#apparently there's one more that I never actually put up on ao3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

legolasghosty · 7 months

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So. About a year ago, the lovely Innytoes created a list of spicy writing prompts. And I, being the dorky ace that I am, decided to take it as a personal challenge to see just how UN-spicy I could do some of said prompts. The actual giving of prompts was kept to a few friends, and it was mostly a silly thing back when I could actually sit down and spin up a one shot in an evening. (A few of said prompts actually made it to ao3 at various points, you can read them here, here, here, and here!)

HOWEVER, I took a couple of the prompts off of the list before I offered it to my friends for prompts. Mostly cause I just had no idea how to make said prompts not sexual. But one of them has continued to haunt me for over a frigging year now! SO, here's some little snippets of how one could de-saucy-ify the prompt, "The lube is what flavor?"

Option 1 -

"Okay so what am I supposed to be getting again?" Alex asked, the phone to his ear as he entered the O'Reillys.

He heard Bobby groan on the other end of the call. "We've been over this at least five times, Lex." Alex could feel his exasperated glare without even seeing him.

"I'm sorry," Alex sighed. "I just know literally nothing about car fluids. Blame the gay in me or whatever."

"You do realize I'm gay too, right?" Bobby pointed out. "But again, you're looking for silicon lubricant. And for the love of God, don't get that Red and Tacky garbage Chad 'recommended'."

"I'm sorry, the lube is what flavor?!" Alex demanded, turning onto the aisle marked 'Fluids'.

"You're not supposed to-whatever-just get the silicon stuff," Bobby said instead of answering. "Valvoline usually works just fine."

Alex glanced around at the overwhelming shelves of bottles and jugs. He drummed out the beat to a song Luke and Julie had shown them the day before on his leg as he narrowed down the options. There, that looked right.

"Okay I found it," he told Bobby. "But you're explaining how car lube can be 'red and tacky' to me later."

"Deal," Bobby responded, sounding relieved.

Option 2 -

"-and the vocal folds need to be kept moist," Julie explained.

Luke nodded, but Julie knew she was losing him. His vocal health notes had dissolved into scribbles and half-finished lyrics. She'd better wrap this up.

"So they're naturally lubricated with a really thin layer of mucus," she continued. "And in order to keep that layer thin and stuff, you have to stay properly hydrated."

She paused to pick up the light blue plastic water bottle from the studio floor. But when she looked back up to whack him with it, the mostly full container seeming like a decent way to make a point, he was already staring at her, eyes full of confusion.

"What?" Julie asked, one hand flying automatically up to her ponytail to see if it had come loose or something.

"The lube is what flavor?" Luke asked, mouth hanging open a bit.

"I-what?" Julie asked again, now feeling almost as confused as her bandmate looked.

"The voice cord lube stuff," Luke responded. "You said it's like mucus. But isn't that just... snot? Your voice is covered in stuff that tastes like snot?!"

Julie tried to hold back. She really did. But she failed. She burst out laughing, dropping Luke's water bottle in a futile attempt to hide it. "Luke, mucus is more than just snot," she tried to explain through her giggles. "But yes, that's what keeps your vocal cords moist."

Luke shook his head. To all the world, he may have looked like a man who'd just been told he was colorblind, that everyone else could see a universe of shades his eyes couldn't comprehend.

But only Julie would know the truth. At least some part of her mini-lecture on vocal health got through.

Option 3 -

"Okay, and then pass me the 205?" Flynn requested, holding out a hand to Reggie, who was sitting on the floor along with most of Flynn's tools.

"Um, the what?" Reggie asked sheepishly, glancing around at the various brushes, screwdrivers, and small tubes surrounding him.

"Oh, the switch lube," Flynn clarified, pointing at a small jar. "It's GPL 205G0, and there's lots of types of keyboard lubricant, so we usually just use the numbers to ID them."

"Oh, right, sure," Reggie responded, passing her the container. "Sorry. Computers aren't really my thing."

"Well that's what you have me for," Flynn pointed out, smirking. "I fix your glitchy keyboard, you keep me from failing math."

Reggie laughed and leaned back against Flynn's bed while she worked. After a minute, she passed him back the jar and started fitting the keys back into place. He entertained himself by inspecting the black lid.

"Wait, so the lube is what flavor?" he asked, looking up at Flynn again. "Da-vinny-key?"

"Divinikey," Flynn corrected easily. "And that's a brand, not a flavor. Please don't eat keyboard lubricant."

"Well I wasn't planning on it..." Reggie said, letting his sentence trail off suggestively.

"Reginald Jacob Peters, you wouldn't dare," Flynn warned, shooting him a glare over her shoulder.

He held her eyes for one moment. Two. Three. Fo-

Reggie burst out laughing, with Flynn only a moment behind.

"I make no promises," Reggie wheezed as he got his breath back.

"I'm not taking you to the hospital when it poisons you," Flynn shot back, her grin betraying her words.

Thank goodness Reggie's keyboard was done already.

Thank you, sorry for wasting your time with my brain worm!

#legolas tag #legolas rambles #no I'm not tagging Inny in this #cause I don't wanna bug her with my...#mental issues?#I don't know #but this would NOT stop bugging me #so maybe it will leave me alone now #also this is not to be taken as advice in any of these areas #the only one I actually know much about is the singing one #please do not take my word for what car or keyboard lube to use #but yes according to the internet 'Red and Tacky' car grease is a thing #I don't know why #also in looking back through when I wrote these #apparently there's one more that I never actually put up on ao3 #hmmmm maybe...#if I have the energy at some point #not that anyone would read it lol

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joelscruff · 1 year

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #*#fic: feelings on fire

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emthimofnight · 23 days

Text

Getting To Know You

AO3 Link:

Summary: Sonic knows Shadow as an enemy, a rival, and an ally—but a friend and co-parent? Hardly. With their newfound daughter fast asleep, Sonic takes the opportunity to get to know his other half a bit better.

“Well, Stellar is finally asleep.”

Sonic turned his head to follow the voice of his long time rival, Shadow, as he announced his entrance into the living room. He could read the exhaustion in Shadow's body language immediately, even from where he was currently seated on the couch. The game show Sonic had been watching on the TV faded into the background as his focus was drawn elsewhere.

“Oh, yeah?” He answered. “That's good. She took a while to settle down this time.”

Shadow shuffled over, grunting in half-hearted response as he unceremoniously collapsed into the couch beside Sonic. Sonic watched as Shadow craned his neck backwards, resting his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes. Now that he was closer, Sonic could clearly see how messy his quills were; something that was out of character for the black hedgehog.

Feeling brave, he reached out to pluck a loose quill from Shadow's head, flicking it away with a quick snap of his fingers. A few weeks ago, he would have surely been rewarded for such a breach of Shadow's personal space with a growl or a threat, but now all his rival could muster was a quick, non-threatening glare in his direction. Sonic smiled in return.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Stray quill.”

“You're lucky I'm tired,” Shadow grumbled, failing to sound intimidating.

“Oh, wow.” Sonic turned his body to face Shadow's more readily, the space between them thinning by a small margin. “The Ultimate Lifeform? Tired? Who are you?”

Shadow turned his head slightly in Sonic's direction, cracking a half smile. Sonic had noticed he'd been doing that more lately—smiling—and he couldn't shake the happy flutter of his heart at the sight. It was nice to get along with Shadow. As much as he enjoyed their fights, he had always wished the two of them could be friends, even in a minor capacity. Turns out, the push they needed to get along was co-parenting their illegal government experiment baby. Who knew?

“The only reason you are not tired is that I always do all the work,” Shadow replied quickly, sounding a smidgen annoyed with Sonic’s teasing, yes, but amused regardless.

“Hey, that's a low blow!” Sonic grinned. “You and I both know she likes you better. She never settles down for me!”

“That's because you spend more time goofing around with her than actually trying to put her to sleep.”

“I only try to tire her out! The kid has tons of energy!”

“You only succeed in riling her up,” Shadow retorted.

“Oh, c'mon, Shads. She loves you. I think she must have, like—imprinted on you when you pulled her outta that test tube. It's a miracle she doesn't cry whenever you leave the room anymore.”

Shadow made a soft, “hmm” in response. He seemed somewhat pleased by Sonic's admission.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. He almost seemed lost in thought for a moment, a pregnant pause hanging in the air. Sonic held his tongue, something that he was learning how to do more frequently as of late. It took him a bit to figure it out, but Shadow seems to speak his mind more often if he can just shut up and try to listen. Rewarding Sonic for a rare display of patience, Shadow continued, “It's so strange to have someone rely on you so completely.”

Shadow glanced his way, his eyes expectant. It seemed he was waiting for Sonic to interject.

Apparently, Shadow had him figured out, too.

“Yeah,” Sonic bobbed his head in a steady nod. “Honestly, I never really imagined being a dad. Never thought I’d make a good one.”

“Neither did I,” Shadow admitted. “I don’t even know if I can have children through… Conventional means, so to speak. I don’t think it was ever intended for me to be able to reproduce.”

Sonic bit his tongue, resisting the knee-jerk reaction to tease Shadow about “conventional means of reproduction” and what that might entail, knowing that would be a quick way to shut down their conversation if he wasn’t careful. He and Shadow had certainly gotten closer as a result of this parenting partnership, but there were still boundaries that weren’t meant to be crossed.

“Guess it doesn’t matter either way,” Sonic shrugged. “We’re here now, and we’ve gotta make the most of it.”

“Hmm,” Shadow hummed in agreement. “I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Sonic found himself at a loss as to what he should say next, something that was happening to him more regularly in Shadow’s presence. Keeping the peace between the two of them meant he had to make an active effort not to antagonize the other hedgehog, but that also left him a bit confused as to how he should interact with him. This whole situation caused him to realize that he and Shadow rarely had regular, non-world-destroying contact, and now the guy was around all the time! He was so used to punches flying between them that casual conversation had him floundering awkwardly.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Shadow said suddenly, cutting through the haze of Sonic’s thoughts. It was like he could read his mind, sometimes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shadow’s tone was something he couldn’t quite recognize. Shadow rolled his wrist, gesturing in circular motions with his hand, clawing at the air as if trying to conjure his thoughts into something tangible that he could grasp. “It’s… Hard to deal with.”

Sonic blinked incredulously, his surprise apparent on his features. Shadow gave him a glare and a curl of his lip, showing the pointed tip of one of his fangs, frustration creasing his brow. For once, Shadow was filling the silence between them.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Shadow growled.

“Wait—are you saying that you like when I talk?”

Shadow pinched the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t say that. I’m just used to you talking all the time. I don’t—” a sigh, “I’m not good with conversation.”

Sonic felt his quills prickle with a foreign sense of delight. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it was close enough to one that it made him a bit giddy all the same.

Sonic chuckled. “You know what’s crazy? I’ve been trying to talk less.”

Shadow raised an eyebrow, face contorting in confusion. “What? Why?”

Sonic, slightly sheepish, replied, “Well, uh… You talk more when I’m not talking, so. Been trying not to steamroll our conversations.”

Confusion still colored Shadow’s facial expression, his ruby eyes focusing on Sonic’s face. Sonic chose to admire a corner of the room instead to avoid the intensity of his stare.

“You? Trying to listen when I’m talking to you? Are you dying?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Sonic answered dryly. “Just figured if we are going to be parenting a kid together, I should probably get to know you outside of how hard you can kick me in the head.”

A snort of laughter came from Shadow, a sound that felt like a reward in its own right. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’s managed to get Shadow to laugh.

“A remarkable display of forethought for someone as impulsive as you,” Shadow teased.

“Ahh, the art of the backhanded compliment. A Shadow the Hedgehog specialty,” Sonic taunted back. “Seriously, though! Tell me your favorite color or something. For all the bad guy butt we’ve kicked together over the years, I feel like I don’t know you all that well.”

Shadow was smiling in earnest—at least, as earnest as someone like Shadow could muster. “That’s what’s top of your list? My favorite color?”

“It’s a start!” Sonic replied. “Since I know you are dying to know, mine’s red. Blue is a close second, though.”

Shadow rolled his eyes, his amusement betraying his attempt at brushing Sonic off. “Why am I not surprised…”

“C’mon, Shadow! This is what the more extroverted types call an icebreaker. Humor me?”

Shadow’s eyes were on him again, analyzing his motivations for this line of questioning silently. If there was one thing Sonic knew about Shadow, whether he decided to answer would be determined by his ego. Shadow was paused in consideration, so Sonic once again chose to wait for whatever answer Shadow would give him.

“...Green,” he said quickly, eyes drifting elsewhere as he folded his arms across his chest.

Sonic felt his pulse quicken with excitement. Shadow was actually entertaining his attempt to know more about him! He never thought he’d find the idea of knowing his rival’s favorite color so appealing.

“So you do have one! I was prepared for you to tell me you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Shadow quickly asserted. “But,” he continued, “if I had to pick, green is probably it.”

“Cool,” Sonic said softly, the knowledge of Shadow’s favorite color finding a happy little spot to nest in his brain. “How about, uh… Weather? Do you have a favorite kind of weather?”

Shadow gave him a put-upon frown. “Are you going to keep asking me dumb questions?”

“You’re allowed to ask me dumb questions too, you know,” Sonic reminded.

“Bold of you to assume I have any.”

Sonic smirked, “I’m sure you do.”

Shadow let out a bark of dry laughter, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

In a moment of honesty, Sonic replied, “Yeah, man. I would.”

Shadow stared back in silent reply, his eyes scanning Sonic’s face for any signs of deception or trickery. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer.

“...Spring weather is nice.”

Sonic perked up. “You don’t mind the rain?”

Shadow seemed almost sheepish, suddenly. One of his ears twitched in agitation, a growl escaping his lips. If Sonic had to guess, Shadow didn’t appreciate Sonic’s prodding for a deeper explanation. Even so, he still made the choice to answer, “I… Like the flowers, I guess. Maria liked flowers.”

Ah. Maria. The main reason for a lot of the things Shadow did.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” Sonic smiled, his tone of voice gentle. “Perfect weather for a long run.”

Shadow peered at him out of the corner of his eye. “What about you?”

“A nice sunny day with a good breeze is killer,” Sonic answered. “Man, I just love the feeling of the wind in my quills, yanno?”

Shadow nodded, humming in agreement. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he did seem to soften slightly as their conversation went on. It might just be a result of his exhaustion, but he seemed less rigid than usual.

“I suppose I should ask you a question, then,” Shadow said, his voice almost sounding a bit amused. He shot Sonic a knowing look, clearly recognizing his interest would get a reaction out of him.

He wasn't wrong, Sonic couldn't manage to stifle the smile that broke out across his face.

“Yeah, feel free!” Sonic encouraged, “I'm an open book.”

Shadow was staring at him again, and for a moment Sonic wondered if he had managed to scare him off from asking his question. Shadow didn't leave him hanging for long, though.

“...Why did you agree to this?”

Sonic blinked incredulously. Leave it to Shadow to ask the hard questions.

“Like… What? This game, or…?”

“Stellar,” Shadow affirmed. “Why did you agree to help me with Stellar?”

Sonic leaned back into the couch, scratching at his chin with a gloved finger. “Hmm. Good question.”

Why did he agree to this? He'd never really wanted kids, and he certainly never imagined having them with his rival. It was a concept that was so far outside the realm of possibility that to say the whole scenario blindsided him would be an understatement.

“…Well, it’s the right thing to do, for one. I could tell that you were kind of at a loss as to what you should do with her. You so rarely ask for help—especially from me—that I had to give it a try. Besides, you and I have overcome all kinds of crazy challenges in the past, how hard could this be?”

“It's by no means easy,” Shadow thought aloud. “But… It is easier than it would be if I were doing this alone, so. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

Sonic felt his heart do something funny in his chest. It reminded him of the sensation he'd get right before a roller coaster hit its first drop. He suddenly felt the urge to go on a run.

“Did you just thank me? You sure you don't have a fever or something?” Sonic teased. Even now, as he finally managed to earn genuine answers from his rival, he couldn’t stop himself from defaulting back to their usual banter.

To his surprise, Shadow didn’t growl, glare, or move to swat at him with his hand. Instead, he let out a short chuff of laughter, his gaze drifting away and up towards the ceiling.

“I must,” Shadow sighed, not sounding all that bothered. “Or maybe I’m just more tired than I thought.”

