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syoddeye · 3 months

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kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.

Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.

You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”

A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”

It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.

Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.

Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.

Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.

Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights.

“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”

“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”

Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”

The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.

She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”

The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.

She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”

“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.

“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”

The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway.

You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.

You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings.

To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.

Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.

Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.

You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other.

“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”

The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”

She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.

Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.

You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.

“You still want more?”

Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.

You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.

“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.

“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases.

Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet.

“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”

Yes ma'am.

Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit.

The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.

“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.”

Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that.

You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.

“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.

A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move.

It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.

“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”

You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.

Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.

Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation.

You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.

“Yes?”

“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”

Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”

A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it.

Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her.

“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”

“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts.

Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”

Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.

Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”

Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—

She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun.

Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.

“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”

With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.

Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers.

If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise.

With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.

Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words.

She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”

“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”

Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”

You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side.

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.

“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate.

“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.

Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate

You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear.

>> Miss me already, kid?

#kate laswell x reader #laswell x reader #anyway #no one look at me for 3-5 business days #dropping this and heading out for the night byeeeee #kate laswell

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joostsblog · 1 month

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im sending this ask to myself as a reminder for this fic idea i just had: joost friends to lovers trope inspired by fallingforyou by the 1975!!! "I read between the lines and touched your leg again" "I don't want to be your friend, I want to kiss your neck" aaaaaaaahhhh!!!

hello joostsblog you read my mind you know me so well its scary

fallingforyou ~ joost klein one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: You know im a sucker for friends to lovers 👀

Warnings: not proofread

There were times when you were uncertain of Joost's feelings for you and there were times you were very certain.

Like when he would gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear while you were talking. The touch would feel so intimate yet mundane. After all the strand dangling in front of your eye had been bothering you.

Or when he would lift you up so you could catch a look at the artist on stage when you were doomed to standing at the very back of the pit. Or when he would get you a drink after you finished rambling about your shit day at your job. In those moments you wondered whether you were the only one that secretly wished that touches lingered longer and lips would inch closer.

Then there were the times when his hugs definitely felt distanced in the way a platonic hug should be. Or when he would tell you how fit he thought that brunette across the bar was and you would tell him about your latest failed tinder date. In those moments you were certain you were just a friend to him.

You had known each other since you were 19 and you'd grown together. You had just started uni in Amsterdam and Joost's music career was slowly taking off. He'd call you in between lectures to convince you to come out to one of his gigs in the evening even though you needed to study. In the end, you would almost always show up. Even if it meant biking half an hour to get there with your uni bag still slung across your body.

When you were 23 and just finished your bachelor's degree, Joost was able to move into a bigger apartment. You vividly remember the day you turned in your final assignment and went to Jumbo to buy some supermarket flowers and a bottle of wine. You biked to Joost's new apartment where he greeted you with your favourite chocolate and a banner hung across his living room congratulating you on graduating uni.

Nowadays Joost constantly nags you and says he misses those days when you were still unemployed, when you didn't spend 5 days of your week at work. "I don't miss it," you would laugh and remember those uncertain times when you didn't know how to make rent and whether you would ever get a job. Joost would always help you out, buy you food or even cover rent, no matter how sternly you protested.

Your friends would tell you to get together already. That you were made for each other. But every few years you watched the other person get into a relationship while the other one was just healing from a tough break-up. Fate never really seemed to align with the two of you. So after a few years you didn't even think of the possibility of the two of you getting with each other realistically. That didn't mean you stopped wishing for it. Joost was your everything, you loved him - more than as just a friend.

The days had gotten shorter, the weather rainier and even you had admitted that sweaters were more appropriate to wear than

t-shirts. It was Friday evening and you tried to break the news to Joost that you would be going home already.

"No, (Y/N), please stay," Joost whined and you laughed.

"I'm sorry, I can't," you said. "I'm so tired." You had come to your favourite bar straight after work to meet Joost and some of your other friends. "I need to just lay on my couch and do nothing until I fall asleep now," you insisted.

Joost pouted. "I miss you," he said and your heart broke at the sight of his sad face. "I miss hanging out with you constantly," Joost lightly touched your elbow. Uncertain.

"I know," you said empathetically. "Me too," you put your hand ontop of Joost's to comfort him. "Do you wanna come with me? We can lay on the couch together until I fall asleep," you suggested before you could even think about it too much. His eyes lit up.

"Of course."

You unlocked your apartment door before you both stepped in.

"I haven't been here in forever," Joost remarked and you agreed as you took off your coat.

"Oh," you said as your coat button got caught up in Joost's belt which forced you two to step closer to each other. You laughed and felt your heart suddenly beat faster. Joost took advantage of the moment and wrapped his arms around you to engulf you in a comforting hug. Uncertain.

You laughed on the couch as you tried to pick a shitty reality tv show on Netflix to watch while you knew that you would end up talking over it the whole way through anyways. You watched Joost's face as he told you about his most recent song he finished and all you could think to yourself was, how you wanted nothing more right now than to lean over to him and kiss his neck as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you had done it a thousand times already. But what if you did? Would that be so bad? What was the worst thing that could happen?

After all, there were those moments when you were uncertain. Those moments that could mean that Joost wanted the same thing from you. The meanings between the lines which you could interpret correctly.

So the nonchalant touch to his knee maybe wasn't so daring after all. The touch that made Joost stop in his words just for a millisecond before he continued with his story with just a hint of a shy smile on his face.

The touch that lingered on his leg even after you removed your hand again. The touch that made him move closer to you when Joost wondered whether he understood your gesture correctly.

You lifted up the blanket so Joost could cuddle up beside you. Both of your words only whispers now that you were so close. Joost's bare arm was touching against the wool of your jumper and you wished the fabric wasn't a barrier between you in this moment.

"How is it that we never were single at the same time until now?" Joost asked and you laughed.

"I know right," you agreed. "And now I work a full-time job and we can't even enjoy being single together," you joked.

"Well, what if I don't want to be single?" Joost asked.

"Are you on dating apps again?" you asked earnestly.

"No."

"Well, you're not really trying then," you stated.

"I am," Joost said and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked nervously.

"I don't know," Joost said before looking away.

"I don't wanna be single too," you sighed. "I miss the romance."

"Yeah?" Joost asked.

"Yes, like having someone cook your favourite meal for you with roses on the diner table and a massage while watching my favourite movie or something," you said.

"I can do those things," Joost said.

"Well, of course you can," you laughed. "But you'd be missing the romance element," you reminded him.

"Ouch," Joost said. "If you think you could never fall in love with me you could tell me in a nicer way, you know."

"That's not what I meant," you said and dreaded saying what you were about to say. "I mean the other way around. You wouldn't be romantically interested in me."

Joost paused.

"How would you know that?" he asked.

You paused.

Were you reading between the lines? Was there something there in his words? An unspoken implication he expected you to take up on?

"I don't know," you said quietly. It was the truth. You didn't know. You didn't know you were just a friend to Joost or whether there was something more.

"Well, you would know if I leaned in to kiss you," Joost whispered, his voice almost cracking. "And I would know if you leaned in to kiss me," he continued and your heart started beating faster than it already did.

Certain.

You leaned in to close the small distance left between you and Joost. His hand reached up to cup your cheek before your lips eventually met in a passionate kiss. His lips tasted so sweet against yours, like they were made to be pressed against yours. His fingertips felt so tender against your cheek. The frame of his dorky glasses ever so slightly bumped against your nose as you both deepened the kiss, desperate to feel each other after years of longing for a moment like this. After you pulled back you saw a happy grin on Joost's face mirroring yours.

"I've been falling for you for such a long time."

#mine #my fics #joostsblog #joost #joost klein #joost klein x you #joost klein x reader #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein rpf #joost klein imagine #joost klein one shot #joost klein fanfic

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magiccath · 5 months

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Weirdly specific headcanons Pt. 2 (Tenth Doctor x Reader)

a/n: finals fried my brain again, have some headcanons (new fics coming soon, I promise)

Says stuff like “2+2=5” with such confidence that you almost believe him

Secretly likes it when you and Donna call him “spaceman”

His favorite Earth snack is Goldfish (especially the colored ones)

Insufferable to watch movies with because he corrects everything

Traces words in circular Gallifreyan on your skin, usually on the back of your hand

Things like “I love you” and various nicknames he has for you

Often times when he fixes the TARDIS it doesn’t really need it, he just likes having something to do

Similarly, the TARDIS creates issues so he has to fix them

His love language is quality time, he just wants to be with you

Having you sit in the room while he fixes the TARDIS, showing you every single part of the universe, laying in bed on lazy days, etc

Needs constant reassurance and love

Cuddles too

Might not remember things like your birthday without reminders from the TARDIS

However, he knows exactly how you like your tea, your favorite color, and every single nervous tic you have

900+-year-old toddler

Requires constant supervision or he will cause harm to himself and/or others

Is absolute rubbish at cooking. Something always ends up burnt

Makes a mean cuppa though

He loves all kinds of cuddles but he really likes it when the two of you fall asleep spooning

Big fan of wrapping his entire body around you and tangling his limbs with yours

Also goes crazy for a good hug

Maybe his love language is also touch

He likes sitting on the floor for some reason, especially the TARDIS floor

Sits in chairs really weird too. Practically drapes himself across them with his long limbs sticking out and over the chair.

Has boundless amounts of energy. Is it a Time Lord thing or ADHD? We’ll never know (It’s both)

Knows enough random stuff to win Jepordy, but he would epically fail at it

Would correct every single answer and argue that he was right, not the answer sheet.

“Mount Rainier isn’t a volcano, fire aliens were just living under it.”

