#macks fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulaforza · 1 year

Text

diamond ring-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 990 a/n: i melt i melt i melttttt

He told Lorenzo he was going to marry you on the plane from France to Austria. He’d kissed you goodbye at four in the morning in your shared hotel room because you had a flight to catch back to Monaco for work that morning. You were supposed to leave the night before, right after the race on Sunday, but, you didn’t want to leave him to his thoughts, so you changed your flight.

You’ve known her for eight months, his brother told him, eight months and you want to marry her?

Charles had laughed, shrugged, nodded. “I just. I know.”

It wasn’t until after the season ended that he finally got to the jewelers. One in Paris, because he thought a million people would notice him ring shopping in Monaco. He’d made Pierre come along, for moral support, and FaceTimed his mother for a woman’s perspective.

They were at the jewler’s for three hours, and looked at just about every ring there was in the whole place before Charles finally decided that he needed to create something custom for you. Sounds like your girl is one of a kind, the associate helping them said, maybe she needs a ring to match. It’s another hour and a half before he’d made his decisions. He calls them once he’s home and three days later and is still making changes.

Once it’s actually in his hands, little velvet box and all, his worry shifts to how to ask you. It has to be perfect, he thinks. Something you’ll beam about in twenty years when you tell your kids all about Mom and Dad’s love story. He could do it on a Monday morning over coffee, him on his way to the gym and you barely up, pajama clad and hugging a coffee mug like your life depends on it. He could do it after a long day at the track, where he’s exhausted and looking for a fight and you let him be, let him feel what he needs to feel. He could do it whenever, wherever, and as long as it was with you, it would be perfect for him.

It needed to be perfect for you. He thought about filling the apartment with a million roses and balloons and champagne. It was private but grand. He thought about the cinema classics–a restaurant full of people, a ring in the desert. You would probably swallow it, he figured. Maybe he could do it in an airport–no. That idea didn’t even last long enough to become complete in his mind. You would kill him, everyone else in the airport would kill him. Just, no. Scratch the aiprort.

Maybe out on the water, in the middle of a day of fun. He could do it then, in the heat of the sun and in the salty air just off the coast. What if you said no? Then he’s stuck with you, on a boat, in the middle of the ocean. That’s like…nightmare fuel, the stuff that haunts his dreams for six straight nights.

He decides he’s going to do it at the beach. One of the private ones that nobody is really supposed to know about but everyone does, the one he’d referred to as his secret spot when he’d first met you. The one you’d named with a deadpan expression on your face right after he said that stupid, cheesy line.

He forced Joris and Antoine to hide in the bushes far out of your sight on the evening he finally did it. The sun was setting on the French Riviera and every color in the sky seemed to highlight something stunning about you, complimenting your eyes, your dress, your hair, your smile. The wind ran its fingers through your hair and danced in the flowing fabric of your dress and he thought he could never be deserving of you, all good and right and ethereal like this. He couldn’t wait to spend his entire life trying to live up to the standard that was you.

There was a picnic spot set up in the sand at the end of the beach. “I love that,” you’d commented when you saw it, clueless that it was there for you. “It's so sweet.”

"It's for you," he hums, voice shaky and nervous.

"What?"

He says your name, all sweet and soft and you know. You don’t know, because you never really know until it’s happening, but, you know. “Charles,” You beam back at him with giddy, hopeful eyes. You are just as enamored as he is. He repeats your name again, draws out the sounds of the last syllable and you both laugh, fight back tears because this is really happening and you don’t want a single memory to be clouded and fuzzy with love in its purest, saltiest form.

“I love you in ways words will never be able to explain,” He starts. “In the early mornings and the late nights and the average afternoons, I am completely in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, trying to find the words,” he continues. You laugh, choked and teary, soft fingers on your smile in disbelief. He pulls a tiny velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket and drops to one knee in the sand. “So,” he laughs, pops open the box and you’re eyes are too fixed on the man you love to even look at the ring. “Will you marry me?”

You smile, try so hard not to cry only for them to fall down your cheeks anyway. You nod, hold your left hand out for him. “Yeah?” He says, pulls the ring from the box and slides it on your finger. Perfect fit.

“Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot.” You grin, both laugh, curl over to kiss him while he’s still on his knees in the sand. “I love you so much,” you tell him, hands on either side of his face, kiss him again.

