#it’s just that the details aren’t very important to me
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How about Velvette with a journalist reader who's there to interview her and struggles to stay professional in the face of her relentless flirting over the course of the interview. Reader may or may not leave with an "autograph" 😉
a/n — oh my god guys, I’M A JOURNALIST!!! Wow, what are the odds! Anyways, marry me?
warnings — Velvette being very pushy, very suggestive, reader is so done, lowkey borderline harassment but… sorry guys she would, NOT PROOFREAD!!!
summary — Journalist reader tries to interview the youngest and newest member of the Vees, however she seems to be interested in something else.
The goal was to get people talking. Questions should have the ability to cover a wide variety of subjects, snowballing into the next topic with ease, you knew that.
However, the questions cartwheeled rather than snowballed. “Being a new comer in hell, making an alliance with two of hells most powerful overlords must have been difficult. How’d you do it?”
“I’m a big girl, babes, I can do a lot of things.”
Okay, so the way she licked her lips when she said that was a little provocative, but you decided to include the statement alone rather than the details. After all, the ‘sass’ that could be interpreted could keep things entertaining.
And she was, to be fair. She gave off enough personality with each quote that she would practically pop right off the page. Her mannerisms showed when she spoke, you could use that.
After all, god knows this was going to be better than that Zestial interview. That guy was as cryptic as he was unenthusiastic to those who pry. Jesus, Velvette gave you much more to work with.
However, what started off as a good interview was getting harder and harder to make do with. You figured you could use one of her flirtatious comments, break the fourth wall a bit, but dear god, would she ever answer the question?
“—Of course, I’m not assuming anything. You just look like you know your way around a pussy.”
“Miss Velvette—“
“But shit, aren’t I flattering you? Maybe you can prove it too me but until then—“
“Miss Velvette,” You hiss, brows furrowing together in pure irritation, “The question was about your history in fashion.”
“I’d love to know your history in dating,” She smiled back.
She was pretty, that was undeniable. And honestly infuriatingly cute, but your job was important.
“Tell you what, maybe if you answer all my questions accordingly, i’ll give you my number,” you offer, “How’s that sound?”
And she did. You were back where you started, interesting replies and explanations, lots of good material for an article.
So at the end, you pause your recording, pack up your laptop, and do as you promised.
Putting your contact in her phone, you shake her hand, “It was a pleasure, miss Velvette. I hope we work together soon.”
“Oh, I know we will,” Her smile was smile and knowing, “One more thing.”
With that, she leans up planting a kiss on, not your cheek like you expected, but the upper part of your neck, making you suck in a breath.
“You know, I never fucking liked journalists,” She spoke as her lips left your skin, and began to walk away, “Thought you all were a bunch of noisy assholes.”
You didn’t say anything, your hand just slowly came up to your neck where her lipstick was presumable staining. A smile drew at your lips.
“Except, I do like you darling,” She stopped in the doorway, “Kisses!”
#inbox open#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel velvette x reader#velvette x reader#velvette x you
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can we talk about just how effective jock would’ve been in pushing a jo character arc. It’s not just the fact that Brick acts as a good moral compass, but it’s also how he encompasses EVERYTHING jo tries to avoid (he’s open with his femininity, emotional, sensitive, clumsy etc) and jo…still likes and respects him??
Like, she views him as an equal to the point of overestimating him (you and I both know that mf was trying his hardest in the thumb wrestling scene and jo was all “oh he hardly tried!! what a gentleman!!☺️” GIRL YOU NEARLY BROKE HIS THUMB). You can tell she genuinely enjoys competing with Brick, and she’s never bored whenever they interact. She’s often the one to go up and talk to him, despite beating him time and time again. Jo views him as a worthy competitor even after witnessing him being the most embarrassing man alive (who the fuck tries to dislocate their hip to impress a girl) and pissing himself.
The point is, Jo clearly holds Brick in somewhat of a higher regard despite him showing weakness so often. And that’s important because Jo’s main driving force is not wanting to appear weak.
You can see little moments of her showing care or concern before immediately switching back to her cutthroat attitude. Caring is a “”weakness”” that prevents you from winning (demonstrated by Brick in episode 7). When Jo volunteers to have makeup put on her, she immediately covers it up with a facade of toughness and says she’s “only [doing it] for the good of the team” (Compare this to Brick’s “Yeah, you heard me.” after announcing his dream of going to fashion school). She’s definitely struggling with internalised misogyny and associating femininity with weakness, but that’s an essay for another day.
Brick shows so much “weakness” and yet she still somewhat respects and even cares for him more than the other contestants. And I find that SO interesting.
Especially because he's her rival??? Their relationship is the embodiment of competition. Overcompetitiveness (or toxic competitiveness) is one of Jo's most glaring flaws, so to have her actually care about the one she should be against the MOST? It's a really good way of showing her overcoming her own toxic competitiveness.
Also, the parallels between Jo basically kick-starting Brick's character arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...and then having Brick be a focal point in a Jo arc about prioritising the wellbeing of others...chef's kiss
I'd also like to add a little detail in relation to Jo's contestant biography. Specifically on her weird dream about letting a guy win because she thought he was "attractive." Yes this was hinting at Brick idc it was way too specific and odd compared to the other dreams, and Brick is the only guy we know who constantly competed against her (and lost). And I'm definitely reading into this too much, but it's actually quite interesting how her subconscious attraction to the guy overpowered her very, VERY intense need to win. Guess that's why it was a weird dream, but it still makes me think about the potential of Jo sacrificing her win for someone she grew to care for. Also I want representation of masc women in relationships that aren’t just played off as a joke
I can go on about this all night (I wish I could) but yeah. I really wish they'd give Jo a proper character arc because she really deserved one. She deserves to be able to grow and develop because she's a great fucking character, and Brick was literally the key to all of that. Peace out
#jock rant number 2736e72827#total drama#jockjockjock#td jo#td brick#td jock#tdroti#ps shout out to maggot in rat’s clothing for being what i’ve always wanted in a jo character arc. and also being excellently written
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ugh i wanna write a new fic but my only ideas are long multi chapter endeavors and i just finished squeezing one out so i’m tired lol
#the struggles of a fanfic writer#also doesn’t help that i don’t write/read smut and it seems that’s all that most people want#so either i’m stepping too far outside of my comfort zone by forcing myself to walk the T/M barrier#or i’m not getting as much attention for my 10k of non-smut compared to someone’s else’s 3k of pwp#it’s not like i don’t want msr to have sex i do and i think they deserve it#it’s just that the details aren’t very important to me#and i’d much rather explore their psyches than their bodies#this kind of turned into a minor vent lol i guess i just needed to get that out there
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Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.
tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser
My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.
Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.
I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.
It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.
Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.
This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.
The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.
I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.
Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.
So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.
***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they
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BTS fic recs: March 2024
I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹
❗Most of these fics are smutty or dark as hell, so minors dni.❗
If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the fic, it might seem like a tiny gesture, but it really means a lot for writers and I can guarantee it will put a smile on their faces💜 Let’s share and give lots of love!
Looking for more to read? Check ‘The Library’ or last years recs 🙂
[index] → jan | feb (jhs) | 💜 (myg) | apr | may | jun | jul | aug | sep (jjk)(knj) | oct (pjm) | nov | dec (kth)(ksj) |
Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, fantasy = 🪄.
⭐Mistletoe @belovedkingx [9.3k]
// knj x f.reader // christmas!au, f2l // 🥰🥵
📝 christmas is all about spending time with the ones you love, having fun and creating beautiful memories but that was never how it turned out for you. You were dreading the annual family Christmas, but an idea was proposed to you, and shockingly Namjoon agreed to it as well as yourself. But will it help or will it turn out to be a mistake?
🗨️ this was just so cute 🥹🥰
⭐Holiday Shambles @ressjeon [5k]
// knj x f.reader // christmas!au, married!au // 🥰🥵🌩️
📝 when you have to spend time with both your parents and Namjoon’s snobby ones for this Christmas, you’re forced to show the best version of you even knowing what’s to come. you’re ready, right? after all, you’re the best wife aren’t you?
🗨️ this is so hilarious, cute and sweet 🥹 Loved it✨
⭐New Guy @kithtaehyung [5k]
// knj x f.reader // university!au, e2l // 🥵
📝 all you want to do is have a successful meeting after experiencing dwindling attendance. but the new guy is completely disrupting things… or is he?
🗨️ so many feels about this one; all good and dirty ones!!! I had a feeling about the twist but I wasn’t sure. But I would very much love for a Joonie in grey joggers to knock on my door please 🥺🤭 Anyway, it was extremely good, as is everything you do and write! And it was so fucking HOT, like the tension, incredible! It really had me 🥵 So, so fucking good— love it 💖💯
⭐Entirety @btsgotjams27 [3.3k]
// knj x f.reader // slice of life!au, f2l // 🥵🥰
📝 namjoon is the complete package, except for the fact that he won’t make the first move.
🗨️ AFGJFKGHLKFDHGJGKJHG— 🥵🥵🥵 Yes, I’ve resulted to key smashing because I’m speechless, but I’ll try to give a few words anyway: first, this was incredibly hot, I can’t even begin to articulate properly, and the writing, like I’m a so in love with the writing, like the language is so descriptive and imaginative that I can clearly imagine every little fucking detail— and the words? Well they just flow seamlessly! ✨
⭐My Plus One @btsgotjams27 [5.4k]
// ksj x f.reader // fake dating!au, i2l // 🥰🌩️
📝 when you and jin have weddings to attend, you decide to help one another by agreeing to being each other's plus ones.
🗨️ It was so sweet, it was cute and fluffy and so damn funny! Like there were so many times I was just laughing with the biggest grin plastered on my face. So thank you, thank you for writing this and for cheering me up ✨💯
⭐Meet Me at the Bar [epilogue] @eoieopda [7.5k]
// ksj x f.reader // law school!au, study buddies, bf2l // 🥰😂🥵
📝 you're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.
🗨️ omg these two cute fools are so fucking adorable 😭 It was really good, loved everything in it, the writing, the characters and how they have been in love with each other for so long but never said anything to each other, and FINALLY, BAM ✨
⭐Forever @oddinary4bts [25.2k]
// ksj x f.reader // idol!au, ex-fiancés to lovers // 🥰🥵🌩️
📝 three years ago, your relationship with jin ended in fights and tears. When life puts him back on your path, you catch a glimpse of light in his eyes that you thought had died when you broke up. Will your relationship blossom into a well-deserved forever or will you lose the love of your life again?
🗨️ so much love and sadness in this! The nostalgia is high, there’s a lot of feelings, a lot of heartbreak. The thoughts about going back for fear of getting your heart broken again, or moving on and shielding the broken pieces of heartbreak? Fuck! So fucking good. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: everything Ella writes is just pure gold 🥹✨
⭐A Time Just for Us [part of a completed series] @bluewhale52 [5.4k]
// myg x f.reader // established relationship, idol!au // 🥰🥵
📝 you are desperate for a baby.
🗨️ I haven’t even read the series– like I started with this, but it was so freaking good! It was somehow cute, but very very very dirty 😂🥵
⭐Cat Cafes and More @jeonsbabygirlsworld [0.7k]
// myg x f.reader // established relationship // 🥰
📝 you insist yoongi to visit the cat cafe which has cats up for adoption which ends up you adopting a white Persian cat even though you have holly with you both.
🗨️ omg this was just so fucking cute 😭💕Overall just a really cute, fluffy and lovely drabble 🥰💜
⭐Less of Them [ongoing series] @casuallyimagining [currently loading]
// myg x f.reader // established relationship, arranged marriage!au, star-crossed lovers // 🥵🌩️🥰🪄
📝 as the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.
🗨️ this chapter was so fucking good, I don’t even know where to begin! First, it was so sad and emotional (at least for me 😭), like OC has been through so fucking much 😭 The poor thing is traumatized and the whole paragraph about her learning the royal life that her father never could have prepared her for 😭😭😭 It’s such an amazing story, you simple have to read it if you haven’t. There’s two out of three parts out.
⭐Would u? [3tan drabble ongoing series] @kithtaehyung [2.3K]
// myg x f.reader // brother’s best friend!au // 🥰
📝 you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi.
🗨️ so fucking sweet and fluffy… This was just so cute, I just love this couple and I can’t get enough of them omg 🥹 and reader being on her period and Yoongi just distracting her pain away, by naturally being himself and doing mundane things 🥹 so domestic I love it! 😭✨ And the tangerines 😭😭😭💖
⭐Strawberry Sundae @youtifulhobi [6k]
// jhs x f.reader // slice of life!au, lifeguard!hobi, olympian swimmer!reader, established relationship // 🥰
📝 a few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.
🗨️ honestly, this is just fucking cute, adorable really! I really loved it and it’s definitely one of my favorite Hoseok fics now 🥰💯
⭐Sweetest Crush @minjoonalist [4.7k]
// jhs x f.reader // brother’s best friend!au // 🥵
📝 what would you do if your friend’s younger sibling suddenly asks you for sex?
