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musicforastylesrestaurant · 5 months

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Harry and yn and there two kids on holiday and fans come up to them and harry asks them to respect there privacy and all that?

Caribbean Privacy.

my masterlist || ask my anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here !!

authors note - first blurb of 2024 people and it’s based on the brand new photos we got, so enjoy my loves.

word count - 1.7k

in which, you and harry decided to go for a little family holiday to start the new year off on the right foot, and went to a caribbean island, where your just trying to enjoy yourselves, and spend some quality time with your two children, when a couple of fans spot your husband.

As the first light of the new year streamed through the curtains, you woke up to the sweet realization that your partner had planned a surprise holiday to the Caribbean.

The joy in your heart was mirrored in the excited expressions of Kai, your energetic five-year-old, and little Lexi, who had just turned six months old. The promise of sun-soaked beaches and turquoise waters made the early morning hustle of packing bags and herding the family to the airport an adventure in itself.

Arriving at your tropical destination, the sound of gentle waves and the warmth of the sun embraced you. The resort's palm-fringed surroundings set the stage for a family retreat filled with laughter and cherished moments.

The holiday would be lasting a total of two weeks and so far the four of you had been there for four out of a possible fourteen.

The first day was spent chilling and getting the kids into a routine, the second day was filled with sunbathing and the third day you took the kids to do some activities so that they wouldn’t get too bored.

It was the afternoon of the fourth day at the resort, for a majority of the morning you had all gone for a walk, trying to get your bearings of where you were going to be staying.

It was nearing one pm now, and the four of you were making your way to the hotel outdoor restaurant, where other families, friends and couples were currently sat, all decked out in summer clothes just like you and your family were.

The rhythmic roll of the stroller, carrying the enchanting Lexi, created a soothing background to the lively atmosphere. Harry, with Kai perched on his shoulders, exuded paternal pride as his son's tiny fingers playfully explored the newly sprouting hair after a recent buzz cut.

The infectious giggles from Kai echoed through the space, forming a symphony of joy that seemed to harmonize with the clinking of cutlery and murmurs of other guests.

Just moments later, a courteous waiter approached, exuding the charm of the Caribbean hospitality.

"Good afternoon! Can I start you off with some drinks?" he inquired with a warm smile.

Harry, with a chuckle, ordered a beer for himself, emphasising that it was a well-deserved vacation treat.

Kai, his eyes sparkling, announced proudly, "Chocolate milkshake, please!"

You joined in, opting for a refreshing mojito to complement the tropical ambiance. The waiter, noting down the orders, promised to return shortly with the concoctions that would add an extra layer of delight to your family gathering.

The backdrop of the restaurant's tropical charm provided the perfect setting for a moment of connection.

"This surprise vacation was a brilliant idea," you remarked, a smile playing on your lips.

Harry, his eyes filled with satisfaction, responded, "M’figured we all needed a break, and what better way t’start the year?"

Kai, still perched atop his father's shoulders, chimed in, "I like the beach, Mommy! Can we build a sandcastle tomorrow?"

His enthusiasm was infectious, prompting laughter from both you and Harry.

"Absolutely, buddy! We'll build the biggest sandcastle the beach ‘as ever seen," Harry promised, ruffling Kai's hair.

November 2019, you gave birth to Kai Robin Styles, at a home birth in yours and Harry’s London home.

As the conversation continued, you found yourselves reflecting on the year that had passed and the excitement of what lay ahead.

“ ‘Member when Lex was just a tiny bump?" Harry mused, glancing affectionately at your baby girl. "Now look at her, enjoying her first vacation. Time really does fly,"

You had gone into Labour with Lexi Anne Styles after Harry’s Show in Warsaw, the birth wasn’t very traumatic but the fact that you have birth in the backstage area of a stadium add a million different stress levels.

The waiter returned with a tray of drinks, delivering a frothy beer for Harry, a velvety chocolate milkshake for Kai, and a refreshing mojito for yourself.

The clinking of glasses marked the beginning of a shared toast.

"To family adventures and new beginnings," Harry proposed, raising his beer.

It wasn’t long before you had placed your food orders, and then it was back to chit chatting.

Lexi began to express her hunger with soft whimpers from the comfort of her stroller. Harry, always attuned to his children's needs, suggested, "Looks like someone's ready f’a meal. How about I feed her?"

Agreeing with a smile, you watched affectionately as Harry gently lifted Lexi from the stroller. With practised ease, he retrieved the pre-made bottle from the baby bag. Cradling Lexi in his arms, he began a tender dialogue, showering her with words of endearment.

"Y’know, Love bug, y’the most perfect baby in the world. Mom and I are so lucky t’have you," he whispered, his words infused with a genuine warmth that mirrored the love you both felt for your little one.

As Harry spoke to Lexi, your gaze shifted to Kai, who was deeply immersed in coloring his book. His tiny fingers danced across the paper, creating vibrant strokes that mirrored the lively atmosphere of the Caribbean surroundings. The restaurant transformed into a canvas of family moments — the quiet focus of an older brother, the nurturing presence of a father, and the unspoken connection between mother and daughter.

Amidst the lively ambiance of the restaurant, you couldn't help but notice a group of girls at a nearby table who seemed to have recognized your husband. Whispers and excited glances were exchanged among them, and you could see them mustering the courage to approach him for a photo.

Sensing their intentions, you leaned in to Harry and discreetly warned him about the approaching fangirls.

Harry, with a resigned sigh, glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

"Just ignore ‘em, love. It happens," he reassured you, his eyes reflecting the weariness of a man accustomed to such encounters.

The prospect of being in the spotlight, even during a family dinner, was not a new experience for him. Grateful that your kids were facing away, oblivious to the attention, you both focused on enjoying the moment together as a family.

As the girls behind you worked up the courage to approach, you and Harry engaged in casual conversation, attempting to divert attention from the brewing fan encounter.

"Remember that time in Paris?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood. Harry chuckled, because he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Good times," he agreed, sharing a smile with you, appreciating the effort to shield your family from the attention that occasionally came with his public persona.

“H, there definitely coming.”

Harry, glancing over his shoulder, nodded in acknowledgment.

"Yeah, I see them. Just give them a friendly smile if they approach, and I'll handle it. S’not let it bother us," he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

He was no stranger to such encounters, having navigated the challenges of fame before. The weariness in his eyes reflected a desire for a quiet family dinner undisturbed by fan interactions.

The restaurant buzzed with activity as the group of excited fans approached your table.

"Harry, we're such huge fans! Can we get a quick photo and an autograph?" one of them eagerly requested, holding out a notepad and a pen.

With a gracious smile, Harry acknowledged their enthusiasm.

"M’grateful f’your support, but at the moment, we're trying to have a quiet family dinner, so I won't be able to do autographs right now," he gently explained, a polite refusal delivered with a sense of understanding.

Despite his explanation, the fans persisted, urging for both a photo and an autograph. The atmosphere at the table shifted as Lexi, nestled in Harry's lap, started to express her unease with a few whimpers.

Sensing his sister's discomfort, Kai moved closer to your side, seeking comfort in the familiar presence of family. Harry, noticing the subtle disruption, addressed the fans with empathy.

The fans, eager to capture a moment with their idol, continued to press for both a photo and an autograph. Harry, maintaining his composure, gently reiterated, "I really appreciate y’support, but right now, We're just trying t’enjoy a family dinner without any interruptions."

The fans, realizing the impact on the children, paused for a moment. Harry, sensing the need to reinforce the boundary, continued,

"Thanks for understanding." His words were delivered with a blend of gratitude and a protective instinct for his family.

As the fans reluctantly stepped back, a mix of disappointment and understanding painted their expressions. Your family returned to the rhythm of your evening, attempting to reclaim the sense of tranquillity that had been momentarily disrupted. Lexi, still cradled in Harry's arms, gradually settled, comforted by the familiar presence of her parents and brother.

Harry, with a reassuring smile, turned his attention back to the dinner table.

"Sorry about that, m’love," he whispered to you, the gentle apology carrying the weight of the delicate balancing act that came with his fame.

"It's alright," you responded, understanding the complexities of navigating public and private moments.

Kai, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, looked up from his colouring book with a curious expression.

"Why did those people want pictures, Mommy?" he asked, his innocent curiosity breaking the momentary tension.

You looked down to his eye level, offering a simple yet honest explanation, "Sometimes, people recognize Daddy from his work, and they want to say hello or take a picture because they really like what he does."

Harry, appreciating your delicate handling of the situation, chimed in,

"That's right, buddy. Daddy's work makes people happy, and sometimes they just want to share that happiness with us."

Sensing his sons discomfort, Harry gently ushered him over, placing him on the other side of his lap.

"Hey, Kai, come here, sweet boy," Harry said softly, creating a protective space for him. As Kai nestled in closer,

Harry continued, "I want you t’know that no matter what happens, Daddy will always keep you safe. Those moments might be a bit strange, but we're a team, okay?"

Kai, his big brown eyes searching for reassurance, nodded in understanding. "

Team," he echoed, a small smile breaking through the remnants of unease.