“I love you, too.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 #f1 #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #ferrari f1 #scuderia ferrari #ferrari #mack's 10 days of fluff #day 9

2K notes · View notes

sleepymccoy · 1 year

Text

If it's none, pick closest and write the details in your tags! Also, feel free to add a gif of your fave type of kiss

#otp #otp kiss #its kinda reblog bait cos i kept it none specific #but actually this is fic research cos i cant decide how hob and rue should mack on!#but then i realised it could be fun research in general #so its vague

770 notes · View notes

stevethehairington · 1 year

Text

trippin stumbling flippin fumbling

MacksDramaticShenanigans

“Don’t be such a coward,” Eddie tells himself. “Fucking— go.”

His body doesn’t move. Not even an inch. His ass stays glued to his seat, his feet firmly planted on the floor. His hands don’t leave ten and two.

“God dammit,” Eddie groans, dropping his forehead down to the wheel.

Except — he underestimates the distance, and rather than pressing into the top of the wheel between his hands, his forehead smacks squarely into the center of the horn.

He jerks back so fast he gives himself whiplash, but the damage is done. There is no taking back the short, sharp, loud honk that emits from the bowels of his traitorous van.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit,” Eddie hisses, eyes going wider than the moon hanging in the sky tonight.

He immediately slouches in his seat, sinking down as low as he can go. But it’s too late. He’s caught Steve and Robin’s attention now, and despite parking off to the side and a little further back, his set of wheels is unmistakable.

They’ve seen him. He can’t leave now. He has no choice but to go inside.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

alternatively known as, head over heels down bad absolute clutz in love no game whatsoever flustered to hell eddie munson

inspired by this tweet by @/oventrout 💕

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #stranger things fic #mack writes #my fic #my writing #macksdramaticshenanigans fics

449 notes · View notes

arlerts-angel · 10 months

Text

—shower thoughts 𓂃༞

! WARNING: 18+ NSFW + MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

about: armin thinks of you in the shower ♡

cw: a drabble containing descriptions of male masturbation, reader's gender is unspecified!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT 🔞

whines and whimpers shake the shower walls as armin fists his cock; the hot water hitting his skin only encourages him to whine a little more. steam fogs up the glass door, leaving only a silhouette of the poor boy stroking his dick mercilessly for what felt like hours on end, imagining that the hand around his cock is yours.

"fuck, y/n–"

his eyes flutter shut and a string of swear words and moans spill from his lips as he reaches his climax. thick, white ropes of cum spill from the beaten, red head of his cock.

"i need you..."

#📝 — mack wrote that #armin arlert smut #armin smut #armin aot #armin arlert x reader #armin x y/n #armin x you #armin x reader #aot smut #armin attack on titan #attack on titan smut #snk x reader #snk smut #snk armin #armin drabble #aot drabbles #armin fic #armin fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin armin

286 notes · View notes

malk1ns · 6 months

Note

"Sidgeno taking in a rookie" prompter here - that was delightful, thank you soooooo much!!!!! :D :D if you would like to write anything more in that mini-verse, may I request a) how does Mack handle it when Sid goes into heat? does they politely kick him out of the house for a few days? or does he have to listen to them bone all day? or b) Sid teasing Geno about how the baby obviously has a massive crush on him or c) maybe Mack does walk in on them at some point? all I'm saying is it baffles me how little fandom makes of the potential hilarity/awkwardness of "oh no we can't move till the knot goes down". But no pressure as you've already given us such a gift!!!

thank YOU for an incredible prompt!!! i feel like maybe we could put these in some form of chronological order....

c) mack walks in on them

Sid and Geno are usually pretty discreet. It's not their fault that Mack's going through dynamics puberty, after all—the dynamics counselor with the team said he'd have elevated sensitivity to scents and pheromones for at least a year, but it will eventually settle. Mack can't blame Sid and Geno for not realizing just how sensitive he is—they keep it to their bedroom, and Sid's got pheromone neutralizers plugged into an outlet in every room. Mack's learning to deal with it, doing his best to get to his room and shut the door when Sid starts looking at Geno like that.

Sometimes, though, they're not careful.

As soon as Mack walks into the house, he groans—it reeks, Sid's little air fresheners doing absolutely nothing to dispel the cloud of horny alpha and seductive omega permeating the entire entryway. He'd been at the mall with Brayden, poking around for Christmas presents for his parents—he was gone for ages, haven't they done anything else this whole afternoon?