Loves ABBA and Queen. Can be often caught singing their songs to himself, especially when getting ready

Has a little troll doll collection in his room, among other strange 90s toys and random objects he likes

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wish-i-were-heather · 2 months

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A FOOL FOR YOU PT 2 ⤵ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 1778 words, no use of y/n (part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5)

STORY: you try to get hungover grayson to talk about the events of last night

WARNINGS: none!!

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN FIC!!! I'm posting it again because my account got deleted, but I still want to keep all my fics on my blog. Thanks to everyone for helping me get this all back.

Nine in the morning is a reasonable wake up time to most people. Especially on a weekend when you want to rest. In fact, depending on who you asked, nine was still pretty early to be awake on a Saturday.

But for Grayson Hawthorne, nine in the morning was ridiculous. The man always woke up around five- you had no idea what he could be doing at such an ungodly hour. But the fact that you hadn’t seen him yet would’ve been concerning, but you knew what was keeping him upstairs.

Since he wasn’t a big drinker, you really had no idea how much he’d had to drink for him to get like that. But it wasn’t a reach to assume he had a low alcohol tolerance. And for someone like him, you could also assume the hangover would be hell.

You didn’t mind waiting, either. It gave you time to think.

The whole night before, you’d barely been able to sleep. Your mind kept returning to the image of drunk Grayson with his arms wrapped around you, pinning you to the wall, cupping your face and whispering that he’d never hurt you, never.

But had he really meant them? As much as you wanted to believe he did, there were also some… less poetic things. Like when he asked for your face. Not exactly something you could just give him.

Grayson Hawthorne wasn’t one to talk like that, so part of you just wanted to dismiss it. He was drunk and stupid and saying things he didn’t mean. It was nothing more than that. He would wake up and be back to normal and it would be like none of that ever happened. He probably wouldn’t remember it either. But what if he did? That was for him to be embarrassed about, not you.

After you finished breakfast, you stayed seated at the kitchen island. The only other place you really wanted to go was Grayson’s room, but you knew that was a bad idea.

Your phone vibrated and you picked it up to see a message from Xander. But before you could check what it was, a pair of footsteps made their way towards where you were sitting.

Grayson.

He was back to himself. Clad in his usual suit, his hair done nicely, Grayson Hawthorne looked normal. Not like the man who’d hugged your neck and called you cozy just the night before, not hungover, but like himself. It was actually somewhat impressive. He was adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he entered the kitchen.

“Oh!” you began, hoping he felt as well as he looked. “Good morning, Grayson.”

You were met with a stiff “morning,” in response, and he just went to the fridge.

He didn’t even spare you a glance.

Only a little confused, you tried to continue the conversation. “What are you doing?”

“Getting breakfast.”

Grayson opened the refrigerator and stared blankly at the inside for a few moments until he finally reached in and pulled out… cherries?

“That’s not breakfast.”

He didn’t give you a response as he closed the fridge and carried the box on the opposite counter. Then his response was quick and sharp. “Can a man not enjoy fruit in the morning?”

You were about to give a snarky response but decided against it; he was hungover, be patient with him. You watched as he picked up one of the cherries- rainier cherries, you realized, so he’d have to eat around the seed. He took a bite out of it like an apple.

“Why are you eating it like-”

“I would like to think,” Grayson snapped, raising his voice and turning to you. “That I am impressively put together for someone with a stabbing headache and a miserable hangover. So forgive me if I’m not perfect.”

Drunk Grayson was an idiot, and hungover Grayson was irritable.

Good to know.

You stared at him, surprised. Grayson was far from the most laid back of his brothers, but he was also not one to yell or get angry. At least over something so simple like this. Sure, your comments may have been a little nagging and annoying, but it was just for fun. He could take a joke. Usually.

You decided to change the subject. “Have you taken anything for the hangover?”

Grayson exhaled, calming down and turning back to the fruit, or his breakfast, apparently. “No, not yet. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” You raised an eyebrow. “Doing what, sleeping?”

He looked at you again and motioned vaguely to himself. “Showering, getting dressed, looking presentable.”

“Why? You didn’t seem to care last night.”

That was apparently not the best thing for you to say. Grayson took in a sharp breath and finished eating the cherry. He didn’t respond as he moved to dispose of the seed and stem.

You watched him move silently. His movements were fluid and sure again; he wouldn’t be knocking over any vases this time, which was a relief.

Suddenly, someone came from behind and took the seat next to you. You turned and realized it was Xander, who received a nasty look from his brother. “C’mon, Gray, that was uncalled for. I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“I don’t remember much from last night,” Grayson said, picking up another cherry. “But I do remember you humiliating me. I really hope you did not get that on camera.”

Xander grinned. “Humiliating you? Nah, I only got a video of you singing twinkle twinkle little star. And sent it to the group chat.”

“I don’t remember receiving this video.” “Yeah,” he explained. “Because I sent it to the one we have without you.”

Ignoring the pointed look from Grayson, Xander reached for his phone and began to pull up the video. “You should’ve gotten the video, I think,” he told you.

“Show her the video and you’re dead,” Grayson tried.

“Eh, I’ll still be your favorite brother.”

“I don’t have a fav-”

“Everyone shut up.” The new voice joining the conversion turned all your heads around. It was Jameson.

He, like Grayson, was also in a suit. But, unlike Grayson, it was a complete disheveled mess. The tie was halfway undone and his shirt was untucked. His hair was all over the place and he was barefoot. But he had no shame walking into the room, grabbing his head and telling you to stop talking.

You watched as he made his way over to Grayson with only a little stumbling, then snatching the cherry from his brother’s hand and popping it into his mouth. “Avery told me to come downstairs and get water,” he said with the fruit in his mouth. “I didn’t know you guys were having a party without me.”

Grayson just stared at him as Jameson grabbed a cup from a cabinet and began to fill it with tap water.

“So you’re drunk too?” Xander asked. Jameson shook his head. He finished eating the cherry, spit the seed at Grayson, and took a sip of his water. “No, I’m just as hungover as Gray. He’s just better at hiding it.”

With a look of disgust, Grayson removed the cherry seed from his shirt and flicked it into the sink.

You and Xander exchanged amused glances and Jameson stumbled his way to Grayson again, apparently not done annoying his brother. Grayson raised an eyebrow at him. “Are your clothes still wet?”

“I didn’t change out of them,” he explained lazily. “Just slept in them after we-” Grayson placed his hand over Jameson’s mouth. “Don’t mention that.”

He then retracted his hand after a few seconds. “Don’t lick my hand either.”

