#i am in the middle of a gig right now actually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladylannisterxo · 2 years

Text

Flannel and Lace

Pairings; Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Words; 1.9k

Warnings; S M U T (18+ only), unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, dirty talk, basically just porn without plot

Summary; Eddie comes home to find you wearing one of his flannel shirts, wearing only his flannel shirt.

A/N; Listen. I am obsessed with the photos going around of Joseph Quinn's costume tests but am also distraught that they put this man in a flannel and then didn't even use it! Now, I'm just absolutely feral over it - this is the end result! I am a sucker for a good flannel, especially on a very attractive man. This is just shameless smut, enjoy!

{ masterlist }

You were early; Eddie could hear you shuffling around in his room as soon as he waltzed in the front door. He had hoped he could have some time to get settled before you arrived but then again, it’s not as if he really minded, he had given you a key weeks ago for this very reason. Queen was playing, muffled behind the closed bedroom door and he smirks, knowing you’re in his room swaying your hips to the beat and pretending to be a rockstar when you think no one is looking.

He slips down the hallway quietly, sliding off his leather jacket and denim vest as he goes, hoping to catch you in the act of rocking out. He loved how you felt the music throughout your whole body, how free you always looked. But more importantly, he loved how absolutely adorable you got when you realize you’ve been caught; how your hands cover your face and you shy away from him in pure embarrassment. Because he’s the rockstar, not you. Or, at least, that’s what you always say when he catches you. Eddie desperately wants to bring you to a gig one of these days, see how you lose your inhibitions when he begins to play.

But, of course, this is not what he sees when he pushes open the door. His closet door is hanging wide open and you’re standing in the middle of the room with one of his red flannels draped over your body. And from his vantage point, this single red flannel is the only thing you’re wearing. He groans at the sight, how can he not, and you look over your shoulder with a soft smirk and a teasing glint in your eye.

“You never wear this,” you muse, turning around to fully face him.

Eddie grips the doorknob tighter for stability, licks his lips because fuck, he was somewhat right. That blessed red flannel falls across your frame like a waterfall, a little long in the sleeves but stopping just at the tops of your thighs. It’s also unbuttoned, completely, exposing your supple skin to his searching eyes. No bra, the garment just barely conceals you and to him, you might as well not even be wearing panties because the thin lace leaves nothing to the imagination. He can feel himself growing hard just looking at you and he shifts in place, a poor attempt in controlling his lust.

“It’s, uh, it’s too hot to wear,” he chokes out, brain scrambling to formulate coherent sentences.

That’s when you finally look at him, eyes sparkling in the midday sun and Eddie wants to melt into a puddle on the floor because if you looked at him just like this every single moment of every single day, he’s sure he’d die a happy man.

“But that leather jacket you don every day is breezy as can be,” you chuckle, eyebrow arching. “I don’t know, Eds, this feels nice to me. It’s real soft.”

“It looks good on you too,” he responds automatically.

“Yeah?” You sway from side to side, the flannel moving with you like a lover keeping you close.

“Sweetheart, all my clothes look good on you.” It’s honest and Eddie didn’t realize how true that statement actually was until you kept trying on his clothes. He’s wrapped you up in his leather jacket more times than he can count and don’t get him started on the things he wants to do to you when you wear his Hellfire Club shirt.

You smile, biting your lip softly. Then you’re crawling onto his bed, granting him a full view of your ass before placing yourself on your knees, hands resting against your thighs. Your hair is a disheveled mess and the flannel has fallen open a bit more, exposing a teasing amount of your tits to him. Eddie thinks you belong on the cover of a magazine or a poster he could tack onto his wall and jack off to when you’re not with him.

“Let me guess,” you say, pulling the garment off your shoulders, “you still think it would look better on the floor.”

Eddie finally kicks his ass into high gear, crossing the room to stand directly in front of you. His fingers tug at the flannel to bring it back up over your shoulders and then his lips are on yours, soft and gentle but insistent. His hands trail down to cup your breasts and you push up into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you gasp when he tweaks your nipples between his fingers.

“I like when you wear my clothes, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, “makes me feel closer to you.”

“Sweet talker.”

“I’m serious,” he chuckles, “but you sitting here posed on my bed makes you look like something out of a magazine.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, trailing your tongue along his jaw. “Like one of those dirty mags I found underneath your bed?”

“Well,” he begins, pulling back to meet your eyes, “you would make a great centerfold.”

Then he’s cupping your pussy in his hand and your breath stutters in your chest. He smirks before kissing you again, fingers working diligently against your clothed heat.

“Eddie, please, please,” you whine, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

His hands make their way to the backs of your thighs and he pulls, your legs coming out from under you as you drop unceremoniously onto your ass. He pulls on you again and you’re brought to the edge of the bed where he’s already waiting, down on his knees. Your heart flutters with anticipation.

Eddie’s breath is hot against your still clothed pussy and you shift your hips closer, silently begging for what you want most from him. His dark eyes flick up to meet yours as he teases a single finger across the lace. You let yourself drop to lay flat on your back with a sigh, deciding to let him do whatever the hell he wants to you.

“So wet,” he murmurs when he pushes your panties out of the way, “is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “all for you, baby, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Is that right?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; he flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks a firm stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan loudly, hands immediately flying to tangle in his hair. His tongue circles your clit before latching on to suck fervently against the bundle of nerves. You arch your back, fingers tightening, keeping him right fucking there. Two of his fingers slip inside of you without warning, setting a steady pace as he pulls every single sigh and moan he can from you.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

His mouth pulls off your clit with a resounding pop and then he’s moving up your body to capture your lips in a heated kiss, fingers still working inside you, bringing you closer and closer to your release. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes wide as he watches you come undone beneath him. Rolling your hips in a frenzied pace, you take his fingers deeper and deeper until your orgasm pitches through you like gasoline being poured over an already blazing fire. Eddie works you through it, he always does, and once your hips come to a stop and the spasms have subsided, he slips his fingers out of you and brings them to your awaiting mouth.

“That’s my good girl,” he muses when you wrap your lips around his fingers, “see how good you taste?”

You hum in agreement, swirling your tongue around his digits. He groans at the sensation before pulling his fingers from your mouth abruptly and bringing that same hand down to smack your ass sharply. You jolt, pushing your body further into him and he wraps his arms around you and rolls, bringing you up to straddle his hips.

“Think you can give me one more?” He asks, shifting his hips for you to feel his hard cock against your thigh.

You waste no time in helping rid him of his clothes. Your fingers start at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before latching your lips onto his collarbone and licking and sucking your way down to your prize. When you reach the denim of his jeans, you slide off the bed long enough to unfasten them and pull them and his boxers down in one fluid motion. You straddle his waist again, rolling your hips across his cock. His hands find your hips, squeezing and kneading the flesh tightly in his fingers and you bring the flannel back down off your shoulders. Turns out Eddie was right, it does get a bit too hot.

Grasping his cock in hand, you line him up at your entrance and sink down onto him slowly, enjoying the ache of him stretching you out. Eddie groans at the feeling of you already clenching around him, his hands bunching the fabric of his flannel around your waist to grip your hips tighter, to help you move against him.

Your hands fall flat on his chest for stability, his tattoos peaking out at you from in between your fingers. Fuck going slow and steady, you set a rapid pace, bouncing on his cock with what could only be described as pent up aggression, taking him fast and hard and deep.

“Fuck, yes,” you mewl, throwing your head back with an elongated moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he praises, smacking your ass again. “Ride my cock until you cum.”

His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing firm and tight circles, taking you higher and higher. You can feel your orgasm building inside of you, coursing through your veins like a tidal wave. You bite your lip with a whimper, one hand smacking against the wall in front of you to find purchase. Eddie has leaned up to capture a nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the hardened peak, and the onslaught of these added sensations has your orgasm crashing over you.

Crying out Eddie’s name as pleasure overtakes you, he wraps one arm around you and flips you until you're flat on your back. He hikes your leg up on his hip and fucks you hard through your high, chasing his own release. Your nails rake down his chest, leaving wild and red scratches in their wake, as you roll your hips against him meeting him thrust for thrust for thrust.

“Eddie, please, cum inside me,” you whine, “I want to feel it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts and with two more hard thrusts, he’s exploding inside of you, warming you up from the inside.

Eddie pulls out of you gently and pulls your panties back in place, keeping all of him inside you. He kisses you then, all tongue and teeth, pulling you close, so close, you could meld into one single being. He interlocks his fingers with yours, lips pressing gentle kisses along your knuckles as you brush his hair away from his eyes.

“That was - shit, you really went for it,” he says after a moment, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

“I did say I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you remind him, “although I wasn’t expecting you to get this hot and bothered over me in your clothes.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you could be completely naked or covered from head to toe and I’ll always get hot and bothered over you,” he says, capturing your lips in another kiss. “But I’m pretty sure this flannel is yours now.”

“Good,” you whisper, pecking his lips again, “I wasn’t going to give it back anyway.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #writing by 's'

8K notes · View notes

twyftwyt · 6 months

Text

here’s a short Noah imagine i scrabbled in my notes app while rotting in bed, i’m wondering if i should write more.

…you have more pieces of me than the desert has sand

and i have less pieces of you than i can hold in my hand…

I knew we weren’t dating. I knew we were never gonna be together officially, so what was the point of fighting over it? What was the point of this whole thing, actually? I wasn’t his to claim and he, for sure, was not mine to call. He was gone almost 300 days of the year. He had gigs, festivals, signings, award shows, record meetings. And I had a 9 to 5 job. I went home, cooked, cleaned, went on vacation sometimes but my routine was way different from his.

So why were we sitting in his car, at 2 in the morning, fighting over “labels”?

“I’m not about to argue with a man who doesn’t even know what he wants.”

“Do you hear yourself? I don’t know what I want? Me? Is that how we’re turning the narrative now?”

“No, Noah. The narrative’s been the same this whole time. Just admit that you don’t want a relationship and we can call it a day and I can finally go home and sleep, cause I have work tomorrow.”

My eyes were burning and so were my cheeks. I was flushed with anger and I could already feel the tears coming.

“I never, NOT ONCE, said that I do not want a relationship. I am INCAPABLE of maintaining one. You wanna miss me for a month straight, see me for a weekend, travel the whole world to spend a day, maximum two with me in between shows? You want me calling you in the middle of the night, waking you up just because where I’m at it’s midday and it’s the only possible time for me to call you? You want to put us in a position where my trust will be questioned all the time? And you’ll be anxious if you see me with another woman just because I HAVE to work with her? You wanna go through all of this?”

“Seems like you don’t want to, so what’s the point of having this conversation? Please, just take me home.”

I couldn’t contain myself anymore and I felt the tears streaming down my face. I was starting to shake but I didn’t want to make a bigger scene than what this conversation had already turned to. I was spent. And hurt and tired. And he was just sitting in the driver seat, looking at me, not knowing what to do. He looked so pathetic, it was insane how much I allowed myself to fall in love with him. He was just. a. stupid. man. He never knew how to react properly and most of the time it was funny watching him struggle to pick the right words, but he was always big on physical contact, so he’d just pull me in his arms until I stop crying. He didn’t do that now though. He was just staring at me, blankly. I turned to face the window and put my legs up on the seat, curling into a little ball.

I heard the engine start and the radio came back to life with the most gut wrenching song Spotify could pick. God, I hate that shared playlist. And I hate myself for falling for him.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fic #Spotify

153 notes · View notes

chelseeebe · 1 year

Text

dirty little secret.

NOT MY GIF!

summary: a babysitting gig at one of your dad's employee's houses leads to a filthy affair of secrets with a certain mr. harrington.

a/n: i have not proofread this one bit, i just wanted to get it posted so i could start on some ghostface!steddie hehe. i suppose this is another installment of the older!steve/mr.harrington saga though in my head they're different people.

he's a scummy scumbag but that's okay because it's sexy (don’t do this irl) smut and inappropriate relationship dynamics. r is 23/24 and steve is mid 40's ish.

it had all started fairly innocently.

a simple phone call asking if you could do some last minute babysitting. sure. easy enough.

earn some extra cash for doing absolutely nothing.

your dad had recommended you. someone who worked for him, steve or something or other, you’d met him before but that was years ago when you were much younger.

christ, you had a degree now. navigating the post-grad world. not with much luck.

the actual babysitting had been simple enough, feed the kids, put them to bed and now you could just relax.

the house was huge. obviously not decorated by a man, or at least not on his own. it was all meticulously designed, you’d never know there were kids living here. or anybody at all for that sake.

you’re lounging on the sparkling white couch waiting for this illusive steve to get back from wherever. your dad had said eleven but it was well past.

he makes an appearance at quarter to twelve, sighing loudly as he steps into the large hallway. the door makes you jump, sitting up straight on the sofa as if it were illegal to be sitting comfortably on such an expensive piece of furniture.

you peer over the back of the couch as he walks into the living room. finally putting a face to the name. you’d gone to his wedding reception so many years back, unhappy and moody as you’d been dragged along.

‘i am so sorry,’ he says, shaking his head and removing the tailored suit jacket, slinging it over a chair, ‘the dinner ran over and then it was just awful traffic.. how were they? i hope they didn’t give you too much shit,’ chuckling deeply.

‘no.. no, they were great,’ you nod, smiling weakly, standing up to gather your things and finally leave.

you couldn’t help but notice how tight his shirt was, clinging onto his defined arms. you draw your eyes away quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

‘good,’ he breathes, pouring himself a glass of whisky out of the obviously insanely expensive bottle, ‘d’you drink?’ offering a glass to you.

‘uhh.. not whisky,’ laughing quietly, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the obscenely large room.

‘it’s good stuff,’ he shrugs, still holding the second glass to you.

‘i’m okay.. thank you though,’ you nod, stepping closer to him. he smelled great. expensive.

‘fair enough,’ he laughs, taking a short sip, ‘right.. you wanna be paid,’ digging around his pocket for his wallet.

his pants also incredibly well fitted. there’s no need to mention what they were showcasing.

you give him a tight lipped smile, looking anywhere but his crotch.

his wallet is almost overflowing, stuffed with notes and various cards. you try not to gawp at the sight. your dad most definitely did not flex like this.

he hands you four fifty dollar bills, holding the pile in your palm. fingers clasping your hand. the sensation alone is enough to give you butterflies.

‘that’s too much,’ you shake your head, trying to refuse. a whole two hundred dollars to make mac and cheese and watch television.