Sonic smiled, his expression softening as he observed the other hedgehog. His posture was uncharacteristically relaxed, his body succumbing to the comforts of the couch. Even the Ultimate Lifeform couldn’t fight the exhaustion that came with caring for a fussy baby day in and day out, it seemed. Granted, most baby hedgehogs weren’t capable of teleporting on a whim. Perhaps their unique circumstances were what truly crumbled Shadow’s typical unyielding resolve.

“Take it easy, then,” Sonic said gently. “Catch some Z’s while you can.”

Shadow turned his cheek slightly, peeking at Sonic suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. He was clearly looking for an ulterior motive etched into Sonic’s features.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Sonic protested. “I’m serious. I’m not going to mess with you while you sleep, and if Stellar wakes up, I can handle it!”

“I don’t trust you to handle anything,” Shadow muttered, lacking the usual bite in his words.

“Hey,” Sonic half-laughed, “you could try.”

“Hmm,” a hum of consideration. “For once, I think I might be too tired to argue with you.”

“That makes it sound like you enjoy it.”

“You’re delusional,” Shadow smirked before turning his face skyward once more, this time allowing his eyes to drift closed. “I’ll just rest my eyes for now. If you try anything, I’ll make you regret it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sonic replied, shifting his weight a bit to get more comfortable in his own position. “I’ll just be thinking of more questions to annoy you with while you recharge.”

When his teasing wasn’t met with a response, Sonic allowed himself to observe the other hedgehog more freely. It was easier to absorb Shadow’s features when he wasn’t sitting on the other end of his intense stare.

‘He couldn’t have fallen asleep that quickly, could he?’ Sonic pondered, peering at the remarkably relaxed face of his fellow co-parent. His breathing was slow and steady, his chest rising with every breath, making the snowy poof of hair that resided there a distraction for Sonic’s eyes. He was never able to grow any fur on his own chest—at least, not to that length—so he had always found himself a bit fascinated with the singular spot of white on the other hedgehog. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course.

For a brief moment, he considered what it might feel like to touch the silky-looking tufts of fur, before quickly stamping that thought right back down where it came from. Sonic might be an adrenaline junkie, sure, but he certainly didn’t have a death wish. Without thinking, though, he must have drifted a bit closer into Shadow’s space, because he was soon met with that annoyed ruby glare once more.

“What?” Shadow growled, his hostile edge returning to his voice as his suspicion in Sonic was heightened.

Sonic moved away quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “Sorry, I thought for a second you’d already fallen asleep,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was just a bit amazed, is all. Made me realize that I haven’t really seen you sleep before.”

Shadow rolled his eyes before closing them once more, shimmying his shoulders a bit to settle deeper into the couch cushions. “I’m not going to sleep at all if you keep staring at me like that. Watch your stupid show.”

Sonic blinked, turning his head back to the TV he had been watching before Shadow had entered the room. Right. He’d actually been paying attention to that before he found himself distracted with Shadow’s presence. He wasn’t actually sure what was going on with it anymore, but it was a welcome escape from his own impulses to pester Shadow. It wasn’t like he actually wanted to bother the guy, it was just hard to adjust his behavior to fit their new normal. He was so used to their relationship being full of banter and petty competitions that he didn’t know how to just exist around the guy.

He stole a quick glance in Shadow’s direction before refocusing on the television. From Shadow’s aloofness, it seemed he didn’t know how to exist around him, either.

The silence between them was filled with the sounds of mindless reality TV entertainment, and Sonic felt himself slowly starting to relax. He hadn’t really noticed before, but his own guard was up when Shadow was around, too. It might not be the same kind of hostility that Shadow displayed, but it was still there. He might have asked Shadow to trust him, but that didn’t mean he trusted Shadow.

He felt a tiny pang of guilt—what for, he wasn’t exactly sure. Yes, he’d always wished he and Shadow could get along, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the thrill of fighting with him. Being the fastest thing alive meant he was often leaving others behind, but that wasn’t the case with Shadow. Shadow was one of—if not the only—person that could keep up with him. If they became friends, did that mean Shadow would stop chasing him? Would he stop trying to surpass him? He wasn’t entirely sure he was willing to give that thrill up just yet.

A soft, unfamiliar noise pulled Sonic from the depths of his thoughts. His ear twitched, finding the sound was coming from the black hedgehog that rested beside him. Did he just—?

A rasping exhalation of breath from Shadow’s nostrils confirmed it. Shadow the Hedgehog, the Ultimate Lifeform, was snoring. Not the kind of snore that was disruptive or cacophonous, but the sort that was soft, rumbling, and endearing. Sonic almost couldn’t believe his ears.

A smile wormed its way onto his face as he observed Shadow in his slumber, a newfound fondness settling in his chest at the sight.

‘Just going to rest your eyes, huh?’ He thought to himself, amused.

Maybe he and Shadow’s relationship was going to be different from now on, but perhaps that didn’t have to be a bad thing. If the giddy feeling in his chest was any indication, there might be some thrills to find in this new alliance after all.

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st-eve-barnes · 1 year

Text

Sanctuary

(Osferth x fem Reader)

Summary: The night before he leaves for battle Osferth seeks comfort from you.

(Baby Monk has stolen my heart so I had to write something for him. I'm only on season 3 of TLK so this version of Osferth is mostly based on the ending of season 2)

Word count: +3100

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language. Virgin Osferth, cock warming, seriously so much cock warming I have no idea where that came from but it's his thing now.

Comfort smut (cause apparently that's my thing), lots of fluff and cuddling. Uhtred is the best wingman. Quite a bit of angst as well, I may need to write a Part 2 ;)

***

All my fics are also on AO3

***

It was a quiet night in the ale house of Winchester where you served the customers. The majority of the crowd that night already went home hours ago, it was only Uthred’s men that hung around a little longer, wanting to prolong their last night before preparing for battle.

The group had settled in your little town a couple of months ago and they had quickly become your favorite regulars. Unlike some other locals they always treated you with respect, even when they had too much to drink they never forgot their manners. Both Finan and Sihtric as well as Uhtred had jumped in numerous times to help you deal with rude or too handsy drunken assholes and you had come to respect their group not only for their strength as warriors but mostly for their kindness. Having them around made you feel safer.

You were cleaning up behind the counter when Uthred came to you.

“Lady Y/N,” he leaned against the bar, greeting you with a big smile,”We will be out in a little while, I am sorry for keeping you here so late tonight.”

“That’s alright, I know you guys are leaving tomorrow. And I have no one waiting for me at home so…take all the time you need.”

He looked at you and shook his head,”How does a lady like you have no one waiting for her at home?”

You put down the glasses you’d been cleaning and gave him a smile,”I don’t know, the men in this town are idiots.”

“They must be,” he agreed, making you smile.

“Did you come here to flatter me or was there something else you wanted to ask?”

“Actually…I did have a question for you.”

You leaned against the bar to look at him,”Ask away.”

“We are leaving for battle tomorrow.”

“Yes, I have heard. Again?” you raised your eye brows at him.

He shook his head with a small grin,”Unfortunately again.”

“What do you need?”

“It is not me,” he explained,”But my friend…your favorite baby monk.”

You couldn’t help your lips from curling up into a smile at the mention of him. “What’s with my favorite baby monk?”

“He is very anxious tonight.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on him all the time and show him some more compassion.”

“He does not need compassion from me, my lady, that would not benefit him.”

“And what would benefit him then?” you asked, knowing precisely where he was going with this but wanting to hear him say it.

“Maybe…he just needs someone to be soft with him, tonight.”

“Be soft with him, huh? Uthred of Bebbanborg, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are…”

He lifted his hands in innocence,”I would never suggest such a thing, my lady. I am merely…opting that maybe you could offer him some…comfort on this difficult night.”

You rolled your eyes at him,“I’m thinking maybe you should ask someone in the house next door.”

He was quick to shake his head at your words,“That is not the kind of comfort he seeks. I think he would much prefer…someone he knows well…someone he likes.”

You stayed quiet.

“You know he has the biggest soft spot for you,” Uthred then added, putting a smile on your face.

“Yes, I do.”

“And you for him?” he asked.

You sighed and smiled softly. “Maybe, yes,” you confessed.

Uhtred smiled. “Well then, he is by the river, just outside of the castle walls, should you wish to find him. Don’t tell him I sent you.”

****

You found Osferth an hour later by the river just as Uhtred said, sitting in the grass by himself, eyes fixated on the water in front of him. It was dark but still warm, the summer breeze a welcome solace after another hot summer’s day.

When you moved closer you could see he was clutching at his cross and his eyes were teary. Year heart sank.

You had come to care for the monk more than you’d ever expected over the course of the past months. The most quiet one out of Uhtred’s group with his sweet smile and innocent eyes, he had caught your attention quite early on and stole your heart just as easily. The two of you had built a friendship that involved a lot of playful flirting but neither of you ever crossed that line. You knew his group was only passing through and you had no intention of getting involved with someone who was likely going to leave soon. You had known enough heartbreak already in your short life.

But tonight you didn’t care about any of that. Looking at him now you just wanted to crawl into his lap and cuddle up to him, kiss away his sorrow and just hold him close, in your arms, where you could keep him safe.

You carefully stepped closer.

“May I join you?” you asked, making him look up. His lips instantly curled into a smile at the sight of you and he nodded.

You sat down next to him, close enough for your knee to bump into his. Osferth didn’t seem to mind, instead of pulling back he let his leg lean into yours.

“I didn’t see you at the tavern tonight,” you stated.

“No, I…I preferred solitude over ale tonight,” he explained, looking away from you and making you hesitate.

“Maybe I should leave you to it then.”

“No!” he was quick to grab your wrist before you had a chance to move,”No, please, don’t go.”

His eyes met yours again and you could see the tears he was trying to hide from you.

“Stay, please, my lady, stay with me,” he begged quietly, keeping his hand on your arm.

You placed your hand over his, giving him a soft smile,”I’ll stay, as long as you want, my sweet baby Monk.”

He smiled through his tears and leaned into you, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder. You didn’t hesitate to put your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Osferth melted into you, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight while he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel his heartbeat against yours and after a while you also felt his tears on your skin, making you hug him even tighter.

You sat like that for quite some time, just letting him cling to you while you caressed his hair and his back, trying to soothe him.

Uhtred hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Osferth was anxious. It took him a while to stop shaking in your arms and you gave him all the time he needed.

When he finally pulled back his eyes carefully locked with yours, his hands were firmly locked on your waist, not planning on letting go any time soon.

“We leave in the morning,” he then explained.

”Yeah, Uthred told me. You’re going with them? Into battle?”

He nodded.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You have nothing to prove, Osferth.”

”No, I know but…I want to fight, I want to help, it’s just…,” he bit his lip and shook his head,”why am I so terrified?”

You cupped his face and pressed your forehead against his.“It’s okay to be afraid, it’s normal, they should all be afraid.”

“I just…want to be useful,” he said, letting his eyes rest on yours.

“And you are not useful if you don’t fight?”

“I don’t…”

“What about me then, huh? I don’t fight, am I not useful?”

He just stared at you before a soft smile played on his lips,”How can you think that you are not? My lady…your beauty makes my life worth living. Your smile…makes me feel like I have a reason to fight, that no matter how dark it gets there is so much light here and all I have to do is…look into your eyes to find it. You light up my whole world.”

Your heart was melting and for the first time in your life you were completely lost for words.

His hands were caressing your hips and he softly nuzzled your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he then whispered shyly,”That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You smiled and leaned into his touch.”No, it wasn’t, that was…the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You could feel him smile against your cheek and you both cuddled up to each other. You moved your fingers through his hair and Osferth sighed into it. HIs shyness disappearing a little more with every touch.

“Can I stay close to you tonight?” he then whispered into your ear.

“Yes,” you answered softly,”I’d really like that, Osferth.”

You both leaned back to look at each other. There were no more tears in his eyes now but something else, something more pressing.

“May I kiss you, my lady?” he breathed.

You nodded,”Yes, please.”

His lips found yours in a soft but needy kiss, you pulled him closer and when his tongue found yours you knew you would given him everything he wanted tonight.

You didn’t do anything more than kiss for a long time, melting into each other. His kisses were addictive and the way his hands kept caressing your back and your hair, gentle but with purpose, was only making you want him more.

“May I kiss your neck?” he asked after a while, his voice merely a whisper against your lips.

“You may kiss me everywhere you want, you don’t need to ask.”

Osferth carefully pulled you closer into his lap and you went willingly, legs on either side of him as you straddled him. He kissed your neck, soft and slow, letting his tongue trace patterns all over your skin, tasting you.

“Fuck,” you breathed,”I didn’t know monks could kiss like that.”

He smiled bashfully,”How did you expect monks to kiss then?”

“Not like that,” you breathed and bit your lip, letting your hands move through his short hair while your hips rolled against him.

It had been a while since you’d been with a man and even though you’d had a little crush on Osferth for some time now you had never imagined being with him like this. But right now, feeling his lips and feverish breath on your skin and his growing hardness between your legs, you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything else.

“Osferth,” you moaned his name and he bucked his hips in response.

“Is it too much, my lady? Do you need me to stop?”

You shook your head and looked into his eyes,”No, it’s not too much. It’s…it’s not enough.”

He licked his lips while keeping his eyes on yours,“You sure?”

You nodded and moved your hips again, making his cock twitch in response.

“Give me more,” you breathed.

He kissed your lips again, hot and sloppy and with a need that matched your own. Osferth pushed your skirts up, hands finding a way underneath to cup your ass over your underwear, holding you down on his, by now fully hard, cock.

“Will you have me, my lady?” he whispered against your lips,”All of me?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He started fumbling with his own clothing, trying to get rid of the many layers between you both. Your hand slipped into his breeches to wrap around his length and stroke him slowly, Osferth’s mouth opened in the most delicious moan.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I need…please….oh god…”

“Have you ever laid with a woman, Osferth?” you asked.

He was quick to shake his head,”No, I have not, my lady.”

Your eyes met his and you halted your movements.

“No, don’t stop, please,” he begged.

“Osferth,” you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you,”Look at me, baby. Slow down for a second, are you sure?”

He frantically nodded his head. “My lady…I want this, I’ve wanted this for a while now…with you…I want this with you. I want you.”

HIs lips found yours in a deep kiss and any hesitations you may have felt faded. You wrapped your hand around his length again, pushed your underwear aside and guided him between your legs, Osferth was quick to move his hips, pressing his erection against your clit, making you lose focus.

You moaned into his kiss, encouraging him to do it again, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds and then teasing your entrance.

“I want to feel you,” he breathed into your mouth.

You lowered yourself down on him, taking him in inch by inch. He was bigger than you’d expected, and it took you a few moments to adjust and catch your breath.

Osferth was clinging to you, burying his face against your neck, teeth grazing your skin while he breathed hard and tried to control himself. You both stayed still, bodies wrapped around each other and his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Can we…can we just stay like this?” he then asked softly,”For a while, please.”

You nodded and hugged him close, foreheads pressed together.

“You feel so good,” he breathed,”so warm…and so safe. I just…want to stay.”

You closed your eyes and tried to calm down your breathing. The feel of him, stretching you and filling you up was heavenly but it was more than that. It was the way he touched you, so much longing in every kiss, the desperate way he clung to you and that soft fondness in his eyes every time they locked with yours.

You had never felt so full or so wanted in your life.

You didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want him to leave you in the morning with the prospect of him not returning to you. The thought suddenly made your heart sink with anxiety. You clung to him harder and Osferth kissed your forehead and your jaw to finally land on your lips again, his kiss slow and unhurried.

“It’s okay, my lady,” he smiled softly into the kiss.

Both of you allowed yourselves to get lost in the moment, prolonging the inevitable and doing everything you could to make it last. You forgot how long you sat there, just kissing and coming up for air to stare into each other’s eyes, the moonlight and soft waves of the river your only companions.

After some time you both lost the fight, your hips started moving against his and Osferth was quick to join you, soft little whimpers escaping his lips as he buried his face into your neck and surrendered to his needs.

He grabbed you and slowly pushed you down onto your back on the grass. You protested when he carefully pulled out but your protest was silenced with another kiss as he pulled down both your underwear all the way, giving him easier access.

He slid in again with ease and then he was fucking you, slowly and thoroughly, pushing into you deeper with every snap of his hips.