Harry wrapped his arm around Kai, holding him close to his chest.

"Exactly, little man. We're a team, and nothing will ever change that," Harry affirmed, his voice a soothing melody of love and comfort.

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letterstotheflre · 2 years

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𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

summary: in which you forget your wallet and offer eddie a quid pro quo. oh, look at you using big words! [eddie munson x bimbo!reader]

cw: smut || 18+ only [ft. oral sex (m receiver), cheating, outdoors sex, reader is dumb (obviously, so if that bothers you.. goodbye!]

a/n: i rewrote this entire thing 4 times 😃 i still don’t really like how some parts turned out but let’s pretend it’s because i’ve stared at it for hours on end and not bc it’s actually bad <3

“That’d be 20,” Eddie says, sliding the bag of weed towards you over the wooden table.

You open your bag to look for your wallet only to not find it in its usual spot. You look inside the bigger compartment, ruffling through makeup bags, receipts and strawberry lollipops but come back empty handed. You look back at Eddie, offering him an anxious smile, “Just a sec.”

He nods and rests his forearms on the table, toying with the wristband of his watch while he watches you open all three of your makeup bags, the glass bottles and compact powders clinking against each other.

His eyebrows raise at your mumbled curse. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. S’just…” you giggle nervously, twirling a strand of hair. “I forgot my wallet. Silly me.”

Eddie grimaces in pity. “Well that’s unfortunate, sweetheart, but you know what they say…” he takes back the plastic bag and dumps it into his toolbox, closing the lid sharply. He smiles sarcastically, “Flattery doesn’t pay the bills.”

Your shoulders drop as he stands up, but before he can put his leather jacket back on your face lights up, resembling a cartoon having an eureka moment. Or so Eddie thinks. “Wait! I could pay you some other way, if you want!”

“Cash only, you know the rules.” Your twinkling laughter lets him know he said something stupid, which coming from you should probably bruise his ego a little. “What?”

“That’s not what I meant, silly,” you chuckle, adjusting your position on the bench and leaning forward conspiratorially, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Eddie gulps as your eyes drag down his body to his groin then back up to his face. “I meant, I could do you a little favour.”

“A favour,” he repeats blankly.

“Yeah, like a little– ugh, what’s the word?” You muse, your front teeth trapping your lower lip. Eddie has to admit that the way your brows furrow in concentration is adorable. “Oh, yeah, a little quid pro quo! I suck your cock, you give me the weed for free,” you sing-song, smiling at him.

Eddie is many things. A freak, a nerd, an academic failure, a drug dealer. He is not dumb, though, even though the vast majority of Hawkins High would like to defer. So it’d be very dumb of him to turn down a blowjob offer from one of the prettiest girls in Hawkins.

He’s seen you around town before, walking around with your short skirts and dresses and tight shirts, heeled mary janes that probably cost more than anything inside his trailer clicking against the pavement. You were one of the few people in Hawkins that didn’t cast him aside, in fact, you had always been kind to him whenever he got the courage to talk to you.

Whether it was because you were simply too nice or because the fact that he was Eddie “the Freak” Munson just flew over your pretty little ditzy head, he’d never know.

So sue him if he had a teeny tiny crush on the local airhead.

Then he remembers the hunk who usually had an arm wrapped around your waist. The meathead that would bump into his shoulder if they crossed paths. The jackass that would make your shoulders drop and a sad look cloud your face when he mocked you as you played around with the figurines on display in the comic shop he frequented.

His mood sours.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, but he won’t mind. Half the weed is for him anyways.” You shrug, clearly unbothered. “Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t been sneaking around with like, half of his girl friends behind my back. At least I’m doing this as a favour to him.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “Shit, no way.”

“Yeah, he must think I’m stupid or something. I mean, I’ve already found three different fake nails in his car. Do I look like the type of girl to wear black nail polish?” You tilt your head to the side, your shiny purple nails clicking on the table. Eddie shakes his head with a snort. “Exactly! So, are we gonna do this or not? I have a hair dresser’s appointment in like an hour.”

Eddie shifts in place, kicking some leaves up in the air. As much as this is a dream come true, he doesn’t wanna take advantage of your predicament. Hoping you don’t take it back, he asks, “You sure this is cool?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!”

He wonders if your idea of fun is usually this fucked up but finds himself nodding in approval. “Yeah, sure. Fuck it.”

You clap your hands in excitement and stand up, your skirt flaring as you twirl around to walk to the opposite side of the bench. You stand in front of him, fingers linked together as you bounce on the balls of your feet. “So, like, do you wanna stand or sit down?”

Eddie stares at your glossy mouth as you talk, down to your low cut top that exposes the swells of your chest, and lower to your short skirt that will most likely rise up if the barest hint of a breeze passes you by.

“I, uh, I think I’ll sit,” he says, lowering himself to the bench. He gulps when he’s face to face with your boobs, your nipples straining against your shirt.

Yeah, he thinks as his cock stirs awake, sitting down was the smartest choice.

“Wait,” he grabs his jacket and dumps it in front of him. “For– for your knees. So the leaves don’t hurt you,” he explains when he sees the confused look on your face.

Your heart swells inside your chest. You have to clutch it to make sure it doesn’t burst from the seams. “That’s so sweet!” you cry and give him a quick peck on the cheek before kneeling between his legs.

You shuffle until you’re in a comfortable position, caressing his thighs gently when you’re done. “It’s super comfy, Eddie. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he exhales, watching in anticipation as you unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans. He helps you out by raising his hips, pulling down his boxers himself just enough to get his cock out.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh, wow.”

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet but it’s still an impressive sight, barely thicker than it’s longer and decorated with two cute veins on either side that lead to the pink tip. Your favourite colour.

You reach forward to touch him but he shifts back awkwardly, shoulders drawn up. “Sorry about the mess,” he says, more pink coating his cheeks. If he keeps this up you’re going to fall in love. “I didn’t think I'd be getting blowed during a deal so, uh, y’know… housekeeping missed a week.”

He’s embarrassed, you realise, catching up to the misunderstanding. About his… pubic hair? You laugh internally, how dumb is this boy?

“I don’t care about that, dummy,” you keep stroking his inner thigh, now touching his skin. He’s so warm.

Your honesty is so clear in your eyes that it helps him relax. Your hand hovers above his mound and only touches him when he nods shakily, petting it softly. Your eyes light up with happiness and god, Eddie loves that shine on you. “I think it’s super hot, actually. Kinda wish my boyfriend kept it like this.”

Eddie sighs as you litter warm kisses around the base. His dick twitches when your nose bumps against it. “He doesn’t?”

He doesn’t know why he asks, but he’s curious. So very curious to know what you see in that asshole, what it is exactly that Eddie’s missing. And maybe, just maybe, he feels a burst of proudness when you shake your head with a sad pout.

Eddie: 1

Asshole boyfriend: 0

Your kisses move upwards, your lips pressing sweetly all around his cock and your tongue tracing the veins. Eddie is practically vibrating with anticipation, his hands hovering on either side of your head like he doesn’t know if he can touch you.

“You can touch me, Eddie,” you mumble against his length, the vibrations sending a shiver down Eddie’s spine. “You can do whatever you want. Here–”

He swallows down the whine of despair that threatens to come out of his throat when you pull away, has to bite his lip to stay quiet when you take off your top and your tits fall out.

You take his hands and press them to your chest. “Feel them,” you guide his fingers so he can squeeze them, letting out a breathy moan in response. Encouraged, Eddie does it again, this time by himself, and sneaks out of your hold to twist your nipples. “S-soft, aren’t they?”

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he corrects.

You swallow harshly, the praise and Eddie’s eyes glued to your boobs creating a gentle warmth inside you. “I, uh, thought you might’ve wanted something pretty to look at. Trees can get a little boring. A-and you can use them as stress balls, too! Just anything y’want, really…” You shake your scattered head and grip him once more, Eddie cursing from your sudden movement. “I’m gonna suck you now, ‘kay?”

“Whenever you want, sweetheart.”

Something in the tone of his voice makes your thighs clench together.

You purse your lips and dribble some spit onto the tip, spreading the rivulettes around with firm strokes. Eddie’s breathing hardens, and when you finally wrap the soft cushions of your mouth around the head and suckle on it like the lollipops you’re always munching on, it’s like he’s stopped breathing all together.

“Shit,” he curses, the feel of your wet tongue swirling around turning his brain into mush. He can’t think straight, not when he looks down and sees you slobbering all over him, slurping loudly as your head bobs up and down enthusiastically.

“Holy fuck, that feels so good.” You’re fighting back your gag reflex, he can feel it– your throat contracting around him as you try your best to fight off the urge to throw up, desperate to keep him snug inside your mouth. The spasms cause his head to fall back, the grip on your tits tightening until you’re whimpering.

You’re a sputtering mess when you pull away, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest, which is panting with the effort to relieve your burning lungs. You keep stroking him, though, your fist gliding with ease thanks to all the drool you left on him.

“Look what you did to me,” Eddie says, eyes glued to the tip that oozes precum like a leaky faucet. You follow one of the pearly white drops on its path down to his balls and, never having been a wasteful person, lick it up.

