her ass, shaking his head in awe yet again. He hadn’t been able to touch her ass before and honestly, it was one that filled his palms and then some, which made him feel giddy. “If only you knew the things I’ve been thinking. You’d run far, far away.” The wolffish grin on his face made her brow raise. The half hard length she could feel on her thigh said otherwise.

“Try me.” It was a dangerous thing to ask perhaps, but Y/N was a glutton for punishment. She wanted to know exactly what it was that made his eyes darken like that, feeling the pride in her chest knowing she was the cause.

“Hmm.” He pretended to think about it. Of course, he knew he was taking a risk and it could be too much for her, but he wanted to see. Maybe she would like it. “Well…” he ran his palms over her ass, feeling the warmth through the fabric. “I’m thinking about how pretty my marks are going to be on this.” Starting a little tame for all intents and purposes, he watched her face and saw her tilt her chin a bit in interest. Not too much. “Want to feel it get hot from taking a few spanks, maybe even a bite. There’s plenty to play with.” A squeeze given made her exhale sharply, but she pressed back into it to show just how much she liked it. Still, no scaring her off.

“I’ve been looking at it since we met. I’d apologize but I think you like that I have been.” He murmured, leaning his head back on the couch. “Been thinking about how i moves when you walk, how perfectly shaped it is. There’s a lot for me to do with it. How I really want to see you in something short, see you bend over in it and give me a peek.” The experimental words had her attempting to clench her thighs, but he could feel it. Harry was well aware that she was liking this, liking the slight roughness in his grab. “And when you bend over t’tease me, how I’ll just…” he kept his eyes on hers as he pulled his hand back, giving the fullest part of her ass a swat. Her eyes widened for a second before hooding, a visible swallow as she shakily gripped his hair a bit harder.

The spank had gone straight to her cunt. Making her even more wet than she already had been, it was a miracle he couldn’t feel it. At least she hoped he couldnt. There wasn’t a man before who handled her this way, not in the fearless way she had wanted. “Shit.” He breathed, breathing getting heavier as the tighter grip in his hair had extrabated the arousal. She liked it. And he liked her. “Y’like that?” His hoarse voice was quiet, but Y/N heard him loud and clear, licking her lip before nodding quickly. “The spank, the image? Which one, sweet girl?” He wasn’t satisfied with just a nod.

“Both.” Her voice was weak, feeling hotter in the cheeks as he examined her every expression. Somehow it wasn’t too scary now, being under his scrutiny. He wanted to know what she liked, where to go from there. “Both, a lot.”

“Good.” His face became a bit more relax, a bit more cocky, and she found it to be extremely hot. “S’good. Cause I’d love to do more of that. It’s hot. You’re so fuckin’ hot, Sugar. Even more than you know.” Rubbing circles around where he had spanked, he continued. “You’re good for me. Haven’t scared y’off, cause that’s the tip of the iceberg. There’s lots more I’ve been thinking of, but you’re already makin’ me hard and aching. Just sitting here and kissing on you like a damn teenager, gonna make a mess of my pants. You’re amazing.”

The confirmation it wasn’t just her made her feel even better. He was hard against her thigh, she was getting sticky in her panties and honestly she was wondering how worth the risk it would be to just beg for him to fuck her. She wanted to melt and beg for him to turn them over and slip into her. That was too soon, but it didn’t have to be too soon to do anything, right?

In relative terms, maybe. They’d hung out quite often but gone on two dates. They were officially boyfriend and girlfriend but when was the definitive time when it started being okay? Y/N always thought it was silly, these unspoken rules of society. How time dictated what was appropriate even if both parties wanted it… maybe it was okay, if he wanted it, to touch.

“H…” she whispered, smoothing her hands over his shirt and placing them around his face, cupping the sharp jaw in her palms while the fingers curled around her cheeks. “I don’t think you could scare me off when I’ve been having dirty thoughts about you since we met.” Shuffling slightly in his lap, she sat herself fully on top of him. It took a bit of mental prep but his eyes gave her all the answers she needed. He was genuinely attracted to her, really going wild just by having her in the palm of his hands. The confidence boost was major.