‘no no, take it, thank you for coming so last minute, have you got a ride home? i can get you a cab?’ he nods, maintaining heavy eye contact, honestly making you squirm.

‘i drove.. thank you so much,’ placing the notes into your bag, still under his heavy gaze.

‘okay,’ he smiles, ‘i’ll uh- i’ll get your number from your dad for next time.. if you don’t mind?’

‘uhh..yeah sure.’

‘great.. thank you, again,’ his hand brushes against your arm, causing the goosebumps to rise instantly.

you give him one last shy smile and walk to the oversized front door. baffled by the things you were feeling. the small yearning feeling bubbling in your stomach. a man god knows how many years your senior. it felt wrong.

dirty.

the next time you babysit for him, he’s prepared. a bottle of fancy vodka left next to the whisky.

‘you’re a vodka girl, right? i can tell,’ he winks, a deep laugh erupting from his throat as he pours the clear liquid into a glass.

‘ahh.. how’d you know?’ you smile, not wanting to refuse the man, especially as he’d gone out of his way to get this for you.

he taps his temple, holding the drink out to you, ‘intuition..’

the conversation flows on, telling him about your degree and where you planned to go with it. him humbly flexing his own work, talking about the various connections he could make for you.

‘i know you’re robert’s daughter but i just.. i feel like i’ve seen you before,’ his eyebrows squeeze together, knee almost touching yours as his legs spread across the sofa.

‘i uh- i actually went to your wedding, the reception at least,’ you laugh, still heavily avoiding eye contact even though you could feel his eyes boring into your face.

‘oh my god, that’s right.. you were miserable,’ his laughter rumbles through the room, if the house weren’t so big you’d be worried about it waking the kids. not a chance they could hear a thing in this mansion.

‘i was.. i didn’t know you! my dad made us go,’ you giggle, just about meeting his dark eyes before quickly glancing down at his hand grasping the glass, noticing the lack of wedding ring.

he notices, rubbing the empty finger, ‘no,’ chuckling, ‘we’re not.. if you were wondering,’ you can’t tell if it’s a smirk or just his slightly tipsy smile.

‘sorry,’ you breathe, awkward that he’d noticed your attempt at subtlety.

‘don’t be.. we’re still married for now, but we’re not together,’ he nods, seemingly unaffected by the separation.

‘oh.. right,’ you chuckle, unsure of how you’d ended up discussing his divorce at midnight on a friday night. it wasn’t exactly anywhere near where you’d pictured yourself being after graduation.

‘d’you have a boyfriend?’ he asks, shifting slightly to face more towards you, still nursing the neat whisky.

you shake your head, ‘no.. not at the moment,’ staring just past him as to not make direct eye contact.

‘oh, i thought for sure someone would’ve snatched you up,’ his gaze falters, lingering on your exposed thigh, your skirt had slightly ridden up as you’d sat.

‘surprisingly not,’ weary as to whether you should pull your skirt down or let his eyes loiter. opting for the latter.

the attention was nice. unexpected. but not unappreciated. it made your stomach tight, slightly intimidated by his dark eyes.

‘hmm, that’s a shame,’ his tongue runs along his bottom lip, eyes slowly making their way up to meet yours.

you don’t know what to do. where to leave your eyes. his intense stare only worsening your composure. you’d have probably thrown yourself at him if he didn’t answer to your dad. complicating matters immensely.

‘you want another drink?’ he asks, leaning closer, shaking his own empty glass.

‘no.. thank you,’ the words struggle to come out, throat dry at the proximity of his body to yours. the smell of whisky and his cologne mixing to create an intoxicating smell.

‘sure?’ he reiterates, smirking as his eyes fall to your parted lips. mostly trying to regain air into your lungs.

your breath hitches in your throat, suddenly unable to speak, watching as he slowly moves over. cocky smile plastered across his face, relishing in your spreading blush.

he brings his face to within just a few inches of yours, pausing, ‘tell me if this is too much,’ the feel of his breath against your nose.

you shake your head slightly, almost paralysed by his eyes. it was confirmation enough for steve. his lips brushing yours softly, as his free hand moves to rest just above your knee.

your lips move with his, tasting the remnants of the expensive alcohol as his tongue glides across your bottom lip and into your mouth. a quiet gasp comes out as his fingers slide up your leg, his smirk evident against your mouth.

letting him take full control of the kiss, leaning back as his chest presses against yours. he takes full advantage of your new position, fingers creeping up your already short skirt.

you move back fully, back against the soft cushions. he doesn’t break the kiss as he moves on top, sliding between your now open legs, groaning into your mouth when your hands finally touch him.

resting on his shoulders as he manoeuvres his body, fitting perfectly with yours. he pulls back from the kiss, taking a brief moment to catch his breath, looking into your eyes for encouragement.

you haven’t enough time to process anything before his hips begin to move against yours, lips now attacking your jaw line. peppering kisses and gentle nibbles to the skin, eliciting a barely audible moan from your throat.

his hand had found it’s way to your panties, fingers rubbing against the cotton, ‘holy shit,’ he mumbles into your neck, ‘you’re already soaked.’

you recoil, burying your face into the pillow next to your head. this only makes him laugh, his body vibrating against yours as your panties are pushed aside, two fingers circling your entrance before slipping inside.

‘shit,’ you curse into the pillow, gripping onto his shirt.

his other hand comes up, coaxing your face out of the pillow with a gentle hand. when you finally emerge you can feel your cheeks heat up, his blown out pupils gazing back at you.

‘look at me,’ his voice bellows out, ensuring your attention stays firmly on him. you almost want to look away, just to see what he’d do.

there’s a small voice from somewhere up the stairs, ‘daddy,’ it whines and steve groans above you.

‘shit.. two minutes,’ he curses, removing his hand from underneath your skirt, climbing off of the couch.

you’re immediately jolted back to earth. back to mr. harrington’s living room where you were immodestly dressed. you sit up, face screwed up in disgust at your frankly whorish actions and pull your skirt down to an appropriate length.

‘fuck,’ you hiss to yourself, what the hell where you doing? screwing around with your dad’s employee who by the way, was at least double your age, was not on your cards.

you stand, frantic to gather your things and escape before he comes back down. you’d just ignore him if he called again. you could cut the loss on whatever you were owed for tonight.

you’re halfway down the long corridor when he creeps down the stairs, ‘sneaking out?’ his voice appears from behind, making you jump halfway out of your skin.

spinning on your heel to face him, every part of your body heating up with embarrassment, ‘i should get home..’

‘you don’t have to.. stay,’ he grins, walking towards you, one hand brushing against your arm.

you swallow, knowing exactly where that hand had been just minutes earlier. the feel of his bulge moving against your thigh. you almost shudder at the thought.

‘i shouldn’t..’ you manage to squeak out, mind preoccupied by what was hidden under those tight-fitted suit pants.

‘it’s late, i’m sure your dad wouldn’t want you driving at this time,’ he bargains, fingers squeezing around your arm.

‘okay,’ you breathe, relinquishing your stance, it seems it didn’t take much.

‘good,’ he nods, a smug expression overtakes his features, ‘give me two minutes,’ letting go of your arm and walking back into the dimly living room.

you stand awkwardly in the hallway, clutching your small bag and waiting for him to return from whatever the fuck he was doing. it was honestly made worse with the anticipation of what was to come. it was inevitable.

the light snaps off and he re-emerges, clutching onto a small glass of whiskey, motioning for you to climb the stairs.

you oblige as he follows closely, spare hand reaching up to rest on the small of your back.

‘ah.. i don’t think the guest bedroom has been cleaned.. i can make up the bed for you quickly if you want?’ he hushes, hand dropping to hover just above your ass.

you roll your eyes instinctively, it would seem men never grow out of the awful frat-boy tactics. he feigns shock for a brief moment before guiding you further up the hallway, towards his own room.

you hold your breath, entering the room. a large bed with silk covers takes up most of the room. he closes the door softly behind him, flicking on the lamp and setting his drink on the bedside table.

you marvel at the room, the extravagance of it all. it honestly could’ve passed as a five star hotel. he walks back over to you, running his hands around your rigid frame. unexpected overcome with nerves.

‘relax,’ he breathes, nudging his face into your neck, pressing amorous kisses down onto your exposed collarbone.

a small sigh leaving your mouth, which steve loves. taking it as a sign to continue, walking you over to the bed, hands groping any flesh they could.

your skirt flipped up over your ass as he continues the attack on your neck. your hands finally settling on his muscular shoulders, clinging on to his white shirt as you're dipped back onto the bed, his body climbing on top of yours.

'wow,' he mumbles, muffled by the crook of your neck, hands roaming the length of your body, 'so pretty.'

his large palm glides up, lifting your shirt with it, the cold air immediately leaving goosebumps over the exposed skin. only worsened by his soft fingertips trailing along behind your shirt, breaking apart long enough to pull it over your head.

your mouth falling open when his lips find their way to your neck once again, sucking on the tender skin. your fingers absentmindedly unbuttoning his shirt, defined shoulders peeking out as you gently tug it down his arms.

moving down to rid him of his pants, not ignoring how big he already felt under your palm, wondering if you'd even be able to take him all.

'y'sure about this?' he asks into your neck, fumbling with your panties as your hand tries and fails to undo his belt buckle.

you nod, cheek brushing against his mess of hair still buried in your neck. he reappears, gazing down at you as your fingers continue to fumble with the expensive, over-complicated belt.

you finally unclasp the metal, gasping as his cold hands brush against your thighs, fingers finding their way to your sensitive clit, circling around, causing a hushed moan. terribly aware that his children were not too far from you.

‘j-jesus,’ you mumble, sliding down his tailored trousers and rutting your hips against his, feeling his already very erect cock against your centre.

he’s still staring down at you, inches away from your face, unable to decipher the look on his face, a mix between animalistic desire and lust.

your legs lock around his torso and he wastes no time in aligning himself with your entrance, only breaking eye contact to look down at the space between your bodies before sliding in, a raspy moan vibrating from his throat.

hand sliding from the back of his already moist neck, down onto his shoulders, his shirt half-off as he thrusts in and out, pressing his forehead against yours. it feels incredibly intimate, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, the sounds of his balls slapping against your drenched cunt.

your head falls back onto the pillow, hair splayed out around you, rhythmically slamming into you. eyes fluttering closed when his thumb finds your sensitive clit once more. he grins when your hips buck against his in instant approval.

'yeah? y'like that?' he breathes, slowing his pace as you clench around him, nearing your climax. you can't open your eyes to look at him, the immense feeling of pleasure growing in your lower abdomen.

his gruff groans only accelerating your orgasm, 'sh-shit,' you babble, digging your nails into his skin as you reach your peak, waves of hot pleasure running through your body, thighs squeezing his torso, pulling him deeper as you writhe against him.

a series of expletives tumble from your lips, loosening your grip on his skin as he continues thrusting into your now sensitive cunt. the sound of your sweet moans pushing steve to his own orgasm, hips stuttering with his final few strokes before pulling out, painting your thighs with his load.

his mouth hangs open as he catches his breath, running a hand through his damp hair, watching as you come back down to earth. you brave opening your eyes, catching his amorous stare, a small smile overtaking his face.

you're unsure of how to feel, slightly embarrassed, still laid bare on the cotton bedsheets, scrambling to cover yourself as he reaches for a previously discarded towel. cleaning the mess he had made on your skin.

'well.. i'm glad you didn't sneak out,' he simpers, removing collapsing onto the bed beside you, fully removing the half-undone shirt from his body.

'me too,' you attempt to contain the smile on your face with the pillow, though it doesn't really work, exposing your smugness.

he sits up slightly, peering over you to the alarm clock on the bedside table, 'it's late, y'should probably just stay here.. just say i got back super late,' falling back onto the mattress.

you nod, not wanting to defy his suggestion. not that you wanted to leave anyway, fairly happy to stay right here with him.

steve pulls the satiny covers fully over the both of you, turning on his side to face you. dimly lit by the definitely overpriced lamp in the corner of the room. his hand comes up to your waist, pulling your body into his.

you're clueless as to how this had all transpired. now in what was technically your bosses bed, falling asleep in the older man's arms with no idea how you'd explain this to your dad in the morning.

steve's lips wake you in the morning, his stubble brushing against your shoulder as you blink, remembering where the hell you were.

you hadn't woken when he'd got up earlier to get his kids ready for school, probably for the best. not wanting to answer questions as to why their new babysitter was still here in the morning, dressed in their dad's shirt.

'good morning,' he breathes, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, strong arms snaking around your waist.

'hi,' you respond, slowly coming to, relaxing into his embrace.

'nancy's taken the kids to school.. we've got a little time before i've gotta work,' you can feel his smirk, wandering hands already finding themselves between your thighs.

'your ex-wife was here?' sounding slightly panicked, knowing deep down that whatever had happened last night would land the both of you in serious trouble.

steve picks up on your worry, planting a wet kiss to your shoulder, 'don't worry.. she just picks them up, we're good,' reassuring you only slightly.

before you can dwell on the thought too much, his erection presses against your ass, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. you giggle, moving your leg to allow further access.

not quite sure what exactly was going on but absolutely elated to be involved.

your dad always had an extravagant party for his birthday. like, unnecessarily big with far too much money poured into it. you’d had to miss the last few years as his birthday fell in finals week.

the last time you remember going was when you were seventeen, you’d sat in the corner for the entire night watching as everyone danced and got drunk. wishing you could’ve been literally anywhere else in the moment.

this year, you’d have to go and deal with the fact steve was also there. in his best suit with those sickly fitting pants, hair perfectly styled and smelling like that intoxicating cologne you loved.

and you’d have to do it all without giving any inclination as to what was going on between you. it was about to be the hardest night of your life.

steve had even helped you pick out your dress. obviously opting for the most revealing option, trying to play it off as just liking you in black. you’d sworn there was a teenage boy alive inside of that man.

the last few weeks had been spent with him, mostly under the guise of babysitting. spending days at a time in his glorious house, waiting for nancy to collect the kids so you could leave his room. indulging in luxurious breakfasts, sharing clothes and enough sex to keep you satisfied for life.

not without plenty of gifts, hand-crafted pieces of jewelry and god knows how many bright bouquets of flowers now littered around your room. even adorning the beautiful diamond necklace you'd received last week, tonight.

your sister had questioned the sudden abundance of gifts but you'd carefully brushed her off, putting it down to some new guy you'd been seeing, she wouldn't know him.

the start of the party was absolutely fine. sipping on some rather expensive white wine, listening to your father go on and on about his life, never missing an opportunity to talk about you and your sister.

it was inevitable that at some point you would have to speak to steve. especially as you were his new babysitter and seemed to be over there a hell of a lot, working.

