#five lights on a very long string

[ddejavvu]

remus x animagus!reader where he doesn’t know it’s her yet, and there’s just always this random cat (or other animal) following him around the castle, and cuddling up to him in the hospital wing after full moons

<333

"You shouldn't be in here."

Remus's stern words hardly deter you, especially because by now he's got the strength to push you off of the bed, but he doesn't. Instead he watches warily, neck craned and rolled into miniscule lines of chub that you'd kiss if you were in your human form, as your paws trace a path up towards his head.

"You're some sort of creature," Remus decides, speaking aloud in the deserted hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey only has one other patient now, but they've been quarantined in a separate room due to the infectious nature of their illness. It means that Remus can speak at will, and you're happy to plant yourself over his chest to feel it vibrate at the sound. You're more accustomed to doing so with your human ears, but it's nicer to hear your boyfriend's voice with cat senses.

"You're too smart to be a regular cat," He lifts a shaky hand up to your head, offering you a chance to inspect him as though you haven't already splayed yourself over his chest, "But the castle doesn't allow many magical pets. Which means you're not supposed to be in here at all. Definitely not in the Hospital Wing."

You offer him a soft, plaintive meow, purring when he strokes his knuckles over the space between your ears.

"Maybe you're an omen," He muses suddenly, eyes narrowing, "No one else ever sees you. Are you warning me of some cruel fate?"

You blink at him, slowly, and he decides, "You're not very threatening for an omen."

Remus has professed the exact same observation about your attempts to be threatening in human form as well. Somehow, the tightening of your brows and the downturn of your lips aren't enough to petrify Remus, though it works rather nicely on errant second-years who find themselves confident enough in the castle to misbehave, but too terrified to face the consequences.

You draw back your shoulders and let your fangs glint in the low lights of the hospital wing, mouth open to hiss warningly at Remus.

Your cruel fate is a good night's sleep, you grouse at him, lamenting the fact that he'll never hear the words, you'd rest more if you weren't always dishing out inexhaustible wit.

"Oh, very scary," He chuckles, poking teasingly at your left pointed fang, "I'm not afraid of you, cat, you couldn't hurt me more than I've already hurt myself."

And it's true.

His limbs, long and lanky, bear the scratch marks of his own claws, gnarled nails that lie in wait under the surface to be beckoned by the moon's silvery siren song. There's a tear on his cheek, skin split and blood carefully wiped clean, where he'd fought with himself, with the will of the universe, and tried clinging to his human skin. He's nursing a rolled ankle from thrashing about during his transformation, and a patch of his hair is still reddened with copper no matter how many times Madame Pomfrey had washed it with a wet washcloth. He's barely a boy anymore, more like a string of injuries hanging together with sutures and dittany.

In hopes that companionship works just as well as Pomfrey's healing remedies, you wriggle closer still to his face, draping yourself over his neck and laying your face against his own. It's an awkward position for him, probably more pressure than he's used to on his windpipe, but you keep your weight off of him as much as possible, and purr like the motor of Sirius's bike against his ear.

He's hesitant to accept it at first, which you knew he would be. He needs to be sought out, he needs someone to hold out their hand for five seconds before he decides to take it or not. You wait, one, two, three, four, five, and he exhales, the air hitting your fur.

"Don't be here when they check on me," He murmurs, hand back at his side as your tail curls around his opposite ear, "Thanks, cat."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin one-shot #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin dialogue #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin headcanons #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin hc #remus lupin hcs #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you

[jamminvroomvroom]

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

-

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, yourfriendnancy, yourfriendmia, maxfewtrell and 378,654 others

youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

-

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, ashjbibby, yourfriendnancy and 344,555 others

youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y’all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

-

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, maxfewtrell, yourfriendmia and 332,211 others

youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

-

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, abudhabigp, yourfriendmia and 543,288 others

youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

and 588 other comments

lando.jpg just posted on instagram

liked by: youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 645,321 others

lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

-

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

-

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

-

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: maxfewtrell, mclaren, yourfriendmia and 442,689 others

youruser: commotion for the dress?

yourfriendmia: *commotion*

user5: on my knees begging

user1: no lando like? divorce? 😟

mclaren: always good to see you! 🧡

yourfriendnancy: kicking my feet looking at this lord have mercy

and 504 other comments

-

you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

-

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

-

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, francisca.gomez, lilymhe and 735,641 others

youruser: our secret moments

landonorris: “only bought this dress so you could take it off” 🕺🏻✨💘

youruser: @ landonorris omg shut up (omw over)

user1: FINALLY

user4: bisexual panic is a real thing.

otheruser: i used to pray for times like these

maxfewtrell: took you long enough.

yourfriendmia: mum n dad

user63: mclaren ships it and so do i

and 1,442 other comments

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

maintenance: i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!

#lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris social media au #lando norris smau #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 driver x reader #formula 1 fic #formula 1 smut #f1 #formula 1 #fanfic #smut #fluff #angst #f1 social media au #f1 smau #writing things #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

[themotherofhorses]

maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)

summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."

masterlist | series masterlist

part one | part three | part four | part five

The rain was light. From his chamber’s windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemond’s mind was anything but.

He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.

Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.

Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.

And now they were gone.

It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?

He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.

But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.

How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!

He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realm’s countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?

He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.

Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.

The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.

After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.

He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.

And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.

He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride.  

Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his mother’s pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.

Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?

The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.

What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it.  

Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.

Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.

One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary. 

It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.

He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.

It gives him an idea.

So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.

“I can be of great use to you,” she adds, in tones thick with seduction.

But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. “It should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,” he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, “-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps I’ll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.”

In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knight’s through and through.

The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.

And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.

Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. “My time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,” she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. “I expect to be paid in return.”

“Yes, I know,” Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “You will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.”

He debates whether to bring her back to King’s Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. “My wife is missing,” he says, “and I wish to find her and bring her home.”

Alys frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Six months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.” Aemond sighs. “She is with child,” he says ruefully, “and I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I haven’t the slightest clue where she might be.” The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.

His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.

She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.

Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemond’s hand in hers. “Let me help you, Prince Aemond,” she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. “A father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.”

His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. “Thank you.”

“Blood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.”

Aemond tilts his head at Alys. “How so?” The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.

May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.

“It is a strong and powerful craft,” Alys explains, “capable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. ”

He hums, nodding along. “And how would it work?”

Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. “It would require the blood of your wife, my prince,” she says, carefully, “even just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.” But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, “Yet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.”

Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the room’s hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. “Would dry blood work?”

Alys blinks. “Well, maybe?” Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. “I suppose so, my prince,” she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, “Blood is blood, regardless of time.”

At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.

“My wife’s blood,” he says, smirking, “from the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.”

Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. “Perfect.”

tag list: @minttea07 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @smolnuggie911 @marahisthebest @bibli0thecary @whatsonthemirror @bellaisasleep @witchy-jadda @princeaemond1eye @mefools @xcharlottemikaelsonx @browngirl101

(if I did not tag you, it’s because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

[stylesispunk]

"The not so invisible string"

not outbreak! Joel Miller x f! Reader

masterlist | next chapter

summary: you and Joel were made right for each other in the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

word count: 5k>>

warnings: angst, implications of cheating (emotional). Probably some grammar mistakes because I write things fast.

a/n: New fic alert! Hello, I got this idea and I wanted to write it, so this is going to be a series depending on how this part performs. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

When you’re young, you’re naïve

When you’re young, you know everything

But when you’re young, they assume you know nothing,

That’s why two people falling in love at the age of seventeen doesn’t seem interesting. People will assume a love like that, at that age is just a phase with a tragic ending. Tears, broken hearts, and the promises of never falling in love again.

But this one was different. You and Joel were different, two souls that had met at the age of five, growing up together as best friends, until one fell and then the other. One shared a kiss, and the best friends turned into lovers. 

Isn’t that typical?

It was. Both of you knew, but still, you didn’t listen. Both of you become one soul, destined to be together since you were two kids playing hide and seek together. 

Joel and you traveled the twisting roads of adolescence hand in hand as the years passed. Your shared love was a tapestry woven from the thread of shared dreams and whispered secrets. 

Everything around you changed as well. From the carefree days of children to the turbulent storms of adolescence, your friendship has survived it all. Some tears fell like soft rain, washing away the doubts that crept into our hearts, and there were times of joy that resonated through the halls of your shared history.

Yet, with every rock on the road, you found the strength to rise again, your hands tightly intertwined. Joel became your confidant, the keeper of your fears, and the little light of hope during the darkest nights.

When you both turned seventeen, the very age at which outsiders claimed to be the year of mistakes and growing, one kiss changed everything. The connection between you both only deepened. And when the world might have seen you as naïve, you understood the profound love of your bond. It wasn’t a youthful infatuation; it was a love story written in the stars long before you were aware of its existence. 

People whispered their doubts, predicting heartbreak and the inevitable end of your love story. Yet, in the quiet moments when it was just Joel and you against the world, you knew that your love was timeless. The promises made weren't born out of youthful exuberance; they were the solemn vows of two souls who had found their way to each other, over and over again, since the age of five.

Not even when you left Austin to go to college, the odds against you weren’t able to separate you. The odds seemed stacked against you, with skeptics murmuring that the challenges of a long-distance relationship would surely spell the end of your story. But you defied those expectations.

Letters and late-night calls became your lifelines, bridging the physical gap between you. Each word written and every shared moment over the phone felt like a testament to the enduring strength of your love. You didn’t let the rust grow between you, neither did he. 

He was there the day you graduated, being the first face, you found across the room smiling back at you with proudness. Through that look and grin, there was an oath behind, not only the survival of your love but to distance emerging even stronger. He being there meant that, after this, you both could build your life together, get married, have children, and grow old together. 

“I can’t wait to marry you” he whispered against your lips that night as you made love. 

“And I can’t wait to be your wife” you whispered back, whimpering under his touch.

But with the past of the months, the fights started. He coming home late from work, and your struggling with finding a job added a layer of stress to your relationship. Frustration crept into our conversations, and what were once gentle whispers of love turned into heated exchanges, grappling with the frustration of job rejections and the sense of inadequacy that came with each disappointment. Joel, burdened by the demands of his career, found solace in the late hours at the office.

Spending time with a colleague you dislike because of their closeness, because he seemed to treat her the way he wasn’t treating you now. 

Conversations about the state of your relationship became unavoidable. One evening, as the weight of your unspoken grievances hung heavy in the air. 

"Joel, we can't keep going on like this. I need more from our relationship, and I can't shake off the feeling that you're finding solace elsewhere."

His response was a defensiveness grunt, speaking about the pressure at work, how he needed to prove himself, and how your job search struggles only added to his burden.

“So is it my fault?” You shouted. 

Joel's expression shifted, caught off guard by the sharpness of my words. The defensiveness waned, replaced by a hint of realization. "No, it's not about fault," he began, his voice softer now, "but the pressure at work has been consuming me. I feel like I'm drowning, and I don't know how to balance everything." He sighed, “And you’re not even able to find a job” he added, the words hitting like a sharp jab amid our emotional battlefield.

He ended up calling you a mistake, and you called him a coward. 

 The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of your words sank.  The frustration that had been simmering boiled over into a heated exchange. "A mistake?" you retorted, your voice edged with hurt and anger. "Is that how you see me? As some kind of burden or failure?"

Joel's expression shifted again, torn between regret and the lingering pressure that had driven him to lash out. "I didn't mean it like that," he began, but his attempt to backtrack only fueled the growing storm.

As the argument escalated, each word became a weapon in our emotional battlefield. Accusations flew, and the once-clear path of our relationship was now obscured by the fog of resentment and hurt. The dreams we had whispered to each other now seemed distant and unattainable, replaced by the harsh reality of you present.

“Maybe we should break up,” you said, motionless, tired of the fights. “And I will leave, and take the job I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to leave you here” 

continued, the weight of the decision evident in my voice. The sacrifice echoed the painful truth that sometimes love, even when genuine, isn't always enough to weather the storms life throws your way.

Joel's eyes reflected a mix of surprise and realization, the gravity of the moment sinking in. The prospect of parting ways, of unraveling the life we had built together, cast a shadow over the room.

“Oh, are you surprised I’m not the failure you thought I was?” you asked, a bitter laugh escaping through the tears that spilled down your cheeks.

The room felt charged with the emotional storm of your shared history, the dreams you had woven now frayed and brittle. The vulnerability of that moment exposed the raw truth that love, no matter how deep, could sometimes prove inadequate in the face of life's relentless challenges.

Love has not always survived. 

Joel's silence spoke volumes, his eyes reflecting the complexity of emotions that swirled within. The air felt heavy with regret, sadness, and the painful realization that a choice needed to be made.

And when the lack of words persisted, and in the heavy silence, you walked towards the bedroom, the weight of the decision settling into every step you took. The room, once a shared bright sanctuary, now witnessed the dismantling of a life we had built together.

In the dim light, you fumbled for your suitcase, hands trembling as you threw clothes inside. Each piece of clothing now felt like a painful reminder of what was slipping away. The vulnerability of that moment, intensified by the tears that blurred your vision, underscored the reality that sometimes love, despite its depth, couldn't shield us from the harshness of life's trials.

The sound of the zipper closing echoed in the room, marking the final choice that had been made. Joel remained in the doorway, a silent observer of the disintegration of a shared reality. His eyes, a mosaic of conflicting emotions, spoke of a recognition that what once was could no longer be sustained.

As you carried the suitcase, its weight mirrored the heaviness in your heart. The room, filled with the echoes of your memories from the past, felt emptier with every step toward the door. The unspoken pain lingered a palpable energy that accompanied you through the threshold of a life I had known so intimately.

The choice had been made, and in that moment, the gravity of our decision settled in—the dreams you had shared now relegated to the shadows of what could have been. The door closed behind you, and at that exact moment, you didn’t know how you were anymore, not when this was the first time you would start navigating life without Joel.

And then, when the months passed by, you were face to face again. He tried to change the ending, but it was late. He was going to be a father of a child that wasn’t yours. 

And weeks later, on a night you were out, drinking all your tears and sadness, you met a guy, and three months after, you found out you were pregnant.

Joel and you were going to become parents, but with different people. 

And it seemed like all people were telling the truth. 

When you’re young you know nothing.

Thirteen years later...

Eyes focused on the road, breathe in, breathe out, thoughts wild around your head. 

You were driving back to Austin, back to your past self, to the five-year-old you, back to the seventeen-year-old you, back to…

No, you thought.