“What if I want you to make a mess of them?” The words hung in the air for a moment as she watched him absorb them. “What if…” she released one hand from his face to hold the couch behind him. “I want you to feel good? Because I’ve been making a mess of myself since we’ve been kissing. Probably before that.” Her lips brushed his with every word she whispered. “You look so good today. It’s almost offensive. To come into my shop and be so.. beautiful.” She shook her head as she rubbed their noses together just a little in affection. “Made me want to get on my knees right then.”

The whispery tone of her words had him shuddering. Harry had been trying to be good with how far he took things. He really had only meant to kiss her, to make out like they had done since they’d first kissed, but she had the effect on him that made him feel like he was going out of his mind. “You did?” He hoarsely replied, sliding his hand up her back. “You’re just as bad as me, hm? What a perfect match we are.” The tease wasn’t much of a tease, though. It was the truth.

“Suppose I am.” She mumbled, lifting herself off of him a bit as she gave him a look. His face fell to confusion as he mourned the warmth of her body from his own, but froze as he watched as she sunk to her knees right between his parted thighs.

Oh.

“Baby- y’don’t have to if you don’t want to, I’m fine.” The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel obligated, but she cut him off with fingers tugging at his belt. There was this look on her face, this mix of arousal, nerves and cockiness. Need. He wanted her to be sure, but Y/N simply shook her head as the belt was slid through the loops, clanging to the floor. Warm palms met his thighs as she teased, throwing her hair over her shoulders as she gave him a soft pout. Barely there, but he could see it.

“I want to. I’ve wanted to since you’ve stepped in here, and you said such dirty things about what you wanted to do.. I figured I may as well show you what I want to do with mine.” Their locked gazes fed reassurance to him, and she felt comfortable. He did too. There was no pressure. He had made her feel confident today, made her feel even more at ease with him, and she wanted to express her gratitude.

“I could feel you.” She rested her cheek upon his thigh, trailing a finger over the bulge in his jeans. “Against my thigh. I could feel it pulsing a bit. You really liked having your hands on me. Made me feel… so sexy. Adored. Haven’t felt that so strongly, let alone so soon.” You could hear a pin drop as he stayed quiet, his heavier breathing the only interruption to her words. He was full of anticipation, seeing her lay her head so close to his covered cock driving him mad. She was a tease, but in the best damn way.

“I love your body.” He replied. “It’s… you’re incredible. Of course m’hard. Been hard for ages. Since I’ve met you, never gotten off as much as now.” His knuckle brushed her cheek as she continued laying on his thigh, adding another finger in her stroking of him over the material of his pants. “You’re making me crazy, baby. Just looking at you like that. Can’t wait to get my hands back on you.”

“Mm… not today.” She mumbled. Before he could retort, she popped the button of his pants. “You’re going to wait to touch me, and just know what when I’m all alone, I’m thinking about this.” Fingers slowly undid the zipper. “Right now, it’s about you. I want to get you off. Want to feel you in my mouth, give you a taste of what I can be like for you. And then maybe… when you’ve got proper furniture in your place… I’ll let you touch me on it.”

The wicked smile grew as her cheek left his thigh, tapping it to lift up as she began to tug down the pants. “How can someone be so utterly sweet, but so cruel?” He croaked. “I’m not selfish. I want to return the favor. But I can wait… if that’s what you want.”

“It is. You’re good for me, Harry.” She cooed back, pleased with how he gave her the reply she had been hoping for. The pants down left him with a pair of briefs, a slight stain from his own arousal making her smug as she tugged at the waistband. Her hand slipped inside, preening at the gasp turned groan that left his mouth as she fished him from the fabric and exposed him to her eyes for the first time.

He was beautiful. As beautiful as cocks could be, anyways. Neatly trimmed hair met a smooth shaft, large vein going up the side that made her mouth water. A ruddy pink tip, wet from the slit. Weighted in her hands, she could feel him twitch as she dragged her hand up him and closed her fingers around the tip with a hum, fully freeing him from the confines.

“Such a pretty boy.” She praised, taking him back in her fist before looking up at him. “May I?” The softness of her voice seemed to do something for him. He looked pliant and soft, but his eyes were heated. His hand went to her hair, gently pulling it from her face.