‘she’s great, isn’t she?’ your dad boasts, standing between you and steve.

your eyes meet his, a sight you’d actually missed all night. taking your bottom lip between your teeth, a small knowing smile on your lips.

‘yeah, absolutely.. i’d be lost without her,’ steve grins, nudging your dads arm. his eyes don’t leave yours, blood rushing to your cheeks, playing it off as just being bashful at all of the attention.

‘you’re over there enough, i’m surprised you let her have the night off,’ your dad laughs, slinging his arm around your shoulder and rubbing your arm.

‘ahh of course, she can have anything she wants,’ he clears his throat, continuing to make heavy eye contact, ‘she’s such a big help y’know?’

‘too right,’ your dad laughs, clinking his glass against steve’s.

you want to get the fuck out of there, unsure if you had the strength to not fucking pounce on steve the second your dad looked away.

the chat goes on for a little while, switching topics to unimaginably boring topics like whatever it was they did for work. steve had attempted to explain it to you, not that it was much help.

the small group disperses into their own groups and you’re left stood opposite steve, clutching onto your wine glass trying your damn hardest not to let your eyes falter to his package.

he leans in, whispering into your ear, ‘come and find me in five minutes.. there’s an empty meeting room down the hall, you’ll know which one,’ before pulling away, you suspect to go to said room.

you almost don’t want to. let him sit there waiting on his own as revenge for the flirtatious words he’d spoken about you to your dad. you don’t. obviously.

there was not a chance you could leave him be, especially not with the way he looked tonight.

besides, it was kinda fun. risky. there wasn’t much risk involved when you were at his house. other than dodging nancy in the mornings and hoping praying that the kids wouldn’t walk in in the middle of the night.

you give a quick look around, patting the older woman on the arm as you break away from the conversation you were only half-included in. trying not to trip over your feet as you exit, trying to find this meeting room.

there’s a row of almost identical doors and you want to curse him out when the last door in the corridor is adorned with a large, silver 69 nailed to the wood.

you open the door slowly, edging your way into the room when you’re pulled into the darkness. large hands grabbing at your waist holding your body against his chest.

‘oh my god,’ you say, almost too loudly, holding yourself steady as you grip onto his shirt sleeves.

‘shh..’ he hushes, you can just about make out his features from the small amount of light being let into the room. half of his face engulfed in the shadows.

‘you’re a child,’ you smirk, slightly tipsy and very much desperate for his touch.

‘i knew you’d find it,’ he chuckles, fingers digging into the fat around your waist, eager to feel the skin beneath your dress.

‘you’re not fu-,’ you’re interrupted by his lips crashing against yours, trying to pull you even closer. he’d mesh your skin with his if he could.

your hands move to cup his face, palms running against the stubble on his cheeks. jesus christ he could have you right here. you wouldn’t even care at this point.

his fingers inch your already short dress up, riding to the top of your thighs. you slip your tongue into his mouth, the one tiny bit of dominance you had in this situation.

a low groan rumbles into your mouth as one hand glides down his torso, stopping just above his belt. he manoeuvres both of you backwards, crashing into a rogue desk, fingertips surely leaving bruises as they clutch onto you.

‘we can’t,’ he mumbles, lips resting on the side of your mouth, leaving small, wet kisses as your fingers work on undoing his belt buckle.

‘we can,’ you nod frantically, aching to feel him inside of you.

the metal clanks together as you get it unbuckled, sliding a hand into his pants, palming above his boxers at his growing cock as he grunts into your mouth. falling apart at your touch.

the hallway light flickers on fully, footsteps leading up the corridor, stopping just before the room you were in. you pull your head back, eyes wide, just about seeing his worried expression.

‘well we’re about to do the cake, where is she?’ the voice you now recognise as your sister’s echoes in the hallway.

hand still comfortably dipped into his trousers as your head snaps to the door, making desperate pleas to god and anyone else above that she’d turn back around.

‘shit..’ he whispers, pulling your hand from his boxers by your wrist, distressed as your sister walks further up the hallway and back down.

you’re confident she’s back in the main hall as you exhale, relief washing over you, ‘oh my god,’ you giggle slightly, it was pretty funny now the immediate threat had gone.

steve does not share the amusement, his face straight as zips his pants back up, pulling away from you. you screw up your face in confusion, yanking your dress back down to an appropriate length.

‘jesus fucking christ,’ he huffs, tucking his shirt back in.

‘oh c’mon.. it’s fine, she doesn’t know.. no one knows,’ you frown, placing a hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him.

‘this was a stupid idea,’ jerking his arm away.

‘this was your idea,’ utterly dumbfounded by his attitude, nothing bad had happened so was the annoyance really necessary?

‘i know that- look, you should get back out there,’ he shoos you off to the door.

‘why are you being so weird? it’s fine,’ you breathe, now slightly offended that he was being so mean.

‘go.. they’re looking for you,’ patting your back, ‘i’ll slip out in a minute.’

one of the downsides to an older man definitely included his lack of a sense of humour. you didn’t appreciate having to explain simple jokes or why you found something funny. it was as if he felt the need to be serious about everything.

you shake your head as you slip out of the door, making sure the hallway was empty. there’s a lump in your throat. he still clearly thought of you as a child. someone that needed to be told what to do.

steve doesn’t make eye contact with you for the rest of the night. carefully averting his eyes when you’d try desperately to garner his attention. you don’t even notice him slip out of the door, deserting your plans to go over when the party had ended.

it all felt terribly embarrassing. not that you’d even done anything wrong. it was his idea to go to the room. nothing had even happened, your sister still had no idea anything was even happening between you.

you call him when you’re eventually home and sure everyone else was asleep. sitting cross-legged on your bed, the phone pulled over and resting on your lap.

‘hello?’ he speaks groggily into the phone. you’re shocked he’d even answered.

‘oh hello, d’you remember me?’ you reply, still slightly tipsy and now sharing the anger he’d obviously felt earlier.

he sighs and you can hear him sit up, bedsheets rustling in the back, ‘i’m sorry.. it was just- that was too close.. i can’t lose my job, you know that.’

‘nothing even happened, steve! you’re not gonna lose your fucking job,’ you snap, gripping onto the plastic receiver.

‘i know.. i just have to be careful- we have to be careful,’ once again trying to spin it as if you’d been the one to drag him into the damned room.

‘we are,’ you swallow, vision blurred as the lump in your throat reappears, ‘i know you’re scared but you don’t have to take it out on me.’

he exhales, ‘okay, i’m sorry,’ sounding only slightly remorseful.

‘i wanna see you,’ you sniff, wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt, ‘can i come over?’

‘it’s late,’ he notes, you can hear the sheets rustle again and the soft padding of his feet as he gets up.

‘that doesn’t answer my question,’ deepening your frown, picking at a loose thread on your shorts.

you can still hear him doing whatever the fuck he was doing in the background, ‘i’ll be there in fifteen.. round the back.’

your frown immediately disappears, ‘okay,’ putting the phone down and jumping from your bed, getting your stuff ready to go.

you’re there waiting for him around the back of your house, an empty dimly lit road. you practically ran to his car when his headlights turned the corner.

sliding into the seat, slightly damp from the rain that’d started, he looks over quickly before speeding off. not giving anyone the chance to spot you.

there’s a small silence before you speak up, ‘i’m sorry,’ apologising for seemingly nothing. it didn’t matter, really. as long as he wasn’t mad anymore.

his hand comes over, resting on your knee, ‘we just have to be careful.. i wasn’t really angry.’

‘i know,’ you nod, though you didn’t. he seemed angry enough. enough to outwardly upset you.

you swallow any feelings of dejection. he'd apologised after all. what was the issue?

steve had been awfully quiet. suddenly not requiring your services as often. being overly cautious about your relationship, calling every few days and only inviting you over when the kids were with nancy.

you’re not afraid to bring it up when you do eventually go over. he was faffing about with some paperwork, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as you sit and watch.

‘why are you being so off with me?’ you speak up, curling your feet up underneath you.

‘hmm?’ he hums, barely lifting his head to acknowledge the fact you’d just spoken to him.

you huff, ‘you’re not even listening,’ crossing your arms over your chest.

‘i am,’ he slowly tears his eyes from the paper, looking over at you, ‘what’d you say?’

‘i said, why are you being weird with me?’

‘what?’ shaking his head, looking back at the numbers on the sheet.

you want to scream. tear the piece of paper into tiny shreds and sprinkle them across the living room.

‘you don’t call me, you don’t want to see me.. i don’t understand what i’ve done,’ you frown, shifting your position to face him fully.

he sighs, long and exaggerated, ‘that’s not true, nancy’s had the kids more.. i just haven’t needed you here as much,’ shrugging you off.

‘oh, so now i’m only your babysitter? you only need me here to fuck, is that it?’

‘you’re twisting my words,’ he finally puts the paper down completely, taking his glasses off and placing them on top of the pile.

‘so what am i? your babysitter or your girlfriend? i’m getting confused,’ sarcastic as you were losing your temper. he was great at evading the question at hand.

he blinks, ‘i’m not gonna argue with you, if that’s what you’re looking for,’ rubbing his temples.

‘answer the question.’

he’d never explicitly called you his girlfriend. you’d just sort of assumed that your relationship had gone past secret hookups. what with all the time spent together, the long hours spent chatting and the occasional, far-too-expensive gifts he’d gotten you.

‘you’re my.. i don’t know, my girlfriend?’ he’s so nonchalant with it all. only pissing you off further.

it was blatantly obvious just why his previous marriage hadn’t worked out.

‘do you want that?’ you ask earnestly, narrowing your eyes at him.

‘well not when you’re like this.’

it must’ve been a skill of his, to make you feel so crazy. so guilty for just wanting some clarification on your relationship.

you’re left speechless, opening your mouth to reply but nothing coming out. you look down, trying not to let him see your tears.

‘you know how i feel about you,’ he sighs, caressing your cheek, running his thumb over the blushed skin.

you nod under his grasp, squeezing your eyes to stop them from leaking.

‘yeah? you gonna stop being silly?’ he says softly, moving in closer. your eyes meet his, watering as a rogue tear slips out and rolls onto his hand.

you felt like a petulant child. like you’d just been told off and needed to be comforted. except, you only wanted to be comforted by him. his touch being the only thing to settle you.

you’d do anything to keep that. even if it meant biting your tongue and being ignored a few times a week.

he smiles when you place your hand above his, leaning into his touch. accepting that to have this, you had to take whatever he would give you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #older!steve #steve harrington au #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things smut

530 notes · View notes

morganbritton132 · 1 year

Note

The juicy drama of Steve still inviting his mother to things, though?

I know you said in the tags she has never come but I am living for a very petty Eddie seeing Steve’s mom after all these years and going “you look great, Helen. Haven’t aged a day since you begged me not to marry Steve.” (Not sure if you’ve named Steve’s mom yet. Helen is just my head canon name for her.)

I’m not sure if I’ve named Steve’s mom in this AU yet or not, but she is universally known as Angela in all my work thus far so I’m going to keep it the same here.

Steve might have had virtually no contact with his mother over the years despite numerous attempts to reach out to her, but Eddie has.

Eddie has a tour bus and final say over their touring schedule, and Angela Harrington still lives in Hawkins. Eddie is a petty bitch when he wants to be, and trust him. He wants to be.

He always ensures that Corroded Coffin plays at least one gig that’s close enough to their hometown that they can make a day trip. Some might say that he’s keeping close to his roots and others may say that he’s giving the band a chance to visit with family, but Gareth knows Eddie too well.

Wayne doesn’t live in Hawkins anymore and Eddie would only ever step foot in that town to cause a problem, so he tells him. He says, “Don’t get arrested” and then he goes to see his parents.

Eddie paints pentagrams on his fingernails and lines his eyes with the darkest liner he has, and then he makes his way up Loch Nora with the windows down and the music loud. He parks in front of the Harrington residence and he pounds on the door until someone answers it.

Angela never looks older than she does when she’s glaring at Eddie and it makes him smile, “Hiya, Mom.”

She never slams the door in his face despite how much she looks like she wants to. It would cause too much of a scene and Eddie has caught her in the middle of her book club – a bit of good timing on his part (and a lot of listening to Steve Facebook stalk everybody that has ever lived in Hawkins). She looks him up in down like she’s already annoyed, puts her hands on her hips and says, “Absolutely not.”

Eddie’s already slipping passed her by then and into the house. He looks around like he’s never fucked her son there before and says, “Wow, Ang, it almost looks like a human being with a functioning heart lives here.”

She hisses at him to get out of her house or she’ll call the police, but Eddie just got here. And anyways, he’s too busy introducing himself to her friends, “Hi. Hi. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about me from Angie. I’m her son-in-law.”

Gosh, some of these girls are young enough to not know that Angela abandoned her son because one of the girls says, “Oh, I didn’t know she had a daughter.”

“Yeah, no,” Eddie says, pouring himself a glass of their champagne. “She doesn’t. A son. Hot as hell, great ass, wonderful person – he’s fantastic. That’s actually why I’m here, you see.”

“My girl, Angie, here married a violently homophobic man and when he kicked her son out, she didn’t do jackshit about it. Still hasn’t,” He continued, despite her actually picking up the phone to call the police. His smile dropped a bit when he made eye contact with her, “But Richard is dead now and there’s nothing stopping her from reconnecting with her kid, right?”

Eddie’s smile picks up again when he addresses the rest of the book club, “You see, a couple years ago, Stevie went back to school to get his masters. He’s has a few sets back - ‘cause he’s still got that head injury, Ang. The one you never ask about – but he’s set to graduate end of the semester. I just happened to be in town and though, you know what?”

“Wouldn’t it just mean the world if his mom came to his graduation?” Eddie continued. “You know, since you missed the high school one.”

“I think you’d do very well to leave now, Mr. Munson,” She tells him, and Eddie makes a big show of listening to her. He leaves behind an invitation to the party that Joyce is throwing for Steve and the info of when graduation actually is.