Tara was sitting in the backseat, earphones in her ears probably listening to a song that would take her away from her reality, from moving from her home, leaving behind every single thing she grew up loving.

Just like you, you said to yourself. 

“Hey, sweets are you okay?” you asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

“Can we stop for a burger? I’m hungry” She avoided the question, again

“Your father is waiting for us at our new house, then we will get lunch, okay?”

She nodded, not uttering more words. She nodded, offering no more words. Then, she broke the silence. "I’m mad. I’m mad at you for leaving your life behind for Dad."

Confused, you asked, "What are you talking about?"

“You just had your job that you loved back at home; you had your friends. I had my life too and now we have to move here just because Dad said so?” Tara's frustration spilled out.

“He got a better job, that means—”

“That means nothing,” she interrupted. “Look, Mom, I know he loves me, and that he may love you, but he has always loved himself more than us. I think it's unfair for you to leave all that behind just for him.”

“Tara,” you whispered, struck by her perceptiveness. You thought it was incredible how at thirteen she was so aware of every single detail, and how much he knew you.

“I know if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t leave that life behind,” Tara spoke, her words cutting through the tension in the car. "I know there’s no man you would have done that for.”

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of the revelation settling in before you spoke. "There was one man before," you confessed, catching Tara’s attention. "His name was Joel," you said, the words heavy with the weight of memories, almost feeling a lump forming in your throat.

As you mentioned Joel's name, the car seemed to carry an unspoken history. Tara's eyes widened with curiosity and surprise.

“He was my best friend when we were kids,” you began, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips. “We grew up together, faced the challenges of growing older, and eventually, we fell in love.”

“What happened to him?” she asked. 

"We broke up, and just when we tried to get back together, he found out he got another woman pregnant," you explained.

"He cheated," Tara concluded, a hint of judgment in her tone.

"No, he didn’t, but... I couldn’t bear to be with him, so I left."

"And then you met Dad," she deduced.

You nodded, acknowledging the sequence of events that had shaped your life. The car carried the weight of shared revelations, and the road to Austin became a journey not only through physical landscapes but also through the landscapes of your history.

Tara sat in the backseat, absorbing the complexities of your past.

"But," you added, "even though Joel and I didn't end up together, he will always hold a special place in my heart. People come into our lives for a reason, and Joel was a significant chapter in my story."

The air inside the car was a combination of anxiety and reflection as it approached its new home in Austin. Tara sat quietly in the backseat, her thoughts appearing lost in the stories you had told, still absorbing the specifics of your past.

As you approached the curb, your tires crunched on the cobblestone driveway. The foreign exterior of the new house appeared before you like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of your new existence. Dwight, your husband, stood on the porch, a bright smile on his face as he noticed the car.

Exiting the vehicle, you opened the back door for Tara, and the three of you stood together in the driveway. Dwight approached, a mixture of excitement and curiosity in his eyes.

"Welcome home!" he exclaimed, wrapping both of you in a warm embrace.

Tara offered a half-smile, still processing the weight of the move and the revelations that had unfolded during the journey. Dwight, ever perceptive, sensed the mix of emotions in the air.

"How was the drive?" he inquired, glancing between you and Tara.

"Long," Tara replied tersely, her eyes flickering with a hint of weariness.

Dwight, aware of the challenges the move presented, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know it's not easy, Tara, but I promise you'll find your place here."

The aroma of fresh starts penetrated the air as the three of you entered your new home. Dwight gave Tara a quick tour of the house, pointing out the right closets and stating to her that moving would be a good thing.

Dwight and Tara began to develop their rhythm of connection while unpacking boxes and settling into the unfamiliar home. The new place of residence began to turn from a new area to an area where shared memories would be established as the day progressed.

You couldn't help but think about Joel as you gazed around at the shifting landscape of your life, the echoes of the past fading into the background as you welcomed the present and the promise of a new chapter in your life in Austin.

It had been a week since Tara started school here, and she had begun to settle at the new school, at the unfamiliar hallways, and faces that were yet to become friends. Adjusting to a new environment, especially in the tumultuous teenage years, was never an easy feat. 

That’s what you feared the most. 

One afternoon, as you were going about your routine at the new house, your phone rang. The caller ID displayed the school's number, and a wave of concern washed over you. You answered with a sense of trepidation, already fearing the worst.

"Hello, this is Mrs. Evans from High School. Am I speaking with Tara's mother?"

"Yes, this is her mother. Is everything okay?" you asked, your heart racing.

"I'm calling to inform you that there was an incident at school today involving Tara. There was a fight, and we need you to come in for a meeting to discuss the situation." 

A mix of worry and confusion filled the air as you tried to process the information. A fight? This was entirely out of character for Tara.

"Of course, I'll be there," you replied, a knot forming in your stomach.

As you arrived at the high school, a knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. The unfamiliar hallways seemed to close in around you as you made your way to the principal's office. Tara and another girl with curly hair stood outside the door,

Behind the curly-haired girl, a man loomed, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat at the possibility, dismissing the improbable thought as wishful thinking. As you walked ahead, the distance between you and the trio narrowed.

Entering the principal's office, the air seemed charged with tension. Mrs. Evans greeted you, her expression stern but professional. However, your attention was drawn to the man beside you, and when you finally looked, Joel stood there, his mouth agape, his eyes locked onto yours.

Time seemed to hang suspended in that moment as a flood of emotions washed over you—surprise, disbelief, and a surge of memories that had long been tucked away. The collision of your past and present felt surreal, and the room seemed to blur around the edges.

You were 22 again.

Neither of you said anything, instead, you allowed the principal to talk about the situation that had happened. 

Mrs. Evans, proceeded to share the details of the incident with a measured tone, bringing the focus back to Tara and her well-being. As she spoke, you and Joel maintained an uneasy silence, glancing at each other intermittently with expressions that betrayed a mixture of emotions.

"There was an unfortunate incident earlier today," Mrs. Evans began, her gaze shifting between you and Joel. "Tara and another student, Sarah, found themselves in a situation where a group of boys was bothering Tara. Sarah intervened to defend her, and the situation escalated into a physical altercation."

Your concern for Tara heightened, but a glimmer of gratitude surfaced as you heard about Sarah's protective stance. You stole a glance at Joel, whose eyes betrayed a complex mix of emotions—perhaps a reflection of his own memories and regrets.

"Both Tara and Sarah are being appropriately addressed," Mrs. Evans continued, her eyes shifting between the individuals in the room. "We take any form of violence seriously, but we also recognize the need to ensure our students feel safe and supported."

As the principal delved into the steps being taken to address the situation, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the reunion with Joel in such unexpected circumstances. The shared concern for Tara momentarily bridged the gap of years and unresolved emotions, creating an unspoken connection.

The meeting concluded with an agreement on counseling for Tara and a commitment to monitoring the situation closely. As you rose to leave, the weight of the encounter lingered. So, you took Tara, delicately by the arm, and walked away from the ghosts from your past. 

“Hey, Tara wait!” The voice of Sarah called out, getting closer to us. 

Tara stopped in her tracks and turned to face the girl with beautiful curly hair, with a smile on her face.

“What?” Tara asked delicately.

“I want you to know I don’t regret what I did for you” She began, “And I have no idea what is like to be in new a place because I’ve always been here, and I also want you to know that you have a friend here. I will defend you from all those stupid guys making fun of you” 

A grin appeared on your daughter’s face at Sarah's words, and she enveloped the girl in a hug murmuring a quiet “thank you” you had still been able to hear. 

Your heart burst, not only for the happiness of your daughter finding a friend but for the tranquility she would feel from now on. Yet you couldn’t bear to lift your gaze from the girls because you knew once you did it, you would have to look at the same face that made you leave this city.

“Okay, Tara it’s time to go home,” you said, delicately grabbing your daughter’s arm, “and thank you, Sarah, for what you did for her”

“No problem” she said, smiling at you.

Once you both, said goodbye, you and Tara walked toward the car until a voice made you both stop your pace, and your heart beated like a drum.

“Yes?” you turned around, finding the strength to face Joel.

“I think it may be great for us to talk about our daughters” Joel spoke, buying some more seconds of your presence.

“Everything is clear." your voice came in a monotonous tone.

“But not between us” he said, with an undertone.

But instead of words, a heat overcame you, and you felt the skin around your eyes burn, you lifted you hand to your eyes, preventing the tears welled up in the corner to fall. But once you did it, you started crying, not knowing how to react and facing your past in front of you, how facing the man you had loved your whole life after thirteen years without any trace of him.

Joel took a step closer, his expression concerned. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said, his voice softening.

You took a deep breath, attempting to compose yourself. “It’s okay,” you said, taking a step back from his touch “I’m just stressed with all the changes” you lied, and grace a tiny smile towards him “We can talk another day when I’m settled.”

He simply nodded, caressing his chest with the palm of his hand in an attempt to take away the pain and confusion of seeing you again. 

With a daughter, and probably married to another man.

“Drive safe,” he said, with a caring touch in his voice.

You nodded, turning on your heel, walking towards the car without looking back. 

“You know her, don’t you?” Sarah asked his father, after seeing his longing expression as he watched you walking away from him. 

“I did once,” he said, still looking at your car as if you would get out and tell him you wanted to try again. 

And inside the car, the events weren’t different from outside. Once you put your seatbelt, Tara kept looking at you as if you were going to break at any moment. 

“He is that Joel, right?” She asked you carefully, trying to get her answer. 

You nodded. 

Tara nodded, her expression was pure concern "Are you okay, Mom?"

You managed a reassuring smile, even though the tears still lingered in the corners of your eyes. "I'll be fine, sweetheart. It's just unexpected to see him again after so many years." 

You took a glimpse in the rearview mirror as you drove away from the curb, leaving Joel standing there. As your mind lingered on a sudden encounter, the familiar surroundings began to blend as well. Your heart was heavier with the burdens of the days gone by, and the tears you pushed back threatened to spill over, again. 

As you drove home, the stillness between you and Tara was loaded with unspoken feelings. Your mind raced with old memories, and you couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of weakness that Joel's comeback had caused in you.

What were the odds? You thought.

Meanwhile, Joel stood still, watching the car disappear into the distance. The question asked by Sarah still hanging in the air. "You know her, don't you?" Sarah questioned her father, who appeared to be absorbed in the memories that your presence had triggered.

As he tried to make sense of what was happening, his mind was in a rush of emotions. It felt strange and overwhelming to see you after thirteen years. The agony of the past came forward, and he felt for just a moment like an outsider in his own life, watching the movie of the both of you being played all over again.

Joel paused briefly before breaking the silence. "I've missed you," he said, his eyes scanning your face for signs of reconciliation.

You nodded, attempting to conceal the residual worries that had grown during the three months you had spent away from each other “I've missed us as well. Perhaps we should try again," you reasoned.

However, as the talk progressed, the truth began to appear like a storm on the other side of the sky. Joel's hesitation hinted at something more serious, something he had been holding him back. 

"But first, I need to tell you something," he finally admitted, looking down at the floor. "I got involved with someone else during our time apart."

The look on your face was enough for him to know that the news he was about to deliver was going to change everything between the both of you.

“She is pregnant.” He confessed, almost inaudible. 

The room seemed to shrink as the weight of his words settled in. Shock and disbelief mingled with the pain of what it seemed as a betrayal in your mind, but you knew it wasn’t. You had hoped for a fresh start, but this revelation shattered those hopes.

He had a girl to take care of, a baby he was going to love.

"You're going to be a father?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. The reality of the situation was a heavy blow, and you struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the news.

Joel nodded; his eyes filled with remorse. "I didn't plan for this. It just happened."

“No. I don’t need an explanation of what you did when we weren’t together” Hurt, and resignation welled up inside you. "But we cannot be together. No, when you’re going to have a child with someone else. It’s not fair to any of us.” 

Joel's remorse-filled gaze met yours, and he nodded in acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. The dreams of rekindling what once was seemed to crumble in that moment, replaced by the harsh truth of divergent paths.

"This doesn’t change anything between us," Joel whispered, his voice laden with regret, trying to reach for you.

“It does!” you called out, “It does change everything” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the waves of emotion crashing within. "I hope you find the happiness you're looking for, Joel. But it can't be with me."

You stepped closer to him, cupping one side of his face with your hand, tracing his cheek with your thumb, and trying to take a picture of him with your eyes. 

One last picture, the last time you will have him this close to you. 

And you leaned in, sealing this goodbye with a last kiss, savoring the sweet taste of his lips mixed with the salt of his tears streaming down your face. He grabbed your face with his last strength holding you back from slipping from his fingers, but once you pulled away, and looked at him one last time. 

Then, you turned away, leaving the room, and, in a way, leaving a chapter of your life behind. The door closed with a soft click, sealing the end of a love story that had once held a promise, but it ended with Joel losing his princess. 

“Let’s go, baby girl,” he said after a moment, wrapping his arm around Sarah, and walking to the car. 

Tara kept stealing glances at you from the passenger seat, sensing the urgency of the scenario. The worry could be seen in her eyes, and you couldn't help but notice how perceptive she had become.

The car pulled to a stop in front of your house, which had become your new home in a place of spirits of the buried skeletons plotted to ruin your life. Tara unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face you; her face filled with apprehension. "Mom, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

You smiled, grateful for the depth of understanding and maturing in your daughter's eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate that."

As you both entered the house, the now familiar surroundings did little to ease the whirlwind of emotions within you. The past had a way of resurfacing when you least expected it, and Joel's reappearance had reopened wounds you thought had healed.

Once inside, in the quiet living room, your Dwight welcomed both of you with a smile on his face, “Hey is everything okay with you Tara?”

“Yes, Dad, just a misunderstanding,” he said, as if the matter wasn’t important, passing beside upstairs. 

As you and your husband were left alone, he sensed something wrong with you.

"Hey, love, is everything okay?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for a glimpse of the truth.

You forced a smile, attempting to push away the turmoil that threatened to surface. "Yeah, just a blast from the past today.”

Dwight wrapped his arms around you, a gesture of comfort that, for a moment, allowed you to forget the complexities of the day. He pressed a gentle kiss on your lips, and as the warmth of his touch enveloped you, a pang of guilt swept through the figment of your mind, and you couldn’t help but feeling ashamed of yourself for tasting the lips of a man you had settled with because you couldn’t stay with the love of your life.

And you feel disgusted of wanting for him to be Joel.