Jameson shrugged and left, leaving Grayson to wash his hands.

~~~

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insisted.

You weren’t deterred. “Grayson please. I won’t watch the damn video Xander sent. I just want to know why you were drinking. It’s not like you.”

Xander had left a few minutes ago and left you and Grayson alone. Grayson was now done eating his supposed breakfast, and you’d forced him to take some medicine to make him feel at least a little better.

“What is there to talk about, hm?” He asked. “I was stressed and decided to give in when Jameson offered to go out. But after making a fool of myself, I’ve now been reminded why I don’t drink.”

The silence that followed was palpable.

That only raised more questions for you. That wasn’t the first time he mentioned embarrassing himself; did he remember the overexaggerated displays of affection he’d given you last night? The things he did, the words he said? Whether he meant it or not, it’d happened.

You decided to stick with an easier question.

“What did you guys do to get Jameson’s suit wet?”

Grayson visibly eased when you asked. You both knew you could’ve asked something much more awkward. “I can't remember completely, but I’m pretty sure we went swimming in our regular clothes. Not swimsuits. That’s why I was…”

Oh.

You could see the realization in his eyes. Did he remember how you found him, shirtless and half naked in sweatpants? Did he now remember everything? “Shit.”

Despite his surprise, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “What?”

“Did I really-” “Make a fool of yourself? Yeah, you did,” you grinned. “You said it yourself, you’re a fool for me.”

Grayson looked absolutely mortified.

You shook your head. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You were drunk, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t get any pictures or videos. Your image is upheld, Grayson Hawthorne.”

Now that he remembered, you now felt a lot more awkward about the whole situation. Not wanting to deal with that, you got up and began to leave.

“Wait.”

That surprised you.

“I don’t know exactly what I said or what I did last night,” Grayson began. “But I have somewhat of an idea. I was an idiot. So… thank you for helping me.”

Grayson Hawthorne thanking you? For helping him? That was certainly something new. You could tell he’d forced it out of himself; he didn’t like to ask for help, let alone acknowledge that he needed it.

“You’re welcome,” you said, pleasantly surprised. “One thing though.” “Yes?” “You told me I had a nice face. Did you-”

“I don’t dislike your face, that wasn’t a lie.” He grinned. He actually grinned. “It’s unfortunate though. Maybe one day you’ll find a way to give it to me. In the most respectful way possible, I’d quite like it to be mine.”

Before you could manage a response, he walked away.

Just walked away.

Who knew a man like him could be so forward?

#grayson hawthorne #grayson davenport hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson x reader #the inheritance games #the grandest game #the hawthorne legacy #the brothers hawthorne #tig #tig fanfic #tgg #repost #mightier than your sword𓂃🖋

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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

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𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Another oldie. Shout out to Mica for beta reading this for me. [ SYNOPSIS ] You return home from college to housesit while your mother is away. Everything seems rather mundane until you have a chance meeting with a strange yet alluring man. [ WORD COUNT ] 4.1k [ CONTENT ] Dark content, modern AU, Eren's fucking awful in this, manipulation, stalking, masturbation, dubcon bordering on noncon, degradation, vaginal fingering.

“Thank you so much for watching the house, little one,” your mother said, pinching your cheek.

An action that would usually leave you aggravated was welcome intimacy. College made you miss everyone. Mundane things became beacons of light in a darkened sea of melancholy. It was hard not to internalize the pain, the loneliness that plagued you and turned your stomach into a bottomless pit.

Even as you stood in front of your mother and her kind eyes, you couldn’t help but think of how eventually you would leave this isolated exurb and return to hell itself. You’d wrestle with complicated coursework, cry in the communal bathroom when your roommate refused to stop blasting Post Malone, and sit through lectures with lecherous professors that asked you “to go on walks and discuss poetry.”

“Of course, you think I’m gonna turn down a chance to throw a massive party? I’m trying to relive my teenage fantasy.”

She rolled her eyes and gave you a hug.

“I transferred some money into your bank account for food. Please don’t spend it all on junk.”

Bags of Cheetos danced through your mind.

“You got it,” you lied.

She grabbed her suitcase and floated out the door, leaving you to your own devices. You watched her drive off through the front window, a puff of exhaust lingering as she sped off to the airport. You strode into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge. The only contents being two jars of artisan mustard, a Greek yogurt, an absurd amount of spaghetti, and a bag of Rainier cherries.

“Pantry’s gotta be better.”

You flung the door to it and were confronted with a hard sourdough baguette and a box of generic Frosted Flakes. You sighed and closed the door dejectedly. Biking to the convenience store sounded woefully unappealing in 90 degree weather especially when the entire ride was sun-soaked.

“Eh, fuck it.”

You scrambled through your overnight bag and pulled out your sunscreen, slathering it all over you. You pocketed your wallet, grabbed your bike, and began your journey.

The second you opened the door, sunlight irradiated you. Quickly you put on your sunglasses and cautiously biked along the hyper heated concrete. Sweat oozed from your pores, sunscreen melting off your face and weaseling its way into your eyes. Wiping them crossed your mind but your hands were busy. You blinked repeatedly hoping to mitigate the problem but it was a thankless task.

When you finally got to the convenience store you dropped your bike in front of the entrance, growing more exhausted and thirsty by the second. A large “cash only” sign flashed in your face.

“Since when?” You asked no one in particular.

You stumbled inside the store over to the ATM and took out $40 from your bank account. The machine decided to take its sweet time, whirring for a good five minutes before spitting out your cash. After waiting for what felt like hours you trudged to the back and struggled to find anything that remotely looked like what you wanted.

“No, no, no,” you said as you peered into every fridge. “Fuck my ass. Come on.”

A stifled laugh brought you out of your trance.

“Watch out, some creep might try to take you up on that offer.”

“Oh shit, my bad!” You deferred.

The man turned his attention towards you. He was inhumanly gorgeous. His skin sun kissed, long espresso colored hair piled on top of his head in a messy bun, eyes greener than any field you’d seen. He wore a red tropical print button-up with short sleeves and fitted denim shorts. His smile was wide and jovial, one you could trust.

“’S all good,” he said, his eyes lingering on your lips.

“I, uh… Hey, have you seen anything that isn’t a Red Bull or a bottle of St Ides? I’d ask the guy at the counter but he seems rather engrossed in his reading.”

You slyly pointed at the cashier whose nose was buried in a vintage Playboy.

“I have, follow me,” he said, his voice like velvet. A siren’s song.

He wrapped an arm around you and led you to a fridge full of your favorite shit.

“Oh wow, thank you!”

His hands trailed down to your waist. “No problem. Hate to see a pretty thing like you look so lost.”

He looked you over one last time and headed over to the cashier. He pointed at a small bottle of silver Bacardi and slunk out the door after making his purchase. He slowly drove off in a burgundy 1970 Ford Galaxie.

The man was kind yet odd. A face you wouldn’t mind seeing again but one you’d likely run from if you encountered it in a dark alley.

You grabbed a couple bags of chips and one of the bananas that sat on the front counter. The ride home felt significantly easier this time around, your feet less heavy. Just a brief moment of social interaction was enough to make your day.

The pleasantness of your ride quickly dissipated as you noticed a car trailing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, but as you turned your head to get a better look the car made a sharp u-turn, speeding off in the other direction. Unease crept up on you, making your hands tremble ever so slightly.

All you saw was a flash of burgundy.

The housing development your mother bought into was initially supposed to be a dream-like landscape of exurban bliss. Pastel tract homes with detached garages and green lawns thriving despite nature’s uninhabitable wrath. The money hungry builders saw the arid valley and thought “upscale homes with a golf course and an outdoor mall.”

Of course it never took off. Living in the rain shadow of a massive mountain range was a tough sell and anyone with a brain knew the cotton candy colored homes wouldn’t last in the heat. However those desperate to own land bought them up at auction, your mother being one of them. She ended up with the best one, in her opinion.

“Some of them were worth more than others,” she said, as if she got away with a crime.

The house sat at the edge of the development, a clear view of the towering, jagged mountains to the east. The only thing that separated you from the wilds of the valley was the shoddy fencing your mother haphazardly fixed from time to time. Your closest neighbor, Hannes, lived comically far away on the other side of the development.

You stared down a pile of empty chip bags, regretting your decision to buy straight up junk and a banana. Delivery options were limited to pizza and Thai food; not many restaurants liked driving to the edge of the earth for a single order.

You grabbed your laptop ultimately deciding to order pizza.

“Ugh, of course my credit card info isn’t saved,” you whined.

You patted your pocket where you had previously stored your wallet but nothing was there.

“The fuck?”

You tore off your shorts and shook them. Nothing. No wallet.

“Shit. Guess I’ll call the store.”

You called the convenience store guy and he was utterly useless. Your stomach grumbled, reverberating throughout your body. Hunger took hold of you. You decided to toast the stale bread and eat it with olive oil. You figured you should save the rest of your cash for actual groceries.

“’Hey little one, what’d you eat when I was gone?’ Oh nothing, mama, just fucking croutons.”

The kitchen was bathed in a pinkish glow. The sun settled behind the mountains leaving the sky shades of pink, orange, and blue. It was a loveliness you missed, something you couldn’t find in overly pruned parks and crowded campus cafes. You preheated the oven and struggled to break the bread into bite-sized pieces.

“Fuck,” you muttered as a particularly hard bit of crust works its way under your fingernail.

You held your hand up to examine it and breathed a sigh of relief, no blood. Your relief was short lived as you noticed something rustling in the checkerblooms. You leaned over the counter to get a better look but you saw nothing. Just purple flowers ebbing in the evening breeze.

“Coulda been an elk,” you said to calm your nerves.

That morning you found used condoms outside the kitchen window filled to the brim with milky cum. You didn’t mention it to Hannes when you biked down to his house for money and socializing.

The days were easy to get through. You biked around the development when the heat was at its kindest. You bitched to Hannes about how isolated you were but also how you were far too lazy to remedy the situation. You watched game shows and soap operas. Immersing yourself in daytime television was a welcomed, mind numbing distraction.

The nights were what got the best of you.

You called your mother when the fear became too much, when you’d hear footsteps outside your window. But her advice was always the same.

“Drink a Pabst and turn on Golden Girls! Or ask the delivery guy to hang out with you.”