You moaned his name and held him close, meeting his thrusts. His lips were back on your neck, kissing and biting as his moans grew stronger and heavier. You knew he was close.

“My lady,” he whimpered,”I can’t hold back any longer.”

You grabbed his hand and pushed it between your legs.

“Touch me, here,” you begged in a needy whisper.

“Teach me,” he breathed,”Show me what to do.”

Your hand moved over his, guiding his fingers over your clit and slowly circling it,”Just touch me…like this.”

Osferth was a quick learner, he pushed your hand aside and took over, his fingers putting the perfect pressure to make you see stars. You clenched around him and with a few more deep thrusts he filled you up and came with your name on his lips. He crashed on top of you when it was over and you wrapped both arms around him to hold him in place, close to you, his head on your chest as he listened to your racing heartbeat.

He didn’t pull out for the longest time after that, still wanting to stay inside of you, neither of you wanted to move.

You were the first to eventually speak, caressing his hair and kissing his forehead,”Osferth, we shouldn’t stay here, you need your sleep if you are to leave tomorrow.”

“No sleep…all I need is you,” he whispered against your neck.

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want,” you offered with a little smile and he reciprocated instantly, lips curling up into an eager smile as he leaned back to look at you and nodded his head. You couldn’t help but laugh,”Come on then, baby monk.”

The rest of the night was spent in your bed, but it didn’t involve lots of sleeping. Osferth made love to you twice more that night, once more fast and needy in the heat of passion and then once more slowly and relaxed afterwards, the both of you relishing every touch and every caress as if it would be the last. Because it might very well be.

You both eventually fell asleep when the sun was already starting to come up, his cock still buried deep inside of you.

You said goodbye to him a few hours later, clinging to him as he stood in your doorway. You had done what you’d set out to do that night, take his anxiety from him, only you had done it literally. Osferth was calmer that morning, evidently feeling stronger and more determined than the night before. But you were shivering in his arms, feeling weaker and uneasy, terrified to let go of him and have him disappear from your life.

Being so intimate with him last night made you realize how strong your feelings for him were and now the thought of losing him was the scariest thing in the world.

“Come back to me,” you whispered in his ear.

“I promise you, my lady,” he whispered before leaning back and giving you a reassuring smile. You pulled him into one last soft kiss before letting him go.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you then sighed and avoided his eyes.

Osferth cupped your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb while he stared deep into your eyes.“Have some faith, my love.”

But faith wasn’t your strong suit, you were a heathen, much like Uthred. Worse even, you didn’t believe in anything, not even Valhalla, yet the following weeks you were on your knees every night praying to any God that would listen, begging them to bring your baby Monk back home to you safely.

#Osferth x reader #Osferth #osferth x you #osferth imagine #the last kingdom fanfic #ewan mitchell fanfic #the last kingdom imagine #baby monk

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thefreakandthehair · 1 year

Text

happy (belated, sorry!) birthday to @henderdads!! this was supposed to be just fluffy but y'know. the hurt/comfort monster got me. I hope you had a perfect day! <333

can also be found here on AO3!

stars and satellites (will always bring me home)

---

Eddie tries not to think about his birthday.

He and Wayne have an agreement to let it pass with little to no mention, save for his 16th birthday when he’s able to start driving and his 18th birthday when he hands Eddie a few singles and tells him to go grab himself his first legal pack of cigarettes— and to get one for him, too, since he’ll be at the store anyways.

It works for Eddie and he goes as far as to hide his birthday from his friends for as long as he possibly can. Gareth, Jeff, and Frank still have no idea. The new found family he’s been adopted into since averting the (apparently third or fourth) Apocalypse don’t know, despite being asked by just about everyone at least once. It’s a fine-tuned skill, evading the question and changing the subject.

“Hey Eddie, when’s your birthday? Did we miss it already this year?” Dustin asks at Will’s own birthday party.

Eddie smirks. “Roll for insight, Young Henderson.”

“Alright, got a die?”

“Nope, darn!” Eddie pretends to pat the pockets of his jeans before shrugging and walking away.

Nancy is the hardest to fend off but unless she finds his birth information through the microfiche at the library, he’s stalwart in his stance. She might, though, and that’s his only real concern. But by and large, his friends let it go, chalking it up to one of Eddie’s many quirks and occasionally joking about it when someone else’s birthday rolls around. The one person who won’t put it down though?

Steve Harrington.

Steve I Throw Parties For Everyone Harrington. Steve I’m Going To Annoy You About This At Least Once A Week Harrington. Steve Is It Today? Is It Tomorrow? You Seem Like A Winter Baby? Harrington.

And truthfully, Eddie can’t find it within himself to be genuinely mad at him about it, despite having snapped at everyone else who’s dared to ask more than once. Eddie grants Steve a pass for reasons he’s not quite ready to evaluate just yet, reasons he knows he’ll never tell, reasons that would require the same security clearance that knowing his birthday would because knowing his birthday would mean knowing this past. He’s not sure yet if he wants everyone— or anyone— to know about his dear old dad.

In true The Universe Must Be Sentient And Actively Hate Me fashion, Steve happens to ask him again on his actual birthday. Steve’s backyard is glowing in the bluish tint of the full moon, stars twinkling in and out behind rogue clouds and smoke billowing from the joint they pass between them up towards the sky. It’s cold— early February in Hawkins is no joke— but Steve and Eddie have discovered an affinity for the cold breeze against their skin, finding it grounding and centering in its own way.

“So, when’s your birthday? Is it getting close?” It’s a question Eddie’s heard no less than twenty times in the same cheeky intonation, Steve having learned not to expect anything besides an out of pocket response. What he doesn’t expect is silence. Steve never expects silence from Eddie.

He turns to look at Eddie and sees him sitting in the same patio chair he’s been in all night, right next to him— too close, but not close enough at the same time. One leg is drawn up beneath one thigh and Eddie looks up at the sky, pointedly avoiding eye contact. If the moment didn’t feel as heavy as it does, Steve would find himself staring at the muscles of his neck and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. It is heavy though, and Steve can only focus on the weight of the space between them.

“Hey, you good? You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” Steve asks, passing the joint back to him as an excuse to pull his attention back from the sky above them. Of all of the things Steve’s imagined having to fight for attention from, the moon was certainly not one of them but he supposes that tracks for Eddie. Nothing about Eddie is according to plan.

Eddie takes the joint and carefully avoids Steve’s eyes, keeping his glance at his hands before returning to the stars and taking a deep inhale. Another few hits will make this all go away, he thinks to himself. The day had been difficult— memories he’d rather not have creeping up and wrapping themselves around his limbs like living vines.

Steve watches little bits of smoke curl out on his exhale and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Ed, seriously, I’ll stop asking. I’m just teasing, I’ll quit it, just stop with the silence, dude. It’s… weird.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, quietly. It’s just a single word but he’ll take it.

“Why is it weird?”

“Yeah.”

“Because you’re not quiet. You don’t do silence unless something’s wrong.”

“Maybe something is.”

Steve sits for a second, his brain running in circles around itself. You fucked it up, c’mon, you kept asking, you knew better, why’d you have to keep prying, now you made him uncomfortable like you swore not to do—

“I can smell your brain overheating from here, Steve. Relax. It’s not you, I promise.” Eddie chuckles humorlessly under his breath and he makes a spontaneous decision, an impulsive decision he might regret but there's a little part of him that finds it hard to believe he'll ever regret sharing something with Steve.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it, y’know, End of the World- related or…?” Steve’s voice trails off. Part of the reason they’ve come to have these nights smoking in the cold, alone together, is that exactly: End of the World- related invisible scars. But Eddie just shakes his head no and sighs, placing the joint down on the glass patio table.

“It’s today.”

“Huh?”

Eddie turns to face him and raises both eyebrows. “It’s. Today. My birthday. It’s today.”

“Wait— shit, really? And you’re telling me?” Steve’s heart pounds in his chest, not blind to the gravity of Eddie telling him his closest kept secret.

Eddie shrugs and smiles without it touching his eyes. “Guess so. Take it to your grave, please?”

“Well yeah, man, I don’t make a habit of going around and telling people’s secrets. But… thanks? For trusting me?” Steve reaches the few inches to Eddie’s shoulder and lets his hand rest there. It's contact but it's not enough. It’s never really enough, but it has to be. He has no reason to think Eddie feels the same way about him and he’ll be damned if he loses his best friend— second only to Robin, but that’s besides the point. The point is, he rests his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and lets his fingers move in slow repetitive circles into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket.

“You’re welcome. It’s just— I have some… not so great memories attached to my birthday so I don’t celebrate it. Rather it just not exist, to be honest.”

“Well, since it’s a big secret, you could just make it another day, y’know. We’ll all respect it and you can, like, create new memories and start over.”

Eddie glances down at Steve’s hand wandering, absentmindedly trailing his fingers along the base of his neck and to collarbone. Fuck his birthday, and fuck the horrible memories Clyde Munson had poured into it. The way his heart tumbles from his chest into his mouth negates all of it.

“Really? Any suggestions?” He breathes, relieved that Steve doesn’t pry. He’s learned enough about Steve’s own childhood though to imagine why he doesn’t. For all of their outward differences, Steve gets it. Gets him.

Steve watches Eddie’s eyes widen before they glance down at his hand and back up, filled with something that looks dangerously like hope. Steve, in turn, feels something dangerously like hope.

“Maybe the day you woke up? In the hospital? I don’t know, I can see you liking the whole phoenix thing. Rebirth into something beautiful or whatever.”

Eddie’s breath catches. Beautiful feels like an overinflated balloon floating precariously through the woods in Steve’s backyard— cheerful and buoyant, but always at the risk of catching on too sharp of a branch and tumbling back down to the hard ground.

“Beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah. It fits you.” Steve’s hand wanders again, this time intentionally, to brush a piece of Eddie’s hair behind his ear and cupping the side of his face.

“Steve…” He whispers as they move slowly— achingly slowly— together, as though attached by an invisible thread. And maybe they are— the little red string of fate that’s been pulling them closer and closer since the day they met. Close enough now, finally, for Eddie to know how Steve’s lips feel against his, how his hands feel in his hair, how his heart beats in his chest when Eddie presses one hand there to tether himself to reality with nothing. No one but his stars watch him find his way back home, to Steve, where he should've been all along.

Eddie’s new birthday becomes April 2nd, the day he’d woken up from the induced coma. Eddie and Steve’s anniversary becomes February 9th, his old birthday. He can’t imagine a better way to create beauty out of ashes.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stfic #myfic

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gglitch1dd · 1 month

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I’m curious, when it comes to the dilf izuku cheating story just how did it happen? Did Izuku go out drinking and meet Ochako and things took off from there, or is something more darker taking place and Izuku didn’t actually cheat on his own free will? Also Bakugou being revealed as our ex was actually shocking! I’m also curious as to how that old relationship with reader went down considering he’s a ass who also cheated.

Hmmm... yall want the real details of what happened... okay... BTW, If you want to read how Izuku and Reader got together please read The Contract, which is on my AO3 and on my Tumblr. It's the entire story of how Katsuki cheated and how we got together with Izuku.

How Dilf Izuku Cheated

Warning: does not contain reader but mentions her, non-con/dubious consent, implied intoxicated state.

Izuku typed away on his laptop as he sat in his office. It was already late in the evening, far past sunset with the sky a dark blue and Izuku was exhausted. He leaned back against his chair, rubbing his eyes as he sighed. His body weighed heavier than a load of bricks. He had been so busy lately, especially with the Jigsaw trial having ended. The streets were safer but at what cost?

Izuku refusing to go home.

It felt suffocating. Watching you try and keep it all together as you tried to keep the boys afloat, walking past Shoyo's bedroom knowing there wasn't going to be a little boy there anymore.

Worst part were all the stupid fucking headlines.

PROHERO DEKU: LOSING HIS EDGE?

DEAD HERO'S SON- TOO SLOW FOR EVEN THE NUMBER ONE.

WHERE WAS DEKU?

It all made him sick to his stomach. It was terrible what they were saying, and it made Izuku force himself to try and be better. To work harder so that no little boy would ever go through what his son went through.

Izuku opened his eyes to look down at the gift on his table. Apparently it was sent by Katsuki. A large glass bottle of whiskey. At first Izuku thought it was some ultimate "fuck you" and he wouldn't even touch it. However with a pounding headache and him too scared to go home and face you and the kids. Maybe a glass of it wouldn't be too bad...

There was a buzz that took him out of his thoughts, a call coming from the downstairs desk of his agency, the night shift. "Mr Deku?"

He put a finger to the intercom. "Yes?

"Prohero Uravity is here to see you? Something about the Juggernaut case?"

Izuku sighed. He thought he had told Ochaco that they would talk about it some other time, but then again, he always came up with excuses to talk to any one of his friends these days. "Send her up." He stated before removing his finger and standing up to grab a glass from the refreshment counter he had at the side of the room.

He walked back to his chair and grabbed the bottle while he did so. He poured himself a cup before lifting it up to his lips and taking a long drink. He let the burn of the alcohol hit his throat before he let out a sigh. But... he couldn't shake that something felt off about the whiskey. Izuku took the bottle and moved to check what brand it was. Maybe it was just one he had never tasted.

There was a knock at his door, before a head of brunette hair had peaked through. A friendly smile cam with it. "Deku." She let out sweetly as she walked into his office. She was dressed in a pretty little black dress as she walked over to him. Every light in his office was off other than the one on his desk. "I was surprised to know that you were in still."

Izuku leaned back with a heavy sigh as he dragged a hand through his mess of curls. "Well, crime never sleeps." He gave a pathetic excuse back to her with a weak smile.

She walked over to stand in front of him with a small frown on her face. "I know you've had a rough couple of weeks recently."

Izuku let out a scoff as he took another sip of the whiskey, wanting it to take the edge off his day. "You don't know the half of it." He let out lowly.

Ochaco paused as her brown eyes that suddenly looked so warm, looked down at him. "You should rest, Deku." She spoke softly as she took slow steps over to him, moving around his desk to go stand beside him. She turned his chair so that he could face her. "You work too hard." She said with a slight pout, moving to sit on the edge of his desk. Her dress hiked up a bit, the skirt of her dress revealing the inside of her thighs and more leg to show. Izuku's grip tightened on his glass as he shook his head, trying to focus for five seconds. "Is Y/N not helping you to relax?

Izuku moved to rub his eyes. "Uh..." he took a moment to understand what she just said. "She's busy with the boys and everything. We both need a moment. I couldn't expect that from her." He answered honestly.

"But she's your wife, Deku. She should prioritize you." She tilted her head to the side. "I know it has been rough but you deserve to feel..." She leaned forward, placing a hand on his forearm.

Izuku's eyes moved from where her hand was touching his arm up to her. He then realised that he dress seemed rather... revealing. He could see right down her cleavage and

God did he just want to grab her breasts till the fat was spilling between his fi-

Izuku shook his head as he sat up. His eyebrows furrowed. What was wrong with him today? Having such thoughts about Ochaco, a woman that was not his wife. He only ever found you attractive once the both of you got married, why was he thinking about Ochaco? He put down his glass, realising that he maybe had one too much to drink.

"You..." He let out feeling rather confused with a slur to his words. "You came here for the Jugger... Juggernaut case?" He asked confused.

Ochaco nodded but she looked at him gravely concerned. "I did but... Deku are you alright?" She asked.

Izuku was definitely not alright. His head felt like he was on another planet. He couldn't think straight.

He needed his wife.

He needed you.

Where were you?

Why was he all alone?

He didn't like being alone. He needed help. You were help.

"Y/N." He let out lowly as he stood up from his chair on shaky legs. "I... I need..." He quickly caught himself with his hand on the desk as he tried to focus and he tried to think but he couldn't walk straight to save his life.

"Izuku!" Ochaco quickly came to his side. "Let me help you." She stated as she helped him get to the couch, allowing him to fall back onto his couch. She crouched down in front of him. "Are you alright?" She asked him.

Izuku looked at her, his breath heavy as he noticed her every curve, her every feature. Everything seemed almost all in his face. She gave him a weak smile. "You know... I could help you relax. You look like you need it." She stated as she slowly started to crawl into his lap.

Izuku felt like he couldn't speak but every touch that she was giving him made him feel like finally... finally his brain could just switch off. Her hands moved up, curving over the large thick problem that sat snug in his pants.