And at the same time in a different place in the same city, Joel was dreaming of you again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller series #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller angst #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel x reader #Joel Miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascar character imagine #pedro pascal

[httpseiki]

🪐 things bf!minho does:

a small blurt about lino!

note: I offer this as a piece offering since I didn't finish my promised work!! I'm trying to get it done, but it's tough with my college and my extra class lining up 😭 not do add that I have a major writing block rn😺 🔫

genre: fluff, boyfriend!minho, a little idol!reader au.

wc: not many, idk.

song choice: flower - johnny stimson

🪐: having the urge to tie anything around your finger

a piece of tissue, a string of grass, a flower's tulip, a stray string... literally anything he can find it's good material to wife you up. this was started by you, actually, getting bored in the waiting room. fidgeting with the tissue wasn't cutting it anymore, and when a long part ripped, you called over to minho, asking him to show you his hand. oh, that bubbling, sparkly, warm pink feeling that erupted inside him when he saw the small knot around his pinky made the tip of his ears turn red. since then, he wants to return the favor to you, tying your finger with anything he has around.

🪐: passing you little notes when no one is looking

being an idol steals a lot from you, a big part being privacy. with eyes on you at all times, even inside your own company, your bf never really gets to compliment you. so, he sticks to cute little notes. he gives you one under your water bottle that you somehow forgot in his practice room, "you're getting better at dance than me." another one when he randomly, very randomly, bumps into you on the hall "you were so cute on your livestream." and one more when you're sitting in the cafeteria with your members, "i can't wait to get home and kiss you." minho being minho, he's gonna jureumify every single note, and as a good gf you are, you pass notes back to him, folding it in shapes of hearts.

🪐: bringing you breakfast in bed

he actually made it a thing to bring you breakfast in bed every Saturday. usually, he makes you coffee, eggs, cuts some of your favorite fruits and brings you yogurt. that's why you're a bit surprised when you see him struggling to open the door with his elbow, a big, long wooden charcuterie board, full of light snacks, occupying his whole arms. you were sitting cozily tangled between the sheets when he sat next to you. "min, when I asked for breakfast in bed, I was expecting some eggs and potentially a coffee, not a whole ass five star boufet." you giggle, "really? because I can take it back if-" "don't you dare."

🪐: biting as a form of love.

you're doing your makeup in the mirror? well, minho will come behind you and pretend to back hug you. when you fall into his illusion of affection, his teeth will sink into your shoulder blade. and hard. hard enough to leave a mark, "min, what the fuck?" or when you're too cute for his liking, he just has to scrape the tip of his teeth against you. that, or you're just sitting together, boredom filling the air, minho just picks up your arm and bites, holding your flesh in his mouth as if he's some type of feline showing its prey. if you do it back to him, he'll short circuit, his ears burning hot.

🪐: communicating through blinks

it always intrigued you how minho's body reacts before his mind can. especially when something unexpected happens, his eyes close rapidly and repeatedly, as you finish telling him the latest gossip from work. or when he comes home and looks a bit more tired then usual, minho blinks two times at you. that's how you found out about the gone-wrong practice. and when you're in a room full of people and somehow, your bright smile and cheerful laugh erupts from the other corner of the room, your boyfriend turns his head in a second, in a search of you. your eyes immediately find his. you looked so ethereal, shining so much, that he couldn't help but slow blink at you, a silly smile on his face. that one means I love you. and you return it in no time.

© httpseiki, all rights reserved. ☕

back to surfing!

#pls forgive me #seiki's blurts🪐 #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know fluff #lee minho fluff #lee know scenarios #lee minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee minho imagines #lee know soft hours #lee know soft thoughts

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 7 - Mall and/or Job

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,884 | rated: G

“Munson Residence, wha'd’ya want?” Eddie groans into the receiver.

Whoever this is better be someone super fucking important to have woken him up with their damn ringing. He’s surprised Wayne didn’t wake up too, but it’d be kinda hard to hear the phone over those snores.

“Eddie! Thank god,”

Oh. Steve! Very important, actually.

“Oh, hey Steve, what’s up?”

“Eddie, can you do me a huge favor?”

“Yeah, of course, what’s wrong?” he immediately spirals into what all could have gone wrong, what could be going wrong. Everything dark blue and cold, vine-y and the flashing of red lightning—

“Nothing, nothing–well, something.. Can you please run to my place later today and grab my lunch? I forgot it this morning and I know I’m not going to be able to run back and get it and get back in time to eat it before my break is over.”

“Your lunch?” “Yeah, I packed one this morning but left it on the counter. There’s a key under the mat and everything.” Eddie barks out a laugh, “Tryin’ to get robbed, big guy?”

“I don’t care about any of the shit in that house.” Steve scoffs. He shrugs even though Steve can’t see him. “Fair enough. Sure Stevie, I’ll bring your lunch; when do you want me there?” “Dude, you’re the best; My lunch break is right at noon, can you be here just before then?”

“Got it. Five to noon at Family Video.” he drawls out as if he’s writing the information down.

“Uh, actually…not Family Video..”

A short two hours later, Eddie finds himself among a throng of people inside Melvald’s. He has to fight his way forward at first, but the crowd thins out as he gets closer to the registers.

Damn, he’s not even that far into the store and he feels like he’s ran a mile.

“Ms. Byers!”

“Oh! Hello Eddie, what brings you here?” “Steve called and asked if I could drop off his lunch to him. Do you know where he is? I didn’t even know he was working here.”

Joyce just grins at him. It’s weirdly mischievous. “Only temporarily, he’s near the back of the store. Just head back there and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“Uh..thanks. See ya later Ms. B.”

He wanders toward the back of the store through the aisles, but stops up short when a fake white picket fence blocks his path.

The whole back corner of the store has been covered in fake felt snow, a couple of those fake plastic trees like Steve’s (though these are a normal size), a candy-striped ‘North Pole’, and dozens of paper snowflakes hang from the ceiling between what seems like hundreds of string lights.

And there, sitting in the middle of it on a throne that looks suspiciously like the one he used to use during Hellfire, is Steve. Dressed in a Santa suit. With long white beard, big ol’ belt and buckle, shiny black boots..

“Psst!”

He’s got something stuffed into his Santa jacket to give him the right shape, and even some small half-moon glasses, but those sparkling eyes, the freckles, that one swoop of brown hair stubbornly sticking out from under the fuzzy brim of his hat, that’s all Steve.

“Eddie!”

Santa Steve is fully enraptured by whatever story the kid on his knee is telling him, their hands waving every which way but somehow missing smacking Santa right in the face. Steve just continues to nod along, then gives them a hearty “Ho Ho Ho!” when they try to squeeze their tiny arms around his fake belly.

“Eddie!!”

He glances over at the sound of his name, and sees Robin waving frantically at him from her spot at old school music stand-turned-podium. She’s got on some sort of outfit that honestly looks like it was supposed to be a jester costume, where’d she even get that from?

His feet start toward her, but his eyes fall back on Steve Claus, now posing for a picture with the kid who’s smiling so wide it looks like his face will split in half.

Managing to take his eyes off Steve for a moment, he sees Jonathan behind the camera, and that Argyle kid is crouched in front of Robin, talking to the next kid in line to see Santa. All three of them are wearing matching jester costumes.

Eddie steps up to her podium after Argyle and the new kid pass in front of him to see Steve, “Family Video not paying enough, Birdie?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, the extra cash doesn’t hurt. Joyce asked us to help out.”

He nods at her, and finds his eyes drifting back to Santa Steve.

This kid is much more shy than the last one, tilting her head down and taking short glances up at Steve’s face.

Steve is saying something to her, a low comforting sound that Eddie can only make out the tone of. His one hand covers the entirety of her upper back, and his thumb is moving up and down to try and soothe her nerves. His head is ducked down to be more level with her, looking at her over those half-moon glasses.

Suddenly, the girl’s head snaps up and Steve leans back a bit. “Yeah?” he hears him say.

The girl grins, nodding her head like crazy, then she too is squeezing Steve into a hug. It’s so unfairly endearing, he can actually feel his heart swelling in his chest.

Robin speaks up then, “So..?”

“So?” he repeats dumbly.

“So wha’d’ya think, Munson?” 

“Does he need a Mr. Claus?”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“Uh, wait, I mean Mrs.–Do you have— is someone going to—”

Eddie chances a look over at her…she’s wearing a smug, shit-eating grin. She leans toward him conspiratorially and mumbles out “I wouldn’t mind a Mrs. Claus myself.”

She leans back, still looking smug, but there’s a note of panic in her eyes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “So would he.” he mumbles out himself, jerking his chin towards Steve.

Robin only shrugs “You never know.”

“You never—what do you know, Buckley?” he asks, stepping closer and pointing an accusing finger into her still smug face.

“I know that there’s some mistletoe hanging above the breakroom door.”

He’s confused for just a moment, then understanding floods through him, “You little—”

A short whistle interrupts his incoming tirade, and Eddie can see Steve Claus moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Sorry folks, it’s time for Santa’s Cookie break!” Robin calls out over the long line of people. “He’ll be back in 30 minutes though, don’t you worry!” the smile falls off her face as soon as she turns her back to them.

Eddie follows her, Jonathan, and Argyle toward the back rooms, “I’m gonna take a nap.” She says, “Tell Santa to grab me before he goes back.” She waves toward a door as she passes it and from the sprig of greenery hanging above it, this must be the breakroom. 

Robin takes a right down a turn in the hall, and Jon and Argyle push out the back door of the building.

He expects more of the same when he opens the door to the breakroom, for Steve to huff and grouse about the kids or the parents or something, but when he does, Steve is grinning ear to ear as he combs through his (now removed) fake beard.

“Hey Santa Stevie.”

“Eds!”

“I’ve got your lunch.” he holds up the brown paper bag for Steve to see. Steve nods, and lays the beard out on an empty chair, taking off his hat and glasses too and setting them both on top before stepping forward to grab the bag. “And you have hat hair.” Eddie laughs.

Steve’s free hand jumps to his head and scruffs up the long hairs, making them stick up every which way instead of just being plastered down on his forehead.

“Better?”

“Sure, big guy.” Eddie pokes Steve’s fake belly.

Steve chuckles, then heads to a table in the corner where he dumps out his lunch bag.

“So what’d Past Steve pack for Future Steve?” Eddie asks, plopping down in a chair kitty-corner from Steve’s. “Bologna and mustard sandwich, Doritos, and half of a leftover Hellfire cookie.”

“And a Coke,” Eddie says, taking a can out of his jacket pocket, “I grabbed one for you from your fridge.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve smiles warmly at him. “You want some?”

“No way dude, you gotta get your energy back after dealing with all those kids, right?” Eddie says, waving him off. 

“Eh, some of them are little assholes, but most of them are really well behaved.” he’s ripping his sandwich in half, “Gotta impress Santa, right?”

He offers him one half, and Eddie takes it.

“It’s really not a bad gig, though the beard is itchy as hell…”

Steve starts talking about some of the kids who have come by in the last couple days of them doing this, having started on that past Monday, the 1st.

There were the kids asking for baseball bats, Lincoln Logs, Malibu Barbie, Rockstar Barbie (“Barbie’s a rockstar now?”, “Barbie can be anything, I guess.”), all the usual things.

Then there were kids that asked for actual Santa stuff, “I don’t want my mom and dad to get a divorce.”, “I wish I had some friends.”, “I want my grandpa to get better.”

“Makes me wish I actually was Santa, y’know? Then maybe I could actually help them.”

Eddie’s heart is definitely getting way too fuckin’ big for his chest.

He puts his hand on Steve’s forearm where it’s resting on the table between them. “You are a good man, Steve Harrington.”

Steve’s face flushes nearly as red as his suit. “Thanks, Eddie.” he glances above Eddie’s head then, “I better go wake up Robin, if she naps too long on top of the potatoes, she gets cranky.”

Eddie snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, better get on that.”

Steve stands up and tugs on his hat, not bothering to put on the beard and glasses yet. The fuzzy white band smushes a lock of his hair onto his forehead. 

“Hold on,” Eddie stands as well, reaching forward to tuck the hair under the bottom of Steve’s hat. “Now you’ll be ready to see your adoring public.”

“Thanks,” Steve laughs, walking with him toward the door.

And of course, Eddie forgot all about the damn mistletoe until Steve’s arm stops him in the doorway.

‘Jesus H. Christ…’

He glances over at Steve, then up at the offending plant.. 

Eddie looks back down, out toward the rest of the store where they’d be clearly visible in the doorway.

“I guess you owe me one, huh big boy?” Eddie chuckles, ‘Stupid plant, stupid Robin, stupid Ed–’

His thoughts are cut off when Steve tugs him back into the breakroom, moves him against the wall, and leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. The opposite to the kiss he’d given Steve three weeks ago.

Steve leans back, a smirk on his lips and a pink flush on his face. “Now we’re even.” he winks, then turns out the door to wake up Robin.

i may have actually kicked my feet and giggled about this one lmao

also, rockstar barbie mentioned here is from the 1986 Barbie and The Rockers set

also, also, i'm getting rid of the 'pre' before the steddie up top, you all know what's happening and where this is going lol - it's steddie.

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

#santa steve!!! #i feel like all the entries today are going to have something to do with a mall santa type situation #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddiemas #steveddie #eddeve #robin buckley #jonathan byers #argyle #joyce byers #wayne munson #st #stranger things #st ficlet #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #noelle writes

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.

Nutan (Bandini, Anari, Seema)— In an era where plump and petite women were considered the height of beauty, Nutan was thin and gangly. While her beauty is obvious today, she was considered somewhat unusual throughout her acting career, which contains over 70 films. Contrary to the belief that female actresses careers ended after marriage, Nutan won four of her five Filmfare Awards after her marriage and the birth of her son. Nutan was known for her gorgeous, emotive brown eyes and her incredible singing voice.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Elizabeth Taylor:

I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.

Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community

Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.

A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.

She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”

Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!

just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time

THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.

Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood

Nutan:

#Elizabeth Taylor #nutan #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

[natsvdova-old]

crazy for you

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: no one knows that you and natasha are together, but natasha wants nothing more than to get her hands on you whilst at a party with all your friends — a quickie in the bathroom.

warnings: smut, sexting, bathroom sex, oral sex (r giving), fingering (r receiving), praise, some hair pulling, very slight d/s

word count: 2,7k

AO3 link

18+ only, minors DNI !!

Natasha’s phone vibrates in her hand, the screen lighting up with a text from you. With a slight smirk on her face, she glances up to find you across the room, fidgeting with your phone while you talk with Wanda, an almost empty glass in your other hand, your cheeks slightly flushed.

With a small tilt of her head, she opens the message. 