“Don’t you have a security system?”

“Is this what college has done to you? I remember just last year you couldn’t even remember to lock the front door.”

A million thoughts ran rampant through your brain. She was right after all; you were rather careless growing up in the mundanity of the valley. You sought excitement by skipping through the alkali flats, kicking up rancid dust. You ran around with stray dogs and even got bit by one. A lonely, little girl like you was a professional at putting yourself in questionable circumstances.

“Whatever. I still can’t find my wallet though,” you whined.

“Did you try calling the store again?”

“Why would I call them again?”

“I don’t know,” she said, voice filled with exasperation. “The money I sent should get to you soon.”

“Still don’t think it was smart to literally mail me money.”

She laughed. “Alright, little one. Call me tomorrow.”

And with that your mother hung up. You gazed outside the window as a tule elk meandered by, sniffing the ground occasionally stopping to nibble on a shrub. It lifted its head and jerked it around quickly, an urgent look in its eye. Before you blinked it bounded off into the distance, almost like it was never there in the first place. Curiosity got the better of you and you decided to investigate. You grabbed a kitchen knife and held it like you’d seen all those final girls do in slasher movies.

“I can’t die like this,” you whispered to yourself. “I haven’t even had a threesome yet.”

You crept towards the front door and looked through the peephole. Not a thing, just dead grass and concrete. You sighed and dropped the knife, feeling silly for even grabbing it in the first place. With this new found peace you stepped into the kitchen to brew some tea only to be startled by a faceless figure.

“Holy shit!” You shrieked, ducking under the kitchen table knowing full well you were still visible. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” you muttered.

“Hi, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

His voice was oddly friendly, but not so much that you were willing to respond.

“I, uh, found your wallet. Sorry it took me a bit, you just live so far out here.”

You poked your head out from under the table and looked up.

It was the handsome man from the convenience store. He looked decidedly less gorgeous, but a babe all the same. His hair now hung past his shoulders, partially obscuring his face. He wore the same tropical print shirt and shorts you saw him in previously but they were now paired with a faded denim jacket lined with cream Sherpa.

“You want it back or can I keep it?” He asked, his voice as velvety as ever.

“I—I definitely need it.”

You crawled out from under the table and gestured for him to meet you at the front door. As you opened it you saw him leaning on his car, arms crossed.

“Hey, so my wallet?” You shouted at him.

“I, uh, left it at home.”

“Oh.”

He grinned. “Didn’t realize it until I checked my pocket. It’s back at my place if you wanna take a ride.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I—I have Thai food coming and like, so, I gotta be here when it shows up.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll drop by tomorrow then, that alright?”

No was the first word to enter your mind but you wanted your damn wallet.

“That sounds fine. Thanks, uh…”

“Eren,” he purred.

You forced a smile. “Thank you, Eren. I’ll see you tomorrow. Just gimme a call when you’re close, okay?”

He nodded and waved as you turned to go back inside. Once safe and locked in the house you watched him linger, his eyes still fixed on the spot you previously stood in. He waited around for a good five minutes before he got in his car and sped off.

That night, as you struggled to drift asleep, you reluctantly thought of Eren. You slipped your hand in your underwear and rubbed your clit, pretending that it was him doing so. You bit down on your bottom lip as you traced your fingers down your folds, coating them with your fluids. You slid your hand under your t-shirt and pinched your nipple.

“E—eren,” you whimpered, thrusting up against your hand.

You pictured his strong arms around you, plunging his throbbing cock deeper and deeper inside you. The look of unbridled lust in his emerald eyes as he held you close, pumping you full of his cum.

Your breathing quickened and your toes curled as your orgasm rushed through your body. You continued to mewl his name, your body going limp as your lust subsided. Shame immediately hit you and you rolled over onto your side in a fetal position.

“Why am I like this?” You asked as you tried to will yourself unconscious.

That morning you were greeted with a lack of cell service.

“Seriously?”

You made a few attempts to call your mother, groaning every time it was dropped. Eventually you resigned yourself to being even more cut off from the world. It’s not like you’d be alone for long. Eren did say he’d be dropping by with your wallet, though he never specified when that would be.

The day dragged on and your patience waned. You sat in the kitchen, eating cherries and scowling out the window. Eren finally arrived just as the sun started to lower itself.

He tapped on the door, with his car keys.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he crooned.

You cautiously opened the door and let him in. He smelled like rum and cheap deodorant. His shirt was dingier every time you saw it, it’s once bright hue losing saturation. His denim shorts were dappled with white stains and dirt. Everything about him screamed freak but you welcomed him inside anyway.

“Hey, so…”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, pulling your wallet out of his pocket.

He held it out of reach the second you went to grab it from him.

“Work for it.”

There was something inherently ominous about his grin. It wasn’t a particularly creepy one, in fact it was rather lovely. But his eyes hid something, there was a blankness to them. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, utterly unreadable.

“Come on.”

You attempted to grab it again but he again jerked it out of reach.

“You come on,” he teased.

His eyes looked through you. It was as if he didn’t register you as a person, a human, an equal. You struggled to hide your fear which softened his demeanor.

“I’m sorry. I see a pretty girl and all I wanna do is fuck with her.”

He finally handed you your wallet, his fingers brushing yours.

“Those are some nice hands.”

You gulped and tried your best to look unbothered.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Any chance you could gimme one?”

“Excuse me?”

He flashed you another grin.

“My car’s having some trouble, thing’s old as fuck. Could you lend me a hand?”

“I don’t know much about cars honestly.”

“Having another pair of eyes on it will help. Maybe you’ll catch something I missed.”

You followed him out the door even though your conscious screamed for you to turn around, to go back inside and lock your door. He led you over to his car, the hood was already lifted. You stared into it not sure what to look at.

“See anything strange?” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You laughed nervously.

“N—no, not really.”

He leaned closer to your ear and whispered, his breath reeked of rum.

“Oh come on, baby. Take a better look.”

He pushed you against the car, his semi-hard cock rubbing against your ass. You froze as he rocked his hips against you. Eren groaned as he continued to thrust.

Run, you thought to yourself. Get the fuck away from him. But instead you stood there, clenching your fists, fighting the urge to grind up against him.

“Oh you like that, huh?” He whispered, his tongue flicking your ear.

You arched your back and bit your lip as he rutted against you, his cock now fully erect. A small moan exited your lips as Eren shoved his hands down your shorts. He rubbed your clit through your underwear.

“Ye—yes,” you mumbled.

He leaned in and sniffed your hair, his breath hitching as he savored the smell of your shampoo. His fingers pulled your underwear to the side and he coated them with your fluids.

“You’re this wet already?”

You kept quiet, you were afraid of what depraved things would leave your lips if you opened them. It had been so long and you were so lonely. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak.

“It’s okay, baby. Open your mouth for me.”

He took his fingers out of your cunt and forced them into your mouth.

“Suck them clean.”

You ran your tongue on the underside of his rough fingers.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Tell me how good this feels.”

He shoved them back down into your shorts and started to finger you. Stifling your moans was out of the question.

“Ohhh, Eren,” you whined. “Feels s—so good.”

“How would you like it if I fucked you in the back seat, baby?”

You nodded feebly. He let you go and led you to the back. You glanced inside and saw zip ties, duct tape, and a mallet on the floor partially hidden under the driver’s seat.

“I have to go!” You shouted abruptly as you ran back to the house, tripping on the porch.

Eren glared at you, his eyes losing any semblance of sanity.

“I’m gonna get you. You think runnin’ from me is gonna do you any favors?”

You sat there like a wounded doe, clutching your bleeding knee. You wanted to get up and run but fear had you in a chokehold.

“J—just leave, please,” you said, trying to sound brave. “My neighbor’s supposed to check on me any minute now. You don’t wanna deal with him.”

Lies. Hannes wasn’t coming and Eren didn’t move a muscle.

“You think I’m scared of some drunk that lives up the road? Hannes ain’t gonna do shit,” he hissed.

How the fuck did he know Hannes? Eren’s words were like poison. Whatever pleasantness you imagined was gone. He was a monster, a menace.

“Just go!” You screamed, voice cracking. “Get the fuck out of here!”

He stood completely still, not even his facial expression changed. You got to your feet and scrambled inside, locking the door behind you.

You watched Eren through the window as you attempted to call Hannes but the call refused to go through. Calling the cops crossed your mind but they were always useless so you refrained.

Eren lingered around for about a half an hour before he finally drove off, his car running perfectly.

You didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t even shut an eye. You sat on the floor, your phone dead in your hand. There was still no service. You felt more shut off than ever, haunted by your loneliness and what it made you do. It made you sick. Nausea plagued you all night, the lingering feeling of his hands on your body made the room spin. It was all too much to bear.

When you saw Eren drive up at dawn you barely had a reaction. You were too tired to be afraid. He got out of his car, still in the same outfit, his stringy hair hanging in his face. The sun shined behind him and his features seemed distorted in the early morning light. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or maybe there was something truly wrong with this man.

He sat on the hood of his car, staring at the front door. You were sure he could see through it, see your pathetic form on the floor. You hoped he’d leave, but he didn’t.

He sat there for an hour before you finally decided to peek your head out the door.

“Hey, baby, did you miss me?”

“No,” you said, opening the door completely.

“You invitin’ me in?”

“Absolutely not. Stay back.”

There wasn’t much space between you and Eren. The front lawn was of average size and it’s not like the sidewalk was very wide. He could snatch you up easy.

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesced.

“What do you want?”

He batted his eyelashes at you, clearly trying to disarm you.

“Come take a ride with me.”

“You’re insane. No. Now go.”

You pointed at the road. You tried to mirror how your mother told off overzealous evangelists that pounded on her door every so often.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well I’m not leaving this house,” you said firmly.

“What do you think I’m gonna do to you, huh?”

“I saw what was in your car.”

“I keep a lotta things in there.”

“I called the cops the second you drove up,” you lied.

He smirked.

“They would’ve been here by now. Guess they’re not coming,” he mused, calling your bluff.

“I called Hannes too and my mom. The—they’re gonna be here soon.”