Eddie doesn’t see her if she’s there, but he doesn’t spend a lot of time looking for her. He’s there to see Steve walk across the stage and to cheer him on with his real family.

#Eddie gives her two months after Richard’s funeral to reconnect with her son before he decides to make himself her problem #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson

778 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 11 months

Note

you said soft things so have this little thing very loosely based on how my first birthday after I moved away from home to live hours away from my family my brother got me a flower delivery thing each month for half a year. So for six months I had the same guy deliver flowers to me, it wasn’t anything but like… it could be, I can make it steddie (it’s 3:30 am and I wrote this in my notes so sorry for any mistakes)

So, Steve who moved kind of far away for college and is living in a shitty student apartment and hasn’t decorated it a lot and Robin thinks he needs something nice to look at every day and something to remind him he has people that loves him when he convinces himself that they’ve forgotten about him now that he’s away. So she gets him a flower delivery once a month with notes saying encouraging messages or bad jokes, sometimes a tiny update. It helps him, he’s not doing badly or anything and actually enjoys studying but he misses his friends.

Then we have Eddie who’s the flower delivery guy, it’s his side job, or it’s his main job and then he also gets payed to play some gigs sometimes. Either way, he delivers flowers. Mostly it’s to old people from their grandchildren, for birthdays, and from someone’s partner, often a partner that has fucked up (he also hand writes the messages that come in with the order and he’s had to write some very pleading apology ones in his time)

He has a monthly order to the same guy, the same gorgeous guy who last time opened the door looking so soft with glasses sliding down his nose and hair all messy and holding a cup of half drunk coffee and gave him such a warm smile he almost proposed to this stranger on the spot.

Every month he’s both so excited to deliver his flowers and also dreads it because he’s 99% sure this guys girlfriend sends them, that they’re long distance and she gets him flowers every month with little notes that he has to write, this month it was ‘I scraped up my whole leg climbing up the tree outside my window sneaking back into my room, I don’t know how you used to do that all the time.’ So like, obviously high school sweethearts if he used to sneak into her room.

So, it’s great because he gets to see this guy who’s stupidly pretty and always gets this wondrous look on his face like he’s still in awe about the flowers months in and that’s honestly the highlight of Eddie’s day. But, it’s awful because he also has to hand him flowers from someone else knowing he’s just some insignificant middle man.

Steve at this point gets more excited about the guy who delivers the flowers than the flowers, he loves them and all but this guy who comes every month and with a dimpled smile hands them over is taking over his brain. He doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable by asking him out though, like he’s doing his job and it feels inappropriate.

He complains to Robin who time after time tells him to just ask the guy out, if he says no it may be a little awkward but it’s a tiny interaction once a month it’s fine. Steve knows she’s right but still doesn’t, is afraid to break the spell of their monthly exchange. Robin grows tired of his pining though and the next time she places an order she makes the note ‘the guy who gets the flowers wants to ask the delivery guy out but keeps chickening out so I’m doing it for him: Delivery guy with bangs and ‘the prettiest brown eyes’ will you go out with Steve?’

Eddie reads that message of the order, has to write that message out with wide confused eyes and hope rising in his chest. When Steve opens his door he shoves the flowers at him and blurts out “I thought you were dating Robin”

Steve gives him a confused look, which yeah of course he does, so Eddie takes a breath and tells him to read the note. The confusion on Steve’s face slowly fades and is replaces with red cheeks and a sheepish smile.

He clears his throat and glances up at Eddie. “She’s my best friend,” he tells him, “may or may not get to keep that title depending on how this goes.”

Eddie is feeling too many things to say more than a breathy, “yes.” At Steve’s raised eyebrow though he clarifies.

“Yes I’ll go out with you.” Then a sudden horrifying thought hits him, “if you actually want that and your friend isn’t joking or got it wrong or-“

“Does 8 o’clock tonight work for you?”

Eddie nods and Steve’s smile gets wider with each frantic jerk of his chin.

“It’s a date then.”

and then on their first date, eddie gets flowers for the first time. doesn’t have to deliver them, doesn’t have to give them away, no, these ones are his to keep, and he allows himself to take a deep breath for the first time, getting to enjoy the way they smell, the way he always watched people do. never once taking his eyes off steve, who watches with a smile. 🥹

#and on their second date steve gives him a bouquet of dried flowers. ‘so they last longer’ he says with a blushing smile that eddie really #really wants to kiss (to make it last longer hehehe)#steddie fic #steddie #ughhh my HEART i love this i love you thank you so much it means the world 🥺🤍🌷#🤍#thank you thank you thank you 🥹🥰🤍🌷 flowers for you come on 🌷💐🌼

238 notes · View notes

fiapartridge · 3 months

Text

quinn x oona | how they met pt. 1! 🚙🌃✨

author's note: this is like kinda how they met??? like when they first saw each other, but they haven't learned each other's names yet, you know???? anyways hope u enjoy their little universe! send in asks for this au!

Who has a party at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday in the middle of February? Stupid ass people, that’s who, and Oona was ready to blast a hole through the wall that connected her living room to the apartment beside it. Honest to God, the only thing that was stopping her from going full-on Hulk on that piece of thin fiber cement was, well, the landlord and her roommate, Grace Castellan (Gracie to everyone who knows her, and ‘that one talkative white girl’ to everyone who didn’t).

Oona met Gracie in her first year at NYU. They were in their Intro to Theatre Studies class when Gracie talked up the ear of anyone in a 10-mile radius of her, and the only person who didn’t mind and actually enjoyed Gracie’s endless tangent of how blackholes are somehow exactly like the Kardashians’ reality show, was Oona. They sat next to each other for the rest of the semester, and once they graduated college, they decided to move back to their home city of Vancouver, Canada where, coincidentally, they both were from, using this time to audition for roles and hopefully land themselves a part that will guarantee them a ticket to Hollywood, or at least a ticket back to New York (rent is hard to manage there when you’re living off of small commercial roles and hand modeling gigs).

As Oona sat on her living room couch, a snoring Gracie and her long pajama-covered (they have unicorns on them) legs were limp across Oona as she tried to push her tired limbs off and slip towards the door without making a peep. But, much to Oona’s sheer luck (she isn’t a very lucky girl), a peep was made and there Gracie was, sitting up in so much alarm you would think that an intruder just busted through the door and screamed at her to put her hands up.

“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! OONA HAS MONEY STORED IN HER UNDERWEAR DRAWER! PLEASE DON’T KILL US!” Gracie screamed, still half-asleep and disoriented.

Oona groaned, lightly slapping Gracie’s cheek. “No one’s here, you psycho. I’m just getting up to go somewhere.”

Gracie peeled her eyes open, brushing her messy hair with the tips of her pink-and-white-painted fingernails. “Where are you going at,” she took a moment to check the Apple watch on her wrist. “2:56 AM?”

Oona walked closer to the door, slipping on a pair of Uggs and tying her hair into a messy bun, pulling out strands to frame her face correctly. “Do you not hear that? They’re louder than your brother was at that time we went to the mall and he was screaming at you to buy him that ugly RC car.”

Gracie shivered. “I’ve gotten a lot of weird looks in my lifetime, but those 40 year old women in the toy aisle of Sears? I still get chills.”

“See? Now I’m going to go over there and make them wish they never even moved here.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “No way. The last time you said something like that, you ended up being the one apologizing. You’re the biggest pushover I have ever met.”

Oona scoffed. “Am not! I just—”

“Want everyone to like you,” Gracie interrupted. She was right. Gracie was always right when it came to Oona, but Oona would never admit that. She was a people pleaser, but who was that hurting? If she said yes to everything and if she was nice to everyone, then no one was sad and no one got what they didn’t want. Well, except for Oona.

Sighing, she said, “I’m just gonna go talk to them. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.”

Gracie laughed, tilting her head back slightly. “Yeah, right. I saw them on the elevator last week; they’re hockey douchebags to the max.”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They’re having a party at almost 3 AM, if you combined every player on that team, they would probably make up one brain cell, and I can smell the beer from here, but yeah, sure they’re great people.”

“Fine, fine,” Oona huffed. “But I’m still gonna talk to them. Maybe they’ll change,” she smiled, a too optimistic smile for a dire-looking situation. Because who ever heard of a hockey player changing his ways? No one, that’s who.

Opening the door, Oona walked the small five steps over to the neighboring apartment. She knocked once, twice, three times, even. Nothing. The blaring music must’ve drowned out her pounding knocks. Just as she was about to go in for a fourth, the door opened and her body quickly went with it.

“Woah there,” a voice echoed through her ears, holding her body up as his hands softly gripped her arms. She stumbled back, landing on her two feet and managing to stay vertical despite the embarrassment rushing through her cheeks and the small little voice in her brain telling her to get the hell out of there immediately.

The man standing in front of her was tall, taller than anyone she knew, and he had short blonde hair and the clearest green eyes she had ever seen. He had an accent that she wasn’t too familiar with. German maybe? Or possibly Swedish?

“Um, do you live here?” she asked, tapping her nails against the metal frame of the door. And looking beyond the tall Swedish man, she could tell that it wasn’t much of a party, but a hangout. More tall men were lingering in the living room, beers in hand and potato chips spilled on every counter. On the center island in the kitchen lay an abandoned plate of celery and carrots, most likely a tribute to their strict hockey diets that apparently no one was following.

He shook his head.

“Okay,” she talked slowly. “Um, do you know who lives here?”

“Yep.”

Breathing deeply, Oona tapped her fingers a bit harsher against the doorframe, still maintaining a gentle smile on her (now) slightly red face. “Can you bring them here? I need to talk to…whoever it is.”

Nodding, he turned around, cupping his mouth with his large hands and yelling, “Huggy!” before waving him over to where they stood at the entryway.

Huggy? Oona chuckled at the nickname. Who nicknames a ferocious hockey player Huggy?

But as the shorter boy moved through, somehow, still energetic bodies and met the two at the door, Oona felt something crawl around her stomach and make the fading red of her cheeks come back in harsher hues. His hair was a chestnut color and it looked soft and smooth, like you could run your hands through it a million times and it still wouldn’t be enough. He wore a gray hoodie and black jeans, his hands in his pockets as he smiled politely at the blushing girl.

“Can I help you?”

Her mouth ran dry as she licked her lips. She tucked the thin strands of black hair behind her ear and proceeded (or tried to proceed). “It’s 3 AM and I’m trying to sleep,” Oona said, hoping he would take the hint and quiet down a bit.

He scoffed, smirking with his cute lips and his cute hair and his cute gray hoodie that looks so soft you just want to wrap your cold body in it. And it probably smells good, too. It probably smells like his scent in the mornings, woodsy yet fresh like white linen sheets and candles that would make you think he has a woman living with him, but nope. That’s just him. But Oona’s just guessing. Not to make things weird or anything. She’s totally not dreaming about what her handsome neighbor’s hoodie smells like because that would be weird—haha. Totally weird.

He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over themselves, and while he wasn’t as tall as the man that initially opened the door, he made Oona feel just as small. His smile was infectious, but not in a big ‘bring it in, let’s hug way,’ but in a more sultry way. Like you can feel a rollercoaster rumbling in your stomach despite him not saying a single word.

“Are you?” he asked.

She laughed at that because there was no way that he was serious. It didn’t even sound like a question, God it sounded like…like flirting? But that wasn’t even the bizarre thing, no the bizarre thing was that somehow made Oona 10 times angrier. Why was he flirting with her? Does he think that she’ll just fall into his trap and let it all slide? Does he think that she’s just a stupid girl that he can get to do anything he says? Because that’s not Oona Hashimoto. Not in the slightest. And if he wants to play that game, then fine.

Let’s play that game.

She stepped closer, her hand landing on his bicep as he stuttered for a moment. Like he was on high alert all of a sudden. His eyes wandered down to her hand, and then he relaxed because she was falling right into the palm of his hand, so he thought. She raised her head, staring him right in his deep green eyes. She pouted a bit, changing her whole demeanor. Because they’re playing the same game here. It’s just a matter of who will crack first.

“Please?” she asked, gazing up at him with brown doe eyes. “I won’t say a word after tonight. Just do this one thing? Please?”

He sighed, straightening up and causing her hand to fall off his bicep. “As much as I’d love to do that,” he grinned. “I don’t want to.”

Her brows furrowed, her doe eyes turning into burning rage, and lips turning from a pout to a pissed off frown. “What do you mean you ‘don’t want to?’”

He shrugged. “Exactly that. Goodnight,” he smiled before placing his hand on the door and slowly shutting it before Oona held it open, scoffing.

“No, you don’t get to be an asshole and then just shut the door on me. All I’m asking is for you to just turn down the music!”

“Yeah, well it sounds like the person being loud is you,” he pointed. Bending down to Oona’s level, he whispered, “You’re shouting.”

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, you said it a couple of times. Can I go now or do you want to keep going?”

Oona crossed her arms, fury burning through her veins as she watched him smile as if he did nothing wrong. As if he was enjoying this. “Go to hell.”

“See ya there, neighbor.”

#quinn x oona au! ★#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #vancouver canucks

88 notes · View notes

bluebird167 · 1 year

Text

If Fairy Tail was in the modern world and the characters were regular teenagers part 2.

It’s Friday night and Juvia is eagerly putting on her make up before leaving for her date. While Lucy is there helping her get ready.

Juvia: I can’t believe Gray actually asked me out.

Lucy: I can! I knew he’d get around to asking you eventually. Which reminds me, Natsu owes me twenty bucks.

Juvia: How do I look?

Lucy: Like you’re not trying and that’s exactly how you need to look.

Juvia: I do? But I am trying.

Lucy: But you can’t let him know that. He has basically been ignoring you since middle school and now that we’re seniors and he’s asked you out, you can’t just fall into his arms.

Juvia: I can’t?

Lucy: Absolutely not. If guy thinks you’re easy, he will never appreciate you. You have to show him, that while you are interested, you aren’t just going to do whatever he wants.

Juvia: What if I want to do whatever he wants?

Lucy: Trust me, no girl wants to do whatever a guy wants all the time. You think I want to watch Natsu scarf down an entire buffet and then spend the whole night listening to him barf in a bush? In relationships both parties have to give and you better make sure Gray knows that.

Juvia: Okay.

Lucy: So where are you going for your date?

Juvia: Drive in movie.

Lucy: What are you seeing?