10:07pm You’re insufferable. Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes.

Natasha’s smirk becomes more prominent as she looks back over to you. She runs her eyes up, following the curves of your body as you absently nod along to whatever Wanda is talking to you about, attempting to hide the fact that all you want to do is disappear with Natasha.

Natasha begins to make her way across the room, engaging in moments of small talk with people as she goes in order not to arouse any suspicion. Before she leaves the main room in which the party is taking place, she pauses at the door, casting a quick glance around the room to check that no one’s paying her any attention, then making eye contact with you and throwing you a quick wink before slinking down the corridor towards the bathroom.

She closes the door behind herself, leaving it unlocked for you to follow.

In all fairness, it is her fault. While Natasha waits for you to arrive, she leans against the countertop, checking her phone, going over the string of texts she had sent you whilst at the party so far.

9:24pm You look so hot. Can’t wait to fuck you senseless when we get home. 

9:38pm Every time I look at you, I can’t help but think about how you sound with my fingers inside you.

That one had made you cross your legs in an attempt to relieve some of the growing tension between your thighs. 

9:45pm Well done for keeping a straight face. You’re such a good girl for me.

9:46pm Especially considering how wet you are right now. 

That one had caused you to bite your lip in anticipation.

9:49pm Careful, baby. We don’t want Wanda to find out.

9:57pm You’d look even hotter without that dress on.

Natasha turns off her phone, placing it on the countertop beside her as she waits for you. Maybe she is insufferable.

– – – 

After watching Natasha sneak out of the party, you continue talking with Wanda, wary of following immediately in case of provoking any questions. Natasha could wait though; it was the least she could do after working you up the entire time you've been here. You could let her have a small taste over her own medicine for once.

No one knew of yours and Natasha’s relationship, the two of you wanting to keep it private for as long as possible. The privacy had been working in your favour so far with there being no invasive questions from your friends or incessant jokes. However, not being able to stay by your girlfriend’s side throughout the entirety of this party wasn’t ideal, but to be completely honest, the secrecy did add an element to the relationship that you loved.

Deeming it an appropriate time to follow Natasha to the bathroom, you excuse yourself from Wanda and make your way down the corridor. Hopefully, nobody notices your absence, and if they do, you hope they don’t link it to Natasha’s. 

You open the bathroom door to reveal Natasha, who closes and locks it behind you. The sound of the party carries down the corridor, slightly muffled through the walls, but you're both still very aware of your proximity to everyone else.

As soon as you make eye contact with Natasha, she immediately accosts you, wrapping her arms around your waist, your lips crashing against hers. 

“Oh, thank God,” she sighs against your mouth. “I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up, or that you’d asked me here for another reason.”

You shake your head, the heat that had pooled in your core from the texts making a resurgence. 

Natasha flips your positions, you taking the place she had occupied by the sink, your back pushing into the countertop as she presses her body against yours. One of her legs slots between your thighs as she begins to make her way down your neck, pressing kisses against you as she goes, until her mouth reaches the curve where your neck meets collarbone. 

You gasp as her teeth make an appearance. “No marks,” you manage to say between heavy breaths, all too aware of the fact that soon you’ll be making your way back out into a party of all your friends.

Her mouth continues its journey further down, her hands grabbing the top of your dress and pushing it down to reveal your boobs. A moan escapes your lips as her mouth makes contact with one of your nipples, tongue circling the hardened bud.

“Are you going to be good for me and stay quiet, baby?” Natasha asks as she pulls herself off you, “we don’t want everyone to hear you getting fucked by me, do we?”

You shake your head in response and her mouth reconnects with your chest, sucking a hickey onto you where only she would ever see as one of her hands comes up to tease your neglected nipple. Your hands move up from Natasha’s sides, tangling in her hair and holding her head in place against you as you begin grinding down on her thigh, breath getting heavier as you desperately try to avoid moaning again.

A soft whine escapes you when Natasha extracts herself from your chest, but you’re quickly mollified as her hands firmly grab your ass and lift you up onto the counter behind you, trying not to shudder as the cold marble comes in contact with your thighs.

Natasha’s hands begin tracing patterns on your thighs as they climb closer towards your centre, her lips coming back to meet yours, tongue slipping into your mouth. Her fingers finally make contact with your wet panties, rubbing you over the drenched cotton, causing a moan to escape you again.

“I thought we had agreed that you should stay quiet?” Natasha reprimands, pulling her hand away from you, “do we need to keep that mouth of yours busy?” Her fingers come up to rest on your mouth. “Be good for me and suck on these to stay quiet, baby,” she says as you take three of her fingers into your mouth.

Her unoccupied hand resumes its path on your thigh, pushing the skirt of your dress up so it’s bunched around your waist before hooking her thumb into the waistband of your panties and teasingly slowly dragging them down your legs. You’re not sure where your panties end up after that, most likely discarded on the other side of the bathroom floor, but you were too busy being distracted by her fingers teasing around where you needed them the most.

“Natasha, please,” you whined, extracting her fingers from your mouth. “I need you now.” 

“A bit needy, aren’t you, baby?” She replied, “that’s your fault for driving me crazy all night by wearing that dress.”

You both know Natasha will give you what you want. Normally, she might drag it out and tease you endlessly before finally allowing you to come, but tonight is all about having a quick orgasm in the bathroom before all your friends realize the two of you are both missing from the party.

“Me?” You question breathlessly, “it was me driving you crazy all night? Are you forgetting about all those texts you’ve been sending?”

She shuts you up after that comment by plunging the wet fingers that had just been in your mouth into your dripping heat. You bite down on your lip to prevent any noise escaping as Natasha’s mouth resumes its place on one of your nipples, your breasts still hanging out of the neckline of the dress she had pushed down. After giving you a second to adjust to the sensation of her fingers inside you, she begins pumping them in and out at a steady rhythm.

Your hands grasp at Natasha, nails raking down her back, desperate to grab purchase onto anything you can reach, tugging on her dress. “Please, Natasha,” you moan. “I want to feel you.”

Using her free hand, Natasha tugs the zipper down, allowing her dress to fall down and pool around her waist. A gasp escapes you as it’s revealed that she’s just as braless as you are, her perfect tits sitting right in front of you. Your arms wrap around Natasha and pull her closer to you, so your naked torsos press against each other, revelling in the feeling of her bare chest rubbing against yours. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her even closer towards you so there’s no space at all between you, her fingers buried deep inside you, trapped between your bodies.

Natasha’s pace increases, thumb rubbing circles against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make the coil in your stomach tighten and you throw your head back in pleasure, resting it against the mirror behind you. Your hands leave her back and one reaches up to palm at Natasha’s boobs, whilst you throw the other hand over your mouth to keep from crying out. The arousal that’s been building all night, ever since that first text from Natasha threatens to crest as your thighs tighten their hold around Natasha’s waist.

“It's okay, baby,” Natasha says, “you can come for me.”

That one sentence of permission from Natasha is all you need to send you over the edge, mouth opening in a silent scream as she continues to guide you through your orgasm with her thumb gently rubbing on your clit, pleasure taking over your body.

As you come down from your orgasm, you gently push Natasha’s hand away, the stimulation becoming too much. Natasha gives you a minute to recover as you rest against the mirror behind you, panting breathlessly in the aftermath. You look up to see her gazing adoringly at you. Your legs are still wrapped around her waist, so you use them to pull her closer to you again, allowing you to lean up and capture Natasha’s lips with your own.

You had intended for it to be a chaste kiss, a thank you kiss in the aftermath of your orgasm, but clearly Natasha had other ideas as she slips her tongue into your mouth, deepening it.

‘God, I need you,” Natasha sighs against your mouth as you break apart for air.

‘Who’s the needy one now?” You smile in retaliation.

You push Natasha away from you slightly and unwrap your legs from her waist. She makes a noise in protest, but silences herself as you slide off the counter and sink to your knees in front of her.

You start at her calves, pressing a kiss against each one before slowly mouthing your way up each leg. By the time you reach the hem of her dress at her thighs, Natasha’s breathing heavily above you in anticipation. You grab hold the bottom of the dress and begin inching it upwards, pressing kisses against each thigh as you go. As you get closer to her core, you pause, sitting back on your heels and push the dress up the rest of the way to bunch around her waist, revealing that she’s bare beneath the dress.

“No underwear?” You question, your arousal making a reappearance at the thought of her walking around the party all evening without any panties on.

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you ever since I saw you walk in wearing that dress,” Natasha replies. “I took them off ages ago because they were soaked through. They’re in my handbag.”

You let out a groan in response to that before placing your mouth against her thighs and resuming your path upwards. All you want is to feel Natasha come apart because of you.

Natasha swings a leg over your shoulder, pulling you even closer towards her, and places a hand on the counter behind your head to steady herself. “Come on, baby,” she groans. “Make me feel good.”

You press your mouth against her instantaneously, licking a stripe from her opening to her clit, lips encasing the bundle of nerves, sucking on it in the way you know she likes. Your hands reach up to grab onto her ass, slowly massaging it as you suck her. Natasha gasping in pleasure was your cue to move down slightly, your tongue darting out to lick at her wet folds. The hand that she wasn’t using to hold onto the counter moves to bury in your hair, holding your head in place as you explore her with your tongue.

“You taste so good,” you moan into her, sending vibrations through her core.

“Don’t stop,” Natasha forces out between gasps.

Using your hands on her ass, you pull her towards you, angling her hips just the right way to allow you to you slide your tongue into her, receiving a noise of pleasure in response as you begin to fuck into her at the pace she enjoys, obscene, wet noises filling the bathroom. Natasha’s grip on your hair tightens and she gently pushes your head further into her, guiding your nose into just the right place for her clit to rub against. As she begins rocking back and forth against your face, you glance up at her to watch Natasha throw her head back in pleasure, mouth open slightly in a silent moan, and eyes screwed up tight. 

You could tell she’s close from the expression on her face and the way her thighs twitch around your head. She had been working herself up all evening, it’s no surprise she’s ready to come so soon.

You angle your head further towards her, allowing your tongue to reach deeper inside her. “Oh, right there, baby,” Natasha moans softly from above you, her grip tightening on your hair as she grinds down onto your face, her clit rubbing against your nose.

She’s practically fucking your face at this point and you have no complaints, completely enjoying your time surrounded by purely Natasha. Her inner walls begin to flutter around your tongue, so you extract a hand from her ass to place on her stomach to steady her in preparation. You groan against her in pleasure and those slight vibrations are enough to send her over the edge, shaking above you. Her grip on your head and the counter tightens and the leg thrown over your shoulder twitches in her release. You continue to lap at her juices, wetness dripping down your chin as you coax Natasha through her orgasm.

You lower her leg off your shoulder and make sure she’s steady before rising off the floor to meet her. Once you’re standing, Natasha gathers you in her arms before pressing her lips against your, tasting herself on you. As you both come down from the rush of your orgasms, the sounds of the party taking place outside the bathroom filter in once more, reminding you both that you have somewhere to be.

“Come on,” she says gently, extracting herself from you. “Let’s get cleaned up and out of here before anyone notices we’re both missing.”

At that, you both turn to face the mirror and laugh at the mess of your joint appearances. You pull your dresses up back into place and attempt to fix the mess that is your hair. Natasha retrieves your panties from where she had flung them to the other side of the bathroom before passing you a cloth to wipe away the residue juices from her that coat the lower half of your face.

You’ve both done everything possible to make yourself presentable, but nothing can be done for the slight glint in both your eyes and flushed cheeks, or the fact that your knees have reddened and bruises begun to form from kneeling on the hard floor. Maybe your relationship won’t be so secret by the end of the night.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfiction #black widow x reader #marvel fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #han writes stuff

[mvltisstuff]

dress - c.f

summary: conrad overhears y/n craving touch in her life, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

conrad fisher x reader

a/n: guys!! s2!!! don’t hate me, BUT i’m not enjoying it as much as i did s1… i will say steven is getting a lot better this season!! i got messaged to write this, so it is a request <3

“it’s just different, taylor,” y/n sighs. “it’s the complete opposite of sex, that’s what everyone wants. i just wish i was more than that.”

conrad peeps through her slightly ajar bedroom door. she’s on the phone with a friend, laying on her stomach in bed. his heart aches at her words.

y/n’s been with a few guys, hooking up at parties but they never want anything else. she barely gets eye contact or a smile after, just letting them walk away. she’s not used to receiving physical affection. she spends the long nights pretending someone is laying next to her, pretending conrad is next to her. she holds her own hands, she runs them down her own body to deal with the starvation. she only wants someone to love on her for who she is, not just for her body. it’s gotten to a point where she doesn’t know how to react when people respond kindly. when someone pats her shoulder, when someone gives her a meaningless hug. she takes those things very literally and to heart. she doesn’t ask for it blatantly anymore. she silently begs for anyone to just hold her hand or wrap their arm around her shoulders.

she and conrad have been best friends for years. they always spent summers together and never kept secrets from one another. they’d sneak out to smoke or go to parties, but sometimes they’d just sit in the house and talk.

it’s honestly painful for conrad to sit around and act like he wants her as a friend. he hates every waking moment that he hasn’t just completely spilled his love for her. what’s even worse, is that she wants it more. the only thing keeping them apart is each other. when conrad hears her upset voice from the room, he just wants to run in and hold her in his arms. his own fears, however, stop him. he figures he’ll have to wait, ease into it. plus, he figures, no harm in a little bit of teasing.

later that day, everyone had been outside and conrad, jeremiah, steven, belly, and y/n were in the pool as the moms watched. they decided to play a game off the top of their heads, y/n and conrad single-handedly destroying the other team. when she swam back over to him, she was about to give him a high five and savor the millisecond of contact they made.

when conrad’s hand enclosed on hers, leaving his grasp in her hands, her heart paused. she thought she was dreaming, the boy she loved actually holding her hand. it wasn’t just the slap of their hands, it was his fingers folded over hers which made someone hold a lighter over y/n’s heart. she tried to contain to beam that was about to reveal from her face.

conrad could almost feel y/n’s happiness through her hand. he thought it was adorable how excited she got over him, and he was thrilled that she had a bit of light added to her feelings.

conrad, being the cunning boy he is, decided to take a step further into y/n’s delusions. at the beach, he noticed that y/n didn’t apply any sunscreen to her back. he didn’t want her to burn, but it was the perfect chance to make her go crazy over him touching her body.

“are you gonna put any on your back, y/n?” he asks.

“oh-“ y/n whispers, her face turning red and she can’t tell if it’s from the sun or embarrassment.