🗨️ KBFKDSBFKGH it was so filthy I don’t even know what I read (also there’s just something about a brother’s best friend!!!) 🥵😂
⭐Melatonin @taeinparis [3k]
// jhs x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰
📝 sleeping at night was difficult for you, and atop of your boyfriend’s lawn mower-esk snoring, it was impossible. But luckily for you, he knows just the remedy to cure your sleeplessness (and hopefully his snoring).
🗨️ Iiiih this was so dirty, I loved it 💖 there was also a dash of fluff sprinkled in there, but mainly just smut 😂 🥵✨
⭐Our ‘Get Along’ Shirt @dreamyjoons [14.2k]
// pjm x f.reader // e2l // 🥵
📝 another day, another endless round of you and Jimin bickering. It’s never ending, all-consuming, and your friends have had enough. Namjoon decides to end it once and for all - with help from a shirt for squabbling toddlers.
🗨️ JFHKJSFKSDJDH— This was so fucking hilarious 😂 The sexual tension between them was SO HIGH 🥵 and when they finally snapped, oh dear God, it was so good! And the whole shit concept, so hilarious and their banter 😂 AND THE SWEAT??? I’m weak okay!! So freaking good, I loved it so much and Namjoon and the rest of the gang were just priceless. Jin at the end had me laughing so hard 🤭💯
⭐Just a Taste @yoonieper [14.2k]
// pjm x f.reader // vampire!au, established relationship // 🥵🌩️😂
📝 they said having a relationship with a human wasn’t a good idea, but Jimin liked you too much to ever let that get in the way. Your relationship was beautiful, yes you didn’t know that small important detail about him being a bloodthirsty vampire, but he had it under control. That’s at least what he thought, he never would have predicted a drought….
🗨️ FUCK 😭 This was so fucking good I don’t even know where to begin??? The story in itself was so extremely good, whaaat. And Jimin was so nice, and their love for each other, so fucking pure 💜 This was an emotional rollercoaster and I fucking loved everything about it 😭 and the smut, God, it was so good— I don’t know what to say 😭 And then at the ending, the angst, fuck, I was so afraid if it was going to end just like that, but I was so glad that they found each other again 😭 This is a new favorite of mine, so good, it was slightly sad at times, like angsty, but the love that the have for each other, FUCK. So so fucking incredible 😭 Don’t mind all the crying, it’s happy tears, I promise 💖💯 Also, it’s mostly told in Jimin’s POV, which I just freaking love and it makes the story so good!!!
⭐High on Love @peachypinkygloss [6.4k]
// pjm x f.reader // established relationship, racer!jimin // 🥵
📝 Jimin has once again won a race and he takes you out on a ride for the night, taking dangerous but very exciting risks. He should have expected that the rush of adrenaline in your body always turns you into a horny mess.
🗨️ I am just BLOWN AWAY by the fic– holy molly, was it dirty? Yes! Needy? Yes! Cute? Yes! Oh and the car racing, love, love, love! Like, everything in this. And the smut 🥵🥵🥵 I mean, it was so dirt and needy (yes I know I’m using the same words, lol), but FUCK. Incredible! Another ont to add to my faves ✨ And a big bonus for the phone messages, because that was fucking hot too!!! 🥵💯
⭐Bodyguard (there’s a pt 2) @yoonpobs [2.1k]
// kth x f.reader // e2l, bodyguard!au // 🥵
📝 you protect taehyung from people but forget about the biggest threat. yourself.
🗨️ omg 🥵 This extremely good, so enticing and there was just all the build up sexual tension at the end— ugh! So good! 🥵 There wasn’t any smut in it, but damn it, it was still very lustful (I love those undertones). What’s not to love? It’s short, sweet and sensual ✨💯 There’s even a part two that I haven’t read yet!!!
⭐New Tricks @geniuslab [10.1k]
// kth x f.reader // dog trainer!au, s2l // 🥵😂🥰
📝 when your newly adopted puppy turns out to be a lot more work than you expected, a cute dog trainer comes to the rescue. You soon become friends, but you begin to realize friendship might not be all you want.
🗨️ awww this was so fucking cute and fluff, I loved it som much 💖💯
⭐In my Head @sketchguk [8k]
// kth x f.reader // college!au // 🥵🌩️
📝 taehyung’s friends love you ー adore you. they probably want to fuck you, but they’ll never admit to it. instead, they’ll push taehyung’s limits in the middle of a frat party, testing just how close they can get to you before he takes you to bed in a fit of jealousy. and maybe, just maybe, one of his friends can have a taste too (if he’s lucky).
🗨️ okay, okay. This was hella 🥵 Like WOAH, filthy, steamy and just dirty! I am so mad at Taehyung though! Like why can’t he be with OC? What is it that he can’t give her? But tbh, with the way that he’s acting, I feel like she should just get with one of his friends instead 😭 Like, it seems like Guk loves her so much, or Jimin, the little freak he was in this 🥵
⭐Gold Rush @ditttiii [4.4k]
// kth x f.reader // s2l!au // 🥵🌩️
📝 kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch?
🗨️ OMG— I finally got to read this, and FUCK. SHIT. It is INSANELY beautiful (and sad too 🥹). But goddamn it, the love OC has for Taehyung, oh my. And the bittersweet feelings are what makes this hauntingly beautiful 💖 Again, I have a hard time coming up with words, words for how beautiful this masterpiece truly is 😭 Just— perfection 💯 Also, because it was so bittersweet, I really love the open ending, like getting to imagine whatever you like for this couple 😭💜
⭐To Give a Helping Hand (part 2) @oddinary4bts [3.1k]
// jjk x f.reader // idol!au // 🥵
📝 when Jungkook finally approaches you at the gym, he realizes you’ve been wanting him just as badly as he’s been wanting you.
🗨️ In case you haven’t read part two, here’s your psa to do so right now. It’s just incredible (as everything that Ella writes, tbh ✨). OC is really being a brat in this one and JK is down baaaaaad 🥵
⭐Desire [ongoing series] pt1 + pt2 @jeonsbabygirlsworld [3k]
// jjk x f.reader + myg x f.reader (ft. eunwoo) // slice of life!au // 🥵🌩️
📝 life was easy until you meet the eye candy of your life and the adventure with him is a hell of ride, but there is certain someone who seems to get hurt in this.
🗨️ It’s a very interesting story, it’s very complex and I can’t wait to read more!
⭐When Worlds Collide [ongoing series] @letjungcoook7 [currently loading…]
// jjk x f.reader // college!au, slice of life!au, s2l, fuckboy!jk, virgin!reader // 🥵🌩️
📝 since your mother's passing a year ago, life has been a whirlwind. balancing your passion for ballet with a low-key presence at college, where you’re the top student, was your norm until Jungkook stepped into your world. known for his reputation preceding him, jungkook is the talk of the campus with his casual rendezvous that have the girls buzzing. despite his allure, you're puzzled by his need for your tutoring prowess, especially given his own academic merit. yet, succumbing to his persistent requests, you reluctantly agree, only to find yourself thrust into the spotlight you've always avoided.
🗨️ I’ve read the first two parts and they are AMAZING! The story is so interesting and I already know that there’s so much more to Jungkook and OC in this one. So exciting to read more!! ❤️🔥
⭐Liquor Lips @letjungcoook7 [1.5k]
// jjk x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵
📝 author didn’t write a summary.
🗨️ it was incredible good, like I want to read more (it’s not a series though!). It’s the perfect dirty little one-shot/drabble ❤️🔥
This month was really tough for me, mentally… I struggled with my own mental health and it got really bad. I was writing my major series (18 chapters god what was I thinking 😂) at the same time (still am lol), and I struggled with reading as I used to, so the list isn’t as long as normally, maybe, I did try to read a lot by the end of the month to make up for it. But yeah 🫶 Hopefully I have more time next month, because I expect to finish my series there, and then I’ll take a small break from writing and just read, because I really miss it 🥹
If you want more, you’re more than welcome to follow me! I do monthly rec lists and sometimes I post my own writing too (only bangtan).
Love you and Borahae 💜
#bts fic recs#bts fic#bts fics#bts imagine#bts imagines#bts scenarios#yoongi smut#Yoongi x reader#bts smut#namjoon x reader#bts x reader#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts fanfction#bts x reader smut#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts x oc#jimin x reader#pjm x reader#seokjin x reader#hoseok x reader#knj x reader#jhs x reader#bangtan x reader#bangtan smut#bangtan fanfic#bangtan fic#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut
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fall apart | sam carpenter 🔞
(Normal college gfs! Sam Carpenter x Fem reader)
Living with Sam is thrilling. You wore her favorite boxers and accidentally ended up teasing her. Of course, she gets her way with you.
WARNING: dom!sam, sub!reader, thigh riding, praise, degradation, daddy kink (sam), subdrop (reader), mild corruption kink, possessive sam, aftercare +18 / men & minors dni.
Words: 2.7k | [ AO3 ]
This morning had been different, there was something in the fresh air – it's promising as you woke up on Sam’s strong arms, you were snug, and she’s already pressing kisses on your face – progressing from gentle to sloppy ones just to tease you until your eyes were fully opened. Sam loved mornings like this. More so that you have a couple minutes to spare before both of you prepare for classes. She felt giddy enough to insist on being in charge of making breakfast today.
You sit up on your bed as soon as Sam dips out of it. Unbeknownst to you, Sam can't help but sigh and stare at you lovingly. From her view, you’ve got bed hair, a little cranky expression, and wearing her old sweater - every detail is so endearing to Sam’s sight.
"What’s up with you? Am I missing an important date?" You question, voice raspy and head tilted in confusion.
Sam has a winning smile and she laughs at you. She sees your face obviously racking your head over the milestones you have with her in a span of less than a year.
"Can’t a girl be this cheesy without a reason?" Sam retorts with a hand on her hip.
"I suppose you can be," she has proven to be unpredictable for a lot of moments already. You frown at her. "You didn't eat my leftovers in the fridge, didn't you?"
"Excuse me, I do have some self-control!”
"That’s very debatable. I’m begging you to not burn the kitchen, baby."
"You had me at begging." Sam had a glint in her eye and she stuck her tongue out playfully. She chuckled when you returned it just as childish. “Are we having breakfast in bed or at the counter?" She asks.
Sam was confused by the delay in your answer, she turned around only to see you with a spreading crimson on your cheeks. She clicked her tongue at you once she understood.
Of course, you only heard “breakfast” and “counter” and then saw Sam.
It isn’t hard to recall your activities in those areas, especially if it was only made last night.
"Perv. I'm trying to be sweet and here you are... thinking of dirty this early? Come on. Have some decorum.”
Why did you have to say that? Now you’re temporarily revoked of goodies. “Ugh. Shut up, you’re one to talk.”
The crankiness starts to appear on the surface with you rolling your eyes. Sam ended up giggling a little because God, she adores you so much and everything you do.
“Maybe you’re the one with no self-control. Don’t give me that attitude, baby.” Sam gives you a pointed look and you yield immediately, nodding your head.
“I know. Sorry. Can I… get a proper kiss?” you sheepishly say.
Sam approaches you. She tucks her loose hair behind her ear and slithers her arms around your waist. She simply held you close, not kissing you just yet.
“Mm, dunno baby, aren’t you missing something?” she moves her face closer to yours.
“Please?”
Sam finally leans in and brushes her soft lips against yours. It was slow and gentle, different from how intense she can be sometimes. Nevertheless, you loved her just the same.
You ended up eating her special pancakes and even if you giggled at the slightly burnt edges, Sam still showered you with kisses. Both of you proceed to have a PG-13 shower and you thoroughly enjoy it. Sam continued to take care of you and you loved the sight of her bending her knees so you can reach her hair better to wash it. So far, your morning is normal.
Until you were changing with Sam who was going through her wardrobe. You look at her amused when you see her going through every single of clothes, and her movements between confused and frantic – like she was looking for a specific thing.
“Baby! Have you seen my– oh.”
She saw you in front of the mirror, nothing with your ordinary bra and the boxers that Sam cherishes oh so much. It’s her favourite. There’s nothing special about the details, simply in the color of blue, but it's one of her most comfortable undergarments that she owned for ages. She remembers having told you in passing that she'd like to see you in these inner clothes some time, just because.
So, yes, she's more than ecstatic to be graced with this view, paired with her girlfriend's body still drying up from your shower together earlier.
“Hm?” you hum non-committedly, putting on your shirt.
You appeared so casual while Sam was losing her mind and as though you weren’t responsible for igniting the fire in her loins. She ended up coughing to cover her flustered state.
Sam shook her head, “Nothing. You look good, boxer thief.”
“Thanks!” You grin innocently at her words. You twirl around, looking and feeling the material. “It is really comfy, just like you said.”