Sighing, he hangs his coat on the rack and takes off his shoes, remembering just in time to not just kick them off into the wall—one time catching Sid cleaning off the scuff marks was more than enough guilt for a lifetime. He thinks vaguely about getting a snack, but figures that distracting himself with some television until they're done is the better choice. He's felt even more attuned to Sid and Geno's scents recently, and there's an itch under his skin that he's trying not to worry about too much.

The living room isn't empty.

"Oh god," Mack yelps, freezing in the doorway. "Oh no."

"Fuck," Sid gasps, grabbing at Geno's shoulders to stop himself from tipping back onto the floor.

One of the couches in the living room, the one Geno always claims during movie night and coaxes Sid into cuddling with him on, is angled so that it's half-facing the door into the room. Mack has an unimpeded, perfect view of the way Geno's slouched against the back cushions, arms akimbo, staring up at Sid with heavy-lidded eyes as Sid rides him.

"Oh my god," Sid says frantically, leaning forward and grabbing for a blanket. He and Geno both hiss in discomfort, and Mack cant help it, he looks down at where Geno's dick is—fuck, he's knotted Sid already, and Mack can see where it's stretching Sid wide.

He snaps his eyes away, but Geno catches him looking, and Mack just knows what he must smell like right now, knows there's no way Geno misses his reaction.

Sid's muttering frantically to himself as he drapes the blanket around his naked body, as if that's going to help at all. "Mack, I'm so sorry, just—" he starts.

Mack flees. It's the only sane decision.

Maybe if he opens every window in his bedroom and sticks his head under ice-cold water in the shower, he can shock this boner away and hopefully purge the entire incident from his mind.

b) sid teases geno about mack's crush

"Oh god," Sid groans, tucking his face into Geno's neck. They'd been so careful until today.

It's been an adjustment, having Mack in the house. Of course it was the best choice—the only choice, really—to have their draft prize who also happened to be an omega live somewhere he'd be taken care of properly, with someone who understood—that didn't make it any easier to get used to.

There had been a lot of close calls at first, when Sid was halfway to sliding to his knees in the kitchen when Geno looked at him a certain way before realizing that Mack was just one room away setting the table, or Geno was about to push Sid's thighs apart on the couch when Mack shuffled in with a bowl of popcorn. They'd gotten used to it, though, making sure to get up to their bedroom before starting anything—Sid even set up a bunch of scent-neutralizers, he remembers what it was like at that age.

All that hard work, totally undone because Sid's a week and a half out from his heat and starting to get horny at the drop of a hat, and Geno got too worked up to remember to chivvy them up the stairs.

Mack looked mortified. Poor kid. And of course Sid's been knotted in Geno's lap for the last half-hour, with no signs of it going down any time soon.

Sid can feel Geno chuckle under him, and he can't help but relax, letting his body go heavy against Geno's. Geno slips his hands under the blanket and rubs them soothingly over Sid's back. "He ok," Geno rumbles, pressing a kiss to Sid's forehead. "He's adult, not like he doesn't know. He's have a computer, internet." One hand slides down Sid's back to tease at his hole, where Geno's knot is stretching him, and Sid shivers.

"He's barely an adult, he's practically a baby," he mumbles into Geno's skin, trying to keep focused on the conversation instead of melting at Geno's touch like his instincts want him to. "And even if he's watching porn, that's not the same as walking in on us. I'd be traumatized if I ever saw Mario like this."

Geno laughs outright at that. "No, you see Mario do this, you run up to room and get off," he teases.

He's not wrong. Sid bites down on his neck a little anyway. "Who's to say Mack's not doing the same?" he asks, arching his back a little and pressing against Geno's finger. He should probably go get his levels checked tomorrow, his heat might be early this month. "He's got the world's biggest crush on you, and now he's seen you in action. Probably made his day."

"Sid!" Geno sounds shocked, and Sid grins. Geno talks a big game, but he's a prude at heart, and Sid loves scandalizing him a little bit. "You don't say this, he's kid, like, he's not think—"

"Oh, he absolutely does," Sid says. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed. He's no good at suppressing how he's feeling, and he's got it bad for you. Not that I can blame him."

"Oh, you like too?" Geno says, sounding smug. Sid wants to keep talking, try to figure out with Geno how they should address this with Mack, but Geno's sliding his finger into him, and the pressure is sparking stars in his vision, and they can talk about it later.

a) how does mack handle sid going into heat?

Mack avoids Sid and Geno as much as he can for the next few days.