“c’mere,” he smirks, almost like a magnet causing y/n to step over to him. he pointed for her to crouch down, so she moved her hair out of the way and conrad rubbed the sunscreen into her soft skin. y/n swore she was floating, or looked like she had a stick up her ass. her heart was thumping in her chest at the feeling of his fingers running down her spine, dodging the thin string of the halter bikini top she had on.

when she looked over at belly, she had a thin grin on her face in a mocking way. y/n shot her a death stare, and belly shuffled away into the water.

“y/n,” conrad speaks, putting the bottle down on the sand.

“yeah?” she flicks out of the zone she was in. “oh, sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says, not breaking eye contact with her. the moment her name was uttered from his lips, it felt like the world stopped turning.

“thanks, connie,” y/n smiles, brushing her hair back and running out to belly in the water.

conrad watches her figure run off as he takes in the heat of the sun, while also admiring y/n from afar. someone that ravishing deserved to be loved, and conrad knows he can.

the next time they end up alone together is in y/n’s car, windows rolled down and the speakers blaring music. they’re both singing gleefully along, conrad looking over at y/n to gander at her beauty whilst she drives. when she rolls the car to a stop, he and y/n giggle at her messed up hair. conrad decides to take a leap of faith, moving a strand of her hair behind her ear and out of her face.

“there’s that pretty face,” the moment he mumbles those words over the music, y/n can’t control herself anymore. the sparks from her love for him are like fireworks now, and they could explode any minute. his hand has been away from her for 10 seconds, and she’s already grieving his touch. she looks up at his face, a calm, relaxed demeanor filling the car. his hair still managed to look perfect despite the wind. suddenly, a breeze comes over y/n and she sits back in the seat releasing an awkward chuckle. “hey, don’t get all shy.”

she looks back into his eyes, more radiant than the sunset around the parking lot. the lack of cars makes it feel as though they are the only people on earth, and she wishes it could stay that way forever. conrad is her safe space. she’s gotten so close to having him right where she wants him, and she won’t let herself run away again. when she allows his hand to make its way back up to her cheek, she shuffles in the driver’s seat and moves closer to him. his touch is so light, barely coming into contact with y/n. she wants more. she needs more.

she leans in, finally connecting their lips as the dam breaks. everything in her body feels like it’s on top of the world, at last being able to take in the intimacy. his hands are wandering down her arms without breaking the contact between them. his soft lips were the only thing she could focus on besides her catching breaths.

the taste on her lips was sweet, making conrad want to just indulge in her more. the magic aroma of her perfume flooded her nose, just giving him more reminders of her as they made out in her car. the pair could only hear the passionate breaths between them and the screaming thoughts inside their head.

every single part of y/n was satisfying all moments of their kiss. the way their noses brushed together as she tilted her head, the feeling of his jaw in her hand, how his tongue danced with her delicately.

conrad couldn’t stop his hands from migrating to her waist, landing them on her hips and leaning over the gearshift. his large hands land on the back of her thighs as she swings over, straddling his groin as she dives in for another kiss. he guides her hips to roll back and forth, making them both whine out a bit at the tension.

“conrad-“

“god, i feel so fucking bad for any of the guys you’ve been with that haven’t cherished you the way you deserve,” his raspy voice comes through to her ears, pecking at her neck and grabbing the seams of her shirt.

“please don’t stop,” she begs as his hands run down her thighs and waist.

“that’s the last thing i’m gonna do, angel.”

he yanks off her shirt, letting her do the same to him. she runs her hands down his chest, feeling her nails and soft fingertips down his torso. it’s one of the best feelings he’s ever had, his biggest crush for years touching him exactly how he wants. he looks out in the parking lot, seeing no one and praising whoever invented tinted windows.

y/n sits up, unbuttoning her jean shorts and dragging them down her legs. she starts to undo conrad’s as well, pulling them down far enough to just reveal his boxers. she grinds her clothed pussy on his dick, causing a light groan to escape conrad’s lips. “oh fuck, y/n.”

“you’ve had your fun teasing me this past week,” she mocks, starting to dip her fingers into his waistline. “but i’ll be nice tonight.”

conrad’s hand sinks down, pulling her thin underwear to the side and running his fingers down her slit, collecting her arousal and teasing her clit. she moans out as approval for him as she pulls his dick out of his boxers. the feeling of ecstasy near her cunt runs through her whole body, only making her more excited for him.

she gives his dick a few pumps, making conrad hiss and moan out deeply into the air. she lifts her body up before lining her entrance with his tip, sinking down onto him, she takes his entire length.

“holy fuck,” conrad exhales, taking in the pleasure of her wrapped around his dick. she bounces up and down, her hand gripping his arm and protruding muscles. she pants heavily at the action, him eventually thrusting up into her.

“fuck, fuck, conrad!” she moans loudly, causing a smirk to grow on conrad’s lips. she feels his hands all over her. running down her back, her ass, coming back up to rub over her covered nipples. she takes in every last touch before he moves his fingers down, circling around her clit making her legs shake above him. her mouth is dangled open, her eyes and nose scrunched in pleasure. and it’s all from him. he’s finally made her feel as good as he’s always wanted to.

when conrad starts hitting the perfect spots inside of her, the tightness in her stomach returns and stays familiarly. “conrad, i’m gonna cum,”

“i know,” he breathes. “me too.”

he meets his hips with hers a few more times before pulling himself out of her and releasing all over her stomach and thighs. her legs are twitching still, coming down from her orgasm. she’s lightly grinding against his thigh, letting herself ride out the high.

y/n leans against conrad’s chest, his hands returning to her lower back once again and rubbing small circles on her skin. he never knew the touch of someone could be so comforting, especially when he knew how much she needed it.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever known,” he whispers into her ear.

“thank you, conrad,” she smiles. “for everything.”

“don’t thank me,” he replies. “baby, you’ll always be enough for me.”

#conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher #conrad fisher oneshot #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher fic #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher smut #conrad fisher angst #conrad x reader #team conrad #tsitp jeremiah #tsitp conrad #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty fic #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp fic #tsitp s2 #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #belly conklin #steven conklin #laurel park #susannah fisher #tsitp fanfic #tsitp taylor #the summer i turned pretty conrad #conrad fisher imagine

[ooshu]

when mark was six, he told you he loved you.

you never really grasped what ‘love’ meant during those early, innocent times. your parents say they love you whenever you bid goodbyes going to school. your grandma used to tell you she loves you because you’ve been a good kid. so you told him “i love you, too!” with a grin plastered on your face, and mark felt his face go warm, a slightly pink flush on both of his cheeks.

when mark was eight, he said he wanted to be a writer.

he fully pledged it in his middle school yearbook a year before. an author, he wrote. you challenged him a bit. “write something for me then!”. young mark, full of determination, handed you a piece of paper at the end of the class. Roses are reds, Violets are Blue, …… I guess …… I love you ! - it was unfinished. cue the excessive punctuation marks and misplaced capitalization of letters, too. it was valentine’s day. and when the whole class knew mark loved you, he never got away with the teasing. you still had no idea what it meant, though.

when mark was twelve, “i’m gonna be famous!”, he shouted to the whole world.

you saw him pick up the guitar that he borrowed from his dad. he flicked a few strings. “congratulations, mark!”, you said. “thanks.”, replied. “what’s wrong?”, you saw how his smile slowly turned into a bit of a frown. “i’m going away,” he said. you patted him on the shoulder, “my mom said we’re all meant to, mark.”. oh, you thought, how early was it for you both to know the concept of separation. how unfortunate it is, sometimes, to be needing to grow up early.

when mark was sixteen, he took a good glance of a glimpse of his future.

flashing lights, cheering crowds, fans following him around—the fame he has worked for four years—the dog days, the sacrifices, the longing for familiarity in a city of uncertainties and foreign—are finally going to pay off. his cheeks hurt from smiling. he was more focused than ever, like a hungry animal preying for success. “i always knew you were made for somewhere else”, you thought while seeing the news around home that mark is on his way to making his name.

but as years passed by like a blink of an eye, mark finally had the chance to rest, to go somewhere. but he didn’t know where else to go. from living in toronto, to vancouver, to some few years somewhere in queens, and now, in unfamiliar cities he wake up to, he never had the chance to sit still and think of this: he never knew what home felt like.

when mark was nineteen, he made his way to his old house.

relatives greeted him. old smiles and familiar warmth overwhelmed mark. oh, how lovely it is to grasp a sense of familiarity. trains and 156 buses, his smile beamed when he reminisced middle school. “remember when…”, it was all his tongue could say. laughter filled the dining area where he and his siblings often had their silly whip cream-face-smearing fight, but his joy slightly faltered when he passed by an abandoned house, just five blocks away from his house. an abandoned, almost small-framed bicycle sits on the front porch. it was the bicycle you would ride whenever mark knocks at your very doorstep to go to the nearest town and buy potato chips.

he remembers when he was thirteen and packing for his flight the next day, he asked you: “do you think we’d forget each other?”

“i think you would.”, you replied.

“i would never.” mark reassured you, but you’ve heard stories of your mom and how her college best friend suddenly fell apart. nothing in particular, it’s just life and how we go separate ways—it’s inevitable. people say i love yous to their loved ones, reassuring them the warmth and proximity will stay, but as the sun rises, for mark, there will be great emptiness as he is forced to remove himself and start anew.

“why do you think so?”

“because i love you.”

and for you, love has changed its definition instantly. it was a time when a great consciousness arise. you understood how he truly meant all these years. you said it back as you also meant every single syllable. love, for mark, was meant to be fireworks and giggles. but by the time he boarded the plane, you kissed his cheek, his first love started and ended on the very same day.

now, mark, twenty-three, almost has it all.

he has been writing for years. he isn’t still an author, as he has told you, but sure what he writes comes along with the melodies he produces with his co-artists. he has been contented with his lifestyle, going to different countries, and working with unpredictable schedules. sure, he has established a name in the industry, working like a mad dog, but something still bothers him inside, something missing, lacking.

tonight, he writes in a local coffee shop as he waits for his manager to arrive, a practice that keeps his feet on the ground. scribbles, blurbs, drafts of lyrics, all embedded in his journal—and after a while of connecting the dots to construct who he really is and where he would position himself in the vast ocean of possibilities, he may have finally struck something that hits closer to his definition of home.

i just wanted you to know, mark writes to you, who have always been his muse through and through, to tell you that i have been happy during our years together, that i have never been so happy despite what i have gone through and achieved, and that i already know i will never be so happy again.

and as mark closes his messy, worn-out black journal, the bells rang as someone entered the door.

mark watches you walk in and towards the counter. he would have so many questions as to why you are here and when you have arrived. but reserve it for later because as you find a table you could sit in, you locked your eyes with his—so familiar, so distinct, so… inviting. almost home.

lost for words, mark stared at you. blinking like a fool. he must be dreaming.

but the doubts of the fantasy dissipated.

“hey, stranger.”, you said. “do you think we still know each other?”

a smile so warm, so loving, proximity that is so close—these are things he has lost over the years, now sitting in front of him, embodied by the epitome of his long lost love.

and mark always firmly believed in this, and today, he was never betrayed by his beloved: fate.

home, all along—he thought, is wherever i’m with you.

#mark lee angst #mark lee imagines #mark lee oneshots #mark lee drabbles #mark lee oneshot #mark lee fluff #mark lee fic #mark lee scenarios #mark lee smut #mark lee fanfic #mark lee x you #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x reader #mark lee x oc #mark lee #mark angst #mark imagines #mark oneshots #mark drabbles #mark fluff #mark fic #mark scenarios #mark smut #mark fanfic #mark x you #mark x y/n #nct dream drabble #nct dream angst #nct dream oneshot #nct dream

[augustinewrites]

miya osamu is a busy man.

even on days that the shop is closed, there’s always something to do, whether it’s prepping for the next day, or going over inventory. he’s used to rising early and sleeping late.

miya osamu, however, is also a little weak when it comes to you.

so when you’d asked the day before if he wanted to bake bread with you, he’d immediately said yes.

and sure, he has a laundry list of things that need to be done today - a leaky sink that needs to be looked at, a batch of umeboshi he’s supposed to start - but he just couldn’t tell you no. couldn’t even fathom the idea.

did he know anything about baking bread? absolutely not, but how hard could it be, really? it’s bread. if you’d asked him to help you bake and decorate a five tier wedding cake, he would have said yes.

and, no, it’s not because he has a crush on you or anything like stupid tsumu who can’t mind his own business claims. stupid tsumu who keeps calling him things like whipped and a simp. stupid tsumu who has never felt the touch of a woman, he’s sure.

it’s just because he wants to be nice (to you, at least), because you’re his friend.

his friend, whose company he always sought after whether it’s walking around with you at the grocery or just stopping by to help you change a bulb. whose smile makes him weak in the knees and whose simple texts almost always make him blush.

okay, so maybe you’re a good friend.

that’s all.

“samu! come in, come in,” you greet, ushering him inside.

you’re wearing an apron when you open the door to let him inside your apartment. it’s stained with beige fingerprints, and when you turn around to lead him into the kitchen, he sees you’ve tied the strings into a cute bow, sitting right atop the curve of your—

he immediately averts his gaze when you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, his cheeks burning. baking is supposed to be a platonic activity.

“i already did the first few steps,” you explain, flicking on your kitchen light. after washing his hands, osamu rests his elbows on your island countertop, watching with interest as you pull a bowl from the fridge. “i had to refrigerate the dough for twelve hours and didn’t want to make you wait around that long, so i did it overnight. now all we have to do is shape it, let it rest, then bake!”

osamu will always be a restaurant owner first and foremost, so there’s nothing he values more than an efficient kitchen. but he is a little offended that you think he wouldn’t want to be around you for twelve hours straight.

he’s so stuck in his own head that he doesn’t notice you rounding the island until you’re next to him, shoulders brushing. that split second of contact is enough to make him wish he were brave enough to grab you by the hips and pull you in to kiss—

“okay,” you start, pulling him from his thoughts before he can spiral. “before we split the dough, we need to stretch and fold it.”

“that looks easy enough,” he says as he watches you demonstrate the procedure.

“okay big strong man,” you scoff, patting his bicep. if you notice him flexing, you don’t mention it. “don’t whine when your arms are tired after the third or fourth set.��

osamu proceeds to stretch and fold the dough, pretending not to notice the way you watch him. obviously you’re very intent on making sure he follows your instructions, pulling yourself to sit atop the counter, swinging your legs as you tell him,

“you look really good when you’re doing that.”

osamu’s just died. he’s dead, and atsumu’s finally going to be able to say he’s ma’s favourite.

