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joeloverture · 3 months

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morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance.

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven.

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic

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howtofightwrite · 3 months

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For a character that virtually can’t die and regenerates in order to keep living, how do you make action interesting? Emphasize they still feel pain, why they’re doing it?

I'm actually going to step back a bit from this question first, and complement it. This is a very honest question, and something most writers who include violence in their work, should really think about. Even if you don't think you have characters like this, you do.

Now, I'm going to dunk on Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw for a moment. Ages ago (I think it was in one of his Resistance reviews), Yahtzee described, “threatening to blow up the world,” as the laziest form of raising the stakes. Because, “hey, I live on a world.” He's mostly correct. Threatening your protagonist's life is even lazier. In the vast majority of cases, your audience knows you won't go through with it. That you won't kill off your protagonists.

With that in mind, when you decide your protagonist is completely immortal, that changes less about how you write them than you might expect. The biggest difference is simply that they're directly aware of their plot armor, rather than them engaging in faux indecision based on their perceived mortality. Again, this is something that every writer who uses violence should think about, at least a bit. It is natural for a character to fear for their life, and have reservations about risking their life, but making the part where your character's lives are on the line isn't automatically suspenseful. In a lot of cases (consciously or not), your audience will call your bluff, when you threaten to kill off a major character.

If you think back to major character deaths where something drops them without warning, part of what makes those scenes work is the lack of (apparent) setup. The writer didn't spend pages teasing you with the idea, they just went for the throat and ended that character on the spot. This is more respectful of your audience, because you're not telling them, “well, I might kill this character, or I might not.”

To be clear, I'm not saying that there's no place for teasing your audience with a character's impending demise, just pointing out that in a lot of cases, this won't generate the kind of suspense you'd hope for.

So, to get back on topic, how do you make it interesting? Remember that while this character can't die, the same is not true for the characters around them. Depending on the tone you're going for, you could create an absolutely brutal crucible effect, where everyone around your immortal gets burned off, sooner or later. Whether that's literal, or figurative, is up to you. Even if your character can't die, watching people they care about suffer and die is going to have an effect on them.

You probably don't need to draw special attention to the physical pain they experience, but you do want to be aware of it. Especially in the context of how pain affects the victim's behavior. Beyond that, there is probably an element of pain being far more annoying to the immortal than it would be to a normal person. They know it's not telling them anything meaningful, but it is distracting.

Long-term, both of these can easily result in personality shifts. And, legitimately, this is a scenario where a character may be immortal, but they would still experience significant changes over time, and with the growing emotional pain, could have very adverse effects on your personality. This does have some very real, “live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” potential. How many friends can you lose before you stop caring? How many funerals can you attend before you start taking the phrase, “you're either part of the solution or part of the problem,” a little too far? How many times can you pick yourself up off the pavement a blood-covered alleyway, surrounded by corpses, before you start to forget what made you human in the first place?

And, that's not the only option. The simplest answer for maintaining tension when one of your characters is immortal is keeping your eye on what they're trying to accomplish. Keep track of their objectives, because I guarantee they can fail those. Even just keeping their own nature concealed from the mortal world is probably fairly important, because of the idea that men in hazmat suits will drag them away to some research lab and poke them until they figure out how to replicate their immortality, is a classic (and potentially plausible) threat. (Bonus points, if you're wanting to loop in something like the medieval inquisitions, or some other secret societies that could pose this kind of a threat.)

So, what do you do? To dig out an old cliché threat, “there are fates worse than death,” and it's probably worth exploring them. This also opens up new possibilities for threats. Finally, it's worth remembering that immortality does not guarantee success. If your character is hoping for that, it might be time to give them a very harsh lesson.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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demonpiratehuntress · 5 months

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better

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

summary - you think you don't do enough for the crew so you work harder and train harder to be better. Ace thinks you do plenty already, but supports your decision regardless.

warnings - none

a/n: i hope the person who requested this sees it, because me being a dumbass at 3am, i accidentally deleted the reply to the request. i also hope i got it right!

You could admit that you were not the most useful crewmember of the Whitebeard pirates. In fact, you felt completely useless, like you couldn't contribute anything meaningful or helpful. But you didn't want to be that way, you didn't want to be just a burden to them, even if Ace would constantly remind you that you're not a burden and you were helpful. To him, at least.

But you wanted to be helpful to the entire crew. In fights, you wanted to be able to hold your own without being told to go hide or go check on the injured. You wanted to be able to fight without having to depend on your boyfriend to come save you if you were faced with an opponent.

"(Name) are you even listening?" A deep chuckle met your ears, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned away from the shop window, smiling at Ace sheepishly, "I'm sorry, just...lost in thought." The way you said it and the way your smile didn't quite reach your ears alerted Ace to what you were thinking about.

"Hey," he took both your hands and brought you a little closer, "If it bothers you so much, I can always teach you a few things." He looked at the items you were eyeing from the shop and smirked. "Daggers, huh? Come on." He tugged you into the shop to help you choose a set.

After a very long few hours choosing a pair of pretty yet lethal daggers (Ace was the indecisive one), you both made your way back to the ship. You were staring at the sharp weapons in your hands, marveling at how dangerous they looked and feeling excited to finally learn to be at least a little bit effective.

"Okay let's start with some basic stances," he began, his hand reaching for your hip to position it. "Place one leg like this, and the other like this." He demonstrated his words, showing you how to stand and how to position your arms.

"Ace," you laughed a few minutes later, "I'm pretty sure my butt does not need to be in any specific position."

His beet-red face popped up in front of you, a coy smile on his lips, "Sorry babe, couldn't help myself."

He spent the rest of the afternoon teaching you basic combat moves and acting as your personal hype man, cheering excessively when you got something right just to boost your confidence. It was working, and you were grateful to have such a supportive and helpful boyfriend.

After a few more days of this, you were starting to get the hang of it. Your combat skills had drastically improved, and while you still hadn't managed to beat Ace, there was massive progress and you felt it.

But aside from combat, you also wanted to be more knowledgeable in other fields. Like first aid. In case of emergencies, you wanted to know how to deal with injuries and minor wounds that could be fixed right then and there. You didn't want to be an all-out doctor or medic, but you wanted to have at least a little medical knowledge.

So you took to medical books.

You read everything you could get your hands on, even staying up late at night to study. Sometimes you would even fall asleep at your desk, which is where Ace would find you in the morning. It worried him, but he also didn't want to stop you from learning.

"You should read it to me," he suggested one afternoon, while he was lying in bed with you after having to force you to stop when your eyes started to droop.

"Hmm?" You looked up at him sleepily, "Read what?"

"Those medical books you're reading," his warms hands rested on your stomach, putting you at ease. "You should talk to me about what you learn, it could help you remember."

You smiled when he offered to listen to you, "Are you sure you'll be able to keep up?"

He gasped dramatically, "What do you think I am? Stupid?"

"Yes," you teased.

He feigned offence, playfully scoffing, "I detest that."

"I'm kidding," you laughed, shifting so you could bury your face in his neck. "But thanks for the offer. I might just take you up on that."

And you did. Every time you were reading, Ace was with you whenever he could be. He sat and listened to you explain and discuss the human anatomy, how to dress certain injuries and what steps to take if there wasn't a medic around. He really didn't follow along, and he often fell asleep, but you appreciated the effort he was making to encourage you.

"Aceeeee!" You giggled and flicked his nose gently.

"Wha-?" He jerked awake, eyes flitting around the room before settling on you, and a lovestruck smile formed on his lips. "Oh, hey babe."

"You fell asleep again," you pouted, unable to stop your smile.

"I'm sorryyyyy," he apologised, leaning forward and kissing all over your face. It tickled, and the laughs he pulled from you made him smile. "Carry on, I'm listening now."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

#one piece #op #portgas d ace #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x you

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heartshapedbubble · 9 months

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Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

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There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

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whittlore · 3 months

Text

I'm so indecisive.... anyways ig that's his official design, more accurate to his backstory — and his current situation.

I'm just gonna explain the reason why he's designed like this now :

the splotches are vial splotches... he's a mistake, he was never supposed to exist. which by the way if he doesn't look exactly like all the sanses is because he took the closest form he could when forming, and when doing so everything was blurry to him the only examples he had at the moment was error, fresh, blue and ink. which turned him into his current form. that also had an impact on other parts of his body leaving vial marks that are literally malformation spots.. it was supposed to be covered by the bones but somehow it failed, they're like scars that didn't recover as it was supposed to or like he prefers to call them, 'birthmarks' reason why he covered half of his arms.

under his eye sockets, they're scratches due to intense pain in his pupils... when he forces too much on his magic his pupils ends up glitching, to 'cope' with it he took the bad habit of scratching under his eye sockets which left marks like these.

➥ though it's only the case when he uses impassive, it does still hurt when he forces on regular magic but it's not really painful, just blinding him. [but yk, out of habit he will scratch]

his darker clothes because he hates colorful thingies, it reminds him too much of how he wasn't supposed to be here and his connection to vials, though his abilities itself are very colorful [lol] and the golden accessories to match with 'his one and only' shattered dream.