“You can do whatever you want to me, darling. I know you’ll be sweet. I’m not going to last very long at all, though.” It had his cheeks flushing to admit it but she had to be warned. Simply seeing her hold him in her hand was making his head a bit light. It had been quite a while. Before he had even left his old town, it had been a while because casual sex wasn’t his thing. Even still, he never felt the attraction quite like this beforehand.

“That’s okay.” She soothed, leaning her head down and pressing a kiss to the wet tip. “You’re quite big. Don’t want my jaw to be too sore tomorrow anyways, hm? Though I don’t know if that’s an option.” Her words caused hot breath to wash over the length, his body shivering again. Lips pursed as she spit thickly over him, using it as lubrication to stroke. Slow, tight, Harry’s mouth opened in a soft moan as she did so.

“Damn it.”

“Damn what?” She laughed under her breath, moving her hand so she could take a lick. Starting straight from the base, the hot tongue ran slowly from bottom to top, eyes locking with his as she did so. There was slight disbelief in them as she rubbed the head over the tip of her tongue while her hand returned it’s languid strokes. “Does it feel good?”

“It does. Feels fucking incredible.” He swallowed, spreading his legs further so she could get closer. “You look… perfect. Like you’re the only one meant to be there.” Any other fantasy he’s had about anyone else was suddenly null and void. No way would anyone else look as right sitting between his legs like this.

“Maybe I am.” Lips wrapped around the sensitive head of him, making him bite down on his own lip to keep from being too loud. He could feel her sucking him slowly into her mouth, tongue flicking right against the slit as she sunk down just a bit. The wet stroke of her fist was steady and firm, just the way he wanted it right now.

“You are, you are.” His breathing picked up as he cautiously wrapped the gathered hair around his fist. “Just like that, Sugar. Bein’ so sweet to me. My sweetest girl.” He praised, watching her pop off of him to spit again. It was a bit of a sloppier blowie but fuck, did he prefer it this way. Slow, wet, her eyes doing their best to keep on his. This was intimate. Hot. Of course she knew. Somehow, she had known what he needed since they met.

“Want to me your sweetest girl. Hope I’m the only one.” The tiny bit of possessive edge to her words was amplified as she took him into her mouth again, sucking a bit harder. Harry moaned in surprise, hips jerking slightly and making her take more- but she took it in stride, gagging a bit but pushing herself further. Trying to prove a point.

“Oh- f-fuck, you are. The only one, the only- shit, baby.” He gasped as he felt her gag again. This time though, she did it to herself. Stroking him slow and tight but feeling her contract around his cock with her mouth, it was bringing him close quicker than he wanted to. “I’m not going to l-last long if you do that. It feels too good. Been waiting so long for you.” Their natural chemistry had made the sexual one even better, Harry panting heavily as she paid attention to exactly how he liked it. Replicating the things that were making his breathing hitch or deepen. He couldn’t wait until he could do the same for her.

The mere sight was enough to bring him to the edge. Wet hand stroking up and down, lips stretched around as she lazily sucked before pushing deeper to make herself gag a little because she knew he liked it now, teary eyes and a few stains when she did it too hard and made herself cry a bit. It was a filthy painting come to life.

“You’re so beautiful. A fucking vision, Y/N. Been imagining it for ages but it’s even better.” His praises continued as she pulled off for a breath, a smile on those pretty swollen lips. Somehow, that made him throb. Her smile itself. It made him horny. As soon as her mouth went back down on him again, he knew. It was almost over. “M’gonna cum so soon, darling. So fucking soon, you’ve made me feel so good.”

The wet sound of her hand pumping him was dirty and hot, her other hand cupping his balls delicately as she brought him further down her throat again. He hated that it was so close to the end because it felt so good; this entire thing did, and he wanted to last longer. “Could spend hours in this pretty little mouth, down your throat. Feels like heaven, baby. Fuck, just keep doing that. I’m almost there. That’s good, good fuckin’ girl.” The depth of his voice changed, and Y/N knew. She could feel him pulsing, twitching as she continues the pace just as he had liked it. She only pulled off once more to speak to him in a slightly wrecked voice.

“Give it to me. Cum for me, I want all of it. Please.” She didn’t waist for his reply before going back, tightening her hand and sucking a bit harder, trying to coax it from him. It didn’t take much more at all before he was tensing, a groan that was a bit too loud of her name leaving him as he began his orgasm. The load spilling inside of her mouth which she swallowed promptly, stroking until he placed his hand over hers and used the grip on her hair to pull her off and back on top of him.