“samu, are you flustered? you’re flustered, aren’t you?” you hop off the counter, poking at his cheek until he catches your hand.

because he’s tired of pretending the two of you are just friends. and if he’s going to be stuck here for 10 more hours, he has to do something about it.

“‘m not flustered,” he mumbles.

you gaze up at him, wide-eyed as he backs you away from the kitchen, finally on the offensive. “h-hey, what are you doing? what about the bread?”

“didn’t come for the bread,” he tells you quietly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “i came here for you.”

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq drabbles

[tteokdoroki]

you take a shirt from katsuki when you’re pregnant enough to start showing.

the black material has faded to a washed out grey, there’s a hole in the collar and the skull on the front has almost peeled completely off. you find the shirt when he’s out for patrol and you’re just touching four months a long— it smells like him, it’s still soft and it reminds you of your younger days back at U.A. the ones where you and bakugou pretended to hate each other despite how hard you were secretly crushing on him.

you deem it the pregnancy shirt.

that old skull t-shirt becomes one of your go-tos when you’re pregnant— when you need comfort, when you’re too tired to change, bakugou always makes sure it’s within your reach. he always reaches for it when he’s helping you change after a long day out with your in-laws too as he takes off your sandals and massages your swollen ankles. katsuki always pushes the fabric of the worn out shirt over your bump when you start to show more, kissing where your belly button is as he chatters sweet nothings to your baby, telling them how much he loves them— katsuki freezes, you freeze too when you feel a light flurry of tiny hands and feet push at your bump from underneath the fabric. and it’s the shirt you pull on when you make bakugou drive you to the nearest convince store for ice cream at five in the morning.

“it’s the baby’s cravings! not mine!”

you’re wearing the same ratty old skull shirt, in the doctor’s office— pushed up a little while she applies a thick layer of that cold jelly to your belly. katsuki snickers when you shiver, a kiss pressed to your head at the time but he damn near sobs, squeezing your hand for dear life when he finds out you’re having a little girl. it’s a little gross but you have to use the shirt to wipe his nose, especially when her tiny heartbeat echoes throughout the room.

a new tear is made in the skull shirt a when you hit the third trimester, seven more months in, and you’re watching katsuki flash across your mother in law’s TV screen—fighting for his life, the people of Japan and most importantly his unborn child against a villain that’s injured half of your classmates already. mitsuki switches off the news channel before the end of the fight, reminding you that you’re at the height of your pregnancy, that the stress hormones aren’t good for your body and that she’ll make you something warm to drink instead. for hours you wait for katsuki bakugou to walk through the door, fidgeting with lose strings on his old shirt that your nearly cry over as they unravel and you tell yourself and your unborn daughter that it’s all going to be okay, that daddy will come home.

“missed me sweetheart?”

this time it’s your tears that the shirt wipes away when bakugou steps through the door— a little worse for wear but his eyes still lit up at the sight of you in his old shirt with your precious bump popping out from underneath. he doesn’t mind so much when you squeeze him as close as you can, sob mean things into his scorched hero costume because he can feel his little baby kicking him at him through the shirt anyways.

the skull shirt is what you’re wearing, stretched beyond belief over the baby bump, when you go into labour at the beginning of December— katsuki hates the cold, strewn all over you with blankets up to his nose and of course his brat had to decide to be due then. he’s startled awake by you finding some ungodly amount of strength to shove the pro hero out of bed, yelling at him to get the baby bag and to call the hospital and to help you to the damn car ( he’s praying he’d put the car seat in already ) between yelps of pain.

your baby girl with a head of blonde curls and eyes the colour of your own is born bright an early the next day, with a strong grip to her daddy’s finger and one to his shirt too.

sixteen years later, you watch katsuki shove his finger through the hole in the collar and the tear at the side of his very old skull shirt— thumbing the fabric while his daughter packs up her room for the U.A dorms. excitement runs through her body, intertwined with sparks of nervousness before he sits her down, a proud expression pulling across his fine wine aged features.

“i wan’cha t’have somethin’ squirt. it never failed me, ‘n it didn’t fail yer ma when she was pregnant with you. so it’ll look after you when yer at school and we’re not there to look out for you anymore.” he says quietly, eyes warm and tired and mirroring your not so little-little girl’s own. her face lights up when he passes her the shirt, the one that you carried her in, the one that smells like her dad and holds his memories too and she hugs him, close like he’s about to disappear and your heart melts as the story unfolds.

“i’ll make you proud, dad.” she whimpers, tucking her face into his neck.

“squirt, i’ve been proud of you since you were just a twinkle in yer mother’s eye.” bakugou mumbles back, catching your eye from over her shoulder— both of you knowing that with the shirt, she’s going to be just fine.

#tteokdoroki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou imagine #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou drabbles #katsuki bakugou x reader #everyone’s posting about dad bakugou so here u go #🗑. aali’s chatroom

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

We'll give it a shot

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: G

CW: aftermath of injury; aftermath of trauma

Tags: Established relationship; recovery; fluff

Notes: Continued from days 3 and 18 - @house-of-the-moving-image and I just wanted them to be happy after all we put them through. 😭❤️

Steve has always been all movement, all fluid grace, for as long as Eddie remembers. On the pitch, in the pool. Shielding others with his own body, his strength. He was proud of this. It was the one thing he knew he was good at.

And then Vecna nearly twisted his limbs from his body. Broke his arm in three different places, his leg in five.

“They say I'll need to be patient,” Steve tells Eddie a few months after everything, hands tangled over the middle console of the van. It's late December and they're on their way back from physical therapy. “Could be months before I walk without crutches. Years maybe before I'm back to the way I was before… or close.”

Eddie clenches his free hand around the steering wheel, like Steve clung to that stupid handrail earlier. White-knuckled and pale-faced, jaw locked tight as he struggled to take a few shaky steps. Not for the first time, he wishes that he'd been faster, pulled him out sooner-

“Eds.”

He snaps back to the present as if pulled by a bungee rope. Steve’s eyes are warm and soft.

“Stop it,” he says, gentle and firm and so very strong, so very Steve. Eddie needs to swallow against the sudden thickness clogging his throat. “You've nothing to hold against yourself. You saved me.”

“You saved yourself,” Eddie huffs, eyes stubbornly trained on the snowy road. “I helped, is all. You can do this, too. You'll be walking in no time, you just wait.”

“Dunno,” Steve mutters. He sounds so small, so broken, so very much not like himself, and Eddie wishes he could resurrect Vecna, simply to kill him again. Make it more painful this time, let him suffer like he made them suffer. “You saw me just now. Feels like I need to fight forever for every little inch of success.”

“Let's make a deal?”

The words are out before Eddie can think better of it, but the sadness on Steve’s face has given way to curiosity, so he shoulders on.

“We could make it a new year's resolution. If you manage to walk by … July, let's say, I'll quit smoking.”

“Oh, please!” Steve's eyebrow quirks. “As if you could.”

“Of course I could. I'm tired of you whining about my cigarette breath anyhow. What's wrong, big boy? Scared of getting your ass handed to you?”

“Fuck off,” Steve grouses, but his mouth is curling into a smile and his eyes are sparkling. “It's on, dude!”

“Hell, yeah!” Eddie makes no attempt at hiding his smug grin. Count on Steve’s competitive streak to win him over. “It's so on!”

*

“Oh God,” Steve squawks the second his hands lose contact with the crutches. “It's off. Eds, it's off, give’m here.”

“Nuh-uh!” Eddie dances a step back - not far, still close enough to catch Steve in case he falls, but far enough to keep the crutches out of reach. “Just give it a shot, c’mon. You got this.”

Over the distance between them, their eyes meet.

“I've gotcha.”

Steve's eyes light up and a small laugh bubbles from his throat.

And then he walks.

Eddie makes sure to stay a bit ahead, spouting a never-ending string of encouragement and jokes and sweet nonsense. Just keeps talking so that Steve can focus on something other than the fear and the doubt. Guides him with his voice like he's done before, like he'll keep doing for as long as Steve needs, as long as he wants.

The first steps are unsure and wobbly, but soon enough, Steve finds his footing. They've both kicked off their shoes, and the dry summer grass is brittle under their naked feet, the earth soft and warm. The sound of their footfalls mingles with the whirr of the cicadas in the grass, the rush of his own blood in his ears, their mingled laughter, a gorgeous, wonderful symphony of alive, alive, alive.

When Steve’s legs give out and he stumbles, Eddie is there. He cushions their fall with his own body and they go down in a tangle of limbs and laughter, lips meeting before they even hit the ground. The crutches go clattering somewhere to the side.

“I did it!” Steve gasps against his mouth, and Eddie can't tell if the sound is more laugh or more sob. “Shit, did you- did you see that? I did it!”

“You did it,” Eddie rumbles, hands in Steve's hair, kissing his lips and nose and eyes and anything he can reach between words. Both their cheeks are wet with tears, but they're good tears, finally good tears, and he can’t tell whose they are anymore. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that they’re alive, and here, and together. “Fuck yeah, you did, always knew you would. So strong, so amazing. Love you so much.”

Steve makes another sound, a raw thing so full of emotion it makes Eddie’s heart flutter, and crashes their lips together again, firmer, longer. Eddie sighs as a hesitant tongue coaxes at his lips, opens up, lets him in.

And then Steve groans and pulls back.

“What?” Eddie asks, insides twisting with worry. “Shit, did you hurt yourself? What-”

“‘m fine!” Steve wheezes, glancing up at him with watery eyes. “You just taste like an ashtray, is all.”

“Oh, c'mon!” Eddie grouses while Steve rolls off him, flops onto his back in the grass. “I had like half a cig this morning.”

“Half a cig too much, then,” Steve beams up at him, all glinting teeth and gold-streaked hair in the sunlight, eyes sparkling with mirth and alive, alive, alive. “I win.”

Eddie pouts. “What though? Can't remember agreeing on a prize, this was all fun and-”

One strong, nimble hand tangles in the collar of his shirt, pulls him in.

“Shut up and kiss me, ash breath.”

Eddie has never obeyed an order more gladly in his life.

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

[lululandd]

something memorable;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

word count: 696

warnings: fluff

note: personal experience + B99 reference

summary: you didn’t answer and he can see your eyes latched onto something on the side of his face before reaching up to grab it.

The pub was packed that night, and Ghost would’ve turned tail and gone back to base if it wasn’t for you. He has always noticed how you’d shy away from group interactions and group outings so it came to his surprise when you decided to say yes this time.

Soap cheered and Gaz clapped your back when you agreed to come with. Ghost even relinquishes his seat—the edge seat where his back was against the wall at all times—so you can sit there and feel safe.

He realises very soon why you said no all this time. You have zero alcohol tolerance. None. He had heard you ask the barman for half a shot of vodka on your vodka cranberry and yet here you are, glass still half full, giggling out of your mind, eyes out of focus. Soap and Gaz are out playing pool, Roach is harassing some poor schmuck on darts, and he’s itching for a smoke right now but he doesn’t have the heart to leave you alone.

“Gonna get you some water, yeah?” He adjusted his facemask before standing up.

You nodded slowly as your eyes wandered around the place. Ghost had to remind himself that you’re one of his teammates and not a civilian as you’re behaving like one right now. Hard to believe the same person that shoved him aside to get knifed in the arm during combat is right now mesmerised by the string lights hung by the bathroom door. Because of a quarter shot of vodka. He was lucky the barman wasn’t doing anything and handed him the glass of water in record time.

In the fourty five seconds of absence, Ghost noticed you had downed the rest of your vodka cranberry and is now giggling deliriously as you scroll your phone.

“Fucking hell, down this.” He puts the water in front of you and obediently drinks all of it before slumping back down on your seat.

But you stared at him instead of playing on your phone again. Ghost decided to play with you a little. A harmless game of lets-see-how-drunk-you-are.

“See something you like?” He teased.

You didn’t answer and he can see your eyes latched onto something on the side of his face before reaching up to grab it.

He was gonna go red in the face before realising you’re fiddling with his ear, full of intent.

“Is thaat, a cloossed up… earring hoooole?” The pub’s overhead lights catch your eyes in all the right ways, making them sparkle.

“Stab wound.” He mustered up all the strength he didn't have to sound stern, “The scar extends through the lobe and into the neck.”

“Boooo.” You sulked, retreating your hand back to yourself.

Roach came back with a large bag of chips not long after, spending his night’s winnings on snacks for his teammates. “Are they fucking asleep?” The man pointed at you, and Ghost had to stop him from nudging you awake.

He took his cigs out of his pocket and tapped it twice on the table to let Roach know where he’s going. He knows smoking is allowed indoors but he notices that you always stealthily leave the premises when there’s smokers around, so he decided to do it outside. Besides, He wants to think about earlier when you touched his face, and he’d prefer that Roach doesn’t see him blushing.

When he got back, you were awake, Gaz and Soap are back, and the chips were almost gone. Did they wake you up? He hoped they didn’t.

—

He woke up one morning after coming back from leave to a little envelope slid under his door.

It was smaller than his hand—then again, what isn’t—and wasn’t even sealed; there was a little folded up paper and stud earrings of goofy looking skulls made of either sterling silver or titanium in it. Unfolding the paper, it reads:

i know what a closed up earring hole feels like, lieutenant.

He wasn’t lying that night, it was truly a knife wound. But he promised himself he’d get his ears pierced just so he can wear the little earrings when he’s off the clock, even if you can’t see it.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty imagines #call of duty #scuffed writing

[gretavanlace]

Welcome To Hell

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, angst, degradation, praise, impact play and illusions to impact play, unprotected sex, language, dirty talk, oral sex, alcohol consumption, etc.

This one spun outta control like I wrote it on black ice. My apologies for length and shitty editing in advance xoxo

Jake hates a scene. Loathes raised voices that might demand the hushed attention of a room. Despises eyes hungrily devouring, unblinking, staring, consuming. The morbid curiosity of it all is abhorrent.

What’s going on here? Those eyes ponder, raking over the situation in devilish glee. It’s human nature, he knows, like when you struggle to look away from something gruesome, but he doesn’t have to like it.

Unless he is strutting his way across a stage, soaking in the anguished, desperate need and admiration of those who buy a ticket to take the ride, he doesn’t want it.

Wrapped in an embellished suit and spilling his soul into the universe from behind a sword made of frets and strings - that is the only time his stoic nature allows him to step into the light when he so often yearns for the shadows.