“Your mom’s out of the country last time I checked.”

“How—”

“And if I remember correctly the little jammer I set up shoulda been blocking your cell signal. So unless you got a landline you haven’t called shit.”

You wanted to puke.

“I—I—why?”

“Look at you,” he cheered. “Such a cutie, and so alone!”

He got up off the hood of his car and opened the door to the backseat.

“Hop in.” He said with a sick smile on his face.

“No, I’m not going.”

“You want me to grab you by the hair and force you in? I will if I have to.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’ll rip that shit from your scalp. Wouldn’t bother me any,” he sneered. “I’d still fuck you.”

“I have a gun.”

Another lie. You didn’t have any weapons, not even a kitchen knife. You were defenseless.

“You think I’m afraid of some little slut with a gun? Get in the car.”

Tears fell from your eyes, but you didn’t make a sound. You just stared at the ground.

“Come on, it’s only a ride.”

“Okay,” you said in a small voice.

“Hmm?” Eren’s eyes widened.

“I’ll go. I just wanna grab some things. That okay?”

He nodded and you scurried inside. You grabbed your bag and tossed your wallet in it. Eren stood outside, checking his phone. You frantically yanked your phone charger from the wall and tossed it in along with your phone.

The sun still hung low in the sky. Eren honked his horn an obnoxious amount of times, each iteration filling you with more and more anxiety. You flung the back door open and hopped over the fence, your sock catching on it. Your ankle twisted ever so slightly.

“Sh—shit,” you groaned.

Eren continued to honk his horn. You stood up and sprinted away from the yard, your ankle throbbing the whole time. You knew civilization was in the other direction, but so was Eren. Avoiding him was more important. Escape was what you wanted, safety be damned. Every inch of the development was tainted with his presence, even your mother’s home. You knew running into the shadows of the mountains was a bad idea, but you didn’t care. You’d run forever if you had to.

Don't ask me for a part 2, y/n died of exposure. xoxo gossip finn

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #.fics #.aot #.eren #x reader #reader insert

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rhettabbotts · 2 years

Note

❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜ with rhett hehehe

pairing: rhett abbott x bartender!reader

w/c: 646

warnings: none. fluff. drinking. terrible flirting (affectionately).

He was so mysterious - if that was the right word to describe the cowboy that was quickly becoming a regular.

He sat in the same corner booth every time he came in. Every other Saturday, nine o’clock, leaving at eleven. Two shots of whiskey and a beer. He kept his hat - sometimes a baseball cap, sometimes a worn out Stetson - pulled low on his head, like he was hiding. From what, you hadn’t figured that out yet.

You knew a little about him. Some mumbles from the other regulars told you he was an Abbott, whatever that meant. He was a bull rider, which explained the bruises and the sling he was wearing on his left arm the other week.

He never smiled. You never got so much as a twitch when you would pour his whiskey. He was handsome - devilishly so - and he made you nervous. You felt your throat constrict every time the doorbell rang and his tall stature walked up to the bar.

Nine o’clock on the dot. The bell rings and in walks ‘Abbott’. For a Saturday night, it was fairly slow. A few patrons here and there would filter in and out but the bar was nearly empty. The heels of his cowboy boots clicked against the wooden floor and your heart raced as he tipped his hat towards you.

You busied yourself getting his whiskey and beer. As you turned around, you saw him sitting at the bar.

“Good evenin’,” his voice rumbled, low and scratchy and all kinds of hot in a way that made your blood boil.

“Corner booth.” It slipped out before you could stop yourself and you mentally slapped your forehead. Real smooth.

“Excuse me?”

“You usually sit in that corner booth back there. I just - I didn’t expect to see you sitting here,” you fumbled over your words. You didn’t even know his first name and he made you nervous.

“Oh. Right. Am I that predictable?” The cowboy questioned.

“You’ve been coming here for the past two months and that’s where you always go. Two shots of Jack Daniels and a Rainier.”

“I’ll take a Guinness tonight,” he said, a hint of amusement behind his tone. Still no smile.

Just as you started pouring his beer, a few people entered the bar and you left him sitting there to take their orders. He sipped on the foamy liquid as he watched you work, his eyes burning into the back of your head.

You returned to him once they were settled, determined to learn more about this man that sat at your bar.

“So, Mr. Rodeo Man… you got a name or is it just Abbott?” You asked as you wiped down the wooden surface.

“Rhett.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Rhett,” you said cheerfully as you extended a hand towards him, introducing yourself to him as he gripped your palm. “You want another one of those?” He nodded as he peeled away the label on the beer bottle.

“I meet a lot of cowboys, but you’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen.” That was not your smoothest pickup line but you couldn’t help yourself. And there it was, the smallest flash of a dimple.

“You trying to flatter me?”

“Is it working?”

“Might be,” he said before cracking a full smile. It was a lopsided grin that you wanted to see forever.

“You know what, Rhett? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. No, I know I’ve never seen you smile.”

“I don’t do it often,” he said, shrugging as he took a swig of his drink.

“Well, you should. Happiness suits you.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Rhett felt like happiness was pretty close. Perhaps it was standing right in front of him behind the bar, wiping down a glass and grinning at him over their shoulder.

#shelby’s sleepover #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott fluff #rhett abbott drabble

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quanticowrites · 1 year

Text

This is a fine mess we're in Pt. 2 (Henry Standing Bear x Reader)

•• I hope there's at least one person out there enjoying this story! Find Part one here! Thanks! ••

He turned off all the lights in the bar, except for a rotating Rainier Beer sign, leaving the place just lit enough for the three of you to see. If you tried looking in through the windows though…you’d have no luck. Henry installed Rain Glass windows to keep the atmosphere of the bar quiet. Especially if a brawl broke out outside. That way it wasn’t his problem. When the sun hit the windows just right it made such a beautiful pattern across the dining area.

“Justin, come out with your hands up.” Walt’s voice boomed. The Absaroka County Sheriff didn’t get to use that MegaPhone of his much. You supposed that was a good thing. “If you come out right now I can talk with the DA about taking the death penalty off the table.” The phone started to ring. “That’s me. Pick it up and we’ll talk.”

“Sheriff Longmire,” Justin put the receiver to his ear. “A pleasure. Let me tell you how this is going to work.” He pulled up a bar stool and made himself comfortable. “First, you’re gonna get me an ambulance to the hospital. No replacing EMTs with any police officers. After that, you get me a helicopter to fly out of there, and maybe I won’t kill these two.” He chuckled. “Unlike that security guard at the bank. You know he got a round-off on me?” He took a deep breath. “Hurts like you wouldn’t believe.” Walt could believe it. He’d been shot before, more than once. “You go ahead and work on that then.” He put the phone down. “Let’s see if he makes me kill you two or not.”

Justin smirked before looking over. His eyes met yours and you felt a pit in your stomach. You found yourself leaning into Henry’s side more. “How about we have a little fun, sweetheart? I won’t be as rough as usual.” He rounded the bar and Henry jumped up, stepping forward and putting himself between you and Justin.

“You touch her, you will die where you stand.” Justin blinked, surprised by Henry’s outburst. Then he smiled again.

“Ah, she must be your honey, huh? Well, you’ll find it, Mister, that I do what I want.” He went to brush past Henry, but Henry wasn’t going to let that happen. He gave him a sucker punch right to his bullet wound. The noise that came from him didn’t sound human as he stepped back but managed to stay on his feet. The gun dropped from his hand. Henry went for another punch and was able to force him back against a table, sending chairs you’d put up earlier to the ground at their feet. Justin tripped backward on a chair and landed hard on his shoulder. Your eyes went for the gun and back to Justin. He started to try and stand while you found yourself rising to your feet and heading for the gun. He saw what you were doing and dove for the gun too, both your hands wrapping around either end of it. You didn’t know what to do as you and he started to fight for it, hands going over hands, not paying attention to where it was pointed, or if anyone’s finger was on the trigger-

BAM!

It was like lightning had struck your hand as you screamed, dropping the gun and pulling your hand back from where it had been around the barrel. You hissed at the pain before reeling back.

“(Y/n)!” Henry sounded like he was almost a mile away with how fast your blood was roaring through your ears. “(Y/n)!” You jump as you get turned around. Henry looked you up and down. “Were you shot? Does it hurt anywhere?” You tried to take a deep breath so you could answer him, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate. They felt heavy and it was as if they’d sunk deeper into your chest. You brought up your hand and he sighed, leaning back on his knees. He looked behind you and you went to turn before he grabbed your wrist and kept your gaze forward. “He is dead. You do not need to see that.”

“I’ve got some burn cream back at the station if you and (Y/n) are up for a ride.” You jumped again. When had Walt gotten in here? Was it when you were fighting for the gun? Henry looked back at you.

“Are you up for that?” You flexed your hand and hissed before attempting another deep breath. This time, your body cooperated.

“Yeah.” You stated, and you could see Henry’s shoulders physically relax.

He stood up and offered you his hand. He smiled and you felt the blush return to your face.

“This is a fine mess we are in.” There was no doubt about that.

Tag list:

(Want to be added or removed? Just ask!)

@stanathanxoox , @nikkiwierden , @malindacath , @havlindzk , @countrygal17a , @memyselfandmaddox , @octobersmog , @mizzezm , @diaryofafan17 , @emmitheacefangirl , @a-sad-excuse-of-everything , @marennnx

#henry standing bear #Henry standing bear x reader #Longmire

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spicysix · 1 year

Text

「eddie munson X gn!reader • roadtrip!AU」

3k words | prev | masterlist | ao3 warnings: all the touristy informations were taken from this amazing video. if stuff changed between 1980, when the video was made, and '86, well, we'll ignore that! songs of the chapter: the last in line - dio • the first day in august - carole king author's note: it's over :( i had the best time writing this fic, it's my baby, has been my main focus since the beginning of this year and i'm so very proud of having written, posted and finished it. thank you so much to everyone who liked, reblogged and commented. this fic means the world to me. love you all and see you soon!

Friday, August 1

Eddie took you to Seattle.

As you and him had gone to sleep early the day before, after all the activity tired you out, you both woke up naturally before the sun had even risen. Eddie thought it was a good idea to go ahead and get going to your next destination so you could arrive extra early and enjoy the day better.

He was saying that based on the thought that you’d move on after that, head to another new place; but the minute you passed Bellevue and crossed the first bridge to Mercer Island, the soft drizzle cleaning the dusty van and cooling the weather, you looked at Eddie and his face seemed different. He had a new glow to his eyes that you hadn’t seen before so far, a smile was slowly pulling his lips upwards as he stared at the city around him in awe.