Juvia: Well I wanted to see something romantic but I know guys hate chick-flicks, unless they’re Freed, so I compromised that we see that new war movie about the solider and the nurse who travel across the world to get back to each other. It’s a love story but it’s also about honor and courage and mind-less violence. Something for both of us.

Lucy: Nice! And your brother is okay with this right?

Juvia: Yes. Last week we had a talk about boundaries. About how he’s not going to treat me like a little kid anymore, how he’s going to stop hovering over me, and how he’s going to give me privacy.

Ironically, Gajeel is downstairs listening to their conversation through the air vents.

Levy: Gajeel stop eavesdropping! We’re going to be late for your gig! Also that’s very creepy.

Gajeel: I’m sorry babe, but Juvia is going on her first date and I just want to make sure that she’ll be coming straight home tonight.

Levy: Will you relax? It’s just a drive in movie. Remember when you took me to one? We had such a wonderful time.

Gajeel: (Smiles at the memory) Yeah we did. The starry night, the way you’d cling to me each time someone got butchered on screen. I’d hold you to keep you safe, we’d kiss, it would get really warm and then we’d….

Gajeel suddenly becomes panic stricken and runs upstairs.

#fairy tail #gajeel redfox #juvia lockser #juvia loxar #gray fullbuster #lucy heartfilia #levy mcgarden #gruvia #gray x juvia #gray and juvia #gajeel x levy #gajevy #gajeel and levy #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy #nalu

161 notes · View notes

a-little-unsteddie · 1 year

Text

for a minute in the sunlight I

i reached 400 followers today which is insane so have part one of a fic i’ve been working on. once i’m not half asleep i’ll post it to ao3 as well, which will be linked at the end of this note. this is an au i’ve been floating around in my head for a while now, which basically is my rendition of a meet cute ft. Famous!Steve x Normal(ish)!Eddie. except, eddie is a cosplayer, the character that steve voice acts for is coincidentally the character that eddie cosplays as, but that’s later. eddie has no idea that steve is the VA tho. ALSO eddie runs a booth in artist alley with chrissy! anyway, here is part one lol.

ao3 link

—part I: 1.7k words—

“Eddie Munson! You better be on your way!” Chrissy’s voice greeted him as Eddie pressed the ‘accept call’ button and pulled the phone up to his ear. He looked around his hotel room and grimaced.

“I am! I swear I am! I’m gonna get us coffee, though,” he said, grabbing his backpack filled with his convention supplies. He looked around the room, almost ‘aha’-ing out loud before grabbing the ‘artist’ lanyard he had gotten the night before as well as the hotel keycard.

“Good! If you’re not here before the booth opens I swear to god I’ll cut your hair!” She threatened him, causing Eddie to laugh.

“Relax! I’m almost to the cafe,” he lied, dashing out the door and shutting it quietly behind him to not alert the girl on the other end of the phone.

“You’re supposed to be here, y’know, at the convention, to be at your booth, to sell your art!” She snapped at him, sounding more amused than actually upset.

“I’ll be there soon! With coffee!” Eddie repeated, before hanging up just as the elevator dinged at him to indicate its arrival. He stepped onto the elevator, smiling stiffly at the stranger already occupying it. She glanced at him, but ultimately ignored his existence, which was just fine in his opinion.

Okay, so. Eddie knew Chrissy was right to be mad at him—he was meant to be at the venue around 9, and it was nearing 10, and the convention starts at 10:30, so really he had about 45 mins to get there, which was more than enough time to get there. But he was supposed to be there at 9, so he could be set up by 10, for opening at 10:30. He was forever grateful that Chrissy was a morning person and willing to put up with his bullshit.

They had known each other for years, growing up in the same small middle-of-nowhere town as each other. She had been cheer captain while he was forever bullied by the other jocks, but she had come to him one day and decided that he was going to be her best friend. Well, more like, Eddie decided that he wasn’t going to sell some girl hard drugs and instead talked to her.

The rest was history, as they say.

Eddie helped her get away from Jason, her abusive boyfriend, and Chrissy helped him get away from Hawkins. She was also the primary reason he was able to do art and cosplay as a full time gig, as she was able to market and manage his chaos better than he ever could. What had started out as a hobby that Eddie took on to express his frustration with the world had turned into his career, thanks to Chrissy. He had started out by posting his art onto instagram, tiktok, and tumblr, just wanting to show off the work he did for some fandoms he was active in.

Chrissy was also the one to convince him to try to sell his art. To his surprise, fans and non-fans alike ate his work up and bought the fuck out of it. Chrissy also helped him with starting to do conventions as a job rather than as an attendee — she helped him put together his portfolio and designs and ideas into something cohesive that could be set up in a booth in the artist alley of whatever conventions they could get into.

All of that is to say, Eddie owed a lot to Chrissy for his current life. One thing that Eddie couldn’t get figured out was time management. He was able to do most other things with Chrissy, like managing his online presence, restocking his prints when he was low, managing the booth when they were at a con. However, he could never seem to get anywhere on time the first go around. The first day of cons, without fail, led to Eddie arriving a few minutes before the booth opened to the rest of the con.

Which is why Eddie was running late, again.

Chrissy should know better than to expect him on time, but he also figured maybe he could work harder at being on time. Not that he didn’t try, he set an abundance of alarms every time, but one thing or another caused him to be late. This time it was the fact his alarm was set for 7:30 in the evening, instead of morning. He had woken up, checked his phone, saw it was 8:37 and shot up like a rocket to get his shit together. He was meant to do some sort of look today, but had decided against it so that way he wasn’t completely behind. So he just did a basic look — unfortunately that still took him nearly an hour. He didn’t even do make up, which to be fair, he never did on the first days of conventions.

Eddie was so caught up in his thoughts, rushing towards the cafe he knew was near the convention center, that he crashed right into someone leaving said cafe. He swore loudly, stumbling back with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention, oh my god,” Eddie rushed out, staring at the spilt coffee on the ground. There were two to-go cups laying there, making Eddie feel even worse because this person wasn’t just getting coffee for themselves. He looked up to apologize again, except the words died in his throat.

Was it cliché to say it was love at first sight?

The man looked less angry and more just sad at the coffee that was spilled at their feet, which, to be fair, Eddie felt really bad about.

The man looked up and caught Eddie’s eyes and Eddie was gone. He had honey colored hair, eyes made of milk chocolate, freckles dotted his cheeks, and Eddie could see moles on his neck and expected him to be covered in them. He smiled apprehensively at Eddie, as if expecting a sort of reaction to seeing him, but Eddie was distracted by his jawline. He felt heat crawling up his neck, and took a deep breath to steady himself.

“I’m more than happy to buy you new coffee, I’m so sorry,” Eddie apologized again, eyes wide.

“No— it’s okay,” the man responded and Eddie was floored because was there anything about this man that wasn’t completely perfect? Eddie knew he likely had heart eyes but he couldn’t help it, the stranger was just gorgeous.

“I insist! I ran into you, caused you to spill not one but two coffees! Let me buy you replacements at least,” Eddie pressed earnestly, smiling brightly, trying to put on his charm which he hadn’t used in years. It seemed to work, because the stranger's cheeks tinted pink as he nodded shyly. “Great! I’m Eddie,” he said, reaching out to offer his hand to shake, before changing his mind immediately and moving to grab the door. “After you, sweetheart.”

“Steve,” the stranger—Steve—responded, smiling timidly as he ducked back into the cafe. Eddie followed, letting his gaze drop for a moment to take a peek at his ass, which Eddie was dismayed to also find perfect. This is simultaneously the best and worst day of Eddie’s life.

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie said as they came to a stop at the end of the line. “What are you in Chicago for?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

Steve seemed to relax at the question, smiling softly as he answered. “Well, officially, I’m here to go to a convention, but unofficially I’m here to visit a friend I don’t get to see as often as I want.”

Eddie lit up, eyes bright with excitement. “Oh, no way? I’m going to a con too! I run a booth in artist alley! Maybe we’ll see each other?” He said, grinning at Steve. The man smiled back, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the excited man beside him.

“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, raising his eyebrows.

“Look for a booth called CorrodedCoffin Art, and that’ll be mine! If I’m not there, Chrissy will be, so you can just ask her where I am,” Eddie said, enthusiastically. The idea that he could see this man again was already making him vibrate with excitement.

“I’ll look for you,” Steve said earnestly, smiling crookedly. “I have a lot to do this weekend, but hopefully I can stop by and see you.” Eddie bobbed his head, pretty much bouncing in place.

“Cool! Oh! It’s our turn. You can order first,” the metalhead said, gesturing in front of him. Steve smiled at him before turning to the barista.

“Back so soon?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

Steve laughed, glancing at the man next to him. “Yeah, this guy ran into me and spilled both of my drinks,” he said, leering teasingly at Eddie, who felt his cheeks heat.

“I said sorry! And I’m buying you new drinks to make up for it,” Eddie defended, crossing his arms and pouting. Steve snorted softly, before returning his attention to the barista. He ordered his two drinks before moving to the side to let Eddie order.

“One large iced caramel mocha, and one extra large iced white chocolate mocha, please,” he ordered with a hum. He handed over his card, barely disguising a wince as she read off the total to him.

“Extra large, huh?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows. Eddie laughed, shrugging helplessly.

“I was supposed to be at the convention center an hour ago,” he admitted, smiling, “the extra large is for Chrissy to make up for it.” He paused for a minute, looking Steve up and down and decided ‘fuck it’. “Can’t say I regret being late, though,” he said, winking at the man. Eddie delighted in watching Steve’s cheeks turn pink and itched to know how far down his body the flush spread.

“Well, I for one am glad you were running late,” Steve said, causing Eddie to grab a piece of his hair and hide a grin behind it. He watched as Steve’s gaze went down and then back up to meet his eyes.

Sooner than either man hoped, their orders were fulfilled. Eddie checked the time absentmindedly and cursed, seeing it was nearing 10:15. He reached into his bag and grabbed a sharpie, grinning as he wrote down his number onto a napkin.

“I am running late, but text me, maybe?” He asked, grinning shyly at the man as he tucked the napkin into his front pocket. He winked at him one more time before grabbing his drinks and dashing out the door. Chrissy would forgive him, probably.

#genuinely so excited to write more of this #but this is for fun so idk how often i’ll post #cosplayer!eddie #famous!steve #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #stranger things #st #steve harrington x eddie munson #for a minute in the sunlight #unsteddie writing

111 notes · View notes

around1302 · 1 year

Text

I. BIRTHDAY BLUES

SPARE PARTS: a series (1/20)

AVIVA STADIUM, DUBLIN

(W) strong language, alcohol & drug use

CHARLIE’S POV

“You know what your fuckin’ issue is?”

“Oh yeah? Tell me now, Charlie, right before we play to 50,000 people.”

“51,700, actually.”

“Bite me, princess.”

Harry, as always, was late. Twenty fucking minutes late. I thought, naively, that maybe he would surprise me. That this time, on the first show of our world stadium tour, he would actually rock up at the agreed-upon time. But no, twenty minutes after we were meant to be on stage, he rolled in as cool and collected as ever while I'd been pacing anxiously.

I had jumped up from my place by the covered speaker, promptly whacked him on his ridiculously polka-dotted shoulder, and began the earache for the rest of them (who all, by habit at this point, groaned and covered said ears).

“You guys ready?” A crew member interrupts us seconds from an actual fistfight and begins lifting the crimson curtain, one we’d all have about ten seconds to mentally prepare behind before a screen would be lifted and we’d be on display to (I am correct) 51,700 awaiting fans.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Niall answers, adjusting his guitar strap, “you guys think you can keep it in your pants for the next ninety minutes?”

Overlapping grumbles of disgust from Harry and I echo the small backstage as Louis thrusts his palm in the middle of us all. I roll my eyes but can’t help the small tug of my lips as the ritual begins. Liam follows, sticking his trusty drum sticks in his pocket to slap his palm atop Louis’. Niall joins, Harry’s ring-clad hand eventually makes its appearance, and I reluctantly top the pile.

“Spare Parts on three, yeah?” Louis asks, as if that wasn’t obvious by now.

“On three,” Liam affirms regardless.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Spare Parts!”

“Okay, you’re up,” Clipboard-Man lifts the heavy red curtain, making the screams suddenly louder, realer, scarier, “break a leg.”

“We’ll try not to,” I smile, trying not to let the nerves wobble my bottom lip as I barge past Harry to get to the front, not caring to turn for his reaction.

I know that for the next ninety minutes it will be all fake smiles and even faker laughs with my singing partner, so as he takes up his position beside me, I decide to steal one last scowl and a hissed, “this isn’t over,” before the screen suddenly lifts and there they are.

51 and fucking 700.

“Ire-land!” Niall shouts into the mic attached to his face, throwing his hands in the air as we all shakily step out and try not to pass out in front of the overwhelming crowd. We all knew going in that this was really Niall’s gig, and so he was more than happy to take the reigns for our first show.

You can barely see a person for the bright lights beaming back at the five of us, but by the edge of the stage you can just about see signs and fuck can you hear them. The cheers for us is something I can never get used to, no matter how long we’ve been doing it for. I imagine myself being old and gray and wrinkled and still surprised if I’m stopped in the street.

“It’s good to be home!” Niall’s met by the sounds of thousands of – apparently dying – fans, “Ireland, we have a special treat for you tonight.”

I stand with my arm leant against Louis, my usual safe haven, and laser my focus on the back of Harry’s head as he anxiously messes with his hair, just so I don’t have to watch the crowd.

“You good, Char?” Louis pulls down his mic and whispers, moving his bass out of my way. I send him an over-exaggerated (and unconvincing) nod, trying my hardest not to let the nerves crumble me into a dusty pile atop that stage.

Gigs? Fine. An arena tour? Done. But a stadium tour? A world stadium tour? I’m realising (in probably the worst place) just how new and terrifying this territory is.

“Today is a very special day for us,” Harry continues, turning around and glaring at me with wide, scolding eyes. I quickly take the hint, sucking in the last of my confidence to step forward to him, “because six years ago today, we were formed as a band.”

The crowd rips into cheers heard deafeningly even through my earpiece, and despite the plummeting feeling I have deep in my chest, I feel an aura of safety. Despite there being a lot, lot more of them than I’m used to – they’re here for us. They paid, they showed up, they’re screaming for us.

“We want to thank you all,” I boom, my voice leaving me firmer than I expected, “so much, from the bottom of all our hearts. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you guys.”