Jacob is a libertine of the finest sort, but only once the curtain has dropped. Or, with you wearing the marks of his teeth, legs spread wide and inviting, beneath him.

You know of this particular aversion, this detest of observation. Of course you do. You know it now, and you knew it last night. You just hadn’t been able to find the will to give a damn.

So, rather than taking a few deep breaths to center yourself and maybe making the switch to water, you had fumed, allowing frustrated thoughts to stoke the bonfire of anger within you - and you drank. And drank. And drank. Ordering rum and coke after rum and coke until you could feel the bartender clocking you carefully, attempting to decide if he’d overserved you. He had. He most definitely had.

As is so often the case with angry drunks, it suddenly seemed such an ideal time to pick a fight. A good time to pitch your voice loud enough to bring the conversation at your table, in a tucked away corner of the bar, to a grinding halt.

A great time to accuse him of wanting to fuck the bubbly little raven-locked beauty, with the tiny skirt and anything but tiny tits, that had been fluttering around him at the pool table. A sex dripping hummingbird flitting about in his personal space, while he donned a soft, welcoming smile.

A wonderful time to invite him to go fuck himself as you stormed through the crowd dramatically.

A fantastic time to rage against the situation concocted within your inebriated haze, complete with sloppy tears and dramatic overreactions, until Danny had finally wrangled you into an Uber…riding along beside you while you dozed, head heavy on his shoulder. Exhausted from your drunken tantrum.

When you woke this morning, you did so with no memory of how you had ended up in bed, or who had removed the complicated, strappy heels from your feet. Or who, like some great god of mercy, had left the tall glass of water waiting on your bedside table. But you had your suspicions, and they were paired with small flashes of memory that proved you were correct. Daniel. Who else?

Another elusive bit of information was when Jake had finally made it home. You’d found him, splayed across the couch, hair tangled against a throw pillow, boots kicked off, but otherwise fully dressed. He was home, but you were unsure of how long that had been so. He might have collapsed onto the cushions five minutes after Danny tucked you in, or he might have stumbled in with the sun, cock still warm from her mouth.

Though, without the alcohol clouding your judgment, the very idea seemed ridiculous. Jake, with his sleepy eyes and gentle heart could never, and would never, even if he could.

He’d rolled off the sofa while you quietly rummaged around in the fridge, yanking out the ingredients you’d need to create a ‘terribly sorry for being an embarrassing mess last night’ BLT…a peace offering stacked high with peppered bacon and remorse.

When he found you once more, he was showered and looking no worse for wear. He looked so softly domestic in his hard worn jeans and long sleeved T, and you had longed to make amends, but he declined your breakfast of apologies. Even waving off the steaming mug of coffee you held out to him, while muttering something about the studio.

Never one to withhold affection in twisted punishment, he had kissed your forehead and strode out the door, assuring you he’d call if things began to look as though they might run late.

But his irritation with you was evident. Tangible in a way that sent a sharp pang of guilt flashing through your heart. He hadn’t forgotten, and he hadn’t yet forgiven.

You’d spent the rest of the morning ambling through the market. Piling your basket high with carefully selected root vegetables. Bags stuffed full to their brims with parsnips, turnips, and sweet potatoes. Onions, carrots and fennel, nestled in beside the broth and spices that would soon create the base for Jake’s favorite stew.

Veggies, lovingly sliced and diced, were rolling lazily this way and that, dancing in a slow simmer, when the first spits of rain began to pebble at the kitchen windows…

And now, here you sit, waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs, legs tucked to the side and hidden beneath the hem of his favorite outfit. A worn and tattered, thrifted sweatshirt, at least three sizes too large, displaying the name of a university neither of you have ever heard of.

Inexplicably drawn to it at a flea market the two of you had stumbled upon, you plunked down a five dollar bill and immediately made it yours.

That same night, he’d watched you hack away at the sleeves with kitchen scissors, then hem the jagged edges with a needle and thread, tongue clenched between your teeth in concentration. And as he watched, he sank even deeper into the pool of his love for you.

That unskilled tailoring had resulted in sleeves that were uneven, but no longer swallowed your hands up. You wear that stupid sweatshirt around the house as a dress constantly, hair a mess atop your head in a bun, legs bare, and he doubts he could love it more if he tried.

You don’t know a thing about his little love affair with this particular article of clothing. Sometimes he says nothing at all when words threaten to fail, which is so very often the case between his heart and the tiny things that make you, you.

He finds you there, biding your time until he slips back into your orbit…waiting for his return with hopeful eyes glittering with love. That love softens his resolve and he feels the annoyance that has tried his patience all day, lessening.

“Hi.” You sound quiet, your one-worded greeting weighed down with contrition.

“Hi.” He takes his time leaning his guitar case against the door jamb, meticulous in its placement to be sure it won’t shift and hit the floor, and then adds a somber, “Something smells good.” as he pulls off his water sodden boots.

“I made stew.” You’re avoiding his eyes now that you can feel his energy. “Your favorite.”

“S’good weather for it.” He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Chilly.”

You want to rise to your feet, to close the gap of space between the two of you. It feels cavernous. But, you prove rooted in place with the uncomfortability of it all. Are you actually discussing the weather? Like strangers on a train?

At last, you gather your bearings and stand, no longer a deer frozen in the headlights of his disappointment. “Jake…”

“Let’s just forget about it, alright?” He turns away, though you’ve reached for him. “Maybe it was a little much. It’s understandable that you’d be jealous, she was pretty. Beautiful, really.”

He’s said it to be cruel, to be hurtful, and the low blow has successfully landed, but you pretend it hasn’t. On with the show. He won’t remember she ever existed to begin with by the end of the night.

“But you’re still upset, baby…” you breathe the words gently and nuzzle your nose along his jawline. “You’re still angry with me, underneath it all. I can feel it.”

Relaxing his stance in your arms he huffs a tiny sigh. “I just— I don’t know why you have to—“

Your teeth graze over the delicate scar that lives just below his cheekbone. The spot that never fails to render his heart soft and his cock hard. “Why I have to what, Jake? Misbehave?”

A smoky ‘fuck’ slips of his lips when your fingers curl into the waist of his pants, tugging the linen with just enough force to remind him of where your fingers are.

“You should make me behave.” You kiss your way along until you find his mouth, licking into it with a quiet and obscene hum.

“I was mouthy and so mean,” your palm slides across his warm, soft stomach, fingers inching further downward just to hear the breath in his lungs catch. “and you’re always so good to me, Jake. So sweet. I don’t deserve it.”

Deeply perturbed though he may be with you, his love runs deeper still, “you do deserve it, sweetheart. Even when you’re drunk and terrible, you’re still my favorite girl.”

The pad of his thumb trails across your bottom lip, string-worn callous catching the velvet skin that scrubs and masks keep silken. “Careful with my lips, Jakey,” You lightly scratch against the sparse, downy hair that trails his navel. “I work so hard to keep them soft for your pretty cock.”

His hand runs up the nape of your neck and, with his fingers wrapped around the base of your bun, he snaps your head back with a deft flick of his wrist. The searing sting makes you hiss through your teeth and he calls back with a groan through his own clenched bite. “I didn’t ask for your smart mouth. You’re in trouble and I think a bit of respect would be a wise decision on your part, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You arch forward, longing to press yourself against the sturdy warmth of his body.

Rather than allow it, he loosens his hold on you and steps back, studying your flushed face as though he’s never laid eyes on you before. As though he’s heard tell of what you’re capable of, and is deciding whether or not it might be worth his time to fuck the brat out of you.

“You want to be punished?” He walks his fingers down the outside of your thigh, barely making contact with the trembling muscle you’d give anything to feel him bury his grip into. To watch him spread you open wide and claim his prize.

You nod, cock drunk on him already, though you’ve yet to see it, touch it, worship it.

He tilts his head, as if weighing the possibilities “What if I take you outside, hmm? March you to the gallows?” His touch remains far too light, too gentle. “Make you pick a switch…put you over my knee right there on the front porch, show the whole neighborhood what a nasty fucking handful you are.”

“Whatever you want, Jake.” And you mean it. You probably shouldn’t, but you do. God help you, you mean it.

“Call me Jake one more time and I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.” He warns, pressing a finger to your lips. He doesn’t want a response. Watching you play by the rules for once will do just fine for him, thank you.

In a breath, his hand is warm between your thighs, fingers toying with you, taunting, teasing, withholding. “Upstairs. Now.” His demand comes gently, but it leaves no room for discussion all the same. “Everything off. I’ll be up when I feel like it.”

~

You wait without patience, but he isn’t in the room to scold you for fidgeting this way and that, nor is he close enough to hear your tiny huffs of annoyance…

…until he is.

You never hear a sound. Not a creak on the stairs, nor footfall in the hallway…he simply appears in the doorway like a specter. An apparition, bathed in darkness and sex, sent to ruin you.

Your black phantom moves closer, eyes never landing on you, though you wait on display for him. Nipples pebbled and aching, sitting on your heels with your knees parted so that he might catch sight of his favorite place to play.

He ignores all this and instead, focuses on the soft lengths of rope you have laid out beside you at the foot of the bed.

Jake knows this rope. His thoughts skip to the white rose bushes you planted out back one sunny morning, in homage to his band. You’ve cut it from the spool you use to tie the bushes to stakes, ensuring they grow straight and strong. He will never look at those white roses again without remembering this moment.

“And what is this for, baby girl?’ He runs a length of it through his fingers thoughtfully. “Are you expecting to be tied down? Would you like that?”

“Yes.” When did your voice grow so meek? “Tie me down and punish me…any way you’d like.”

He drops the rope, entirely disinterested, “Spread your legs and touch yourself. Love on her for me. She must need it bad by now.”

You obey instantly, earning a lazy smile in reward. But as quick as that smirk appears, it vanishes, when he leans in close enough to brush your nose with his own, while you circle your clit with faint pressure, careful not to get greedy.

“I don’t need rope, sweetheart.” He hushes like a secret “You will stay where I put you. You will lie still when I say so, and you will move when I say so. You will do as you’re fucking told, or you will suffer the consequences. Are we clear?”

Leaning in, your tongue laps over his lips, desperate to taste him…he takes momentary pity on you and offers the tip of your tongue a gentle suck before straightening.

Wandering over to the dresser, he begins digging around in your top drawer, shuffling satin and lace around, searching. “I’m thinking of filling your pretty mouth up. You look so lovely with my cum dripping off your lips.”

A sound of wanton anticipation whines out of you. “You like that? You want to get down on your knees and ask forgiveness? Prove how sorry you are with a cock in your mouth?”

He’s fucking obscene, and you plan to relish every second of his condescending filth. You sigh shakily in confirmation and lick the lips he spoke of so indecently, eager to get on with it.

“Well, it sounds like you want it, so I suppose that isn’t much of a punishment at all, now is it?” At last he turns, and you drink in the beauty of his face.

“Put these on.” A scrap of fabric lands on the duvet beside you.

Fingers clasped around white silk, your eyes squint in question. “You’re asking me to get dressed? I thought we were moving in another direction here, Kiszka.”

He is across the room in a blink, grip locked around your chin. “Watch your tone, miss mouth. You’re toeing a line you don’t want to cross, I promise you.”

The brat in you shoves up her sleeves, ready to get to work. “Or what? Are you going to bend me over and spank my ass until I beg you to stop?”

The light in his eyes snuffs out, leaving only a menacing darkness that sets your pulse to racing as he slowly leans in. Lips caressing the shell of your ear, he strokes a thumb down the swell of your breast. “No, Sweetheart, I’ll bend you over and fuck your ass until you beg me to stop.”

A sigh of a gasp escapes you, fluttering his hair.

He straightens and casually pets your hair, “But we don’t need to worry about that, do we? Because you’re going to be a very good girl for me, aren’t you? You’re going to be the best girl - all for me, isn’t that right?”

Your response comes immediately, and without thought. “Yes, sir.”

“You see?” He smiles, booping your nose with the tip of his finger. An innocent, cuddly act that doesn’t match the tone of the room “My baby girl has such manners. Now,” he swats a finger at your cheek, “put your panties on.”

“Why?” You’re doing as you're told even as you question him.

With an off handed air, he answers, as if bored with your inquisitiveness. “Because I’d like to taste your cunt on them, that’s why.”

“Please?” Oh, how fucking pathetic you are - and oh, how little you care.

“Please what?” He is so quiet, so tender, as he sinks to his knees before you, you can almost trick yourself into believing he’s going to give in.

“They’re on.” You snap the elastic at your hip and fall back on the bed, nestling into the cool cloud of blankets and sheets beneath you. “Taste me on them. I want your mouth.”

He hums softly, the back of his knuckle trailing over your clit as it aches in desperation. “You’re beautiful everywhere, aren’t you? My pretty, pretty girl. Don’t you wish for a kiss, baby? Wouldn’t that feel nice? Soft and slow? Right here on this perfect clit?”

His fingers wander with just enough intent to make your hips rock as he gazes down between your thighs “Sweet and swollen. Just wants to be spoiled a little, doesn’t she?”

Nodding eagerly, you fist at the blankets, grounding yourself. “Please,”

“You want my mouth?”

Suddenly, you have it. His tongue, like warm, wet satin, laps over you through the scant material you’ve already soaked. “Like that, baby?”

He sounds so smug “is that how you want it? Or do you want it like this…” his fingers peel your panties aside to allow his tongue to wander along freely.

A muffled hum chokes it’s way out of your chest “Yes, baby, please. Don’t stop…” your hips thrust up to meet him “More...”

“Aw, sweetheart…” he taunts, landing a cruel smack against your center that makes your thighs snap together “and you were doing so well, too. Bossy gets you nowhere, little girl.”

Shoving your legs apart, the pad of his thumb circles over the dripping material that is, once again, concealing your clit. “Think you can cum like this?” He sounds so casual, as though he’s asked you for the time. “If I touched you and licked you just like this?”

As his face draws nearer, you begin to pant…breathing lust heavily into the room. “Yes! Yes! Please, Jake…”

His eyebrows raise, mockingly pondering your face as you stare down at him, silently willing him into action “But I’m not even really touching you. I’m touching your panties, that’s all. Are you really that pitiful? Needy little pussy, dripping and begging.”

“Fuck!” Your fist tangles in his hair, tugging at it urgently and without care.

He hisses at the burn of the sting - the flash of pain he has never hidden his affections for - and then there are both of his hands, wrapped around your throat carefully. Ever mindful to never hurt you in a manner unintentional. To never get carried away and leave a mark he hadn’t thought out, coaxed a tear he didn’t anticipate.

