#also RIP my black color pencil | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugar-coat-it · 2 months

Text

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

—------------------------------------------

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

—-----------------------------------------

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl” move it was, and who were you to argue?

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book.

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers.

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right?

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable.

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room.

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?”

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he?

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves.

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism.

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle.

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”.

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm.

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him.

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is.

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you.

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch.

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand.

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm.

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you.

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it?

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail.

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, making a lot of gestures with his hands while he talks, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose.

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan.

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine.

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. But now, mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay.

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense.

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost).

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools.

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?”

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones.

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting.

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same.

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles.

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean,”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air.

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done.

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body.

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say.

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you.

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you.

—----------------------------------------------

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

#oh god I’m nervous about this one #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fic #body piercer!Matty

280 notes · View notes

a-little-unsteddie · 4 months

Text

stuck in your throat || 1.5

1.1 | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | [here]

ahhh!! the final part of chapter one! hope the wait was worth it <3 i’ll be posting the full chapter on ao3 tonight, so look out for a post with that link! i’ll also start a master post that i’ll pin to the top of my blog later. eventually. it’s on my to-do list.

i’ll start posting chapter 2 sometime in jan/feb, depending on when i fjnish writing chapter 3, which i’m about a third done with!

happy christmas! i hope everyone enjoys the final part to chapter one!

Steve hadn’t received a response from Eddie, but he wasn’t really expecting one anyway. He sipped his chai and checked the time every minute or so, and even though it felt like he’d been waiting for ages, only a few minutes had passed when a man walked into the café. He had long, dark curly hair, that was in a messy bun. He was wearing a grey band shirt with ripped black skinny jeans and chains hanging off of them. He appeared to be holding the hand of a little girl who had a mane of wild curls that were a few shades lighter than her dads. She was wearing a purple dress and a poofy blue jacket that appeared to do nothing to slow her down as she seemed to move even as her dad ordered.

Steve couldn’t stop the smile that formed at the sight, but assumed that this wasn’t who he was waiting for. He didn’t think his client would bring his pup with him to the interview. He found no harm in watching them for a bit while he waited for Eddie to show up.

After the man placed the order, he turned to look directly at Steve, who flushed in embarrassment at being caught looking and ducked his head. Which meant he didn’t see the man approach with his daughter in tow, but he did smell him, a sweet, musky scent filled his nose as the alpha approached, it reminded him of the forest. He lost himself in it for a moment before subtly shaking his head to clear it. He looked up with wide eyes as the man stopped at his table, hazel eyes meeting brown.

“Steve?” The alpha—Eddie?—asked, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Steve blinked as he took in the sight of the man, trying to figure out where he knew him from. He looked familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. He was sure he would have remembered meeting an alpha this handsome.

“Huh? Oh, yes, sorry,” Steve stammered, cheeks suddenly flushed. He stood abruptly to properly greet the alpha, “That’s, um, I’m Steve.” he thrust his hand out to shake Eddie’s, who took it and shook firmly. Steve ignored the way his stomach swooped at the firm grip the alpha had.

“..I’m Eddie,” he responded, and opened his mouth to say something else but a small voice interrupted them.

“I’m Elodie!” the pup said cheerfully, trying to replicate the action of shaking Steve’s hand. He was immediately enamored with Elodie and allowed her to shake his hand.

“It is so nice to meet you, Miss Elodie.” he said sincerely, grinning as she giggled in response. The three of them quickly sat, with Eddie and Elodie on one side, and Steve on the other.

Steve wasn’t sure where to start, now that he knew they were going to be joined with the pup he would be taking care of if he was chosen. To be fair, he probably wouldn’t have known where to start even if she hadn’t joined them.

Elodie seemed to be taking this seriously, sitting next to her father with her hands together on the table. She had taken out a notepad and had it opened to a blank page with her colored pencil next to it. She looked like she was trying hard to look stern, and failed miserably at it, which was just an adorable sight. Beside her, Eddie looked uncomfortable but still polite. Elodie also seemed to not have the same problem as the adults, immediately launching into questioning.

“Will you take me to the park?”

Steve glanced at Eddie, who looked fondly exasperated the moment Elodie started talking, so Steve figured it wouldn’t hurt to answer her question.

“If your dad is okay with it, sure,” he agreed easily, trying not to show his amusement in his tone, but sure his scent was giving it away as it sweetened. He was glad that pups didn’t fully develope their understanding of the different scents until they were a bit older than Elodie.

Elodie nodded firmly, writing it down on her little notepad, which upon closer inspection, Steve noticed had stickers of what appeared to be dragons and unicorns decorating it.

Eddie seemed content to let her do her questioning, sitting back and watching the pair. Steve wondered if this was the interview, to see how he and Elodie got along.

“Will you give me treats?” was the next question that Elodie had for him.

Steve leaned forward to stage whisper to her, “Only every day,” as if it were a secret. She brightened at that answer, giggling. Steve tried not to wince as her feet kicked into his shins, hiding it with a grin.

Elodie looked up at her dad, “Alright. I think we have a winner.” she said firmly, and Steve couldn’t withhold a grin from taking over his face, just barely holding back a laugh. She had all of two questions for him, neither of which were entirely surprising for a pup to ask.

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly at her, patting her head, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Odie?” Elodie nodded rapidly, eyes wide and begging. “Let me ask him some questions, and I’ll take your vote into consideration. Sound good?” Elodie looked like a bobble head as she nodded wildly again.

“Okay! Can I go play now?” she asked, looking out the window where there was a park across the street.

Eddie looked as though he was about to say no, so Steve took it upon himself to try to convince the alpha.

“There are picnic tables on the far side, you can’t see them from here, but we could sit at one of them and keep an eye on her,” Steve offered, Eddie’s gaze snapped over to him in surprise.

Elodie looked at her father with wide brown eyes, lip jutting out in a pout. “Please?” she asked, stretching the word out until Eddie heaved a sigh.

“Alright, let’s go,” he gave in, standing from the table. Steve’s cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling from this little encounter, and stood to follow them out. Elodie immediately held her dad’s hand, and reached a hand out to Steve to hold one of his as well. Steve glanced nervously at the alpha, but allowed her to take his hand, too.

“Bye, Steve!” Will called as they walked to the door and Steve knew he’d be receiving a load of texts from the other pups he used to babysit about this.

“See you later, Will,” Steve called back, bracing himself against the chilly air as they stepped outside. Almost immediately, Elodie tried to race ahead of the pair, but instinctually, Steve tightened his hold, as Eddie lightly scolded her.

“Elodie Mae, you know you have to hold my hand to cross the street,” he said, frowning at the pup. Elodie pouted, but held their hands and walked with them across the street to the park.

Once they were safely across, Elodie took off towards the park while Steve led Eddie to the picnic benches on the far side. Steve nervously glanced at the alpha, trying to figure out how he was doing so far. He seemed relaxed, but wary of their surroundings, glancing around them frequently, as if nervous to be seen. Steve felt his hackles rise, and furrowed his eyebrows. Could the alpha be embarrassed to be seen with him? Surely not, Chrissy wouldn’t have let him move forward to this stage of the hiring process if Eddie wasn’t going to at least consider him for the job.

“Here are the picnic tables,” Steve said needlessly as a way to fill the silence that had grown between them.

Eddie hummed in response and sat at one of them, and Steve followed his lead, sitting across from him. The picnic table was positioned perpendicular to the park, so Steve sat straddling the bench to keep an eye on Elodie. He may not have been hired yet, so he still wanted to prove that he was capable of the job.

Eddie was silent for a while, but eventually he seemed to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. “This wasn’t my idea,” he started, watching as Elodie ran up to another kid playing at the park.

“I figured not,” Steve admitted, smiling as the two pups ran off together to play.

“But Chrissy is right,” he continued, looking at Steve, “being on tour is a lot and watching an eight year old while performing is pretty much impossible. So, I had two options: leave her at home with a nanny, or bring her with and hire a traveling nanny.”

Suddenly the reason why Eddie seemed so familiar became abundantly clear, he was Eddie Munson. Rockstar, Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin lead singer, Eddie Munson. Heart-throb alpha, Eddie Munson.

Steve tried to grapple with this revelation silently, hoping that Eddie wouldn’t notice as he didn’t want the musician to think that Steve was being unprofessional. It was fine, really, it just wasn’t something that Steve had been expecting, is all. He wasn’t even a fan of the music, but he knew that Dustin and his friends—including Will—were massive fans. He was glad that Will didn’t flip out when they were in the coffee shop.

“That would be a lot on anyone’s plate,” he finally said, once he was sure his voice wasn’t going to give away his realization. “And I would be more than happy to take some off of it. I’ve already started planning some classwork, actually,” he admitted shyly.

Eddie looked at him in surprise, but it didn’t seem like a bad reaction, so Steve considered it a win.

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “Even though you weren’t guaranteed the job yet?”

“I was stressing about today, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared,” Steve shrugged, not looking at the alpha, instead watching as Elodie and the other pup raced from the monkey bars to the swings.

“That’s impressive,” Eddie told him, and when Steve looked at him, he was smiling tentatively.

Steve scoffed slightly, brushing off the compliment. “Even if I don’t get the job,” he felt a pang of sadness hit him at the thought, “it’s still good practice.”

“Oh, you have the job,” Eddie said nonchalantly, so much so that Steve didn’t process the words for a second.

“I do?” he asked, whipping his head to look at Eddie so abruptly that he felt his neck crack once.

“Yeah, Elodie got the final say,” he smiled vaguely in the direction of where Steve knew Elodie and her new friend were playing.

Chrissy’s earlier amusement about not making the choice of candidate made sense, now.

“Thank you,” Steve said, unsure if that was the right response, but not knowing how else to express his gratitude about being hired.

Eddie smiled vaguely at Steve, shrugging slightly. “As long as she didn’t choose an obvious asshole, I’m more than happy to hire whoever she wants. Means she’s gonna be more likely to listen to you.”

Steve nodded, “That…makes a lot of sense, actually,” he said softly.

“I’ll get Chrissy to email you the official offer, and whatever else needs to be sent,” he hummed, smiling at him.

“I look forward to it,” Steve said honestly, already looking forward to telling Robin that he got the job. He thought of the NDA, and wilted slightly. He wasn’t sure how much he was allowed to actually share with her about the job. He knew he’d be able to tell her that he <i>got</i> the job at least, but not much more than that. Maybe he’d ask Chrissy if they were hiring for something else, because like hell he’d be sued for talking to his best friend.