“We love you!” A fan yelps out amongst the screams.

“We love you more,” Harry quickly shoots back, ever the moment-stealer, “and to show you how much we love you,” he glances back at Niall, who begins to play a few opening cords of Teenage Dirtbag, “we’re going to play the very first song we ever sang together.”

Liam kicks in with the drums as I continue.

“Six years ago, we were nothing but strangers thrown together, and now we’re up here as a family,” I glance at Harry, a look that is met with a knowing – mocking – smirk. I try not to scowl, “thank you, Ireland. We love you. This is Teenage Dirtbag!”

Harry and I share an always oddly reassuring look as our earpieces give us the count-in and the opening notes of our first song begin.

Despite our off-stage hatred, on-stage we always seem to mesh. Maybe it’s because Harry Styles is so drastically different to Harry that he’s actually bearable, or maybe we’re just equally as terrified. Either way, as I begin to shakily sing her part, I don’t miss the way Harry watches me from the sidelines until I stand stronger in my voice and melt into Charlie Greene.

“I think last night was our best show yet.”

“You say that every show, Liam.”

“What? It’s true.”

“Will you guys shush,” scolding brogue suddenly emerges from the corner, “she’ll be here any minute.”

Cryptically, I kind of hope it all backfires. Amelia walks in too early, or she hates the balloons, or has the date wrong. As my hamstrings burn within their crouched position behind some seating, my eyes boring into the plushy velvet till I’m sure I hate the colour yellow, I wish that under some power of some God that Niall doesn’t win this one.

Call me petty, but I’m damn well allowed to be. It was me plaiting her hair and gossiping about our classmates and being her shoulder to cry on for the most part of our lives. I was supposed to be the one who bought all the pink glittery vodka out, and ensure the only music playing from the jukebox will be Red (TV) and, and… well, fuck.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. They’re perfect.

I hate this.

“Do you want to make it any less obvious you’re bitter about this whole thing?”

“Shut up, Louis,” I grumble, not bothering to meet his eye. I already know it’s going to be judgmental, “I’m the worst friend in the world, I’m allowed to be pissed.”

“Maybe, but suck it up for one night, yeah?”

I flag him in the dark, our eyes so adjusted at this point he sees clear as day and flases me a sarcastic grin right back. He’s right – I do need to suck it up, but with how busy I’ve been lately with the new album and tour preparations, I should have at least planned my best friend’s 22nd to make up for the lost time. She’s been excited for this day since we were twelve and replayed Taylor Swift dancing in heart glasses and a (questionable) fedora a trillion times.

Niall had organised everyone to be at Malibu’s for half seven before getting Zayn to shoot Amelia a text to meet at eight. According to her, this was going to be a semi-normal Friday night at our usual; she’d be hanging out with Zayn as the rest of us are ‘still in Ireland.’ Except, we’d all be jumping out of the darkness when the door chimes open. The last person to arrive did so about ten minutes ago, omitting, of course, one exception…

The usual exception.

where are u ??

Sent 19:35

seriously, where are u

Sent 19:40

dude.

Sent 19:46

this isn’t funny, this is lia’s day

Sent 19:50

HELLO??

Sent 19:55

i genuinely hope u get crushed in traffic

Sent 19:59

To be late to everything is one thing, but to be late to a surprise party for not only my best friend but a subsequent good friend of the whole band is taking the piss. Amelia’s due any minute, and–

A rectangle of light flows into the room, the door chimes – fuck, it’s showtime, and I’m riddled with frustation while I should be tingling with pre-emptive happiness for my friend. Anticipation straightens my spine as Niall flicks the light on by the door and we all jump out popping glittery confetti and yelling jovial surprises to…, not Amelia. Harry barely looks up from his phone as everyone murmurs collective confusion and groans of annoyance at the wasted string now adorning the bar floor.

“God, you’re a fucking idiot, H,” Niall grabs his arm, yanking him to the side as his eyes flicker around the room, seemingly taking this all in as if this is news. Niall turns to us, presumably to tell everyone to get back in place and forget the fact all the party poppers are ruined, but not a few moments later the actual birthday girl appears in the doorway. Everyone yells surprise again, this time a little weaker.

I wish I could see her face, but I’m too busy hoping the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ is true as I glare at Harry. In his (teeny tiny) defence, he looks genuinely confused, and we’re all running on two hours of sleep and a whole bunch of heat exhaustion. But, the several texts I sent and the fact this has been discussed in endless amounts in the past few weeks feed him little sympathy from me.

“Sorry, Lia,” Niall starts, “this was meant to be a surprise party, but–”

“You threw me a party? You’re here?”

“Yes, but–”

“Baby!” Amelia squeals, jumping into her boyfriend’s arms. I half roll my eyes, of course, she doesn’t care she’s walked into an awkwardly bright ‘surprise’ where the guests are uncomfortably half crouched behind furniture and the bar. She’s human fucking sunshine, she has no idea Harry just ruined it all – lest if she does, she doesn’t care. Niall waves to everyone from behind Amelia’s embrace to get on with the party, so the jukebox kicks in and people start to crawl their way to all the pink vodka sitting atop the polished bar.

Louis, Liam and I are finally able to stretch our legs, and Harry’s attention shifts back to his phone. It takes everything in me not to follow him and beat the everliving shit out of that motherfu–

“Charlie! You’re here too!”

My violent thoughts are cut off by Amelia suddenly before me, beaming and looking kind of surprised. A little offended, I engulf her in a hug, trying not to spiral into why my best friend seems shocked I’m at her birthday party. She just thought we’d be in Ireland, that’s all. Nothing to do with me. Or my schedule. Or my not being there lately.

We pull from each other, my mouth opening to wish her a happy birthday, say anything, but Louis pulls her into a hug and my distracted eyes catch Harry behind her. The rage that fills me at just the sight of his back is so familiar at this point, I live day and night with the feeling. I realise Amelia’s busy enough with the tens of people who came to celebrate her, so slinking away to the bar is easy enough.

"Your phone seems to be working fine, then."

I take up the sticky leather stool beside him, making him jump a little as he’s entirely engrossed in his device. God, he’s like a toddler. Harry sighs, setting his apparent lifeline face down atop the bar before tilting in his chair to face me, our denim-covered knees bashing together in the process.

"What are you talking about?"

My tongue pokes at my cheek to stop myself from biting his head off.

"I texted you. Like a million times."

"Ah,” he lifts his chin, “I had you blocked years ago, princess."

Why doesn't that surprise me? I roll my eyes and turn to face the racks of liquor, eyeing which bottle I'd most like to drown in first. A Harry-shaped blob moves in my peripheral, propping it’s elbow on the wood and leaning it’s head against it’s palm.

"I'm kidding. I was driving, I picked Amelia up.

"You picked her up?!” And I thought I couldn’t get angrier.

"That's what 'I picked up Amelia' means, yes."

I scramble for words, for sanity. "Why?"

"Her studio was on the way and I had time to kill."

He’s un-fucking-believable, “you couldn't have at least let her walk in first?"

At this point, I genuinely can't tell if Harry really forgot this was meant to be a surprise or if he’s just that self-centred. Probably a healthy mix of both.

"Apparently not. Now, this is lovely," he straightens, grabs his phone and nods to someone behind the bar. I follow his gaze, seeing (predictably) Rachel waiting beside the staff exit, bottom lip between her teeth, a joint between her fingers, "but I'm going to talk to people I actually like."

I let his little comment slide, settling for a scoff and a grumble beneath my breath as he disappears behind the bar. Slinging his arm around Rachel, Harry takes the joint from her and the two of them enter the smoking area together.

"Hey, stranger."

I snap out of my frustration-fuelled daze, blinking back to a reality where Zayn’s standing before me – all kind whiskey eyes and awaiting smiles and inky marks peaking from his usual black shirt. I grin, the type of happiness I only ever get from him distracting me and pulling me back to Earth.

"Z, hey!"

"What're you drinking?" He slings a towel over his shoulder, leaning his forearms against the bar as he becomes close. Dangerously close. Close enough for me to smell his sagey aftershave and spilt liquor. I hum, avoiding his eye to browse the racks again.

We met Zayn years ago when trying to discover bars that wouldn’t be swamped with paps, and all became fast friends with him when he offered us discounted drinks for tattoo practice. And, low and behold, three years down the line, we're all borderline alcoholics with shitty tattoos.

Him and the pap-less element of Malibu’s keeps us the dive bar’s most loyal customers, because fuck me if the drinks aren’t bad. Zayn’s one of the best people I know – terrible bartender, though. The worse. He's always said bartending is just a way to make ends meet while he works on his art, and I believe him, but God I hope he meets those ends soon. I'm always cautious when ordering from him, and as much as I'd love to get absolutely wasted tonight, alcohol poisoning's probably not the way to go.

"Tequila?"

"Right up," he winks, turning to grab some Don from the top rack. While he's getting my shots ready, I notice Harry’s return: Rachel-less and a little more rugged than before. He coughs as he sulks behind me and takes his seat back up, brushing his long locks back and behind his ears. I squint my eyes as I study him; he messes with his hair, then coughs again, then adjusts the buttons on his shirt, and then messes with his hair one last time.

Zayn lays out three shots accompanied by three limes and three pots of salt, and after Harry has ordered himself a whiskey I can't help myself.

"Five minutes has to be a record."

He sighs, nodding thanks toward Zayn after he sets down the glass and leaves to serve another customer.

"Try not to sound too jealous, Charlie."

I scoff, preparing myself for my first shot, “what of? A five-minute snog?"

"Eugh," Harry splutters. I pause while lining up a line of salt on the back of my hand.

"What?"

"That word."

I pique, "what word? Snog?"

He shudders, bringing his glass up to his lips. “Don’t say it again."

"God, you're twelve," I take a deep breath – I'm terrible at shots – lick the salt, shoot the shot, and suck the lime till the bitterness overpowers the petrol-like burning stops it’s Hellish trail down my throat, "what would you call it then?" The question leaves me a little rougher than I intended, and Harry’s low chuckle at my struggle seems to prolong the recovery time.

"I don't know," he clears his throat, "how about we do it then you tell me?"

I pause, once again, mid-line. He full-on belly laughs, now.

"You're disgusting," this one seems to go down harsher, but something in me tells me it's because Harry just put that image in my head.

"Least I'm not bagging free drinks from my ex."

I shake my head, my eyes squeezed shut while I juggle recovering and coming back with something witty.

"They're not free," fumbled the witty thing, seemingly, “and he’s not my ex.”

I push the two empty glasses aside, mentally preparing myself for my third and final shot. The good thing about my alcohol tolerance is that it is worryingly low. These shots will do me for the next few hours; enough to have me dancing on tables, not enough to make my head bang any more than it usually does in the show we have tomorrow.

“Right,” he gives me a look behind the whiskey glass, the rim just brushing his bottom lip as his arched brows raise, “just someone you used to frequently bang and cried about, what was it… five times one night?”

"Whatever," I’m sick of this salt now, "at least I have somewhat of an ex," I coat my tongue with the bitter crystals, asking a muffled, "how long was your relationship, again?"

Harry swallowed the last of his whiskey, "five minutes, according to you.”

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #spare parts series #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles smut #1d series #1d smut #ot5 #1d ot5 #one direction ot5 #one direction series #harry styles series #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst

201 notes · View notes

roseclaw · 4 days

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY MDZS BB edition

Another @mdzsbigbang Nie Bro phone call!

“Is something wrong?” Nie Mingjue asked anxiously. “These calculations make no sense,” Nie Huaisang said. “…How drunk are you?” “I will never be drunk enough for this,” Nie Huaisang muttered. “But these don’t make sense.” “How?” “Do you really want to hear me go on about it?” Nie Huaisang asked grumpily. “No,” Nie Mingjue said. “I don’t. I want to know if you can fix it.” That’s what Nie Huaisang thought. He continued to frown down at the numbers and the omens. His brother was right, things were becoming more exponential, and if Nie Huaisang extrapolated from there. “There are less than two weeks before the Hellmouth opens and brings about the end of the world,” Nie Huaisang said, hating every word that came out of his mouth. “A bit more than ten days to prevent everything.” “Fuck me.” Nie Mingjue whispered. Louder, he said, “I want you to calculate everything again when you’re sober.” “I don’t need to be sober for this. I don’t want to be sober for this.” He glowered at the papers, especially the star charts. “But you’re sure?” “Da-ge, how can I not be sure?” Nie Huaisang whimpered. Nie Mingjue sighed. “I want you to meet with Lan Qiren tomorrow. No more running away to get drunk.” Nie Huaisang sat down in the chair heavily. “I didn’t ask for this.” “No one ever asks for it,” Nie Mingjue told him gently. “I don’t want it.” “Neither does the Slayer, and this is ultimately her responsibility,” Nie Mingjue said. “How is this the responsibility of one person?” Nie Huaisang demanded. “This should be something for heads of state and – and people like that. They ask for that responsibility, not sweet girls like Yanli.” “We both know how unfair the world can be,” Nie Mingjue reminded him. Nie Huaisang scoffed. “I hate this. How can one girl prevent this?” “She’ll have backup,” Nie Mingjue said. “You? You’re going to—Da-ge, you can’t!” “I’ve done it before.” “You’ve fucking what? How did I not know this?” “It’s part of the gig,” Nie Mingjue said plainly. “It’s part of being a journalist?!” “What—no! It’s part of being part of the Watcher’s Council.” “Fuck them, spying on me from the UK, making you risk your life for the apocalypse. How many apocalypses have you prevented?” “Don’t know,” Nie Mingjue said. “At least three.” “…What? How often does someone want to end the world?” “A lot. It’s a fairly standard power grab.” Nie Huaisang had absolutely no idea what to say to that. He didn’t like any of this, and he had mad that inescapably clear. “How am I supposed to sleep now?” he grumbled. “Go find your Supermodel Cheekbones,” Nie Mingjue suggested. Nie Huaisang sighed loudly. “I’m too drunk.” “Text him. Booty call.” “Did you just - Did you say…?” Nie Huaisang burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “Isn’t that the equivalent of inviting him over? Didn’t you say I shouldn’t do that?” He glanced at the clock, trying to control his giggles. It was nearly one in the morning. During the normal workweek. He wasn’t going to text Jiang Wanyin. Wait. Did he even have Jiang Wanyin’s phone number? He didn’t think so… Ugh. So a booty call wasn’t even an option. Even if it wasn’t the middle of the week. Wait. No. Was it a Friday night? He didn’t even know how time worked anymore. He must be too drunk for that. “Meet with Qiren tomorrow,” Nie Mingjue said. “And drink some water.” “I’m drinking water,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, staring at the glass sitting on the table next to the star charts. “Fucking stars.” “See what the stars say about you and Cheekbones,” Nie Mingjue said. “And actually drink the water. Don’t pout at it.” Nie Huaisang sighed. “Fine.”