You’re left to whine under his wicked glare until, at last, his voice comes…guttural and threatening, yet still glazed in velvet, lush and rich. “Fucking behave yourself. I won’t tell you again.”

His grip tightens, locking you in the warm vice of his hands. He sees the insubordinate gleam in your eye, and he’s warning you, though he knows it will do no good. “And if I don’t?”

The second you speak, you wish you hadn’t. He isn’t the only one who can read the thoughts behind your eyes, and a poisoned malevolence is darting about in his.

“If you don’t,” he offers you a cruel tip of his brow, like he thinks the answer should be obvious. “If you don’t, I’ll make you watch her preen, pretty and sweet, with my cock down her throat.”

You ought to be ashamed for the way your body writhes and throbs at the very idea of it, but you’ll worry about that some other time.

“You’re evil,” you breathe.

He seems amused as his thumb begins to stroke over your pounding jugular, “Am I?”

“Yes.” You’ve never wanted him more.

“Well then, pretty girl…” his tongue snakes up the side of your cheek, “welcome to hell.”

~

Hours may have ticked away, or perhaps just minutes. It’s entirely plausible that time stopped its monotonous shuffle all together, and you’re now floating in limbo.

There is no way to tell. There is only Jake.

Jake, as he moves above you slowly, deliberately - tangled waves of silken chocolate gently swaying, creating a hazy curtain of his scent around you as your vision blurs.

“Harder, baby…” your words are quiet, barely a whisper, and pointless. “Please.”

“Shut up.” He hushes back as if confessing his love. “I’ll fuck you harder when I decide you deserve it.”

You shouldn’t do it. It’s manipulative, and underhanded. You do it anyway. “Did you really want her?”

You know he didn’t, you’re simply aiming to weaken his resolve. It backfires in a way you’d never expect.

“How do you know I didn’t have her?’ He taunts mercilessly, slipping his thumb in your mouth to pry it open. He speaks into it, licking and sucking at your lips and tongue between vicious words, still sliding in and out of you at a maddeningly slow clip.

“How do you know I didn’t go home with her?” He eases his thumb into your mouth for you to suckle comfortingly “Maybe, while Daniel was tucking you into bed, I was tucking my cock inside her?”

“Liar.” You choke out through a moaning clench around him.

A feral sound growls out of his lungs as you squeeze up tight. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it. You were being so mean. Maybe I wanted her because she looked at me like I hung the moon and made her little pussy all wet and messy.”

Your teeth bury themselves into his flesh, but he merely curls his thumb and pries your bite open.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” With a blissfully swift snap of his hips he fucks into you a little harder. “You don’t wanna play in the kitchen anymore now that the heat’s caught up with you?”

Your hands move to latch onto his shoulders through the shirt he has refused to remove, his pants are only unbuttoned and shoved down far enough to slip inside of you, he says it’s all you’ve earned.

Yes, your hands reach for him, but he puts a stop to it with a harsh, clipped, order. “Hands down. Now.”

Palms once again flat against the bed at your sides as you’ve been instructed, he carries on fucking you, filling the room with your desperate moans and whines, and his bullshit lies.

“I wanted to put my hand on her waist right here,” he tucks into the dipping curve just above your hip and grips tighter and tighter, tugging you closer. “Yeah, right here, just like this. Just the way you like. Right where I grab you when you’ve been a good enough girl to take it hard.”

He can feel the muted fury seize your muscles up tight while your heart begins to pound a hyper-beat of fiery madness, and he jabs at you further with a taunting grin, smoothing his palm flat up your trembling skin sweetly until the globe of your breast is cupped in his hand. “And I’d have done it, baby girl. I’d have fucked her, but I knew you’d smell her on me…perfume that wasn’t yours, the scent of her skin, of her pretty cunt…”

“Fuck you,” the blow comes out of left field, even to yourself, and lands hard upon his cheek.

He fights the recoil and nuzzles into it, body humming with electric lust. “You’re so mean, sweetheart. Do it again.”

“Please!” The sobbing need turns your plea into a prayer, fraught with the desperation he has grown completely addicted to.

It rips a carnal, raspy groan out of his chest. He is full of lies, and he knows it just as well as you do. He needs what only you can give. You’ve rendered him a man willing to do anything to get even just a taste of the way you love him.

But, Jake loves the game, as well.

His warm clutch, rough from the unforgiving metal of strings, closes around your throat once more, eyes fluttering when a moan chokes out of you.

You sound like angels sighing, but he doesn’t allow himself to be lost completely, lest you win this round.

“I said, do it again.” Teeth clenched, his demand comes with authority that leaves no room for defiance.

He steels himself to absorb the blow, but his cock twitches wildly inside you upon the cracking impact and you can’t help yourself. “You like that? You sick fuck.”

A grin, flashing and gorgeous, settles upon his beautiful lips. It steals the moment, shaping it into something new, something softer.

“You fucking love it. You want me to hit you back, I can see it in your eyes.”

You can’t hide anything from him - never could. He reads you with astonishing ease; fingertips racing deftly over the tiny blips of braille that map your thoughts. The rushing thump of your pulse spoken word poetry whispering secrets to him.

“I do.” Your confession slips off your tongue with quiet confidence. You are safe with him.

He caresses your face gingerly, adoring you with a feather-light touch you haven’t asked for, “I’d never hit you, baby. I don’t want to.”

A frown that you try to fight pulls at your lips, eliciting the softest chuckle from him, baptizing you in his love. He is your sweet Jakey again. Just that quickly. You don’t know whether to rejoice or mourn. “She pouts because I refused to mar her lovely face. Scandalously filthy, sweetheart.”

You take advantage of that pout he can’t seem to resist, “Fuck me harder now, sir. I need it, baby.” Sir and baby intermingle strangely, but something about it works.

“Yeah? You need it?” He begins moving faster, roughly jerking his hips back until only the silken tip of his cock rests inside you before driving back in, punching a cry of relief out of your lungs each time, over and over and over.

“Let me touch you…” you’re panting and struggling to speak.

“Go ahead, baby,” he sounds so gentle, but he dips down and bites into your neck viciously, releasing only to groan your praises as your fingers lace into his wild tangles “there’s my good girl, there’s my good fucking girl.”

He sweeps airy kisses over the apples of your cheeks, each in turn. “Pretty little piece of heaven, just for my cock. All snug and soft, aren’t you, sweetheart? My girl.”

Nodding in frantic agreement - you are his girl. You couldn’t be anyone else’s - you raise your head and press your forehead to his shoulder, wailing against the cotton of his shirt as you bite into it…so close you can nearly taste the grainy, sugary sweetness of your long awaited release.

“Cum for me pretty, baby.” His demands are breathing out of him tenderly now…gentle as the rain that’s still tapping at the windows. “And say my name, it sounds so beautiful on your tongue. Makes my heart hurt.”

You know what he means, sometimes there is too much love between the two of you. It batters itself against the cages of your hearts. Enormous and overwhelming, threatening to split you wide open at the seams of your very souls…it is too much, and it is never enough.

And you do; you call his name. Chanting it like the chorus of your favorite song, pressing it into the cracks in the wood, etching it into the glass with your cries, so this room, this house, never forgets the love it once held.

The house will remember him as well, the pained sounds that claw out of him wildly as he fucks you through it, and lets go, sinking into you as though he’d like to disappear inside you completely.

This is all that matters. Jake. You. Love.

You’re both breathing up at the ceiling, hands clasped between you as you hunt down some semblance of calm.

“The stew.” You remember, too tranquil to really care.

He sounds just as serene as you do, “Took it off the heat before I came up.”

You squeeze his hand in silent thanks. “We’ll go down and eat soon. I’ll heat up the bread I picked up and…”

Trailing off, you don’t finish your sentence, but he’s crossed over into half-sleep as well, so there’s no one to notice.

Some time later, you blink slowly awake, confused by the darkness in the room. He stumbles his way back to consciousness soon after, and the night settles in with you curled in his lap on the back porch, sharing a bowl of stew - the rain, now nothing more than mist, dancing on the grass.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #greta van fic #gvf fic #jake gvf #fanfic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #gvf jake #jake kiszka imagine #jake greta van fleet

[devilat-thedoor]

happy…..manic monday?😈

sinful jake thoughts, anyone?

he won’t put the guitar down. he won’t pay you any attention despite the way you’ve been lingering in his vicinity. you tried to coax his focus elsewhere; traipsing around in your tiny shorts and tank top. “Jakey….can you take a break for a bit?” you came up behind him, walking your fingers along his shoulders and down his chest, bending to place a soft kiss to his neck.

he pulled his hand from the strings, fitting the pick between his lips, and removed your hands from his body. when he took the pick out of his mouth, he looked over his shoulder at you, “sweetheart, i’m in deep here… go read a book or watch a movie for a little bit.”

you stomped your foot, ready to throw a tantrum, as you moved to stand in front of him. “you’ve been at this all day, Jake! i don’t wanna watch tv anymore, i wanna spend time with my fucking boyfriend!” you glared at him, hoping he’d get the hint.

“don’t be a fucking brat… i’ll give you all the attention you want when i’m finished.” he began strumming the strings again, effectively silencing you and ending the conversation. you breathed out a scoff and turned on your heel, stalking out of the room. Jake paid you no mind, his fingers steadily dancing along the frets as he picked out a haunting melody, only looking up to shake his head when he heard the bedroom door slam shut. “fucking pouty little crybaby…” he mumbled to himself with a chuckle. it didn’t take long for him to get lost in his music again, nothing on his mind other than the series of chords he was putting together…until his phone vibrated in his pocket with a text message. he placed the guitar on the floor, leaning it against his chair, to dig his cell out. “jesus christ…” his mouth hung open at the photo he’d received from you. you were laying across the bed, wearing nothing but one of his tshirts pulled up above your breasts to reveal your naked body to him. the simple text that accompanied the picture, keep playing your guitar, i’ll play by myself. he couldn’t deny the way his cock started to twitch in his jeans, but he remained composed as he typed out a response. before he had the chance to hit send, another message came through from you. a video this time. when he clicked play, he didn’t even give it five seconds before he locked his phone and stood up, bounding through the house. you could hear his footsteps nearing the bedroom, “alright, sweetheart… you got my atten- what the hell?” to his surprise the door was locked. he listened to the sounds of your soft moans through the barrier before knocking impatiently. “okay, very fucking funny. open the door, babe.”

you giggled, calling back to him, “i can’t open the door right now, baby…..i’m in deep here…” your fingers were swirling over your clit for a moment before you dipped them inside of yourself with a drawn out whine.

Jake was still knocking incessantly, “Y/N, you made your point… baby, open the door. please…” you gave in when he began jiggling the door handle and got up to flip the lock. the second he heard the click, he flung the door open and rushed at you. he scooped you up and dropped you to the bed as you squealed. “you think you’re real clever, don’t you?” he straightened up to remove his shirt before moving on to unbutton his jeans.

staring up at him, you chewed on your lip with a smirk, “i got your attention, Jake…..so yeah…. i’d say i’m pretty clever.” you slowly parted your legs, watching his gaze travel from your face to your heat.

once his jeans were off, he kneeled on the bed, settling between your legs. he started running his hands up your thighs, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. “i’d wipe that smirk off your face, sweetheart……because you’re right….” his thumbs landed on either side of pussy, spreading it open to reveal your wetness, before he began tracing light patterns over your clit, “…..you do have my attention….. but i think you’ll come to learn that patience is a virtue, love….” when his sentence concluded, his thumb moved faster.

you were writhing on the mattress, moaning out for jake to keep going while his other hand slipped down to push a finger into you. “fuck, baby…. that’s so good.” when he felt you begin to clench, he removed his finger and let his thumb slow on your clit, causing you to pick your head up, “Jake, what the fuck?” you whimpered at the loss of contact, “why’d you stop?”

“patience, sweetheart.” Jake resumed his torturous swirls, smiling to himself at how easily you melted into his touch. “do you enjoy being a brat?…..” he added two fingers this time, curling them against your gspot.

moans and whines poured from your lips but when you didn’t answer his question, he started to slow again. “Jake, please….” you pleaded for him to keep going.

he stilled his finger inside of you, “answer me… do you enjoy being a brat? throwing tantrums when you don’t get your way?” his eyes locked with yours and you shook your head as you rocked your hips against his hand. his thumb stopped completely then, “don’t lie to me, Y/N. if you wanna cum, you gotta be honest.”

you were shaking your head frantically now, “okay! alright…..fine.” your breathing was becoming heavier as you chased a release. “i won’t lie, just- baby, please don’t stop again…” desperation seeped from your voice and it made him smirk with satisfaction.

he was putting all of his focus on the sensitive bundle, but his fingers remained motionless in your cunt. “say it…..i wanna hear you admit it.”

“Jake-”

“Aht… say it, sweetheart.”

you tried to hold your ground but it was bordering the line of overstimulation and your head was starting to spin. “fuck- okay, i- jesus!” he was finger fucking you before you could get the words out, but he still expected the admission and that much was clear by the way he cocked an eyebrow at you. “j- i…..i like being a brat, okay?” the words came rushed as you fought for a breath through your impending orgasm and jake started to move his fingers with a little more intensity, “i th- shit… i throw tantrums…..i do it because- because i know….it gets under your skin…”

“good girl.” he smiled wide and proud as your eyes rolled back and immediately lowered his mouth to your pussy, rolling his tongue over your clit. it was mere moments before you had your fingers twisting through his hair and you were grinding into his face. “come on, sweetheart. you can let it go now.” with one final push of his fingers and few flicks of his tongue, you were completely coming undone, calling out his name with a shaky voice and trembling body.

your grip loosened on his hair and you let your nails scratch at his scalp as he hummed against you, bringing you back to earth from your climax. “fucking hell, Jake…” as your breathing finally evened out, you couldn’t help the grin that stretched across your face when he looked up from between your thighs. “i know you said something about patience……but i don’t think i learned anything, baby.”

he met you with a challenging glare, “no? you didn’t learn?” Jake began crawling up your body, kissing his way up your torso as he stroked himself. when his face was inches above yours, he placed a single kiss to your lips before his own smirk grew wider. “maybe you’re a hands on learner, sweetheart….”

to be continued…..maybe?

tagging my babes that i think will appreciate this the most🩵

@ignite-my-fire @stardustvanfleet @jakesguitarsolo

#jake kiszka #greta van fleet #gvf #jake thoughts #jake kiszka blurb #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader