#Liquid Art Brewing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 9 months

Text

caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)

part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.

summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.

tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource

songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?”

“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.”

Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.”

“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff.

“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.”

“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.” The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.

“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.

If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.

He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt.

But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset.

"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?” "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face.

“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.

Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.”

His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”

“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.

“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."

“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.”

“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.”

“I haven’t even told Steve.”

“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.

“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?”

Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”

“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth. “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.

You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?

You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.

"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."

You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.

“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.”

“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.”

“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.

"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.

"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"

"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.

"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.

You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?”

You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.

“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."

“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."

"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.

"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."

"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."

"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."

Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."

"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."

He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."

"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."

"Well it worked so, congrats."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."

"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."

So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.

"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.

"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"

"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"

"Like how I lost Em?"

Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."

Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.

"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"

"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."

"I know..." "So let her know you want it."

They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.

You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.

You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"

You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."

Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."

C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."

"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.

"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."

"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.

He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."

"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."

"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:

she called me babe.

i literally can't even breathe right now.

prev | next

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!steve harrington #stranger things au #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

860 notes · View notes

reddeaddamnation · 5 months

Text

Your future life with the Hogwarts Legacy folks:

Sebastian Sallow

Hogsmeade was magical during Yule. Lights and decorated trees, pretty ornaments hung around the houses and the carols sung all around the village. The snow covered streets brought out a cozy feeling that just made you want to hide in the Three Broomsticks with a warm cup of cocoa or a mug of butterbeer next to the fireplace. Thankfully, you didn't have to think about work these days and you could enjoy a holiday with your husband.

Sirona's smiling face greeted you at the entrance. She hadn't aged at all since you were students. "Well if it isn't mr. and mrs. Sallow." She teased. Contrary to what everyone believed, Sebastian had chose to folllw in his family's footsteps and became an auror, who turned his back on the dark arts and instead opted to fight them. Ominis joked that even though you endorsed him all those years, you became the good influence and prompted a change in him after your wedding.

You, yourself had become a professor in Defense against the dark arts at Hogwarts after professor Hecate's retirement. "Oh, stop the formalities, Sirona, its Y/N and Sebastian." You laughed. "I will always remember the times when you were always getting into trouble." Sirona joked "Look at you now. All grown up. What can I get you?" You made your orders and sat at the table next to the fireplace, enjoying its warmth.

"I don't know when was the last time I told you this but I'll remind you. You're the best thing that happened to me. If it wasn't for you, I don't know where I would be right now." Sebastian looked at you with adoring eyes, a smile on his lips. "Azkaban?" You joked. After sharing a small laugh, he continued. "But...really. You made me a better person, professor Sallow." He smirked. "I'm glad to hear it, chief auror Sallow."

Ominis Gaunt

The ministry was dull and boring as ever. Everyone was so busy and...corporate... You sat at your desk, twiddling around a feather in your hand, wondering what to do, since your work was finished half an hour ago. Wondering if your husband was as workless as you were, you decided to go and check for yourself.

The corridor seemed endless. After finally seeing the door with his name on it, you knocked softly, waiting for an answer. "Minister Gaunt, you have a visitor." You teased him, upon entering. He shot you a welcoming smile, before going back to the papers in front of him. You took a moment to admire him. You always knew he would make it big, despite his disability. He was smart and adaptive. Nothing could stop him from achieving his dreams and you were so proud of him.

You couldn't help but walk over to him and hug him from behind his chair, nuzzling into his neck. "Darling, I have work to do." Ominis kissed your cheek sweetly "I promise, I will not let you go but when we go home." Feeling you pout, he sighed and contemplated for a moment. "My love..." he tried to speak, but you only hugged him stronger. "Just five minutes, Omi, I promise. I'm bored out of my mind." Snaking your body to the front of the chair, you sat on his lap, making him blush. "Ah... Y/N, you do whatever you want with me." Chuckling under his breath, he kissed you passionately, meanwhile casting a spell to lock the door.

Garreth Weasley

An explosion erupted from within your husband's potions shop, making you sigh. No surprise, with all the experiments he was doing and new concoctions he attempted to brew. You walked inside just in time to see Garreth, covered in soot and liquid, frantically trying to clean up the mess he had made.

"Too high temperature?" You asked, smirking. He looked you and scoffed at your amused face. This wasn't the first time you saw him covered in the mess he created. It was even too many to count. So many it didn't make you burst out laughing anymore. Despite that, he had made himself the name of the best potioneer in England with a successful potions shop and even published a book with his own recipes for potions. So to create said new potions, he had to go through trial and error multiple times a day.

"Too many troll boggeys." He answered, eyeing you up and down to find something to get back at you with "And you? A niffler caught your foot?" He pointed at the noticable missing piece of fabric of pants on your lower leg. You on the other hand, pursued your dreams of taking care of beasts to keep the wild populations stable. "Ah, kneezles get too playful sometimes. I think she believed my leg was a toy tree she could climb on." You waved your hand, dismissing concerns "What were you brewing this time?" Garreth sighed, motioning to the mess around his potion station.

"I attempted to create a potion, which could help the user breathe underwater." He explained "Not turn the user into a newt!" Ignoring your laugh, Garreth waved his wand, putting everything was back into place, clean and tidy "So after failed attempt number one, this is the result of attempt number two." He never failed to put a smile on your face though. "Don't worry, love, I'm sure you will get it next time." You reassured, moving closer to him for a hug, but stopped, remembering his... state right now.

Garreth rubbed the back of his neck. "Ahh...let's leave that for later, alright?" He chuckled.

Amit Thakkar

"I found it!" Amit exclaimed, excitedly shifting in his place, barely able to stop himself from jumping. His voice was quivering from the excitement of his discovery. He had been searching every night for some legendary constellation, appearing only once every few hundred years, or that was what the ancient scriptures that lead him on his search said. After realizing the time of appearance was soon, he spent night after night for a whole week staring up at the sky with his telescope with you to keep him company.