The pair spent another two hours or so watching Elodie run around and play, but eventually they had to leave.

“Bye, Miss Elodie,” the omega said, laughing as the pup hugged him tightly.

“Bye, Mister Steve,” Elodie mumbled into his sternum before she pulled away and took Eddie’s hand.

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Steve said, looking up at the handsome alpha through his eyelashes. Eddie smiled, but it looked tense, and Steve was reminded that this wasn’t Eddie’s idea. In fact, he seemed to be mildly against the whole affair.

After they said their goodbyes, Steve watched Eddie and Elodie get into a black car with tinted windows, and watched as it disappeared around a corner before he started the longish walk home, feeling a pep in his step as he did.

if you want to be added to the tag list, confirm your age in your request. if you want to be removed, let me know!

tag list: @marklee-blackmore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @steddie-as-they-go @disrespectedgoatman @lingeringmirth @hyperfixated-on-stuff @swimmingbirdrunningrock @littlewildflowerkitten @sani-86 @thegingerrapunzel @adventures-in-mangaland @missingmalfoy1 @yellowdevilkitten @extra-transitional @queen-stevie @stevesbipanic @crypticcorvidinacottage @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @eyehartart

#eeeeeep #the long awaited meeting #i swear they get better next chapter djshdhsha #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #eventual steddie #steve x eddie #alpha!eddie munson #omega!steve harrington #rockstar!eddie munson #single dad!eddie munson #nanny!steve harrington #tw omegaverse #cw omegaverse #unsteddie writing #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤

187 notes · View notes

kitten4sannie · 11 months

Text

ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀʟ ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ

pairing: mommy! san x fem! reader

genre: smut

summary: a naughty student gets punished by her strict headmaster.

w.c: 4.4k

warnings: mean (ish) dom! san, sub! reader, pet names, praise, degradation, so much feminization (im not sorry), roleplaying, subspace, fingering, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, impact play, color system mention, nipple play (m receiving), spit kink (might’ve went overboard but oh well), foot play?? (he steps on her pussy idk), shoe humping??, oral (m recieving), deep-throating, facial, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: this is my contribution to the mommy! may event hosted by the lovely @whatudowhennooneseesyou <33 this was originally supposed to be something different and then i started to imagine san in a pencil skirt and yeah… here we are 🧎🏻‍♀️ if you were to take a drink of water every time i write ‘mommy’ you’d prob die of water poisoning kdshf. also this is just straight filth and i’m very proud of it :3

song rec: discipline by nine inch nails

Masterlist

➽───────────────❥

As you stood outside of your husband’s home office, you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, settling into the headspace you wanted to enter. After a moment, you knocked on the door. Buzzing with anticipation, you quickly wiped your sweaty hands across your too-tiny pleated skirt, unconsciously pulling at one of your plain white thigh highs as well. It was finally the weekend and that meant you both could have fun and blow off some steam. Your usual go-to was to roleplay, but this time you were even more excited because you had finally convinced San that it would be so incredibly hot of him if he posed as the superintendent of a university. As a step further, you encouraged him to wear some of your clothes to play the part. He obliged, of course. San never missed an opportunity to feel pretty and powerful all at once.

“Come in,” you heard a deep masculine voice come from inside the room, encouraging you to open it and gingerly make your way inside.

As soon as you saw him, it felt like someone had punched the air out of you. San was standing there leaning against his work desk with his arms folded across his broad chest, clad in an itty bitty pencil skirt that was cinched around his tiny waist, translucent pantyhose that were held by garters near the upper thighs, a pair of sleek black heels that he usually kept inside his closet for special occasions such as this one, and a simple white button-up that was neatly tucked into said tiny waist. A few buttons were undone so that you could freely view the curve that was present in between his pronounced pecs. It made your mouth water. The final touch was a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, complete with a small chain that was connected to either side of them. He was breathtakingly gorgeous. You wanted nothing more than to just rip his clothes off and ride his dick into the next millennium, but you wanted to stay in character.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Miss Y/N?” he asked, his tone short and curt, just like the skirt that clung to the shape of his hips. It rode up a bit when he pressed his ass down onto the surface of his desk.

You closed the door behind you and took a few small steps up to San, fiddling with your thumbs in a nervous manner and looking up at him with big doe eyes. “I dunno, Headmaster. I don’t remember doing anything wrong.”

He scoffed, running his fingers through his parted raven hair, appearing a bit irritated. “Surely, you must have some sort of idea, don’t you?” When you simply stood there and pressed your thighs together, San grabbed the bottom of your chin and brought you closer, his fierce gaze boring into you, a playful smirk tugging at his pretty lips. “Or is that brain of yours preoccupied with something else? Something indecent, perhaps?”

“N-no, Headmaster,” you denied weakly, giving him a tiny shake of your head, only for his fingers to squeeze into your cheeks instead, squishing your face.

“You’re a little liar, my dear.” San let go of your face and crossed one leg over the other, his skirt so high up now it made you wonder if he tucked his cock away. “Well, since you’re too prideful to admit the truth, I will tell it to you myself.” He looked you up and down, his eyes settling on the way your thin collared top didn’t do much to hide how hard your nipples were underneath it. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” he started, reaching over to run a thumb over one of your clothed buds, making you shiver underneath his touch. “And naughty girls deserve punishment.”

“How are you going to punish me?” you asked, clear arousal seeping through your words, despite the feigned fear etched into your flushed features.

San stood up from the desk and took a step to the side, his black heels pressing into the fuzzy carpet below. “Bend over the desk and you’ll find out, Miss Y/N.”

Without a second of hesitation, you laid yourself down onto San’s desk and arched your back a bit, sticking your ass out in a tantalizing way. Turning your head back to meet his gaze, you jutted out your bottom lip, whining, “I swear I haven’t been a bad girl, Headmaster. I’m good, I promise.”

“Then, what’s this, hm?” San questioned, lifting your skirt up to reveal the wet patch present on your panties, smacking his hand lightly against your clothed cunt and making you gasp. “You’re soaked, Miss Y/N. Only little sluts get wet for their Headmasters.”

“I’m not a slut,” you whined again, pouting at your husband, all while you spread your legs apart further for him.

“Oh, you’re right. My apologies.” San reached to the underside of your cunt and began aggressively rubbing it in an up and down motion with two thick fingers, his wedding band catching on your clit each time and drawing a few moans out of you. “Of course, you’re not a slut, darling.” He grabbed a tuft of your hair with his free hand and tugged your head back towards him, making your back arch painfully, his fingers still moving at a feverish pace against your clit, your arousal soaking through your panties. “You’re a whore. A filthy little whore that needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Then teach me a lesson, Mommy,” you moaned out, your head suddenly being pushed and held down onto the surface of the table by San’s hand, his grip never faltering, your thighs already starting to tremble from the onset of your orgasm. You didn’t always mean to use his pet name during a more intense roleplay, but sometimes you simply couldn’t help it.

San must’ve not minded too much either with the way he groaned behind you, suddenly sliding two digits past your panties and shoving them inside your needy hole in order to finger-fuck you as deep as he possibly could. “Yeah? Mommy should teach his naughty little girl a lesson, huh? You want my punishment, don’t you, you filthy slut?”

“Yes, Mommy…! Please punish me!” you cried out, your cunt beginning to pulse and clench around San’s fingers, moaning heavily with your face squished against the cool desk, your breath fogging up the surface of it. “I’m so close, so, so close…”

Just as your breath hitched, San withdrew his fingers from your cunt and pulled your panties down until they reached your ankles, watching as your hole clenched around nothing but air and leaked arousal down your inner thighs. “What a pretty little cunt you have here, Miss Y/N…” He ran a finger down your slit to collect some of your wetness and popped it into his mouth to clean it off. “But I think I know of a way to make it look even prettier.”

“You do, Headmaster?” you asked softly, looking back at him, your eyes glossy and slightly red.

He gave you a soft, dimpled smile, knowing he was about to turn you into a mewling, begging mess in the next couple of minutes. “Yes, darling. Now, lay on your back and spread your legs for Mommy.”

Whining at the complete loss of your high, you slowly lifted yourself off of the desk and turned around, laying back onto it but on your back this time, holding your legs underneath your knees and spreading your thighs open for him. “Like this, Mommy?”

“Mm-hmm, just like that.” San sighed at your obedience as he reached past you and across the desk, pulling a thick black paddle out from one of the drawers. He stood at your side, running the paddle along your inner thigh, watching as goosebumps appeared on your skin underneath the cold leather material. He lightly tapped the edge of it against your hooded clit, chuckling at your tiny gasp. “I’m gonna play with this pretty little cunt of yours till it’s all red and puffy for me. Do you understand, babydoll?”

You nodded as quickly as you could, squeezing your fingers into the flesh of your thighs. “Punish me how you want, Mommy. I’m a bad girl.”

“Yeah, you are a bad girl,” he agreed huskily, reeling his hand back and smacking the paddle against your cunt so fiercely it made your entire body jolt. “Count for me, princess.”

“One,” you croaked, not able to think about how much your cunt was already beginning to sting when San slammed the paddle down onto you again, the edge of it hitting your clit. “Two!”

“Good girl.” San lifted the paddle to admire how red and shiny your folds already were, letting out a pleased hum. He leaned over and spat onto your clit, watching as his spit dripped down, before bringing the paddle back down onto you for a third time.

“Three…” Smack. “F-four…” Smack. “Nnngh…five…” You closed your eyes for a moment, opening them back up and trying to blink away your hazy vision.

Noticing how fucked out you were already starting to look, San kneaded your closest thigh with his fingers. “Color.”

“Green,” you answered right away, smiling softly up at your husband. “Please, don’t hold back.”

San chuckled a bit, tightening his grip around the handle of the paddle. Keeping his eyes on yours, he leaned down towards your pussy, sending another wad of spit onto your cunt, before continuing his abuse.

Smack. “Six!” Smack. “Seven!” Smack. “Eight…!”

“Oh my goddd…” you moaned breathily, lifting one of your feet up onto the desk so that the rest of your body could go comfortably lax. Now you were starting to leak like a broken faucet, your pussy so sensitive to the touch, if you just concentrated hard enough, you could probably cum without direct stimulation.

“Oh, you dirty little painslut, you’re so wet,” San mused in a gravelly voice, fascinated with the amount of slick sliding down your puffy pussy, pressing the paddle onto you and moving it up and down to hear the sounds of your wetness.