“That’s why it’s my favorite.” Sam says, her voice going an octave lower. You still did not notice, even with her blatant staring and you only naturally nod in agreement.
She shook her head, bearing her thoughts and decided to wear a sweatshirt, pulling it above her head and then some shorts. It was fairly breezy and Sam was easily sensitive to the cold.
It’s safe to say that you were testing her self-control now.
More so when Sam laid to the couch, opening her notes. She was about to recompose herself, calming her breathing pattern, and begin to study in peace. Maybe she’ll watch a show with you. However, she can’t help but continue ogling at your figure. She let her eyes follow each of your moves, watching you flit with ease at the kitchen, doing the dishes from earlier. Sam had long forgotten the notes in her lap as you presented her an insanely inviting appearance of your ass.
You just had to drop low, emphasizing the curves of your ass, and she saw the way your shirt rode up as you reached the cupboard. From the distance, you hear Sam exhale sharply and this makes you turn around as you dry your wet hands.
“You okay babe?” you look at your girlfriend with concern and Sam merely hummed in response.
She ran her fingers through her dark tresses before speaking. “Babe, what’re your plans for today?”
A part of you worried that Sam probably wanted a distraction because she knows your schedule by heart. But it could’ve been nothing too, simply wanting you to reiterate your agenda and then squeeze some time with you.
“Um, I want to watch something with you before I read later. Continue that horror movie we’ve been binge-watching, maybe?”
Sam bounces her legs rapidly, seemingly…impatient? A deep sigh comes out of her mouth.
“Come here – sit on my lap.” She tapped on her thigh, voice stern, leaving no further questions to be asked.
Shiver ran on your spine yet you do as told, straddling one of Sam’s thighs. You hold onto the top of the couch. It felt odd – the uneven pressure felt heavy on your part and it easily pressed against your cunt. It doesn’t help that Sam’s a gym rat – meaning her muscles were defined and stern and you feel most of it even with the fabric of her boxers.
“Wanna know my plans for today?” You see your girlfriend give you a wolfish grin as she feels you pulse.
“Yes,” you shortly answer.
You expressed in passing on earlier times of your relationship that you worry you might be too heavy for Sam, when she first made you sit on her lap. It was in a wholesome context then, yet even now as turned on as you were, you still cannot help but think about how you might inconvenience her.
Sam senses your troubles. She trailed her hands to hike up underneath your shirt and holding you from your lower back, then to your hips – squeezing them. Your breath hitched at her ministrations.
“I plan on doing just you, princess.” She husked out, looking at you deliberately. “This is how I want things to go: I’m gonna need you to ride my thighs and cum while wearing my boxers. You look so good in it baby. I’m losing my mind here and you’re completely unaware of it.”
“O-okay,” you respond, dumbly agreeing with ease.
“But first, I’m going to strip you out of that shirt.”
Your girlfriend tugged at the hem of the material and was painfully slow with her pace. As the shirt revealed more of your skin, her eyes suit followed, you feel as if being eaten at the intensity of her gaze alone. You sharply inhale when you feel Sam’s touch moving to your ribs then up to your breasts, palming and squeezing them.
She smiled at your reactions – loved how easy it was to pull it out of you.
You feel Sam much closer as she wraps her arm around you, reaching for the clasp of your bra to remove it next, and her mouth pressing wet kisses all over your shoulder.
“Beautiful.” she whispered before sucking on the skin of your neck. You moan, already feeling the angry red and purple patches she’ll leave there. “I love how your tits bounce. Not gonna spare the chance of not seeing them as you ride me while wearing my favorite boxers, baby.”
You were so lost in anticipation that you grew quiet, and so ready for her to take. Sam was more than happy to see this. She slaps your thigh out of nowhere, startling you.
“Do it.”
Nodding, you prepare and have your hands depend on the couch to support the rest of your weight. You were less conscious but blood still rushed on your cheeks, feeling embarrassed by your position. It was your first time doing something inappropriate like this and to see Sam looking at you intensely while not exerting any other effort, made you feel so heated.
You wet your lips and sucked your breath. You finally move your hips, rolling them, albeit tentatively – testing out the waters.
You hear Sam grunting along with your attempt at grinding on her thigh.
“Ah, sorry Sammy, I- I’ve never done… this…” you breathe out, almost finding the rhythm. You feel the cotton material of the shorts being sucked in by your cunt, folding, and the friction felt so new to you.
With your words, Sam growled possessively, her hold by your lower back and hips tightened.
“I sure hope not. This,” Sam husks, hands more harsh this time as she firmly placed both on your hips, guiding your rolling. “is for me only. Mine alone.”
You sighed in content, nodding stupidly at Sam’s words. The breeze on your dorm did not help as it added to the pebbling of your nipples besides being so turned on.
“Yes, yes!”
Desperately, you roll your hips more, eyes screwed shut. The fabric was melting deliciously to your liking and the wetness gushed out of you.
Sam had her full attention to you, cherishing the view unravelling in front of her. Even with eyes closed, you can feel how she’s burning a hole with her siren eyes, staring at you. The thought made you wet as you humped her, now soaking beyond the cotton material and Sam felt it seep on the exposed part of her thighs.
“Are you sure that you didn’t plan this? To whore yourself out to me?” Sam pries, grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting it in a different angle for you to grind better.
“No- I didn’t, just want- to be comfy,” you stutter on your words and Sam only darkly chuckled at this.
She clenched the firm muscles on her thigh. “Of course, my little innocent angel could never think that way. Look at you, right now.”
You mewl at Sam’s words, your grip only worsened as much as Sam did on your skin, feeling her fingernails deepening too. You feel your folds secreting more slick and you’re absorbed with the odd friction as you hump faster, it’s like a drug you can’t get enough of, as the rubbing is hitting your sweet spots.
Sam bit your shoulder. The sting of her teeth was raw and fresh, making you let out a throaty moan.
She plays with your pebbled nipple, tugging them with force. You groan at the simultaneous feeling while riding her and Sam had to capture your mouth agape, kissing you to oblivion.
You were glistening, moaning, so fucking desperate and it's so beautiful.
"You’re so pretty this way. Head full of nothing, just relying on me alone.”
Your hips become somewhat aimless, completely reckless with your grinding. You just wanted to cum right now.
"Babe. 'm not gonna last- if you- you keep on..."
“Keep on what? You’re the one humping so desperately at my thighs like a bitch in heat. Are you enjoying this?”
When you gave no answer and continued riding Sam’s clenched thighs, arched back, she squeezed your cheeks together.
“Answer me.” she demands with a deep voice.
“Yes I- I love this,” you struggle to answer.
“Yes what?”
The coil on your lower stomach increased tenfold. You knew what Sam was referring to. Your clit throbbed harder. You bit your lower lip, riding her on a faster pace this time.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Sam grinned at your answer.
“Good girl. I thought you fucked yourself too dumb already.”
It made your pussy pulse stronger and contracted rapidly and crazy against the fabric and Sam’s thighs. She sees how ruined her boxers were now, thoroughly dark and wet, marked with the damp that was caused by your arousal. The slick had spread to your inner thighs and all over Sam.
The fact that you looked like this, made Sam so proud of herself. She has rightfully claimed you, in ways that only she could do so. She successfully had her do it in her way, too. The touch of possessiveness in the action that made Sam feel giddy on the inside.
“God- oh my god, Daddy, I think I- I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you moaned, gasping for air, having no shame now in how loud you could’ve been.
Your thrusts were rapid and stronger, tits wildly bouncing as you rode Sam.
She moans, white hot breath tickling against your bare skin. You felt her rubbing your lower back to comfort you.
“Let go baby. I got you – cum for Daddy.”
You felt the stimulation becoming unbearable yet so good for you. The friction did its thing as you continued to ride Sam’s continuous clenching, as your cunt did and dripped. You feel your orgasm washing over you in relief, coming out of your soaked cunt. It was like a puddle of your mess, but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it right now. You tremble at the new sensation right after you fell apart on Sam, a few tears escaping your eyes.
Sam had you in her grasp, holding you dearly.
“I got you. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Her arm slithered to keep holding you firm to her grasp, while the other hand was tracing patterns and rubbing you in comfort. Sam’s chin was tucked on the crook of your neck. It was enough to ease you.
Finally, you move slowly to look at your girlfriend and meet her mesmerising eyes – partly heavy lidded – but what strikes you is the way her eyes crinkled by the corners. You can't help but return it warmly.
“You did so good for me, princess.” Sam whispered as she stared at you. Her hands cupped your face and had her thumb running to the apple of your cheeks to soothe you.
You resume to your position earlier, moving closer to Sam’s embrace, letting out a gasp as your sensitive core accidentally grinded again as you moved. Sam hushed you, murmuring careful - it’s alright. You wanted to be gently rocked in a hugging position for a few minutes to which your girlfriend sighs contentedly in.
“I hope you do know that I won’t be able to get back on studying for today.” you quip at Sam and you feel her laugh vibrate against you.
“Not my fault you had to look so scrumptious in my boxers, baby.”
You shake your head when you feel her exhale heavily again, with her strong hands wandering back to your ass. She gives it another squeeze, although it wasn’t as harsh as she previously did.
“You are such a bad influence to me.”
“You love me. Whatever.”
do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre
#gg.writes#sam carpenter x reader#scream vi#wlw#lesbian#sam carpenter smut#sam carpenter x y/n#sam carpenter x you#fluff#scream 6#sam carpenter
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Hello :D I saw that you write for Modern Warfare 2, so I'd like to request how the boys would react if you ask if they'd still love you if you were a worm! Hehehehe :p
"a...worm?" - modern warfare 2 x reader
overview: mw2 men reacting to you asking if they'd still love you if you were a worm
pairing: mw2 men x gender neutral reader, romantic
genre: fluff
a/n: hi anon! thanks for the request, it's really funny. i had a blast writing this. keep them coming!
x simon "ghost" riley
He would turn his head super slowly in your direction after you ask, and you can practically see the look on his face, even with his mask on 😭
He hits you with one of his side eyes, processing the question as he blinks judgementally at you.
“Fuckin' hell." He immediately sighs.
“Well? Would you?"
"Sure."
He would indeed love you, and yes, he would feed you and take care of you.
Realistically, Simon would keep you in his pocket at all times. He would also try to teach you self-defense! (Would it go horrible? Absolutely. But it’s the thought that counts.)
x john "soap" mactavish
“A worm?” He sits back in his seat, looking down at his shoes as he digs into his brain as if this is the most important question of his life. “Yeah, I think I would."
Before you know it, you’re discussing your worm life with Johnny in full detail, with him explaining how he’d build a small house for you in his backyard.
Immediately bursts out laughing at the thought of you as a worm crawling around with a gun on the battlefield.
“As long as you don’t cheat on me with some other worm lad, I’d still love ya, bonnie.”
x kyle "gaz" garrick
He, like Simon, hits you with one of his side eyes.
He actually thinks about it for a hot minute, though, going through the pros and cons of this hypothetical situation.
“Yeah, pretty much.” He concludes, shrugging as his thoughts return to the mental list of the upsides and downsides of you turning into a worm.
“The biggest pro is that I can protect you easily. The biggest con is that you’re a worm.”
He gets so into this scenario, discussing the matter with you as if it’s forthcoming.
“What about you then? Would you love me if I was a worm?” He returns the question, his mind still wandering. Would you have shelter? How would he feed you? Would he accidentally stomp on you? “Yeah, I would. We can be worms together!” “Word.”
x john price
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
He rubs his eyes almost urgently, a light groan coming from him as he breathes heavily. He’s trying to act all tough and unbothered, but in reality, he’s melting inside. He thinks your thought process and comfortability with him is adorable.
“I’d have to be extra careful with you, wouldn’t I?”
He runs the scenario in his head, playing it back and skipping forward like a movie. He’s very conflicted. It’s hard to love a worm, but it’s not just any worm - it is you!
“Sure.” He shrugs while his eyes lock in with yours. His face is to die for. He looks so done.
Realistically, he’d keep you in an aquarium full of dirt. It would be in his office so he can keep an eye on you to assure you aren’t doing something absurd, as worms do.
x alejandro vargas
Oh, he’s living for this.
You can’t help but snicker a little when he starts laughing at your question. He’s even smacking his thigh with his hand! It can’t be that funny… it’s a simple question!
He wipes his teary eyes when he can feel his hearty laughter calm down.
“Mi amor, you’re too funny. Yes, I would.”
He’d keep you in his pocket, regularly feeding and petting you. He’d also talk to you constantly, knowing you can’t do anything about it - the thought of it makes him giggle.
“You’re not planning on turning into one, right?”
x phillip graves
“...What?”
He’s so confused. Why are you asking him this?
He rolls his eyes at your expression. Your deviance drives him insane, but it also makes his heart flutter.
He tries avoiding the question, but you keep poking and prodding - it’s safe to say he’s not getting away without an answer.