And you just knew, somehow.

He wasn’t going anywhere after that.

He drove around for a good while before finding a neighborhood that didn’t look so expensive and a motel that you could afford with the rest of your government money. You still had a nice portion of it, but you knew his was running out, and the prospect of staying in Seattle indefinitely just grew with that. The drizzle had stopped by the time you found a place to stay, and the two of you took turns showering before deciding to go out and see more of the city.

He wanted to explore by foot again and you couldn’t say no to his big pleading eyes so you agreed. The motel reception offered tourist brochure guides just like the one in Sioux did, so you grabbed one on your way out. You and Eddie walked some blocks hand in hand before getting in the first bus headed downtown, and you memorized the number so you’d know how to get back later. Seattle was the biggest city you’ve been to so far in the trip, and the chances of getting lost were higher so you had to pay attention. It wouldn’t stop you from encouraging Eddie’s exploring, though.

You walked around a few more blocks before deciding to follow the brochure’s hint of getting a monorail ride. The monorail made no stops as it was a short ride to the Space Needle, and you and Eddie weren’t the only tourists on it, pointing at the windows to the pretty views of downtown Seattle.

Of course, you caught the elevator to the top of the Space Needle, embracing your tourist selves, and almost lost track of time at the observation deck. The weather had cleared out completely, and you marveled at the almost perfect view of Mount Rainier. It felt like the clouds left as you arrived just so you were able to see it.

“I’ve been to Chicago and Indy, and I know they’re both bigger, but this looks huge,” he said as you were staring at the buildings. You asked him when he’s been to those cities. “I went to Indy last year, a concert. And Wayne took me to Chicago on his last work trip as a truck driver before he settled at the plant when I started living with him.”

You hummed at his answer. “My grandma took me to Chicago too. The month before she passed away. It makes me have mixed feelings about the city because it was so weird and twice as heartbreaking how well she was during our trip, and how fast she got sick and died. But it’s also the place where I made a lot of my happiest memories with her.”

Eddie didn’t answer you, and you honestly didn’t expect him to. But he stepped closer to you and his shoulder pressed to yours as he intertwined your pinky finger with his. He smiled at you, a sweet comforting thing, and you rested your head against his shoulder as the two of you watched the city for a few more minutes.

Eddie wanted to visit the Science Center after you left the Space Needle, so you headed there next and occupied the last bit of your morning. The ticket fees weren’t cheap, but there were so many interesting exhibits inside that it paid off. Eddie was jiggling with excitement, and you walked behind him at all times as he admired and contemplated everything. He couldn’t get you tickets to the planetarium, but you promised him that you’d go another day, and he looked radiant — maybe catching the undertone that you’d be staying in Seattle longer.

You left the museum headed east until you ended up at a park at the southernmost point of Lake Union. You wandered around and there was a huge History museum, the ticket fees cheaper than the Science Center ones and Eddie actually liked History more than he liked Science, so you convinced him to get inside that one too.

And, what a great idea that was.

The Museum’s core exhibit was a full, detailed story of Seattle and you watched closely as Eddie got enthralled with everything about The Emerald City. As he read and learned about the Fire of 1889, and how so many things were destroyed and rebuilt, he touched the scars on his jaw, and you understood how that story got to him personally. Someone passing by saw it, saw him, and his scars, and stared openly and rudely. Eddie was too engrossed still reading the exhibit’s panels to realize he was being stared at, but you glared at them from behind Eddie’s back until they left.

The Museum visit took up the first couple of hours of your afternoon, and you left it and started searching for a place for a late lunch. Eddie told you all about what he had learned, retold you everything the exhibit taught him about Seattle, and you honestly weren’t as enamored with it as he was, but you didn’t mind him rambling about it for hours. Actually, for as long as he wanted to talk, you would happily listen. You might’ve not been that much enamored by Seattle, but you were definitely growing enamored with Eddie Munson.

Your belly swirled by that thought alone.

After some good walking, you ended up closer to the bay and found a place to eat, somewhere with Seattle specialties. It was a small restaurant, not as expansive as the ones by the docks, and you and Eddie tried a few different options of fish, salmons specially, he even tried a sample of oysters.

You left the restaurant and walked towards the waterfront, to the docks and the pier, and Eddie looked amazed to see the bay. You wanted to take him further west, to the sea, watch his reaction to the ocean — but you figured you’d have plenty of time in the future to get there.

The touristy attractions in that area were all alluring, and you chose and paid for a ferry tour. It lasted a little bit over an hour and took you to Bainbridge Island and back. Eddie kept growing mesmerized by the hour, observing the water, the other ferries, the people. And you kept observing him.

A few seagulls surrounded the pier as you returned, and Eddie looked amazed even by them as if he was under a love spell for everything about Seattle.

“Thought you were terrified of all kinds of wildlife?” you teased him, poking him with your elbow and he cackled.

“Guess I lost my fear of many things in the last ten days,” he answered when he finished laughing, throwing his arm around your shoulder as he pulled you back downtown.

You went to a local coffee shop, a funny looking logo that Eddie explained to you, with all his fantasy knowledge, was a two-tailed siren. Got your coffees to go, sat on a bench in a random park and kept people-watching in silence as you drank your beverages.

Eddie spoke up after a few minutes. “I don’t want to go back,” he admitted.

You turned to look at him, but he kept looking forward. The fingers of his free hand were pulling at a loose thread in his jeans, his feet tapping repeatedly. You knew he was nervous. At your reaction, maybe? You almost thought it was funny.

Didn’t he know you’d follow him anywhere by now?

You placed your free hand on top of his, stopping him from ruining his pants further.

“Then you don’t go back,” you assured him.

You almost said we, but all of a sudden you were hit by a wave of uncertainty if he wanted you with him. You didn’t want to assume, or impose, bother him with your complications. So you just comforted him, put your bad thoughts aside.

He smiled widely at you, though, so your chest felt less constricted.

“I’ve always wanted to leave Hawkins, but even more so after Spring Break.” He looked around again, contemplating the buildings. “I feel like I get to start over now.”

You nodded, hummed, and tightened your grip on his leg, rested your head on his shoulder. He let out a deep, relieved sigh, and you were content to be there with him, even if it didn’t last forever. It had been good enough. It had been amazing.

Once you were done with your coffees, you went back to walking around. Eddie acted as if he had never left his house before, and you thought it would become annoying at some point, but his happiness was contagious. You couldn’t be mad at him for finally feeling free. It was the whole idea behind his runaway plan in the first place, wasn’t it? The road trip had no destination, but Eddie arrived at his own destination anyway.

He dragged you inside a bakery for a dessert treat, dragged you inside a bookstore for a new fantasy novel now that he’d have time to read one, dragged you into a quirky little shop for a tiny rainbow pin he promptly attached to the collar of his battle jacket, dragged you to a guy selling postcards — you’d have a lot to tell your friends on your next stop at a post office, you thought.

He dragged you to a new record store. “Think we need more tapes,” he said, and you laughed at his enthusiasm. Neither of you needed new tapes, definitely. Your collection was big enough, but once again you couldn’t deny him.

There was a good number of different tapes there, new music for both of you to discover and enjoy. Eddie, almost completely out of the shell he had created after March, made friends with the other shoppers and the metalhead employee. You stood back and listened to their conversations.

“You’re going to The Central tonight?” the worker asked one of the shoppers leaning on the counter, a friend of his it seemed. “That band you liked will be playing again, I heard.”

The guy seemed excited by it and turned to talk to Eddie about it as the worker rang Eddie’s tapes. “You should go check it out. Those guys are a crazy thing, never heard anything like it.”

“As if punk and metal were smashed together and came out better somehow,” the worker added and his friend nodded, laughing.

He wrote down the place and time to the tavern gig and handed the note to Eddie with his bag full of tapes.

“I’ll see you there,” Eddie said as you both left the store.

You looked at the note over his arm and told him you’d probably have the time to go back to the motel and get ready before coming back for the gig. He agreed and asked a passerby about the bus, you provided him the number, and the local told you where you should catch it.

It wasn’t too long before you were back in your rented room, taking turns showering and getting dressed. Eddie really spruced himself up, found an eyeliner at the bottom of his bag, a beautiful leather jacket and amazing combat boots. He looked so confident, radiant. Gleaming bright, and you were a mere spectator to all of his blinding glow.

You got your best accessories and clothes to wear too, not to stay too far behind him as you dressed to the nines.

The receptionist at the motel called you a cab and when you arrived at the Central Tavern, there was a little crowd of people already waiting in line to get inside. Good thing you and Eddie both had fake IDs to show the bouncer, and you drank a couple of beers before the band went up the stage.

Not even two minutes into their music, you saw it happen. You thought you’d seen the last of that sparkle in Eddie’s eyes, you thought you’d seen the peak of it, but he kept surprising you. It had happened first when you crossed the bridge that morning, it had happened again in the History Museum, but neither of those times it was shining as bright as it did when Eddie felt the music.

The songs were, one after another, gloomy, melancholic, desperate, bitter. The lyrics told of running, of being hunted, of crying and screaming, of pleading and criticizing, of trying and failing, of trying and flying and leaving and feeling free. The words, the heavy basslines, the loud drums and the slashing guitar solos — they all ran through your ears and straight to your gut.

Eddie’s eyes were glued to the band and your eyes were glued to him.

His mouth was hanging open in awe, a few tears wetting his cheeks as the songs kept playing, his hand grasping yours in the tightest of grips, he was almost shaking.

You knew it, then.

You knew he had found whatever it was that he’d been searching for.

Eddie was truly, undoubtedly, unquestionably at home.

The gig ended and he clapped the loudest. Went ahead and talked to the musicians for a good while. You backed away to the bar again, watched him in his element.

When he got back to you he was smiling wide and his eyes were still wet. He was overwhelmed with emotions and you smiled as he hugged you tight for a couple of minutes before gripping your hand again and pulling you towards the door.

“Wanna walk a bit,” he said.

“Aren’t you tired?” you asked, your own feet aching a little from all the walking you’d done through the day. He just shrugged, still smiling.