“Just for you, Mommy,” you sighed out, squeezing your thighs tighter, preparing yourself as San reeled his hand back for the ninth time and slammed the paddle directly onto your abused cunt. Instead of counting, you let out a choked moaning sound, tossing your head back onto the table. It hurt so, so good. You could hardly form a single coherent thought.

“Mm, I didn’t hear a number,” San chided, sounding disappointed. He ran two fingers down your stinging, pulsing cunt, idly flicking your clit with his index finger. “Good girls can count, right?”

“Yeah, I’m a good girl. I can count, I promise,” you reassured him out of desperation, blinking a tear away from how sensitive your clit was when he flicked it a few more times, watching as San tried to move his arm back further, but was unable to with how tight the material of his top was.

Feeling restricted with his movements, San huffed, quickly unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and pulling it off, leaving him in his tight skirt and pantyhose. “That’s better. Now, where was I?” he spoke, mostly to himself, looking back at you and noticing your wide eyes and drooling mouth. “Does Mommy’s little slut have something to share?”

As heavenly as San’s abs looked pressing against his taut melanin skin, you couldn’t rip your vision away from his plump pecs and cute pink nipples, wanting nothing more than to squeeze and suck on them until pretty sounds spilled out of your husband’s mouth. “Mommy, can I please suck on your tits? Pretty please? I promise I’ll keep taking my punishment.”

San let out a gentle sigh, reaching down to sift his fingers through your slightly sweaty hair, caressing your cheek, then reaching behind your head to cup it, the paddle rubbing along your clit and making you exhale against his touch. “How can I say no to you?” He slowly brought you to his ample chest, chuckling softly at the sight of your clear excitement. “Go on, pretty girl. Make Mommy feel good.”

Sighing as well, you wrapped your lips around one of San’s soft buds, sucking and licking at it until it grew hard and pressed against the flat of your tongue. Without hesitation, you brought your hand up and gingerly groped at his other pec, squishing and kneading it inside your palm like a kitten would. “Mmn…”

“Fuck, baby girl…” San practically melted into your touch, accidentally letting go of the paddle and cupping your pussy instead, starting to palm it eagerly, knowing your clit was getting proper attention with how swollen it felt against his skin. “Baby’s making Mommy feel so good…” he sighed out, not bothering to hold back a whine when you traded one nipple for the other, latching onto it and nibbling on it this time, knowing how much he loved to be toyed with.

It was then that you felt your husband throbbing against your thigh, feeling yourself grow infinitely wetter just by knowing that his hard cock was trapped inside the confines of your borrowed skirt, the tip of it probably stuck inside the elastic waistband. It didn’t help that San spit onto his fingers and continued to abuse your clit, this time rubbing it side to side in a quick motion. “Mommyyy, gonna cum,” you announced against San’s flushed, spit-covered nipple, before lapping at it like a melting ice cream cone and sending him into a deeper state of pleasure.

“Uh-uh, little…nnngh…whores don’t get to cum, unless Mommy says so,” he replied shakily, wanting nothing more than to just give in to you, but knowing you didn’t want him to. He pulled you away from his chest, your shiny mouth connected to his perky bud by a string of saliva, reaching up to stick his thumb into your mouth and press down on your lower jaw. “Now, stick your tongue out.”

“Want Mommy’s spit.” Looking up at him with half-closed eyes, you stuck your tiny tongue out and let out a small ‘aah’, keeping your fingers busy by rubbing both of his nipples with your thumbs the same speed he rubbed your clit, flicking it as soon as he did it to you.

Letting out an almost pornographic sounding moan from how overstimulated his chest was starting to feel, San drew a fair amount of saliva inside his mouth, before pursing his lips and letting it drip down onto your tongue in thick globs, groaning at the sight of your eyes starting to roll up underneath your glossy eyelids as you swallowed it down. As soon as your body began to convulse and your thighs trembled, San shook his head. “I thought I told you not to cum, kitten. What happened, huh?”

“I-i couldn’t help it, Mommy…It felt too good,” you panted out, going lax in his strong arms, trying to recover from your high after being teased for so long. Once San gently let go of you and took a step back, his hands on his hips, you sat up, looking up at him with a pout. “I’m sorryyyy.”

San smiled mischievously to himself, motioning to the floor with his head, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “On your knees, whore.”

Gulping, you slowly lowered yourself to the ground below him, spreading your knees apart for him as he lifted up one of his legs, giving you an upskirt view that made you pulse, before pressing his heel down onto your cunt, pushing and rubbing directly on your already swollen clit. “F-fuck, Mommy…”

San licked his lips, digging his heel further down on your slick cunt, moving it in a way similar to how he would if he was trying to get something off the bottom of his heel. “If the little whore wants to cum so bad, then she’ll cum using Headmaster’s pretty heels, now won’t she?”

“Yes, I will! Anything you want, Headmaster.” Smiling perversely and letting out a shaky breath, you watched San slide his heel in between your legs, allowing you to sit your pulsing pussy down onto the sleek plastic. “Can I suck Mommy’s cock while I rub myself on your heels? I wanna make Mommy cum.” Seeing his brief apprehension, you pressed your cheek against the outline of his cock, rubbing against it through the soft material of his skirt. “Pretty please?”

San bit into his bottom lip, reaching behind his back to unzip the black skirt, letting it fall to the floor and revealing that he was wearing one of the newest pair of panties he had bought you a few weeks back. He had on your lacy set that had tiny heart cut outs throughout the lavender material, his veiny cock too long and hard to stay within them, instead only cupping his balls, his shiny, reddened tip exposed and dripping for your viewing pleasure. “Are you going to let Mommy throat-fuck you?”

“Mommy can use me all he wants,” you replied obediently, not even bothering to swallow all the saliva that had filled the inside of your mouth from looking at your husband’s soft curves being hugged tightly by your borrowed panties. Once you opened your mouth, San plugged it up with his thick length. You immediately got to work, hollowing your cheek and using your tongue to slide across the underside of his cock. Almost simultaneously, you began to move your hips in a fluid fashion, letting out muffled moans as you dragged yourself across his high heel.

“Look at you. You're such a filthy little girl.” San groaned from the feeling of your moans vibrating onto his sensitive skin, slowly sliding his fingers past your hair on either side of your head and clutching it somewhat tightly. “Now, Mommy’s gonna use you like a cocksleeve, alright?”

“Mm-hmm!” you encouraged him with a small nod of your head, running your hands up his muscular thighs, feeling the smooth nylon material underneath your fingertips.

With his eyes barely open, San pushed himself past your tight throat and began thrusting harshly into it, short, desperate gasps and groans escaping his throat. “Yeahhh–oh, fuck, that’s it…”

Tears began to run down your cheeks, San fucking your mouth so deeply, his pubic hair repeatedly tickled your nose, the vaguely bitter taste of his pre-cum continually dripping down your throat. “Mmmff…” was all you could verbalize, speeding up the movements of your hips and closing your thighs tightly, feeling your clit catch onto San’s heel over and over, knowing you were leaking all over it and the carpet below.

When you began to massage San’s tight balls through the panties he was wearing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. “Fuck, where do you want Mommy’s cum, baby? You want it down your throat or on your slutty fucking face?” he asked in between exhales, slipping in and out of your throat a few more times, before he pulled out and slapped his twitching cock down onto your face, his pre-cum and your saliva trickling down along your heated skin.

“My face, Mommyyyy, cum all over baby’s face,” you babbled, so incredibly dick-drunk, you could barely form your words without slurring. Your cunt contracted around nothing, one second away from emptying your arousal all over yourself, still rutting against him with unapologetic desperation.

San groaned heavily, blowing a few strands of his wet hair out of his eyes and fisting his cock as fast as he could, questioning in a deep, throaty voice, “Yeah? Are you gonna cum from Mommy spilling his load all over your pretty little face? Huh, baby?” When you whined instead of answering, he grabbed you by the hair and angled your head back further, pushing his cockhead against your cheek and smearing more of his pre cum onto your messy face. “Answer me, whore!”

“Yes, Mommy, I’m gonna cum…! Give me your cum, Mommy, please, please, please!” you cried out hoarsely, more tears spilling out of your half-closed eyes, grabbing onto San’s trembling hips and squeezing them, losing yourself completely when hot spurts of San’s cum began to land all over your face.

“That’s a good girl, letting Mommy paint your face like this,” San sighed, his lips forming a dimpled smile, his pretty brown eyes upturned with satisfaction. He lazily stroked himself, emptying the last bit of his load onto your tongue and tapping it for good measure.

Before you could swallow, San wiped the cum from your face with two fingers and pushed them down onto your tongue. “You wanna taste?” he purred, rubbing his salty release around, encouraging you to close your lips around him and suck, cleaning them.

“Mommy,” you murmured once you swallowed, your voice cracking slightly, legs trembling, trying to stand up but unable from how numb your lower half felt.

“Oh, baby, you made such a mess,” San cooed, smiling at the sight of your glistening thighs and bending down to lift you up from the ground before setting you down on the desk. “You’ve been so good for me…taking all of my punishment. Should I give you a reward now?”

“Cock,” you replied softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I want Mommy’s cock.”

“Of course you do, you little cockslut.” San nipped at your bottom lip, making you moan. He pulled away and rubbed your thighs in small circles, admiring how puffy and red your pussy looked. “How do you want it?”

Scooting off of the desk, you smiled sheepishly up at him, twirling a lock of your hair. “I want you to bend me over your desk and pump me full of your cum, Headmaster.”

Without a second of hesitation, San grabbed you by the hips and spun you around, pushing his hand down on your spine, making you lay flat against the mahogany table. “Filthy slut. You want me to abuse this little pussy even more than I have, huh?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” You wiggled your ass back and forth, glancing back at him. “Make a mess of me.”

San responded by lowering himself down, spitting directly onto your cunt and smacking it. He stood back up, chuckling at the gasp you let out, spitting again, this time into his hand and lubing up his cock, before slamming his hips forward into you, your greedy cunt swallowing him up completely.

“Oh my god,” you hissed out, reaching forward and gripping the edge of the desk, trying to get used to the low burn you felt in between your legs, being stretched out by San’s thick length. “Fuck me, please. Please, Headmaster.”

San began pumping himself into you with a fervor he didn’t know he had to offer, leaning his body over you in order to grab your wrists and pull them back behind you. “Like this, right?” he grunted out, the sounds of skin slapping and your heavy breaths filling the silence in the room. “Is this how a naughty girl like you wants to be used, Miss Y/N?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, a bit of drool falling past your lips, your upper half not even touching the table anymore with the way San was holding you and using you like his personal cocksleeve, his heavy cock pounding into you over and over, bringing you closer to the edge.