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #sangcheng #wip wednesday

13 notes · View notes

woobly · 1 year

Text

PLUCK MY HEARTSTRINGS. track_013 — infinite rizz

𓂋˚˖ PAIRING. rival band lead guitarist! sunwoo x band rhythm guitarist! fem! reader

𓂋˚˖ GENRE. social media au with some written text, rivals to lovers, band au, college au, fluff, crack, angst

𓂋˚˖ WC. 1.4k words (pretty rushed n dialogue-heavy bc im kinda lazy,, mb)

𓂋˚˖ A/N. hello i am back from hell ..... (technically not rlly bc i still have 2-3 midterms this week but soon 🤞🏼🤞🏼)

𓂋˚˖ SYNOPSIS. competing against a rapidly rising all-male band from another school at an intercollegiate music festival doesn't really sound too bad on the surface. until you see their lead guitarist—the same boy who always made sure you knew who was the better guitarist between the two of you in high school.

masterlist. previous. next.

Saturday afternoon finally came around, meaning you were currently hanging out with your bandmates and your practice room neighbors. You all decided to have a picnic at the park that happened to be right smack in the middle of IST and Cre.ker, the two universities that you and your friends were attending. Yes, friends—whether you consider Sunwoo a friend was still up for debate, but his other band members were definitely fun to be around.

About an hour had already passed since you and Ryujin arrived with snacks in hand. The others brought the other essentials—picnic blankets, an acoustic guitar, bluetooth speakers, and even more food. The picnic had been going pretty well, with people recognizing some of you (mostly the guys) and Jacob providing relaxing background music with his guitar. Haewon was present as well, even if she isn’t part of either band, but no one seemed to mind since she blended in almost too easily.

Just before the sun was about to set, Haewon announced that she had to leave early.

“Sorry guys, I have a gig in an hour,” she shyly admitted as she began fixing her things.

“You perform too?”

“No, I do modeling sometimes,” Half the group gasped, while the other half nodded in understanding, causing her to giggle. Once she was ready to to leave, she approached you first, crouching beside you. “Y/N, are you free tomorrow?”

You turn to her suddenly confused. “I have some errands to do in the afternoon, but otherwise, yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Do you wanna hang out with me for lunch then? There’s this restaurant I’ve always wanted to try,”

You blinked blankly at her a few times before glancing at Sunwoo who’s already been looking at the two of you. “What about Sunwoo? And Eric?”

Haewon glanced at them as well, then smiled and turned back to you. “Oh, I’ve had enough of them for now. I wanna catch up with you,”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t taken aback, but you agreed anyway.

“Great! I’ll send you the address later.” she said before bidding her final farewells to the rest of the group and walking back to her car, with Sunwoo tagging along.

“Were you ever close with her?” Ryujin, who was seated next to you and eavesdropped on your conversation with Haewon, suddenly asked, bringing you back to reality from mindlessly staring at Haewon and Sunwoo walking away.

“Um, no actually. She was always in a different class. Kinda wish she wasn’t though, maybe I could’ve gotten higher grades in groupworks,” you joked, causing Ryujin to smile and scoff.

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“What’s weird?”

“Her asking you out for lunch like that in front of everyone,”

“You don’t think I’m the type to get asked out like that?” you joked again, trying your best to sound as offended as possible.

Giving up, Ryujin sighed and said, “Never mind I asked,” and took a piece of her french fries.

Giggling, you also took one of her fries and dipped it in your cookies and cream ice cream before popping it into your mouth. “I’m kidding. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it like that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with hanging out and reconnecting,”

“Still. If she really is asking you out, you better say no because I was already thinking about asking her out,”

“You what?” Another voice suddenly joined your conversation, a voice distinctly Sunwoo’s.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that, Mr. ‘I got infinite rizz’?”

“I do actually,”

“Oh? And why is that?” You merely chuckle as you watched them bicker and Sunwoo eventually having to admit defeat.

“Guys, can we please cut the cake now?” Hyunjae whines out of nowhere, and you slightly cringe watching the older boy act like a child.

“Wait, let’s take pictures first!”

After settling down from the quick photoshoot under the setting sun, Sangyeon and Seunghee begin passing slices of the celebratory cake they bought. As you ate your share, you noticed Sunwoo removing the berries on his slice.

“You don’t like the berries?”

“No, you can have them,”

Hesitantly, you took one of the berries he set aside on his plate. Plopping it in your mouth, you smiled and swayed a little, happy from receiving extra free food. Sunwoo watched you take his food and simply chuckled.

Borrowing (read: stealing) Jacob’s guitar, Sunwoo began to play random chords. You couldn’t help watching in awe since he was seated next to you as you continued eating your slice of cake. You kept switching from looking at his right hand that was plucking by the sound hole and his left hand that was smoothly switching positions on the fretboard. Everything about the way he handled the guitar was so serene, grasp ever gentle and fingers calm and relaxed—much different compared to how he played on stage. You didn’t realize you were watching so intently until you heard Hyunjae’s laugh suddenly boom from where he was standing.

Snapping out of your trance, you look away for a second and speak loud enough just for Sunwoo to hear.

“What song is that?”

Sunwoo hummed, as if to contemplate a seemingly simple question. “Nothing. I don’t think we’re close enough for me to tell you yet,”

“Oh? But I think I know you quite well already. You’re kinda easy to read,”

“And what might you have concluded from reading me so well?” he playfully said, finally looking up from the guitar in his hands.

You smiled, already knowing where this is going. “That you may or may not have a teeny tiny crush on someone I know,”

Sunwoo’s face goes slightly pale, and he pauses his movements, momentarily forgetting the next chord of the same pattern he’s been playing for a while. You laughed at his reaction, it was priceless, but practically confirming with the boy himself that he did in fact liked Haewon felt a little weird.

Suddenly becoming defensive, Sunwoo raises his hand in an attempt to redeem himself. “Okay, to be fair, that was high school. I don’t—”

“What?! Oh my god, this is worse than I thought,” laughing your ass off, he tried to calm you down but to no avail. When you finally caught your breath, you looked at Sunwoo and chuckled at him.

“Please tell me you wrote a song about her,”

Sunwoo looked at you with obvious defeat and lied down with his back on the picnic mat.

“Oh my god,” you chuckled again, but this time, you couldn’t bring yourself to laugh as much anymore. “Okay, I’ll stop. But not without hearing it,”

“You’ve been listening to it the entire time,”

You gasped, finally connecting the dots. But somewhere between all the putting two and two together, you remembered the serenity that had been radiating off of him earlier, and that tugged at you a little, knowing the reason behind that peacefulness.

“Got any lyrics?”

“Just one or two. I never really knew how to put it into words,”

You watched him watch the clouds move above you. He was responding to you, and yet his mind seemed to be so far away, perhaps lost among the puffs of gray that the breeze carried away.

“Play it again,”

“No, I wanna lie down,”

“Play it again,”

He sighed, sitting up and resting his hands on the guitar once again. As you paid more attention to the song, you began humming melodies and blurting out cliche lines that only a teenager with a crush would say.

As time went on, you began coming up with random lyrics about laundry and taxes, causing you both to laugh at how unserious the atmosphere had become. You were so busy busting out verses that neither of you noticed the others beginning to pack up.

“Give it up, guys. We’ve been listening to the same song for hours,”

“Y/N, let’s go home. I thought you had a project proposal due soon,” Ryujin whined as she started to feel tired.

“Shit, I forgot!” you cursed as you packed up your things as well. Sunwoo watched you leave his side and felt a little awkward just sitting there with the guitar, so he decided to help the rest pack up.

Before you knew it, everyone was already saying their goodbyes and beginning to walk back home.

masterlist. previous. next.

𓂋˚˖ TAGLIST. @wooyoung-a @nyujjan @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @ja4hyvn @ahnneyong @noempathyy @2hyunjae @sunwoahkim @sunnysunuu @feireads @igotkpoops @ilovechanhee @baehaechannie @mochibabycakes @ilvaussie @justsayk @beomsun @aurumness @pengbi @meowtella @ily-cuz-i @kiyokoism @erodemyedges @kswr1d @neoguriku @hwasatiny @woosunnie [open, dm/send an ask to join!] — bold cannot be tagged

89 notes · View notes

momo-de-avis · 6 days

Text

Fun story. Sometime last year I started with a company that assigned random tour guiding jobs and eventually I got a gig with an australian company that did the same shit every year. Clients arrive in PT through madrid. My job was to give them a walk tour of Lisbon and Belém. This day it turned out I had a surprise: there was a second group I did not know existed, and which I had not been informed of, who needed to meet with my group at X hours in Lisbon. They had a second guide with them I didn't know who it was and had no contact with. The Tour Leader (TL), who has a cabbage for a brain, instead of giving me the tour guide's contact as I requested, called the second tour leader who put the tour guide on the phone to then speak with me through my tour leader's phone, which has to be the most complicated method imaginable. A point to note here is that the other guide was super difficult. He refused to find a solution with me because "he was not told what to do" and I eventually had to force him to accept a conclusion bc idk this fucker couldn't solve a very simple problem.

This is a bus gig. I'd never done buses before but I'd done Belém plenty of times and was pretty comfortable. All I had to do was pick up a mic and speak to them about the city. Easy.

Imagine my surprise when the absolute dork ass loser of the bus driver puts his hands on the wheel and says "tell me the way". And I'm like. What the fuck do you mean. He means it's my job apparently to instruct this professional bus driver who refuses to turn on his GPS on the exact path from butt fuck nowhere Marques de Pombal to Belém. Literally turn left, right, straight ahead.

Important detail here is that the clients are australian, so the tour is in english, but the dumbass tour leader and the even dumber driver are spanish, so I am actually switching back and forth between english and spanish during this whole ordeal (at one point I did accidentally speak spanish to the australians, yes).

Somehow we arrive in Belém without crashing the fucking bus and I do my job. I know the clients had a good time and that's all I care about.

Then we return to Lisbon. Yes I had to yet again provide the BUS driver minute by minute instructions on how exactly to return, and while doing so, I was grabbing the mic, speaking in english about the city, lowering the mic and quickly going "ahora todo recto hasta el edificio amarillo y despues a la izquierda". i have never multitasked this fucking hard in my life. We get to central lisbon, where I was instructed by TL to meet with the other group there, so the people on my bus would be dropped off.

Now, I came to learn that every month this shit happens, and yet they fuck it up every single time. Basically, the tourists are given a plan. The plan states that they are going from point A to point B. At point B they can decide if they want to go to point C. Those who don't want to are promised a ride back to the hotel, those who want to hop onto one of the buses and head over to point C. Except every time, there's no ride back to the hotel, they just leave them stranded in the middle of central lisbon.

But at the time I did not know this.

So imagine my face when I deliver my clients to second group, and out of fucking nowhere, there's this angry Australian lady who is speaking to second TL, and then she turns, spots me with fucking T1000 eyes, lifts her finger abd aggravatingly says IT'S ALL HER FAULT!

At this point I'm like. So help me god. What else is coming. Now, my TL is mushy brain but in his defence he immediately stepped forward and defended me. But meanwhile this woman is still T1000ing me and insisting everything was my fault, when I don't even know what everything is. And it's then that I hear her say "our tour guide said to us she changed the plan!"

She means the afore mentioned plan of going from A to B and then optionally going to place C. She was rightfully upset that she'd been informed she'd have a bus ride back to the hotel and now was stranded in central lisbon (their hotel was not central at all). However, their tour guide, which happens to be the difficult motherfucker I had to communicate via three different phones in the most complicated way right before starting the tour, apparently panicked and instead of doing the correct thing which was relay the lady's complaints back to the TL, he threw me under the bus, accused me of changing plans I didn't even know existed, and hoped for the best.

Mind you, I did not blame the lady. I'd be proper pissed in her place too. But that was the moment I became T1000 and looked around for this motherfucker.

And when I saw him I realised I knew who this piece of shit was.

It turns out he's a tour guide who worked for a Free Tours company whose name I wont give out but they wear yellow, which is an incredibly predatory company, and I say this with full confidence because I actually interviewed for them and it was the most pathetic job interview I've ever experienced. It's the kind of place you pay to work (free tours the guide has to pay 3-5€ per client and they rely entirely on tips, they don't have wages. Kind of like real estate but more predatory). The guides for this company have their meeting spot in the same square as we do (as do several other companies).

This was the only stupid ass who always started shit.

He once screamed at a coworker of mine because he insisted they owned the square (I'm talking about fucking Rossio). He once offered violence to another coworker of mine, I don't even know why anymore. He once tried to start shit with me too. He spoke to some of my clients who had arrived before me and when I got there he went on a fucking rampage going "WE'RE GOING TK START STEALING YOUR CLIENTS BECAUSE YOU PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS LATE". I let him have it and stayed quiet. When he was done, in most dead pan tone, I just said 'mate there's 10 minutes left before the tour starts, go do your job'.

You ask anyone who regularly tours in Rossio they will know who this fucker is. He is rude, aggressive and a piece of shit.

And apparently a fucking coward too.

Instantly after that, I picked up the phone and called the company, who only called me back hours late cause lol, and told them this would never happen again. After explaining that next time I will refuse to do anything whatsoever if a bus driver ever tells me it's my job to tell the way, I explain that if I were them, I would never collaborate with this absolute piece of shit again bc this is unprofessional beyond belief.

I have since been forgotten by that company lmfao they literally stopped calling me but to be fair it was an amicable divorce bc I swore I'd never work with them again.

It's been like 7 months. I come to learn that piece of shit stayed in that shit ass company nonetheless which shows just how desperate they are. In this time that has since passed, a couple of guides who know what happened asked me what the guide's name is so they are sure to refuse work with that guy.

Turns out that list is growing lmfao there's at least 3 or 4 more guides who have since refused to work with him because he is such a piece of shit.