She let out a giggle. "Oh... how I missed this." She gripped him through his pants and a moan stumbled out of his lips. He couldn't seem to care for the most part. It felt so good to have her here and she cared so much. "It's been too long Izuku. And I'm sure you've missed a body that isn't rather... stretched out, like your wife's. Don't worry, I'll be nice and tight just for you." Her lips moved to his ear making him feel like he could just be lulled away by her touch.

Maybe... maybe five minutes with her wouldn't hurt.

So he tightened his hold on her hips and kissed her.

-Glitch1d

#izuku x reader #izuku x reader angst #izuku midoriya angst #dilf izuku x reader #dilf izuku midoriya #dilf deku #izuku midoriya x reader #mha x y/n #tw noncon #tw dubious consent

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britcision · 10 months

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I’m pretty sure the people bitching about not giving money to tumblr are the same ones who complain when AO3 or wikipedia ask for donations, so I’m just gonna clarify something

Running a website is not free

Even if they made no changes and did only maintenance, they still need to pay for server costs, expert programmers for when something goes wrong, storage (although frankly storage is cheap as chips these days which is nice)

They need to keep up with the capabilities of new tech like improvements to web browsers, never mind their own apps keeping pace with old and new tech developments

Backwards compatibility (being able to run the updated app on old tech) is a massive problem for apps on a regular basis, because there are people out here using an iPod and refusing to update software

There’s a reason every few years apps like Animal Crossing will issue an update that breaks backwards compatibility and you can only play if your phone is running more recent software

This shit costs money even before you look into the costs of human moderation, which I’m not exactly convinced is a big part of their current budget but fucking should be if we want an actual fix for their issues with unscreened ads and reporting bigots

Ignoring that it’s apparently illegal for companies not to actively chase profits, running Tumblr is expensive

And advertisers know we fucking hate them here

They’re still running ads, which we know because they’re all over the damn place, but half the ads are for Tumblr and its store

Other ad companies know we are not a good market, so they’re not willing to put the money in

Tumblr runs at a $30 million deficit, every year, because hosting a site is expensive

They are trying to take money making ideas from other social medias because they’re not a charity; they need to make enough money to keep the site going

If you want tumblr to keep existing, never mind fixing its many issues that require human people to be paid to do jobs like moderation, they will need money

Crabs cost $3

One crab day a year can fix the deficit and hammer home for Tumblr that:

A) we do want to be here and want the site to keep going

And B) they do not need to do the normal social media money making strategies we all hate

They need a way to make money if you want the hellsite to exist, because we live in a capitalist hellscape and cannot all be AO3

If they think they can make enough to keep running without pulling all the tricks we hate, they have no reason to pull said tricks

But they need money

And a way to make money

And if we can show them we can do that, there is a significantly higher chance they will listen to us, the user base they need money from, than if we don’t

Tumblr isn’t perfect, or anywhere close. They need someone to actually screen the paid ads they put through, they need to take the transphobia, antisemitism, and bigotry seriously

These Are Jobs That Will Cost Money

People Need To Be Fucking Paid For Their Work

Tumblr Is Not Run By Volunteers For Free And Nor Should It Be

Paying People Is Good Actually

So if you wanna get all high and mighty over $3/year, by all means, go spend that hard earned cash elsewhere

Good luck finding a perfect and morally pure business to give it to though

Being a whiny negative asshole isn’t more appealing just because you’ve put yourself on a moral soapbox, it just means the asshole is a little higher up

For all the whining about “all the new updates are terrible this site is unusable”…. It’s one fuck of a lot more usable than it was in 2017, 2018, 2020

And yeah, it’s going back down and most of the newer ones have been fucking annoying and I would also like them to stop

But it got up somehow and that means it could do that again

Hope is more fun than edgy nihilism

August 1st is a good and exciting day to summon a crab army

#tumblr #crab day #fuck if i know what a profitable plan for tumblr as is will look like #since half the user base are entitled assholes who think they shouldn’t pay for less than perfection #and tumblr themselves are entitled assholes who think $5/month is a good base proce #motherfuckers would have so many more people if it was $2-3 #totally not paying $5/month for this shit #but $3/year? yeah that’s okay

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apomaro-mellow · 3 months

Text

Hot for Teacher(s) 3

Part 2 / AO3 Link

After school practices for the Thanksgiving performance was only for the students who wanted to put a little more time into it. Apparently a bulk of the rehearsal happened during their music class and that made sense. Still, Steve was glad to put a face to some of the kids his son mentioned. The first night there had been a girl who's lip trembled at the slightest upset and Steve knew that had to be Yasmin.

"She's a crybaby who cries over everything", Shawn had said one time.

"Hm, need I remind you of all the times you've cried? Why I remember just last week-"

"We don't need to talk about that", Shawn said, properly chastised.

Even so, Steve could see how it could get a little frustrating to be in a class with someone as sensitive as that. And yet, Mr. Munson never let on that he was frustrated or anything like that. Every time the tears came, he talked her down. Which was quite the feat since he had probably been doing it for eight hours at this point.

"You're really good with the kids", Steve complimented when Mr. Munson took a seat near them to rest.

Third grade was working on their performance piece on the stage now while the smaller kids got a break. Mr. Munson smiled a bit as he scratched at his head.

"Yeah, well, patience is key, as I'm sure you know. Actually, how old are the kids you teach?", he asked.

"Middle school", Steve answered, laughing a little when he saw the other teacher's eyes get wide in fear.

"Braver than any marine, I swear. I will take spilt milk tears over the raging hormones going on over there."

Steve's brain decided to highlight the word 'hormones' which made him delayed in his response. He cleared his throat to try and cover it up. "It's not as bad as all that. I've got the babies of middle school, the sixth graders, but don't tell them I said that. And I'm lucky I've got a group there that's absolutely obsessed with science."

He met Mr. Munson's eyes and was met with a million watt smile. One that he knew was on his own face too.

"That's the best feeling, ain't it? When they wanna soak up as much as you can give?"

"The best", Steve agreed. It wasn't always candy and roses but it was all worth it for those days when everything just clicked. "Speaking of passions, did you get that approval for your ideas for the show?"

"They said I could play guitar, but they vetoed my pyrotechnics idea."

That night, Mr. Munson walked him and Shawn back to their car. And as such, became a routine for two days out of the week. Through it all, Steve commended himself for only drooling a little over him and only when he was alone.

At home, one Saturday, Shawn was humming his class' song while Steve made them lunch. He looked to the calendar and realized the show would be that coming Monday. Well, he knew that but it hit him that in less than a week, Thanksgiving break would start and then there wouldn't be much of a reason for him to see Mr. Munson anymore.

Just as the thought came to him, he looked at the school events calendar he had put in his phone and saw that there would be a Winter Dance but that it was for 4th and 5th grade only. He held back a sigh. Oh well, maybe if he got particularly antsy, he could schedule a confere-no, nononono.

He wasn't going to waste a teacher's time over nothing. Just because, what? He wanted to see him?

He said as much when he talked to Robin the next day. They were sitting in his living room, Shawn was up in his room, reading on this lazy Sunday.

"So, you're just going to avoid him?"

"It's not avoiding. I'm just not going to go out of my way to seek him out", Steve clarified. "And maybe this little crush", he whispered the word 'crush' like tiny ears were listening, "will die down."

"Mhm", Robin nodded, unconvinced. "You know they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?"

Steve leaned back against the couch. "There's at least one absence I'm not missing."

"...Don't tell me this is all because of him?"

"It's not because of him but...", Steve's eyes traveled to where Shawn's baby book sat on a bookshelf. Inside were the only pictures of Shawn's sire. And honestly, Steve wouldn't even have those if it were up to him. But he wanted to leave the door open just for when Shawn got older and could decide how much he wanted that man in his life.

"I don't think Mr. Munson is anything like him. Of course I don't. But I can't make a mistake like that again. If Shawn got hurt, I could never forgive myself."

Robin gave him a pat on the leg. "If you really think it's for the best."

It was. Steve knew that what was on the surface could be hiding something ugly underneath. He wasn't going to expose him or his pup to anything like that again. Mr. Munson was nice but these feelings weren't deep enough to swim in. Steve was barely getting his toes wet. He would stay high and dry and then Shawn would go on to second grade and then he would only see Mr. Munson in passing, if that.

Steve had all these affirmations in mind as he settled in to see Shawn's performance Monday. Planning ahead, Steve had told his school a couple weeks ago that he had a doctor appointment and wouldn't be coming in until later. Just long enough to pop in and see Shawn sing. As he had planned and rehearsed, Mr. Munson sat on a stool to one side of the stage, acoustic guitar in his lap.

It was all the school would allow and seeing as the kids' singing voices weren't super strong, it was for the best. Steve recorded the act, phone focused on Shawn while every once in a while, his eyes drifted to Mr. Munson.

After the song, Steve waved to Shawn, who waved back. He had told him ahead of time that he'd have to go back to work after seeing him, so that his son wouldn't be disappointed. When they saw each other at home later, Shawn's adrenaline from the day hadn't waned.

"So a lot of the other kids' parents took them home, so Mr. Munson let some of us play with his guitar!"

"Did he now?", Steve smiled.

"Uh-huh. He even taught us how to play. Do you think he teaches guitar?"

"Would you like some lessons?", Steve asked.

"Only if Mr. Munson is teaching it. He makes everything so cool."

-------------------------

Steve watched as Shawn ran ahead to go into the corn maze. Most of the corn was gone, so he wasn't worried about him getting lost as Robin went to get them hot ciders. Shawn scurried through the maze when he found someone familiar.

Robin had come back with two ciders that she and Steve sipped on while Shawn made his way through the maze.

"Dad! Look who's here!"

Steve looked up, expecting to see one of his little friends. Not Mr. Munson.

Not Mr. Munson in ripped jeans and a leather jacket.

Not Mr. Munson in ripped jeans and a leather jacket with chunky rings and his hair let loose, spilling over his shoulders.

"Dad look! It's Mr. Munson! Dad?"

"Mr. Munson! What a surprise!", Robin came in for the save while Steve was speechless. She gave him a subtle nudge that really wasn't all that subtle but that was okay because Mr. Munson was having his own crisis.

Because here was Mr. Harrington, enjoying a harvest festival, shoulder to shoulder with a beautiful alpha woman.

"H-hey, didn't expect to run into you here", Mr. Munson stuttered.

"Me neither", Steve said, voice a little breathless. He cleared it and remembered himself. "This is Robin, she's my neighbor. Robin, this is Shawn's teacher."

"Heard so much about you", Robin grinned.

Steve wanted to kick her in the shin.

"Hey, Shawn, how's about we go and pick out a pumpkin or something?", Robin suggested, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the other two, leaving them alone.

Mr. Munson looked like a deer caught in headlights and Steve couldn't blame him.

"Jesus, she couldn't be anymore obvious."

"Did you want to talk to me about something, Mr. Harrington?"

"No, I didn't. But, I think...I think we should have this conversation anyway." Steve ran a hand through his hair.

They went to a little sitting area the farm had set up near the food booths so that they could talk. Eddie's mind ran a mile a minute, thinking of what this could be about. Both good and bad. He'd gotten a hot chocolate both to keep his hands warm and to give him something to do with said hands. Hands that Mr. Harrington was staring at right now.

"I um", he shook his head and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "I just wanted to-god this is hard."

"Well, let's make it easier", Eddie said. "Is it about Shawn? Is he having problems in school?"

"No, it's not about that. It's about us-I mean, there is no us but I-goddammit", Steve hissed, cheeks getting red in embarrassment. He let out a breath. "Mr. Munson, I'm having..." don't say feelings don't say feelings don't say feelings "-sensations, that aren't entirely professional. About you."

"Oh."

"And I know nothing can come of it, but I just want you to know that, to know that I'm aware of them and if I ever come on, I guess too strong, please just let me know."

"Um, for how long?", Eddie asked, hoping he wasn't vibrating in his seat because it sure did feel that way.

"Uhh, pretty much since I first met you", Mr. Harrington admitted. "And I don't know if it's because you've been looking after me and Shawn when we walk back to the car, or if it's something else but you just smell...you feel safe. And it's hard for me not too....", he trailed off, voice getting soft.

He didn't know how much that meant to Eddie. His first year of teaching, Eddie had gone on scent blockers, not wanting to overwhelm the little noses in his room. But one day he'd forgotten and things just seemed to run more smoothly when they could get a whiff of him. For Mr. Harrington to say his scent made him feel safe...

"It hasn't exactly been easy for me either", Eddie finally said. "Me too, since that first day I... But you already said nothing can come from it."

There was a hesitant look in Mr. Harrington's eyes. "Well, you know, why not?"

"Why...not?", Eddie echoed.

"I have my personal reasons for not pursuing this, but they mostly involve Shawn. If he doesn't know about it, I mean if we can hide it from most people, you won't get in trouble with the school. And we won't, you know get Shawn's hopes up if it doesn't become serious."

"Why, Mr. Harrington, are you propositioning me?" Honestly, Eddie didn't give a flying fuck what this principal thought about his private life. At the end of the day, it really was just Shawn he was worried about. He didn't know what happened to the other half of his DNA, but he knew that kids with only one parent sometimes longed for a second. He couldn't make Shawn think that was him unless this was the real deal. And he wouldn't know that for sure if he didn't give this a try.

"For starters, when we're not on school grounds, you can call me Steve."

"Eddie."

"Eddie, would you like to go out with me sometime?"

Steve's face was a mix of hopeful and confident that Eddie wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon. "I'd love to."

Part 4

There is absolutely some angst with Steve's baby daddy comin down the line. I came up with it where I come up with all my best ideas, half asleep when I wake up in the morning.

Tag Team

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @lololol-1234 @hippieg1rl420 @gregre369 @attic-cat-blog

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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yournowheregirl · 1 year

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welp, this one has gotten out of hand (over 3k... yikes) but here we are! part 3 of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (only 2 more parts after this!)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 3: coat of many colors

Only a few weeks later, Eddie starts to slip up.

Any other day he’d wake up to the sweet, sweet sounds of his favorite Dio album, but one morning he grabs an old Johnny Cash album that Wayne sometimes listens to and puts that one on instead.

It’s nice, and even though it’s apparently recorded at an actual prison, it still feels like home (Eddie tries not to think about that too much).

On a late night when Wayne’s still at work, he fishes his old acoustic guitar from underneath his bed and starts strumming away random chords that sound like the country songs his momma played when he was little. Sometimes he still remembers the lyrics, softly mumbling them even though there’s no one around to hear them.

It’s nice, it doesn’t sound as sweet as when his momma played it for him, but it still feels like home (Eddie actually thinks about it a lot this time).

And it’s not like he’s abandoned his usual music or anything. He still has his Judas Priest tapes in the van because his driving would probably even more reckless if he drove without any music (and isn’t that saying something). And he still loves his sweetheart more than anything, she just has to deal with sharing him for a bit.

Not a lot of many people notice it, at first. Mostly because he still keeps that part of himself hidden, safely tucked away in the comfort of his own bedroom.

But Wayne notices, because of course does.

“Whatcha wearin’ there, son?” Wayne asks, never looking up from where his eyes are glued to the morning newspaper.

Eddie’s halfway out the door already, car keys jingling against his rings when his uncle speaks up, turns around in the doorway. “Uh…”

He looks down at his clothes - what is he wearing anyway? Ripped jeans - all fine, nothing new. White t-shirt - okay, not his usual color but not that strange. Forest green plaid button down and beat-up leather boots that both actually belonged to Wayne at one point - yeah, that must be it.

“Yeah, I mean I know they’re yours… You want them back or somethin’?”

Wayne chuckles and closes the newspaper, leaning back in his chair. “No, no. Not at all. Just surprised you’re wearing it. Ain’t you meetin’ the kids?”

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie frowns. “Should I… not be wearing this?”

“Wear whatever you want.” Wayne shrugs. “It’s just nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, nice. Nice to see you bein’ comfortable wearing that sorta thing again.” Wayne says. “Lord knows you wouldn’t be caught dead in it years ago.”

Eddie thinks back to when he first came to Hawkins, with an almost empty suitcase and ratty old teddy-bear in his hand. He didn’t have any clothes that were fit for the cold Novembers in Hawkins, more used to the mild Tennessee winters, so Wayne did the best he could and dressed him up in the warmest thing he had on hand at the time. A warm, blue flannel that Eddie’s small frame almost drowned in.