“Lemme guess, you want to be creampied, don’t you?” San held your wrists with one hand so that he could slam his palm into your ass, groaning at the handprint he left behind. “Hm? You want Mommy’s cum in your pretty little pussy?”

“Yeah, fill me up, Mommy!”

San tightened his grip around your wrists and tugged them in his direction, making your back arch painfully, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper angle. “Oh, fuck, your pussy’s clenching around me, babydoll. Cum for Mommy,” he growled, drilling himself into your g-spot until he made you squirt onto his cock.

“So good, so good, it’s so goodddd,” you mewled, your wrists beginning to feel numb from how tight his grip was. Your legs trembled beneath you, feeling like jelly. You would’ve crumbled onto the floor like a ragdoll, but you couldn’t, at least not until your Mommy gave you what you wanted.

After a few more pumps inside your slick, tight hole, San let go of your wrists and collapsed down onto your back, huffing and puffing into your ear. “Here it comes, you filthy little girl. Here’s Mommy’s cum, just for you…Oh, god, just for you.” He let out a long, drawn-out moan that sounded more like a whine, sloppily thrusting into you until his hot load shot out and coated your walls.

You both laid there for a hot minute, trying to catch your breath and come down from your highs. San lifted himself off from you, only for your legs to finally give out, urging him to lift you up into his arms bride style. “Are you okay, pretty girl? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

“Not at all, Mommy. You were perfect,” you chimed, reaching up to caress his sweaty cheek, admiring the rosy blush imprinted on his skin.

San smiled at you and pressed his lips onto yours, only pulling away when he had to take a breath.

“Headmaster?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N?” he asked, nuzzling your cheek with his own.

You hummed at the warmth of his skin on yours, giggling a bit, looking up at him, your eyes full of stars. “Can you teach me another lesson next weekend?”

➽───────────────❥

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#cultofdionysusnet #mommy may #ateez #ateez smut #san ateez #san smut #san x reader #ateez imagines #kpop smut #choi san #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios

495 notes · View notes

harringtonisms · 2 years

Text

people like us

pairing: steve harrington / eddie munson summary: Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington’s wife and the One time she realizes it’s his husband. warnings: some angst in #4 and a slight coming out (to herself) arc, hinted at homophobia (nothing explicit) word count: 7.5k a/n: (10/18/2023): a little after a year from the original post date, i decided to go back and edit it. it's still the same story any rereaders know, but all the little plot holes and issues have been fixed and there's 200 more words to read! thank you for reading <3

(og note): this is based off of this post i made! i will be doing a second part to this that follows eddie's bandmates and meeting steve! i hope you enjoy and any feedback, likes, reblogs, comments, ask, are all appreciated!

Read it on AO3

taglist: @zed-zeppeli @valenschmidt @expectocrucio @rel312 @jonathanbyersbbg @beeing-stuupid @ataztuv @noahzanehethey @ludabug @mavernanche @casualherolightbailiff @purplebellybell @phenomenal-bird @persephone13 @gleefully-macabre @darkqloszed @the-baby-goblin @aryanightshade @jojobeaner @specialagentslut-24 @goodomensgurl

1. Monday, August 21st, 1995

Amanda was not one to be late, especially on the first day of school. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway as she rushed to her first period class. In one hand she held a tardy slip. In the other was a ripped piece of notebook paper detailing her homeroom class in smudged blue ink.

Mr. Harrington

U.S. History

Room 114

Having lived in Hawkins her whole life, she’d been attending the same middle school her older sister and both parents attended. This made her rather familiar with the staff at Hawkins Middle and yet she hadn’t recognized Mr. Harrington’s name. Reaching her classroom, she grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

All the desks were arranged in groups of four and there were four groups. Hanging from the ceiling, were pieces of laminated paper designating each desk group a number. The walls were covered in different iconic historical quotes, maps of the worlds, and black and white photos of people Amanda assumed were important. On her teacher’s desk was a small globe, a pencil cup, and a clay pot full of various origamis. Her teacher was leaning against his desk, in the middle of a speech when he was interrupted by the squeak of the door being opened. All eyes landed on Amanda and she squirmed under her peers' watchful gaze. She walked shyly over to Mr. Harrington and handed him her pass.

“Ah, Amanda! Welcome to U.S. History. Uh, here! Grab a syllabus and there’s a free seat at table two! I’m just telling the class a bit about myself.” He smiled politely at her, and motioned toward table two. At table two, Mary and Lj were sitting on the same side, facing the windows, so Amanda chose the seat across from Lj. She quietly sat her stuff down and paid attention to what her teacher was saying.

“Like I was saying, I was born and raised in Hawkins. I walked these very same halls you did once before! It’s actually where I met my current partner, I just didn’t know it at the time. I started at Ivy Tech college before I transferred to Indiana State Teachers College to get my degree. I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years and taught at the local high school, before we moved back this past summer to take care of their dad and here we are! I’m also the coach for the basketball team so information about try-outs will go up soon. Now, enough about me. If you’d take a look at your syllabus…”

Mr. Harrington’s voice faded into ambient noise in the background as she looked around her classroom. He’d met his wife right here in this building, and he didn’t even know it at the time. The person Amanda would marry could be sitting right in front of her and she’d never know until she was finally with them. She glanced around and her eyes landed on Louise-Jane Brooks, or Lj as she was typically called. Amanda immediately looked away, a fierce blush painting her cheeks the same color as her hair. That happened almost every time she looked at Lj. How weird is it that someone she’s known since kindergarten made her so nervous? The sun fitted itself through the blinds behind Amanda and illuminated Lj, like she had her own personal spotlight shining down on her. Brown skin, long braids, deep dark eyes turned to honey, and freckles left over from summer time glittered underneath the light and it stirred up something within Amanda that her mind had trouble reconciling with.

“Any questions?” Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the Lj related fog in Amanda’s mind and her hand immediately shot up.

“You said you met your wife in middle school. How did you know she was the one?” Amanda forced her eyes to stay on Mr. Harrington despite the strange urge to look back at Lj.

“Well I didn’t know I’d marry them in middle school. I didn’t know that I’d marry them until way after college. We met in middle school. We were desk partners in our science class and they taught me how to make origami out of our homework sheets.” He picked up the little clay pot on his desk and pulled out what looked like a pencil. “They made me this little pencil for my first day teaching here.” He returned the origami pencil and the clay pot back to their spot on his desk and looked back out toward his students. “Are there any other questions?...No? Alright we’re gonna head down to the library and grab your textbooks so line up!”

A symphony of chairs screeching against the ground and whispering voices erupted as the students lined up by the door. Much to the delight of Amanda, Lj ended up in front of her. Lj was wearing a baby pink dress with white polka dots and white flats. Amanda tapped Lj’s shoulder and waited for her to turn. She turned and Amanda had to ignore the warmth in her cheeks as she spoke.

“I like your dress!” Lj’s smile grew in response to Amanda’s compliment.

“Thank you, Amy. It has pockets!” and she stuck her hands into the pockets of the dress to show them to Amanda. Amanda went to say something but the line had started to move so she kept her response to herself.

2. Friday, September 15th, 1995

In the weeks that passed, Amanda found herself looking forward to her first period class more and more. Mr. Harrington made learning about history much more fun than her previous teachers had. Though they had to check out the textbooks in the library provided by the state, Mr. Harrington told them to stack them along the window sill and they sat there everyday, untouched. In class, he told them the real history and explained what actually happened, what the textbooks glossed over or lied about. Instead of reading page after page in their textbooks they got to do fun projects creating poster boards, making dioramas, and even creating their own political cartoons.

Amanda has also been early everyday. She was sitting in her regular seat waiting for class to start, when two boys walked in, talking excitedly about some band she’d never heard of.

“Did you hear about the first Corroded Coffin show last night in Indianapolis? Apparently people were camping outside the venue for 2 nights to try and score tickets! I want to see them on tour so bad!” Mr. Harrington peaked his head up from the paper he was writing on and joined the boys’ conversation.

“You guys like Corroded Coffin? I know those guys, we all went to high school together.” Mr. Harrington said. He looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he thought about something. “Maybe I can ask them to come for career day in October?”

The two boys gasped excitedly and started asking their teachers questions about the band and how he met them. Mary, who sat diagonally across from Amanda, sighed. Amanda watched, Mary, who had her head in her hands, gazing dreamily at Mr. Harrington.

“Isn’t he just so handsome, Amanda?” Mary said, turning to look at her. Amanda wrinkled her nose in response. Sure, Mr. Harrington wasn’t ugly but she couldn’t see what it was about him that made all the girls trip over themselves. No matter if they were in the cafeteria during lunch or in the library for study hall, she was subject to hearing theories of what Mr. Harrington’s wife looked like, and whispers of ‘She’s so lucky’. Amanda didn’t get any of it. Still, she wanted to fit in, so she pretended. He wore the same style glasses that she did, so at least she could compliment him without lying. To herself or her classmates.

“Um, I like his glasses.” She replied. Avoiding Mary’s piercing gaze, she decided pulling her pencil bag out was a smart move.

“I don’t know, Amy,” Lj said, looking up from her book. “I think Miss. Rosario is prettier than Mr. Harrington. She would never come to school with her shirt so wrinkled.” Lj glanced at Mr. Harrington once more before going back to her book. Mary flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, before she raised her hand. Next to her, Amanda’s eyes were glued to Lj. Miss Rosario was pretty. Super pretty. If everyone was talking about that, she’d understand one hundred percent. She forced herself to look away when Mr. Harrington started speaking.

“Yes, Mary?”

“You don’t normally come to school with your shirt so wrinkled. Why today?” She asked. Mr. Harrington looked down at his shirt and inspected the wrinkles and huffed. He was wearing a plain blue and white striped polo, and jeans since it was a friday.

“Thank you…for pointing that out, Mary. For your information, normally my partner irons my shirts every morning while I make breakfast, but they’ll be away for the next month on a work trip, and I was in a rush and forgot to do it.” He walked back around behind his desk and grabbed the hawkins middle hoodie that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and put it on. “There, Now no one can see the wrinkles.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘is this okay’ and Mary nodded as she giggled

“Why does your wife always iron your shirts? Why don’t you iron your own shirts and she makes breakfast?” Janet asked.

“Well, Janet, if you must know, they like to pick out my clothes, and I’m the only one who can cook so it just works out.” Mr. Harrington replied. A few awws came from the crowd and he waved them away. “Yes, it’s all very sweet and domestic and all that jazz. Now, who can tell me where we left off yesterday.”