"Look!" He gave you the telescope to see for youself and lo and behold, he was right. A constellation you had never seen before right in front of your eyes. The stars glimmered together in the formation of a figure of a sphinx with two heads - a man's and a snake behind it. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you for supporting me in this, my love." He hugged you so tightly and lovingly "Everyone else thought I was crazy!" You giggled "I knew you could do it. You're the best astrologer of our time." You pecked his lips with a smile, making him blush "Ah, you don't have to inflate my ego." He chuckled shyly and averted his gaze. "That's why I married you, Y/N. You believe in me."

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x reader #amit thakkar #amit thakkar x mc #amit thakkar x reader

362 notes · View notes

marimisses · 16 days

Text

teatime

⋆ ࣪. zhongli x reader

contents Ⳋ fluff fluff fluff, mutual pining, zhongli is so smitten ohhhh

a/n : felt nice to write sum fluff for a change :3 i hope you guys like it !!! i had fun writing this lolol

word count: 869

a faint tune played in the background of a teahouse tucked away in qingce village; tea and an aroma of incense clouded your senses.

“it seems as if my invitations to you have become a habit of mine. i hope it isn’t grueling for you,” zhongli speaks, his golden orbs cast upon you. he delicately lifts his teacup to his lips. you shake your head. “nonsense,” you smile, “i’d not rather be anywhere else.” you follow suit, lifting the teacup to your lips and taking a sip. the taste of sugar and tea leaves swarm your mouth; a wonderful taste.

his eyes never ceased to fixate upon you. he was enamored — though his eyes were calm — as if he was gazing upon the moon and the vast night sky, or basking beneath the sun. “would you like another cup?” zhongli’s voice was soft, almost as if he weren’t human. his eyes were filled with a gentle gaze that made you feel warm. his lips curved into a thin upturned smile.

you nod, your eyes shining upon is. “i’d much appreciate that. thank you, zhongli.” his name flows off your tongue like butter. as if it was always meant for you to say. “of course.”

zhongli sets his empty cup, then quietly poured another cup from the kettle, steam rising to the ceiling. zhongli was incredibly focused on the task at hand, but also extremely conscious of your presence. he would glance at you from time to time. you watch his movements with precision, and you wonder how his actions always seemed to be so graceful and flawless.

he hands you your cup, his fingers gently grazing against yours amidst the action. “thank you,” you say, your voice quieter. you didn’t want to distract him, he seemed focused. he notices the shift in your voice, his gaze back to remaining on your face. the way his fingers brushed against yours wasn’t accidental; he didn’t mind the contact, in fact, he was comforted by it. “you are welcome.”

the moment went on quietly, until he cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. he sipped on his tea, his gaze lingering as you set the teacup down on the silver plate that matched. you take a cube of sugar and drops it into the seething liquid, stirring it with the tip of your finger before bringing it to your lips with a hum. you pick it up carefully and take a sip, a sigh. “your tea is always amazing, zhongli.”

he smiles. he doesn’t mind being complimented so regularly, as long as it is from you. “the art of making tea is something i’ve perfected over the eons,” his voice was deep and soft — warm — and a light chuckle leaves him. “tea brings life to the table. i hope it isn’t too strong for you.”

your lips curl into a gentle smile. you love the sound of his voice; baritone and rumbling. comforting. you shake your head. “i’d never refuse tea, especially brewed from the hands of you,” you chuckle. he couldn’t help the way his heart tendered at your words. he chuckles in return, a gesture he had heard from you multiple times before.

your heart beat is ringing in your ears, unbeknownst to him. the way he never fails to extend an invitation toward you for a cup of tea always had you giddy, no less with his voice, his gentleness and his entire being. the way he looked at you had you melting every time. you couldn’t help but wonder — was there something more to this? or were you being delusional?

“how does it taste?” he inquires, his voice gentle as his eyes remained glued to yours, not daring to gaze anywhere else, just in case he would not be met with yours again. you snap from your little daze and clear your throat a bit. “it’s delightful,” you smile, your voice a bit softer as you look at him.

a beat of silence goes by.

“you are beautiful.”

oh. oh. was this happening? were you hearing things correctly?

he watched your cheeks heat up a little, and he smiles. he gazes at you as if it was the first time he’s seen you, as if he wanted to commit these moments to memory. “t—thank you,” you mutter, unknowing of how to go about this.

he smiles and begins. “since we’ve been drinking tea together in the evenings for quite a while, i’ve come to notice something about myself.” he speaks, and you hum. “what may that be?” you ask with a tilt of your head. you feel your heart in your throat. there’s no way.

he hesitates for a moment. it was as if he was trying to find the right words to say; but he decides to express his words with conviction, just as he spoke before. “i feel a deep sense of attachment to you,” he begins, his hand extending to yours and gently placing it atop your skin, “as if you’ve become… a part of me.”

you smile, your eyes sparkling with a glimmer of joy. “im glad im not the only one who feels that way, then.”

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin impact #zhongli fluff #fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli

135 notes · View notes

gothicprep · 18 days

Text

I’m generally not one to simp for corporations, but liquid death is very clearly marketed to recovering alcoholics. it’s carbonated, as beer typically is. it’s sold in 16oz (pounder) cans, with art on it that resembles art on craft brews. it’s leaning into the general trend of people who want to stop drinking alcohol, but aren’t really on board with the AA approach, wherein you cut ties with the people in your personal life who imbibe sometimes.

not sure what the founders’ politics are like, but for ex-alcoholics, something that’s very important for them is feeling like they aren’t shut out of social situations with no options outside of still water or getting a coors banquet or whatever.