“You’re driving me crazy, sweetie.” He sighs, shaking his head in exhaustion. You can see the corners of his lips curl up when you cackle at his response.
“It would be difficult, but I’d try. Only because it’s you.”
He would have a hard time originally, but he’d grow to love your worm self. It’s still you, after all.
x könig
“Hm… I suppose I would.”
His eyes narrow when he thinks of you as a worm. He’d fancy it if you don’t turn into a worm, but he’d still absolutely adore you.
“You really would?” “Yes. But wouldn’t that be kind of difficult?” His voice is as soft as ever, which tells you he’s genuine. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, and he doesn’t want to lie to you - which is ironic since he’d take the best care of you out of all these men!
He would always keep you on his shoulder and talk to you constantly. You would always be full and entertained, and he would be inclined to pet you regularly.
He would be afraid to hurt you on accident. He’s a big guy! So he would be cautious with you.
You would also be in his hands a lot! He would love holding you.
“But I’d prefer it if you stay like this, schatz.”
x horangi
His head snaps in your direction instantly. His eyebrows furrow unhesitatingly, but he’s soon giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Jagiya… you are crazy.”
He, like Kyle, starts thinking about this as if it’s inevitably cropping up.
“I would. Just don’t slither all over my face.” “I said worm, not a snake, Jin.”
He’d keep you on his helmet/his head most of the time. He would remember to feed you every time he eats, and like Simon, he would try to teach you self-defense. He’s already protective of you, but if you were a worm? He’d be your bodyguard.
“What do worms even eat?” “I don’t know. You’re gonna have to figure that out.” “Wait- don’t tell me you’re turning into one?”
#call of duty#modern warfare 2#cod mw2#cod x reader#call of duty mw2#mw2 x reader#ghost mw2#soap mw2#mw2 price#mw2 gaz#mw2 alejandro#mw2 könig#mw2 konig#mw2 phillip graves#mw2 horangi#mw2 fanfic#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#soap mactavish x reader#price x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john price#alejandro vargas x reader#könig x reader
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Am I the asshole for not letting my husband have a say for the guest list of our baby shower?
I (21 f) and my husband (25 m) moved very quickly in our relationship, much to the judgement of my sister. We moved in with each other after a month of dating and she basically told me it was a stupid idea. We also got eloped with no family or friends there four months after that. When I texted my sister we got married (yes, I texted everyone instead of called) she asked if it was a joke and when I said yes then sent a picture of marriage license as proof, she didn’t respond for days. She called me later which I sent to voicemail, which was basically her crying saying she always imagined she’d be at my wedding and was hurt. I was upset because no one was invited or even told about the engagement; that was the point of eloping. The rest of my family was pretty happy for us though and I focused on that.
We didn’t talk for months because I wanted an apology, or at least a congratulations on getting married. She texted me a few times about nothing important (she sent a few memes). An apology never happened, but I started to text her again because I found out I was pregnant and wanted her to know about it. I called her about it eventually and she was supportive.
Before the Not Talking stage happened, her and my husband didn’t get along. She has made multiple passive aggressive comments about our relationship in the past. There was one time she visited us that made my husband upset because she showed up with little notice and also insisted on visiting again when our cat gave birth to her litter of kittens. She talked about helping and I didn’t really think anything of it. My husband later said he was upset she acted like she knew our cat better than us based off a couple of other comments she made and didn’t like how she invited herself over. I don’t think she meant anything negative about it, but it was annoying she insisted on one specific cat thing we told her we had under control and didn’t stop pestering until my mom called the vet to ask for advise and the vet agreed with my husband and I about how we handled the cat situation. I’m not sure if I explained that well but I honestly don’t know how to describe it without going into too much detail. This is just background info.
My husband and I wanted to do a gender reveal for the baby. We agreed on the theme and had a general date in mind. I invited my immediate family, best friend, and his immediate family that he talked to (which only consisted of three people). He said he didn’t want my sister at the gender reveal and this caused a huge fight. He said if she was there then he wouldn’t show up and I could tell him the babies gender on the phone. I cancelled the gender reveal because I didn’t want to uninvite my sister when she hasn’t made any bad comments in months and also wasn’t about to have my husband not be there. In my mind, there’s zero point in having one if both parents aren’t there. We found out gender by having our doctor write it down on a paper and we opened it later by ourselves. We told everyone over the phone what we are having.
Now, I am pretty far along in my pregnancy and my family wanted to set up a baby shower for me. I let them and we set up a date for it. My husband and I talked about the baby shower multiple times and looked forward to it. I Facebook invited the same people I invited to the gender reveal to the baby shower and he wasn’t happy when he saw my sister was again on that list. Him and my sister has only seen each other one time during these months, which was at a funeral. My sister initiated a handshake which he accepted and asked how he was. He answered fine and that was the end of it.
The baby shower argument was the same for gender reveal. He didn’t want her there and he didn’t want to come if she was there. He said I shouldn’t want someone who has done nothing but disrespect both of us in the past year to be at this event and should get a say in who comes and who doesn’t. There’s no excuse for the things my sister has done and said but it felt wrong to exclude her. If she wasn’t going to be invited to the baby shower, then what was his opinion on our son’s birthdays and other events? We couldn’t do this forever. She hasn’t been rude in months but we never got an apology. I’m also a little bitter about it but I’m trying to not be harsh. At this point, I didn’t say much when my husband said she couldn’t be there. This is because we just got done with a different argument about something completely different and he said he was done about certain things. I said ‘like what?’ and he told me he didn’t want my sister at the baby shower.
He said he wouldn’t have invited anyone that has disrespected me and I shouldn’t either. It sounds fair but it also sounds very black and white. I get along with the family he talks to outside of family events. I don’t get along with a couple of extended family members but he doesn’t get a say in who was invited to those events and never talks to them outside of those family events even before we were together. I didn’t really say anything for my argument because I knew he wouldn’t agree with it anyway. This sounds calm but he was very angry and I was crying pretty hard. He asked over and over again if she was coming to the baby shower and I refused to respond. If I say she’s not coming then I’ll have to follow my word and uninvite her, probably causing arguments within my family. If I say she is then he won’t come. (I’m not sure if this is relevant but my husband and I are both autistic and have been known to shut down and stim when we’re upset). He said he’s tired of being disrespected when I refused to answer for 30+ minutes and wanted a divorce. He crumbled up our marriage license and took my wedding ring off my finger.
He didn’t say anything about the baby shower and started asking questions about the divorce. ‘How much do you want in child support? When do you want to do visitation? Etc.’ I refused to answer for a while but he kept asking and I mostly gave vague answers like ‘whatever you want’ all while still crying. I didn’t say much except to say he was staying and we weren’t getting a divorce.
I don’t remember what happened next and what I said, but he eventually said that I had one more chance to choose him because he’s always chosen me. This is true because he has put me first. He works a lot while I’m not working this pregnancy and always makes sure I eat and everything. I’m not sure what’s going on with baby shower. I think he said that she can come if I put up boundaries about being nice otherwise she can’t come. I think this will start an unnecessary fight because she hasn’t done anything in many months so it seems insulting. I didn’t say anything though. We fell asleep and cuddled and he apologized the next morning before he left for work. He said he was more mad that I refused to talk. I, personally, was more upset about the marriage license he crumpled up. I still didn’t say anything but ok. He still hates my sister and expects me to tell her to be respectful.
I don’t know what to think really. I sound like a jerk for not letting him have a say for baby shower. It is his kid too. I also don’t want to divide my family by not inviting my sister, but he’s also my family. I know he acted like a jerk for the argument but that doesn’t necessarily means he’s wrong about the guest list and having a say. So would I be TA?
What are these acronyms?
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who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)
summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)
order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. ♡
Keep going, keep going, keep going.
Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable.
You couldn’t pinpoint the exact age you’d figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details aren’t very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point – you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasn’t a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there – always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but you’d just never… experienced. Never became familiar with.
It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. They’d all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. They’d laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you.
The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed.
You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. You’d give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one you’d forced upon the other person. You didn’t care if you’d built the glass cages of theirs – you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared.
Being wanted wasn’t quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably.
“I just don’t understand him,” Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows you’d lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, “Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to the same college? Why… Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?”
Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me.
“I don’t know, Nance.”
That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. It’s the whisper of those four words not being enough. It’s the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesn’t need you.
After all, what use is a friend that can’t give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants?
You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancy’s forehead, but she beats you to it, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Yes. “It’s fine,” at least that wasn’t a lie – you’d dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. You’d all but asked for this, “What he did really was shitty. It’s not fair to you.”
The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear. You don’t always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you it’s not worth the fight tonight. You’re tired, you’re agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way.
God, you’re an awful friend.
It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after you’ve brushed your teeth and you’ve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved.
Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend.
And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once.
It’s all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. It’s always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and she’d had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when you’d go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was.
You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time.
Half the time, until he came along.
And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong.
“So, you’re the infamous babysitter.”
His voice caught you off guard. You’d been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadn’t even heard the club exit the school.
“Nope,” you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steve’s age than the kids. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, “Harrington’s the babysitter. I’m just the taxi driver.”
There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lot’s lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute – and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you.
“C’mon now,” he sighed as his cackles quieted, “Give yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like ‘chauffeur’.”
“Ah, but ‘taxi driver’ insinuates that I charge them,” you don’t miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again.
You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy – brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark.
“I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew you’d be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough.
As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone.
You had been half right that night. You wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie – but so would he.
It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten.
You’d started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than you’re worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. He’s the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day he’d asked for your number, you couldn’t tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to.
Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant.
It’s within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadn’t directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive.
The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly.
“What about Sunday?” Eddie’s voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies you’d baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, “I’m free then if I finish all my fuckin’ homework on Saturday night.”
Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadn’t been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Benny’s for milkshakes, and you wouldn’t turn down the free fries he also promised.
“I can’t,” you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, “I’m taking Max to the skatepark that day.”
“And it’s going to take all day?”
“It could!”
“There’s absolutely no way.”
“You clearly haven’t seen that girl skate.”
The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes – a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.
It’s all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadn’t earned a detention from that.
Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation.
“You know,” he started, “When I first met you, I never took you to be someone so…”
“Amazing? Wonderful? Funny?” you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.
“Busy.”
Oh. You hadn’t expected that one.
“Busy?” you repeated back to him, “I’m not that busy.”
Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Benny’s with him instead. No, you couldn’t bear Max’s disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no – all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-
“Sweetheart,” he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, “You’re the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas – and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?”
Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, “I’m-”
“And it’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong,” It’s clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, “Just means I’ve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?”
You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. It’s blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean- I can… I’ll… Just tell me when for Benny’s. I can make it work, I swear-”
“Woah, woah, woah.”
He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as you’d stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution.
“You don’t need to apologize for that,” his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (you’d started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddie’s voice started to give it a run for its money, “I was just playing around. You know that, right?” he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, “You could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and I’d still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and you’d still be worth it. You know that, right?” Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.”
Each word made the panic settle. You weren’t sure how he did it. You weren’t sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable.
All you were sure of was that you believed him.
“Okay,” you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more.
“Okay,” Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone.
You weren’t disappointing him. You weren’t making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around – he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough.
It was quiet over the line for a few moments.
It has to be enough, you reminded yourself.
“Say,” you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, “How does Benny’s sound tonight?”
“Tonight?” he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas.
A shiver ran down your spine. It’s not from the cold, and you tell yourself it’s not quite warmth – it can’t be warmth.
“Tonight,” you confirmed, “With a detour by Family Video, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.”
“What kind?”
“Excuse me?”
You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, you’d lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world.
“What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip.”
He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. “Okay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.”
“What’s your price?”
“One cookie.”
“Deal.”
It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddie’s promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddie’s voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game.
Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently.
Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst – assumed you weren’t worth keeping around?
The thoughts might be an overreaction.
You were definitely overreacting.
You didn’t really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldn’t control it. It was just another dark path you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and… and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; you’ve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry.
A pattern. That’s what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didn’t exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasn’t called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. It’s like a mirror – you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back.
She’d asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. You’d decide whether you’d mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge.
Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge.
That’s as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it.
A box of takeout. It’s old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment he’d taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldn’t finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you weren’t capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadn’t revisited.
But he had revisited the apartment – revisited you. He’d been here every night this week, and you’d practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time.
The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.
“You don’t have to always take care of everyone, you know,” he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night.
“Pardon?” you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch.
“You always take care of everyone. You don’t have to.”
His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harrington’s bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you.
“I-” you weren’t sure exactly what to say, “What do you mean?”
His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, “Please don’t play dumb right now.”
“I’m not playing dumb. I’m trying to get popcorn for our movie night,” you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, “That’s not really taking care of everyone – it was just being polite. Steve’s hosting, it’s the least I can do.”
“The least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,” the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.
You don’t know what to say. Except, “It’s not that serious.”