3. Tuesday, October 3rd, 1995

“Yo, Mr. H, what’s that thing on your nose?” It was right before class began, and Mr. Harrington had just turned around from writing their new essay prompt on the board. Right in the center of his face was a scratch, from the bridge of his nose to underneath his eye. Amanda was by the door, sharpening her pencil for the lesson.

“Well Good Morning to you too, Gerald. That thing on my nose is a scratch. My partner came home for the weekend and we ended up adopting some kittens last night. Three of them actually, so in the whole mess of transporting 3 kittens back to our home…” He gestured to his face and then shrugged.

“What did you name the kittens?” A voice said from the back.

“Sabbath, Kirk, and Abba.” His lips pursed, as if he was trying to suppress his smile.

“Why those names?” Amanda asked before she could stop herself. She recognized Abba because her older sister was always blasting it through her walkman, but the other two names were unfamiliar. She assumed they probably also had to do with music but she wasn't sure what they were references to.

“Well Sabbath and Kirk are nods to my partners favorite bands. The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’.” Mr. Harrington had an exasperated look on his face, but you could hear the fondness in his voice as he talked about his partner. He glanced over at his origami pot, which Amanda noted now had a black cat added to it. She spun to walk back to her desk with her newly sharpened pencils when Lj walked into class, beating the bell by a few seconds and immediately caught Amanda’s attention.

“Woah, Amy! You wore your hair down today?” Lj said, and stopped when she saw the redhead by the door. Amanda typically kept her hair in a ponytail and her bangs neatly trimmed just above her eyebrows to keep her curls from falling into her face while she worked. Today though, she had a black and white striped headband settled behind her bangs, the rest of her curly hair falling down to her shoulders. “I really like it like this. You look extra pretty.” Lj offered her a small smile and made her way to her seat. Amanda's hand flew to her hair and her jaw fell open a bit, eyes tracking Lj’s movements as she walked away.

Lj thought she was extra pretty with her hair down. Extra. Like she always thought Amanda was pretty, but with her hair down…she was more, pretty. Additionally pretty. Especially pretty. Her gaze slowly left Lj and landed on Mr. Harrington who was watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head in amusement and then pointed to her desk with his chin. It took her feet a few seconds to catch up with her brain and move, but she made it to her seat. As she sat down, Gerald called out to her teacher.

“Wait Mr. H, I’m confused. Why did y’all get 3 kitties in the first place?” Mr. Harrington sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing when he made contact with the scratch.

“We couldn’t separate the siblings. Or, my partner didn’t want to separate them and…who am I to stop them. So we got three kittens.” His eyes widened like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Will you bring them in so we can meet them?” Kendra asked hopefully. Amanda knew she wanted to be a veterinarian so it made sense that she’d ask. That was the cool thing about going to school with the same kids all her life. She knew so many little things about them and what their aspirations were. Gerald was out of this world smart so he’d decided he would either be a lawyer or a doctor, whichever paid more. Mary wanted to be a famous actress, Janet loved science, and Lj was a writer like no other.

Amanda imagined hanging out with Lj in the future. Lj as a world famous journalist for the New York Times and Amanda working somewhere with numbers. They would both live in New York because Lj would want a friend there and they’ll live in the same apartment to save money and they’ll share a room because what if it’s lonely and she’ll get to wake up to Lj and fall asleep with Lj and grocery shop with Lj and

Amanda sat up straighter in her seat and shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. She reminded herself to leave those types of thoughts to when she was alone and tuned back into the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry Kendra, can’t do that. I have a kid in my third and seventh period classes with allergies to fur.”

“What if your wife brings them, and then after this class period, she takes them back home?” Someone else suggested. Mr. Harrington chuckled to himself and dropped his head, letting it hang for a moment.

“That won’t be possible, they’re on a work trip, remember. Maybe I’ll bring a picture in so you all can see.” He offered, looking around to see if that would appease his students.

“But we want to see your wife! You’re always talking about her!” That comment came from Mary. Mr. Harrington laughed again and Amanda wondered what was so funny.

“Ok ok, I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get me to talk about my personal life so we don’t start those essays today huh? Unluckily for you, I was a student once so I know all your tricks! Come on, let’s get class started.” A few tried to protest, but eventually they grabbed their notebooks and flipped to fresh pages.

As Amanda worked, her hair continued to fall into her face. She resisted the urge to tie it back into its signature ponytail, instead opting to tuck her hair behind her ear constantly. Louise-Jane Brooks thinks Amanda Driscoll is extra pretty with her hair down and Amanda decided it was normal to want another girl to think she’s pretty, so she kept her hair down.

4. Friday, October 13th, 1995

“Mr. Harrington, what was high school like for you?”

That day, the eighth grade class had a field trip to the high school now that their first marking period was nearly over. The class was pretty chatty now that they were back in their classroom waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. They were all standing around Mr. Harrington’s desk, a few sitting on the student desks behind them. They quieted down when they heard the question asked.

“I was pretty popular in high school, was co-captain of the swim team, fought some monsters, skipped prom, then I graduated and met the love of my life.” Mr. Harrington was staring upwards, like he was checking off an imaginary list in his mind. Immediately, a gaggle of questions were shouted out at him. His eyes widened in shock and he put his hands up in surrender. “Woahhh guys, one a time, let me see some hands. McKenzie, what’s your question?”

“I thought you met your wife in middle school?” A few ‘yeah’s came from the group as they recalled what Mr. Harrington told them on the first day of class.

“That is technically right. I did meet them in middle school and we were friends for that science class we shared. Then we drifted apart until after I graduated. We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school and ever since then it’s been me and them.”

“What do you mean by fighting monsters?” Another person asked. Mr. Harrington only shrugged. His arms, which were hanging down by his sides, wrapped around his stomach. “Whatever you think it means, Kevin.”

“He’s probably talking about some game or movie,” Someone commented from the back of the group to their friend. Mr. Harrington didn’t acknowledge them, only staring out the window. The kids begin to break off into separate conversation when the bell rings to dismiss for the day.

“Hey Amy,” Lj said, approaching her as the crowd started to disperse and leave Amanda, Lj, and their teacher behind. Mr. Harrington yelled out a ‘See you tomorrow and made good decisions!’ as he sat back behind his desk. The two girls were standing in the aisle between table one and table two, a few feet from the front of Mr. Harrington’s desk. She noticed her teacher start to look for something on his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, normally you're first out the door.” She commented. Amanda smiled at the thought of Lj paying that much attention to her.

“I have Chess Club afterschool today so my mom will get me at four. I don’t have to catch the bus.” Lj hummed in acknowledgement before speaking again.

��So…I just moved to a new house, and I finally finished decorating my room. If it’s okay with your mom, my mom said I could invite people over now.” Lj had a delicate smile on her face as her fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt before being stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

“Um, yeah of course! I’d love to! How do I tell you if my mom said it’s ok?” Amanda said, smiling so widely she knew her cheeks would ache later.

“Uhhhh,” Lj looked around, before taking a few steps and grabbing a marker out of Mr. Harrington’s pencil cup. Amanda trailed behind her. Lj grabbed Amanda’s arm and wrote down a series of numbers on her forearm. Amanda could see that Mr. Harrington was now fumbling for something within his desk. Lj let her hand fall from Amanda’s forearms to her hand.

“There. That’s my home phone number, just call me when you ask your mom! I hope she says yes. I got this jewelry making kit so we can like, make bracelets and stuff! Bye, Amy! Call me! Even if you can't come over!” Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and walking out the classroom.

Amanda was rooted in her spot, the path LJ’s fingers took burned into her skin. Having feelings for Lj had gone from manageable to completely unbearable from that one interaction. How was she supposed to walk around everyday not aching to touch her again? To feel the weight of Lj’s hand in hers and have her small, kind, infectious smile directed at Amanda. Her fingers traced the numbers on her arm as she reimagined her Saturday plans. She was shaken from her daydream when a throat cleared. Her head snapped to the source of the noise, and she met eyes with Mr. Harrington. Realizing he watched that entire interaction, her smile dropped. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same things her parents whispered in the kitchen when they thought she was asleep in the living room.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t have a crush on Lj.” Mr. Harrington only raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I…I didn’t say you did.” He replied.

Amanda’s cheeks burned a deep red as she realized he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. She assumed she knew what he was thinking and just dug herself into a hole. She looked away embarrassed, feeling the burn of restrained tears behind her eyes. She’d just come to terms herself with what those feelings inside her meant. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant to openly like girls. But now she’d have to, Mr. Harrington was going to tell her mom.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispered, looking away when a few tears fell. Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock. He jumped up from his desk, walked around to the front, and kneeled in front of Amanda.

“Hey, hey, hey don't cry. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. There’s nothing for me to tell, Amanda. Promise.” He reassured, his hands flailing about in front of him as he spoke. He offered a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before shifting to sit criss-cross in front of his desk, using it to lean on.

Amanda watched Mr. Harrington as he sat on the floor and made himself comfortable. He looked up at Amanda and patted the spot next to him. She sat down with him, legs stretched into the aisle in front of them and her back pressed up against Mr. Harrington’s desk. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes, and Mr. Harrington pushed his glasses into his hair and began to speak.

“If I may ask, what is it… that I'm not telling?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I don’t think you’d understand.” She said, voice shaky with unshed tears.

“Maybe…maybe not. But you never know unless you tell me. If you want to, of course.” He said as he watched Amanda carefully.

“How do you feel about your wife?” She asked him, finger aimlessly prodding at the linoleum floors.

“My partner is the best gift that I could have ever been given. They’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The kindest, most compassionate, and genuine person I know. And they’re hilarious, they make me laugh like never before. I used to dread going home, but now that they’re there, I can’t wait to get back to them everyday. Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them. They are the center of my universe and every planet surrounding it.”

The two sat in silence for a moment after. Amanda wondered what it would be like to love a girl so fully. To love a girl so much that her mere presence made the stars shine brighter and air seem crisper. To love a girl, and be free to tell anyone who asked.

“I want,” she started. “I want to be allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Amanda nearly whispered the end of her sentence, the force of hearing her voice admit that out loud for the first time knocked the air out of her.

“You are allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Mr. Harrington said, shifting to face Amanda better. She turned to look at him, red rimmed eyes meeting earnest ones. “My best friend and her wife moved to San Francisco so that they could. They’re much more open minded out there. When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us out there way more than you did here in Hawkins.” Amanda’s brows knitted in confusion.

“People like us?” She asked. Mr. Harrington nodded.