#source: sober wife I guess

86 notes · View notes

shygirl4991 · 3 months

Text

A shout out to @cody-the-cat enjoy seeing the idea come to life! All art is by @alianarepasa do not repost! A Four Chapter special as thank you for all the support you guys have given me! Next Chapter

Summary: SMG3 just wanted to make himself a nice cup of coffee before the work day began, but when he takes a sip from his freshly brewed coffee and passes out he will wake up to a huge surprise. Three other versions of himself now run wild in the mushroom kingdom and he has to stop them before the world learns all his secrets.

Tags: Love Confessions, Enemies to friends to lovers, Romantic comedy, fluff and angst,

Bob was running for his life as he hears the crowd of angry mob members after him, he looks at the vial he stole from them. He knew it would sell for a lot on the dark web but he wouldn't be able to sell it if he ended up in the bottom of the ocean. Looking around for a place to hide it he sees Three’s coffee and Bomb, he nods dashing in the cafe. A victory for Bob no one was around, he dumps the vile into the coffee machine then runs out “I'M TELLING YOU I DON'T HAVE IT!” he dashes off hoping no one will find his money maker.

Unknown to him by tossing the vial in the coffee machine it cracked, the liquid spilling in the machine getting mixed with coffee beans and gunpowder creating something new. SMG3 walks out of the elevator still waking up as he ties his hair up ready for another day, he turns on the coffee maker ready for his morning brew. He hums looking outside noticing SMG4 was hanging out with the crew, seeing the man's smile made his heart flutter. He rolls his eyes at the dumb emotion, sometimes he misses the days he would plot against Four trying to kill him and take over his channel. Hearing the coffee making go quiet he walks over picking up his cup of coffee, still being half asleep the man didn't notice the drink was glowing a strange color.

Sitting down he sips his coffee as he opens his journal and starts writing, he pauses and stares at the drink “The hell? I don't have cherry coffee here…” his eyes went wide, finally noticing the strange color the drink was. He leaves the cup on the table shaking, he gets up feeling strange as he looks at the strange color drink “What…the..fuck did i?” he falls to the floor feeling weak. He coughs as his vision starts to get blurry, as he blinks he starts to see colors. Three shadows, Pink, orange and lastly dark blue.

He passes out hearing a soft giggle from a voice that sounds similar to his own.

He doesn't know how much time has passed as he gets up rubbing his head, looking around an orange blur catches his attention. He turns his head staring at the person in the cafe “Oh��i'm dreaming!” The person in the cafe with him was himself. The orange SMG3 looks up from his journal fixing his glasses as he smiles at him “Ah original your awake finally!”

He slowly stands up staring at the other him, getting a closer look while they do look the same. The other version of him had subtle differences, the man's violet eyes look into his ruby eyes before they close as he sighs “I apologize, you have awoken and i haven't told you who i am. Ahem I am Supermemeguardian3 in charge of your logical thinking, a pleasure to finally meet you.” He fixes his glasses as he walks over to Three to shake his hand, he slowly reaches grabbing his hand “Oh god this isn't a dream…”

Now that the other him was closer he noticed the skull on the hat was different and had an appearance of a book, his hair was loose free from any restraint not to mention his hair was more wavy then his was. Taking a step back, the orange version of himself let out a soft chuckle “Yes this isn't a dream, we don't know how we got here. I have been waiting for you to awaken in order to work together to get to the bottom of this!”

SMG3 shakes his head feeling himself ready to scream “What…what do you mean your my logical side?

With a hum he starts to twirl his hair thinking “Whatever happened caused a split, your three strongest personalities at the moment in time turn into us?” SMG3 slowly nods as he turns and takes the elevator down to his room, Orange Three stood there confused until he heard loud screaming “Ah i had a feeling original would react like that.”

After a few moments Three comes out of the elevator looking drain “We need to name you, no way in hell we are going to call each other three it will get confusing.” His orange version nods watching Three checking him out. As he examines the outfit the one thing that stood out the most was the skull shaped book logo on the hat and shoes, with a nod he has decided “Given your logo looks like a book, how about we call you book3?” Book nods and smiles at him “Perfect i accept the name.”

Now that the name part of the conversation was over SMG3 had one thing that was bothering him “You have mentioned three of you guys got out…where are the other two?” Book opens his mouth then frowns awkwardly looking to the side “uh well those two ran out of the cafe so fast…i couldn't stop them and they are currently outside in the mushroom kingdom,” he lets out a sheepish smile as SMG3 glares at him.

“Oh my fucking ugh come on book we need to find the other two!” he grabs books and as he storms out of the cafe. Currently his logical side is out in the open, he takes a deep breath trying to remember what emotion he could have been feeling at the moment this happened. He was drawing blanks as he walked around holding Books hand, this was strange he stopped looking at their hands. Holding hands with Book made his mind buzz, he closed his eyes to focus on the feeling. His mind became more clear, Book became worried that SMG3 stopped walking. He let's go out of his hand “Original are you okay?”

SMG3 opens his eyes seeing a concern Book “Yeah…holding hands felt odd not like with Four this was different,” Book nods “It must be due to the fact I'm you, maybe it's our meme power trying to take me back but something is preventing the fusion from happening?”

They both hum thinking over it, suddenly a huge explosion happens catching their attention. They exchange looks before running to the sound of the explosion, there they see a dark blue SMG3 on a roof of a restaurant “LISTEN UP FUCKERS I RULE THIS PLACE!” Three stares in shock at his other personality. He was dressed similarly to his old design, looking at the hat the logo was a skull in the shape of a spade.

Spade looks down, noticing SMG3 and Book “Well look who it is! Sup loser finally picking to be fun, also saw you brought original with you what up!” he smirks showing off his spikey teeth. SMG3 climbs the ladder nearby to get closer to his other personality “Alright, mind explaining why the hell are you throwing bombs around?” Now that he was closer he noticed the small difference that was on Spade also, the personality had brown eyes and it turns out his hair was in a spiky ponytail. How the hell can someone just scream edge lord this hard core “Uh duh Original we are a villain, come on we rule the graveyard why not rule over this fucking place that would teach that loser SMG4.”