He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up – he’s upset, he’s getting irritated at you. He’s getting tired of you.
You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding.
“What?” your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. “I know you have something more to say.”
“In the six months I’ve known you, you haven’t taken a single break for yourself.”
He met your push, stood his ground and didn’t let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen.
“I take plenty of breaks, Eddie,” you tried to laugh off, “I do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-”
“Hardly,” he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave.
“What’s your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, it’s not that serious.”
This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch he’d given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that you’d never taken to a battleground before.
But there had been a look in Eddie’s eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. I’ll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight.
A safety net had formed that you’d never even noticed. That delicacy wasn’t needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldn’t turn Eddie to smoke and shadows.
“My point is…” he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, “You can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.”
“How is me making popcorn not putting myself first?” you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.
He beat you to it, “Every day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.”
“I could have napped-”
“You didn’t nap,” he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, “I know you didn’t fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start… what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school – that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didn’t need but still wanted. We didn’t even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldn’t pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.”
Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldn’t comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone.
Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B he’d earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robin’s face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when you’d arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you seethed at him, “Would you prefer I hadn’t been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just… get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?”
“Yes!”
You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip.
“Yes,” he breathed out, quieter this time, “I would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ‘no’ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I… The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.”
But you all needing me might.
“Just… just…” your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddie’s stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than you’d ever intended, “Just mind your business, Eddie.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation – the fight. You’d raised your voice at him, you’d swung that sword in his direction, and he hadn’t vanished. His friendship – he – wasn’t as breakable as you’d thought.
You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired.
His hand caught onto your elbow, “You have bags.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have bags under your eyes,” he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.
“Jesus,” you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, “You really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?”
“They’ve been there for months,” his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, “Please don’t run yourself into the ground.”
You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust.
It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine.
The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after you’d passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadn’t just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadn’t just occurred, as if it all hadn’t ended in a draw.
He looked at you with those eyes.
Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Don’t walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.
He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didn’t so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when you’d awoke mildly disappointed, he’d let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up.
And he still called the next day.
After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when he’d hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up – he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting.
The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it.
“Munson residence!”
That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddie’s voice over the line. It’s nearly enough to make you cry – the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray.
“Eddie,” you whisper, as if you’re not the only one in your apartment, “Can you… Are you free?”
Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return.
But you weren’t the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him.
“For you, sweetness?” he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say it’s you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munson’s phone didn’t have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. He’d once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the ‘sweet melody alone’. Recognition in death – you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, you’d earned recognition in death. “Always. What’s up?”
You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.
He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always.
“Can you come over?”
You don’t even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice you’d also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes.
He makes it within eight.
And you’re still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways you’d let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an arm’s length away the moment you realized you couldn’t make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didn’t need you, why would he stick around?
Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you weren’t worth his time.
It hadn’t occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, you’d been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset.
Your safe place. That’s what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights – your safest refuge.
It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit.
“‘I don’t see that this will help us much,’ said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. ‘I remember the mountain well-’” you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you.
“No, no, no!” he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray you’d made him start keeping in the fan, “Sweetheart, you’re doing the voices all wrong.”
You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, “Not all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do I need to say please? I’ll say please.”
It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadn’t even needed a book to bond over. You’d just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed he’d brought along with him. He never pressured you, though – if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year.
You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end.
Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you.
“The puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me,” he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. “Let the master show you how it’s done.”
You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Lover’s Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released.
You’d spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, you’d held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone else’s stress, shouldering their burdens – it had been a bit much.
You needed this. You needed Eddie’s ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple.
“Falling asleep on me already?” he teased when he’d noticed how quiet you had gone.
“Never,” you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you.
“Liar,” he huffed. You didn’t even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. “We can head back home, if you need. I know it’s getting late-”
“No,” you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, “No, I- It’s fine. I’m awake. I swear.”
“It’s okay that you were falling asleep,” he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, “I just don’t want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.”
“It’s barely ten.”
“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, “I’m serious, though. Do I need to take you home?”
“No, Eddie. I’m good.”
“Swear it? Swear you don’t have an early shift, or some… some obligation?”
“No shifts, no obligations.”
“And if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?”
You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You don’t even notice when the warmth he’d planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.
In the silence, you noticed it.
The gash you’d grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.
It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldn’t stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddie’s hold.
In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. “Hey, Eds. Can I ask you something?”
He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. You’re shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap.
That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you can’t breathe.
You’re warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw.
“Why do you keep me around?” you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.
With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, “What do you mean?”
You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him?
You thought back to the night in Harrington’s kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.
He was not as delicate as you took him for.
“I- What do you get out of this?” you couldn’t figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get?
“Get out of what?”
“Get out of keeping me around.”
His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. “You say that as if you’re forcing me to be your friend.”
I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go.
“You never let me do anything for you,” you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, “You do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. You’ve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. And…. And I’m not stupid, Eds,” your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, “You do so much for me lately. And you don’t ask for anything in return – you don’t let me do anything in return. Why?”
His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, “Sweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?”
“I-”
“No, hear me out,” he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, “I chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didn’t ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you won’t let anyone else.”
You bit back a scoff, “I let people do nice things for me-”
“You really don’t,” his hold on your hand tightened, “You really, really don’t. You constantly…. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, y’know? You should let them. They love you – they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.”
They love you.
The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words.
They love you.
Why would they love me?
“Why wouldn’t they love you, sweetheart?” Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, “You know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.”
You hadn’t realized you’d spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. “I…”
No. I don’t know that. What have I done to deserve their love?
“They need me, sure,” you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Lover’s Lake, “I mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. It’s the least I can do when I… when they…” you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, “When they put up with me. It’s the least I can do when they put up with me.”
“No one puts up with you,” Eddie’s voice cracked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Least of all me.”
The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief you’d held for eternity.
“Most of all you,” you corrected without thinking, “God, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I don’t know how the fuck you put up with m-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you’d never heard him beg so painfully before then, “Please. Don’t… You want to know my reason?” you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, “Because you’re you. I… Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because you’re you. You’re good for me. Whether you believe it or not. You’re good for me just by being you, and there’s nothing you have to do to accomplish that,” you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, “You don’t have to earn love. That’s not what love is. Got it?”
You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start.
‘Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.’
‘The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.’
The entire time you’d been so worried about taking care of everyone else, he’d been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself.
While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you.
He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. He’d handed it over on a silver platter.
So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didn’t ‘get it’? That you’d never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, you’d given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much?
How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable?
He didn’t make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, “I love you, no strings attached. You’re my… friend. I love you. Okay?”
No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you.
The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not.
You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the ‘okay’ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, “Why?”
When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had.
I love you.
How could someone love you?
He didn’t press it the way you thought he would. He didn’t scold you for continuing to question him and he didn’t lash out at your disbelief.
He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again.
“Your humor,” he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out.
“What?”
“The way you take care of others,” he continued on like he hadn’t heard you, “That spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day – whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs – and you don’t give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.”
You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him.
“The way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when we’re driving and you’re just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also don’t care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know it’s just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just… are.”
He didn’t have to say it. He was answering your question.
He was listing his whys.
“You don’t have to earn it,” he didn’t say the word, not this time. You felt it, “It just… it’s there. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”
Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved.
Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way – a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. He’s the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold.
His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches.
“Hey there, sweetness.”
You don’t say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often.
“Miss me?” he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away.
“Not at all,” you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.
“Not even a little bit?”
“Nope.”
He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, “Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”
“Get over it,” you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Depends,” he hums as he toes off his boots, “If you’re offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.”
You throw your head back laughing as he’s already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.
Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole ‘being loved’ gig.
Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddie’s van, he’d kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days.
Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough.
The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their character’s lives. You have a hard time following along, and he’s quick to pick up on it.
“Hey, sweetheart?” he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.
“Hm?”
“Bad day?”
He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldn’t find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.
He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days.
You consider lying to him, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, “Yeah. It… yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair.
All you can do is shake your head. You didn’t want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasn’t her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddie’s insistence.
She hadn’t. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, “That’s fine.”
He didn’t mind if you didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much.
Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didn’t have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this.
Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into.
“Hey, Eddie?” his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, “I love you.”
There’s more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends don’t have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.
For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough.
“I love you,” he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple.
You notice the way he leaves off the too. He’d love you, even if you didn’t love him. You’d love him, even if he didn’t love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around.
Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#yeah the archer has a chokehold on me#idk man this is scary to post a put... a lot of myself in here#my bad#3k celebration
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what bugs me most about the pjo show is that i know they could’ve done better. i knowwwww they could’ve been as faithful as they wanted to the books. for anyone saying “oh, but it’s an adaptation! it isn’t meant to be the same so stop whining that they took stuff out or that they’re adding things in different order!” well yes, i agree that adaptations aren’t meant to be a carbon copy of the source material for the simple fact that it’s adapting the source material into a different medium (television), yet it’s just that! a form of adapting the things that are unable to be channeled from, say, a book—or on the contrary, adding things that make sense for television but couldn’t be channeled into the books otherwise…all of this in a faithful manner. a good adaptation is one that stays true to the source material by properly adapting its themes, characters, symbolism, context, pacing, and the overall story/plot so as to not only be seen as a sort of love letter to the fans, but also to reach a wider audience.
just look at the hunger games! the movies are so faithful to the books to the point that most of the scenes are taken straight out of the books, dialogue and all. and they’re movies, aka less runtime than a freaking tv show and they still did it better. did the hg movies have to take a few scenes out? yes; they have only so much time to tell the story as it is told in the books. did they resume things, like the games themselves? also yes. but did most of the important scenes and character moments stay in the movies? also also yes. again, THESE ARE MOVIES!!!!! a medium much more limited than a freaking tv series with multiple episodes that have enough run time to add even more scenes from the books than what could be possible in a 2 hour (max) movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and yet they STILL changed so much that rly had no business being changed other than that the writers decided they felt like it because…..a lot of it im not even sure. and the worst thing of it all is that freaking rick riordan took part in script writing yet so much of the source material has been watered down???? they make a whole ass episode about a monster fight with the majority of the scenes from said episode not even present in the books instead of sticking to the perfectly good source material???? and by doing so they delete the small details that are very much integral to character development and plot???? huh???? the math isn’t mathing. don’t get me wrong, i do like some changes, but then i think: at what cost do they add these things when there was a perfectly good narrative without it? like, at what cost do we get the whole turning to gold sacrifice scene if they’re gonna take out all the fun details that make the lightning thief the lightning thief? for example the silly water park merch and then annabeth displaying her spider phobia and her mortification at going to the thrill ride of love with percy and then being broadcasted to olympus. this is just one episode, but they’ve been doing it in all of them. and u know, it’s not that i don’t hate-hate most these changes. again, what bugs me is that this was supposed to be a faithful adaptation. again, it’s a tv series, with so much more time to develop everything from the books. rick is behind it, who apparently hated the movies for how unfaithful they were. the cast is great. and yet…the script is so mediocre. the spark is lost. character traits are looked over in place for weird pacing and even weirder changes. if the hunger games could do it, then surely a pjo tv series could as well? apparently not? i really really Don’t Get It.
#pjo adaptation#pjo tv show#pjo tv crit#i wanted to Not Talk about the show but i have so much to say#i’ve given up i’ll keep ranting
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Your explanation about retconing made me think Oda's way of writing is exactly what bring people to think he has every single thing planed down from the start, even if he didn't.
The story has been going on for 20 years, and Oda himself has admitedly had ideas along the way that he added. But the fact he's still able to connect every new idea instead of having to retcon things is what makes one piece feel so perfectly planned and tied.
Anon, you innocently sent me this ask to share your thoughts and unknowingly triggered one of my rants. I’m sorry/thank you.
Anon is referring to this post.
Oda is just a good writer! He is good at the craft of writing! Even if you don’t like the story (I’m assuming you do, but for people who don’t…) it’s just WELL WRITTEN. People really aren’t used to seeing good writing anymore, to seeing tropes deployed effectively and having plot lines actually connect. This isn’t just me being cranky and old, it’s just truth. People are talking about this in film, TV, books… One Piece has been around so long that it comes from a generation of storytelling that is vastly different from our modern media landscape.
I think people are burned out on the way modern storytelling never delivers (looking at you, JJ Abrams) or constantly jerks people around to elicit a reaction, all for the sake of nabbing that viral moment. When they see Oda deploy a trope or a storytelling device they’re immediately suspicious and fearful that it’ll turn into another unsatisfying gotcha. They rush to look for proof that it’s either all part of a detailed master plan, or it’s just a cheap trick to sell more issues.
In both cases, people are looking for a reason to be LESS INVESTED in the story. If he has a master plan, they don’t need to get worried or excited because it’s all heading to some inevitable conclusion that’s been clearly telegraphed and once you’ve cracked the code then you can already tell what the ending will be, so you don’t actually have to care. If he’s winging it, then the story is just a sequence of loosely connected meaningless scenes whose only purpose is to get you hype about a plot leading nowhere, so you don’t actually have to care.