Not that he cared about it at that point. He only cared about how warm and soft it felt.

Which was fine up until the point that the other kids at school started caring about their clothes and how they looked and they started laughing at Eddie’s clothes. Making fun of how poor he was that he couldn’t even afford a decent sized shirt. Teasing him in the locker room about the holes in his socks.

He decided then and there to swear off all the clothes Wayne picked out for him and changed his style up completely. His classmates were gonna bully him anyway, but he’d be damned if they insulted Wayne in the process.

“Well, yeah. Guess I’m goin’ back to my roots.” Eddie shrugs.

“Noticed that as well.” Wayne is smirking now, way too pleased about the whole situation and gestures to his mouth. “Your accent, Ed. Any minute now and you’ll be talkin’ like Miss Parton herself.”

Eddie’s face heats up - if only Wayne knew what he’s been up to in his spare time “Shut up, old man. You’re gonna make me late.”

He drives a little faster than normal to the Wheeler’s house, because Wayne really did keep him a few minutes too long, but he still ends up relatively on time for Mike’s birthday party. Everyone’s already in the decorated basement (balloons and garlands and all) and Mrs. Wheeler is snapping pictures left and right, much to Mike’s obvious dismay.

Mike’s face does light up when Eddie comes stumbling down the basement, present in hand.

“Happy Birthday, mini Wheeler.” Eddie says, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, not fair! We were friends way before you befriended my sister.” Mike sighs.

“Eddie’s just got good taste.” Nancy smirks before turning back to her conversation with Max and El.

“She said it, not me.” Eddie laughs. “Now open your present.”

He’d bought Mike this older copy of a D&D manual. It’s a first edition that Eddie randomly found one day in a thrift store and considering the grin on Mike’s face, Eddie knows he made the right decision.

Behind them on the table there’s a bunch of already-opened presents but one sticks out to Eddie - a beautifully depiction of the Party members, including El and Max, painted onto a notebook.

“Nice notebook.”

“Isn’t it the coolest? Will made it for me.” Mike gushes. “He always knows what kind of present to get me. He’s such a good friend.”

Eddie bites back a laugh. Poor Mike, so tragically oblivious to what’s staring right in front of him, bowl-cut and heart-eyes and all. But since he can’t actually laugh Mike in the face, he just smirks and pats Mike on the shoulder.

“Oh Michael… Bless your tiny lil’ heart.”

Mike just beams at him, once again blissfully unaware of the little back-handed compliment that just escaped Eddie’s Tennessee mouth and runs off again to join the party. Not noticing a thing.

But apparently someone does.

“What was that?” Steve asks from where he’s standing behind Eddie.

“What was what?” Eddie replies automatically. He doesn’t turn around just yet, slightly terrified to find out Steve’s reaction. Not there’s any malice to be heard in his voice, but Eddie’s learned to be careful even when everything seems to be safe.

“That… the whole bless your heart thing.”

“That’s a just saying.” Eddie shrugs.

“But the accent… where did that come from?” Steve stammers.

That comment finally makes Eddie turn around only to find Steve staring at him, jaw slacked and cheeks tickled pink. And well, isn’t that interesting.

Eddie grins as he takes a step closer to Steve, head cocked to the side. “Didn’t you know? I ain’t from around here.” He’s really laying the accent on thick this time, just to see how Steve will react.

It pays off beautifully because Steve just stares at him again, his face turning an even deeper shade of pink that contrast with the tight yellow t-shirt he’s wearing. Eddie’s stomach bubbles with giddiness at the sudden power he’s holding over Steve, making him all flustered like this.

God, he really shouldn’t be flirting with his very-much-straight crush but it just feels so good.

“Where- where are you from then?” Steve clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Tennessee, baby. Born ’n raised.”

Steve opens his mouth and closes it again, does it a couple of times actually, like he’s a goddamn guppy. It’s, frankly, adorable and Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. He lowers his gaze, his hands moving through the air like he’s unsure what to do with that.

“I’m just… I’m just gonna talk to Robin for a sec. Be right back, okay?”

Eddie watches as Steve disappears in between the kids, sees how he frantically talks to Robin before dragging her upstairs, clearly in need some alone time.

Huh. Weird.

-xxx-

Eddie comes clean about his roots to the rest of his friends a couple days later and to his surprise, no one really seems to bat an eye. Sure, there are few laughs here and there but it’s never bad. A couple of questions (mostly from El) about where he grew up and that’s that.

Or so he thinks.

Because he also told Steve, Robin and Nancy about the fact that there’s a country bar just a couple miles from Hawkins and that he’s being going there almost every week just to feel a little at home again. And now, they obviously want to come with.

Eddie’s feeling slightly nervous about it - this is still on a whole other level than just wearing one of Wayne’s flannels and bringing out his drawl every once in a while. This is about who he is, how he was raised, and he’s not really sure how things’ll go down if his friends react weirdly about it.

Pat is surprised to say the least when Eddie strolls into the Off-Road next Wednesday with Robin, Nancy and Steve in tow. Robin swore up and down that they should dress the part even though Eddie told her it wasn’t necessary, but there they are anyway, plaid shirts and all.

It’s slightly embarrassing to be honest, but Robin seems to enjoy making him suffer (well, that was until Nancy took off her plaid shirt and tied it around her waist to show off her tight black dress underneath and Robin almost had an aneurysm. Ha, how’s that for payback?). And besides, Steve’s looking unfairly hot in that light blue flannel so who’s Eddie to complain?

“Well, well, well. Looks like you got some friends after all, Ed.” Pat grins. “Welcome y’all.”

After Eddie introduces everyone, Robin starts talking Pat’s ear off, overjoyed with the fact that she’s finally meeting another queer woman, asking her all kinds of questions about growing up queer and how she met Tish. Eddie smiles, feeling happy for his friend.

On the other side of the bar, Steve and Nancy are hunched over the jukebox, arguing about the next song to play.

“Is that him?” Tish asks as she puts down his beer - Eddie figures he might as well take advantage of the fact that Nancy’s driving tonight. She nods to where Steve is clearly losing the argument with Nancy. The way he’s bending over the jukebox in those tight Levi’s is making his ass look insane and Eddie lets out a strangled sound.

“Yeah, that’s him alright.”

Tish lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Eddie. You’re screwed.”

“Why, geez. Thanks for that boost of confidence, Tish.”

Tish just winks at him and disappears back into the kitchen. Eddie just sits and sulks for a bit, head rocking along to the song that Nancy picked out until Robin suddenly slides into view, eyes filled with mischief that Eddie doesn’t care for one bit.

“So… A little birdie told me you’ve been singing Dolly Parton songs here on the regular.” Robin says in a sing-song voice.

Damn Pat and her blabber mouth.

Eddie narrows his eyes at her. “And what about it, Buckley?”

“Nothing! Just wondering if you might wanna play a song for us tonight?” Robin asks. She clasps her hands together and pouts when Eddie rolls his eyes at her. “Please? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And how exactly do you propose to do that?”

“Well… I can’t really say. Not yet anyway.” Robin smiles awkwardly. “But I promise you’ll be happy about it once it works out. Please?”

Eddie sighs - he’s never really been able to resist someone begging and he’s not gonna start now. He finishes his beer in one swig and makes his way over to the stage, taking the now-familiar acoustic guitar from the wall.

His friends sit down at a table close to the stage, staring at him with eager excitement as Eddie tries to think of a song to play. He feels strangely nervous. They had seen him play before, been to a few of Corroded Coffin gigs and he even sang the Beatles’ Blackbird for Nancy’s birthday but this still feels scarier, more intimate.

And the thing is, he can’t really go with one of the songs he played her before because one wrong look in Steve’s direction and he’d be fucked for life. Or even worse, a love song - that’d make for a real awkward evening. So, he finally settles on a song that’s neither of those, but still a song that’s very close to his heart.

“Back through the years, I go wonderin’ once again. Back to the seasons of my youth…” Eddie sings softly, though his drawl rolls out of him with full force.

He can’t help it, it’s the only way he knows how to sing this song because it’s the way his momma sang it to him every night before going to bed. Tucking him in tightly underneath the duvet, covering his face with kisses until he couldn’t stop giggling. Her voice soft and warm as she sang him to sleep.

“There were rags of many colors, every piece was small. And I didn’t have a coat and it was way down in the fall. Mama sewed the rags together, sewin’ every piece with love. She made my coat of many colors, that I was so proud of.”

He thinks of Wayne. Thinks of the clothes Wayne gave him while growing up. How he wore them to school with pride, excited to have clothes to call his own. To have a home and someone taking care of him, not because Wayne had to but because he wanted to.

“So with patches on my britches and in holes in both my shoes, in my coat of many colors, I hurried off to school. Just to find the others laughing and are making of fun of me, in my coat of many colors my mama made for me.”

Thinks of his classmates laughing at his accent, at the way he dressed, at his amazement of seeing snow for the very first time. Remembers going home to Wayne with tears in his eyes, stuffing his plaid shirts into the deepest corner of his closet and trading it for plain black tees instead. Remembers staying up late when Wayne was at work to practice his speech pattern by watching old tv-shows and repeating the lines.

Looks up at his friends. Realizes how he’s showcasing all those parts he hid away for years and is for once, rewarded for it. They’re listening intently, proud smiles on their faces. Nancy and Robin are leaning against each other, their fingers finding their way to one another.

Glances over at Steve, whose hands are folded underneath his chin as he looks at Eddie with a gentle smile, his eyes soft and almost like honey underneath the warm ceiling lights of the bar. He barely blinks, eyes glued to Eddie and Eddie only. It’s a bit distracting, if Eddie’s being honest. He feels his cheeks heat up and he almost misses a chord at one point, realizing then and there why he didn’t pick a love song in the first place.

He needs to sing, not melt into a puddle of goo underneath Steve’s gaze, goddammit.

“Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be. In my coat of many colors, my mama made for me. Made just for me…”

The song softly fades away and Eddie mumbles a quick thanks into the microphone as his friends and the rest of the the bar burst out into applause. He shuffles over to the table where he’s met with Robin and Nancy beaming at him and pulling him into a tight hug.

“That was so good.” Nancy gushes.

“Yeah, it was amazing! You should switch music genres, if I’m honest.” Robin nods. “Change Corroded Coffin’s name into Corroded Cowboy or something.”

Eddie chuckles. “Not sure if the guys are gonna like that. But thanks, girls. Means a lot.”

Steve stays strangely quiet in between Robin and Nancy’s stream of compliments, just fiddling with the coaster in between his fingers. It’s not until Nancy drags Robin to the dance floor when an upbeat song starts playing and Eddie slides into one of the empty seats they left behind, that Steve speaks up.

“You have a really nice voice, you know that?”

He says it so softly that Eddie can barely hear him over the bluegrass music on the speakers. Still, it’s enough for Eddie’s cheeks to flush pink.

“Thanks.” Eddie replies, ducking his head to prevent Steve from seeing his flushed face.

“Seriously, man.” Steve says. “Think about Robin said. I mean, I love hearing you sing and scream about the world’s injustices with Corroded Coffin as much as the next person but…”

Eddie’s heart starts beating out of his chest because holy fuck, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing, Steve loves hearing him sing.

“But these songs seem to come so natural to you, y’know?” Steve glances up to meet Eddie’s eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. “You make it seem so…”

“Easy?” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles and there’s something in his eyes that Eddie can’t quite decipher. A secret that only Steve seems to know. “Yeah, exactly. Easy.”

Eddie feels the flush on his face deepen underneath Steve’s gaze and he needs a way out before he starts doing something incredibly stupid like drag him to the bathroom just to see what happens when he calls Steve darlin’.

“You want a refill?” Eddie says quickly, gesturing towards the empty beer bottle on the table. “My treat.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Eddie.”

The sound of his own name rolling off Steve’s tongue almost makes Eddie stumbles as he stands up makes his way towards the bar. Smooth, Munson, real fuckin’ smooth.

“Two beers please.” Eddie tells Pat, drumming his ring-adorned hands on the faded wood of the bar.

“Here ya go.” Pat says, handing him the drinks. Eddie’s about to turn back, when she stops him. “Ed, I don’t mean to mess with your head or anythin’… But are ya sure that boy’s straight?”

Eddie snorts. “What’d you mean? ‘Course he is.”

“Well, I won’t be so sure about that, kiddo.” Pat says with a knowing smile. “I’ve been seein’ the way he looks at you tonight and well… let’s just say it’s the same way I look at Tish every morning I wake up next to her.”

Eddie looks up to where Steve’s chatting with Jack, one of the older regulars who’s an actually banjo player in his spare time. He just watches them for a minute, a soft smile playing around his lips, the one he always gets when he’s looking at Steve.

Steve looks up and their eyes meet, a bright smile appearing on his face as he wiggles his hands in the air to wave at Eddie. He seems so happy and he’s never looked more beautiful.

Christ, Eddie’s so in love with him.

“That. That look right there. No one looks at their platonic friend like that. Not when there are other feelings involved.” Pat says firmly. “You might wanna start re-thinkin’ this whole situation, Ed.” She adds cryptically and returns to where she’s drying off another glass.

A tingly feeling spreads all over Eddie’s body, a shiver running up his spine. It should feel nice, it does feel nice, but at the same time Eddie knows it’s actually the worst feeling in the world.

Hope.

tag list:

@solosnail @gothbat99 @unclewaynemunson @legitcookie @henderdads @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinisthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @magpiemuseum @mightbeasleep @maya-custodios-dionach @theokatz @this-earlobe-is-naked

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #this one got away from me #i got cursed by munson family feels as i often do #also sorry to everyone i tried to tag but somehow failed to do so??#really dunno what happened there #alice's writing adventures

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getvalentined · 3 months

Text

FF7 Fandom PSA

This is not a callout post, this is a warning about a genuinely dangerous abuser who uses fandom spaces to acquire victims.

Apparently my abusive ex is ingratiating himself into fandom spaces again, so if you're in the FF7 fandom please keep an eye out for someone calling himself Pix or Pixeled.

The details of what he did to me specifically are available in a post from almost exactly two years ago, readable here. Other people have shared their own stories, but I don't have the energy to dig up all of them. Trigger warnings for gaslighting, emotional abuse, violent threats, forced isolation, manipulation, and more that I'm definitely missing.

Known usernames:

Instagram: midgardsomrnights, pixeledartsy, okgoosefus, pixeledpalace

AO3: pixeled, pixeledxxx

tiktok: pixrexpen, gaywrathlet

FFXIV: sarielperedhil (on Brynhildr)

ko-fi: pixrexpalace

Other: pix pendragon, pixeled pendragon, pixrexpendragon

Some of these are current, most of them are not; he's no longer active here or on Twitter that I'm aware of, so I'm not referring to his usernames there, but he uses some combination of parts from these for his usernames everywhere so they followed the same theme.

This is not "fandom drama," this is a sincere warning to anyone in his orbit to be careful and be safe. Please love yourself more than he wants you to.

With that in mind, there are more personal details under the cut, discussing the fallout of going public with his abuse and more of his behavior; no screenshots on these because it's years in the past, not all of the related accounts and spaces still exist, and back when I was first gathering evidence I had to stop before it lapsed into the territory of emotional self-harm.

Same trigger warnings as above, plus racism, (implied) sexual exploitation, sexual manipulation, and discussion of Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

I want to be very clear that I was not the first person to go through this, I was just the first to go public afterward. I have lost relationships with people I thought were friends by doing so, and actually been referred to as abusive in response to my initial thread on Twitter letting people know what he'd done. I've had people who used his treatment of me as an excuse to join in with hurting me go on to co-opt my abuse to make themselves look like victims, claiming that we were best friends until he drove us apart—or worse, to use him as a complete stand-in for their own behavior, implying or outright stating that he forced them to isolate me from friends and fandom activities and treat me like shit, all while these people have me blocked on every possible platform where I could reconnect with them.

Pix was the Bad Guy of early 2022 on FF7 Twitter, and while he deserved the title, not everything everyone said about him was true. Not everything everyone said about me was true, either, but people tend to take anything connected to fandom as "drama," even when it involves literal abuse.