“People like us,” He confirmed. Amanda let the weight of both their confessions settle in the air. Other people felt this way. Mr. Harrington did. And so did his best friend and her wife. And the people in San Francisco and in Chicago. She wasn’t the only person who felt. Amanda let her worries be temporarily soothed by the comfort of knowing she wasn’t a freak or a mistake. She wiped her eyes again, put her glasses back on, and pushed herself off the floor. She looked up at the clock which read 3:12. Chess Club started in three minutes.

“I have to go, I don’t want to be late…but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” Amanda said, voice quiet.

“Anytime, Amanda. My door is always open.” And she didn’t doubt that. Not many people in Hawkins knew how she felt, but Mr. Harrington did and that was more than she thought.

5. Monday, October 15th, 1995

When Amanda walked into her homeroom class the following day, the first thing she noticed was the new poster up by the chalkboard. It was a plain beige rectangle with rainbow patterned letters, spelling out “YOU ARE SAFE HERE.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately searched for Mr. Harrington, but he was busy talking to one of her classmates. She walked to her seat, reveling in the warmth that grew in her chest from how nice it was to be cared for like this.

As Amanda placed her arm on her desk, she felt the delicious bite of the gems on her bracelet sink into the skin of her wrist. She lifted her wrist to inspect the new jewelry she made with Lj. There were pink, orange, and red beads patterned on her bracelet, while Lj’s had a pink, blue, and purple pattern. Both bracelets however, had “LJ&AMY”. Her right hand came up and she ran her fingers over the beads, and smiled fondly as she remembered her weekend with Lj. Memories of bracelet making, pizza, karaoke, and sharing a banana split sundae filled her mind. Amanda looked ahead of her and saw that Lj was already staring at her. She smiled at her and waved shyly. Lj giggled and waved back.

“I like your bracelet,” She said, smiling back at Amanda. Amanda stuck her hand wrist out proudly to show off the bracelet Lj helped her make.

“Why thank you, it’s custom made, one of a kind,” She laughed again, but was interrupted by one of her classmates yelling over the chatter in the classroom.

“How was your weekend, Mr. H,” Gerald asked.

“It was pretty good. I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner and they had a picnic set up. It was very sweet. They even made me a flower crown by hand. We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.” He responded.

“Wow, Mr. H, your wife sounds mad sweet.” Gerald responded, his fingers absentmindedly twirling one of his locs.

“Right,” Kendra piped in from the back corner. “Everytime you say something about her it’s always something so gentle. Like she taught you how to make origami, and she irons your clothes, made you adopt all those cats, now a picnic at Lovers’ Lake and a handmade flower crown? She’s like, the sweetest woman in the world.” Kendra said, recalling all the kind things Mr. Harrington’s partner did for him.

“I wish you guys paid this much attention to what I say when i’m teaching, how did you even remember all of that?” Kendra only shrugs and Mr. Harrington sighs. “Anyways, what about you guys, what did you get up to this weekend?” Immediately Lj’s hand went up and Mr. Harrington called on her. She reached her hand out to Amanda, who immediately clasped her fingers around Lj’s.

“Well Amy came over to my house and we did a bunch of fun stuff like go to the mall and get pizza, but we also made these matching bracelets.” Lj then stuck their conjoined hands in the air so their classmates could see the bracelets, even if it was a bit awkward with all that space between the two girls.

Amanda’s grin grew impossibly bigger and she looked at Mr. Harrington who raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“That’s very nice girls, my partner and my best friend have a matching pair of purple converse that they decorated together actually. Janet, what about you? How was your weekend?” Mr. Harrington went on, letting his students tell him all about their weekend before they started class. Amanda couldn’t pay much attention to what her classmates were saying though, savoring every second Lj kept her in hand in Amanda’s.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird how Mr. Harrington never just says ‘my wife’?” Mary whispered to her tablemates. Amanda froze for a moment, considering Mary’s words. Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and picking up her pencil to take notes since Mr. Harrington was now starting the lesson. Amanda didn’t follow her lead. Instead, she ran back every time Mr. Harrington brought up his wife.

“Then I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years…”

“...normally my partner irons my shirts every morning…”

“Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them.”

Why didn’t Mr. Harrington just say ‘my wife’ instead of ‘my partner’? Why did he always say ‘they’ instead of ‘she’? Amanda’s mind reminded her of their conversation afterschool on friday.

“When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us way more than here in Hawkins.”

People like…us.

Her eyes darted to the new poster hanging up in their class. You are safe here. Her eyes drifted to Mr. Harrington as the realization dawned on her. Why Mr. Harrington was so specific about how he referred to his partner. Why he didn’t have a picture of them on his desk like her other teachers do.

Mr. Harrington…doesn’t have a wife. He has a husband.

+1. Tuesday, October 16th, 1995

It was career fair day so after lunch instead of heading to her algebra class, Amanda met up with Lj in front of the gym to browse all the different jobs that came to present that day. She almost tripped over her feet in excitement once she spotted Lj. She quickened her pace, nearly running over one of the 6th graders. The two girls embraced before linking arms as they walked into the gym together.

They stopped by the doctor table and the accounting table, and ran past the construction table giggling. They visited the journalism table so Lj could talk with the woman there. She had a short, curly bob and a name tag that read “Miss Wheeler”. Amanda looked around and spotted Mr. Harrington toward the back of the fair talking with another man with unruly, curly hair. The long haired man smiled at Mr. Harrington and knocked the educators shoulder with his own.

Amanda told Lj she would be right back and headed in their direction. Upon arriving, Mr. Harrington’s friend stepped away from him and approached Amanda. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “The Devil Was Once an Angel” and ripped black jeans. He had many rings on his fingers and various chains hanging off his belt loops. He had multiple tattoos all along his arms and stuck to the front of his chest was a name tag that read “Mr. Munson”.

Looking at his display, she saw a speaker, quietly playing metal music and a black and red electric guitar on a stand next to it. There were pictures of the long haired man on stage with 3 other guys and a notebook open with what looked like song lyrics. Next to the notebook, there were some tickets for a band called ‘Corroded Coffin’. Amanda racked her memory trying to remember why the name sounded familiar.

“Amanda!” Mr. Harrington greeted. He turned and faced Mr. Munson. “Mr. Munson, this is that student I told you about. Amanda, this is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist, lead vocals, and songwriter for his band.” Mr. Harrington looked at Eddie proudly, and placed a hand on each shoulder, in a weird sort of side hug.

“Thank you for that lovely introduction, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Munson said, grinning widely. He then turned to Amanda. “What kind of music do you listen to, Red?” He had his hands clasped together, his two pointer fingers pressed against his lips.

“Uhh, I guess I listen to a lot of pop music. My older sister introduced me to someone called Madonna? I mainly listen to my sister's old tapes so whatever she has,” Amanda responded.

Mr. Munson gasped, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest where his heart would be.

“Oh you poor thing! You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.” She giggled and Mr. Munson smiled at her in a way where she knew he was only teasing. Amanda could see Mr. Harrington roll his eyes but smile, as Mr. Munson grabbed the speaker that was on his table. He pulled it closer to the front of the table so she could hear the music playing better. Mr. Munson looked around quickly before whispering to Amanda. “You won’t tell anyone if this song says any bad words will you,” His questioning gaze turned into a devilish grin when Amanda smiled and shook her head. “I knew there was a reason you were his favorite” Her feet tapped in excitement as she glanced quickly to her teacher.

Mr. Munson turns the music up slightly and lets the heavy bass and electric guitar fill the air around them.

“That is my band's latest single, ‘Trials’. It’s about some stuff that your teacher and I went through back in high school.” He said.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Amanda asked, bewildered. How did her polo-wearing, mr. popular, not a hair out of place history teacher become friends with a man so completely different from him?

“Well we knew of each other in high school, we were friends in middle school for a little while. We reconnected around this time of my senior year. 1986, can you believe that was 10 years ago, Stevie?” Where had she heard that before? Where did she know this man from? She can’t recall ever seeing him before, so why do his words sound so familiar? Amanda pushed those questions out of her head, and instead decided to ask him questions about his work since that is what he was there for.

“Do all the inspirations for your songs come from your life? How do you not run out of things to write about?” Amanda asked.

“What a wonderful question, Red. I do get a lot of inspiration from my real life. Take this weekend for example, Me and Mr. Harrington—or Mr.Harrington and I, Miss O’Donnell would kill me if she heard me say that.” Mr. Munson said that last part to Mr. Harrington before he turned back to Amanda. “Like I was saying, Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends. I got some inspiration from that experience to write about reminiscing on good times. The song that just played for you right now, is also about the past but it’s about how the past changes us today. So while I may use the same base for songs,...”

Amanda started to lose focus as Mr. Munson explained his songwriting process. Mr. Harrington also said he was at Lovers’ Lake with his partner and that he met up with old friends this weekend. She understood them hanging out as old friends, they knew each other since middle school apparently. But how could Mr. Munson have been at Lovers’ Lake too?

Amanda looks at Mr. Harrington, opening her mouth to ask a question when she stops herself. Mr. Harrington. That’s who she’s heard this from before. She looked back at the tickets on the table. “Corroded Coffin” She realizes that’s the band he was talking about that one day. She runs her entire conversation with Mr. Munson back in her mind matching it to the things she heard Mr. Harrington say in class.

‘’The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’”

“You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.”

“We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school.”

“We reconnected around this time of my senior year.”

“Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends.”

“I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner…We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.”

Amanda looked away from the table, looking between both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington was watching Mr. Munson as he explained something Amanda wasn't paying much attention to with rapt fascination. His eyes were soft and his smile was adoring. His arms were crossed casually across his chest and he leaned slightly toward Mr. Munson, like the musician had a magnetic pull on him.

Like Mr. Munson was the center of his universe.

Amanda gasped loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Munson’s spiel and drawing attention from a few of the neighboring tables. They all turned away when Amanda’s face broke into a wide grin, assuming her gasp was from excitement. Both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson were staring at Amanda with confusion on their faces.

“Are you…okay, Red?” Mr. Munson asked as he stepped backwards to inspect Amanda, consequently getting into Mr. Harrington’s personal space. Her history teacher didn’t budge when there were only a mere few inches separating them. She peeked around them, searching for Lj and finding her talking to Gerald in front of the lawyers table. She turned back to the two men in front of her and kept her voice low when she spoke.