And it breaks my fucking heart.
When it comes to One Piece, so many people are insistent that One Piece is EITHER 100% planned in advance down to every minute detail, or Oda is completely winging the whole thing. But the real answer is somewhere in between, in some muddy grey area that people find really unsatisfying. They want one clear answer that they can hold up as “The Right One,” but life is not made up of black and white answers.
Honestly it makes me really sad that people can read ALL THIS - pirates are evil except actually pirates are good and the Marines are evil except the Marines are trying to protect civilians by keeping countries stable so that's good except the rulers are evil tyrants so that's bad except when they’re not and then they’re good but only sometimes and… - and what they come away with from it is, “Okay but what’s the RIGHT answer.”
The thing that makes One Piece feel like it’s so cohesive despite Oda constantly changing his mind and making shit up is that he has a very strong and clear idea about what’s actually important to the story and what’s flexible. Because he has that as a guide, he can add the Shichibukai and change Vivi from a villain to a princess and make up who Ace’s parent is without diluting what he wants to say.
That’s what it MEANS to be a writer. Foreshadowing isn’t “boring,” it’s good writing. A plot twist you didn’t see isn’t “cheap,” it’s good writing. Fleshing out a backstory isn’t “reconning,” it’s good writing.
#anon ask#asked and answered#saltey takes on one piece#sorry to bombard y'all with these walls of text#saltey says#<- is the tag to block if you don't want to see them
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Best friend!Stevo helps shy reader cum after hearing about all of her less than mediocre hook ups. Maybe when they’re done stevo says something like “goddamn, you should’ve told me you felt that damn good months ago. Left me completely in the dark, man 😔”
I love this sm omg. Proofread
𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓃𝒹𝓈
Warnings- p in v, afab reader, mention of bad hookups, making out, oral (f)
You and Steven, or Stevo, were good friends. He found you interesting, and although you might not seem like it to some, he thought you were pretty damn cool.
You hung out on your bed, listening to the person on the tv. You didn’t expect the knock on your door. You slowly got up, in no hurry. They could wait, whoever it was.
You opened the door slightly and the first thing you saw was the blue hair. You opened it more.
“Stevo?” You asked softly, confused at the sudden sight. You had a blanket wrapped around you, it was pretty early.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind.” He let himself in. You weren’t shocked at this point, you shut the door and looked at him.
“What’s up?” You asked.
“I just wanted to see you. Haven’t seen you in a while.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Oh.”
“How are you?” He asked. You yawned.
“Tired.” You laughed.
“Why didn’t you show up yesterday? To the party.” He asked blatantly.
“You know parties aren’t my thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Well, your already here. You want coffee.. or something?”
“Sure.”
You both sat down on your bed now, as he looked at a note on your desk. He furrowed an eyebrow and picked it up.
“Had a great time last n-“ he read out loud.
“No, no!” You groaned when you heard it, trying to take it from him, but he lifted it in the air and continued to read it.
“And I was wondering if you wanted to meet up at-“
“Stevo!” You whined, as he laughed loudly, you climbed on top of the man but he continued to read it. Your cheeks heated up.
“From Josh.” He said in a swoony voice, you rolled off of him and folded your arms.
After a little while, he asked with a laugh, “So, was he any good?
"No. I can't go. He was just awful," you said with a shudder.
“Why was he horrible?” He asked, interested now.
“It’s not important-“
“No, I feel like I need to know now.” He laughed, raising his eyebrows.
“So many reasons.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t wanna..”
“C‘mon, give me the details.”
You sighed “These few months, all I’ve had is these not very good hookups. Maybe my standards are high or maybe these men just can’t fucking fuck.”
“Mm. Probably both.” He joked.
As you struck him in the arm, he quickly muttered a soft apology.
“Anyways, this guy was an asshole. First, he didn’t take off his shoes in my damn place, and he didn’t until we started to have sex. Then when he did, he was sloppy, I think he was a virgin.”
He made a face at your words.
“It gets worse. None of them have made me orgasm, I had to fake it. I haven’t had one for months.”
“I could help with that.” He shrugged. You looked at him, thinking he was joking. But no, his face made it seem like he was indeed serious.
“"Stop," you said with a small laugh as you looked back at the TV.
“What? You don’t think I could?”
“You’re joking. It’s funny, Stevo.”
“I’m not.” He said, his tone serious this time. You both stared at each other for a moment, before leaning in. He made it so he was on top of you, cupping your face and kissing you.
He slid his tongue into your mouth, making you moan out in the process. Once you both moved away, a string of saliva followed. He quickly began to unbutton his pants, and you took off your shirt and bra.
He then looked at your pants, taking them off quickly, throwing them along with the rest of your guys clothes. He was quick, and he stared at your almost naked body.
You looked away and crossed your arms, feeling shy under his gaze.
You feel his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
“Don’t.” He said. He then moved his way back in between your legs. He pulled your panties down, he looked up at you, and he put his mouth on your pussy.
His hands gripped your thighs as he licked like it was his last meal. Your noises motivated him, he focused on your clit, licking a stripe up the bundle of nerves.
You moaned out his name, his ego grew at every one you let out.
You had a firm grip on his hair.
“Stevo- Im-“
He didn’t stop, in fact, his tongue worked faster, it felt heavenly on your pussy.
You came on his face, your first orgasm in months. He came up from in between your legs, licking it from his lips.
You thought for a while about how your best friend had just eaten you out. He had just helped you get your first orgasm in what felt like forever.
Your thoughts were interrupted when he pulled his boxers down, you were shocked by his size.
He asked what was wrong when he saw the expression on your face, a proud smirk on his lips.
“Are you sure that's gonna…”
"We'll find out," he shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes.
Your eyes fixed on him with an intense desire, a desire that he reveled in.
He stroked his cock a few times in front of you, as you laid in front of him. He moved his cock to your entrance, looking closely at your reaction when he slid into your pussy.
Your face scrunched up and he stayed still inside you for a little.
“Okay. Move. Please.” you nodded.
“Yes ma’am,” he said jokingly, starting to move deeper inside, his hands were on your sides as he started to thrust slowly at first.
But you needed more. “Stevo- faster-” you said
He listened, his thrusts turned quicker, a lot quicker than you expected the man to be. He was thrusting at a brutal pace, slamming his hips into yours.
“Fuck. You feel amazing.” he moaned out, throwing his head back for a moment, fully enjoying this moment.
Both of your guy's noises were the only thing that could be heard, bouncing off the walls.
He focused on the way you squeezed him, fuck, you felt amazing. He wanted to be buried in your pussy forever.
He loved the way your eyes were screwed shut and the noises that came from your mouth. It was something straight out of his biggest wet dream.
“Stevo!” you cried out, he was hitting your g spot, and you loved every second he thrust his hips into yours.
He knew you were about to come, he could tell by the way you were squeezing him so hard it was harder to move in and out.
He just listened to the way you cried out his name, and the way you came on his cock, it truly did feel like a dream, he was sure he’s never had pussy this good.
He came after you, starting to slow down his movements as they got slightly sloppy.
He pulled out of you, the both of you breathing heavily. He just looked at you and flopped down next to you.
“You should have told me you felt that good months ago. I feel left in the dark.” he turned his head to you, and you turned to him with a giggle.
“Well, now you know.”
#stevo levy x reader#stevo levy smut#stevo levy#steven levy x reader#steven levy#slc punk x reader#slc punk#matthew lillard#matthew lillard x reader#matthew lillard smut
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Bia | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Reader
Words: 2.8k
Summary: you create your own boots and meet the most beautiful girl - sorry I also used this to info dump about the necessity for boots designed specifically for women to lower injury risks
Warnings: none i think. lemme know if there are any
requested by - @hottiedogs375 i hope you enjoy, it's probably not my best :( definitely not as good as pequeña i think
My family was more of a cricket family than a football one. I wasn’t really fond of either, the shouting was always too much, and the food was somehow sloppy yet rock hard at the same time. Even when we watched at home. The living room would be full of sweaty angry men, sometimes my mum and sister would join if our team was actually doing well. Meanwhile you’d find me in my room at the very back corner of the attic, my room, with headphones on to block out the noise, usually designing something.
Despite the cricket background, I found myself intrigued by the design of women’s football kits. In my design and technology class in year 13, I fell down a research rabbit hole on football boots for women. It was then I discovered the lack of adaptation for the shoe. Women often just wear smaller sizes of boots designed for men, which has been one of the factors in the increase in injuries in the women’s game and I’d decided I wanted to fix that.
That’s how I found myself in front of a crowd, made up of possible brand ambassadors and sponsors, as well as a range of women’s athletes from across the world, pitching my idea.
“And that’s why brands like Bia are important to the growth of women’s football. The shape of the boot, the length of studs, the sole support, they’re all contributing factors to how players perform. When women footballers use the men’s boots, which is basically the only option, they aren’t going to grow used to the details designed for male anatomy. It’s causing stress on not only their feet but every ligament, every bone, every piece of them is suffering because they have to try and adapt to things they can’t possibly adapt to.” I felt like the closing of my speech was rather strong, especially as I watched players and possible sponsors stand to clap. The noise echoes throughout the auditorium and a happiness bubbles within me.
“Thank you for providing me this opportunity. Please, if anyone has any questions.” I gesture to the stand-up microphone in the middle aisle, and people rush to line up.
“What made you intent on creating a boot specifically for women, risking money and time on something people have tried to do before? Something you knew wasn’t guaranteed to work?”
“I know it’s funny, but my family was not a football one, so I didn’t grow up knowing much about the game. But in my a-levels design and technology class, we had to research an issue prevalent in an existing design, and I for some reason was just drawn to the idea that women don’t even get the choice of having a boot made for them. I found it unfair and uncaring. Everyone expects women to play at the same level as men yet won’t provide them with the necessary equipment to do so without them having to risk, quite possibly their career. And I couldn’t just move on after the class, I knew that I had to do something about it. So I’ve spent the past 3 years perfecting the design and building the brand, to be here in front of you all today.” Another round of applause is heard throughout the room before the next person steps up.
She’s a footballer, that I know. Young, no older than 21, my age. And very very pretty.
“This question probably isn’t quite as important as that one but, what made you pick the name Bia? It just seems like an interesting name.” people chuckle at the question, and the (newly discovered) Australian shyly looks around.
“No, I love this question. Bia is the Greek goddess of force and raw energy. She’s actually Nike’s sister, the goddess of victory and very obviously the brand. I think Bia resembles a lot of things within female athletes. They have this driving force and unbelieve power that they bring, and it just felt so right.”
“That’s sick. Can I also quickly ask, sorry, are these boots made for every female athlete? Like can someone in track and field use these or are they just for footballers?” the girl smiles brightly after her question, and I have to remember not to lose focus.
“While the primary focus is obviously footballers, I have researched the compatibility of boots between sports and yes, a professional sprinter like Sharika Jackson can use them just as well as you or Alexia Putellas could. And of course as the brand grows we’ll be able to develop even further and broaden our research further in creating boots fit for anyone.”
-
Questions carry on for a while, then I disappear behind the curtain that’s suspended behind me, rushing to remove my microphone. Eventually I slide out the side door and reach the separate room booked for ‘mingling’ after the panel.
Between talking to rich people desperate to make it seem like they care about others, and athletes who are very eager to know everything they can about the shoe, I try to keep an eye out for the nameless Australian. Every time I think I’ve spotted her; it seems she disappears. Bodies keep moving and she seems to be one of them.
Then I bump into someone. We both go stumbling but she catches me just before I head for the floor.
“I am so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.” And there she was, the girl I’d been looking for.
“No, no need to apologise. I’m Y/n.” I give her a hand to shake.
“Kyra.” There’s a pause before she continues.
“I’m a big fan of your boot. It’s truly incredible.” It’s hard not to blush and sputter out random sounds at her praise.
“Thank you. I’m really hoping this function works out.”
“Well I was thinking, when it does, if you need ‘a face of Bia’…”
“Oh my god yes that would be amazing. Seriously you have no idea how cool that would be.”
We talk for quite some time, and she sticks by my side when someone else comes to talk and ask question. When it’s time to go home we exchange numbers and that’s the first and last time I see her for a while.
-
5 months later is the next time I see Kyra in person. We’d both been travelling a lot, me for sponsors, ambassadors, and athletes, her for work. I’d expected to meet with her a few more times before we kick started the ‘face of Bia’ photoshoots, but as the fates had it, we found ourselves in a large warehouse, photo equipment, and many boxes of my shoes filling the space.
It suddenly all started to feel very real, and that made me nervous. So I packed myself into a small room in the corner as I tried to calm down, hoping the isolation and quiet would help me feel better.
Not even 2 minutes in, someone is following and taking a seat next to me.
“You right?” the voice is familiar and smooth.