Hungrily, his mouth descended on hers, licking into it and getting a taste. It was then mixed together, her sweet mouth and his slightly bitter cum that she had taken from him without complaint. He was dazed and hot, pulling some more wet kisses from her before pulling back to breathe, her forehead resting on his as she tucked him back into his briefs.

“Fucks sake.” He exhaled in a puff, shaking his head with a laugh of disbelief. “Where did you come from, hm? How did you do that so easily?” His hands gripped her thighs and pulled her to lay on top of him, Y/N following with the newfound sense of comfort.

“Hm. Some say heaven, some say hell. I’d like to think I grew from the flowers.” The voice she gave was hoarse, a bit wrecked from the gagging she had inflicted in order to give him pleasure, but she would be fine tomorrow.

“Hm. I’d agree. Beautiful flower you are.” His heart was going a kilometer a minute which she could feel as she placed her head on his chest for a moment. Hers matched the pace, all for a different reason. “Wish I could I could be returning the favor but… you’ll give me what I want soon, yeah?” The words were playful but she knew he genuinely meant them. It kind of made her giddy, if she was being honest. No one had ever been this impatient to pleasure her, so part of her didn’t want to believe it but… Harry wasn’t lying. She knew that. Y/N had a good radar for that.

“I will. I’m not going to hold out too much. I don’t think I could take it, honestly.” Her poor cunt. It had its own heartbeat and her panties were wrecked, but she had perfect material to get off to later. “But thank you. For being so… you. I’ve never felt more comfortable doing stuff like this and… I dont know.”’she flushed, hiding her face back in his shirt. “Just.. know that I’m really comfortable and happy with you. And it means a lot that you aren’t truly upset I’m making us wait to do more.”

Harry sighed. It made him angry that he could feel that other people had most likely done that to her in the past. Sex and pleasure was all about consent. With no consent, no mutual understanding, there was no point. Harry wouldn’t do it. It was his most serious rule. “Sugar, I want more than sex from you, just to be clear. And consent is serious with me. You said not today, regardless of the reason, that’s good with me. Besides… I’m perfectly happy right now. A bit tired though.” The yawn ripped through him without meaning to.

“Sorry, sorry. You sucked the soul out of me. Literally.” The pair giggled, the giddiness of post sex catching up to them. Before the reality sunk into Y/N.

“Fuck. We definitely took longer than an hour. She’s going to kick my ass!” Y/N squeaked, sitting up from Harry’s lap and adjusting her clothes. “We got to go, I owe her an hour break too.” Delilah’s glare was no joke. Y/N did not want to be on the receiving end of it. She may be her best friend but even Y/N was secretly a bit intimidated by the power she held.

“Oh, oops.” Harry’s lazy smile was not understanding the magnitude of Delilah, but he zipped his pants back up as she tried to fix her hair. “Hey, relax. It’s okay. I’m going to run to the bakery and grab some more muffins and fix it.” No one could resist muffins, let alone the blueberry crunch. Right?

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merbear25 · 1 month

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Hey hi! Can you do romantic hcs prussia, France and Japan x reader who was a fictional character but became real. Like they liked the character soo much that they manifested them into reality. Thanks ^v^

This was such a cute idea! Thank you for sending it in. It’s got me wondering how so many of our favorite characters would react if they suddenly appeared in front of us.🤭 I hope you like what I’ve written for you. 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, headcanons/scenarios

Their fictional crush came to life (Prussia, France, Japan)

Prussia

Picturing the type of character he’d be absolutely smitten for, my mind goes to either someone who oozes as much awesomeness as he does or someone who is too naive and sweet for their own good. Perhaps for more of a romantic pairing, I may have to go with the latter.

When you manifested, it was while he was watching the newest episode of the show. He couldn’t stop thinking about how adorable you were with your silly antics and clumsiness.

He imagined you looking at him with your doe-like eyes and then poof. You magically appeared right next to him.

Gawking at you, this was one of the few instances he was left speechless. With you returning his same dumbfounded expression, the shock was soon followed by confused screaming.