One thing I never told anyone except my closest friends is that Pix drove me to the verge of suicide multiple times. He put up videos insulting me to be "funny" and got friends laughing along, when I asked him to stop teasing me all the time he exploded and said that he was allowed to express himself however he wanted and if I had a problem then I should break up with him so he could finally kill himself guilt-free, he told me that he wasn't going to placate me anymore by saying "I love you," he told me in public spaces to shut up because I didn't know anything. He used racist slurs against Asian people behind my back and told everyone who called him on it that I'd told him it was all right, leading to a continuing belief among some circles that I have some deep internalized racism toward my own fucking ethnicity.

He told me that his mother saw me as a whore and a homewrecker, because I'd seduced him away from his boyfriend of eight years—in spite of the fact that I told him outright I did not want a romantic relationship with him because he was already in one, and I wouldn't be party to cheating. When I went public with what he did, he claimed that I pressured him into a romantic relationship, neglecting to mention that he'd been pushing for one almost since we met and that I'd shot him down because he was already with someone else. He said that I'd forced him to break up with his boyfriend, and seemed to be implying that I'd somehow sexually exploited him because I'm a cisgender lesbian and he identified as an aro/ace trans man at the time we broke up. When we got together, he identified as a bisexual nonbinary person.

To be completely honest, though, his orientation and gender identity doesn't even fucking matter with regards to the implication that I exploited him because we never had any form of sexual contact—unless you want to count RP, which I don't, and if I did I would be calling him a cheater because I was not his only RP partner.

To be completely clear, we were in a long distance relationship, thousands of miles apart, and we had no sexual contact. We never sexted, we never had phone sex, we never even exchanged dirty pictures. Our relationship had no sexual element whatsoever. He eventually told me in no uncertain terms that if/when we got married, he wasn't going to sleep with me because he didn't have a sex drive anymore due to trauma, and that since I loved him so much I'd have to be happy with that.

He would remind me of this when my Body Dysmorphic Disorder began to relapse constantly from the amount of stress he had me under, because my experience with the condition is rooted on my lack of physical femininity and leads me to see myself as completely sexually repulsive. When I was triggered and trying to untie the knot in my chest that made me want to throw up at the thought of my own body, he would remind me that I didn't have to worry about being too ugly for sex with him, because he was never going to fuck me anyway. That it didn't matter if I was disgusting, because he found all bodies disgusting, so really I was lucky to have him. He didn't even care that I was disabled and that my arms and legs are too long, that my joints slip out of place all the time, that the way I have to move sometimes to keep from hurting makes me look "weird and stupid." I was so lucky to have him, because even though he was very aware of all those things, he didn't actually care. He wasn't going to fuck me anyway.

The last Christmas card he sent me literally had the words "You deserve a high-five!" printed on the front, and on the reverse he'd written something along the lines of "okay but you know I'd be sure to miss and slap you in the face, sorry not sorry."

He made my life hell in every possible way, and people said it was drama because we met through fandom—and that I deserved it, honestly, since I was so fucked up and he was such a good person for even caring about me in the first place. I deserved it, people said, since I turned around and stabbed him in the back after he'd done so much for me for the years we were together. It was just fandom drama, they said, and I was just thriving off the social capital it allegedly earned me.

And now he's back and making new friends, but it's fine because this all happened years ago, and everyone with a brain should be able to see that it's just fandom drama. But it's not. It never was. Don't let him convince you otherwise.

#PSA #personal #abuse tw #should I tag this with the fandom?#should I put it on the block?#it's dangerous #for me #but I think it's worth it #to keep others safe #final fantasy 7 #FF7 #final fantasy vii #FFVII #rufus shinra #tsengru #rutseng #the [redacted] files

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stevesjockstrap · 6 months

Text

kinktober last day Steve/Eddie

& voice kink

read on ao3

MDNI - rated E - modern setting, drunk texting, dirty talk

He was an idiot. A complete and utter menace to himself. Why hadn’t he let Robin take his phone or change the password last night? He had honestly thought if he was that blackout drunk he would’ve just come home and passed out. But no.

Steve stopped scrolling through all the notifications on his phone and went to make coffee. After a few sips he sighed and called Robin. Hopefully there wasn’t more to the story.

“Hello?” A deep voice answered and he dropped his phone.

“Oh fuck. Huh?“ He was looking at Robin's name, but who was this? Putting the phone back up to his ear, he could only stutter, “I-I’m sorry, I’m confused I guess. I was trying to call someone else.”

“Well at least I know your phone does make calls,” he mused. This stranger’s voice was already doing things to him. It was so deep and rumbly and he could almost picture the person curled up in bed. Maybe with his shirt off.

“I’m really sorry, I’m trying to catch up on what my drunk self decided to do last night,” he winced. “I, um, apparently saved your number under my best friend’s name, for starters.”

The man chuckled and Steve’s dick stirred in his boxers. He was so fucked. “That does explain some things, at least on my end. How about you do some catching up and call me later? If you want. And stop apologizing, sweetheart.” The endearment with the rich silky voice had him holding back a moan.

“O-okay. Um, could you tell me your name? Please?”

The man groaned and Steve heard rustling which had him imagining the man repositioning on his bed. Oh shit. “So polite now, huh? I’m Eddie. Start on Bumble, for your research.” He snorted and Steve winced.

“Oh man, it’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” Steve’s face flushed and he was glad this stranger couldn’t see him.

“Not the worst drunken flirting I’ve been a part of, promise. Now,” Eddie yawned. “I’m going to go back to sleep I think. Some hot guy had me up late last night. Hopefully he’ll call me back, though.” Steve couldn’t hold back the whimper as Eddie apparently ramped up his flirting voice and his knees almost buckled.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Uhhh yeah, I’m going to do that. Both of those things. Fuck.”

Eddie huffed a laugh and purred, “Talk to you later, Stevie,” before he hung up.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

Steve immediately went to the Bumble app and gasped. He had a ton of new matches and messages. Matches that were men. He’d never made the change to his dating app when he’d allowed himself to face that part of him. Probably for this reason.

But in the mess of rude and gross messages and messages that were just emojis or asking for his number, he found one that said Eddie.

“Holy shit,” he gasped. Eddie was fucking gorgeous. He scrolled through his pictures and each one was better than the last. Long dark curly hair, sometimes twisted up on the top of his head with little bits pulled out to taunt him. Huge brown eyes with ridiculous eye lashes, the most delicious lips he’d ever seen. Steve never really went for the rock and roll look but apparently he was into it when it looked this good. The shredded jeans with a cropped band tee really converted him.

There were a few prompts where Eddie had used the voice feature and Steve played the first one.

Eddie’s caramel voice resounded in his tiny kitchen and he gasped again. “I get way too excited about finding the perfect album in a dusty pile in the corner of an antique shop. Or when someone wants to watch Lord of the Rings with me.” There was another little aggravating chuckle and Steve didn’t hold back the moan.

“This cannot be real.” Steve made himself go back to the beginning of the messages, knowing it was going to be embarrassing.

It was worse than he could imagine.

(2:18am) u r so ducking hot n ur voice is driving me

(2:18am) so so crazy

Steve swiped out and went into his contacts to try to actually call Robin. The number listed under her name was clearly now Eddie. He went to his messages and found the thread with just her number and hit call.

“How are you functioning already this early? You were fucked-“

“Robin, I have a code red! A double code red. I don’t-“

“Wh-huh? What?”

“Apparently I drunkenly hit on this fucking gorgeous dude on Bumble last night and it’s, oh shit,” he rubbed at his face with his free hand. “Well, maybe I didn’t fuck it up completely because I just accidentally called him and he seemed…”

“Seemed?” Robin prompted. He could hear her smirk through the phone.

“He didn’t seem put off. Like at all. He told me to catch up on our messages and call him back.”

“That’s very cute.”

After putting her on speaker, he swiped back into Bumble, encouraged now by having Robin metaphorically by his side and knowing Eddie still seemed interested after all.

(2:34am) Thanks, you’re pretty ducking hot yourself. Having a good night?

Eddie let him ramble for a while about his night out with Robin, even Steve having trouble deciphering his terrible drunk texting. It was then full speed ahead for horny drunk Steve.

(2:56am) cd cum jus from ur voice omfg

(3:12am) need ur dick in my

(3:12am) mouth

(3:14am) r wherevr u want rly

Steve winced but saved Eddie’s pictures and screenshotted his embarrassing nonsense and sent it to Robin.

“Oh my god, Steve.”

“Bobbi I swear to you I don’t remember any of this but I mean I do think his voice is like the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. His morning voice was like-“ he groaned and Robin made fake gagging noises at him.

“You said you accidentally called him today? So he gave you his number even after all of this disgustingness?”

“Oh, yeah! And I somehow saved his number as you. So when I tried to call you this morning it was him.” He navigated back to his messages and opened the text thread for 👯 Robin Bobin🍦”Oh no.”

The messages weren’t much more coherent but Steve understood what Eddie had meant when he said it cleared up some things on his end.

“I was texting him thinking I was texting you… about him… oh my god, Rob. What did I drink last night?”

(3:39am) hes soooo so so soooo forgoes

(3:39am) gorgus

(3:40am) gorgeus

(3:48am) Lol oh yeah?

(3:49am) I hope you’re home and safe, babe.

(3:50am) yah I’m in m bed

(3:50am) wanna hear ur voice

(3:52am) Okay lol give me one sec

(3:54am) stop calling me im wating for te love of my life to call dingus

“Jesus Christ.” He chugged the rest of his coffee and sunk into the couch. “Dude I kept demanding he call me but then yelled at him… thinking he was you calling. Telling you to stop calling me because ‘the love of my life’ was going to call. I’m never drinking again.”

“Why did he put up with this? And still wants to talk to you! You must have some amazing pictures on your profile,” she laughed.

“Well you picked them.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “Then of course he’s in love with you.”

The texts kept coming.

(4:02am) want to lik ur face

(4:06am) You’re cute.

(4:19am) boo I threw up ☹️

(4:22am) Aww sweetheart are you okay?

(4:34am) malljng asleep

(4:35am) Me too. Get some rest, honey.

“He’s so fucking sweet and amazing, Robs. All this shit I was doing and he was just worried about me. I can’t call this guy back. I can’t believe he answered when I called and woke him up.”

“He clearly likes you, dipshit. Call him back!”

He tortured himself for the rest of the morning going through the messages on Bumble. He saved his number properly (Eddie 🥵🥵🥵) and saw in his call log he’d missed a few calls and a FaceTime call from him the night before.

He scrolled through his own profile, trying to look at it as if he was someone else. Robin had done most of the profile for him. He groaned and covered his face when he saw a ‘throwback’ picture of him in his Scoops Ahoy uniform from years ago. But Eddie had commented on it, “You wouldn’t happen to still have this outfit, would you? 😏”

Unsurprisingly, on a picture of Eddie in big black boots Steve had said, “I want u tk stomp on me w this boots.”

He took tylonel and chugged some water and took a shower. Then he found himself back on his couch with his phone in his hand. He replayed all of Eddie’s voice prompts to continue to torture himself. How could he be so attracted to someone’s voice? Their recorded voice, even. In person it had to be mind melting.

He texted Robin, triple checking that it was the correct thread.

(1:08pm) what if I move to Guam?

(1:09pm) that means you haven’t called him yet?

(1:09pm) ofc not, Robin! I’ve already made a huge ass of myself

(1:10pm) if he’s interested in you he apparently likes huge asses 🍑🍑🍑

Steve groaned.

(1:10pm) why am I best friends with you again?

(1:11pm) cuz we’re the same person and we were trauma bonded by a terrible ice cream job

(1:11pm) CALL

(1:11pm) HIM

The choice was apparently made for him because his phone was ringing and he stupidly answered it.

“Um. Hi?”

“Hi. I know I told you to call me but I figured I’d jump the gun since I work later. Didn’t want to miss you.”

“That’s okay. I’m, uh, I’m very embarrassed, honestly.” He covered his eyes with his hand and scrunched into the couch. “I promise I don’t do things like this.”

Eddie made a soft comforting noise. “It’s okay, Stevie. I promise it wasn’t offensive. Intriguing, actually. Endearing.”

God, his fucking voice. He could listen to him read the dictionary. A small groan punched out of him before he could hold it back.

“You’re okay, though? I was mostly worried about you.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for being so nice while I was being a menace.”

Eddie laughed. Steve pressed the phone against his face trying to get it closer to him. “You weren’t being a menace, sweetheart.” His honeyed voice cascaded over him and he made another simpering noise. “What’s got you all whimpery then?”

“Fuck. Your voice,“ he whined. He shouldn’t have been listening to his prompts all morning because he had already been buzzing from it and now getting it directed at him was too much.

“Oh that was for real? I assumed that was just a line.” Eddie definitely made his voice even more dark and sexy and Steve whimpered for real. “Maybe it’s a good thing you never answered last night. Would’ve kept your promise but been too out of it to remember.”

“Kept my promise?”

Eddie chuckled. “You told me you could come just from my voice.”

“Fuuucckk. I mean maybe, I’m hard from just listening to your prompts- uhhh,” he groaned.

“Oh really?” His voice changed again to a more dark and sultry tone and Steve’s hips jolted up with a low moan. “God you really are, aren’t you?”

Steve did a little breathy “mhm” and Eddie groaned, low and dirty.

“Oh my god.” Steve was losing his mind. He had never been so turned on from someone talking to him. Every word he said felt like it was going straight to his dick. “Eddie-“

“Holy shit, if you keep saying my name like that I’ll be coming in my pants right after you.”

Steve grabbed the back of the couch to stop himself from reaching for his throbbing dick. He whined again, feeling so desperate already.

“You’re okay, angel. So you went out last night? With your friend?”

“Oh shit. Y-yeah. Finals are over.”

“Are you in school?” Eddie’s voice seemed to shift again but Steve just shook his head. Then realized he couldn’t see him.

“Ah- n-no, Robin, my friend. She’s in her last year of college. I’m, uh, not.” A less fun version of humiliation clenched his guts.

“Robin is the one you saved my number under? You seem close.”

“Yeah. We met in high school. She’s, can we not really talk much about her, like right now?”

Eddie laughed. “Sure, baby. I get it. You wanna hear more about me, huh?” He could picture the exact smirk he bet was spread across his face.

“Fuck, sure. Anything. Please just keep talking.”

“You’re so sweet,” he said. “You by yourself? No roommates we have to worry about?”

“Ah- no. Just me. Apartment neighbors, but they’ve probably heard worse-“

“Oh yeah? You get loud, baby? Gunna be loud for me?” He sounded downright pornographic now. Dark and filthy and Steve wanted to roll in it.

“God, how are you doing this? I’ve never- ah, shit- This is weird, right?”

Eddie hummed. “Not weird, Stevie. It’s so sexy, hearing you get all flustered over me. If it makes you feel better you’re the first person who’s been this interested in my voice,” he chuckled again and Steve moaned. “You gettin’ close, angel?” Steve made a noise he hoped was affirmative. “Not touching yourself, right? Wanna see if you can do it with just me talking,” he dropped his voice low and sultry again.

“Oh my god,” Steve was reeling. How was this possible? “You need to run a 900 line or something.” Eddie laughed again, a real laugh and Steve could picture him throwing his head back, hair flying. His neglected dick throbbed at him.

“I think it’s just you, babe. Which is fine for me. I don’t usually like this sort of attention. But you’re so genuine about it. You just want someone to take care of you, huh?” The words and the rich silky tone had him moaning again, dick jumping in his sweats.

“Yes,” he breathed. “So close, please,” he gasped out, letting his hips move uncontrollably.

“Doing so good, Stevie. Gunna make a mess for me? You’re so amazing. You know you were driving me crazy all night right? Telling me to call and then not answering and telling me off about it. Would go stare at your pictures in your profile and all was forgiven. You could convince me to do anything, baby. Just turn those eyes up at me and I’d fold instantly.”

Steve whimpered loudly, then shoved knuckles in his mouth, suddenly self conscious about his noises.

“Hey, let me hear you. Want you to be loud for me, c’mon. Know you’ve gotta be so close, little one. Gunna come so hard. I know,” he crooned. “You’ve got me close, too. Picturing you all sprawled out for me, all needy and desperate. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you if I was there.”

A loud moan burst out of him and his hips jolted forward again. The thought of Eddie being here, touching him and talking to him was forcing him to clench his fist into the couch to keep himself from touching his dick.