He was silent as you walked to the waterfront again, north until you reached the piers. The last few ferries of the night were the only thing you could see in the water, tiny little things in their slow paces. It was beautiful, you could admit it.

Your head was spinning.

You could feel he had something to say, was preparing for it, and you were afraid of what it could be. At the end of the pier, Eddie leaned against the metallic fence and stared ahead at the water, still quiet. You were trying to give him the time to process his emotions, cause you knew he just had what was probably a huge realization, but your mind was spiraling.

“I want to stay here,” he finally said after what felt like hours of silence.

“Do you want me to go back?” you asked immediately. His head snapped to face you so fast you were afraid he sprained his neck.

“What?” he asked, searching for something in your eyes. You could feel them burning.

“Do you want me to go back?” you repeated.

Do you want me to leave you?

Or do you want me to stay with you?

Where do you want me? Point me to wherever, and I’ll follow.

“We gotta talk, right?” you asked instead. “We don’t wanna complicate it, right, so we gotta talk. I’m talking, I’m asking: do you want me to go back to Hawkins?”

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. “Why would I want that? Do you want to go?”

You shook your head furiously. “I don’t want to go. I want to give you space if you want it, to settle in, to find yourself.”

His eyes softened. He turned to face you fully, and you mirrored him. He grabbed your hand again, cupped your jaw and caressed your cheeks.

“I don’t want space. I want you.” He smiled and wiped away the lonely tear that escaped your eye. “Nothing with you, nothing about you is complicated. There’s no complicating this, no complicating us. We’re as simple as breathing. You make it so. I’m so glad you invaded my van and came with me, baby. You’ve no idea how glad I am. We’ve been through so much, we’ve come so far and I’m not talking just about all the miles we’ve traveled.”

You let out a wet laugh. The knot in your chest loosened and you couldn’t hold in a sob. He smiled wider, knowing it was happy crying. He brought you closer, touched his forehead to yours.

“We had so many adventures and experiences and I feel- I know there’s still so much waiting for us out there,” he pointed to the city to your side, before grabbing your hand again. You didn’t take your eyes off of him, though. “The whole world is ours now, it can start right here, and I want you with me. Our adventure just began.”

“There’s many more to come, right?” you asked.

“Many more to come, baby,” he answered, leaned in to kiss you, smiling against your lips and you knew it, then. You knew you had found whatever it was that you’d been searching for.

You were truly, undoubtedly, unquestionably at home.

Eddie was your home.

You couldn’t wait for all your tomorrows with him.

taglist: @amira0303 @rupsmorge @wyverntatty @inourtownofhawkins

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #lui writes #ifligh

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silly-little-soul · 2 years

Note

Hi! Hope you're having a good day/night! I'd like to ask for HCs (or whatever format you're cool with!) for Casimir, maybe something just like how he would spend the day with MC when they're not working on the House?

Romantic is fine! I hope that's not too vague of a request! Thanks! :)

A/N - Hey, I’m so sorry for the wait I finished this weeks ago but forgot about it I’m sorry ;-; hope you enjoy! (Also thank you really much for being my first Tumblr request)

(I’ll fix the format of this post when I have my laptop later today)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fandom: Fictif, Monster Manor

Format: headcanons

Type: Fluff, a bit comedy

Warnings: none I can think of

Summary: spending time with Casimir

Relationship: Casimir x Reader (Written as romantic but save for like one all work platonically)

Characters featured: Casimir, briefly Mimi and the house, Rainier mentioned

Note: maybe OOC, some of these are kind of far fetched (Also I didn't read any of the paid scenes so I’m sorry if I got something canon wrong)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renovating is pretty exhausting so of course a lot of work means a lot of rest. There's many ways to do so such as sitting down with some tea and snacks, reading together or to each other, cuddling or watching movies; either way you spend this time together quite often

speaking of movies, movie and show nights! At first at least there might be more of Casimir nerding over the technology than watching though /hj. Someone just please show this man the Beauty and the Beast. Or Transformers. First one is self explanatory, second one I just think would be funny. Also maybe Howls moving castle. That might be super far fetched but I think he'd like studio Ghibli.

Bonding with Mimi! Casimir really wants to gain back her trust and having you be there calms him Mimi. Though it's better than it used to be already there's still some tension between them and you're definitely helping. You also get to spend time with both of them so that's definitely a win!

You cannot convince me this man doesn't go into hour long rants and rambles about his interests after you asked one simple question. He can get pretty lost in it once he started and tends to get a little embarrassed about it once he realises. Cmon, he was all by himself for multiple centuries, he's not used to people being around. You encouraging him to go on, asking questions or referencing things he told you later on means a lot to him.

Of course it goes both ways, he absolutely loves listening to you talk, especially about things you're passionate about and will try to bring it up again later or engage in your hobbies with you together. He genuinely wants to know about you and your interests, for one he hasn't really heard from/about anyone else for a very long time (not counting cats and buildings) and also you're, of course he wants to hear everything you have to say

Okay okay okay this one's my personal favourite: hide and seek. I actually might write a whole own thing about that at some point soon because it'd just be so much fun! The house is quite big with super many hiding spaces. Now it's not something he'd suggest and yeah it might take some force persuasion to convince him but if you ask him really really nicely hell probably say yes, or just annoy him till he agrees (even more effective if Rainier joins). Alternatively just hide somewhere so he has no choice but to search (you definitely gave him a heart attack the first time you did that)

Casimir is old fashioned (I mean- how wouldn't he be) so your regular date nights are pretty classic. Usually it's a romantic dinner (brought to you by The House TM), sometimes it's dancing (like that one paid scene(? Is there one? Or am I mixing something up? Idk); he was taught to be a gentleman and he's gonna use that /hj

Bringing him modern things from shopping trips. It started off by you bringing him something he was curious about after you mentioned it and quickly developed into a habit of you bringing him trinkets whenever you're out. His curiosity makes you much more aware of how interesting even little thins can be and soon turned to you coming back from trips out the house with a bag of things like toys, gadgets and other fun things from the dollar store or similar. You then spend the day looking at what you brought, how it works and so on. Imagine spending the day with Casimir trying out a bunch of toys you bought or found with your old stuff (the type for children, don't think wrong here)

adding onto this because I love the idea of doing fun childish things with him (you'd have to be the one to initiate them though, potentially ‘force’ him, but he secretly enjoys it). Silly sleepovers with pillow forts, movies, teeny magazines (I want to just hand this guy a stack of these teen magazines and see what happens so bad), and snacks!

related a bit to the one above but spa days! He definitely needs some more self care. I do kinda think he likes stuff as skincare and and used to have a routine (nobility and stuff) he likely had to cut short or even drop it completely with the house's hostility. But now you're there and not only are there so many products your world has for this, it's also much more fun together, leading to entire days planned only for spa and wellness activities (like doing each other's nails, I have a little theory connected to Casimir and acrylic nails but that's all I'm saying on that)

I feel like I have to say something to end this smoothly sooo Casimir supremacy!!

(Requests open)

#monster manor #monster manor casimir #monster manor casimir x reader #monster manor x reader #fictif monster manor #monster manor fictif #fictif casimir #fictif casimir x reader #ficif #fictif x reader

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hanasnx · 2 years

Text

⿻ FAQ — !

BEFORE YOU INTERACT ༄

"I don't care if we don't sleep at all tonight / Let's just fix this whole thing now." — John Mayer. (2009). Heartbreak Warefare.

彡 personal 「 � 」

about me ¡! ❞

✩ indy ノ he/him ノ gender-fluid ノ demi ノ 22 ノ 18+ blog ✩ characterization consult ✩ personal aesthetic ✩ arm kink aficionado ✩ home of indy green ✩ rom com buff ✩ fave movies ✩ fave tv shows ✩ fave games

✩ i'm very vain and i love praise. inbox messages are my favorite to receive. i try to read and respond to every comment, mention, and reblog.

✩ i have a boyfriend of three years ノ i've been writing my entire life; blog origin story ノ i have two dogs: murphy and daisy, but i'm not a pet person ノ i have a big family ノ you pronounce my user like: hana-es-en-ex; origin ノ i wear glasses and contacts ノ tattoos ノ piercings ノ synesthesia ノ i was named after indiana jones ノ why i write fem ノ face descrip ノ eastern time zone ノ birthday: feb 20; pisces sun, gemini moon, virgo rising.

✩ i can't enjoy the horror and mostly thriller genre because i'm extremely susceptible to paranoia ノ i do not have a favorite genre of music, i like all music genres in phases; favorite songs; favorite music artists ノ fandoms

✩ favorite color: phthalo green, teal, any color between green and blue ノ favorite mythical animal: dragons ノ favorite non-mythical animal: horses, tigers ノ favorite fruit: white peaches, strawberries, rainier cherries ノ favorite fictional character: batman; favorite batman ノ hobbies: writing smut, playing video games, watching tv

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blog cw ¡! ❞

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accounts ¡! ❞

✩ @hanasnx on wattpad, ao3, pinterest ✩ @adventuresnx: adventure time theme & posts ✩ @blossomsnx: girlsona & fem reader posts ✩ @novasnx: mass effect theme & posts ✩ @firesofmustafar: anakin skywalker rp blog

indy-words ¡! ❞

✩ glossary

彡 interaction 「 � 」

✩ dni: AI users of any kind that includes AI character chats, tag cloggers (don't tag your life updates with "x reader" fuck off). ✩ do not copy or translate my work and do not copy or translate my work onto any other sites. this is the only site my work is available on. besides a portuguese translation on wattpad. will link when i have it. ✩ do not steal my themes or layouts. ✩ ask my permission to elaborate on my ideas in a separate post, or elaborate on those ideas in a reblog of my post. do not just take my idea and post your elaboration about it on your own blog, that is what the reblog button is for. ✩ if you are directly inspired by my work, credit me by @ in your post. ✩ ask my permission to use one of my au's.

彡 my au's 「 � 」

✩ sk!anakin ✩ adultfilm!/pornstar!anakin ✩ baby daddy!anakin ✩ 6’7!anakin

✩ dark!hayden ✩ work dad!hayden ✩ baby daddy!hayden

✩ baby daddy!jason

✩ baby daddy!hak

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what characters do you write for? ¡! ❞

✩ here's a definitive list of every character i've ever written, character's i'd like to write for, etc. ✩ thirst for whoever you want in the inbox at any time after you read my rules. ✩ sometimes i'll announce a character/scenario i'm into and would like to hear from you about, so check my announcements tag for any recent info.

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how'd you get the green text? ¡! ❞