Three sighs walking over and lifting up Spade “What the fuck?!” without a second thought he throws Spade off the roof making Book run and catch Spade “You have some learning to do scrub, but before we can learn we need to figure out where the last one of you guys are!” Spade pouts making Book laugh. Noticing he is in Books arms Spade blushes “HEY PUT ME DOWN!” Book keeps laughing as he puts Spade down. SMG3 climbs down “Alright Book, Spade let's go!”

Spade looks at him confused “Wait.. am i Spade?” Book nods before following Three, Spade rolls his eyes and walks after them.

As they walked down the road he started to think about the last personality, he was drinking coffee before it all happened “I bet the last one of you guys has to be a coffee mix with bomb!” Spade lets out an evil cackle “More like a bowl of fruit loops!” Three looks at Spade confused, before he could ask Spade gasp running up to a store his eyes sparkling. Three follows and sees a paintball competition happening, Book sighs as he now has both Spade and Three glued to the window of a paintball store “Guy’s we are looking for the last personality remember?” Spade waves his hand “Yeah yeah but one game couldn't hurt!”

SMG3 agrees as they both giggle running into the shop, Book awkwardly looks around before stepping into the store. Shroomy turns smiling at them “Oh hey SMG3! Uh, who are your friends?” he blinks noticing how they looked similar to three “Oh they are my er twins?”

Shroomy gasp “Oh gosh i didn't know you had brothers Three!” SMG3 nods, acting annoyed “Why do you think my name is SMG3?”

Spade stomps to the counter smacking the table “Listen we are here to shoot shit, and all I'm hearing is talking so shut it and let me shoot shit!” Shroomy nods, handing Spade and Three paintball guns, Book takes a step back not interested in the distraction “No point in being scared of yourself,” hearing this Three turns rolling his eyes “Scared? Please im SMG3 why would i be scared of myself?”

Book walks up to Three “Because you know deep down who the last one is don't you?”

Three glares at Book, how would he know who the last one is? Spade was about ready to knock out Book for getting in the middle till he catches a pink blur, he chuckles “So that's where you went.” He slips out of the store while the other two are fighting. They hear the bell of the shop and turn to see Spade leave, in a panic Three runs out catching the attention of the last personality. His eyes go wide as they look into pink SMG3 teal green eyes, nervously he looks at the hat getting his answer on who this personality may be. He swallows as he stares at the Skull in the shape of a heart, he gets a huge smile from the personality and shakes the bags in his hands “Hey guys! I was just shopping for our Blue!”

SMG3 slowly takes a step forward “Blue?” Heart giggles at his confusion “SMG4 duh, i mean how can you not have a nickname for our future boyfriend!” Heart smiles as Book chimes in “Logic, Evil, and Romance guess we are now all here right original?” Three felt panic grow as he hurried to grab the personalities hands, he attempted to focus on the buzzing feeling. But nothing happens, he lets them go and stares at his hands confused. Book frowns seeing how upset Three looked. “If I may, I think the reason it didn't work is because you won't let us in.” Slowly he looks up and stares at heart. His hair looked so fluffy and had his bangs heart shaped, this man screams valentines days. Heart gives a soft smile to him “Don't worry we will figure it out! Now who wants cookies, I made them in the shape of our love!”

Seeing the cookies and the loving eyes was enough for SMG3 to take a step back and scream. The worst thing to ever exist is standing in front of him and its Romance.

#smg4 #shygirl4991 #smg34 #smg3 #smg4 smg3 #smg43 #smg34 fanfiction #alianarepasa #split into threes #fluff and angst #humor

119 notes · View notes

homebrewhomestead · 6 months

Text

Mimi

STATS:

STR 8

DEX 16

CON 14

INT 11

WIS 14

CHA 18

Character Synopsis: Mimi was once the child of a noble lord and lady, having been born very weak and sick, his parents would spend years trying to find a way to stabilize his condition, unfortunately they did not have the time, as Mimi’s condition worsened beyond their control and he eventually passed away. The despair of the lord and lady was felt throughout the city, as they invested in a massive funeral precession in honor of their son. All the while, Mimi’s ghost watched from their home, confused, but free. He quickly found the head maid who alongside his mother would sing him lullabies to sleep, after she feinted from the shock of seeing him, they spoke for a while and she began to understand his predicament. She insisted that he not show himself to his parents quite yet, as they would surely seek a way to bring him back from the dead rather than let him be free from the body that ailed him so. She told him to seek out the adventurers guild, and that surely he would be able to find a new way to live outside in the world until his parents moved on from their grief and could meet him again in this form.

Mimi’s Jug

Wondrous Item, Rare (Requires Attunement)

This container has Spiritual Essence within it, it is able to mold this essence when any liquid is placed inside of it, creating a viscous chocolate flavored brew. The container can only be filled up with liquid once per day, you must wait one minute for the liquid to transform, upon completion there will be 5 doses of the Choco Brew. When a creature drinks the the Brew, they regain 2d8 + 2 Hit Points and gain 5 Temp HP. Additionally, until the creature finishes a Long Rest the creature can add 1d6 to any ability check, attack roll, or saving throw, potentially turning a failure into a success. Once a creature does so, it can’t do so again until the start of its next turn. A separate creature can only drink from the Jug if you are willing.

DISCLAIMER:

Feel free to use the character as a PC or NPC and the Item in your home campaigns.

This content is not for Commercial Use, in no way shape or form are you to use this outside of your own personal games, if I see this in use with a commercial product you will be flagged and legal action will be made. Please respect mine and the artist’s wishes.