'As much as he can' isn't all that much, considering they live together and carpool to work most days, and Mack's mom would yell at him if he took the meals Sid made and ate in his bedroom. So he's still around them a ton, but he keeps quiet when possible, and after Sid tries to coax him into conversation the first day, they let him be.

The problem is, the itchiness under Mack's skin hasn't gone away. If anything, it's gotten worse, and Owen's been acting weird around him too, lurking near him in the locker room and looming behind him on the ice when the guys start roughhousing with him.

Mack's heat isn't due until the All-Star break. Rookies always have their heats suppressed until they have a decent amount of time off, they can do it safely now, and it's easier—he has a few months to get used to playing in the show full-time without having to add in a heat on top of it, and he's got ten full days to take advantage of the facilities and recover when he's done before he's back to game play.

But Mack had two heats before the Penguins medical team got him on his shots. He knows what it feels like when he's getting close. It feels like this.

Watching Geno fuck Sid on the couch only made it worse.

Geno's been watching him too. Mack can feel the weight of his attention, the way he's keeping watch in the room. It keeps Mack up at night, intrusive thoughts about what he'd do if he were a little less nervous and Geno was a little more single.

He's moping in his bedroom after dinner five days after The Incident when someone knocks on his door.

Mack considers ignoring it, pretending he had his headphones in, but the manners his mom drilled into his skull won't let him, so he reluctantly gets off his bed and slumps to the door, cracking it open and hoping Sid will accept a brush-off if he smiles big enough.

It's not Sid. Geno pushes his way into Mack's room, barely glancing around before sitting at Mack's desk and staring at him pointedly until Mack sits back down on his bed.

"Um," Mack says, darting a glance at his nightstand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief when the drawer is shut. "What's up?"

Geno purses his lips. "I'm not talk about...before," he says, grimacing a little. Mack watches in surprise as his face turns a dull red. "It's fine, we don't talk about. But, I need to come say to you, it's heat soon for Sid, and I think maybe for you too, after."

Mack swallows. Shit. "I'm not due until break," he says weakly. "They're giving me the—"

"Shots, yes, I know this," Geno says impatiently, waving a hand in dismissal. "Shots not perfect, like, for Sid they not work at all my rookie year. And for you, I think because you're with Sid so much, it's making like...link, maybe. I don't know, it's for doctors, but I can smell. You talk to Dharmesh?"

Mack cannot imagine addressing the stern team physician by his first name. "Not...yet," he says haltingly. "I was hoping maybe it would go away."

Geno sighs. "Podrostki," he mutters. "No, it's not work that way. Look, I think for Sid's heat you're go stay with Jake, maybe, if it's okay. Not good for you, to be here when he's...I think maybe it's worse for you."

Mack thinks back to how being in heat felt, the way he needed so much, and flushes, imagining that same want creeping up on him when he's locked away in his room, listening to Geno give Sid everything he wants down the hall. No, he can't be here for that. "Is Jake okay with that?" is what he says, ducking his head so he doesn't have to meet Geno's too-knowing gaze. What they're dancing around is that Geno knows how Mack feels, maybe has known the whole time, and that it's not just Sid's heat that's accelerating Mack's own.

Mack wonders if it's too late to ask to be sent back to juniors.

"Jake offers," Geno says. "He say, maybe it's good for you to be with betas for a while, especially then—it's hard for the guys, even the ones who know Sid for years, and you're new."

Mack takes a breath. Being around someone who isn't involved in the drama surrounding dynamics sounds like a breath of fresh air, even if Mack's going to be going through all this for himself soon. Maybe a break is exactly what he needs.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "If they're alright with it, that's probably a good idea. I'll go whenever you guys think I need to."

Geno nods and gets to his feet. "It's maybe another few days," he says, pausing before he leaves and clapping a hand on Mack's shoulder. "You good kid. It gets easier, Sid says."

The next morning, Sid's practically in Geno's lap at breakfast, and when Mack walks into the kitchen Sid growls at him, territory-marking in a way that Mack's only read about. Geno looks half-drunk on the flood of pheromones, pulling Sid in close and licking over his bond bite.

Mack runs up to his room and shoves as many clothes as he can manage into his travel bag, hoping that the Guentzels are ready for company sooner than anticipated.

#geno went back to his and sid's bedroom and smelled like mack and that was enough to tip sid into heat WAY early #poor kid. he simply cannot win in this house!!!#rookie houseguest #a/b/o #sidgeno #hockey rpf #my fic #my writing

99 notes · View notes

ramp-it-up · 2 years

Text

Chubby Dumpling

Summary: Chris misses his chubby dumpling.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader RPF

Warnings: Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, RPF. FaceTime sex, pet names for body parts, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, mentions of female receiving oral, squirting, and p in v. Praise kink, voice kink, Dom/sub if you squint.

A/N: This drabble is a result of the following ask from @bloomingpresent :

Can we have something about him using this nickname for reader and when he actually finds out in this video that people is using it with Sebastian too he kinda gets more into it. “How’s my chubby dumpling doing?”

Today was a good day for me to be a heaux. We were blessed with the puppy interview, so I had to incorporate things from that as well as the ask, such as lyrics from Return of the Mack. Sorry not sorry. If you enjoy, let me know! 😘

Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

“I miss you Sweetheart.”

Chris’s soft, gentle drawl made you feel warm all over. And miss him just a little bit less.

“Mmmmm. Miss you too Baby.”

You rolled over and smiled at the sound of Chris’s voice. You opened one eye and stared at his handsome, but tired face. It was 5am in Boston, but it was 6 pm where he was.

Chris took in your sleepy morning face, hair up in a scarf; it was his favorite look on you. He only wanted to see it next to him and not 7,000 miles away through his laptop.

But he smiled wider and winked at you, making you giggle.

“How was your day?”

Chris sighed. You could tell that he was a little wound up.

“Hectic. Tons of press, seems like we spoke to a hundred different journalists.”

You woke up a bit, heart beating faster the longer you looked at Chris. Stretching while holding the phone, your white see-through tank top was revealed above the comforter.

Your man did a double take at your trapped nipples straining against the material. He was hard instantly. He moved to take off his shirt. Soon you heard the sound of his zipper. But you played it off.

“Any original, interesting questions?”

“Nothing like the puppy interview. Or that time with Seb.”

Those eyebrows started to dance and you laughed, stretching again.

“You don't remember a thing you were asked in the puppy interview. And let’s not talk about that interview with Seb..”

Chris got serious when he saw your body again. And comfortable on the bed.

“Speaking of… how’s my chubby dumpling doing?”

Chris was leaning against the headboard of the bed and his room and you could tell by the movement of his arm what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes and ignored his question.

“So what are you up to tonight?”

You bit your lip as you waited for him to answer. He played along.

“I’m gonna meet Seb for dinner in a couple of hours. Gonna have some fun in the casino.”

“Don’t have too much fun.”

Chris watched your mouth turn into a delectable pout and redoubled his efforts.

“Now, Darlin, you know that Seb’s a simp for you. He would murder me if I even look at another woman.”

“That’s right! Seb’s my boy! He knows what’s up.”

Your proud smile was so sexy.

“Luckily, you and your boy don’t have to worry about that. Especially since I have the most beautiful woman in the world to look at whenever I want on FaceTime.”

“Aw. Love it when you try to run game, Chrissy.”

“Well. I can tell when my little girl wants my pearl…”

You cracked up laughing.

“I can NOT with you Christopher!”

Chris loved to make you laugh. He fell in love with you when you were laughing.

“Yes, yes you can. Now, you tried to distract me, but I asked you a question, Sweetie.”

Chris peered at you.

“How’s my little chubby dumpling doing?”

You stopped laughing and cleared your throat.

“Chris…”

“Answer me. And you better not roll your eyes again.”

You gulped and weighed everything he said, but you were needy, missing him like crazy. So you decided to be good.

“She… she misses you…”

You ran your tongue across your bottom lip and bit it as Chris groaned.

“Well, your guy misses you too. See?”

Chris pointed his phone at your friend, who was all swollen and leaking in his hand. You grabbed and licked your lips.

“Damn, Baby. I need it.”

You were too sprung.

“Really?”

Chris’s face was in view again. His eyes were glazed over and those red lips were moist and open.

“Show me.”

You hurried to get your panties off.

“Take off that top too. Damn I wanna bite those nipples.”

Your pussy pulsed at his words and you whimpered as you pulled the tank over your head. You reached for the stand that Chris bought you for these occasions and put it between your legs on the bed. You started to knead your breasts as Chris groaned at the sight of you.

“Fuck! There she is. My little chubby dumpling. I wanna eat that fat little, tight little pussy. Look how wet she is. Spread those lips baby.”

You moaned as you did what you were told, head thrown back and leaning against the headboard, back arched.

“God! I wish I were there to see that tight pussy clench around nothing like that. I’d give it something to squeeze.”