No idea where he is now. Haven't seen him in a while. Genuinely wonder how tf he is going to build a career in such a small field when he keeps burning every bridge.

10 notes · View notes

aurosoulart · 11 months

Note

Hey, sorry if this is bad(?), but I was wondering if you had any advice for getting into the xr world/career. I think I've seen you mention the topic (encouraging others to join the field?) at least once, but I don't know how to even get started. Thank you for your time!

(If you could answer this not publicly I would appreciate it, but it's fine if you do, or like, if you don't answer at all)

not a bad thing to ask at all! I've actually been in the middle of writing a guide about this for some time that I will.... hopefully finish sometime soon ghskgh.

I hope you don't mind me posting this publicly - I ended up writing a short novel and figure it might be useful to others who are curious as well! anyways, the advice I give to people with a background in illustration is to start out with a Quest 2 headset. they retail at $300 new, but you can get them used via eBay, Craigslist, FB Marketplace or someplace like that for around $200 or under. the Quest 2 works without needing to be plugged into a PC, though you will probably want to buy a more ergonomic head-strap to make it more comfortable. (the head strap that Meta sells is overpriced, but this third-party one is really good) if you're interested in working with augmented reality (the type of work I do!) and have the ability to save up some extra money, I'd recommend waiting for the release of the Quest 3, which will launch this fall and cost $500. totally not a requirement at all to start learning, though.

other than that, I'd recommend starting out with free art programs like Open Brush and Gravity Sketch to familiarize yourself with creating in-headset. both of these programs have a large amount of tutorial videos up on YouTube - as well as an active community of other artists who are all generally very friendly and eager to help people learn. VR Art Live and The Spatial Canvas's Discord servers are the communities I'm part of. :)

after that, it all just comes down to posting your new artwork online to as many platforms as you can mentally handle (this is the hardest part for me, ghsghs), and also looking at paid XR artist programs/gigs. Mozilla Hubs, Horizon Worlds, and Figmin XR (that's me!) all have some creator opportunities where they pay people to create things on their platform.

you can also find work doing XR concept art, art performances, and I've even seen grant programs for XR artists from art galleries. these things are harder to find, but if you make a LinkedIn page and a modest portfolio of your XR art, chances are high that you'll get some eyes on it.

it's ridiculously easy to be a big fish in a small pond right now if you have any kind of skills with these programs. I will say that there does seem to be a push towards people who can create things that are interactive and can be shared with others (like AR Snapchat/TikTok/Instagram filters, experiences created and published to platforms like Mozilla Hubs, Figmin XR, etc.), so that's something to keep in mind while learning - but not something that should stop you!

going from 2D illustration to creating things in 3D space is a whirlwind of learning new skills that can often feel overwhelming, but the most important thing is that it should feel fun and enjoyable to you. I started out by just listening to music while painting in Tilt Brush (Tilt Brush was the original version of Open Brush, before Google made it open-source) and creating whatever felt the most fun in the moment. everything else just came from natural curiosity and connecting with other artists in the space.

lastly... I have no technical (coding, traditional 3D modeling) skills. I am a 2x college dropout with chronic mental illness, and prior to my current employment I was never able to hold a job for longer than 3 months. and yet....... this new industry has changed my life completely, and at 29 years old I finally feel like I have a purpose. I'm somehow a software developer now, without needing to know anything about software development. that's wild!!!

this is why I'm so excited for the future. if this brand-new technology (still in its infancy! viewed as frightening by so many!!) was able to help me in such a radical way... what will that mean for even more people discovering it as it becomes more accessible?

I don't know the answer to that yet... but I do know how wonderful it is to see people learning about all of this for the first time. helping with that alone is more than enough for me 💖

#auropost #also if any artist who sees this wants a free key to download figmin xr on the quest store i can give that to you #you can just dm me for it #i would give headsets away too if i could... but alas i don't have THAT many connections. yet.#i am just!! so enthusiastic about encouraging other people to make this type of art!!!#xr #vr #virtual reality #augmented reality #and lastly #apple just announced their headset #it's coming out next year but has like no interesting software yet #so there is about to be a huuuuugeee demand for people who know how to design spatial experiences/worlds/art/ANYTHING #things are changing so fast in the digital art world right now #but despite everything i think the demand for artists is only going to increase #people will quickly realize that ai cannot create anything new #and art made by humans will only become more valuable #more than anything i want people to use all this new technology to create what they personally love #because that's what will carry us forward

29 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 3 months

Text

Chapter Three

The air is still sweet and warm enough the following week to leave the windows of the print studio open, and in between my cleaning sessions, in particular the area around Gabriel’s desk which looks like an avalanche of cardboard and loose paper has crashed around his feet, I work on my Christmas card designs and occasionally gaze outside over the street below, cracked, patched pavements and sturdy old red brick council houses that belonged, once upon a time, to the lived in by workers from the biscuit factory and the brewery, but now have been purloined by the middle class.

Simon comes over to check how I’m doing from time to time. He has the type of presence that makes me want to sit up very straight and address him like he’s a teacher at school about to quiz me on my multiplication tables, but Simon’s not really like that. He’s so chilled out he might as well be horizontal, and all he ever really does is say “cool.” or “looking good.”, so eventually, after some days the sharp edges of my terror of criticism fades and I stop freaking out every time I see him get out of his seat. It is art, after all. The most subjective thing in the world.

“So this is design two? Or three?” He’s saying to me today, pausing at my desk on his way to the printing press. I hold up two fingers.

“Right. I’d love it if we could have six by the end of next week, if you can hack that. Just like, with the suppliers…” He trails off and I nod enthusiastically like I know what he’s talking about. “Of course, I think I have enough ideas to get six designs.”

“Cool, and at some point today could you pop downstairs to the shop and talk to Petra? She was asking if you’d do a favour for her.”

“Yeah, of course.” I resist grilling him about what she wants or rushing downstairs and insisting that she talk to me immediately, because I’m trying very hard not to be a person who seems desperate for anything lately. Even though I frequently am.

“Thanks.”

He heads over to the press next to Izzy, and moments later Michelle comes into the studio with a coffee and a paper bag in her hand. He grins at her and leans down to kiss her cheek. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I can’t stay long, Jen and I are heading into town for lunch but I know you’re working through it today so I thought I’d just get you a sandwich.” The idea of Jen standing outside this very shop at this very moment makes my heartbeat quicken.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Simon says to her. “Saves me making the intern get it for me.” He winks at me so that I know he’s only joking, even though he’s actually not, and that’s exactly what would have ended up happening, he just doesn’t want her to know about it, most likely.

“Can you stay for lunch?”

“No, I have plans with Jen, but I’ll see you later on.” She glances around the room at everyone else. “I suppose I’ll probably see you all later on.”

“At Izzy’s gig!” Gabriel whoops. “Yes you will.” I smile at her and nod, already trying to come up with a plan as to how I will wrangle Shane and Claire into coming with me. It’s out of pure social anxiety, not because I think they’ll enjoy the music.

When Michelle heads out and the rest of us start making moves for our own lunch break, Izzy asks if I’ll get food with her, since Simon and Gabriel are too busy. She says she knows a nice takeaway spot nearby, and I trust her because she seems like the kind of person who would know the best places to eat and drink in every corner of the city.

The streets are busy that afternoon, the last gasps of tourist season leaving the foot traffic heavy enough to have to stop and start behind the people who want to take photographs of things like fan windows and the fronts of pubs. Izzy stops me to let a middle aged couple take a picture next to a statue of a teapot. I think about how that was nice of her, to stop walking for them when I’m sure I would have barrelled through and ruined the photo. I don’t think I’m the type of person to do things like that anymore, my patience has worn too thin over the last two years I’ve lived here.

“Cute.” She comments as they smile and let us pass them by, and then we continue down a street that opens onto the Liffey. It really doesn’t smell very good on warm days, and as I peer down into it I count two shopping trolleys and a child’s bicycle. I wonder what else they’d find if they did an expedition of that river. Considering the possibilities of what could lie there under the silt kind of makes my stomach turn, and draws to mind the time I saw a dead poodle floating in a river on a family expedition to county Cork. Izzy guides me around a corner and up a hill to a cafe, and the sun is in my eyes.

My gaze slips over the people eating outside the restaurant as we approach. There’s a woman with a small baby who is kicking and writhing in her arms, fat little legs creased adorably at the knees. An elderly man on the next table tries to enjoy his newspaper, only he can’t help but glance over his shoulder at the infant when she babbles and shrieks, interrupting his concentration. There’s a girl with her back to me, long, wavy blonde hair that spills all the way down her chair, and a man sitting across from here with dark hair and sunglasses. He’s handsome, well dressed and has an upturned, clever little mouth that sends a jolt of recognition through me. I almost gasp out loud, but then I remember that it couldn’t be him. It never is. This city is full of good looking, dark haired men, and not one of them has ever been the one that I hoped. As if he’s ever going to be here…

And then he lifts his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and those brown eyes could only belong to one person. My breath catches in my throat. I can’t look away from him, and I stand at the door of the cafe frozen still in anticipation of the moment he’ll see me too.

His eyes flicker over the blonde girl’s head for a second and then widen with surprise. He practically shoots out of his seat, the metal legs of the chair shuddering across the concrete behind him, and the look on his face is astounding, like he can’t believe I am real. “Evie.”

“Hi.” I say, and then somehow I am next to him, wanting to launch myself into his arms, but I stop myself. His fingers twitch outwards too, like he’s reaching for me but his hesitation matches my own. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch me anymore.

“What are you doing here?” I manage. Jude looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, but somehow I’m surprised. I don’t know how I keep forgetting how gorgeous he is, as you’d think that something like that would be permanently imprinted in your memory, and yet it’s like every single time I’ve ever turned my head to speak to him I’ve been whipped across the face by his beauty.

“I… we…” He’s flustered. He’s never seemed flustered before, and seems bewildered by himself. I watch a blush come over his nose and cheeks. “College doesn’t start for a few weeks.” He manages. “And I needed to help out with something at home, so we decided to make a holiday of it.”

We. I look to my right where his girlfriend is sitting. She is an unmistakable presence, and yet at first I almost missed her. She’s head to toe in black. They both are, as though they plan to attend an extremely fashionable funeral. Her clothes are so contrasting to her hair which is the whitest, blondest blonde I’ve ever seen. She’s slim, languid, long hands and wrists and sharp collarbones, full lips and a button nose, the kind of pretty that makes ordinary girls feel like monsters in comparison. I imagine a photo taken of both of us side by side, and how I’d never look nice next to her, my dull, limp brown hair and unremarkable features would make me vanish into the wallpaper while she would positively glow with beauty.

I’m caught up in the situation, looking at her and looking at him, and I forget all about poor Izzy waiting for me at the door. She clears her throat gently and tells me she’s going to go inside and order her lunch. I feel a bit embarrassed that this significant moment happened right in front of her without her knowing the context of any of it, but I tell her I’ll follow her soon.

“This is Astrid, by the way. My girlfriend.” Jude says, as if she needed an introduction, as if I didn’t know that already, and I smile at her. “Evie.” The smile she returns is a bit thin and lukewarm, and she doesn’t take off her sunglasses so I can’t really read her face at all. My skin prickles, and for the first time I start wondering if I’ve made my return appearance at the wrong time.

“I never expected to just run into you.” Jude says with eyes that leap all over my face.

“Me neither, I…” I feel bad about cutting him out of my life for a guy who almost ruined my life. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has. Over a year now.”

I grimace as the most egregious moments from our last conversation float into my mind and I feel as though I have to blink them away. “I hope you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, I’m doing fine.” He pauses again, like he’s not sure how much I even want to hear. “We’re around for the next week. We’re going to be hitting some of the main spots in Dublin before flying back to Berlin. ”

“Touring around. Like tourists.” I cringe at myself.

“Yeah, it’s Astrid’s first time in Ireland.”

I look down at her and smile and tell her that she’s welcome, because that’s what I feel like I should say, but she doesn’t smile back, takes a berry from the top of her pancake stack and nibbles on it.

“I think that tomorrow we might do the whole Trinity library tour thing. It’s hard to come up with things to do when you, like, lived here for so long, you know?”

“Yeah I know, I couldn’t think of much either. But it’s not like you ever really do all of the touristy things when you live here, do you? Like the leprechaun museum or whatever.” We pull identical faces of disgust at each other and I find myself laughing. I look at Astrid. “What kinds of things do you like to do?”

She leaves a reluctant pause. “I’m not sure.” and her voice is gentle, accentless. She doesn’t even seem interested in looking at me, and then doesn’t say anything else when I leave the space for her to elaborate, so Jude finally explains for her, albeit a touch impatiently. “In Berlin we normally go out. Like, bars and clubs and concerts. We have a mutual love for music, so.”

“Oh, that’s so funny, I’m actually going to a gig tonight.” I point at Izzy through the café window. “Izzy is the singer, she’s playing later on, and actually I think Jen is going too.”

“Oh, well, she didn’t say anything to me about it.” A line appears between his brows.

“Maybe she forgot?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, I’m inviting you. Inviting you both.” I attempt yet another smile at Astrid who is now scrolling on her phone and feel a bit rattled by her, aware of her displeasure at my interruption. I give Jude the breeziest smile in my repertoire. “You better get back to your lunch, or your food will get cold.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay.” Jude says, still watching me with some disbelief. “Maybe we’ll see you later on?”

“If you’re at the gig, you will.” I give them a rushed goodbye and hurry inside after Izzy, my skin buzzing all over, heart thumping inside my rib cage.

“I’m sorry if that was awkward.” I mutter to her as I join her in the queue. “That was just my old friend, I haven’t seen him in a while. I think I should have just introduced you.”

“No it’s okay, it wasn’t awkward because you didn’t introduce us, I just felt weird about interrupting an argument like that.”

I blink. “Were they arguing?”

She looks out the window to where they’re sitting, their food uneaten, and it’s suddenly obvious. Their body language is tense and they’ve turned so that their torsos are angled away from each other, Astrid says something to Jude, and he says something back with a furrowed brow and a swipe of his hand. I suppose I didn’t notice it at first but now it’s so obvious, and I feel stupid. “Oh, they were.”

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know. What are you ordering?”

“Oh, um, whatever you’re having. I’ll just have the same.” I drag my eyes away from them. Whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with me.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #he's back!#I always loved that shocked/enamored expression he has when he first sees her #and how nervous he is hehe

14 notes · View notes