✩ bbcode & html text colorizer | follow the prompts -> copy the bottom box aka the "html code" -> go to tumblr on desktop -> create post -> click top right gear for settings -> scroll down to "text editor" to select "html" -> paste your clipboard -> scroll up to the select "html" or "preview" to both edit html and see how it looks after you do.

how'd you put links in your bio? ¡! ❞

✩ go to tumblr on desktop -> go to the blog settings -> copy: <a href="[insert link here]">[text you want the link to be attached to here]</a> for example, mine would look like: <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/hanasnx/697970103257530368/about">影</a> -> click "edit appearance" in blog settings -> paste in bio section and edit accordingly. the "accent" color of your blog will be the color of the link in your bio.

how do you edit your photos to indy green? ¡! ❞

✩ go to your photo editing app, i use picsart -> pick a plain image -> completely cover the plain image with the color of your choice completely -> save it. -> pick your image you want to edit -> open it in picsart -> on the bottom panel, scroll until you see "add photo" and click it -> pick the plain color image you made earlier and add it -> cover your image completely with color image but do not apply it yet -> click "blend" on bottom panel -> choose "overlay." -> open your layers in the top right -> select the non-plain-color image -> scroll bottom panel until you find "adjust" click it -> play around with the saturation, more often than not i get rid of all saturation, but sometimes i leave muted color accents of my choice by using the eraser tool and changing its opacity. -> once you're satisfied with its adjustments whether it's contrast or saturation you adjusted, click "apply" -> open layers again, and use the eraser tool at the top to erase any spots of the color image you think are too heavy. you can change the eraser opacity and hardness for a softer blend -> once satisfied, click "apply" -> save it. you're done.

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✩ anakin skywalker song albums ✩ anakin skywalker + muse ✩ playlist masterlist for anakin, vader, hayden, star wars, etc ✩ anakin skywalker + brutus lyrics

彡 tv 「 � 」

✩ hayden christensen watchlist ✩ anakin skywalker watchlist

彡 star wars info 「 � 」

✩ i am not a star wars fan, i'm just a darth vader fan and everything that comes with him. ✩ i only care about lucas saga. the contents of the original trilogy, the prequels, some comics, some video games, and some books. disney sw is fine sometimes, but not the text i go off of. ✩ hayden christensen's depiction in attack of the clones, and revenge of the sith is my favorite and the definitive anakin skywalker characterization. that is my personal opinion that shows through in my blog. ✩ i am not an anakin/vader apologist.

彡 credits 「 � 」

✩ profile/header picture: pinterest

✩ navi pictures: pinterest ✩ edited by me: picsart

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彡 disclaimers 「 � 」

✩ i do not own the images of the characters or the characters themselves (unless stated “oc”) on the panels or in fics, i only write them in fictional scenarios.

NAVI | M.LIST | RULES

updated 9.07.24

#navigation #indy: edits #faq #bfy #dni #about me #indy: song recs #pinterest #writing tips #firesofmustafar

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jolapeno · 3 months

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20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

prev chapter | series masterlist

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales

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attapullman · 8 months

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I must know more about Ranch Hands and Slutty Bucklebunnies (working title) / rhett

(I’m already sold off the working title, lol)

alexa, my love!

listen, there is a shocking lack of rhett x bucklebunny!reader content on this hellsite and it must be rectified.

it's the middle of summer and local rodeo season - the only time he gets to not worry about placing. after his last ride he's setting off for the bar, ready to pound a Rainier and Seagram's shot, to celebrate. his comrades are all entertaining bucklebunnies, but he's too focused on a good ride.

that is until he comes back from the toilets and a bucklebunny with a bone to pick is sitting in his seat.

😈

#letters to mo #sometimesanalice 🪩#rhett

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nirikeehan · 1 year

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Fic writer asks! 10, 18, 25

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

So I really didn't expect readers to ship Thalia x Samson as hard as they seem to. I think that's the big one. For every scene I write where I think he's being as gross and vile as humanly possible, someone is commenting admitting they ship it. 🤣 I mean, I'm into it, I just love screaming about how wrong it is the entire time.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

I've shared one already in a different ask, but here's another! Rylen and Cullen discussing the Templar Order and those who join it in A Little Grace, and Some Elegance:

---

Sensing his troubled thoughts, Rylen cleared his throat. “Seems to me, Knight-Commander, there’s two types of people who join our ranks. Some, like you and me, want to make the world a better place.” Cullen shot him a sharp look; they’d spent too many late nights together despairing the degeneration of the Order for Rylen to espouse such an uncritical view. His Knight-Captain quickly added, “Though it is debatable whether we’ve succeeded, despite our best efforts.”

Cullen let out a slow breath. “And?”

“Some people just like wielding power and a sword.” Rylen cocked his head. “Which type do you reckon your friend Samson is?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t know him.”

---

I wrote this awhile ago but I still think Rylen's assessment of Samson is the best one I've come up with so far. And I love how defensive Cullen gets over it.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Oh yeah, there's definitely times when I need to walk off the stuff I've been writing. When Samson's being particularly manipulative I feel more drained than other times, but also more proud of what I've written. Anything that's particularly dark, morally grey, or dealing with trauma or addiction (stuff I write about a lot with these characters!!) tends to be heavier than the fluffy or funny stuff. But also more satisfying, on the whole.

I think the last time I cried writing was during the last chapter I wrote for Kingdom Come - ironically right after the smut lmao. Thalia has a really joyous, long-awaited sexual encounter with Thom Rainier and then feels terrible guilt over it because Cullen, her husband, is so recently deceased. He comforts her and tells her she doesn't need to feel ashamed about it. That just really hit me right the feels – it was just such a nice moment of emotional intimacy after physical intimacy that I don't see depicted much in fiction.

#ask meme #writing nonsense

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onenettvchannel · 5 months

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OneNETnews EDITORIAL: ONC Holdings temporarily shifting to Online Mode for Summer Season - A Message of Gratitude and Hope for the Future in Negros Oriental and to the world

(Written by Rhayniel Saldasal Calimpong / Editorial Columnist, Freelance News Writer, Online Media Reporter and Presenter of OneNETnews)

DUMAGUETE, NEGROS ORIENTAL -- Tonight is my last newscast for OneNETnews by this Wednesday night (April 24th, 2024) during this summer season in the Philippines. We start our small and independent news organization around a decade ago in the 2010s as my part-time job for journalism in the undergraduate elementary and high school person via Internet Café and here at home in the City of Gentle People.

Because of extreme mental issues and financial constraints from our end, relating to Asperger's Syndrome, the worries about money that they can't afford to donate thru our own non-profit organization 'ONC Foundation', and less likely to attract potential clients or website visitors on us in the unreachable low audience or skipping the algorithm points in every news, religion and entertainment content possible… We are switching temporarily into online news publishing mode in all platforms, which in context to read like a digital newspaper from a portable document file (PDF). In short, we go all full-time to go online and to monetize content for the news readers themselves.

One of the best shocking moments in history, as the ratings goes off the roof from our beloved news readers worldwide, from our social media partners at 'The X Network' (formerly Twitter) goes to Cartoonshi in the United Kingdom. The only notorious anti-reviewer and a toxic YouTuber for the alleged animated fandom wars tackling in and exposing cartoon communities of 'The Loud House', as featured exclusively on OneNETnews Investigates.

But today as unfortunate, Cartoonshi understands that they have no longer interest on both Nickelodeon franchises between TLH and The Casagrandes despite brazenness of hate, yet to target to harass all the show creators in his violent way possible and refusing to make any apology as of this press time. Much after that, we moved on to our next headline story, and the rest is history in the entire Q1 2024.

Today, as we found out unexpectedly, in the report from GMA News revealing a new research study from the University College London (UCL), worrying or thinking about money problems that can lead to anxiety, depression, heart disease, high blood pressure, yet to anger, and even die early within a few to several weeks. It is said that among the symptoms that money problems in financial constraints like us, becomes a massive health problem are anxiety and headaches, which when overthinking ends up being stressed out.

Clinical psychologist of Manila named Mr. Rainier Salvani Ladic said that 7 out of 10 Filipinos, including yours truly in our news writing for journalism at work have difficulty handling expenses on us. To prevent worrying about money from becoming an illness, Mr. Ladic advises that people should have knowledge of financial management or financial literacy, and have a full-time freelanced job or income to spend from a paid salary source whether online or in-person.

Summer break is now started in the Philippines, as declared by the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration (PAGASA). We are in need to contribute both our internet TV station and news organization, yet it was paywalled for a direct donation to support the news, religion and entertainment content, as well to cover pop culture, events, cartoons, anime, music, and in-real-life happenings here in Negros Island Region (NIR), the Philippines and around the globe.

But for now, this will be our final stop for audiovisual media either on-demand video production and LIVE videos on social media. Because you trusted us for the exclusive news content that you won't find anywhere else… We make new strategies by featuring local and regional advertisers free-of-charge to attract more news readers, and to entertain them.

For one last time, we would like to thank our internet network affiliates with station manager and president of OneNETtv Channel and fictional cartoon character individual of Glitch Techs, Ms. Miko Kubota. President of Equestrian Broadcasters Association, internet broadcasting regulation for ONC, former Radyo Patrol #4 reporter of OneNETnews, and also fictional cartoon character of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic named Princess Twilight Sparkle. Chief Executive Officer and president of 5K Broadcasting Network Inc. (5KBNi) namely Dr. Ramel Ytang Uy for K5 News FM network. And lastly, our president of Radyo Bandera Network 'Mr. Elgin Robert Lamayao Damasco'.

This is not saying goodbye but, we hope to see you later online after the summer break is over. It is gonna be a temporary one for both OneNETtv Channel and OneNETnews, part of our internet broadcasting company of ONC Holdings Incorporated.

-- OneNETnews Team

#fyp #OneNETnews #ONC Holdings #RSC Digital TV News

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