“Yeah, yeah of course I am. It’s not like the biggest thing I’ve ever worked for in my life is basically in its final stage of release in the next room and I’m freaking out about it. What if they aren’t actually good? What if th-”
“I’m going to stop you right there. You sent me a pair 2 months ago, and I told you I would test them before saying anything, and I did just that. I took them to training. Ran on the pitch, walked, kicked the ball, passed, made risky moves. And what did I tell you after that?”
“‘These are the best fucking shoes ever.’ But what if they aren’t?”
“Listen Y/n, how many other athletes, not just me or footballers, did you send a pair to for testing?”
“Like 43. Basically every one that came to the panel plus some more.”
“How many told you they were good?”
“43.”
“Exactly. So we’re going to go out there together, you’re gonna tell the photographer what you want to see, every opinion, every change, anything, and we’re going to finalise your fucking dream.” Kyra picks me up without me even agreeing, and basically carries me out to the set up.
Ali Kreiger, despite her recent retirement, was currently being photographed. She’d been the one to reach out to me when she heard from, someone, and wanted to be an ambassador. I probably screamed so loud my neighbours thought I was getting murdered that day.
“They’re going to want a couple photos of you too probably. Either with the shoes or with one or all of us. Okay?” Kyra rubs a hand up and down my back as I take it all in.
I nod vigorously and try to shake my hands to get rid of the remaining nerves, eventually taking a seat next to the photographer, Eve. She asks for my input on every shot and manages to carry out my vision without fail every single time. As players filter in and out, I begin to truly relax and allow myself to take in the moment.
Zimmorlei Farquharson and Poppy Boltz, two AFLW players for the Brisbane Lions, were being photographed together when Kyra slid into the spare chair next to me. She didn’t say anything but when I looked over, I had to quickly look away again. Her outfit wasn’t something out of the ordinary, a loose cropped top and bike shorts, plus the sage green boots she was promoting. But the strip of skin that was exposed between her shirt and shorts was enticing and it was hard not to stare at the way her muscles contracted every time she moved in the seat.
I’m certain she caught me staring.
As she stands to take over the Australian Football players, Kyra leans over and whispers in my ear. It takes me a moment to process her words and by then she’s already under the lights.
“Good thing we’re taking some pictures. They’ll last longer.” To say I was stumped was a rather big understatement. Was she flirting with me?
I don’t get to think about it too much, Kyra looking my way every time she changed position or began to play around with the ball provided.
Not long after, I’m asked to join all the girls in front of the camera for a few shots. I knew it was coming but my heart still dropped into my stomach, and I choked on my breath. As expected, it’s Kyra who grabs my hand and instructs me to breathe slowly. Her thumb runs over the back of my hand and the motion begins to sooth me.
I take a place in front of the camera and the group of athletes. I’m not quite sure how to stand, but Kyra takes the space behind me, resting an arm over my shoulder and the other around my waist. It forces me to lean back naturally and as the girls around us take a stance, Eve continues to shoot.
“You and Kyra have a lot of chemistry by the looks of it, and she’s who you’re most comfortable with. Use that. Make it natural. The girls around you will adapt.” I expect the comment from Eve, but it’s Ali who puts a hand on my shoulder and reassures me.
With that instruction, and a nod from Eve, Kyra jumps on my back. It’s a pose that helps with showing off the boot and making me laugh. She then jumps off and takes my hands, turning me to face her as she dips. I rush to catch her as she falls, our faces a hair width apart.
Before I can think, I close the gap. My lips press hard against her’s as the camera shutter repeatedly goes off, but I don’t think anything of it. Until I pull away.
I almost drop her once my thoughts catch up to me.
“I am so sorry. What the fuck did I just do?” the rest of the girls had already walked away, so it was just us.
“Nothing you should regret or feel bad for.” Kyra stands right in front of me, our lips basically touching again.
“And maybe you should do it again.” I pause for a moment before leaning back down, kissing her again.
~~~~~
It takes three more weeks for the official brand release. After years of designing, making, spending every cent I had on these boots, Bia was officially the first woman specific sports boot.
Kyra’s first Arsenal game wearing them was the day of the release. She ended up talking about them in post-match interview after being asked “how were you excelling so well in the midfield today?” Not only was Bia’s sale numbers skyrocketing and the media account blowing up, so was my own.
I’d of course attended the match, excited to see them as an officially released boot. Someone had spotted me in the crowd and tweeted about it, talking about ‘the creator of that new boot brand is watching Kyra rep them for the first time live’. Someone else had caught me hugging Kyra on the pitch after the game and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
The rumours could only be expected. They also couldn’t be denied. Not without lying.
“I’m so proud of you.” The smooth Australian accent almost lulls me to sleep as we rest in Kyra’s bed, the sheets hiding our bare skin.
Her fingers trace shapes on my hip as she holds me, and I kiss along her collar bones and neck.
“And also very, very grateful for your genius brain creating those boots. Not only for helping my game play, but for bringing you to me.”
“I’m also grateful for my genius brain bringing us together.” I tease before softly kissing her.
It’d been impossible to escape her charm after our kiss at the photoshoot, so naturally we went on a date. And another, before she asked me to be her girlfriend. Eve sent me those photos just in case we wanted them in the brand release post. They currently sat in my hard drive, but it was very tempting to post a couple.
Kyra wanted a moment of privacy before the world knew, but I knew it didn’t matter whether it was out or a secret, as long as I had her.
-
A new power couple is on the rise in the world of Women’s Football. Creator of new women’s sports boots brand Bia, Y/n L/n, spotted with girlfriend, Arsenal and Matildas midfielder Kyra Cooney-Cross at a café in North London this morning before the London Derby. The couple confirmed their relationship mere days ago with photos of the lovebirds kissing from L/n’s brand shoot.
I laugh at the article as Kyra pulls into the Emirates parking, hand in mine. I’d become rather acquainted with her teammates and they begged me to come to the London Derby on the weekend. I couldn’t refuse when my girlfriend pulled out the puppy dog eyes and promised to ban me from any sort of affection, specifically kisses, for the week.
“You better win. I have a bet going with Niamh that you’ll beat her and I cannot lose a bet against her again.” Kyra chuckles and leaves with a kiss, sending me into the friends and family section of the stands.
It was nerve wracking going alone, but it was for Kyra and that was all I cared about. Supporting her like she supported me.
-
Kyra doesn’t start, which had been expected. Despite it, the girls were playing well and were up 3-1 at half-time. No yellow cards for either team had most people shocked though. The derby was known to be rough and physical, yet it seemed things were rather calm for the situation at hand.
There’s a substitute at half-time that puts Kyra back on the pitch. I blow a kiss when she looks my way as she jogs out and she pretends to catch it and place it on her cheek. Both of us are unaware of the interaction being caught on the big screen while people wait for the countdown.
It’s when extra time is announced that everyone in the stadium knows Arsenal have won the game. The Chelsea players look tired and defeated and the Arsenal girls don’t look much different, apart from the massive smiles that grace each one of their faces. The final whistle blows, and the crowd erupts in deafening cheers for the gunners, and I can’t help joining in.
After congratulating the blues on their performance and huddling with her own teammates, Kyra comes running for me. The guard on the other side of the barrier grows wary when I stand, clearly about to jump it, but Kyra gives him the okay and grabs me by the waist, helping me join her on the pitch.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I whisper as she stands on her tippy toes.
Her arms wrap tightly around my neck and mine go around her waist as she pulls me in for a kiss. It’s deep and passionate and the crowd around us cheers, some of the girls joining in.
“We’re both kinda killing it aren’t we?” I let out a laugh as she hops on my back, pointing me in the direction of her Matilda’s teammates, even Sam, who are grouped in the middle of the field.
She sprinkles kisses around my face as they talk between each other and I’ve never felt more content.
Fuck cricket, football is the sport for me.
#woso x reader#woso#womens soccer#wsl#woso fanfics#the matildas x reader#the matildas#kyra cooney cross x reader#kyra cooney cross#kyra cooney-cross#kyra cooney-cross x reader
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Hi it's literally the same anon that requested the percy NSFW headcanons but I'm back for more🤭
I would absolutely devour percy x virgin fem! Reader headcanons
THANK YOU IN ADVANCE 💙
Interested? Click HERE for Jason nsfw headcanons.
->masterlist
Slight NSFW warning, Percy Jackson and !virgin reader
You are a virgin? Well, he is too. This guy does not have any experience at all. His first kiss was probably you.
First time would be sweet, slow, and soft. He is too afraid to use his strength and does not know how to move his hips.
Once he gets a nice rhythm, the only thing he’s doing it watching your facial expressions to see if you’re enjoying it.
If you aren’t enjoying it, he will also not enjoy it. Pleasure is a mutual thing.
His mother has taught him consent and the school taught him sex ed. So, he does know that he needs a condom.
Percy wouldn’t even bring up sex during the relationship – its just such a weird and odd thing to bring up in his opinion so why would he?
But then as the relationship progresses, I’m guessing after 1 year and he’s in college now; he could perhaps be tempted to be more teasing in a way during kisses and let his hands wander a bit.
Then he would ask quietly if you’ve ever thought about the two of you having sex.
“Have you ever thought of us...y´know…doing...something….together?” “Like what? What do you mean” “you know…like touch--ing….” (Licks his lips nervously).
If you’re open and say yes, he would say “me too” in such an awkward way lol.
He would be tempted to run away from the conversation and apologize if you said no.
“Do you ever wanna….do something…more? —or want ME to do more?” Percy would look at you through his bangs.
The discussion is awkward but important to the both of you. Talking about the things you like and whatnot – but don’t expect anything too detailed he´s too embarrassed to even say sex out loud.
But that doesn’t mean he is a kid who doesn’t know how it works. He gets it, he knows that it isn’t embarrassing to say dick, vagina and sex – but he’s not used to saying it.
When he first bought a condom, he was actually tempted to just ask Grover to buy it because he’s older than him.
But at the same time, it´s kind of embarrassing so he decided not to.
He just took the first one he saw and luckily it was a normal condom that does the job just fine.
He totally didn’t look suspicious wearing a hoodie and having his head hanged low to the ground. When the cashier did small talk and asked him how he was – he didn’t even answer and shifted his feet anxiously.
He is so goddamn nervous before he does it too. He doesn’t know when to make the move or if he should just jump straight to undressing.
Most likely happened when he´s at the Beach house or in his dorm room.
He would be seated somewhere comfortable, like the couch or the sofa. And he would bring a towel and awkwardly put it next to you – just in case of a mess.
Closing all windows and curtains, locking each door – he would not be able to chill out LMFAO.
And then, watch a movie or something. He would sit next to you – not daring to even glance at you. Sweaty palms and you can hear him swallowing his own spit next to you.
You would maybe have to take the initiative with the cuddling or scoot a bit closer to let him know you´re ready.
Maybe he would swing an arm around your shoulders or lean on you.
Then the quiet question comes when he touches the seam of your shirt.
He would start touching any skin that’s available, stomach or legs, or shoulders or neck.
Things gets difficult by then – where should he touch next? He doesn’t know.
Biting his lip anxiously, he’s waiting for you to do something that will give him a clue. If you lean your head back, then he leans down to snuggle his face there and gives it a kiss.
Kissing->making out -> touching your waist and hips and legs.
“I want you”. Something corny he might say but he means it.
If you back-out he is very understanding – but will feel like it´s his fault when it really isn´t. But will take it as a valuable lesson to learn more before he does it again and the next times would be better. No matter how many times you say you don’t want to – he will respect it and will never make you feel bad. Actually, he is relieved that you are vocal about it.
And then, I´m guessing !reader keeps their shirt on at first since it’s the first time so things can get awkward quickly.
Grinding->touch his stomach and he will melt into the touch->help his shirt over his head and kiss his collarbone->Percy would start to inch your shirt higher and higher to expose more but will tell immediately if you get shy or nervous and would stop->eye contact is so important he needs to know how you are and if you aren’t going to talk, you bet he’s going to communicate through other ways.
Then, shimming your pants/skirt/dress off, ->he leans closer and cuddles you->if you say “more” he will send a questioning look because what does “more” mean? More kissing, more touching, more grinding, more noises? -> “more of x”.
Then, when both are naked, don’t worry Percy already has blankets ready to cover the both of you so you are both underneath a shared blanket->”Is this okay?” “Are you alright?” questions will be murmured and quietly asked, Percy is looking for reassurance->then it happens, its difficult to put it in and he already put on a condom->goes excruciatingly slow because he does not want it to hurt (perhaps he confided in Annabeth before he decided to have intercourse with you)->any advice he got from his friend will be used.
In the end, overall, he would be satisfied but wants to be better next time. Percy is the type of person that is always striving for best.