“Who are you?” You blurted out. “Where am I?” The sudden pull from your world into his was causing you to panic and tear up.

He did his best to comfort you and answer your questions, but in all honesty, it would have been difficult for anyone to follow. He was just as nervous as you were, so whatever explanation he offered was a jumbled mess.

Once you both calmed down, the excitement of having you here in the flesh was setting in. He couldn’t wait to get to know you and for you to know him.

Despite not being the most graceful when it came to romance, he did everything he could to make you feel comfortable, which meant holding off on making any moves for a while.

France

I get the strongest feeling that he’d fall for a character who would be a damsel, so he could swoop in to save them.

He was rereading one of his favorite novels, getting lost in the world so poetically described. With the setting in his mind set and his favorite character ready to be rescued, the vision started out just like all the others.

However, he was feeling particularly more amorous this time round: adding a sunset in the background and dipping you into a kiss once earning your heart.

He sat there like a schoolgirl who journals about her crush—twirling his hair and an infatuated grin plastered on his face.

Just as the scenario was reaching its climax, you dropped out of thin air and plopped down on the couch next to him.

Being yanked out of the midst of his fantasies, he felt just a tad indecent. Having imagined you and all of the things he wished he could do with you, seeing you sitting next to him was almost too much to handle.

When the both of you came to terms with the situation, attempting to make sense of all of it, he couldn’t help but bask in all of your beauty.

You were just as he envisioned, better in fact because you were real now.

He remained respectful of your boundaries and let you come to him in terms of romance. With the door to opportunities now open, he couldn’t wait to sweep you off your feet just as he dreamed while reading that book.

Japan

The first thing that comes to mind is an idol type of character: talented, bubbly, and cute.

He was up-to-date with the newest chapter and episode. With the creator taking a break, he scoured the internet for doujinshi.

Being the creative person that he was, he enjoyed doodling you in all sorts of situations and with various expressions. One day he was finishing up on one of the drawings he’d been working on. Upon adding the final touches to your outfit, you manifested in front of him wearing the outfit he drew on you.

He dropped his pencil, completely gobsmacked by your presence. You whipped your head around, taking in the new surroundings while repeatedly asking him where you were.

As much as he tried, none of what he told you was making sense. To be fair, it didn’t make much sense to him either. Since neither of you knew how this came to be or how to get you back to your world, he made a genuine effort to help you feel comfortable.

His calm demeanor soothed your distress. He showed you around his place, happily answering any questions you had. The longer you stayed in his world, the less you wanted to leave.

Even though he was a massive fan, he held back on showing you the artwork he’d done of you; that would be far too humiliating. However, you stumbled across some of them soon after appearing in his home.

It wasn’t your intention to embarrass him. In fact, you were absolutely flattered by his drawings. Despite his face burning a bright red, your praise sent him to cloud nine.

You being there was a dream come true. The connection you formed was genuine, paving the path to something more.

#x reader #hetalia #hetalia x reader #hetalia x you #hetalia france #hetalia fluff #hetalia imagines #hetalia headcanons #aph hetalia #hetalia world series #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars #hws #aph japan #hetalia japan #aph france #aph prussia #hetalia prussia

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starry-eyed-steve · 9 months

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Sandra's Fic Wrapped 2023

Hello <3, it's the last day of 2023, and I wanted to give some love to all the amazing fanfics I read this year. Each one of the people mentioned here is so talented, and everyone should check out their entire work.

(Disclaimer: all fics mentioned are Steve Harrington x reader)

Here are my top reads from this year (in no particular order)

Wildfire by @curiositydooropened (completed series, enemies to lovers) This fic has one of the best world building, I need this to happen in s5, actually. Doesn't shy away from discussions of ptsd and overall, it was so well done. I still have to finish it, but I know Amanda did an amazing job with it. <3

Glitch by @munsonsreputation (series, friends to lovers) This fic is just so cozy and cute. Reader insert felt like a very well-rounded character. You will love all the interactions with the other characters. It's just so well done. <3

whip it! by @schoopsahoy (one shot) This fic was cuteness overload. Loved the confident reader insert, and overall, the character dynamics were so well done, esp Steve and the kids <3

don't think twice, it's alright by @hawkinsquarry (part of a series, hurt/comfort post s4) I think this is one of my fav hurt/comfort pieces I've read this year. The interactions between reader and Steve are so tender. Overall, this was perfect <3

Into Open Flames by @kurokoros (completed series, established relationship, horror, set after s2 canon divergence) This fic has amazing world building. The original monster is so terrifying and well done that I was on the edge of my seat all the time. I adored Steve's character so much, kinda wish the show would have handled his character that way instead of what they did in s3/4. Overall amazing writing <3

confetti by @slashersteve (series, single!dad Steve) My favorite single dad Steve fic out there. I still haven't read the latest part, but I had to mention this series. It's amazing. The characters feel so real, and you'll fall in love with Steve's daughter <3

become the sun by @headkiss (one shot, strangers to friends to lovers) This was probably my favorite summer fic. I adored the small beach town vibe. Overall, that was such a cute read. I still need to read this year's Christmas fic, which I know will be great because last year's was amazing. <3

the view between villages, part one: good bones by @sattlersquarry (completed series, choose your own adventure, s3) Listen this is one of the most creative works I've read. The amount of work that was put in it is insane. You play an active part and get to choose how your story ends. This was such a fun experience <3

the swindling of steve harrington’s heart by @stevebabey (one shot, strangers to lovers) This was such a cute fic, like Steve asking for dating advice in the Hawkins Post was just sweet. I loved all the interactions between him and the reader. If you need a pick-me-up, this is your fic <3

and they were roomates by @sunshinesteviee (one shot, friends to lovers) This fic was just so cute. I loved Robin being kinda in the middle of this and sick of their bullshit. Overall, amazing writing and a quick read if you are feeling down and need cheering up <3

almost paradise by @hawkinsindiana (completed series for now, ST rewrite covering all seasons) I said it so many times, but this is one of my overall favorite stories. Kinda wish we had the reader character in the actual show because it makes so much sense. The writing is amazing, I even shed a few tears towards the end. I can't wait to see what's in store for s5. Also, check out the various blurbs that go with it. There is so much work being put into this, and it deserves a bit more love. I'm gonna re-read the whole thing next year. <3

steve zombie!au by @luveline (compilation of blurbs and one shots) This is one of my fav AU, I can't just choose one thing, so I linked the entire masterlist Their relationship is just so special. I love the world building and the other characters. It's amazing <3

no good at waiting by @familyvideostevie (completed series, sorta enemies to lover farmer market au) This is one of my fav series, and we got such cute blurbs this year from this universe. It has such a cozy vibe to it, great world building and characters. <3

Any Way Out by @hairrington (one shot, angst, ex boyfriend Steve) This fic was a mix of heartache and comfort. Nadia is one of my fav Steve writers out there so everyone check out her entire masterlist. <3

some kind of muted blue by @thecreelhouse (one shot, dark themes, deals with things like ptsd) This was so devastatingly beautiful, I loved that this fic explored Steve's felings so much, something we don't get to see in the show. This was just amazingly written <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harringtion fanfic #steve harrington recs #please let all the links work #sandra says stuff

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mintywolf · 5 months

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A Long Road Home - Page 62 Author Notes

Page 62

Whew! So there’s the first chapter. Two (?) more to go!

I thought I’d share my early character notes from back when I was getting ready to write the script, mid-late 2022, compiled from observation, what extra facts we had at the time from 4SD, and my own headcanons. Not everything made it into the comic but it helped me codify my interpretation of them.

***

Imogen

Physical Traits: Recently 26 at the beginning of the story. Long, light purple hair in soft, wavy curls. Often wears it braided when she’s working on the farm or riding. Violet eyes. Fair skin with a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, shoulders, and arms. Tendency to sunburn. Sweet round face and a soft figure. Around 5’4”. Slight gap between her front teeth. Dimples. Always looks a little sleep-deprived. Glowing purple lightning-shaped scars starting on the inside of her wrists and extending over her hands and wrapping over the back of her wrists. Prefers light-colored, soft, flowy clothing. Light Taloned Highlands accent that becomes more pronounced when she’s angry or being deliberately charming.

Personality Traits: Shy, thoughtful, reserved. Uncomfortable in crowds because of the strain on her psychic energy and social situations are physically and emotionally exhausting for her. Can nevertheless exude Southern charm when the situation calls for it. Genuinely kind and caring towards people she trusts but it takes a while for them to earn that trust. Her passive access to everyone’s thoughts makes it hard for her to see the good in people, which can lead her to be cynical or even cruel. Hidden tendency for destructive, remorseless anger that belies her “innocent” appearance. Can hold a grudge. Enjoys the company of animals more than humans (with the single exception of Laudna). Secretly struggling with very deep doubts about her own worth, especially since she has become progressively more emotionally distanced from people since the beginning of her psychic powers 8 years ago. Before Laudna’s arrival the pain and loneliness caused by her powers (as well as her bleak outlook on the rest of the world from everyone else’s terrible thoughts) have pushed her to the brink of despair. Staunchly insists that she is Fine even when that is clearly untrue.

Quirks: The lightning markings grow a little bit up her arms whenever she exerts her powers in a significant way. Needs glasses but she’s never had her eyesight checked so she doesn’t have them. Tugs on her earlobes when she’s stressed. Prone to headaches and panic attacks when the presence of a lot of other people overwhelms her psychic abilities. Uses Mage Hand creatively and for convenience in a variety of situations. Summer birthday. Likes strawberries and lemonade. Afraid of heights, or more specifically, afraid of falling from a great height. Smells faintly of sun-warmed grass and ozone. Has a good singing voice but almost no one has heard it. Likes to be clean, hates the feeling of being sweaty/sticky/grimy. Enjoys having her scalp massaged or her back scratched, especially by Laudna’s long fingernails.

Terms of endearment used: honey, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart

Laudna

Physical Traits: Actually 51 but became ageless a few weeks shy of 20. Has been dead-ish for 31 of those years, so while she hasn’t aged much she has deteriorated over time. Corpse-pale and skeleton-thin, covered in old scars, significantly a faint rope scar on her neck under her chin. Long, bony fingers. Wears gold ear jewelry for elves to hide the fact that her ears were cropped into points. Around 5’9” but her thinness and general mien makes her appear taller than she is. Long, scraggly black hair with a white forelock. Kind of wavy with tighter curls towards the ends. Her features are doll-like and delicate but slightly too big for her face in a way that is charming but a little off-putting. (Protuberant eyes, long nose, wide smile.) Big, dark eyes with dilated pupils. (Apparently permanently, so she is sensitive to light but can see very well in the dark.) Very wide smile with uneven teeth. Cold and clammy to the touch. Thin, fragile skin. Her blood moves slowly and is very dark (although still red). Cries inky black tears. Knows Mending as a cantrip but evidently does not apply it often to her own clothes. Speaks with an elevated posh Whitestone accent, except when she’s being serious. Her “natural” voice is more subdued, with a huskiness to it from an old throat injury that comes out more when she’s upset. A little too loose-limbed. Moves in a peculiarly graceful/graceless, jerky fashion, like something being puppeted by unseen strings. Dislikes wearing shoes.

Personality Traits: She is simultaneously a world-weary middle-aged woman and a child who was frozen on the cusp of adulthood and will never age. Over the years her persistent optimism has become less the product of naiveté and more of determination; she has made the best of every awful situation she’s been put in because what else is she going to do. Like Imogen she has seen a lot of the worst of people, and before she meets her she is timid and twitchy from many years of loneliness and being a general object of distrust and mistreatment wherever she goes, but once she finds her, her vivacious, excitable, and affectionate personality starts to emerge. Very earnest -- not much disconnect between what she thinks and what she says, and not much filter, either. Eager to be useful. Has some trouble picking up on social cues or knowing how to behave appropriately in certain social situations. Tends to stand too close to people when trying to talk to them. Desperately wants to love and be loved. Very protective of Imogen but secretly afraid she’s undeserving of her affection. Worries about being a burden or a danger to her. When overwhelmed or uncomfortable she will sometimes speak through Pâté about herself rather than for herself. When very deeply upset she withdraws into herself and seems to become inanimate.