“Mr. Harrington doesn’t have a wife,” She paused for dramatic effect, something she learned from Mary, and let the two men share a glance before looking back to her. “He has a husband.” She clapped her hands, excited by her discovery. It all made sense now. Realization washed over both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson. They looked at each other, Mr. Munson pursing his lips to suppress a smile and Mr. Harrington with both hands on his hips and an exasperated look on his face.

“How did you piece that together from my presentation?” Mr. Munson asked, head tilted in amusement.

“It wasn’t your presentation, it was the stuff you said before you started talking about the music. Mr. Harrington talks about you all the time in class. The stuff you said right now matched up to what Mr. Harrington said before and all the signs, the poster, ‘People like us...It just clicked right now. What all that meant.” Amanda said, hands waving wildly in front of her. They froze mid-air when another realization washed over her. Her eyebrows knit up in confusion as she looked Mr. Munson over once more.

“You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Munson to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids.” He turned back to Amanda. “It’s 1995 Little Red, people are so much more than their stereotypes.”

Amanda stared at Mr. Munson, soaking in all the new information, when another question popped in her mind.

“Wait. If you’re both boys, how did you get married?” She kept her voice low, so the other tables wouldn’t over hear her. Mr. Munson crouched down to Amanda’s level.

“Well, to the government, marriage is a piece of paper saying ‘This is who I chose!’. And tax benefits. We didn't need a piece of paper and a big fancy party, though we did have one, to say that we chose each other for life. I love him. And the government doesn’t get to tell me if that’s okay or not, it is okay.” Mr. Munson then looked up at Mr. Harrington from his spot on the floor. They shared a look, one that said a million more words than they’d be allowed in such a public place.

Amanda looked away from them, the connection between the two becoming almost suffocating. It was so surreal to be standing in front of two people who understood what she was going through. They went through it already and came out the other end. They were living breathing proof that it’s not always this hard, and it’s not always this confusing. That one day you’ll be able to wake up every morning next to the love of your life, no matter their gender. You’ll get to visit your favorite spots from your childhood as you grow old together. That we get a fancy wedding and the promise to be together forever too. They were proof that our fate isn’t subject to becoming a forgotten name in the newspaper for a case the police won’t try to solve. People like us, get to have our happily ever after, and Amanda was looking right at one. She couldn’t quite put into words what that meant to her.

On top of that, Mr. Munson wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Besides the fact that she was expecting a woman up until yesterday, he wasn’t anything like she expected for someone who presented themself like he did. He was kind and gentle while being loud and dramatic. He picked flowers for his husband with the same hands he used to shred electric guitar. He was unapologetically himself, even if that confused some people. Amanda looked forward to the day she could say the same about herself.

Mr. Harrington offered Mr. Munson a hand, and helped him off the floor when Lj approached the table.

“There you are Amy, I was wondering where you went,” Lj immediately reached for Amanda’s hand and interlocked their fingers, like she couldn't go another second without touching Amanda. Mr. Munson offered a small, knowing smile. “Are you done here? I heard the veterinary table is giving out cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

Amanda looked away from Lj and back up at Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington.

“After the promotion ceremony, and we’re officially high schoolers…am I still allowed to come back and say hi?” Amanda asked. Sure, it was only October but Mr. Harrington had already changed her life in such an irrevocable way. When she gets her first girlfriend or when she moves away to find people who are like her, it’ll be because Mr. Harrington was the first person who told her that it was okay and that she wasn’t alone.

“Of course, Amanda. Come back anytime! I’d love to hear about how high school goes for you. Even beyond that!” Mr. Harrington said. They shared a smile, and she let Lj pull her away.

“So you talk about me in class all the time, huh?” Mr. Munson teased as Amanda walked away.

“Go back on tour,” was her teacher's reply.

—

I don't know if i really have the words to explain what this fic means to me and how cathartic it was to write. Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie stranger things #st #plu #100 #1k #oc #ducky writes

3K notes · View notes

nicoforlifetrue · 14 days

Text

I need to get the gangs designs out of my head like, right now so here we go! Au characters first then cannon guys spoilers below

Anyone the color crew considers a friend gets a matching jacket that green made with something representing them embroidered onto the old jackets, chosen has one and has it tied around his waist most of the time, everyone else wears it near 24/7

Victim: gray dead anime mom hair, scene kid from Spencer's in the 12s looking clothes, long sleeves striped under shirt with a t shirt on top, ripped up skinny jeans, has broken shackles around his wrists that act like the lasso tool but he doesn't use very often, a fire fox icon often sleeping on his shoulders he has three that act as attack dogs, soft rainy day blue eyes that are normally kept in that same dead anime mom half lidded state, he looks calm and approachable and loving after all that's how he gets you.

Chosen: black hair to his shoulders that he keeps in a bun, dyes red streaks into it, combat jacket three sizes too big, ripped up t shirt and jeans he never bothers to fix, wears a face mask when hiding his identity because his mouth is abnormally long and it freaks people out, has a locket with a family picture in it (it's a picture of Alan's face and cupped hands, the hollows are in his hands waving at the camera, Alan took his picture made it the computer background then took a screenshot of the boys, it was Alan's phone screen lock picture) everything he owns is burned at the hems because of his anger issues triggering his powers. Eyes glow red and are set into a permanent scowl, he has worry lines.

Dark: wild red hair he's never brushed in his life, he dyes black streaks in it, has one of those slutty leotard things that show the hips? You know what I mean, and combat pants, he has five virabands one of each limb, he made the first one just to give chosen a challenge but after seconds powers awakened he made more for when the kid has nightmares and needs to be held down so he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else with his powers going haywire, it only really works because the powers not concentrated, also has a locket with the family picture, he says it's for chosens sake but he stays up at night sometimes staring at it. Has black eyes but his pupils glow such a bright red their mistaken for red, all the hollows have sharp teeth but darks are especially sharp and he keeps them in a lazy grin, he has pronounced crows feet.

Second: orange wavy hair in a low short pony with it down it only reach's his shoulders, basic orange hoodie and well he does have his own clothes he more often then not is wearing some eclectic mess of stolen goods from his brothers, he likes Vic's shirts and darks pants the most and will try to get away with chosens jacket at any given opportunity, chosen trades his hair bands to get it back. Eyes glow a radioactive green, his lip is always busted from him chewing it, as are his cuticles from picking at them, is always a little wide eyed and sad looking even if he's over joyed just because his face has kind of settled like that, real case of "resting depression face"

Cannons turn!

Cannon second! Same hair as au, wearing the groups jacket and has is closed most of the time because he gets cold easy but takes it off to sleep, wears paint pants and shirt near always and there always covered in new color splash each day, convinced chosen to perce his ears and has a industrial one that he puts a spare pencil tool in after the box episode so he's never really disarmed, the other side has a little curser on a chain because he felt bad that Alan couldn't get a jacket. His eyes are still nuke green but they don't glow and his hands have calusus but he doesn't pick them like au infact he has them painted, heavy eye bags because he actually has to get up in the morning when the crew decides to have late night party's.

Red: fluffy red mop that he just cuts when ever it gets into his eyes, has the fellow headband to keep it off his scalp when exercising, cat ears, no really he has actual working cat ears and not normal ones, his jacket is hanging on for dear life and Is always at least a little off his shoulders even keeps it on when he sleeps, gym clothes even in the snow, bandages and gaze patches everywhere, his jacket hides the fact that he's fucking ripped because after the "blue punching obsidian" incident he got competitive and started working harder, he's up to diamond now. Eyes are whiskey colored have slits like a cats and he's sensitive to air changes just like cats are.

Blue: ties the group jacket like a cardigan around their neck when working in their garden or making potions so it doesn't get ruined, overalls are a farmers best friend, has the longest hair out of everyone reaching his knees, ties it into a bun for fights, braids it for potion making and sleep, and puts it in a ponytail the rest of the time, keeps it down when they plan on just hanging out with the guys. Has excessive nerve damage from the lava and can't feel if they've been cut or injured below their chest. Eyes are a very rich mahogany that gained purple flecks after a while of messing with potions, red asked Herobrine about it and it turns out to just be his body gaining immunity to most of the bad side affects potion making gives you (turns out his neather wart addiction is actually fairly common among potion makers because it helps build and keep those immunities which are important when experimenting)

Yellow: blond typical trans boy hair cut, meaning under shave with a quiff, has the jackets sleeves perpetually shrugged up his arms, only closes it when working on a more advanced machine, under shirt is stained red and he doesn't own a single pair of clean cargo jeans all of them have at least one mend in them. The bridge of his nose is stained red from rubbing there when he had redstone on his fingers, his fingers themselves are also permanently red, where's glasses near identical to Alan's, his eyes are a washed out pinkish rose, almost gray.

Green: for the longest time had an an uncontrolled frizzy mess of hair I'm talking untamable never seen coconut oil 3c, but after they sticks where introduced to dj, he managed to wrangle them into locks, DJ helps him braid them best he can if he ever wants to clean up but it's either dreads or spending hours everyday calming them. Only one who wares the crew jacket like a normal person, also the only one with a normal clean and sensible wardrobe in general, likes skirts but considering it's a bitch to fight in them only wears them when going out and knowing the others won't start a group bonding brawl, always has both head phones and earbuds on his person and is the only one too keep his phone intact and not broken. Eyes are hazel mixing green and gold with flecks of blue around the center, has audio processing issues and it helps him understand people if there's a background noise of some sort also fights better with a beat. Also has really bad tinnitus and always has, it's been made worse by recent fights though.

Purple: curly hair more of a 3b or 3a, keeps it in a single braid so it's easier to keep track of and care for, mango helps them with it in the mornings, the most recent one to get a jacket after the king stuff went down. Likes fancy and just nicer clothes like button ups and poets shirts and leggings, has bird wings because there mother was made for a stick flight animation test, but there weak and they can't fly like there mom can, they can hover and glide but they need an elytra to act as basically a sort of brace if they want to propel them selves, and even then they can't get to high speeds without rockets. Has orangy red autumn colored eyes like there mother.

#plot swap au #avm #ava #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft

21 notes · View notes

imagines--galore · 1 year

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you'd be comfortable woth writing Steve Rogers x reader who's a seamstress/designer that wears mostly WW2 era clothing?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Fluff. No warnings.

A/N: OMG! I love this ask! Like seriously thank you so much! Also I drew inspiration from Edna Mode from the Incredibles LOL. Also I hope everything I wrote makes sense. Its two in the morning and my fingers won't stop typing : P Anywho! Enjoy!

People were surprised, to say the least, when you would present yourself as a designer. And not just any designer.

You were now in charge of updating, mending and designing uniforms for the Avengers.