Support the Artist:

165 notes · View notes

the-traveling-poet · 26 days

Text

We hit 500 followers?! Thank you my lovelies, I couldn’t have had the courage to continue/return to posting without y’alls love and support 🤎🤎🤎

For hitting 500 followers, I had this idea to do a Levi x Painter!Reader drabble and well I just thought it would be humorously wholesome :)

The day started out chaotic enough as it was, with back to back training sessions with his squad and business meetings with Commander Erwin in the Capitol; yet Levi’s partner had taken on a new hobby that set his nerves to an all time high.

Of course, he would never outwardly express his anxiety towards this hobby, as he knew it brought you joy. But all the same…his jaw would involuntarily clench at the sight.

As there you often sat at his own desk, a pad of thick paper laid out before you and a teacup of black tea at your wrist.

Maybe it was the fact he still wasn’t quite used to having the luxuries he suddenly acquired when joining the Survey Corps, as to him that’s what they were. A stable bed to sleep in, three meals a day, access to fitting clothes and a bright sky to look up at. Most importantly, his newly granted access to his favorite brews of black teas from the interior.

Perhaps that’s what made him tense every time he witness his partner dip a fine bristled brush into a cup of perfectly fine black tea, a cup that easily could have been drank to sooth his own nerves from the previous day to day’s work loads, and use the liquid to stain parchment into whatever image they wished to create.

You had started off with regular paints, in the beginning; filling his office with colorful murals of varying forms of expressive thought he often liked to muse over in his spare time. But when one fateful night when you came into his office to share tea, you had spilled his cup over a sheet of paper he had laying out on his desk. Upon drying, you were amused to see a unique pattern stained in shades of beige and brown lining the parchment.

Ever since, you’d picked up your “tea-wasting painting” hobby, as Levi liked to call it.

Levi would never forget the day he mistook his tea cup for yours, and took quite the gulp before finding several broken bristles floating around the dark liquid. Ever since that day, he triple checked a cup was his own to spare his anxious heart and queasy stomach.

Your creativity always captured his attention when he would be brave enough to stand at your shoulder and peer over at the paper, though. And after some time, he took to watching you create your art on a more regular basis. It took a lot of convincing from you, but eventually he tried it himself.

He’d always become flustered and dismissive upon your praise, but began to secretly leave out “forgotten” cups of his precious tea for you to use, should the sudden creative urge take you over.

He’d never admit it aloud, much less even to himself, but he rather enjoyed participating in this hobby with you. He could bitch all he wanted about you wasting his tea, but at the end of the day, he’d be sat across the desk from you with a brush of his own in hand.

And of course, a separate cup of his own safe tea well out of your reach.

────────────────────────────────────────

Taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe @pelicanpizza @humanitys-strongest-brat If you’d like added to my Levi Taglist, just send me a DM!

────────────────────────────────────────

66 notes · View notes

hauntedestheart · 1 year

Text

Royal Privilege Pt. 2 (Male Possession)

PART ONE

Having successfully gotten away with stealing the body of a royal prince, Bartelby kept his head down and followed the maid towards the prince's chambers. He had to restrain himself from gaping at the finery around him (it would be unbecoming of a prince) until he was alone in his new rooms, when he finally allowed himself to cackle with glee.

Impossibly, food was already waiting for him when he arrived– but that was just the life of a royal, he supposed. He had merely to ask and it would be given.

An array of delicacies laid spread out on a table before him: fruits, roast meats, sweet sugar spun delicacies that he had seen during festivals but never been able to afford. And here it was being given to him for free.

Suddenly starving, Bartelby fell upon the feast like a wild animal. He was almost afraid that the food would be too rich for him to stomach, but of course his new body was used to it. But each new flavor was still a delight for his mind and he savored every bite– he almost cried when he tasted chocolate for the first time.

A large bottle of bubbling yellow liquid had been provided as well and he recognized it as champagne, which peasants had whispered about as one of the finest spirits ever brewed. Bartelby drank greedily straight from the bottle, feeling his head grow light and his body loose.

His belly fuller than it had ever been before and his basic needs satisfied, Bartelby turned his attention to other matters.

Bartelby approached the mirror that hung on one of the walls of the room, and the face of prince Nicholas stared back at him from its shiny surface. He leaned in close and gazed into those blue eyes– the eyes of a prince hiding the soul of a peasant. Rags to riches like a fairy tale; now he was Prince Charming.

Curious of his new body, Bartelby began to divest himself of his clothes, and beneath the finery he found something even better than riches.

He had assumed, naturally, that thanks to their life of luxury all royals would be fat and lazy– but of course that wouldn't be the case for a seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas. A seventh-in-line prince like Nicholas was so far removed from the line of succession that he was essentially breeding stock, destined to be married off to some foreign royal to forge a diplomatic alliance. His only job was to be pretty– but my, he did that exceptionally well.

"You probably haven't been missing many meals," he whispered to himself as he pressed his hand to the prince's firm midsection. The muscles there were individually sculpted, different than the kind of raw strength the men developed toiling in the fields, but as he explored the grooves with his fingers he found they held their own appeal.

He flexed one of his arms, watching as the muscles bulged up appealingly. Prince Nicholas had probably never lifted a shovel or even swung a sword in his life, but his family had most likely assigned him private tutors whose job it was to ensure that he would have big, firm arms like these that he could use to catch the princesses who swooned before him.

These were show muscles, Bartelby realized with disgust. Pretty to look at, but they would be useless for any real work.

Then he laughed and shook his head– none of that mattered, he'd never be going near a field ever again! He had to stop thinking like a peasant and start thinking like a royal. His new body was beautiful, like a marble sculpture. He was a walking work of art.

Bartelby's hands drifted over his skin and he marveled at how soft and smooth his body was now– other than the strange blow to the shoulder (the only reminder his previous life) there wasn't a blemish on prince Nicholas. This was the skin of a man who grew up sheltered from the blistering sun, the skin of a man who bathed.

He'd get to bathe now! In a proper tub of warm water, with soap, and perhaps even fragrant oils.