Eddie groans the feeling of your soft tongue kitten licking his heavy balls. “Do that again,” he begs, hands leaving your chest to keep you down where you are, pressing you against his base. You’re overwhelmed with all things Eddie: his scent, his taste, the sounds he makes as you plop both sacks into your mouth and suck them.

Eddie slumps back against the table, the sharp edge digging itself into his back but he doesn’t care. He’s spewing curses and the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. “Oh god, you feel how full they are? How full of cum they are for you? Never got this fucking needy for anyone, I swear to fucking Ozzy or- shit, I don’t know. Feels like I’m gonna explode.”

There aren’t many things that make you as wet as having a cock in your mouth and the evidence is clear in your panties, a string of slick stretching when you pull them to the side to play with your clit. You roll Eddie’s balls in your mouth, press two fingers into your dripping hole in search of relief. The reaction is immediate: a cute little mewl ripping from your chest thanks to the knowledge that your fingers are sticky with his cum and your spit.

You press your face further into his groin and sigh in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering as you pump and curl your fingers. With a kiss yo each of his balls, you lave your tongue on the underside of his cock, flicking the tip over his slit so you can embed his salty taste in your mouth.

“Oh shit, are you touching yourself?” His voice gets higher from the surprise and the arousal, something rabid growing in his stomach. He combs back your hair so he can see your eyes. “That’s– that’s so hot. You have no idea how fucking hot it is.”

He can’t look away from you. Wants to burn the image of your mouth stuffed full and your teary eyes and your lips stretched wide as you try to give him your best smile. Your nipples are grazing the rough fabric of his jeans, your tits bouncing up and down as you drool all over him.

He doesn’t think he can last much longer, not when you touch him so good and sound so pretty and he knows he’s the reason you’re so desperately fucking your own fingers. It’s then that the wet heat of your mouth envelops him again, your cheeks hollowing in a suction motion.

All hell breaks loose.

He thinks he’s burning up, he has to be. His skin is hot and sweaty, his mind delirious and he can’t keep himself from spewing the first thoughts that come to mind. “I bet that little pussy is beautiful. Sweet too. It’s– It’s gotta be, with how fucking pretty you are. How sweet you always are to me. Always so nice to me, laughing at my awful jokes. Even if your idiotic boyfriend is around. Goddamit,” he clutches the bench beneath him, eyes screwed shut. “I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. Where- Where do you want it? In that tight throat, that pretty face? Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You pull away with a lewd popping sound, Eddie’s eyes rolling back. “My face, please. Want you to make me pretty,” you say breathlessly.

Your inner walls flutter at the sight of Eddie losing himself in his orgasm. He’s always been pretty but now, with his lips raw bitten, his hair a wild mess from running his hand through it, his face flushed and his shirt sticking to his sweaty chest? He’s beautiful, gorgeous, every synonym in the dictionary.

You await with an open mouth and the second the first spurts of his cum hit your cheek, you’re cumming yourself, movements stuttering and thighs closing in on your wrist. Some of the spurts enter your mouth directly and you gulp them down without hesitation. Others drip down your forehead and cheekbones before they touch your parted lips, your tongue darting out to collect them.

“Come here.” He grabs you by the back of your neck and leans forward to kiss, not even caring that you’re covered in him. His nose presses against your cheek as he swallows down your whiny moans, tasting himself on your tongue.

He’ll blame the mushyness on his post-orgasmic bliss, not worried about anything when you’re switching his deep kisses for sweet little pecks that could make his knees buckle.

“Oh!” you exclaim when you notice the clump of white on the tip of Eddie’s nose. You swipe it off with your thumb and lick it up, not even worrying about the state of your own. “So, uh, I read that cum is like this super amazing facial… maybe we could do it again sometime?”

Oh, bless your silly little heart.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #bimbo!reader

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vintgedoll · 2 months

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you left me at the train station. — simon riley, crush series.

crushing on younger! simon would include :

୨୧ ... your bedroom was his safe haven. sometimes, it was messy with pleated skirts, spilled nail polish, and empty soda cans covering the floor and sure, he hated it, but he felt guilty when it was clean - everything had its designated spot and simon felt like he didn't belong yet his own things found their way on your desk, in your closet, his sneakers even found home on the shoe rack by your bedroom door.

୨୧ ... new tights and a bare face when you didn't want to go home right after your part-time job, working at some shitty gas station ten minutes away from your brick townhouse. so, you would go and knock on the door and pray his dad wasn't home or that someone else would at least open the door. sat on the swings of your local park. when you feel confident enough, you told him things you had never told anyone. "even if you decide that you hate me one day in the future, never tell anyone this." you pleaded with him the first time. "why would i ever hate you?"

୨୧ ... staring at the ceilings when you held him in bed with his head on your chest, an act that left you with a quickened heart rate and colored face. if you were at his house, the ceiling would be stippled and cracked. his room wasn't unloved - far from it, actually. his family didn't have much and you quickly understood his room was loved and looked after, unlike the rest of his house.

୨୧ ... piggyback rides whenever you asked him to walk you home from parties you'd been out to. you were always tipsy and complaining, asking him to carry you. sliver eyeshadow and ripped fishnets under frayed black shorts, your cheek against his shoulder. you always asked him to run away with you, leave manchester - maybe even england - behind. "we could get an apartment, it'd be ours and we could decorate it however we wanted." he never paid much attention to your ramblings but the thought of spending the rest of your life with him was something you could only hope for, so why not ask when all your confidence was based on liquor?

୨୧ ... if he went to bed early or his father got to the phone before him and hung it up, you had to walk on your own, black jeans and beaded bracelets while trying to remember his address with your arms crossed. "twenty-five, twenty-six..." squinting at the house numbers while mumbling. when you found your way, you stood on the outdoor ac unit, knocking on his window. "can i come in?" it was asked before he could even open the window halfway, staring at him with a sluggish grin.

୨୧ ... bruises you run your fingers over and bloodied bandages you'd change for him. "your dad?" he never responded so you stopped asking. early mornings of sitting on the porch and helping him after getting the med kit from the family bathroom, the silence only being broken by your occasional sniffling from the cold. lilac and baby pink was your style and you treated him with the same softness as your color palette.

୨୧ ... using him as your human notepad whenever you were out with him. "palm." turned into a heads up, your glitter pen already piercing against his hand before he could even blink as wrote down numbers, addresses, even tab amounts you owed. "i'm preparing you for tattoos so you won't be a baby in the chair." you always joked.

୨୧ ... all it took was one bad day for an impulse to guide you to the train station. it was two a.m. and the last train to london left in five minutes. it all happened so fast and he barely processed any of it until you were buying the tickets, your left hand holding his right. the ceiling lights flickered and there was a blue hue coming from the train windows and open doors, purple graphic liner and lip gloss. "we shouldn't." you squeezed his hand. "of course we should." you scoffed, smiling. he let you drag him all the way to the train doors before he finally stopped. who would protect his mom? he was afraid of what his dad would do if he saw he was gone. you had gone back and forth, the overhead announcer telling the few remaining bystanders the train would leave in one minute. your throat tight, you set down your bag and let go of his hand. "i love you, okay? i love you a lot and i hate everyone but you, so just please come with me." but simon shook his head. you weren't gonna get off and he wasn't gonna get on, so you left him. standing on his sneakers, you went to kiss him, lips just barely touching and simon wished you did but neither of you closed the space. rather, you hugged him with a kiss on his cheek, lip tint and glossy material lingering. you grabbed your bag and without looking back, without a goodbye, you got on the train. you left him there in the cold, humid train station at two in the morning.

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare ii #modern warfare ii x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #divider credit to hyelita!

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viking-raider · 11 months

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Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson smut #syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #Syverson/You #Syverson/Reader #Sand Castle #Fluff #Angst #Sy's Therapy Barn #Sy's Therapy Barn *Fic*

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lilacmingi · 6 months

Text

FLOWERS IN YOUR HAIR

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Yoongi x fem reader

Word count: 840

Note: Another drabble that’s a product of me staying up late a couple nights ago lol. Also my first BTS drabble on Tumblr! How exciting! I thought my first BTS imagine here would be a repost from Wattpad but I got hit with 2 AM inspiration and wrote something new!

The warm and gentle breeze gently caressed your skin, sending strands of your hair floating errantly about. The outdoor conditions were perfectly ideal; from the puffy clouds that graciously covered the sun from time to time to give you a break from its bright rays to the comfortable temperature that was neither too hot nor too cold. In your lap lied Yoongi, your boyfriend, whom you hadn't been able to spend much time with lately due to his hectic schedule. Then again, what could you expect from dating a member of the world's biggest K-pop group?

His long, raven hair was splayed across your thighs as he lie completely motionless, his eyes closed while he enjoyed the comfortable breeze. Though the vast and spacious park you were at was stunning and overlooked the river, your gaze was fixed on Yoongi and the way his dark lashes rested delicately on his round cheeks. Gosh, he was perfect. He had the cutest button nose and the prettiest pink lips that were soft as silk and as plush as pillows. Just looking at them brought fond memories to the forefront of your mind. Memories of Yoongi showering your neck with a lavish amount of kisses or placing his pliant lips to your shoulder in the early morning (or afternoon) hours to wake you up from a blissful sleep.

Your hand moved on its own accord up to the crown of Yoongi's head where you gingerly combed your nails through his hair, gently grazing his scalp. His closed eyelids fluttered while he released a long sigh at your delicate and loving ministrations. Seeing his positive reaction, you continued to brush through his hair with your fingers, gliding them through the shiny strands that felt like ribbons between your digits. When Yoongi first started growing his hair out, you showered him in praises and compliments, never letting a day go by where you didn't tell him how much you adored the longer length on him. Playing with his hair became a regular occurrence and when it was long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail, you spent a few nights tying his locks up into pigtails for fun.

"I love your hair." The sentence slipped past your lips without another thought.

Yoongi's signature raspy chuckle reached your ears before a quiet, "I know. You tell me that almost every day."

"That's because I love it so much." You told him, spotting a dainty, nearby white flower sticking up from the grass.

Plucking the blossom from the ground, you tucked it into your boyfriend's hair, smiling softly to yourself. He didn't seem to notice, so you picked another one, and another, and another.

You had successfully placed six flowers into Yoongi's hair when he spoke up.

"Baby, what are you doing?" His deep voice rumbled lowly from below you.

"Nothing." You murmured, discreetly slipping one more blossom into his hair.

You always thought it was impossible for Yoongi to be any more ethereal than he already was, however, seeing him right now, you were proved wrong. The tiny, white flowers contrasted with his black hair, sitting prettily about his head, making him look like a fairy.

Deciding he needed just one more flower, you leaned over slightly to snag another bloom from the ground, sliding the thin stem into his hair. Yoongi flinched slightly at the ticklish sensation on his scalp.

"Seriously. What are you doing?" He inquired with a light chortle, bringing one of his hands up to his hair, his brows furrowing when he felt the delicate petals against his palm.

"Ah, Yoongi!" You huffed. "At least let me get a picture first before you ruin it."

"Are those flowers?"

"Yes." You moved his hand away, fishing your phone from your back pocket. "Now close your eyes again. I wanna take a picture."

"Why?" He chuckled, doing as you said while he spoke.

"Because you're pretty."

Yoongi fought back a smile, trying his best to keep his composure while you snapped photos. He couldn't ignore the way his heart swelled with an immense feeling of adoration for you. There was never a moment where you weren't complimenting him or making sure he knew just how much he meant to you and how lucky you were to have him in your life. Though he's always felt that it was the other way around. If he didn't have you, he would probably lose him mind. Especially since you were often there for him when he was feeling overwhelmed from work or frustrated from lack of inspiration.

"Okay." You smiled. "Done."

"How do they look?"

"Like lock screen material."

"Lemme see."

Presenting your phone, you allowed Yoongi to scroll through the ten or so pictures you took of him. He smiled softly to himself before handing your phone back.

"My pretty boy." You gushed, tracing down the bridge of his nose.

Yoongi took hold of your hand, pulling it to his lips where he placed a kiss to the back of it.

"My pretty girl."

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

#bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenarios #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic

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fairy-hub · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢; “𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭” & “𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! brat!reader, outdoor sex, teacher/student, soft knife play (no cutting or blood), sanemi is rude af but still soft spot for you he will deny having, light praise (he can't help it you're gorgeous babe), light spanking

Laying flat on the spongy moss with only your hands-free. Sanemi sits on your thighs, with a firm grasp on your hair, holding a knife to your neck. The submissive position is more of a turn-on than it should be. Clouding your thoughts with lewd fantasy.

He lightly drags the knife across your neck. "You're dead I win!" You moan, sucking in a shaky breath. You're about to explain yourself when Sanemi drags the knife's tip down your side.

He grinds his cock on your squishy cheeks. "You're wriggling so much, moaning like a bitch in heat underneath me." He pulls away, keeping your thighs pinned and slapping your ass.

You speak with your pussy, "Fuck me at knifepoint, use my cunt as your reward for winning. I can take it any way you want, need your cock." Heating floods your body, biting into your bottom lip. He drags the tip of the knife along the curve of your butt cheek.

Sanemi slips the tip of the blade underneath your tight shorts. "Wouldn't that be a reward for you too?" He slices your shorts off. "Do you think you deserve this? After your piss-poor sparring job." Ripping your shorts off the rest of the way.

You furrow your brows, huffing, "I worked hard training! I'm getting better! Maybe a little encouragement to work harder would be a better way of teaching." You freeze when Sanemi glides the tip slowly between your wet lips.

He scoffs, "No panties for your beautiful wet slutty cunt?" He turns the blade flat, rubbing your clit. "Should have expected that from a perverted brat." Your hot cunt clenches from the cool metal.

One quick move from Sanemi is all it would take. But the utter trust you have in the man pinning you down prevents you from being scared.

You smirk. "Fuck it outta me then." Sanemi pulls the knife away, and seconds later he groans,

"You're lucky you taste so fuckin' good. I have something to do after this. "I want you naked on my bed with your legs open for me to bury my frustrations. We'll see who outlasts who." He moves to the side, rolling you over onto your back.

He stands up, pushing his baggy pants down. Your soaking wet cunt throbbing at the glorious sight of Sanemi standing naked in the light of the setting sun. His veiny, thick hard cock is wet with pre-cum.

"Your cock versus my sass might become my new favorite fight. But who knows you might not know how to use your fat cock." You spread your leg when Sanemi kneels in front of you. He grabs his cock, smacking your plush lips and fat clit.

Sanemi lines himself up, parting your wet lips, and nudging your clenching hole. "Right now, I don't give a fuck if you cum. If you cum, you cum, if you don't, not my problem." He grabs your left thigh, pinning it to your side with his weight.

He uses his strength Sanemi roughly ruts his hips forward into your tight soaking cunt. "I can see the beautiful face you make when cumming later tonight. Because I know you're going to want more." Your body jolts, your cunt clenching, Sanemi trembles above you, groaning,

"This isn't a reward for you. It's mine for having to put up with your annoying ass all damn day." Sanemi's pace is steady, yet harsh.

His cock head hitting your spongy cervix. "Shit you feel too damn good, going to make me cum too fast." Your sink your nails into his forearm, splaying your fingers on his sculpted abs. Which flexes beneath your palm with every quick, rough thrust.

You whine, "Fuck! Fuck!" You're scrambling to comprehend the intense, mind-breaking pleasure. Your toes curl from the delicious burn of your tight unprepared cunt stretching for his, fat cock.

He grabs the knife, slicing through your compressional top. "Scream louder for me, princess let the whole damn forest know you're getting fucked." Lightly pressing the knife's tip to your chin, Sanemi kisses your forehead.

"Say red I'll stop, take you to mine, and clean you up." He leans back, dragging the knife down your neck, over your collarbone. "You're doing so good taking my fat cock in your poor little cunt."

strawberry brat all works

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astrophileous · 7 months

Note

Hey hey, it's me~

If I could, I would like to request a Derek x Reader or Spencer x Reader, how you feel it better. Maybe where the Reader is someone working with kids (in a nursery, childcare center, if possible ? If not, no problem at all). I wonder how they would react with someone like this 😇

Bonus point if the Reader is short 🙈

I'm weak for your fluff stories, and any of you works if I'm being honest so a fluffy one would be nice.

Again, no pressure if you don't feel writing this. Congratulations for your almost 1k, you'll get them I'm sure of it ❤️

Have a wonderful day sweetie 🌸

val, my love, tysm for the request and the kind words 🥺💞 I'm so happy you entrusted me with this request! Idk if this is what you were looking for, but I hope you're happy with it ❤️ (p.s. you can just send more requests if you weren't satisfied with this one lol)

Warning(s): derek morgan x fem!reader, stalker, break-in, typical cm stuff, swearing (?)

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Seeing all the flashing red-and-blue lights outside the building he had grown to know intimately for the past couple of months was perhaps the closest thing to a heart attack Derek Morgan would ever experience in his life.

Derek ignored the shouts of his name from his fellow teammates as he ducked beneath the yellow police tape, along with the curious glances people threw his way as he stalked towards the building with purpose. Once inside, he thoroughly checked every room he passed by, stopping only when he spotted the familiar figure sitting on one of the chairs in the pantry.

"Derek? What are you—"

You didn't get a chance to finish your question before Derek was enveloping you in a bear hug.

A wave of calm instantly flooded over his entire being. Derek buried his face deeper into you, breathing in the smell of your body wash and the addictive tang of your perfume. Your own arms wrapped around his muscular frame once the shock evaporated, letting the warmth of Derek's body seep into you as you listened to the rhytmic beating of his heart.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked once he could finally find his voice again. "Did you get hurt? He didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"No, Derek. I'm fine," you convinced him as you pulled away. "I called 911 right away. He broke through the back door but ran as soon as the police arrived."

Derek rubbed his palms up and down your arms, an appeasing gesture for you as well as a reassuring one for him. He needed to make sure that you were fine.

"Good. That's good. You did the right thing, sweetheart."

"All thanks to you, Derek." You smiled. "I wouldn't have known what to do if you didn't warn me beforehand. We're all safe because of you."

Derek's heart sat fifty pounds heavy inside his ribcage. Before he could pull you back towards his chest, an interrupting cough sounded from behind him. Derek turned around to see Rossi standing in the doorway.

"Everything alright in here?" the older agent asked.

"Everything's fine," Derek replied. "Rossi, this is (Y/N). She works here."

Rossi wasn't blind. He knew you meant something more to Derek despite the younger man introducing you as an employee of the daycare center where all of you were standing in. Nonetheless, Rossi made no mention of it as he shook your hand and offered you his name.

"Are you the one who called 911, Miss? Can you tell us anything about the man who did this?"

"Yeah, I did. I've told pretty much everything to the officer over there," you said, pointing to the uniformed policeman standing outside in the hallway. "It was before lunch, so the kids were having outdoor playtime. One of the kids, George, suddenly came crying to me about someone being hurt. His hands were red. It looked like blood at first, but after a closer look, I realized that it was paint. That's when I told everyone to gather inside."

Rossi jotted down everything you said in his little notepad. "And that's when the man barged in?"

"Yeah. He tried to go through the front door at first and became aggressive when he noticed it was locked. I called 911 after that. He just barely managed to break down the back door when the police finally got here."

"And then he fled the scene," Rossi concluded. You nodded your head in confirmation. "Same MO as the school and the orphanage. This is definitely our guy."

"Did you happen to get a look at his face, sweetheart?" Derek asked.

"I, uh, I think so? But everything happened so fast, I don't know if my memory is reliable."

"You should still sit down with our sketch artist, Miss. We'll take any help we can get," Rossi responded.

For the next hour, Derek proceeded to investigate the crime scene with his team while you sat inside with a sketch artist who brought your hazy memory of the perpetrator's face to life. Derek eventually reunited with you again on the front porch of the daycare, approaching just in time to see you bidding a goodbye to one of the kids you were caring for.

"Can I get a one? And a two! A three? How about a four? Now a five! And a high five!" The little girl in front of you laughed wholeheartedly as she gave you a high-five. Derek's chest constricted at the sight. "Good job, Bee! Now, go to your mother. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay!" Bee exclaimed, throwing herself into your arms to give you one last hug. "I love you, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"I love you, too, honey."

Your eyes never strayed from Bee as the little girl dashed towards her mother. You looked up to see Derek staring at you from across the porch, the tilt of your lips stretching even wider when you caught sight of his face.

"Hey, you."

"Hi, beautiful." Derek smiled before taking your hand in his. "Are you ready to go? C'mon, let's get you home."

"Wait, you're taking me? But you're on the job!"

"The team can survive a couple of hours without me. 'Sides, there's no way I'm letting you take the bus all by yourself after what happened here."

Your insides melted into a goo at Derek's statement. You wanted so desperately to kiss the living daylights out of him at that moment, but knowing that there were so many prying eyes around—including those belonging to his team—you decided to settle for a quick peck on his knuckles instead.

Ten minutes later, you found yourself sitting inside a standard FBI SUV with Derek driving next to you. The two of you arrived at your building in no time, where Derek insisted on walking you all the way up to your front door before offering to stay with you for the rest of the afternoon.

"I'm telling you, Derek, I'm fine! You should get back to your team."

"But, what if—"

"No what ifs, Mister. I'm okay. Besides, if anything happens, I will call you immediately."

"You promise?"

"Promise. You have nothing to worry about," you assured. "Now, go! Before I kick your sexy butt out of here."

Derek's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You think my butt is sexy?"

"Go, Derek!"

"Fine, fine! I'm going!"

You turned towards the apartment door to unlock it, but just as you were about to step inside, the sound of your name stopped you in your tracks.

"Forgot something."

You yelped in surprise when Derek pressed his lips to yours without warning. The kiss was over too soon before you could react, but the ferocity alone was still enough to send you soaring high towards the stratosphere.

"D-Derek?"

The man grinned after seeing your dumbfounded expression. "I'm going, sweetheart. I'll see you soon, 'aight?"

And just like that, Derek Morgan was gone, leaving your entire world whirling over the remaining taste of his lips on yours.

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writerpetals · 3 days

Note

Hyunjin from Stray Kids please 🫶🏻🥰

okay but imagine him when he's in his black suit with the bowtie for cartier cause that's what i did! :_:

His smile shines bright beneath the summer’s moon. He laughs and sings along to the song he’s currently dancing to with the flower girl at the wedding you’re both attending. It’s an old friend from college you flew in to see get married to her high school sweetheart, happy to support her on her special night and be one of her bridesmaids. Your lilac dress flows in the soft breeze as you dance happily with two of the other bridesmaids, but your attention always ends up on him.

He’s a friend of the groom that you met years ago and only shared a few conversations with. He’s always been polite and kind to you as you made small talk to fill the awkward silences whenever fate would leave the two of you together. He’s unbelievably handsome, you’ve always known it, but tonight he looks simply divine in his bow tie and matching black waistcoat with the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up. You can’t help but to stare at the moment, until one of the girls elbows you with a grin. Quickly, you turn away, but not before catching his eye to make it clear to him you can appreciate a beautiful man in a suit.

You hear his rumbling laughter over the music suddenly, snapping your head to see him lift the cute little flower girl up and begin to spin. Your heart soars at the sight, smiling wide and finding the both of them adorable. You’re staring again, but your friends don’t pull you back to reality this time. They allow your gaze to linger, motions of dancing slowing as they giggle beside you.

“Just ask him to dance, girl.”

“He’s such a sweetheart. Seriously, just ask!”

They’re always supportive, but where you would get the confidence to ask the most handsome man here to dance, you aren’t sure. They think too highly of you, but your staring gives you away once more. He catches your eye again, this time whispering something to the little girl before she’s running off and he’s walking toward you. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, barely noticing your two friends stepping away from you just before he reaches your spot on the outdoor dance floor. Sparkly fairy lights illuminate his face as he comes near, realizing he’s way more handsome up close than you remember. His hair is slicked back with a few loose strands fallen over his face and there’s a grin on his plush lips.

“Care to join a lonely fella for a dance?” With the question, he extends his hand out to you.

“Lonely?” Ever so slowly, you slip your palm into his, feeling as he wraps his fingers around and gives a gentle squeeze. Then he guides you closer to him, leading the way as your steps fall into rhythm with his own.

“Well, it would be nice to have a dance partner closer to my height,” he begins with a grin. “My back was hurting from leaning down.” You can’t help the giggle that fills the space between the two of you. Being this close, you take in his handsome features and the woodsy scent of his cologne. He’s simply breathtaking, and your heart races from being pressed against him as he holds you.

“Yeah I can see how that would be difficult.” You bite your lip, unsure of what to say to him. You’ve always been friendly with one another, but you’ve never been this close.

“You know what else is difficult?” The question earns a raised brow from you. “Seeing you look this beautiful all night and not dancing with me until now.”

His words catch you off guard. Your mouth falls open, then shuts, and then opens again, unable to form words until he’s chuckling. “Oh, I, um… thank you.” He spins you around and pulls you even closer when you come back to him. “You, um, look great, too.” Your cheeks swell with embarrassing warmth. You’re not used to someone being so direct.

A proud smile crosses his lips. “Next time, don’t leave me waiting so long, sweetheart.” His words fall to a whisper, only wanting them to stay between the two of you. “I don’t think I can be as patient if it happens again.” His tone is light and playful, but you still lose the confidence to look him in the eye.

“I wasn’t aware you wanted to dance with me.” As you speak, you move along to the music playing softly as he leads you. His grip on you tightens just a bit, causing your heart to race even faster.

“I guess I’m not very good at flirting after all these years, huh?” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “Guess I just have to be more direct next time.”

Direct? Next time? He’s left you speechless, completely unaware he’s been flirting with you this whole time. You’ve known him for a while, but have never been close to him. You only meet when your friends are throwing a party or it’s one of their birthdays. Even then, you mostly keep the conversations simple, so the fact that you missed his previous advances is like a punch to the gut.

“Though, I will say I’m a little nervous around someone so beautiful, so maybe I missed the mark.” He leans in closer as he speaks until his mouth is right next to your ear. “So let me try again. Would you like to dance with me?”

You brow furrows, confusion rising in your features. “We’re already dancing.”

“Then, I guess there’s nothing left but to go on a date.” He shrugs casually, pulling away from you with a grin on his lips. You can’t hide your own smile. He’s as charming as he is handsome, so there’s no way you could turn him down.

“Well, since we’re already dancing, then I suppose I will go on a date with you.” Playfully, you accept his offer before he’s spinning you once again, both of you smiling bright beneath the moonlight.

#drabble game #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #hyunjin #stray kids

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just-some-random-blogger · 10 months

Text

When We Cross

There are those that prefer travelling with a partner, be it for companionship or their inability to ask for ketchup by themselves. To Pedro, that person was you.

Pedro Pascal x Reader | >700 | cw: fem!reader, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: im trying a new layout for the description and i cant tell if its ugly or im just too used what i normally do. oh well

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @amis-love-bugs @top1bbgloak @sunfairyy @djarinsstuff @mooniesyubi @pedropascalgirly @mmmmandoz @multifandom-fangirl4

You know what would be really nice? A sundae.

Pedro makes a mental note to bring this up after he's gotten to the meetup place.

He makes a sound as he walks down the block. It's a balmy day, nearing the borderline of sweltering. It was manageable to him though. He huffs as he thinks of how sweaty you'd probably be.

Pedro makes a face at the people walking in front of him.

Can these people walk any slower. Like, bro? I've got places to be.

He adjusts the straps of his bags as he overtakes the people in front of him.

He huffs as he reaches the end of the street. A grumble leaves his lips when the pedestrian light goes red the moment his feet touch the curb. The people he overtook are now behind him. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

Pedro brings his hands into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and takes a moment to look at his lockscreen. It's you and him. He can't help the way his lips curve at the sight of it. He really liked this photo. He liked that dress on you and the way you did your hair. He also liked the fact you were licking his cheek. Weirdo.

He licks his lips and tells himself not to think about that day too much, lest he combust on the sidewalk.

His phone dings in his hand: BRO WHERE ARE YOU?

Pedro presses the message quickly replies: almost there :P

Another ding: ?? you mean 😛

Another ding: also HURRY THE FUCK UP

Pedro does not reply and crosses the street instead. As he clutches his bag, his mind drifts to the healthy amount of times you and him crossed the street. He imagines the straps were your fingers in this moment. He feels fuzzy. It's not the same though. Why did you have to be so far away?

He weaves through the crowd and passes a bunch of people seated in the outdoor tables of a café, laughing their heads off. His eyes linger for a moment then he cringes.

Was everyone that loud in cafés? Us too? Geez.

Pedro makes sure his bag doesn't bump into a street light. In doing so, he turns right and catches sight of a drugstore. He thinks of the last time you went to a drugstore together. You raided their first aid section and bought all the cartoon band aids. And well, to be fair, there were only 3 boxes.

He chuckles to himself as he thinks about how you wore a whole purple band aid on your cheek as a pimple patch.

"Cute," he mutters as he watches where he steps on the pavement.

Finally, he's arrived.

He walks into the mall and immediately spots the impeccably impatient woman pacing around just by the entrance.

Pedro walks over to her, "I'm here. I'm here. I'm sorry it took so long. These stupid fucks walk so slow."

"Yeah, it's totally not your fault that you woke up late at-"

"It was five minutes!"

"HA! You mean five hours!"

They begin to argue in Spanish. Eyes are rolled. Lips are pressed in annoyance.

"Whatever!" Pedro finally sasses, raising a hand.

She sasses back, "ugly," she grabs her carry on luggage and they begin to walk off. She motions to the department store on her left, "you should buy a bar."

Pedro glances where she points. He sees the chocolates on display then eyes her hotly.

She raises a brow and shrugs, "a reason to call."

"Quit it," he blurts.

"What?"

Pedro begins to get annoyed.

"You clearly need one, Pedrito."

"I said q uit it."

She groans, "just do it. If you didn't want to, you'd have changed your wallpaper by now."

"I did."

She scoffs and raises her palm in expectation.

Pedro turns away from his annoying sibling. He regrets loving her so much. If he didn't, maybe he'd have bolted and left her all by herself.

"Gimme it. Now," his sister snarls.

He rubs his moustache. She punches his arm.

He releases a breath. He gives her his phone even with the knowledge it will be extremely bad for him.

She opens it once its in her hands. She stops in her tracks when she sees the photo. Pedro manages two steps before he realizes this. He turns to his baby sister and she pouts.

She lowers the phone. Her brother really did change the wallpaper. It used to be a photo of you, now it's a photo of you and him. "Pedro..."

Pedro waits for her to say something more. She only frowns and repeats, "ay, Pedro."

He shrugs, " 's what it is."

She hands him back his phone. They keep walking.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal crackfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal angst #pedro fic #pedro fanfic #pedro x reader #pedro angst #pedro fluff

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thesightstoshowyou · 3 months

Note

I....I want...period sexxx with the evil bug dilf...please... *offers a tribute*

Damn, I literally cannot believe I haven’t written this before now. Asa is perfect for period sex. Tribute accepted.

Also requested:

Let’s combine ‘em.

Downpour

Asa Emory (The Collector) x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon elements, established “relationship,” period sex and blood obviously, cunnilingus, D/s dynamics, degradation, Asa doesn’t know what aftercare is, yes I’m obsessed with that jean jacket and work pants outfit he wears at the end of the Collection.

The sky opens up a block from home. Ferocious rainfall soaks you to the bone in seconds and collects in the plastic grocery bag you carry. You jog up the sidewalk as fast as you dare in the torrent, your boots slapping through puddles that wet your jeans until they cling and chill your flesh.

You almost don’t see the truck through the downpour, but when you spot the old Ford parked in front of your house, you skid to a stop, rain all but forgotten. Heart now hammering frantically in your chest, you squint and find the cab empty. A glance at your porch does not reveal any hooded figures awaiting your arrival.

He’s already inside, then.

How he keeps getting in is beyond you. There are two deadbolts on your front door, you don’t keep a spare key hidden outside, and you are meticulous about locking all your windows before you leave for work. Still, this does nothing to deter him. If you asked how he does it, you’re certain he wouldn’t tell you. Your “relationship” does not involve this kind of conversation.

Swallowing thickly, you tentatively take the last few steps up your front walk. The old porch stairs creak under your feet and your palm slips on the dripping handle when you twist. The front door swings open with a squeal.

He left it unlocked for you.

The noisy deluge outside quiets when you shut the door behind you. The inside of your home is near silent, save for the rain pummeling the shingles and the clock ticking on the wall. What you can see of your living room is illuminated by the warm glow from a single lamp, its soft light shining directly on the chair beneath it.

As you strip off your soaked coat and shoes, thick water droplets audibly splattering to the floor, your eyes locate the dark hair of the motionless man resting in the chair, his back to you. The slither of paper—pages turning in a book—is audible in the relative silence.

“You’re late,” his gravelly voice announces. He still doesn’t turn to you.

“Had to stop by the store,” you murmur, doing your best to keep the annoyance out of your tone. If you had known he was here, you could have let him know you’d be late. But, you have yet to even learn his phone number.

You say none of this, however, your gaze instead falling to the little bag now dripping onto the floorboards. The corner of the package within glistens in the low light, having met a similar sopping fate as the rest of you. How are you going to break the news to him that he came all this way for nothing?

“Uh, Asa��

Abruptly, Asa clears his throat and stands, the book in his hand dropping to the side table with a quiet thud. Reading glasses follow with a clatter. Your eyes trace his back and you see he is wearing a jean jacket and tan work pants, like one would wear while working outdoors. Field work must be part of his job at the University.

Finally, he turns to face you. The look smoldering in his dark eyes forces all the air from your lungs. Any speculation of who he is beyond what you know of him vanishes, replaced by the prickling of your skin. Broad shoulders nearly fill your narrow entryway as Asa stalks toward you. It takes all your remaining willpower not to shrink back against the door like a frightened animal. Christ, he scares you, but….

Your heart leaps into your throat when he drops his glittering gaze to the bag at your feet. At least now you won’t have to tell him. He’ll spot the package of pads and work out for himself that your time of the month has arrived, and then he’ll leave, thoroughly repulsed.

Asa’s chest rapidly expands in a quick inhale. Slowly, his gaze creeps back to yours. The room seems to lurch and your stomach drops from the intensity in his stare. That’s not disappointment you find in his eyes.

All at once, he invades your space and this time you do stumble back against the door. Warm, calloused palms slip under your top to possessively grasp your waist and his lips are inches from your own when you utter a breathy, “Wait, I’m on my—

The words die on your tongue when Asa draws back slightly. His predatory expression freezes you in place and the fingers on your waist dig irritably into your skin. Deep in your belly, heat blossoms until your thighs ache with want.

Yes, he scares you, but his uncanny ability to drive you wild with need overrides all fear.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he asks, his tone colder than ice.

Hastily, you shake your head. You squeak out a “No, Sir,” when Asa raises a scarred eyebrow. You’re going to end up with some new marks if you keep fucking up.

His jaw tenses before he dives back in to claim your mouth in a bruising kiss. He swallows your surprised gasp as his fingers deftly work your rain-soaked pants open. Asa startles you when he kneels and rips your pants and underwear off your legs with one, quick yank.

His impatience is palpable as he lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder and immediately dives in to drag his tongue along your bleeding slit. You choke on a cry, your fingers flying to his crown. They hover there, centimeters from digging into his hair and you thank whatever deity is watching over you that you hadn’t touched him. The punishment that would have earned you….

Asa sucks your clit into his mouth, his hum of approval derailing all thought. Your hands raise over your head to grip the transom frame for balance while his own hand presses against your chest, fingers splaying out to keep you still. He laps at you with fervor, like the scarlet dribbling down your thighs is the first meal he’s had in days. Your hips roll in time with his tongue, your moans rising in pitch as you inch closer and closer to the edge.

Hearing it in your voice and feeling it in the way your thighs quiver, Asa snaps out a strained, “Cum. Now.” You can’t even respond, your tongue losing its ability to form words when your eyes roll back in your head. Pleasure rolls through your belly, tidal waves of ecstasy.

“Fffffuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—t-thank you, thank you Sir,” you whisper through the haze, barely remembering your manners. Asa instantly jumps to his feet, fingers now tearing open his own pants. Across his mouth violent red is smeared, like a lion who just tore into a fresh kill.

For a moment, you are bewildered. You’ve never been with anyone who was willing to eat you out on your period, let alone with such unbridled enthusiasm. Indeed, he seems more eager than usual to engage in his weekly habit of fucking you stupid. The thought makes your toes curl.

You are not given long to ponder before Asa lifts you clean off your feet to pin you to the door with his body weight. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he grips handfuls of your ass and lines his cock up with your slippery entrance.

He surges forward, instantly burying himself to the hilt in your cunt. The resulting shriek is muffled by his shoulder. Your overfilled, overstretched muscles spasm and ache, your back arching in an attempt to ease the hurt.

Asa grunts and his teeth find your ear to coo, “Oh, did that hurt?” You can hear the smile in his voice, but can only respond with a strangled whine. Asshole—

Your knuckles blanch, such is the grip on his shirt when he viciously snaps his hips. A groan slips from your gritted teeth because, god it hurts, but you’re also certain you’ll die if he stops. Your slick hole, wetted by blood and arousal squelches with every sharp thrust and fills the entryway with the debauched sound of your need.

In your ear, Asa pants. Your lips find bare skin at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s difficult to kiss him with the wanton moans and mewls spilling unchecked from your mouth, so you just scream them into his flesh instead. Pain is a memory. Only mounting ecstasy remains.

“I think you like bleeding all over me,” Asa growls, his bared teeth set against your ear. His words send you barreling dangerously close to the precipice all at once, almost too fast to stop.

“Sir, p-please!” you cry, your voice tight, every muscle in your body seized to keep you from climaxing without permission.

A breathy chuckle greets your plea, followed by a snide, “Already?” When you squeal in desperation, he relents. “If you must.”

You careen off the peak, molten pleasure rippling through your gut and setting your skin ablaze. “Thank you, Sir,” leaves you as a relieved groan. Appreciation for his mercy takes top priority, after all.

Your blissful reprieve is short-lived; you realize too late that Asa is still rock hard within you. A yelp leaves your panting mouth when he rips his cock from your still twitching channel and all but drops you on the floor. You’re flipped onto your front, hips lifted, face smashed into wood by a wide palm on your cheek. He’s back inside you so quickly your dazed mind hardly registers the change.

Then, you’re screaming all over again as Asa hammers you into the floor. The wet slap of bloody skin reverberates off the narrow walls while your fingers scrabble for purchase along the floorboards. Your palms slip in puddles left behind by your drenched clothes, so Asa’s fingers dig into the meat of your hip to keep you in place.

He leans over you, his frame covering yours to growl near your ear, “We worked on this last week. Let’s see how much you retained. To whom to you belong?”

“Y-You, Sir!” you whimper.

“And what are you?”

“A-a—fuck—receptacle for S-Sir’s cum.”

He hums in response, his tone dripping with condescension. “So there is something going on in that empty little head.” You grit your teeth and whine, his words making you leak down your thighs despite their cruelty.

Much to your chagrin, Asa’s brand of mean is your drug of choice.

He straightens and begins to tense behind you, his pace never losing its ferocity. The twitching of his cock heralds the warmth that fills your cunt, but it’s the strained groan he utters that nearly makes you sob with appreciation. Asa’s vocalizations are so rare, each one seems like a gift from above.

You sigh and express your gratitude for his cum. When he slips from your battered slit, you slump into the sticky puddle of blood and spend that has formed on the floor. That’s a problem for the future, you decide. For now, you’ll catch your breath and bathe contentedly in the post-pleasure haze.

Silently, Asa stands and steps over you. Each boot fall rattles the wood on which your cheek still rests. You hear water running in the sink, then the rustling of clothing being righted. You wonder how much of a mess you made of those tan pants.

You roll on your side as he returns. Without a word, he strides past you and dons his raincoat, pulling the hood up over his head. Hinges squeal and the smell of rain billows into your entryway, carried on a cool breeze. He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

With a groan, you let your head fall back against the floor with a quiet thunk. Outside, a truck engine rumbles to life and roars off down the street. Now, there is silence once more, save for the ticking clock on the wall and the downpour rattling the shutters.

#this is my birthday present to myself and I’m sharing it with all of you #dont say I never did anything for you #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector 2009 #the collection #the collector x reader #thesightstoshowyou

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muldermuse · 5 months

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this isn’t finished but I wanted to post it for Xmas eve!!!! (Even though here it finishes soon). I will post the completed version soon!!!

This is part of the two sinners world

Gator has a Xmas present at readers house

18+ only!!! Mdni

Ok seeing Gator on Christmas Day is out of the question. He’s spending the day with Glenda and Roy reciting their favourite psalms and thanking the lord for a bountiful Christmas. Glenda goes all out at Christmas, it’s obviously her favourite holiday and she constantly updates her Facebook with pictures of a content looking Roy and an exhausted looking Gator. No doubt, Glenda will have made him a piece of her artwork and bought him some novelty socks. He’ll smile at her and press a kiss to her cheek but you rejoice in the knowledge that thoughts of your Christmas Eve are running through his head.

[sent at 13:30] You: got your Christmas present at my house. Door will be unlocked for when you finish at 6. I’ll be upstairs 🎁

[received at 13:42] Gator💩🐍: am i on the nice list?

[sent at 13:43] You: no. See you at 6 💋

***

His Christmas present is you- OBVIOUSLY. But it’s a version of you that Gator only really gets when he begs and even then, you don’t always give it him. He asks for this when you eat his ass or when he’s had a week of basically getting non stop shit from his daddy or Glenda.

He wants you to be in control and dominate him.

You’re wearing a red lace set with garters and pointy red heels. It’s nearly pitch black by the time Gator arrives. You’ve left on one lamp downstairs to guide him up but honestly he knows the layout of your home like the back of his hand. In the bedroom, your curtains are open with the twinkling of outdoor Christmas lights provide occasional flickers that illuminate your bed sheets. A cinnamon candle is glowing by the door and nearly blows out when Gator enters as dramatic as ever.

You’re sat at the end of the bed waiting for him and you smirk as you take in his expression- seemingly enthralled by your red look.

“Crawl to me, baby” your voice is low and by the way Gator drops to his knees without hesitation- you already know how tonight is going to go.

He’s slow in his movement, keeping eye contact with you as he crawls towards your open legs and stopping a few inches from your panties. His eyes are fixed on the damp spot on your red underwear and the shuddering breaths are filling the room. You run your hands through his slicked back hair as you try not to recoil at the unnatural feeling of brushing your nails through hair gel.

“Y’wanna taste?” He looks up at you with the most love sick eyes you’ve ever seen, he nods slowly as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip. You grip his hair in your hand as you push him into your panties, “make me cum with my panties still on baby- y’don’t deserve to taste properly just yet”. He groans as he pushes his face further into your pussy. He’s messy with it and you can feel his spit dripping down between your legs. It feels so good and the knowledge that he’s desperate to please you brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Take my panties off and make me cum on your tongue Gator, don’t let me down” you throw your head back on the bed as you feel Gator rip your panties down your legs and throw them across the room. He’s that desperate to make you cum he’s moaning into your pussy as he eats you out and you know he’s palming himself over his cargos. Your back arches as you clamp your thighs around Gator’s head and cry out as you cum.

He’s pressing hot kisses to your thighs as your pussy clenches around nothing, you can feel your breathing begin to regulate again as you come down from your high. Your hand smoothes over his ruffled hair, “that was so good Gator. You did such a good job…good to know you can do something right”. His smile drops at your final sentence. You stand on trembling legs and go to your closest to get the box that Gator both wants and dreads.

You can hear him kicking off his boots and unzipping his cargos.

“Did I tell you to get undressed?”

“No but uh- I thought…”

You softly kiss him, tasting the remnants of your cum on his plush lips. “Don’t think baby, I know how hard that can be for you. Just lie on the bed dressed how you are now- hands above your head”.

#gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fic #gator tillman smut #gator x reader #gator tillman #fargo fx #fargofx #fargo season 5 #fargoedit #fargo #roy tillman #joe keery x reader #joe keery smut #joe keery #gator tillman x fem!reader #two sinners works

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iwantedtoforgetyou · 7 months

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A VARIETY OF HARRY POTTER BOY IMAGINES

Love Confessions (silent, angry, etc)

Harry James Potter

It was a quarter past six, and the sun timidly emerged on the horizon.

You and Harry had quietly snuck out early, donning scarves around your necks and stolen hot chocolate from the great room.

Visible puffs of breath hung in the air as the two of you strolled through the courtyard.

"My glasses are fogging up," Harry half-laughed, a lopsided grin gracing his face—the kind of look you could never tire of.

"Here," you handed him your mug, deftly removing his glasses and wiping them with the sleeve of your sweater.

His gaze softened as he observed you, his chest aching for reasons beyond the cold.

A soft smile played on your lips as you returned the cleared glasses to his face.

"Perfect," you said, grinning.

Ronald Bilius Weasley

The fireplace crackled, releasing a puff of smoke into the room.

Having returned from a chilly afternoon in Hogsmeade, you and Ron opted to cozy up in front of the fireplace.

A chess board occupied the space between you, accompanied by the treats acquired in Hogsmeade casually strewn to the side.

"Checkmate," Ron declared, a smirk playing on his lips as he unwrapped a chocolate candy.

You playfully rolled your eyes, grabbing the candy from his hands. "I let you win."

He laughed. "Sure you did."

You shrugged, popping the candy into your mouth. Without a second thought, Ron reached across the chessboard, wiping the corner of your mouth.

"You're a mess," he half-laughed, and you looked away, cheeks aching from smiling.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

The air hung heavy and still, as if the slightest sound could shatter the silence.

Draco sat on the staircase, his head buried in his hands, a level of distress you'd never witnessed in him before.

"Why is this so hard?" you questioned, running your hands through your hair before letting them rest at the base of your neck.

"Because," he began, drawing out the word, his voice low and uncertain. Abruptly, he lifted his head and stood up.

"What are you—"

"Shut up," he interrupted, stepping closer, his hands grasping either side of your face.

Your mouths collided, breaths melding into a heated mess.

He pulled away for a moment, smirking against your lips. "Because of this."

Cedric Diggory

The field resounded with noise.

Cheers erupted, the stands quivered, and your heart thudded against your ribcage.

The Hufflepuff had secured their first Quidditch victory, and yet, your thoughts centered on a particular brunette seeker.

You joined the rush onto the field, and amidst the celebration, it didn't take long to spot Cedric in the midst of the crowd, holding a towering golden trophy.

Eagerly, you sprinted toward him, and as you approached, he handed off the prize and enveloped you in a tight embrace.

Cedric spun you around, laughter resonating through his chest.

"Oh god, you were everything!" you exclaimed over the roaring crowd, and he responded by squeezing you even tighter.

Fred Weasley

Each step guided your chest to rise, Fred's palms covering your eyes as he led you.

Exiting the Great Hall after dinner, Fred whisked you outdoors, draping a scarf around you in his mischievous manner. Chuckling to himself, he brought you to a halt in front of a railing.

"Ready?" he asked, the hint of a smile evident in his voice.

You nodded, and he removed his hands. A brief silence enveloped the scene, darkness prevailing until a burst of light filled the air—a firework exploding.

They continued, one after the other, each eruption illuminating your eyes with a vibrant array of colors.

"This is amazing," you exclaimed, stealing a glance at Fred, who was already focused on you.

He grinned, encircling you with an arm and pulling you closer to his chest.

"You're amazing," he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

George Weasley

The library sat vacant, save for a handful of students scattered at tables.

You and George occupied seats across from each other, a spread of books lying between.

With the owls exam looming, George had volunteered to keep you company during the late-night study session.

Although he proved to be more of a distraction, the company was welcomed.

"Take a look at this one," he suggested, handing you an open book. Placing it down, you began to read, only to flip a page and discover a hidden note.

In messy cursive, it read, "Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back."

You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle a laugh, but George was already ahead.

"You're cute," you remarked in a mocking tone.

He shrugged, still smiling.

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yourworsttotebag · 2 months

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hiiiiii here have a prompt! i haven’t stopped thinking about evie/halsin since that last fic you wrote haha so maybe they can hold hands…. As a treat…

evie/halsin

hands with the perfect ratio to each other for hand-holding

(with this vibe if you want) socha - the hidden vulnerability of others

Rowan, the light of my life, bringer of joy and inspired words, thank you so much for this.

Sorry, I know reading anything longer than 100 words on tumblr is annoying and this is like...a thousand. I'll get it up on ao3 later.

Rated S for Soft

The sorcerer was very loud as she stomped through the woods around her camp. Leaves and twigs snapped under her feet as she walked, placing her feet without care. Halsin heard her long before she walked beside the fallen tree he had chosen to rest on.

“You'll wake all the animals,” Halsin said and Evie screamed at the sound of his voice.

“Gods,” she breathed, her hand over her heart. “Can't you wear a bell? What are you doing out here?”

“I go out every night to commune with nature on my own terms. It’s easier to gather my thoughts when most of the world is resting.”

Evie opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but paused and sighed heavily instead.

“Fantastic,” she said. “I’ll leave you to that then.”

“I don’t mind sharing the time with you,” he said and Evie’s bright elven eyes shone in the dark. Halsin was sure the sharp look she gave him had cowed many others before, people who were intimidated by her quick barbs, but she didn't frighten him. He knew this type, a loud bark with no bite.

Then he recalled the way Evie had handled the leaders of the goblin camp. Perhaps a little bite.

“Well, I'm not meditating,” she said.

“Then what brought you here in the middle of the night?”

Evie shrugged like the answer was unimportant. “I had a lot on my mind. I couldn’t sleep.”

“There’s a calm spot nearby,” he said. “It’s easier to let your thoughts roam free there.”

“Maybe I don’t want them roaming free,” Evie said tartly. “Maybe I want them all contained and pushed down in a tiny little box that I can leave somewhere and forget about.”

Halsin could see the way Evie tried to minimize the size of her feelings but what she expressed wasn’t the sentiment of a person who felt nothing. Rather it was one who felt far, far too much and her pain weighed heavily on Halsin’s heart.

“Feelings like that will make you sick if you hold onto them too long. Come -” he held his hand out to her. “You don’t have to offer them out loud but at least allow the forest to bear some of your burdens.”

Evie looked down at his proffered hand with a frown. “Do you often talk about ‘bearing’ things?”

Halsin grinned. “Why don’t you come with me and see for yourself?”

She still had that suspicious look in her eyes when she took Halsin’s hand and let him lead her along a path that only he had memorized. He noticed right away how soft Evie’s hand was, unaccustomed to the outdoors or hard labor. It was much smaller than his but seemed to fit perfectly in his broad palm. Holding her hand made him think of cradling a songbird, a delicate, fragile thing.

They emerged into a small clearing where the trees had parted and allowed moonlight to shine down on the land. Evie pulled her hand away as soon as they passed the tree line.

“Now what?”

“We sit,” Halsin said.

Evie scoffed. “On the ground?”

“You've been sleeping on the ground for some time now, haven't you?”

Halsin lay in the soft grass and pictured the earth rising up to meet and support his back. He enjoyed the secret hidden spaces in the forest like this, as if the trees had opened up room for him to lay beside them. The day before, he had spotted a fawn curled up beneath some of the brush here but it was gone now, moved on with its mother. He had no wish to disturb the animal but he thought perhaps Evie might have been pleased to see it.

With an aggrieved sigh, Evie lay in the grass, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm beside his as they both stared at the starry sky. She still radiated a tender discomfort but didn't complain.

Halsin wanted to know more about what kept her up at night, maybe shoulder some of those worries himself, but the timing was all wrong. He knew well that the best way to care for a creature in need was to place something tempting nearby and wait for it to approach on its own. The ones that needed food, or shelter, or medicine would always emerge in their own time. It might take days but trying to rush the process only slowed it further.

So instead of pressing her for answers, Halsin allowed her to lay there quietly and fill the silence if she chose. Occasionally he would point out a constellation and explain what object or person the stars portrayed and Evie would make a small, affirmative sound that she had heard. Mostly they lay there with little sound beyond swaying tree branches and the wind.

“Halsin?” Evie asked softly. Her voice blended into the ambient sounds of the forest.

“Yes?”

“I’m tired,” she said. “I’m really tired. All the time.”

Halsin hummed. “Yet you don't sleep.”

“No. I don't.”

Halsin wanted to tell her it was hard work growing into the person you were supposed to be. That she was a survivor and as long as surviving was her will then she would accomplish it.

A selfish, needful part of him wanted to gather her in his arms, to kiss her and press all of his affection and pride against her lips until she smiled again. To sleep beside her every night, or even just stay at her side while she slept if it made her feel safe.

He knew any of those things would be akin to lunging at a bird that had settled nearby so he took a deep breath, tried to find stillness again.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” he said. “Anything I can offer to ease this journey is yours, whenever you need.”

Evie sighed. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to return to your bed to try and get some rest?”

“In a minute,” she said.

Halsin felt her hand bump into his in the small space between them and he tried not to react even as the tempo of his pulse increased. He allowed Evie to direct his movements as her fingers cautiously slid into the spaces between his, not quite placing her hand entirely in his. The urge to pull her hand in closer, to press their palms together and feel her smaller hand in his, was strong but Halsin resisted. He was a patient man. He could wait as long as she needed.

#halsin #halsin x evie #m: writing #halsin x tav

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