[all of this are actually update on his background, his back story is also updated.. which I'll bring later on as a comic or just written]

this is his soul, scared when he ripped impassive [emptiness] from him.

aannnnd that's it ig!

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 9 months

Note

I am still indecisive, but Gojo, Nananemi (I feel like the more I type his name, the more I misspell it), or Sukuna x husband reader and Yuji as their adopted son? Just some teeth rotting fluff from your local ace.

One loving family coming right up~!

Title: 2 + 1

Characters: Gojo Satoru x m!reader, Yuji Itadori

Contains: fluff <3, adoption

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+ (except Itadori bc...adoption)

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI (This may not be smut, but I still want the above to be followed)

Reblogs > likes

"Satoru...let's have a child!"

Gojo choked on his coffee, practically coughing up a lung. "Wh-What?!"

"Let's...let's have a child!"

You had been pondering the idea for quite some time. You two had been together for awhile, and seeing so many happy couples with a child has given you a little bit of baby fever.

"I uh...a-are you sure? A kid is a...real big responsibility, y'know?"

"Yes! Yes I'm really sure! C'mon, Satoru!"

Gojo was silent, readjusting his sunglasses that he always insited on wearing as he sat back in the chair. "Well...First off, I'd be a terrible father--"

"Oh don't you start that--"

"I would! I mean, look at me! I can't even take care of myself!"

"Mhm...and that's why you double check whenever I order your food to make sure I get the right thing, or make sure I use the right detergent in washing your clothes."

"H-Hey! That doesn't mean anything!"

"It means that if you can be so vigilant on things you care about, you can be vigilant with a child!"

Gojo's cheeks puffed in a pout as he looked away from you, not liking how you made sense. "Hm...well...I at least want to think on it..."

Elated, you jumped from your seat on the couch and squeezed him into a hug. "Thank you, Satoru!!"

"H-Hey, easy! You're gonna spill my coffee!"

---

Now something like this didn't come quick or easy for that matter. You two had to have deep conversations about how this would work: how to organize a room for the child to have space, what foods to make, toys to get them, what rules there would be, etc. Not only that, but you two had to look deep into adoption agencies and see what their policies were and how to go about this.

It was mentally taxing, and at times, you two had to put it off for awhile, just to make sure it could be tackled with a clear head. After all, this was a massive decision, one that affected not only your lives, but the life of a child. You two began to wonder if it would even be possible until finally, after all your searching, an agency reached out to you, willing to take your case.

Now came the next step, home interviews, personal interviews, background checks, all the works, all the more strain that was going into it. Though Gojo assured you it would work out in the end, which meant a lot coming from him, as he was hesitant on this in the first place.

Still, you two persevered.

---

3 Years Later

"Satoru, I'm home!"

You sighed as you sat on the step inside the house, kicking your shoes off to allow your feet to rest after long hours at work. You were soon greated by small, thudding feet rapidly approaching you.

"Daddy! Daddy Daddy!"

A body barreled into you, and two arms tightly wrapped around yours, giving you a practical death squeeze. You couldn't help but chuckle at the small child, ruffling his hair.

"Heya, Yuji. How was your day today?"

Yuji straightened up, waving his arms up and down. "It was fun!! Papa and I played "Stack the Blocks"! We had to see how big we could make the towers! Papa lost at three blocks, and I beat him with five blocks!

"Oh really now?" You gave a playful grin as you stood up, picking up Yuji in the process. "What else did you and Papa do today?"

"Oh! I did Papa's hair! Wanna see?!"

From the other room you could hear Gojo object. "N-No no! Daddy doesn't need to see this, Yuji!"

"Come on, Papa! You look amazing!"

Before Gojo could object any further, you stepped into the living room. Your husband was sitting on the floor, his white hair pulled into very messy and tangled pigtails with an additional one on top of his head.

"...Yuji didn't want me taking them out so I couldn't," he huffed.

You couldn't hold back the giggle that slipped out, and you set Yuji down. "He looks wonderful, Yuji! You did a great job!"

"Heh. See, Papa? Daddy likes it! So you will too!"

Gojo grumbled something under his breath, but you could only chuckle as you rolled up your sleeves. "I'm gonna get started on dinner. Yuji? Can you make Papa extra cute for dinner tonight?"

"Mhm!"

Much to Gojo's dismay, you walked out of sight before he could bribe his way out of another hairstyling.

As you prepared dinner, a simple, happy thought crossed your mind:

I love this family.

#kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #male reader

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 4 months

Text

Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone (Part 2)

Pairing: Jim Hopper x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: This is a continuation of "Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone" where the reader is a secretary at the Sheriff's Department and Hopper drives her to and from work everyday. Hopper gets worried when he finds out the reader is sick and decides to take care of her. This story is the aftermath and set a few days after the reader has recovered. Set before the events of Season One of Stranger Things.

Tropes: Mutual pining, angst, fluff, grump x sunshine, age gap (reader is fresh out of college), jealousy, shy reader

Warnings: No Smut, mostly fluff, self-deprecating talk, indecisiveness, occasional cursing/a lot of cursing, Hopper is a little OOC, contains a few references to sex (I'm going to label this one mature just in case, only because of Sandra.)

Word Count: 4.7k (I'm so sorry- but not really because it's great)

There is a minimal use of (y/n). Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you."

Internal monologue is done in italics

Honestly, this is kinda self-indulgent, but absolutely necessary. If you don't like, don't read. If you do like, you're my favorite!

ENJOY!

*********************************************************

Exactly four days later you feel 100 times better and are ready to go back to work. Hopper hadn't stopped by again, but he had called to see how you were feeling and if you needed a ride to work. You glance at your reflection in the mirror trying not to cringe at the memory of Hopper peeling you off the bathroom floor and tucking you into bed.

UGH. I can't believe he saw me like that. You groan to yourself. All stuffy, hoarse, and drippy. EW. You internally curse Marcie for bringing back the illness from work. But then you thank her.

You had spent an entire day with Jim Hopper and you weren't scared. It wasn't that you were afraid of him hurting you, but rather that you were shy and usually couldn't think of too much to say to him without blurting out how nice you thought he looked.

He made you soup, carried you to bed, and carried you to the couch. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how perfect it felt to be held against his large chest, how his arms seemed to be made to carry you. You glance at my reflection in the mirror, thinking about putting on some of Marcie's makeup.

After Jim had seen you sick, you thought that maybe today you should try harder to dress up to erase the image of your feverish and leaky self the other day. You stutter on the thought of his name. When he left you hadn't meant to say it, you just wanted to call him by his first name because what he was doing felt personal and in that moment calling him Hopper, sounded wrong.

Maybe I scared him. You snort at the thought of scaring a man almost three times your size.

You were aware that your feelings for Hopper had passed work colleagues and friends a while ago, and you had been successfully ignoring them, until he showed up like a knight in shining armor and took care of you when you were sick.

I mean the man peeled me off the bathroom floor and TALKED TO MY MOTHER.

You flinch at that though. That had been increasingly awkward when she demanded to know if you were sleeping with your boss, a question that Marcie asked you when Hopper left and she came out of the shower with a wide smirk. When you said no she then tried to convince you that he wanted to, but you shook her off and went to bed.

Bed being a relative term, because every time you closed your eyes you thought about how good it felt to be pressed against him when he carried you.

That entire day all you could think of was that it seemed like maybe he had feelings for you too, but then when you hugged him and said his name he bolted.

You sigh to yourself, applying a small amount of mascara to your lashes, that you will inevitably rub off, and spritz your tangerine perfume twice in the air before glancing one more time in the mirror and walking to the living room.

Hopper's car appears in the driveway and you practically float out the front door, smiling to him through the windshield before looking down at the ground with red cheeks.

"Hi." You smile at him while climbing up into the car with as much grace as you can muster.

"Hey." His smile is wide, but his voice sounds a little hoarse.

"Oh no are you getting sick. I'm so sorry-"

Hopper clears his throat. "It's okay I'm fine."

"Well just let me know and I can make you some chicken soup, return the favor- ya know." You smile wider moving closer to the middle of the car, to bump your knee against his.

"Yeah." Hopper leans away, making you feel like a bucket of ice water has been dropped on you.

What did I do?

"Well I made you some lemon squares anyway." You reach into your purse before pulling out the container to give it to him.

"Lemon Squares?" The corner of his lip quirks.

"Yeah I made them from scratch."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. It's what I wanted to do before I started working at the department." You place the box on the seat between you.

"Make lemon squares?"

"No. Open a bakery." You blush looking out the window of the car and thinking of all the plans you had. "Now that kinda feels like that is on the back burner for a bit, just until I get more comfortable in Hawkins."

"I didn't know you liked baking that much." He looks over at you curiously from under the brim of his hat in a way that makes you believe that he sees right through you.

"Yeah I went to a fancy schmancy baking school and everything and I was going to open a bakery where I lived, but Marcie called, said she had cheap rent here and we always said we would be roommates so-" You shrug your shoulders. "Ended up here."

"And you hate it?" Hopper offers.

"No. It's just different." You smile over at him. "I actually really like working at the department, everyone's really friendly."

He snorts. "Not everyone."

"So what? You're a little grumpy, I think it's kinda cute-" As soon as the words pass through your lips you suddenly think that you've said something wrong, because Hopper's entire body goes taunt and he looks away out the windshield. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" You begin to apologize, blushing deeply.

You honestly hadn't meant to say it, but it was all you thought when you walked by his office door and saw him scowling down at some paperwork on his desk or when Callahan would ask him a stupid question before Hopper had his coffee.

"It's okay." Hopper's voice is tight, but he doesn't look at you in the minute that follows before he pulls into the parking lot of the station. He practically jumps from the car before he puts it in park, which you don't understand because you believe it should be you that's embarrassed. You didn’t think it would offend him so much.

Your cheeks are still burning with embarrassment as you walk behind him through the front doors, that he holds open for you, without making eye contact.

"Hey (y/n)! Good morning! I got you coffee." Callahan gestures with a full mug in his hand so enthusiastically he spills some of it on the stack of papers on the edge of your desk.

"Oh-um- thanks Callahan." Your smile is tight lipped, still too focused on what just happened in the car to give Callahan your full attention.

Callahan usually said hello before his shift and did occasionally bring you coffee. And although you thought he was sweet, he was too sweet. You preferred Hopper's grouchiness to Callahan's happy go lucky attitude, but still appreciated Callahan's positivity in the office.

Hopper growls something under his breath and sidesteps around Callahan to get to his office without looking back. Callahan follows behind him obediently asking Hopper about something that happened yesterday.

You sit down at your desk and try really hard not to cry, but every second sit there what you said and Hopper's reaction chase each other round and round in your head.

How could I be so stupid? How could I say that? He's your boss- you shouldn't be trying to get close to him.

At lunchtime you try again.

Your knock at his office door is light, but after an audible pause he tells you to come in. Hopper's eyes are focused on the stack of papers in front of him, cigarette still smoking in the ashtray, and although you know he's working, you have the sneakiest suspicion that he is faking. The Hopper before this morning usually looked up as soon as you walked in and smiled, ignoring the stack of papers on his desk no matter how tall it was- but not today, not in the aftermath of your slip-up.

"Hey I just thought I'd bring you a lemon square to go with your lunch." You smile at him, hoping that he will acknowledge your entry into the room.

"Uh-thanks." He doesn't look up.

You place it just on the edge of his desk just out of his vision, waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. His gaze remains leveled at the paper. So you turn to go, defeated.

"Hey (y/n)-"

You whirl around, your heart surging-

"Um I'm going to be a little late tonight. Maybe you should call Marcie to come get you." He says it plainly, controlled, still looking down at the file.

"Oh-um-okay." Your heart breaks inside your chest and tears begin to bubble up in your eyes, but you hold back the tears. "That's alright I hope you don't have to stay too late."

You practically run to the bathroom before the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks, soft sobs shaking your shoulders. Why did I do this? Why couldn't I have kept my big mouth shut? Pretend that I didn't have feelings? The mascara you applied that morning blurs and stains the soft skin below your eyes. You spend another 8 minutes in the bathroom trying to remove it and finally when you emerge from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and bright pink skin, your day somehow gets worse.

Sandra breezes past your desk as soon as you sit down. Damn Sandra. You have to clench your teeth together to avoid the slew of curses that bite against the tip of your tongue.

"Hopper." She purrs sauntering over to catch Hopper just as he leaves his office. She's wearing a dark red dress that hugs her every curve and runs one hand through her perfectly curled black hair where two plastic earrings tangle into the strands.

What person wears a dress that revealing to work? You think to yourself, watching Sandra flash her perfectly tan skin when she pulls off her sweater, before leaning into Jim with a sickening smile.

You force your eyes onto a piece of paper on my desk, but the words all blur together into a haze of black and white.

Sandra was in essence... everything you wanted to be. She was confident, sexy, and beautiful. She also wasn't afraid to say what was on her mind, that became increasingly apparent when Hopper first started driving you to and from work and she cornered you in the bathroom.

*4 Months Ago*

"So you and the chief are getting cozy-" She was waiting at one of the vanity mirrors for you to come out of a stall while applying a fresh coat of dark red lipstick.

"Um I don't think we-" You had practically jumped when she appeared outside your stall door. Sandra hadn't said two words to you since you started working at the department. She worked in the call room and answered the phone, while you worked in the main lobby with Flo.

"Look Honey I’m gonna give you some advice, because I’ve seen this happen more than once.” She makes eye contact with you, still swiping the dark colored stick back and forth, purposely plumping out her lips. “Sure he seems interested in you now, maybe he takes you out once or twice, laughs at your jokes, pays for dinner, is just the right amount of charming- Jim Hopper is the smoothest man who knows how to work any woman under him.” She pauses with a sigh. “He’ll screw your brains out- and it will be incredible, mind blowing-but at the end of the day Hopper is damaged goods. Can’t get it together enough to stay with a woman for more than one night, of course we seem to be closer than the others…” She trails off proudly with a shrug, before putting her lipstick in her purse and taking out a tube of mascara. “But I’m warning you now, you can’t have a relationship with him. He's only good for one thing and definitely not boyfriend material. Anything he says to you before he gets you in bed, is just a lie, broken promises. I've seen it time and time again, all these women who think they can change him. But no. He doesn't change. All that shit with his daughter and his ex-wife messed him up for all of us, which really is a shame because damn I’d like to have him all the time.” Sandra sighs mournfully.

She doesn’t even care what he’s been through, doesn’t even care what he feels. You stand there in stunned silence, trying to stop the all encompassing rage that surges up with her words. How dare she simplify him to just a piece of meat? Jim Hopper is one of the most kind, compassionate men that I've ever met. And yes maybe at the beginning he ignored me, which I've got no idea why, but he's not just something to be used for sex, he's a person. And that's horrible to act like what he went through was nothing. He lost his daughter to CANCER and then he had a divorce. Who wouldn’t be effected by that? I see everyday how it hurts him.

“But if he’s going to be with anyone it’s me. Because we make sense. Just wanted to give you a heads up.” She says swiping her right eye one last time before throwing the mascara in her purse. “He’s definitely not going to want a relationship with someone half his age with no experience. And he always comes back to me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Your jaw is clenched together, holding yourself back from throwing down with a coworker. But oh how she deserves it.

“Good.” Sandra winks. “Bye sugar.”

*Present Time*

You flash out of the memory before grabbing a pen from one the cups on your desk so you can pretend to be writing something when in reality you're shamelessly eavesdropping on them and trying not to notice how Sandra is dragging her claw-like hand across the front of his chest.

"Hey Sandra." Hopper tips his hat with his free hand. You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I was hoping that tonight maybe you could come over? We just had such a nice time the other night and I was thinking that we should do that more often." You don't miss Sandra glance over at you when she says it.

You suddenly wonder how accurately you can throw the pen.

"Uh well." He chuckles.

"You didn't have a good time? Well it sounded like you were having a good time." She presses again, this time sending a flirty smile at him.

I'm going to throw up.

Honestly you had thought about being with Hopper once-well- more than once, but it wasn't just to reduce him to sex. It was because you loved him and you wanted him to just-. You watch the way he looks at Sandra, smiling down at her. You wanted him to look at you the way he looks at her.

He hesitates. "I did."

Hopper glances over Sandra's head at you, catching your gaze, but you immediately drop your eyes, blushing at getting caught. A sickening feeling fills your chest imagining them together, thinking of how he makes her feel, how she makes him feel.

Maybe he really likes her and he's just afraid to tell her or is afraid of the commitment. You consider sadly. I need to just get over this, move on. It’s only going to make working here harder. Plus he’s my boss. Might as well set boundaries… You think about the other day when he took care of you, held you close to his chest so tightly it didn't seem like he was just being friendly. He made me soup, tucked me into bed, carried me to my bed. How can he go from that to barely looking at me? Hot to cold so quickly that I feel like I'm covered in frostbite and sunburnt at the same time?

"Good. I'm free at 6 and I stay up late. Bring some more of that wine, you know how it makes me do crazy things." She winks, before kissing Hopper on the cheek and sauntering away, but not before glancing at you one more time with a smirk.

And there's the answer. He'd rather spend time with her.

You see her pouting her lips in the mirror again, making you feel inferior with just a look. Maybe that's why he doesn't like me, because I'm too young? Inexperienced? It's not like I'm a child. It wouldn't be that weird to date me would it?

You watch him turn and walk back to his office avoiding eye contact with you the whole way, making something tug at your heart as he does. Will today be the last day he drives me to work? All because I said that I thought it was cute that he was grumpy? Maybe this is because he's worried I have feelings for him and he just wants to be friends, which he's right I do, but I wish that he would just tell me, not avoid me!

The next few hours trickle by in a haze while you sit at your desk and try to pretend your heart isn’t broken. Hopper passes exactly twice and both times he doesn’t acknowledge you.

Just like old times I guess. You think about the two months before he started driving you home, when you were still relatively new and he avoiding speaking to you and would give you a tight-lipped smile occasionally that never reached his eyes, for a reason he never explained. You thought it was because he hated you, but it changed when he started driving you home and you hadn't ever asked.

When it’s finally time for you to go you don’t bother to call Marcie, instead you just begin to walk the 1.23 miles home and of course as soon as you leave, it begins to rain.

Exactly 30 seconds after you leave the station you're soaked to the bone and shivering, but you refuse to go back to the department.

I can’t go back and see him again. Everyone else has probably left by now anyway and the last thing I want to do is catch him sneaking off to Sandra's. He probably wasn't staying late at work, just needed an excuse not to take me home ever again.

Tears fall from your eyes blending with the rain that trickles down your cheeks, making your hair tangle in a wet mat at the nape of your neck, but you don't care. Within 30 minutes I'll be home curled up on the couch after a hot shower, bawling my eyes out properly while Marcie hands me a pint of ice cream from the freezer. You raise your eyes to look at the desolate sidewalk ahead. Just a little longer.

Cars pass you along the road, illuminating your body for a moment before vanishing into the darkness beyond. Each yellowed streetlight stands like a beacon, but all they do is illuminate the raindrops that swirl from the heavens and soak through your thick sweater, that you guessed smelled like a wet dog right about now.

Appropriate because I probably look like a drenched poodle.

Finally a car races past you so fast you feel the wind tear across your body, but instead of vanishing into the night, the car screeches to a halt in the road. The driver shuts off the vehicle, and you watch them maneuver their large figure from the car, before stomping around to the sidewalk where you are walking with your arms wrapped around yourself.

Fear trickles down your back and you think about running. Your mother had sent you countless bottles of pepper spray and despite Marcie's incessant pleas for the two of you to take the only self-defense class in Hawkins, you weren't prepared for something like this. The pepper spray she sent was still on your desk and the self-dense class never seemed to be at the right time for you both to fit it into your schedule. Right about now you wished that you made time.

You prepare to run, when finally the street light above the imposing figure catches the face of the driver beneath his hat and you realize that it's Hopper. He towers over you, glaring down from under his hat.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU TO CALL MARCIE TO PICK YOU UP!" He roars dark eyes flashing in the night.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE OUT HERE WALKING IN THE RAIN ALONE! DAMN IT (Y/N) YOU WERE JUST SICK-"

"Just leave me alone Hopper. Or better yet just get in your car and go to Sandra’s." You shout back, finding your voice.

Who did he think he was? My dad? He drives up out of nowhere, scares the crap out of me, and then he starts yelling at me for no good reason.

"Sandra?" He looks taken aback.

And then whatever shred of self-control you have crumbles.

Tears pour from your eyes like a flood as you curl further into yourself. "I don't understand why you're so mad at me. If this is about what I said in the car, I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you I just-" Another sob chokes your next words. “Please just forget it happened so we can just go back to being friends. I don't want to go back to the way things were before you started giving me a ride. I like talking to you and riding with you and I don't understand what I did to make you hate me so much in the beginning, but please-"

Hopper closes the distance between you so quickly that you don't have time to move away in surprise. His hands go around your waist lifting you up in his arms so he doesn't have to bend down to kiss you. His lips moving furiously against yours, wet from the rain but just as soft as you imagined, mustache tickling your upper lip in a maddening dance that makes you sigh into his mouth.

Your hands gently catch the sides of his face looking into his wide eyes. He's looking at you like he can't believe what he just did.

He looks afraid.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that.” He begins to lean away, hands lowering you to the ground.

You pull him against you and kiss him as deeply as you can, trying to tell him that you want this too, that you want him. "Please don't push me away again." Your words are exhaled in one breath, tears still falling from your eyes.

"I just-" Jim's eyes are wide, but he presses his forehead against yours with a sigh. "I don't want to do this to you, (y/n). I can't-"

"What are you talking about?" Your thumbs rub against his cheekbones, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your soft fingertips.

"I tried to stay away from you because you're so different than me.” He grumbles lowly. “That’s why I didn’t talk to you when you first started workin' at the department.” Hopper looks ashamed of himself, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you. "I didn't want to like you like that."

“We’re not that different.”

“We are. You're like the sun (y/n). You brighten a room just by walking in it, hell, just by saying your name.” His eyebrows furrow together and he sighs again. “And I'm just an old grump. I don't want to ruin you or make you-"

You kiss him as softly as you can and he kisses you back confirming that he really doesn't want to push you away. "Jim, you're not going to ruin me. And yes you're grumpy but I think it's cute."

"I've heard." Hopper smiles, but then he frowns when he remembers what happened earlier. "I'm so sorry about today. When you said that in the car the only thing I thought about was how it couldn’t work and it made me think about you and Callahan. And then he was standing there with your coffee-“

“Jim, there is no me and Callahan. The only thing I want is you and me.” Your forehead leans against his. “You might see yourself as some giant grumpy grizzly bear, but you’re my giant grumpy grizzly bear.”

He snorts, but this time leans towards you to capture his lips against yours, wiping away the cold chill of the rain to set your body ablaze.

An odd look crosses his face as he remembers what you said moments ago. "Please don't be jealous of Sandra. I know she's a lot sometimes. And yes we've spent some time together in the past-" Hopper clears his throat, ashamed. "But the only reason why I kept seeing her was because I was trying to get you out of my head, because I didn't think that you would ever-"

"Jim." You whisper. "You don't have to explain anything-"

"No I do. Flo told me what she said to you in the bathroom."

"What? How did she-" Your cheeks flush, suddenly embarrassed that he had to hear any of the horrible things that Sandra said about him.

"I told Sandra to leave you alone, but I don’t think she listened to me. She's oddly possessive, but we haven't spent half as much time together as she led you to believe-"

"Jim-"

He brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, looking deeply into your eyes. "I promise that the way I feel about her is only a fraction of what I feel about you. And I know that my reputation in town is-" Hopper clears his throat again with red cheeks. "But I don't just want one night with you (y/n), I want more. I haven't wanted more for a long time and that scared me at first, but if you'll be patient with me I'd like to make this work. And I'm sorry that I made you believe that I hated you, when it's the complete opposite."

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t think so lowly of yourself. What Sandra said about you, it's not true. You're more that what she thinks, Jim. She only sees what she wants to, but I know you. You're kind, generous, strong, and you care so much for everyone that I wonder how you give so much of yourself without asking for anything in return.” You move your hands gently around to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, placing a kiss against his cheeks, nose, and mouth for each attribute listed. “I was so happy when you stayed the other day. And when you left all I wanted was for you to come back.”

“I wanted to stay longer, but I was scared that you didn’t want me there."

“I always want you with me. You have no idea how much.” You kiss him again. "I love that you drive me every day, and every morning when you come to pick me up I get excited to see you. I also find myself wanting for work to end so I can see you again."

Hopper smiles softly at you, hands tightening around your waist that sends a thrill up your spine. Everything about this feels right, more perfect than it has felt with anyone else.

"It's difficult to stay in my office, not when I know you're out there. Sometimes I can't get work done until I see you smile." He traces a finger over your lips as if trying to draw your smile across them.

"Jim-"

Hopper kisses you again. "I like it when you say my name." He whispers against your lips, pulling you even tighter against his broad chest.

"I like saying it." You whisper back.

The rain has continued to fall on both of you, by now soaking through Hopper's jacket, but neither of you feel cold.

"Come on. Lets get you home." Hopper breathes beginning to move you towards his car.

"Hmm." You sigh as he lets go to open the door. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He stands there holding the door for a minute, the rain continuing to soak into his uniform as he gazes at where you sit in the front seat.

“What?”

Hopper leans forward and kisses you again, pulling you tightly into his large chest with a groan, as you tangle your fingertips in the front of his rain-soaked clothing, before he pulls back to press his forehead against yours out of breath.

“What was that for?” You ask leaning back on your elbows across the front seat of his car.

Hopper smiles down at you with red cheeks. “I really liked the lemon square.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“As long as I’m a dork that gets to kiss you, I think it’ll be okay.”

"I'm sure we can work something out." You whisper before pulling him down for another searing kiss and allowing the world to melt away into shades of gray and the soft patter of rain against the roof of the car.

******************************************************

Thank you so much for reading!

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper x you #jim hopper #jim hopper fluff #chief hopper x reader #sunshine x grumpy #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #jim hopper x fem!reader #stranger things #strangerthings

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deceasedream69 · 1 year

Text

New

A/n: I just want to create a little long series to feel like I'm part of the team cause I have nothing good going on in my life atm lol, I hope you enjoy with me.

Summary: you're the new member of the team, so it's quite hard to try to fit in.

Warnings: none

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I finally made it, my uncle got me the job at the BAU. All of my things are already at my desk in the office.

- "just a few things, no pictures, not even plants, she's probably a loner, a tough, serious girl"

I came in through the door with a big smile and very very excited.

- "she's probably going to be very serious and dark, I mean, even Derek has some stuff in his desk"

I didn't know who this dark woman was, I stopped behind her, waiting for her to stop talking so I can introduce myself.

- "... She's right behind me isn't she?"

The woman turned around and I smiled and waved.

- "Hi, my name is y/n, nice to meet you", I smiled, waiting for them to say their names.

- "I'm Jennifer Jareau", we shook hands.

- "I'm Spencer Reid", he just waved at me from afar and I did the same.

- "I'm Emily Prentiss", i shook hands with the dark haired woman.

- "it's so nice meeting you all, but if you excuse me, I need to go talk with the boss"

They nodded and I walked to my uncle's office. I wasn't sure if my uncle said that he was my uncle, he probably didn't based on the conversation earlier.

I knocked on the door.

- "come in"

- "Hi"

He smiled and said hello.

- "you'll be meeting the team very soon, but maybe not in the best circumstance, we have a case" he said walking through the door. I quickly followed him.

I sat at the round table, between the Jennifer and Spencer. Next to Spencer was who I assume is Derek, and showing us pictures of the case who I assume is Penelope.

My uncle always talked about them, that's why it was such an honor to finally meet them.

I noticed that Spencer didn't have a tablet like everyone else, and I wondered why.

- "why don't you have a tablet like the rest?"

- "I prefer feeling the paper". I just nodded and went back to my tablet. "You probably think it's weird..."

- "not at all, how can I get folder instead of a tablet? Who do I have to ask to?"

He pointed at the lady in front of us, Penelope. I thanked him and went back to my tablet.

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

Spencer's pov

she seemed nice, not at all like Emily described her. Which is why I don't like to judge a book by it's cover. Maybe she likes books, I'll ask her later.

I find interesting how easily she was to talk with. She seems so nice... Why am I thinking about her so much?

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

Y/n's pov

The presentation finished and everyone stood up, me at last because I didn't know what to do.

Then I felt a pair of arms around me.

- "hello", she let go of me, "I've heard so many good things about you, it's so good to finally meet you, I'm Penelope"

I smiled.

- "I'm y/n"

- "I know, I know, now good luck on your first case"

She was so nice, so apparently one person already knew about Hotch being my uncle, and of course it was Penelope.

I finally got the chance to fly in the so famous bau jet. I wanted to hide my excitement but I think I failed.

- "hi, pretty lady, I'm Derek Morgan"

I couldn't control my face when he called me pretty lady, I was hella confused, but to hide it I quickly smiled and shook his hand.

- "hi, pretty man, I'm y/n y/l/n", I smiled sarcastically. I caught Spencer laughing in the corner of my eye.

- "touché" he said before going to have a seat.

I didn't know where to sit.

- "wherever you want", said Rossi almost laughing at me for my indecisiveness.

- "I know", I said scrunching my nose.

I sat next to Spencer. He was reading a book. And was the only one who wasn't next to the window, so I could appreciate the view.

And I must say, it was amazing. Everything seemed so small and so big at the same time. And I definitely felt big.

-"1984"

-"you've read it?"

-"not yet, I started to read it, I'm like in page... forty something"

-"I'm almost finishing it, it's really intersting how..."

-"I don't want spoilers", I said quickly, making him laugh.

-"I'm sorry, I have a thing for rambling", he said making a cute face and returning to his book.

-"you're... reading?"

He turned around confused and nodded.

-"how are you reading if you're barely looking at the page before jumping to the next one"

-"I can read very fast", he said smiling.

-"like a superpower?"

He laughed and nodded.

-"cool... Is there a trick to learn how to do that?"

-"read a lot I guess"

-"Is there an easier trick to learn how to do that?"

He laughed again. His laugh was beautiful, but he was my coworker and I had to respect that. Tho, I really liked his style.

Hotch stood up and started to speak.

-"Ok team, let's start"

they all started by pointing the things that were most obvious about the case, the possible motives and takes about everything we had in our tablets.

-"what do you think, y/n?"

-"huh?" I turned confused at Rossi

-"what else can you see through your noobie eyes?"

-"His left handed"

-"true..." said Spencer reading from his folder, I liked the way he ran his fingers through the page, his hands were very pretty too.

-"great job", said Hotch. "Derek and JJ go to the station, Rossi and Emily you go to the first and second crime scene, Spencer, Y/n and I, we're going to the morgue".

-"Yes!", I whispered to myself.

-"you like the morgue?"

-"never been to one"

-"yeah... keep that exciment for now", Spencer returned to his book.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #the bau #spencer reid x you

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nofomogirl · 9 months

Text

Metatron's manipulation step by step

Part 4: Putting on a human face

Part 1 - where I discuss the significance of the coffee.

Part 2 - where I take a look back at season 1

Part 3 - from Metatron's arrival on Earth to sending the Archangels away

Okay, so after we've discussed how Metatron set the stage, it's finally time to have a look at how he interacts with Aziraphale.

Obviously, Aziraphale's initial attitude is not friendly. He's very guarded and doesn't want to talk at all.

His exact words are "I don't believe there's anything left to be said. I've made my position quite clear."

Sure, it's not said in the most assertive way possible, but what taints it is simple nervousness, not indecisiveness of any kind. Aziraphale genuinely means it. Whatever he said and did in season 1 was not something that happened in the spur of the moment and was regretted later. I haven't seen anything in season 2 that would hint at Aziraphale being in any way unhappy with his little retirement or missing his attachment to Heaven.

I'm absolutely sure he was ready to stand his ground.

So what does Metatron hit him with?

"Yeah, well, I brought you a coffee from the shop."

It's a deceivingly simple two-layered trick.

The first layer is a classic foot-in-the-door technique, where you see pushing your agenda doesn't work, so instead you temporarily drop the subject and simply don't allow the interaction to end in the hope that given enough time the other person might lower their guard down or otherwise become more open, and then you will present your case again.

As a matter of fact, Crowley used the exact same strategy in season 1 episode 1, when he was trying to convince Aziraphale to try and stop the Armageddon.

"We've only got 11 years, and then it's all over. We have to work together." "No." "It's the end of the world we're talking about. It's not some little temptation I've asked you to cover for me while you're up in Edinburgh for a festival. You can't say no" "No." "We can do something. I have an idea." "No! I am not interested." "Well, let's have lunch."

Of course, lunch with Crowley was something far more appealing for Aziraphale than a coffee offered by Metatron (not to mention he didn't actually want Armageddon). Still, he is far too polite, far too caring about the proper etiquette, to simply tell someone who had brought him a drink to piss off.

But what really makes it work is the second layer - confusion.

The gesture is so unexpected, Aziraphale completely loses his footing. His love of Earthly food and beverages was something other angels could never understand. It made him an anomaly, in the worst sense possible - something gross and unnatural. And here the great Metatron not only tolerates it when Aziraphale chooses to indulge, but he himself offers!

He's so baffled, he needs to make sure. "Shall I...?" he asks uncertainly rising the cup in question. And only after Metatron confirms "Drink it? Of course" does he take a sip.

Now, the next line is quite interesting:

"I've ingested things in my time, you know."

Metatron very efficiently shows how he's different from other angels and may have more in common with Aziraphale than the Principality might suspect. He humanizes himself. Maybe not in the most literal sense within the lore of Good Omens, but he does. Not only is he okay with Aziraphale's unusual interests, he understands the appeal.

But he's actually doing something truly devious here. Yes, it is validation, but somehow it's dismissal at the same time. The in my time combined with the creepy tone in which the line is delivered, gave me strong "it's okay, it's just a phase" vibes. Made me think of all the situations a small-minded person belittled someone's passion by saying it's fine to have a hobby and they also had hobbies when they were younger but you can't make a career out of it. Or that some place is fun to visit but one cannot seriously consider moving there. Or that it's normal to experiment when you're young, who didn't experiment, but then you grow up and enter straight marriage...

Metatron offers Aziraphale a coffee and says it's fine to indulge but he doesn't have a drink for himself. Because he only went for it "in his time".

So yes, Metatron is demonstrating he understands Aziraphale, just like I've written earlier. But at the same time, he's already subtly signaling it's time to let go and grow up and be a proper angel.

But for now, Aziraphale only sees the good things, like he so often does.

And it works.

Metatron once more insists they need to talk, and this time Aziraphale isn't as ready to turn him down. He doesn't outright accept, but he is not certain what to do anymore.

He turns to Crowley. And Crowley, unfortunately, doesn't see the danger at all and encourages Aziraphale to go.

And Aziraphale leaves.

And I'll end here.

Continued in: Part 5: The offer ("canonical" version)

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens meta

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limerence-17 · 1 year

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Can i request a Steddie x read where they go mattress shopping and the sales guy is coming on way to hard on read and the boys get really defensive. Then there is smut to be had breaking in said new mattress. Also like to think that they broke the old one lol

this is so crafty and i'm such a sucker for anything steddie related PLUS i can totally see the doing this. hope you enjoy!!

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THE LAST FIRST MATTRESS

not intended for minors. do NOT read if you are not 18+!