As Bartelby's eyes devoured the handsome man in the mirror he felt a stirring in his britches and could resist no longer. Without further ceremony he lowered his trousers, letting his scepter and royal jewels spill out to hang majestically before him.

"Well," he said, his mouth quirking up into a smile. "This must be that divine right of kings I'm always hearing about."

Nicholas's manhood was thick and long, sitting atop two huge balls as if they were a throne. Curiously it lacked the folds of skin that had surrounded Bartelby's old cock, but as its mushroom crown pulsed and flushed dark pink, he couldn't bring himself to care. This was a cock befitting of a prince.

Bartelby seized upon his cock and began tugging at it, eager to stake claim over his new body, but then he cursed– even as soft as his new hand was, he still wanted something to wet his cock and ease the motion.

His eyes searched the room and settled on the champagne bottle that stood upon the table. He licked his lips.

Seizing the bottle in one hand he raised it high and poured the champagne upon himself, licking a few drops into his mouth but feeling the rest of liquid spill over the crevices of his muscles and trickle down to his cock. His hand slick with the golden spirit, he began to pump on his new treasure.

In his old, frail body, weak from hunger and tired from overwork, his manhood had been a sad snail of a thing between his legs that could barely muster up a few droplets of cum before his reserves were exhausted. Now it poured from him like a fountain, his healthy, virile balls churning as they ejaculated load after load which flew up as far as his face.

He panted and stared down at his muscular torso, his broad chest heaving with each breath. He was still drenched and the light reflected off the sweat and semen as if someone had poured diamonds over him; even his mess was beautiful.

People around the village always joked that sex was the one place where peasant and royal were equal, and Bartelby now knew that wasn't true because the orgasm he'd just received felt like a gift from heaven.

Just another pleasure in a life that would be full of them

Drunk on champagne and power, he barely managed to stumble over to the prince's bed and collapse atop it. He groaned anew as his naked body embraced the bed– silk sheets and a mattress stuffed with feathers, the softest things he'd ever felt. He drifted off to sleep in moments.

He awoke in the morning to knocking at his door.

For a moment, Bartelby was scared that it had all been a dream, but when he opened his eyes and saw the finery around him he knew his mind could never have conjured this up.

His new cock bid him a good morning, eager to please its new master, and he grinned down at the sight of the sizable bump beneath the covers. He rolled over and pressed it into the bed and groaned in pleasure as he felt his manhood grind into the silk. He thrust lazily as he chased that leisurely pleasure, feeling his muscular arse flexing behind him as he humped the mattress.

The knocking came again, irritating Bartelby enough to stir from his slumber to see what the fuss was, but he was a prince now. He would take his time.

He rose from his bed and strutted over to the closet he'd seen at the other side of the room, his mouth gaping at the sheer number of garments it contained. He selected a green silk robe and began to decide on a shirt as well before he paused and left his chest bare. No sense in hiding his blessings. For his lower half he donned only modest undergarments that bulged with his still hard cock.

Bartelby flung the door open and instantly recognized the man before him: it was the servant who had turned him away at the gates.

For a moment, anger flared up within Bartelby, but it flickered out just as quickly. Why should he be angry? The man had done him a service by turning him away, it had lead him to this new life. And besides, as the prince, a servant like this was insignificant. Bartelby was now above him in all ways– wealth, status, and even height.

He peered down at the man before him and realized with amusement that the servant was frozen with his mouth hanging open dumbly, his wide eyes running Bartelby up and down as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.

Did Prince Nicholas often answer the door open unclothed, Bartelby wondered? Would he allow his servants precious glimpses of this magnificent body? Whatever the answer, Bartelby enjoyed the attention.

"Well?" He asked the servant, draping himself against the doorframe alluringly.

"Apologies, your highness," the butler managed to blather out, still struck dumb by the sight of the nearly naked prince. He cast his eyes to the floor and regained some composure. "But I was told to remind you that your father requests your attendance at dinner tonight."

There was silence for a moment as Bartelby scrutinized the servant before him. With his strong jaw, thick hair, and broad shoulders, he was a rather attractive fellow– surely all of the maids in the castle were swooning over him. But, Bartelby wondered as he glanced at the way the man shuffled before him, did he desire them back?

"And now," the butler gave a bow, and then began to back away nervously. "I must away to-"

"No no, stay," Bartelby commanded, and the man froze in place instantly. Bartelby gestured for the man to step into his chambers, and to his delight, the man complied.

Bartelby nearly shivered with the display of power, and he now understood what had driven this servant to be so cruel to him at the gates– the pleasure of subordination, of having someone else be the weak one. It was intoxicating.

He could have his servant thrown in the dungeon, whipped, tossed out into the street and torn limb from limb by wild horses– but Bartelby wasn't a cruel man. No, he instead he had his mind on something he thought they might both enjoy.

He bent down and dropped his loincloth, letting his massive new cock spring forth and hang between the two men. The butler gasped, and Bartelby grinned.

"My cock is hard," Bartelby announced, sweeping one hand down the flesh that jutted out before him and shaking it. He shivered for a moment when he felt the heft of it, much greater than his old cock, and a strangled whine escaped the throat of his servant. "As you can so clearly see."

In his old life as a peasant, Bartelby would have never dared to be so forwards– people in his village were not open minded and he could have been stoned for acting upon his desires for other men. But who would tell him what to do now that he was a prince? He was free to do as he pleased, and what he wanted to do was to sample that which had been forbidden to him for so long.

And now he had something to offer as well, a beautiful body with delicious muscles and a generous cock that would satisfy any man.

Bartelby watched the way that the butler's eyes searched him up and down, traced the hard lines of his physique, lingered on the obscenity bursting forth from his groin, and he knew that this man wanted the same thing too.

"You are my servant, are you not?" Bartelby continued, and his butler nodded weakly. Bartelby smiled. "Well as my servant, I command you to do something about this. Personally. Have I made myself clear?