#greek mythology#percy jackson#percy jackson headcanons#pjo#percy jackson x you#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson x gnreader#percy jackson x female reader#percy jackson scenarios#Rickriordian#rick riordan
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HOBIE BROWN HEADCANONS | NSFW
im iffy on writing actual smut bc id be reconsidering a lot in my life during it but i am not above writing headcanons xoxo
honestly this is kinda jst me rambling but oh well take it anyway
╭──╯ . . . . . ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ . . . . . ╰──╮
• definitely wouldn’t be aggressive but not against throwing you around just a little (if you’re okay w that obviously)
• i don’t think he’d be absolutely nasty. like he’s clearly a bit freaky, he makes a joke abt biting in his intro but i can’t see him being crazy ??
• sony let us know he’s into biting n everyone jst ignored that we need to think abt that more.
• not entirely serious. he isn’t above making a few jokes every once in a while, especially if you’re a bit nervous
• back to that though if he tries to initiate something and he sees you’re even slightly unsure or nervous ?? it’s off. he’s asking what’s wrong immediately and if it’s solvable great, he’ll solve it if it isn’t it’s off. he has no problem leaving you be if you aren’t up to it, there’s no convincing involved
• wouldn’t be into anything extremely degrading, aggressive, or violent. to him that’s porn culture and he wants absolutely nothing to do with it, even if you asked. i just don’t think he’d get off to anyone being seriously hurt
• however he has no shame with a BIT of pain. he did make a biting joke so i mean
• i think light choking would be the worst he’s automatically willing to do or receive. ofc he’s willing to talk but it’d have to be a very detailed talk abt what both of you are okay w doing/receiving
• honestly i jst think talks like that wld be important to him in general. he doesn’t wanna overstep any boundaries, especially not during something as big as sex. he’d never try to introduce you to something before having a genuine conversation about it first
• aftercare is peak w this man. godsend. you’ll never get any better
• not rough all the time. yg write him to be like absolutely insane n aggressive in bed n i jst can’t see it. like hobie never once even raised his voice unless it was loud, like in his intro. nothing abt him was ever aggressive. i think maybe he’d have no shame being SLIGHTLY rough but i don’t think his intention would be to hurt you/see how much you can take ever
• i think most of the time he’d be pretty normal. he’d be paying complete attention to you jst to be sure you’re comfortable always, he’ll stop immediately if you aren’t
• honestly he’s probably a switch, i can see it. he has no problem giving or receiving, though there wld still have to be some talks abt some things LMAO
• i see comments on edits (even mine) abt how he switches positions a lot n it lowk made me giggle. i think he definitely would on occasion just to catch you off guard, but his whole hating consistency thing imo was a joke jst to mess w miles, half the things he said in his intro were to mess w miles
• probably not very experienced but he knows enough and learns fast. like i don’t think he would be into hookup culture or even care abt sex much but he isn’t clueless, yk ?? he knows what he’s doing at least
• doesn’t really ask for head. if you bring it up, great !! he obviously won’t complain ☠️ but to him i think it’d be more of a bonus, not something he expects from you
• i don’t think he’d be into rough head either. to him it’s about what YOU’RE comfortable doing and what YOU can do. he isn’t going to force you into doing anything. like if his hand is ever on your head it’s to hold your hair back and/or just love on you
• like i said he doesn’t really get off to seeing you struggle
• also idk if it’d be pierced. would he be above it absolutely not but that also involves a stranger handling and piercing your dick. if he did it himself, then maybe
• sex to him isn’t as important. he isn’t going to be all distraught if you aren’t ready or you jst don’t want to. it’s jst a bonus to him, obviously it’s important but your needs and thoughts are SIGNIFICANTLY more important to him than what he jst wants
#x reader#atsv hobie#hobie brainrot#hobie brown#hobie brown x reader#hobie my beloved#hobie smut#hobie spiderverse#hobie x oc#hobie x you#hobie brown atsv#hobie brown smut#astv hobie#hobie x y/n#hobie x reader#atsv headcanons#atsv#atsv x reader#spiderman atsv#atsv art#spider man: across the spider verse#across the spiderverse#hobie brown hcs#hobie brown headcanons
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Hate Yourself - Chapter Two
series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl
summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work
minors dni!
Lyuba had left this morning. She hugged you tightly before stepping into her cab, much to your surprise. The normally stern woman was unexpectedly tender with you that morning.
“Take care, zayka,” she whispered as she held you. “Don’t let this house devour you,” she added before pulling away and walking to her cab.
You shiver at the thought, her words chilling. You try to ignore the eeriness of her warning as you dust the study. Dusting was gentle work and a welcome reprieve from scrubbing and scouring the other rooms. Plumes of dust kicked up by your duster shimmer in the late afternoon sunbeams, and you catch yourself watching them float around. The study is full of dusty spots – tall bookshelves, busts of important men, and an overstuffed upholstered chair. Your focus is on the chair when you look up to see one of the many hanging frames of art.
Unlike most art decorating Saltburn, the frame doesn’t hold a stuffy oil painting of a king or lord. Instead, a sketch of a handsome young man looks back. His soft eyes and nonchalant pose invite you in. His clothes seem modern, his messy hair unfussy and tousled. The strokes of charcoal are loose and messy, giving the impression the subject wasn’t as buttoned-up as the rest. Who might he be? In the corner was the artist’s signature, a delicate cursive EC. You search around the perimeter of the sketch for a name, but there’s nothing else. Only the kind, mysterious face.
“Keep your secret, then,” you fake pout to the sketch. You’re pulled out of your examination by clicking footsteps from the hallway. You keep at your dusting, but you hear someone come into the study and rifle through the stack of papers on the desk. Turning your head, you see Oliver sit down and shuffle through a few documents, concentrating deeply on his task. Plucking up some unknown courage, you decided to soothe your burning curiosity.
“Pardon me, sir,” you start, faltering a bit as his eyes connect with yours, “but do you know who this is?”
Oliver pauses as his attention moves to the frame. A sad smile ghosts over his mouth. “Ah,” he says gently. “That would be Felix Catton.” He returns to his task at the desk, but he seems distracted.
“D-do you know him?” You ask, curiosity piquing at his visible reaction.
“I did,” he starts, stepping back from the desk and approaching the picture. “We were…mates.” He’s close now, close enough that your shoulders touch. “Met at Oxford.”
You feel your brows furrow. He’s not giving enough detail for your tastes. “How did he get a picture on the wall if he’s just a mate? There must be more to it than that.” You try and meet his eye, but he is fixated on the image.
“His family owned this place. He invited me to stay for a summer back when we were in university and died at the birthday party they threw for me here. In the maze.” He angles his head back to you, an unreadable expression on his features.
“Oh,” you mumble, “I’m so sorry.” An uncomfortable silence envelops you for a moment. You remember Lyuba’s clipped warning in the bathroom, and you aren’t sure how to react.
“The rest of his family followed,” he finally offers, “so his mother left me Saltburn when she passed.” The revelation surprises you, but it makes sense. You had never seen his surname in the numerous journals, paintings, or statues that graced the halls. It seems odd that an Oxford pal came to own this massive estate. Then again, you’re just a maid. Rich people do crazy things like give away houses to friends, right? Maybe people like Lyuba and you could never understand. The few precious things you own you guard fiercely, but finery probably doesn’t seem as precious when you’re constantly surrounded by it. You can understand the grief on his face, though. His prolonged, desperate look at the drawing makes your chest twinge with sadness.
“Wow,” you whisper. “You must miss him terribly.” The weight of his gaze rests squarely on you. His presence feels suffocatingly close, especially because everyone else has so far made themselves scarce. You haven’t had someone so near to you since Lyuba left. You fight the urge to lean in even closer.
“Sometimes,” he admits. He lingers next to you for a moment longer before stepping back to the desk and grabbing a sheet of paper. You shake your head quickly and return to dusting, hearing his footsteps move out the door and down the hallway. You give the picture of Felix one last glance before busying yourself with the rest of the room.
~
Hands on your hips, you survey the pristine room. You feel a sense of satisfaction, having made it through your to-do list earlier than anticipated. Making your way back to your room, you decide to reward yourself with a soak in the bathtub. A hot bath. The thought alone is enough to bring a dreamy smile to your lips. The days of work haven’t been too exhausting, but your muscles are sore from adjusting to the workload.
Reaching your room, you rifle through your drawers. Grabbing out your pajamas and socks, you move on to the underwear drawer.
That’s…strange.
You rifle through the contents frantically. Where did they all go? You know you brought more than this. Only a few pairs are left. You shake your head, trying to be rational. They’re just in another drawer, you tell yourself. Hands shaking slightly, you paw through all the drawers in your dresser. By the final one, your breathing comes in raggedly, and your vision blurs with tears.
“What the fuck?” You feel sick to your stomach. Who had been in your room? Suddenly, you feel very vulnerable, too exposed. You rush to the door and try to lock it. The handle jiggles uselessly. A sob breaks from your throat as you sink to the ground. Everything feels like too much.
You miss home, your shoebox room with the ugly brown shag carpet and the tiny window to nowhere. You miss your mother, the twins, your friends. It’s so lonely here. Everyone keeps their distance, and now the one sanctuary you have to yourself feels tainted. Unsafe. If you could go back home, you would.
But you couldn’t. Well, wouldn’t. The private school the twins attend has steep fees, and Mum’s cashier job isn’t cutting it. You think she has enough to worry about as tears flow down your face freely.
“Pull it together,” you choke out to yourself. It was probably a cruel prank, hazing the new girl. You won’t let them send you back home with your tail between your legs. You’d give your siblings a shot at a life beyond the dreary little town you grew up in. They wouldn’t have to clean other people’s houses if you had any say. Peeling yourself off the ground, you resolved to take your bath. Fuck it, you weren’t going to give up so easily. You could take the silent treatment and other nonsense if it meant a future for them.
Clutching your things, you walk to the bathtub and run the water. You can’t help but feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but ignore the feeling. I’m just overthinking, it’s fine. You slip out of your work dress and slide into the steamy bath. You bring your head underneath the water, heat soothing your puffy and tearstained face. You weren’t going to let this place break you.
It’s too bad the person peering through the bathroom keyhole would disagree.
~
You sleep terribly.
The broken lock and missing panties have rattled you despite your best efforts. You spend your nights watching the door, muscles twitching in anticipation of a confrontation that never comes. Each morning, an increasingly wan face stares back at you in the mirror.
You decide to do something about it. Your distant coworkers have offered you nothing but wary glances and clipped responses the whole time you’ve been here, so you feel certain it had to be one of them. A good boss would want his employees to feel comfortable here, so you make it your mission to bring it up with Oliver once you finish your tasks for the day.
You wander the house looking for him, nervously popping your head into every room. You don’t think he has business outside the house today, so you get increasingly worked up with each empty room. When you end up back in the foyer with no sign of him, you stomp out into the garden. It’s dark and chilly out, but you can’t even care. You just want somewhere private to scream. The maze beckons you. You’ve never had a chance to go inside, so you trudge right inside it.
The twists and turns are dark and disorienting. You feel your anger ebb away into fear as you make your way deeper. The cold nips at you, but you press on. How much time has even passed here? You’re tempted to turn around and try and find the exit when you see a clearing. You press onward, unsure of what lies ahead. You notice a huge statue, its form monstrous but somewhat amorphous to you in the darkness of the night. It looms menacingly over the space, filling you with dread.
You hear rustling and nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you aren’t alone.
“W-who is it?” You call out, voice trembling. You cast your eyes around and see a man’s form in the corner.
“It’s just me,” comes the response, and you almost sigh with relief at the sound of Oliver’s voice. You sheepishly walk to him, relaxing at the edge of the clearing. “Are you alright, love?” He peers up at you with concern.
You try to clear your throat and give a nonchalant response, but your voice comes out brittle and pinched. “Of course,” you rasp out, faltering. You don’t even realize the tears are coming out until Oliver hops to his feet and gently swipes his thumb over your cheek. The unexpectedly tender gesture has all of your exhaustion and worries pouring out.
“Hey,” he breathes, gently cupping your face.
“I’m sorry,” you sob, crying into his hands. “I haven’t been well. Someone broke my lock, a-and stole my clothes, and-“
“Woah, woah, woah, it’s okay,” he soothes, stepping in close and wiping your face. “Someone stole from you?”
“Y-yeah,” you reply.
“I’ll get the door fixed, yeah? And replace what got taken.”
“Really?” you ask, a spark of hope returning to you.
“Of course, I hate to see such a pretty girl upset,” he answers, stroking your hair. He gives you a gentle smile, and you can’t help but give him a teary smile in response. “Now, run along inside. It’s cold out here.”
“Okay,” you mumble, sniffing and drying off the last of your tears. You turn back to the entrance and walk slowly, mulling over his words. Maybe somebody does care about you here.
“Get some rest, please,” he calls after you. “I can’t have my best girl so sad.”
You stifle a giggle as you trace your way back out of the maze, slightly delirious from the attention and unexpected tears. Maybe you really will get some sleep tonight.
~
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