Quirks: Very rarely still -- she’s always in motion, fidgeting, picking things up to look at or fiddle with, reaching out to touch things in the environment, fluttering her hands when talking, lacing her fingers together, swaying or rocking when sitting or standing. (She is only completely still when she’s asleep, unconscious, or very deeply withdrawn, and then the difference between that and her usual animated self is unsettling.) Tends to stutter when agitated or excited. When thoughtful or anxious she fidgets with her hair, and can pull it out without meaning to when particularly upset. Puts her fingers in her mouth regardless of how clean they are. Has a habit of collecting things that look like trash to other people but she thinks might be useful, with a particular fondness for broken, discarded objects. Sometimes she mends them, sometimes she just loves them as they are. (Also has a hard time letting go of things past their usefulness, e.g. expired vegetables that Imogen is begging her to be allowed to compost but Laudna is insisting parts of them are still good.) Winter birthday. Likes apples and sweet baked goods, gingerbread in particular. Her joints dislocate easily, in particular her right shoulder, but pop back into place just as easily. (She was dragged by the arm either from the dining room or to the tree.) Smells like wet earth and decaying leaves. Experiences occasional dizziness from low blood pressure and is vulnerable to motion sickness. Vehement dislike for the feeling of rough fabric against her skin. Can’t wear necklaces or any clothing with a tight collar.

Terms of endearment used: darling, dearest, my love

Matilda

Physical traits: When alive, she still had pale skin and black hair, although of a more human complexion and her hair was fuller with better-defined curls. (Still a little stringy though.) Still thin from hard times in Whitestone but of a more willowy sort than gaunt. Naturally kind of cold but still of a human body temperature. Dark brown eyes. Big smile. Still fidgety. Larger than average ears.

Personality: Still a weirdo! Eager to have friends but had trouble making and keeping them and so was often lonely, with a very imaginative inner life. Kind of vague and dreamy, in part from being frequently dosed with laudanum to suppress her weirdness and make her sit still. Never outgrew playing with dolls, and secretly always kind of believed they have feelings.

Quirks: Liked to collect things: rocks, bones, feathers, discarded trinkets. Made some of her own toys out of odds and ends. Had a pet frog that she carried around in her apron pocket. The kind of child who would disappear all day and return covered in dirt with holes in her clothes. Because of her inherent shadow powers she had a tendency to startle her parents by accidentally sneaking up on them, and was always a little hurt when they reacted in alarm to see her there.

When Laudna is scared or distressed, particularly after an upsetting experience, she will sometimes regress into who she used to be. She drops her posh accent, and her mannerisms become smaller and timid. She will seek reassurance in childlike things, playing with her dolls and wanting the comfort of someone else’s closeness. If she can’t get that comfort from Imogen, she will seek it from Delilah.

Relvin Temult

Physical traits: Broad-shouldered and sturdy, with a tendency to stoop. Dark blond, longish hair & a scruffy beard. Tanned from outdoor work. In his mid 40’s. (So Imogen was born when he and Liliana were in their early 20’s or even late teens. It is possible that Liliana’s powers manifested around the same age as Imogen’s did.)

Personality: Taciturn, somewhat dour. Dearly loves Imogen but can’t help feeling some resentment for the exile her powers forced on them and he’s a little afraid of her psychic ability. Rightfully suspicious that she could be eavesdropping on his thoughts, he has distanced himself from her. Still calls her “Genny” and “butterbean” as nicknames. Misses the closeness they used to have, and despite the distance between them he is desperate to hold on to her since she is all the family he has left.

He is literally Just A Guy. He wanted to live a normal small town life raising horses with his family but unfortunately his wife and then his daughter turned out to be cursed by the moon with devastating psychic powers.

Dolores Garrod

Physical traits: Early middle-aged, dark blonde hair, narrow green eyes, stocky build. Narrow scar on the left side of her face. She’s probably of an age that she could have served in the Apex War.

Personality: Former sheriff, resents losing her position of power and feels she could do a better job for the town than the current one. Not afraid to resort to violence to protect the town. Very protective of her young son. She does not place much faith in the gods, particularly since they don’t seem to be doing anything about either the witch walking around town or the plague she is believed to have brought down upon it, and puts her faith in the law instead.

***

Thank you for reading!! Whether you’ve come across my comic recently or whether you’ve been with it since the beginning, I’m so happy you’re here. <3

#a long road home #author notes #imogen temult #laudna

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