The servant's eyes went wide, and he licked his lips. "As you wish, my lord."

His loyal subject kneeled before him to kiss the royal scepter, and Bartelby groaned in ecstasy.

It's good to be the prince.

#male possession #male body swap #feels like this is the dirtiest thing I've written yet because there's something kinda dark about it too

300 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month

Note

Good morning headmage

I was wondering if you and the other teachers went to the museum with your students this year to celebrate its 100th anniversary ?

If so what did you like there , do you have a favorite artwork ?

Have you been there before 👀?

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

"Why, of course we teachers accompanied our students to the Land of Dawning's National Museum of Art. It would be highly irresponsible of us to allow children to travel to a foreign land without chaperones!”

Crowley perked with pride. Prestige—the acknowledgement of it—tended to have that effect on him, pompous man that he was.

"Not to mention... It's an honor for us to be invited to this centennial celebration! This is a wonderful opportunity for us teachers to appreciate art alongside our young pupils—though I myself have already visited numerous times. Ah, but that is what a long lifespan and a deep respect for history does… Sharpens the mind and the spirit!”

Somehow he ended up circling around and feeding his own ego again.

You walked alongside him, tactfully staying silent and letting the headmaster ramble.

Famous faces passed by, relics of the past unearthed. Stories, centuries in the making. History coming to life around you.

Click, clack, click.

Crowley’s polished shoes and cane alternated, echoing sharply in the gallery.

“This solemn, almost reverent atmosphere is rather pleasing. It grants one the space and time to properly admire and reflect on the artwork on display.”

He raised a hand, his golden claw-shaped rings upon each finger shining under the museum’s lights. Crowley gestured to the paintings that lined the closest wall. You followed where he led your gaze.

Platinum frames, seven in total. Each held an illustration of a familiar figure—you recognized them from the stone statues lining Main Street.

“I find myself gravitating toward the classics. Perhaps I am sentimental, fufu. My bias is clear.”

The Queen of Hearts.

She looked on from up high, posed with a gavel behind a banister and flanked by card soldiers. Her face was kind and rounded, but her expression was stern. Hands folded in her lap and her hammer raised to deliver justice, she was the picture of dignified grace.

The King of Beasts.

He reclined in a dark cave, bones scattered around him. The King stood out from the others of his kind--body lanky, a scar knitting one eye, mane a deep black, and with an unmatched feline poise. He toyed with a skull in one paw, his mouth twisted into a contemplative smirk.

The Sea Witch.

She danced, tentacles curling, in an anemone garden, lilac arms outstretched to cuddle her beloved pets: two moray eels that adorned her arms like a living boa. Pinkish light spilled onto them, emanating from her bubbling cauldron. Another potion brewing to fulfill some poor, unfortunate soul's wish.

The Sorcerer of the Sands.

A thin man with a long face and a goatee pieced together a golden scarab, its light piercing the starry night. Particles of sand and glittering magic kicked up, scattering across his black and red robes. The wings of the scarab, flickering rapidly--as if about to take flight.

The Beautiful Queen.

She triumphantly held up a goblet of bubbling liquid, her radiant face reflected in it. High cheek bones, skin smooth as china, full lips, long lashes, a gown that clung to her hourglass figure. Her beauty was every bit as deadly as the poison in the glass.

The King of the Underworld.

He beamed in the painting, showing sharp teeth. Various tabletop games surrounded him, and he seemed to take great joy in maneuvering a chess piece across a board. No opponent was in view--the man was a lone player.

The Thorn Fairy.

She loomed in her spiked throne, her calm face cut severe by the gathering shadows and green candlelight. Briar crept around the tattered hem of her cloak, waiting for her next command. One word, and you felt as though they would come to life and rush at you.

The Great Seven together dominated the hallowed halls of the museum. In awe of them, you felt yourself shrink back. If was as though your body instinctively knew to kneel in the presence of such raw power.

Crowley, too, quietly bowed his head to the Seven. He held his top hat to his chest, his dark lips pursed into a serene smile.

"What visionaries! We must all strive to the same heights as they."

#twisted wonderland #twst #Dire Crowley #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Reader #self insert #Two Ravens at the Writing Desk

48 notes · View notes

mysticmunson · 1 year

Text

rainy days (steddie x reader)

summary: when rain wakes you up earlier than usual

word count: 1.5k

authors note: this is for my best friend @lilacletter i love you so much and appreciate you beyond what i can say. i hope you have an amazing birthday and a fabulous week in general. you deserve all the love in the world, to many more. i hope you enjoy. :)

(not proofread)

The gentle patter of rain on pavement roused you from your sleep, the room being a shade of grey due to the storm outside. Peering at the sleeping figures on each of your sides, Eddie and Steve remained in deep slumber, both sets of lips hung open slightly with light snores.

Entangled in them, you stealthily slipped away, adjusting the blankets around them and walking downstairs. The quaint home was a new edition after a few years of dating, deciding more space was necessary amongst the chaos of each of your work schedules, along with your schooling.

Pine seeped from the dried candle on the countertops, mixing with coffee as you put some in the machine. Rubbing your eyes, you checked the time to see it was barely 8 am, something unnoticeable due to the lack of sun. The April showers transcended into May, greeting summer with the chilly water, a welcomed addition.

Hickory liquid began to fall into your pot, smoke surrounding it, as you reached for your blue mug. With a dash of cream and sugar, it soon blended as you poured it in, reaching the very top of the rim.

Thunder rumbled, averting your attention to the small patio out back, the rain not too heavy against the roof. Wandering through the door, the smell of rain met your brew cohesively, looking out at the land before you.

A few years ago, the plausibility of having a home to share with the men you loved seemed slim to none. The mundane became something to be cherished, never taking a moment of solitude for granted. You all had done a lot of growing, fleshing out to be functioning adults once leaving Hawkins.