–pairing: steddie x fem reader

–word count: 2.8k words

–summary: After forcing your roommates Steve and Eddie to go mattress shopping with you after a little mishap, they can't waste to test it out a week later.

–warnings: p in v unprotected sex, oral sex f receiving and m receiving, fingering, blowjobs, handjobs, kissing, explicit words and context. read at your own disclosure!

A/N: this story is set where everyone is 21/22.

The salesman walks ahead of you, he's leading you over to the next mattress. It's the seventh one he's shown the three of you so far, but you can't help it that you've always been indecisive. I mean hell, maybe this was why you couldn't choose between Steve or Eddie.

It had been that way since you'd decided to move in with your high schools acquaintances after high school. With your struggling love lives it surprisingly brought the three of you together, in more than just three ways. But it never disappointed that the two of them wanted you as well. You never really saw yourself as greedy, not when your two best friends were happy to share you equally- no strings attached of course.

Once the salesman was a bit further ahead of you, you felt a hand grab onto the top half of your arm, squeezing so tight that you turned around the slap it playfully off.

"What, Eddie?" Eddie asked a pouty look painted out all across his face. He looked like a child at the carpet store, begging his parents to go home.

"Seriously, Steve and I already talked about it- we promise we'll buy you a new mattress," Eddie said, turning to Steve for validation, who began to nod very quickly up and down.

"We won't be much longer guys I promise, there has to be one here- besides I can't wait up to a week for a new one. In case you guys forgot or something, I need someplace to sleep tonight, not tomorrow." You say, widening your eyes in a sarcastic kind of way.

"But we're so tired, please. I mean c'mon you could come crash at mine!" Eddie pleads, gripping your shoulders in desperation. It's a little funny seeing how much control you have over the boys and granted you're only shopping.

"Yeah, so... tired..." Steve says in between yawns, covering his mouth to exaggerate it.

"Jesus! I'll go grab my mattress and drag it to my house even if that's what it'll-"

The salesman interrupts Eddie quickly, coughing a little to gain his attention which he notices, releasing your shoulders from his grip quickly. There's 80s music playing softly on the muffled speakers in the store, you can pick up on the soft hum of Into The Groove by Madonna playing and the busy footsteps of other customers walking around.

"So this one is half off, but it is actually quite the steal for its price. A lot of people don't like it for it's sturdier firm, but if you ask me it's perfect if you're planning on doing some more uh... rigorous exercises." The salesman has a small smirk that appears on his face and he's giving you a look that you can't help but feel a certain funny feeling in your stomach. Is he... no he can't be. Wait, is he flirting with you?

"Half off you say? Is it good for uh.. sleeping at least?" You croak out, feeling your throat get a little dry. You can feel Eddie and Steve growing a little impatient, and this time they notice how the salesman has moved his gaze to the cleavage on your chest.

"Oh trust me darling it's perfect for sleeping. After a busy evening, you'll be grateful you own this mattress," He says. And with that, Steve pipes up.

"So say if she wanted to share this bed with... I don't know maybe me for example, do you think it would be a good fit?" Steve asks, clearly gritting through his teeth.

The salesman met Steve's gaze and noticed his glare, which was clearly focused in jealously, perhaps a little competition. You'd be lying if you'd said it didn't make you feel a little giddy inside.

The salesman coughed a bit, clearly his throat and shifting his footing.

"Uh- yes, yes I believe it would." Steve took a step back, crossing his arms.

"We'll take it! Thank you!" Eddie said, stepping in in front of Steve. Steve could be a little unpredictable at times when it came to the woman he cared for in his life.

"Alright well er, I'll go get the papers and I'll check you out- sorry er- I'll get you checked out." The salesman made awkward contact with Steve, Eddie and you as well before he walked away.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

ONE WEEK LATER

It was a late Saturday evening, you'd decided to have a couple drinks at your guys' place with Eddie, while waiting for Steve. You were standing in the kitchen, sipping gently on your wine as Eddie leaned back against the kitchen counter sipping on his beer.

"So, guess what arrived while you were out with the band?" Eddie's eyebrows raised, a little bit confused as to where you were going with this.

"Steve's sense of direction and time management," Eddie said a little sarcastically.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, Eddie could be so infuriating while so fucking handsome at the same time.

"The mattress dickwad, it finally came in and I even set it up on the bed frame all by myself this time," You said, playfully pushing on Eddie's shoulders.

"You know all by yourself doesn't count if you're inviting the movers in to do it for you y'know?"

"Oh shove it Munson," You say, meeting his gaze and pulling him for a quick kiss. He gently pushes in further to deepen the kiss and you can feel his tongue gently grant access into your mouth until suddenly he's pulling away.

"Wha- Eddie?" You ask, whining a little bit. It'd been too long since you'd had sex and you were starting to feel a little more needy than usual. How could you not be anyway? You had two perfect guys who were completely open to a friends with benefits three way.

"Don't you think we should wait for Harrington? Now that you and I are already two drinks in?" Eddie says, still tracing small circles against your arm as you're still pushed up against him. You can feel the outline of his cock against your waist the more you adjust yourself against him.

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we got a head start, plus it's kind of his fault for never being on time," You say, running yours hands through Eddie's hair as he's looking at you with lust filled in his eyes.

Just as Eddie starts to give in, placing soft kisses against your neck, there's a knock at the door.

"Jesus!" Eddie shouts, trying to pull himself together. You look down and it's clear he was beginning to have a boner.

"Oh my god Eds pull yourself together," You say, scoffing a bit as you tug your hair behind your ears. You make your way over to the door and look outside the peephole. Outside the door is Steve, standing a little awkwardly tucking his car keys into his wallet. You open the door, with a hand on your hip which makes Steve scoff a bit.

"So I'm gonna assume that you've already started drinking and uh..." Steve leans his head in, starting to walk a bit slowly into your guys' apartment. From behind you he spots Eddie, whose attempted to compose himself on the couch.

You look down for a moment and notice that your tank top strap is down your shoulder. Steve follows your gaze and notices that you've noticed this as well.

"The two of you are so sneaky," he says pretty nonchalantly, smirking a bit as he puts his belongings down as heads into the kitchen, opening a beer as he takes a couple of sips.

"I'm sorry Steve, but you know I'll make it up to you later," you say as you walk over to the counter, pulling your tank top strap up again.

"You know we both will!" Eddie says, lifting his beer up in agreement from the couch. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Oh shove it Munson," he says, taking another swig. You can tell Steve's had a long day at work, and you know the perfect way to get this night started. Besides, that quick make out sesh with Eddie had your dirty thoughts already spiralling out of control, and the messiness of Steve's hair and slight droopy look in his eyes was driving you insane.

"So I already told Eddie, but my mattress arrived today," you say, cracking a small smile. Steve swallows his sip from his drink slowly and looks at you with wide eyes.

"Oh really?" You nod very fast, pretty proud of yourself for doing it in the first place.

"Apparently she did it all herself too Harrington," Eddie says, now standing up from the couch. He's hit play on the stereo beside the couch. Your 60s tape was left in it, so to Eddie and your own surprise Lonely Sea by The Beach Boys.

"Really, Beach Boys?" Eddie asks.

"I was studying, give me a break it's calming," you notice as Steve has moved closer to you and placed his hand on your waist and almost as a reflex, you place your wine glass on the kitchen island.

You turn around so that now you're facing Eddie, whose begun to walk closer to you, his eyes glaring across you and Steve, who's now begun to place gentle kisses across your neck. It's taking everything in you to keep your composure even with the feeling of Steve's lips on your neck.

"You know- I'm starting to think we should give that mattress a little test y'know, whaddya think Harrington?" Eddie asks, now extremely close to the two of you, starting to place kisses on the other side of your neck.

You find yourself running both of your hands through both of their heads of hair, the feeling of their lips on you driving you mental.

"That-sounds-incredible-" Steve says in between his sloppy neck kisses.

"Follow me," you say, finally managing to pull away, strutting slowly into your bedroom and sitting down on the bed, jumping a bit on the mattress.

"Looks a shit ton better than the shitty disaster we made of the last one," Eddie says, nudging Steve a bit who lets out a scornful laugh.

Steve's already started to take off his shirt, and feeling as if you should comply you've started to take yours off as well.

"You guys are too fast seriously," Eddie says, unbuckling his pants and shirt as he scrambles over to you.

"Let me have her for a moment first Munson, Steve's had a long day and could really use some assistance," Steve says now leaning on top of you, causing you to fall backwards onto the mattress. Before you know it, his lips are on you and your hands are running through his bouncy brown hair.

"Fuck," Steve says, as he's suddenly aware of your hands scratching up and down his back. "Yes keep doing that babe, that feels so good god," Steve says, now slowly planting kisses across your chest and stomach as you quickly unclip your bra.

As Steve is working on pulling your pants down, you've lost your focus as Eddie's begun to kiss you, a longing kiss as his tongue begins to dance with yours. Naturally, you find yourself gravitating to his boxers, where you finally place your hand around a most longing boner.