“Please,” he cried out.

“Oh, honey, I know. You’re so perfect, so sweet. Making me crazy. Bet you looked so good when you went out last night, yeah? Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Did you dance? Let everyone see you? Did you let them put their hands on you? Slide in behind you?”

Steve groaned and said, “Uh huh.” Eddie groaned back.

“Yeah, but then you came home and found me. Chose me instead. Because you knew I’d give you what you really needed. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He was squirming around so much now and constantly making little punched out moans and whimpers. Eddie’s voice in his ear was just right, saying just what he needed to hear and going straight to his cock.

“Yeah, yes Eddie. Fuck- oh oh,” he rocked his hips, getting a tiny bit of friction against his boxers.

“C’mon, you can do it. So fucking hot, baby. Maybe we’ll try this again when I see you. Lay you out across my lap and just talk to you. Huh? Think we’d make it? Before I lost my mind and fucked you?”

Steve cried out, almost dropping his phone. “Oh fuck, oh my god-“ he panted and shoved his phone back to his face. “Please-“

“Yeah, you’d be begging for my cock huh? And I’d give it to you. Would give you everything you wanted. So fucking good for me. Now come.” The growl under his voice sent Steve spiraling.

He yelled out as he came, seeing stars. He dropped the phone out of his hand to clench around the cushion behind his head as his hips continued pumping.

When he scrambled for his phone his thumb hit the video call button and suddenly he was face to face with the man who just made him come untouched.

“Oh. Hi.” His face was red and sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead in the little box. Eddie smirked at him, looking mostly nonplussed. His hair was piled in a bun on the top of his head and it made Steve want to yank the tie out.

“Hi baby. Well? Let me see.”

“Oh my god,” he panted. But he turned the camera around to pan down to the growing wet spot in his sweats, his legs still jumping.

“Fuck, you’re so ridiculously hot.”

Steve turned it back to his face again but covered it with his hand.

“Don’t do that, honey. You’re perfect. That was the hottest thing ever.”

Steve peeked out from over his hand. “Really?”

“Really. When can I see you? What are you doing tomorrow?”

Steve giggled. “Tomorrow’s free.”

@lawrencebshoggoth @lighthousebeams

#Kinktober #steddie Kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #Steddie smut #stranger things smut #we made it to the end lol

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lululandd · 11 months

Note

Ok I can't stop thinking about the froggie statues in the plants. (Find all the froggie figurines!) Reader should keep a teeny tiny one in her pocket so that when (if?) Ghost eventually invites her inside, she can sneak one in his apartment. 🐸

at peace;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

wordcount: 1205

warning: fluff, froggies, simon riley is a fucking mess, part 2 of this fic

note: also on ao3

summary: what tendy said.

The last time he felt nervous to the point of nausea was a year ago, when he learnt of Graves and Shepherd’s betrayal. But today he felt even worse than that. He saw a glimpse of her daily, sometimes once every two days. The woman saunters to his balcony, waters his plants, wipes the little frogs clean—apparently he missed a little purple one by the orchid—and goes back upstairs.

He bought different kinds of teas the other day, not knowing what kind she would like, and now the possibility of her not liking tea at all made bile rise up to the back of his throat. Why is he feeling like this? She’s just his neighbour. He’s just being polite by repaying her for making his fire escape look decent. He’s killed men numerous times before and felt nothing, but why is asking his neighbour to come insi—

Realisation hits as he ran for the sink.

He’s never invited anyone in before. Not even Johnny knows where he lives. This would be the first time since he moved here that he would invite someone inside. He looked around the place. Is this how normal people live? Could it be too… pristine? Too immaculate? Should he have at least one picture on a shelf? He glanced at the gloomy state of his apartment and decided he needed to add a little more…. life to it.

He was caught off guard on his way back from his third trip to the store. He had a little shoe rack and some books on the backseat of his car.

“Hey neighbour!” He heard her speak.

Fuck.

“Allright?”

She nodded. The woman had a cup of something he can’t distinguish but recognise the café it came from. “You need help?” She gestured at his car.

“Yes.” He answered without thinking. The word just fired out of his brain like a bullet; straight out of his mouth. He didn’t need her help, didn’t want her help. There’s a very empty picture frame on the desk next to the telly and he’s fairly sure she’d be weirded out by. “In a bit.”

She visibly backed off and he thought he had said the wrong thing when she just nodded, “I’ll swing by in an hour? That allright?”

“Yeah.”

He fixed his empty frame problem, placed the books down, and arranged all the extra knick-knacks he bought to somewhere he thought would look normal and presentable. It was after spraying his living space with some air freshener that he started questioning what he was doing. Why was he doing this? To what extent is he going to pretend he is a functioning human being? Would he have done the same thing if Soap was to come over?

A knock on his balcony door lets him know if he would pass as being normal to a civilian. He was greeted with a decent sized tupperware of brownies half shoved into his face. “So what am I helping with?”

Shit.

In his daze to make his place seem normal as possible he had cleaned and put everything in its place. “Sorry, fixed it actually. Fancy a cuppa instead?”

She handed him the brownies so she can take her shoes off. She left them outside by the plants, and saw they were just like them, colourful. He gestured to the sofa as he walked to the kitchen, “Any requests?”

He was unimpressed when she skipped the sofa entirely and walked with him to the kitchen. The girl probably doesn’t trust him with her tupp—

“Any would be fine, I’m not picky.” She instead sat on the dining chair that previously held his dying plant. The plant that started all of this.

“There’s a couple. White, black, earlgrey, chamomile, matcha, as—.”

“No way. Matcha? Do you have that whisk thingy too?” She moved her wrist around.

He opened a drawer and grabbed the wooden whisk and proudly held it up. “You want matcha?”

To his dismay she shook her head, “I’ll just have whatever you feel like having right now.”

“Guest’s choice.”

“I brought brownies. Host’s pick.”

“Matcha goes great with brownies.” He lied. He just wanted to see her eyes light up like earlier.

She nodded enthusiastically, “Whatever you say, you’re the tea expert.”

Fuck. She was just being polite and leaves everything to him because she thinks he’s knowledgeable. He needs more info about tea if he— If he what, actually. Why does he keep thinking about what she wants and what she thinks of him? Would he have thought the same if it was Price thinking he knows more about tea than he really does?

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that when he turned around to hand her the tea, she wasn’t in her seat anymore. She was looking at the books he had put on the shelf. He had to walk over to hand her the mug.

“You a fan?” She pointed at his freshly purchased Dune books, he sees the sparkle in her eyes again and he has to disappoint her for the second time today.

“Haven’t read ‘em yet. Thought the covers looked interesting.”

“So you just… bought the whole hardcover set because they looked… pretty?” He notices the many crinkles at the edge of her eyes when she smiles. He would like to coun—

“Gotta match my new garden.” He nodded at the balcony. It was utter horseshite from his part but he must admit that the books did make the view prettier. He needs to take that into consideration when buying things now.

The way her face lights up to look up at him mimics the first time he had offered his space to her. “You mean it?”

He took a sip of his tea with one hand and crossed his heart with the other. He hoped this would distract her from his face because he was sure he was blushing. Where’s his mask when he n—

No.

Ghost doesn’t belong here, not now. Ghost will be needed someday when someone bothers her. Ghost will be sorely awakened that day when she tells him she shouldn’t be coming over anymore, but for the time being Ghost doesn’t belong here.

He reminded her about the brownies and glad that whatever bollocks he spewed earlier turned out correct. Matcha did go with brownies. The girl said so herself.

“I’m Simon, by the way.”

—

He got a call from Price that night, and for the first time, he was sad he had to leave. His mind wandered to his books and wondered if he will ever even read past a quarter of the first one. As he walked over to look at them, he noticed something.

There was a skinny little frog covered in glitter—standing upright with an unamused face—hidden behind the books and the empty basket he had up there. He then moved the frog front and centre, where it really belongs.

Or, that’s where he thought it does, until a week later. The glitter caught his eye as he scans the room one last time before leaving, so he snagged it from its perch and slips it into his inner jacket pocket, comfortably held against his heart.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty #scuffed writing

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sidekick-hero · 2 months

Text

On April 2nd, freshly delivered to AO3: Emotional Motion Sickness, my contribution to the @strangerthingsreversebigbang inspired by art from the amazing @arimakes

Have a lil snippet as a treat 💜

When he looks at Eddie again, he sees that the other man is already looking back at him. A warm smile is on his face, which Steve returns without thinking. It grows even wider when Eddie takes his hand in his own and caresses his knuckles.

"So, I just had at least twenty different conversations with you in my head and none of my opening lines were any good. You were great, don't worry, you said all the right things." Steve laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He didn't pick Eddie to be a Casanova, but definitely a charmer. And while Eddie is charming, he's apparently also a total dork.

In other words, he is exactly Steve's type.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I mess up this one too, I'm trying a new approach," Eddie announces, clearing his throat. "Steve, would you allow me the honor of showing you that kink can be different than what you just described?"

When Steve says nothing for too long, Eddie adds hastily, "Not that you were wrong, not at all. Everything you described is kink, and I'm pretty sure you'd find people here for all those things. I'm just saying I could show you a different part of it, one you might like. Or not, which would be totally fine. We can stop at any time and you can say no to anything, consent is the most important thing.” Without really waiting for an answer, Eddie barrels on. "God, I'm really screwing this up, aren't I? Twenty-one tries and I'm still fumbling it, no wonder I was always picked last in gym class.“

Steve, who, thanks to his friendship with Robin, can spot a nervous rambler from a mile away, flips their hands, laces his fingers with Eddie's and squeezes his hand. "Deep breaths, Eddie. You're fine, I promise. It's actually a sweet offer, and I hope the "me" in your head told you that, too.”

Staring at their joined hands with a smile, Eddie ducks his head and looks back at Steve with a painfully sincere, hopeful expression on his face. God, he's so screwed, Steve thinks, an all too familiar feeling tugging at his heart. No, no, no, way too soon, abort, he scolds his heart, but he knows it's not listening. It never does.

"So? What do you think? Or if you need more time to think, that's totally cool, too." Eddie tells him earnestly and Steve believes him. He can tell how much Eddie wants him to say yes, but he's willing to wait for Steve, no matter how long it takes. Steve has no idea how he can know that, since he doesn't know much more about the man than his name, but he does. It's in the way Eddie keeps smiling at him, his thumb running absentmindedly over the back of Steve's hand, his body language open and soft.

As he keeps looking at the man in front of him, Steve marvels at how different it feels to be wanted by Eddie. The guys he had been with before had been easy, a sure thing, their hunger for Steve palpable but shallow. Easily satiated and discarded. With Eddie, it's deeper, more substantial. He makes Steve feel wanted in a different way, not as a means to an end. Rather, it feels like at this moment, there is nothing in this world for Eddie but Steve and the prospect of taking Steve home and exploring something new with him. It's heady and warm and Steve wants to say yes.

Steve had wanted to say yes to Eddie the moment he first laid eyes on him, if he's being honest.

So he does. He tells Eddie he'd love to and bathes in the sheer glow of Eddie's answering smile.

Just like when he entered the Hideout tonight, he has no idea what he's getting into, but at least this time he's not alone.

A special shout out to my cheerleaders @firefly-party and @thefreakandthehair as well as @starrystevie and of course for the most amazing beta @acasualcrossfade who picked this one apart and helped me put it back together even better. Love you guys! 💜🥰

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things reverse big bang #strbb #my writing

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questforgalas · 10 months

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Code Red Training

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GIF by mlmanakin

Summary: Kix has to give a training on the menstrual cycle to the 501st. It goes exactly how you think it would

Characters: 501st legion (Jesse, Fives, Rex, Kix, Echo, Dogma, Appo, and made up clone names), Ahsoka Tano

WC: 2.4K

Notes: This is based off another silly HC I posted the other day I couldn't get out of my head. I think the idea of the engineered clones raised surrounded by men learning about the menstrual cycle is a hilarious concept. Very silly stuff. The boys are in awe of their commander after

Tags: descriptions of the menstrual cycle and what occurs. Swearing

Tay's Masterlist

Read on AO3

Kix was running out of tasks to keep his hands busy. The informational flimsies were on the fourth variation of stacking, and he’d rearranged the educational sculptures in every possible space on the desk. He wasn’t nervous. He just could make a list of 1000 other duties he’d rather be doing than, well, this.

Kix had the 41st Elite Corps to thank for this one. The poor padawan commander of the 41st apparently wasn’t prepared for her cycle, and while she was trying to retreat to her quarters to remedy the situation, she was caught with a noticeable blood stain that, understandably, caused her troopers to go into a panic. Chaos ensued as an entire corps sprang into action to save their commander who, to their knowledge, was bleeding to death for no reason.

There’s no official report on the matter, but the message from Insi, the medic of the 41st, simply said “The troopers involved won’t be looking Commander Offee in the eye anytime soon”.

So now, all battalions led by a female general or commander had to sit through educational training on the menstrual cycle.

A 3-D model of the uterus taunted him from across the desk.

“Gotta say, don’t exactly envy you with this one, Kix,” Captain Rex’s voice interrupted Kix’s internal battle to cancel the next session and run, but instead, he turned to face his Captain, standing at attention and offering a short salute.

“You envy everything else I get to deal with, sir?” The medic offered a sly smirk as Rex put him at ease.

“You got me there,” Rex chuckled. “Although, last I remember, it wasn’t too long ago you’d be right next to Fives and Jesse when I’d be threatening another ‘fresher duty to ward off any antics.”

Kix brought a hand to his chest, feigning hurt, “Me, sir? Antics? I’d never.”

“Just because you knew how to hide the evidence better doesn’t mean you were more innocent.” A playful shove on his shoulder broke his performance.

“It’s called a medic’s attention to detail, sir.”

Rex offered a hum in response, the fond smile on his lips softening the threat of his eye roll, and he continued to make his way across the room to the chair set up in the back corner. As the commanding officer, Rex had to give his approval on the training which meant Kix already took him through the session – The captain remained professional the entire session, but the increasing crimson of his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed – so his presence here now only meant one thing.

Rex knew who was on the roster, and he was here for a show.

“You think you’re being sly Captain, but I see right through you,” Kix accused.

“I’m not sure what you mean. It’s my duty as captain to perform surprise training inspections. It’s for the good of my men.” Rex’s face remained impassive, but the medic didn’t miss the smirk tugging at his lips or the glint in his eyes.

Before he could answer, he heard voices coming down the hall. Kix went through the same mental routine he did when he boarded a LAATi, and with one last deep breath, he readied himself for battle.

_____________________________________________________________

“Wait, wait, wait! A tube?! They have an actual tube in them?”

“Not just a tube, Hardcase. Two tubes!”

“Can females create metal?!”

“How does a baby even fit in there? Like, the same size as us in the tube? Come out of THAT!”

“FEMALES LAY EGGS?!”

The first ten minutes of the session went about as well as Kix could hope for. Characteristic of this group, they were rowdy when they filed in, most coming in from the mess hall, and many in the middle of glorified battle stories that their audience wasn’t buying. As they took their seats, they settled in, and most conversation had quieted down, but when Kix stood upfront waiting for a second too long, pointed looks by Echo and Dogma had the room quieting down quickly.

Much to Kix’s surprise, the group remained attentive and curious during the first parts of his notes as he walked them through the anatomy. Not to his surprise, all hell broke lose when he started to explain conception and gestation. When the questions erupted, Kix stole a glance to the back of the room. Rex was barely holding his composure, and it looked like Jesse’s outburst broke the professional dam as Rex quickly hid his face behind his hand, shoulders shaking.

“Alright, alright, alright. Calm down! One question at a time,” Kix barked. “First, the fallopian tubes are not metal tubes, Hardcase. It’s just what they’re called because they connect two sections. Second, yes, babies as big as we are when we come out of the tube are born through the vagina. If necessary, they can be cut out, bu-“

“THEY CUT THEM OU-“ Smack “Ow!”

“Cut it, Appo,” Echo scolded.

“As I was saying, they can be cut out, but that’s in emergency situations. And lastly, they don’t lay eggs. Not females with this anatomy. They carry eggs, and once a female hits puberty, their ovaries release one egg once a month for it to be fertilized,” Kix finished.

“Oh I can tell you allll about how they’re ferti-“ Smack. “Ow!”

“Fives, you’ve never even talked to a girl,” Echo was on a roll Kix very much appreciated.

Taking a pause before moving onto the next section, Kix swept his gaze across the room. Dogma furiously scribbled notes while Hardcase and Oddball looked like they were trying to solve the equation of an ion engine. Echo lazed with his arms across his chest, attention trained on the medic, but gave Appo another swat when he noticed his head nodding to the side. Fives still rubbed the back of his head where Echo hit him, looking like a hurt loth pup not getting to make his crude joke.

Crowded in the middle, a hand raised. Kix recognized the trooper as one of the newest 501st.

“Yes, Doma?”

“Thank you, sir. I’m just curious. What, what happens to the egg if it isn’t fertilized? Does it just…fall out?” The trooper looked around on the ground as if expecting to find a scattering of eggs around him. A soft laugh floated from the back corner of the room.

“Well, Doma, that leads us into the final part of this training. If the egg isn’t fertilized, then the female body goes through what is called the ‘menstrual cycle’ in common. It’s possibly called other things in other languages, but it all refers to the same process.”

Kix picked up the 3-D model and moved back to the front and center of the room, pointing to the uterine lining.

“When released, the egg settles in the lining of the uterus. If it’s not fertilized, the lining sheds and discards the old lining and the egg through the vagina. Then the lining builds up again over the next month preparing for the next egg,” Kix explained. Silence settled over the room and not a single trooper moved. Even Echo looked like Kix just explained a 10-page battle strategy to him with one minute to learn it. “Ok, where did I lose you all?”

Eyes glanced around, no one wanting to speak first. Finally, Dogma raised his hand.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘sheds and discards the old lining’?” he grimaced.

“Here goes nothing,” Kix thought.

“Well, exactly what it sounds like. The lining literally tears itself from the uterus, falls through the vagina, and exits.”

Eruption.

“YOU MEAN-“

“THEIR BODY IS LITERALLY TEA-“

“HOW OFTEN DOES-“

“SHEDS? LIKE, THEIR BODY JUST-“

Fives, Hardcase, Jesse, and a trooper Kix didn’t recognize jumped to their feet, yelling questions. Dogma turned pale. Doma was bracing his head in his hands. Echo’s eyes went wide, stare fixed on a spot in front of him, and troopers around the room reacted with a mix of horror and confusion. The quiet laugh in the corner of the room mingled with the ruckus. Acting fast, Kix brought his fingers to his lips and let out a whistle the patrol across camp could probably hear. Immediately, the questions ceased, but the looks of horror remained. His narrowed eyes got the message across, and all the troopers settled back into their seats. Once he was sure they were focused back on him, Kix went on.

“This is where we’ll open up the question portion of the training.”

Every hand shot up.

“Fives, if this is a joke,” Kix warned.

“No, it’s serious I promise!” Fives pleaded. Kix nodded for him to go on. “When they’re going through this men-menstrol? Mens-“

“Menstrual.”

“Thanks, vod. When they’re going through this menstrual cycle, is it painful?”

“Yes. Pain can vary female to female, but common symptoms are severe cramps. Many females experience cramps painful enough to cripple them anywhere from a couple hours to days. Other common symptoms are muscle cramps in their lower backs and legs, interrupted sleep cycle, severe mood swings, bloating, digestive changes, and headaches or migraines.” Kix explained. A room of faces grimaced back at him.

“How long does it last for,” Echo asked.

“Again, it varies female to female, but on average 3 to 7 days.”

“7 days?! They’re just…bleeding! For 7 days!” A trooper exclaimed in the back.

“Maker, I didn’t think of that,” Jesse mused. “They’re just walking around with their bodies tearing itself on the inside, and they’re just…ok?”

“Well…” Kix started. “I wouldn’t say they’re ‘ok’, but they’re expected to go through life with it. So yes, many females you encounter could be in their cycle.”

“And this happens, every month?” Jesse asked, amazement in his voice.

“Yes, once the female becomes of age, and as long as everything is regular, it happens once a month.”

“Whoa,” Awe passed over the troopers.

“Wait,” Appo shot up in his seat. “Commander Tano!”

Kix’s eyes instinctively found Rex’s. The captain’s smirk turned into a wolfish grin, and it took all of Kix’s respect for the decorated captain to not flip him off.

“What about the commander?” Kix returned to the group.

“Well, she’s a female!” Appo blurted.

“Appo, are you asking if Commander Tano experiences a menstrual cycle?” Kix asked. The captain answered with a vigorous nod of his head, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Well, I can’t disclose patient information, but Commander Tano is of the age that it’s common for females to begin theirs.”

“That..is so…fucking…cool!” Oddball exclaimed.

“You mean our Commander is out there kicking clanker butt while her body is literally tearing itself on the inside? I mean, can she be any greater?” Echo proclaimed, a proud twinkle in his eye.

“Ohhhh is that why she randomly hordes all the chocolate cakes in the mess?” Fives mused.

“I don’t think I need to remind all of you that it is not procedure or polite to bombard the commander with questions about this,” a stern voice interrupted from the back. Amusement still danced in his eyes, but the expression on Rex’s face shut all conversation down immediately.

“Yes, sir,” echoed unanimously.

“Alright, well, if there aren’t any more questions, that concludes the training,” Kix dismissed. While his brothers filed out of the room, Kix allowed himself to relax his shoulders for the first time since Fives entered.

Rex appeared in front of him, hand clasping down on his shoulder, “Not bad trooper. I think you’ll only be getting questions from Hardcase for the next 20 rotations.”

____________________________________________________________

“Hey, Rex. Have you noticed the boys have been…odd lately?” Ahsoka asked while she and Rex made their way through the halls of the Resolute,

“Not sure I know what you mean, Commander,” Rex responded.

Walking through the narrow halls, a few troopers stepped to the side to salute the commander and captain as they passed. Ahsoka noticed two things. First, their eyes went wide when they first took her in. Second, their force signatures spiked instantly with something mixed with astonishment and pride. Once they passed, she could swear she heard one of them murmur, “An absolute legend.”

These types of occurrences had been happening regularly over the last few weeks, and Ahsoka grew more confused with each one.

“I don’t know. All of them have been looking at me like the shinies look at Anakin when they meet him for the first time. It’s, unnerving,” she explained.

Rex did his best to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest. Of course, he’d noticed his brothers completely obvious demeanor change towards their commander. Ever since Kix’s trainings finished, the whole 501st viewed their vod’ika in a whole new light – one that put her on par, if not higher, than their general.

“Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how they get, especially in between missions. Restless and bored. Start actin’ weird. Don’t pay attention to it,” Rex tried to deflect.

Making their way around the corner, Fives and Echo were spotted leaving the mess heading in their direction. When the ARCs recognized who was ahead of them, Fives bounded their way.

“Commander! Lucky running into you. Here, I grabbed an extra chocolate cake just for you. Figured you can stash it away, save it for later,” Fives suggested, giving a wink like he and Ahsoka were in on a secret only the two of them know.

“Uh, thanks, Fives. That was, kind?” Ahsoka shot a look to Rex that said “See?”, but he just shrugged her off as if Fives giving her chocolate cakes happened every day.

“Oh, and commander, I stopped by the med bay earlier. I saw they were low on high strength painkillers, so I requested that Kix put in a supply order right away so we’re well stocked. Wouldn’t want to be caught unprepared, right?” Echo added.

Rex groaned internally. For ARCs, these two were the most obvious troopers he’d ever known.

“That’s, good to know, Echo. Thanks, I think?” Ahsoka tried her best to sound polite, but the whole interaction just confused her more.

“You’re welcome! Well, we’re off to the rec center for some sparring. Rex, join us later?” Echo asked.

“Another time, Echo. I have a briefing at 1500,” Rex answered, dismissing the troopers.

Later that day, Ahsoka stashed that cake in her quarters and made a note to stop by the med bay to grab some of the painkillers before next week. She didn’t know what was going on with the boys, but she wasn’t going to not take advantage.

#tay writes #star wars #the clones wars #501st legion #captain rex #arc trooper echo #arc trooper jesse #arc trooper fives #clone trooper dogma #captain appo #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #clone trooper hardcase #divider by samspenandsword #cw: menstruation

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cranberrymoons · 5 months

Text

winter games

prompt: sports (@steddieholidaydrabbles) word count: 605 rated: t tags: basketball, fluff, eddie enduring jock stobin ✊😔 notes: this one stands alone but is part of the future fic series!

welcome to Day 22 of the fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

Eddie has a type, and much to his eternal dismay, his type is jocks – with a heart of gold, though! That’s an important distinction.

Anyway.

He’d been afraid that this would lead to him marrying into a Turkey Trot family, a bunch of evil sporty people in spandex who wake up at five in the morning on Thanksgiving day to run a 5K in the freezing cold before they’ll allow themselves a slice of pumpkin pie, but luckily for him, this hasn’t turned out to be the case.

Unluckily, he has instead found himself married to someone who takes basketball… so goddamn seriously.

It’s actually kind of adorable, even if he doesn’t actually know or care what’s happening as he sits back on the couch with Steve’s feet in his lap while he and Robin yell at the screen.

“I don’t know what the hell he thinks he’s doing,” Steve says as Eddie takes a swig of his beer and watches impassively at the tiny men in the red jerseys running back and forth on the court. “It’s like he’s never even seen a hoop before.”

“Seriously,” Robin says. She hands over her bag of chips when Steve makes a grab for it. She rips an anxious hand back through her hair where she’s curled in the big squashy armchair near the couch. “Pathetic.”

“They’re still winning though, aren’t they?” Eddie asks. They turn to him with twin exasperated looks, and Eddie widens his eyes. “Indiana. They’re winning.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve says as Robin nods along emphatically. “They should be winning by more.”

Eddie makes a face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense to you,” Robin says. She rolls her eyes. “Just because –”

But they both devolve into outraged shouts at something that’s just happened in the game, and she doesn’t finish her thought. Steve gets so wound up that his feet shift in Eddie’s lap, heels digging into the tops of his thighs, and Eddie lets out a little grunt of pain. He squeezes Steve’s ankle to get him to move, and Steve gives him a distracted apology as he commiserates with Robin over what is apparently something worth being very upset over.

“Neither of you even went to this school,” he says under his breath, taking another swig of his drink. “Why do you even care?”

Robin glares at him. “How many ear-blasting rock shows have I sat through over the years?”

Eddie sighs. “A bunch.”

“An innumerable number,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “You can put up with one basketball game.”

Steve makes a face. “She kind of has a point.” He rubs a hand over Eddie’s arm where it rests against his legs. “Sorry. Go do a snack run or something if you’re bored. We’re not even to halftime yet.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be asked twice, not when there are several hours (?) of this in his immediate future. He shifts out from under Steve and collects a few empty plates before starting in the direction of the kitchen.

“Bring more drinks!” Robin calls after him.

“And some of the Christmas cookies from earlier!” Steve adds, craning his neck around to be heard from his spot on the couch.

Eddie just rolls his eyes, smiling to himself as he pulls open the fridge and stares into it, considering starting some type of cooking project just to keep himself out of the way of the two-person cheering squad in the living room.

And – okay, so his type is jocks. Doesn’t mean he actually wants to be around them when they’re doing jock things.

[also on ao3]

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #my fic

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jellalism · 6 months

Text

Diluc x GN!Reader fic: In safe hands

You are having a depressive episode. Diluc takes care of you.

Word count: 1018

Genre: Comfort

Content warnings: Depression, not wanting to eat, and anti-natalist thinking (i.e. thinking it is better not to be born).

Notes: First published on AO3 a year and a half ago. Thought I'd finally post it on here, too.

Read below or on AO3.

You sit on the couch of the Dawn Winery Manor. Knees up, nestled under a blanket, staring into space. Comfy, but you’re not happy. It isn’t that anything is particularly wrong, but you’ve been feeling down today. The whole week, really. It’s just one of those episodes you have every once in a while. You know you’ll get through it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. On the worst days, you can barely drag yourself out of bed, eating is a chore, and doing any actual work is an impossible task. Today is perhaps not that bad, but not much better either. Add to that, the terrible boredom. If you had anything to distract yourself with, it might be bearable – but what do you do if your very diversions seem insurmountable tasks themselves? You sigh.

“y/n?” Diluc stands in the middle of the room, taking his coat off. You hadn’t even noticed him coming in.

“Hey,” you say. You wish you could be more outwardly enthusiastic, but you’re too sapped of energy. Inwardly, though, you are quite happy to see him.

“I see you are not doing so well.” He pauses, then walks up to you, bends over, and kisses your forehead. “Hold on, I will make you some tea.”

You murmur a word of thanks, but probably too softly for him to hear as he leaves the room. He could just have one of the servants make the tea, but he prefers to care for you with his own hands. Besides, his expertise doesn’t only pertain alcoholic drinks. He knows the exact right way to make tea, too. None of the servants’ tea can match the Master’s.

You listen to Diluc making noises in the kitchen, as he left the door open. Bringing the water to a boil, measuring the amount of tea, taking the pot from the cabinet – all the while humming a soft tune. Diluc has told you before that humming is an indispensable part of making good tea. You have your doubts, but have no reason to complain; you’re quite content listening to his song. Diluc isn’t free of his own demons, but he can get into the tasks at hand and lose himself in it, which allows him to hum in such a carefree way.

After a couple of minutes, Diluc returns, carrying a tray. On it, a pot of tea, two cups, and… a croissant. Why must he be so perceptive? you wonder. He definitely noticed you haven’t eaten – it is like a sixth sense he has. Diluc places the tray on the table and, without a word, starts pouring the tea. Then he puts one cup in front of you, giving you a smile and a wink. The second cup he places next to yours, and then he seats himself next to you on the couch. His arm goes over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. You relax, leaning against his body. It’s warm, comfortably warm. You close your eyes.

“Tell me what is on your mind.”

You are silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “I don’t know,” you start softly. Diluc murmurs an encouraging sound. Still trying to find the right words, you continue: “Sometimes I just feel so down without an apparent reason. And once I’m that way, the negative thoughts come pouring in, to keep me held down. I fear that I’m never gonna be alright. That I’m not worthy of love. That I’ve misled people into loving me, because if they truly knew me, they wouldn’t stick around. That it'd be better for everyone if I were never born.”

“I respectfully disagree, my love.” Diluc replied. “You are… quite someone, you know? There is no need to be afraid that people would cower at the sight of the ‘real you’. I have been with you for some time, and you have bared your soul. And I am still here, remember? I love you with all your insecurities and wounds, all your mistakes and the things you think are imperfections. I have seen all of you, and I am ‘sticking around’. I love you, and I love being with you.”

A single tear runs over your cheek. “Thank you,” you say. The response feels inadequate, but you can’t quite put your feelings into words. “That means a lot,” you add, turning to face him. He smiles at you in a loving way. His right arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his left hand to your face, holding your chin. His touch is ever so gentle, like you’re a beautiful yet fragile flower. You close your eyes as he leans in. His lips touch yours, press upon them with reservation betraying unparalleled devotion. He tastes like apple cider, with that slight taste of cinnamon.

As the kiss comes to an end, Diluc doesn’t lean back, but rather embraces you tightly. “You mean a lot to me,” he murmurs in your ear. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

You make no sound, letting yourself melt in his arms. They are so warm, so safe. Diluc breath tickles your neck.

After a while, Diluc lets go of the embrace, though one of his hands searches yours and holds it. With the other hand, he reaches for the plate with the croissant and picks it up. “Eat something, sweetheart.” You look at the pastry with aversion. Diluc doesn’t fail to notice. “I know you do not want to, but I do not wish to see you neglect your body. If you cannot do it for yourself, do it for me, alright?” He looks at you imploringly and softly squeezes your hand.

“Alright.” You remove your hand from his hold, take the croissant from the plate and take a small bite.

“Good,” Diluc mumbles under his breath. His now-freed hand goes to your head, and starts playing with your hair. “It’s so soft.”

As you slowly eat the pastry, Diluc continues his play with your hair. His fingers are so delicate, so careful. If it’s under his care, eating isn’t all that bad, you suppose.

Notes

Thanks for reading! I really enjoy reading your comments, whether that's as an actual comment or just your reactions in the tags of a reblog. So if you enjoyed, please leave a comment!

#genshin impact #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x gn!reader #diluc x you #genshin x you #genshin x gn!reader #my writing

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