Steve had used his free time while working at Family Video to learn about the growing world of the internet, taking classes to get more experience after you persuaded him enough. It was one of the first times he really felt good about his abilities, seeing he was good with technology, and he secured a place at a global company.

Eddie had graduated and had a slight crisis, not positive about what exactly his path was. After a few weeks, he decided to try tattooing, knowing his love of the art and his knack for drawing. He didn’t know he could love something as much as playing guitar until he started that, saving up to have his own store that was now successful in your new city.

They had been more than supportive of you continuing your education, bragging about how smart you were, even if you failed a test or cried out of frustration. Along with school, you worked at a hotel as a receptionist until you could work in your field. The boys insisted that you didn’t need to work, knowing they both had bills and extras covered, but you were stubborn in that sense.

There were ups and downs, Steve having to travel, Eddie working overtime, and you being overly stressed with your workload. However, the one thing that saved you all was the effort put in, there was never a moment you doubted the other didn’t want to be with you, making sure communication was clear due to past scenarios.

Part of you wanted to run out in the storm, to feel the cool water trickle down your arms and onto Steve’s shirt. The warmth in your palms kept you restrained, letting it run down your throat and burn slightly in your chest. The caffeine was slowly rising, now more alert of your surroundings as your feet rocked on the cement.

“What’re you doin’, trouble?” A teasing voice spoke softly, the door shutting and tattooed arms wrapping around your waist. A bare chest pulled flush against your back, soft pajama pants skimming past your bare legs.

“You’re up early.” You mused, securing your spare arm against his, feeling his soft brown hairs. His chin rested on your shoulder, stubbly cheek pressed against your soft one, raising your drink to his lips.

Stealing a bit, his eyes fluttered as you tilted it back, pulling away after a beat. Gulping it down, he winced at the slight burn, but thought of pouring himself a cup in a minute.

“Rain woke me up. Also didn’t feel you.” He murmured with closed eyes, pressing his nose against your face, kissing below your jaw. You tilted your head to nuzzle upon his curls, smelling the hints of his coconut shampoo, kissing his hairline.

Taking in another taste, the coffee was gone and the smoke had vanished. The cup clinked against the small side table beside a double-framed photo. One side had Steve, aged 5 at summer camp with missing teeth, and the other with Eddie, about 3 at a picnic.

Holding the frame, you looked at it in adoration, the coloring slightly faded after being shoved between photos in an attic for years. Steve hated his, but it was one of your favorites. You wondered what they were like as kids, to be boys together despite not knowing one another, so unaware of everything else going on.

“He looks so sweet.” You cooed, finger tracing over his outrageously 1970s haircut. Bangs rested above his eyebrows, hints of blonde between hazelnut locks, eyes squinting due to the sun. He was sitting on a log in front of a lake in a yellow shirt and jean shorts, hiking sandals on his feet.

Your eyesight went to the one of Eddie, a mess of ringlets as he reached his chubby hand at a teddy bear. The hand extending it to him had painted nails of pale pink, his wide eyes looking at her with an even wider smile. You could practically hear the giggle erupting, imagining one like his own, but up a few octaves.

“I love this photo of you too.” You commented, touching where the blue gingham cloth sat beneath him years ago.

Blushing at the affection he still hadn’t grown into full comfort of, he scoffed, standing straighter, but pulling you closer.

“I just know I look cooler than Steve does.” He remarked, making you laugh at the foolishness, interjected by the opening door.

“What? When?” Steve questioned, walking out in a baggy shirt and boxers, scratching at his navel. He held his own cup of coffee, but he had his mostly black, only a spot of sugar.

His eyes fell to the frame in hand, groaning himself, grabbing it and putting it back in its place. The furrow in his brow was not solidified as it quickly vanished as he pecked both of your heads. Instead, he glanced at Eddie in a mysterious, silent agreement.

Suddenly wet lips peppered kisses on both sides of your face, exaggerated smooching noises to add to the dramatics. Squealing, you tried to shrink away, being stopped by their firm hold.

“Thinks she can be all cute and embarrass us.” Eddie teased, lifting you up an inch off the ground, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively, “Did say you were cute though.”

Ignoring Steve’s obvious blush, you playfully berated them instead, “I was just enjoying my rainy morning, go back to sleep.”

Now they both scoffed, Steve wiggling his fingertips against your belly to make you squirm in the other man’s grasp. A sharp gust of wind signaled you all inside, your feet now back on the tiled floor.

“Want pancakes?” Steve asked, yawning behind the back of his hand, already reaching for the cupboard as the answer was always yes. Still, you and Eddie confirmed, leaning against the beige countertops.

The meek hiss of the batter hitting the pan was the only noise as you stood in comfort, Eddie’s arms having returned to your body moments after becoming stationary. He found comfort in touch, not responding well to playful resistance or as a form of punishment. Ignoring either of them wasn’t an option for any of you, no matter how big or small the issue was, it left both distraught.

Without much thought as Steve handed you both a plate, you smacked his bottom with a smirk, noticing how it jiggled. He blushed profusely, leaving both boys’ mouths agape, Eddie’s with a bit more amusement.

“You’re paying for that later.” He quipped, narrowing his eyes with a pointed finger, taking his own plate, and settling you all at the table.

Even if your whole day had consisted around this wooden table, the sticky syrup on the sides of your glass of water from accidental touches, you think you’d still be one of the luckiest girls on the planet. There was every ounce of care and love imaginable in their being, even when being playful.

In decades from now, pictures of the three of you would collect dust on a shelf as loved ones enjoyed their own versions of this day. You hoped the warmth you felt at this moment resonated from the ink, seeing the sparkle in their eyes as you did daily.

The bad days felt heavy, but each of those was worth days like these. Ones where the rain poured, the coffee brewed, and old photographs resided in your possession.

376 notes · View notes