"All this for me?" You ask, looking at Eddie with siren eyes.

In the living room, you hear Lost in Your Eyes by Tommy James start to play on the stereo.

"God you make me fucking feral baby," Eddie says, as you manage to pull out his cock, stroking it slowly watching as he lets out a low gasp and his eyes roll back for a moment. You're pumping your hand up and down just at the speed you've grown to know that Eddie goes mental for.

"Just like that baby, yeah stroke my dick just like that mmm," Eddie grunts lowly.

You're so focused on pumping Eddie, and his shaky breath and sloppy kisses on your lips that you haven't even noticed that Steve's already pulled your panties to your ankles. Steve plants kisses on your inner thighs. His lips are cold to touch to you and you feel goosebumps grow against your legs and shivers through your spine.

He slowly gravitates towards the upper end of your inner thighs and you want to grip at his hair so bad, give him all the praise imaginable but you're so consumed with the feeling of Eddie's dick in your hands, pre cum running across your fingertips.

With a few kisses, Steve now moves on your clit, placing small but excruciatingly incredible kisses on your heat.

"Oh god," you say, moving your gaze a bit to see Steve now sucking and grunting against your clit. His tongue is moving up and down so quickly you can't help but pull away from Eddie for a moment. What you see in front of you is so fucking hot you can't help it. Steve is now eating you out as if he's been starved for too long, and you even catch a glimpse of him running his hand through his long hair before he gets back to tongue fucking you as hard as he possibly can.

You don't get to look for much longer though however because Eddie's gripped his hand tightly on your cheeks, redirecting you to him.

"No baby, you keep your eyes on me." Eddie says, and suddenly your focus is redirected to stroking Eddie once more. You can hear his orgasm building as his grunts gets louder. After a few more pumps, Eddie pulls your hand away.

"Jesus Christ baby you're gonna make me cum, not yet, not until I'm inside you," he says, now kissing you once more. He pulls away to look at Steve, who's still eating you out.

"Look at Steve, eating you out like that, you're such a good girl you know you deserve it," he says, his eyes widening with infatuation and lust as he watches him going down on you. As you feel your heat rising and climax building up, Steve pulls away quickly.

"Munson I mean- Fuck you gotta come see how wet she is, I mean it's as if she's been thinking about this all day," Steve says, a little exasperated and flushed from the heat in between your legs.

"Oh really huh?" Eddie says, moving from the bed to the front of the bed where he's now kneeling beside Steve. Eddie pulls your legs closer so that his fingers now line up perfectly with your now obviously soaking wet pussy. All it takes is for Eddie to run one slow finger across your slit and you're already throwing your head back, desperate for more.

Steve's now moved back up to you, kissing you gently. "See how fucking incredible you taste?" God that was so fucking hot, you think to yourself, grabbing Steve's neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Suddenly Eddie's got one finger inside you, pumping inside you slowly, then it's two and you can feel yourself starting to see stars.

"You gonna let Munson fuck you now?" Steve asks, although you and him already both know the answer to it.

"Yes, please Eddie you know I need your cock inside me," you practically beg through muffled gasps.

Eddie obliges and stands above you, pulling your hips closer to him to adjust himself. With the grip of his hands on you, he turns you around so that now you're facing Steve's dick.

With a few adjustments, Eddie slowly inserts his full length inside you, pumping slowly at first and you both let out moans of need and lust.

"C'mon baby I need your mouth on me," Steve says, and you follow his direction, placing the tip of his length across your tongue, moving it in a circle and watch as he puts his hands up and rolls his head backwards mumbling obscenities.

"That's it baby, take Steve's dick, take it all in that pretty mouth of yours," Eddie says between grunts as he pumps himself harder inside you. After a few minutes of grunts, low moans you find that both of the guys have come to their orgasms and the three of you let out gasps and exhales and lay back down on the bed. You find yourself in the middle and Steve has now laid his head on your chest.

"At least we didn't break this mattress this time," Eddie says, scoffing a bit raising his arm.

"Yeah god I mean- that is the last first mattress we ever buy for my room again," you say, laughing.

"Anyway, I think it's Steve's turn now," you say, sitting back up two face the two boys in front of you, a small smile on your face.

#stranger things smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x reader #steddie smut #steddie x reader #smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic

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tvrningout-a · 1 year

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i'm gonna!! go rest for now, but i'm also gonna ask for this meme bc i wanna talk about soft things uvu

#the dash is really slow tonight so i might try reblogging that meme another time or just use it to write headcanons regardless uvu #and forgive me but i'm having a case of indecision with my drafts bc i'm getting tired #so rather than stressing myself out i'm just gonna step away and come back later #if y'all don't hear from me again tonight i hope you have a very lovely night and an even lovelier monday <3 #get ready to ramble | ooc

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auxiliarydetective · 2 months

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We've done it!

Or, more accurately, you've done it! Thanks to you, my fellow Tumblrinas, I've actually managed to hit 200 followers!

I never thought I would get this far, but I'm eternally grateful for all the love you've given me, and I can't wait to share many more brainrots with you!

In tune with that, I've decided: Why not let you look even further into my mind? I've given you lots of writing, but why not provide some visuals? And so, in thinking about what I wanted to do for my 200 followers celebration, I came up with...

⁕ Evie's Mind Palace Festival! ⁕

(Placing a cut so this doesn't get too long ^^)

As depicted in this lovely graphic above, I'm going to be focusing on my OCs' fashion for this little event. But not just that! I'll get to the bonuses later :)

For now, text version! Because Tumblr likes not loading images and some people may not be able to view the image

↬ Step 1: Pick an OC of your choice! From my OCs, that is. Hope that was clear. Anyone from the list. I'll even throw in a little bonus and say that unintroduced OCs are allowed! That means the ones on this list AND ones I may have rambled to to you in a chat we've had.

↬ Step 2: Pick an occasion prompt! The prompts are as follows:

Casual (aka everyday wear, aka their basic character design or an alternate outfit or it)

Formal

Training/Athletic

Battle (this may overlap with either 1. or 3. for some characters, but let's assume they actually get geared up for battle)

Hot weather (your typical summer clothes)

Cold weather (sweaters, winter coats, you name it)

Swimwear

Canon event (may overlap with some other categories, but I made this a separate thing for the lore opportunities it provides) - Make sure to specify what canon event you want!

Stealing clothes - You can include who the character should steal from in your ask, otherwise I will pick the victim myself.

Holiday-themed - Pick your holiday! Any holiday counts.

Fandombend - Pick your fandom! (This will probably come with some headcanons on what the OC would be like in the new fandom)

Inspired by a song - Please, pick a song! Preferably from the OC's playlist. I should have a playlist for almost every OC. Hop into the "#playlist" tag on my blog to find them and, if they're not posted over there anywhere, tap on any playlist that's there, let it take you to my Spotify profile, and hop into the "Character Playlists" folder!

↬ Step 3: If you want, pick an extra prompt! Your options are:

Historical - Please specify your time frame! You don't necessarily have to, but I tend to be an indecisive little gremlin, so it would make things a little easier if you could pick ^^"

Fantasy (This, of course, makes little sense if the OC is already in a fantasy setting)

Sci-fi (Once again, this makes little sense if the OC is already in a sci-fi setting)

Steampunk

Cultural - Please pick a culture for me to take inspiration from! It doesn't have to be a real-life culture. For example, you could pick Japan for some kimono art or you could pick the Kuja from One Piece!

Color prompt - Pick your color! I ask that you do keep it at one color so that I have some more freedom, and I won't take specific hex codes either because those specific hex codes might clash with the OC's color palette

Prompt of your choice - This can be literally anything! Yes, also an occasion, in which case it would replace your original occasion prompt. I just didn't have the space to add in all occasions known to man, so if you have another idea, this is where to put it.

↬ Step 4: Send your ask! Done!

Once you've sent your ask, please keep in mind that it might take me a while to answer it. I'll then make a collage/moodboard and get the ask posted. Maybe, I'll also draw your prompt, depending on if I have the energy and/or time for it. If I plan on doing that, I'll let you know in the post and tag you once I have the drawing finished! I may also be swayed into adding a little fic snippet to the answer, if I do feel so inclined. Maybe a song to match the vibes? It'll be a little surprise!

► Rules:

Be nice! It's not hard, and it's basically all I ask.

This is the one time you might not want to shower me in asks because these asks might take a bit to answer. I'm not putting a cap on how many asks per person you're allowed to send, just maybe be mindful of how long they take to answer and space them out over the time of the event.

I'll be accepting asks from the time that this is posted until March 17th. The event ends with the strike of midnight starting the next day. Whenever that may be in your time zone. As long as it's still 23:59 on March 17th somewhere around the world, send in your ask. I might also extend the event if asks keep coming in and I have the energy to keep going.

↬ Additional info for mutuals: You get to ask for crossovers! Just pick one of my OCs and one of yours and I'll try my best to draw them. I might bother you for references though, so be prepared! It doesn't matter how long we've been mutuals for! It could've been five minutes, you're still allowed to send in crossover asks. As long as we're mutuals, let's say, at the time that the ask is answered, it's all good. In practice, that means that you just need to be following me to be able to send in a crossover request. If you ask nicely and maybe say something about why you'd think why our two children would go well together and we share a fandom, it's very unlikely that I'll deny your request and won't follow you back.

Also, if you've ever wanted to say something about my OCs and/or me and my blog, this might be the perfect time for you to do it.

Okay, that's it for now! Love you, everyone! Here's to more fandom-y shenanigans!

Also, behold my new non-OC post divider! It features a lineart sketch of my blog icon in the middle! The icon was designed by @benevolenterrancy pretty much exactly two years ago when they realized my old icon was not, in fact, a unicorn. I still go full-on heart-eyes mode whenever I see my icon, so I figured it was time to remind everyone of the amazing artist that created it <3

Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @fluffle-system @wheresmybloodynauglamir @supermarine-silvally @nanukanal @cody-helix02 (I believe this is the first time I've ever used my full taglist, aka the basic taglist plus everyone from fandom-specific taglists - wowie!) - Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed, for specific fandoms or the general list!

#evie's events #evie's mind palace festival

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lemonysnicket · 10 months

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adventures in bookbinding: making the negret colophon playing card book!

it's diy girl summer and i am Bored. time to attempt a completely new craft with zero research except for like. 3 youtube videos!

so, to start off, i suppose i will ramble a wee bit about my plans/goals/reasoning. truth be told, i just really really like my blorbo who book binds and i think it would be very fun to become Just like him for real. therefore we will be embarking on a journey!! to become my blorbo and also find something crafty to do today. quick psa that this is not a real tutorial because i have absolutely zero experience, but more of a general guide and/or craft with me! let's do this in sectionssss!!

1 - the plan!!

so for my first bookbinding project we are going to do something small, starting out by being silly and taking a page (lol) out of negret colophon's book (lol....) when he makes a tiny book and uses two playing cards as the covers. this will give me a little tiny trial run so i can learn the basic skills and use easily available materials around my house!! afterwards i think i'll sketch out a more ambitious journal idea - i have lots of fabric lying around that would work perfectly to cover a cardboard cover. wow, that's wordy! so! without further ado let's begin :) negret's little bookbinding project is described in the first chapter of raconteurs in this little excerpt here.

seems simple enough!! also the absolute perfect beginner project. it is tiny and the materials consist of Literally Anything. let's get groovy!!

2. materials!!

here's what we're working with:

playing cards! i found a deck lying around in a random drawer somewhere and chances are you have one laying around too. i chose the ace of spades and diamonds, because the text specifies a pair of aces but i couldn't find a matching pair, lol. i was also very tempted to choose one of the king cards as an homage to maisie's story later on (and because the king cards are absolutely gorgeous and detailed) but we're sticking to canon right now. we'll use the other cards for a future project.

needles!! a lot of the tutorials i see use very big or thick needles but i don't have those and this is also a very small project, not a huge journal, so any can work.

thread!! use whatever color you would like! at this point i was very indecisive because i have a lot of options and they're all quite pretty colors, but i settled on red later.

an assortment of papers!! use literally whatever you have lying around. for me, i managed to dig up the one scrap of newspaper in my house, since that's specifically listed, but most of my pages were from a book i sacrificed for an old art project, magazines and flyers, a lot of which were college mail because we're at that point in my life, lol. this is a recycling sort of project. choose anything! the more variety the better :)

i didn't display these in the photo, but if you have an awl, use an awl! i do not have one so i improvised, which i'll elaborate upon later. also, scissors! to cut the pages to scale. a ruler also came in handy :)

alright, now that we have all our tools in order, it's time to get into it :)

3. creating the pages!!

our first step is to measure our playing cards! you might not have to do this step because i'm fairly certain most cards are uniform in size/make, but check just in case, lol.

my cards measured to be 2.5" wide and 3.5" tall. i am no mathematician but using my singular brain cell i deduced that the papers should be twice the width of our cover, since those will fold to be the same size. so, using my Expert calculations, i made a little template cut from an index card measuring 3.5" x 5".

now we get to cutting!! using your various materials, cut out a bunch of papers to the size of your template. i just cut around it because i could not be bothered enough to waste time tracing, lol. i didn't go in with a plan, but i cut 16 papers to this size, which ended up being perfect. here are all my pages !! look at all the colors and textures!! the fun thing about the project being so small is that you can specifically cut the pages as the most interesting photos or sections, or you can even do it at angles too. as long as it ends up the right size, anything is fair game

now, we're going to make the papers into signatures! i just learned this word today lol. essentially, we will be grouping our papers and then folding those in half to become little mini books/pages. since i had 16 papers, i made 4 signatures with 4 pages each.

at this point i was tempted to go cut up more and make a fifth signature, but i decided against it since i didn't want the book to become too thick, and 4 sets with 4 papers each ended up being just about right. one of the tutorials i watched suggested that you group your signatures with paperclips or bobby pins, and at the time i waved off the suggestion but i totally agree now. i didn't have any clips to work with and i managed fine without them, but it definitely would have been easier if i had. so if you have them, use them! it'll make your life better lol. at this point you can stack your signatures together and itll look like a book!

oh yeah now we're cooking!!

4. preparing for binding!!

it was at this point in the process where i ventured out from knowing what i was doing to completely balling, but everything turned out okay and i'll walk you through it! our next step is to create the holes with which we will sew our signatures together. we're going to mark those off. once again i have zero clue how to do math but i managed to use my giant incredible smooth brain one more time to mark my template with a few equidistant points with which we can mark our signatures.

in case it's not clear, i kind of just counted the lines and then had to look up how much that was, but you can also just eyeball it if you're good enough. side note, i added two more holes after this, with one just below the very top and one just below the very bottom.

pardon my very unsightly nails, lol - here's how i used my template to mark the very center of each of my signature. you'll want to mark the point on the center line where you folded it while keeping the pages of each signature together. HOPEFULLY WITH A PAPERCLIP. and without further ado it's time for the stabbing!

now...here's where i got a little bit sacrilegious. you'll recall that earlier i mentioned how i don't have an awl in my possession yet? well, i managed to improvise a solution...

yes that is a sewing pin. IN MY DEFENSE it's all i had, and functionally it's basically the same as an awl! just on a much smaller scale. it worked out though - i imagine that if i'd been using thicker paper it would have posed a bit of a problem but for this project specifically, it was fine. do not kill me book binders. now it's time to get serious...

5. the binding

everyone stay calm! stay calm! it will be okay. i was lowkey intimidated by this part as this was Truly out of my depth of expertise, but i promise it's not that complicated. you're going to get your needle and thread now - i settled upon this gorgeous red color because it contrasted nicely with the playing cards, and there really wasn't much red in the papers i chose.

gorgeous!! tbh i always knew i'd go with the red because i've always envisioned the book with red thread anyways. like come on look at my very first drawing of negret WITH it. literally the exact same materials. i simply had to.

okay. now to the binding part. i don't have any real photos or insights or instructions for this whole stage because 1. i was deep in focus mode and 2. entirely relied on a tutorial for this part. here's the tutorial i used - massive shoutout to this lovely lady ! my spine didn't turn out nearly as neat as hers because i did not properly follow directions for the first bunch of knots (and i had to kind of improvise with the cover) but here's how it turned out!

not too bad for my first book, lol. try not to stress out about it being perfect because this book is not supposed to be perfect! the imperfections give it character. worst case scenario, if you really mess up, your eclectic book is just a little more eclectic than intended. and that's never a crime :)

now the one problem i had to figure out on my own was how to attach the covers, since most tutorials explain how to attach actual big separate covers and not - essentially paper. i ended up just... attaching them as if they were another page or signature to the front and back. my holes on the covers were a few millimeters away from the edge, though, since there's no crease or fold to align them with. what i did was essentially do the first knots/stitching on the signature like the tutorial said, but for each hole i sewed through in the first/last signature, i also made an additional loop through the adjacent hole on the cover. you can kind of see how i passed my needle through like instructed and then took a little extra detour to stitch the card as well. in some places i ended up making new holes in the signature too that were closer to where the cards' holes lined up?? try not to do that but it worked and it looks fine so really whatever makes it attach and hold is perfect.

6. bask in your glory!!!

aaaand that's it!! you did it!! this was a ton of fun to work on and i absolutely loved making this little adventure into a new craft with something so near and dear to my heart. if you make one please be sure to tag me!! i would love love LOVE to see :) here's an additional picture of my little monster (+ next to the legend himself. art credit to me lol. look the books are twinning!!)

#the raconteurs commonplace book #raconteurs commonplace book #green glass house #nagspeake #roaming world #uhhhh #bookbinding #book binding #genuinely i dont know if those are separate words or not. either way LDJKGLHSDJG #crafts #crafting #arts and crafts #yippee this was actually so much fun #to quote alex of vfdiscord fame “the self blorbofication of quill”#it's too late i'm in too deep i'm literally him now #quill crafts

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