Was it a real job title? Not really. But then since when had that stopped Tony Stark? He could update his armor on his own, and adjust it to his liking. The rest of his team, however, did not have the luxury. Bruce didn't need a uniform, while Thor had his own godly outfit. Natasha needed her uniform mended after a brutal fight. Not to mention she needed suits that would keep her warm in cold weather, and allow her skin to breath in the hot weather. Clint required a uniform that was sturdy yet easy to move in, since maneuvering was a big part of his gig. And Steve came back with more then a few rips in his uniform, on more then one occasion.

And with the growing roster of the Avengers, Tony had taken this particular step and hired you as the official designer/seamstress for the Avengers.

Every fabric imaginable was at your disposal. Not to mention the technology. You were working in your dream field, and was loving every second of it.

Plus it gave you time to work on your own projects as well.

And that was creating vintage clothing from the 40s and 50s.

Fashions from the years past had always fascinated you, and though you would love to wear the elegant gowns and other period pieces, the design and cuts of women's clothing from the 40s and 50s wouldn't get you stared at.

At least not much.

Besides, there was another more empowering reason you wore clothes from that era.

The first time you had met the Avengers, was after the Battle of New York. Tony had set you up, and you had met with each team member separately to talk about their new uniforms.

The day you met Steve, you had just finished speaking to Natasha and waved her goodbye. You were sitting on the tall stool by the bar within the Avengers Tower and going over your rough sketches and notes. As was the norm, you were wearing pants and a shirt styled after the 40s fashion, a rare occasion since you adored the skirts and dresses that came with those years. Sensing someone approach you, you looked up, red lips pulling into a bright smile as you saw the Captain approaching.

"Captain, hi." You quickly stood, heels clicking against the marble floor as you did. "I'm Y/n, 'your new designer." He stared at you for a few more seconds, before shaking himself out of whatever stupor he was in and approached you. "Its nice to meet you, Ma'am." You smiled at him. "Call me Y/N." You offered, before hoping onto your stool once more and pulling out an entirely new sketchbook from your bag. It already had a few sketches of the Captain's uniform in it, plus some detailed notes along the margins.

"So, what is it you'd like me to change about your suit?" You asked, smiling at him as you crossed one leg over the other, pencil poised on a new page to start taking notes.

It took a few minutes before Steve began to speak to you openly. He was detailed about what he did or didn't want, and you were precise with your questions as you took notes. Of course the color scheme would remain the same, but you offered to create one that was entirely black, for stealth missions, you explained. He agreed, thinking that perhaps blue and red would stick out like a sore thumb in the shadows.

As you were tracing the shoulder of the uniform from the side, filling in the details as you went along you glanced up at him.

"What about the symbol?" You asked. The Captain stared back at you, confused. "What symbol?"

"Well you have the star as your personal symbol, but now that you're a part of the team, shouldn't you wear an Avengers symbol somewhere?" You gestured to the shoulder you had outlined. "I was thinking perhaps an A right there." You suggested. He glanced at the drawing before looking back up at you. A small smiled pulled at his lips before he chuckled. "I hadn't even thought of that." He admitted. Suddenly his blue eyes lit up and he gestured out a hand.

"May I?" Nodding you quickly handed over the sketchbook and pencil, watching in fascination as he began to do a quick sketch of the symbol he wanted that would represent his alliance. With the way he created the strokes with each sweep of the pencil, precise and elegant, you couldn't help but make a guess.

"Do you draw Captain?" You asked, your eyes never leaving his hand as he began to add in the details such as outlining and shading. The man shrugged. "A little bit." You had a feeling he was being modest. You had worked with designers and had studied alongside future designers, you knew an artist when you saw one.

"What do you think?" He finally asked, sliding the sketchbook back towards you.

Your eyes scanned over what would be the official Avengers logo before grinning.

"Look perfect."

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

It didn't take long for you and the Captain to be on first name basis. But then again it was the same with Natasha and Clint. While you mostly talked shop with the two assassins, with the Captain, now Steve, it was another story.

It was easy to talk to him, to go into depth when designing a new outfit for him. He was a super soldier, and regular clothing sizes didn't particularly make the cut sometimes. So it was the norm for you to be creating other clothes for him as well. He would come to you with an idea or even a rough sketch and you would make it a reality.

Then there were the mission outfits. Oh you loved those! Adding hidden seams and cuts into Natasha's dresses so she could hide her weapons. Helping Clint create a tuxedo that managed to hide several sharp arrows. Short ones of course, but still good enough to use with a crossbow.

Your work remained consistent and up to par, as did your dress sense. Not a day went by when you didn't wear something dapper whenever you went to work. You could always tell that there was a curious gleam in Steve's eyes whenever you two would interact, but you dismissed it. He probably thought you strange for your dressing style, but it didn't bother you. Tony had taken to joking about your style, but only in jest. He was just as impressed with your skills just as any other team member.

Of all the Avengers, Steve became a good friend. And you had secretly admitted to yourself that those blue eyes and smile did comes as a bonus. Not to mention he was in peak physical condition. If you had the guts you would ask him to model a few of your own personal pieces for you, but you would never come outright and say something like that.

At present you were putting the final touches on Clint's new uniform. He had decided that maybe he needed a little more dark purple and you had complied. Working with Kevlar was a pain though. It was hard to mesh the fabric together and create something that would fit with the man's physique perfectly.

You were getting tired, and your fingers were aching from the numerous pins and needles you had handled that day. Not to mention the constant cutting. Your hand was beginning to cramp and you had decided to call it a day.

Your workplace was stationed at one of the floors of the Avengers Tower and you could see the sun beginning to set. Sighing you kicked off your heels, stretching your toes and sitting back in your chair. You propped your feet up on another chair and leaned your head back. You had only just taken a deep breath when you heard the door slide open. Straightening up, you glanced in the general direction before relaxing.

"Oh Steve, its only you." You went back to your previous posture of relaxing. "Hurtful Y/N, that you think so little of me. I am a Captain after all." He feigned being hurt with a hand to his chest. To play along with his little joke, you instantly jumped to your feet, and stood at attention, saluting him as you did. The expression on your one was one of sheer concentration and attention, prompting the soldier to laugh out loud as he approached you.

"At ease, soldier." He patted you gently on the shoulder. You broke the salute to grin up at him. Your gaze flitted to the torn page he held. "New project for me? You do know how to spoil a girl Steve." You said with a teasing nudge to his shoulder as you took the page from him. He shrugged in response. "I just thought it'd be a fun little side project for you. You're always saying you love those." You hummed in agreement as your eyes scanned his rough sketching, already making calculations and measurements in your head.

"It'll take me a couple weeks to get to this though, I'm swamped." You gestured to the multiple projects she had laid out on rows and rows of tables. Steve quickly nodded. "Of course, work comes first." You sighed. "I wish I'd have extra time for my own projects as well, it took me two weeks to complete this." You gestured to the dress you were wearing.

Your outfit for the day was one of your own designs, and it was one of your best, in your opinion. You had paired it with shoes that matched the color of the scarf. For your hair you had gone quite simple, simply adjusting the waves and curls and allowing them to frame your features.

Steve did a once over of your dress. He was silent for a few seconds. "What?" You asked, frowning at the sudden silence. "Can I ask you something Y/N?" He said. Was he actually looking nervous about what he wanted to ask. You gave a nod, encouraging him to go on.

"Why do you dress like that?" He asked.

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. "Like what?"

He shrugged before gesturing to your overall appearance. "Like you don't belong in this era."

"Oh! Oh my gosh! Steve! Is my wearing clothes from the 40s bothering you? I should've realized I am so sorry!" Your apologies were cut off when he shook his head. "No! No! Its not that." He seemed to be struggling to find the words.

"I mean that since I woke up I've only ever seen women dress in today's fashions. And I always thought dames would dress according to the latest fashion." God knows he had been aware of the fact. Bucky's sisters had always been obsessed with the latest trends. And he was sure that if they had seen you, they would've swooned over your outfits.

You gave a small sigh of relief. "Oh is that all? I thought maybe you didn't like the way I dressed." He shook his head. "I like how you dress, its like being back home. A little." There was no doubt there was a hint of sadness in his eyes this time when he spoke, and your heart went out to him. "Well I'm glad the way I dress has helped remind you of home." You said, giving him a small smile.

"And to be honest," You continued. "There is a bit of a sentimental reason why I dress like this." A quirk of an eyebrow on his part prompted you to go on so you did.

"My grandmother was a factory worker during World War II. When I was little she used to tell me how during those years women really started to come into their own. With the men gone, women stepped up and started to take charge of small businesses and working jobs that men had otherwise occupied previously. And because of this women had to wear practical clothing, like pants and shorter skirts. Sure there was also a fabric shortage, but it only helped women dress practically. Not to mention they had to cut their hair to keep it out of the way."

You glanced down at yourself, smoothing the front of your dress before looking back up at him and continued. "I dress like this because I love the style. It makes me feel pretty and I'm able to do my work efficiently." You paused. "But most of all, I wear them to remind me that women have come a long long way then simply being house-makers and small unknown business owners. And I honestly really just admire the way women took charge while their men were away." You grinned. "Talk about real empowerment."

By the time you finished talking there was a smile on Steve's face and a lingering sadness as well. You reached out to lay your hand on his arm. "Are you alright?" He nodded. "Yeah, just what you said, reminded me of a whole lot of women who I knew took charge on the battle front." He had met some brave soldiers during WWII, but he had also met some incredibly fearless women who were ready to charge the Nazis. Of course they weren't allowed to, so they tended to the wounded, drove them to hospitals, acted as liaisons and secretaries. Their roles were just as important as that of a soldier. And then there was Peggy.

Steve could see a glimmer of that fierceness in you that he had seen in Peggy. He had made his peace with the fact that she had lived her life. And now looking at you, a small thought took root in his mind. Maybe he could find someone to spend his life with as well?

"If you're done here." He gazed around the room, hands now stuffing in his pockets as his feet shuffled nervously where he stood. "You want to get something to eat?"

Alright, so hadn't been expecting that. A bright smile bloomed on your face and you gave Steve a little curtsy. "Such a gentleman. Let me just grab my bag."

He waited for your patiently by the door as you quickly pulled on your shoes and grabbed your handbag, tugging on your gloves as you went. "So where to?" You asked as you stepped up next to him. He grinned, offering you his arm which you gladly took, before answering.

"I know a really good 40s themed diner?"

"Sounds divine."

#steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x oc #captain steve rogers x oc #captain steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine

67 notes · View notes