Chris gazed at you through the phone.

“Waddya want? My fingers?”

Chris’s eyes moved from your cunt to your tits to your face, which was blissed out already.

“Uhmm hmmm…”

“Ya want my tongue? I need ya ta sit on my face”

Chris’s voice was broken now, Boston definitely coming out, and your fingers moved, collecting your wetness and spreading it around your pussy and clit.

“Christ, Chris.”

“I wanna make you squirt again. Remember the day I left?”

You struggled to catch your breath as you recalled the multiple massive orgasms Chris gave you as a going away present. Your fingers dipped into your heat as you grasped your nipple with the other hand.

“Gooooood girl. That’s so pretty Darlin, you’re doing so good. You got me hard and now I’m about to cum. Will you cum with me?”

You whimpered again. Chris’s voice was everything.

“I know what you need. You need me in that pretty little hole. You want me to stuff that chubby little dumpling full of my big, hard, cock, Baby?”

And then he panned down again, showing his hand stroking his massive cock.

“Fuck! Ye-he-YESSSSS!”

You started to cum when you saw him manhandling himself. His thick shiny head was playing peekaboo in his palm.

“Ah! Fuck! S-so hot! Don’t stop! Take it Baby!”

You rubbed yourself as long as you could while at the same time watching the magnificence of Chris’s cock and his cum spurting all over his chest and his hand.

You collapsed on your back and listened to Chris moan and tell you you were gorgeous; the phone was still set up between your legs.

“Such a beautiful sight.”

Chris laughed when you leaned up and raised your eyebrow at him. You started giggling, curling up under the covers as you got sleepy again. You watched him go to the bathroom and clean up, eyes drooping.

“Get some more rest sweetheart. I might take a nap before dinner. I love you.”

“Mmmmm. Love you too, Chrissy.”

“Take care of my chubby dumpling!”

You laughed, flipped him off across 7,000 miles and ended the call, knowing that you would get another when he went to bed.

You looked forward to a fun lunchtime FaceTiming Chris in your office.

With the door locked.

Feedback is a joy forever! TIA for comments & reblogs! 💕

#ask dj #chris evans #chubby dumpling request #return of the mack #chris evans puppy interview #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #seb stan #chris evans fan fic

2K notes · View notes

trans-jon-rights · 11 days

Text

Wake up babe, new design for The Blorbo by your favourite artist just dropped

Mechanism!Jon belongs to @therealandian from his fic Search Through The Stars, and the design has been taken from this post by @dcartcorner !

[ID in alt text]

Close ups :

45 notes · View notes

holy-puckslibrary · 6 months

Text

━ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐑𝐒. 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — nathan mackinnon x claus!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 2k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — when she took the reins as the world's chief claus, her father forgot to disclose one very pressing hidden clause in the job contract...

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — my mom and i watched this trilogy on a loop when i was growing up, so it only felt right to take some inspo!! <3

Most children would give anything to have Santa Claus as their father.

They wouldn’t if they knew what you did now.

Your father withheld a crucial detail throughout your many years of training. Perhaps the most important stipulation of them all—you cannot be Santa alone.

“Whoever wears the coat takes on the duties and responsibilities of Santa Claus. In accepting the contract, the cardholder acknowledges that they must marry the partner of their choosing before their first Christmas in service to retain the titles, privileges, and residence of Santa Claus. Failure to do so will result in immediate de-Santification.”

You needed a partner. Someone to act as caretaker to the elves and the reindeer, and to watch over the Workshop and general operations on Christmas night while you fly all around the globe, the embodiment of the season's spirit.

Santa Claus wouldn’t—and couldn't—be Santa Claus, if not for their other half.

You suppose you should’ve known, should’ve worked it out sooner. So much of what made Christmas special was because of your mother, the previous Mrs. Claus. In his many years as Santa, your father made a point to remind everyone of that. She is the steward of the season.

While Santa Claus tinkers with toys and checks the lists, charts travel routes and weather patterns, and develops contingency plans to accommodate the ever-evolving technology, their spouse keeps spirits bright. Without help, the effort was pointless.

So, you should have realized. But you hadn’t, and now it might be too late.

“I have to find a husband in 28 days. If I don’t get married before Christmas Eve, I don’t get to wear the coat. I’ll lose the title, and the reins my family has held for thousands of years will pass to someone else,” you rant, tone carefully hushed to not rouse the temperamental husky one backyard over.

Your breath plumes away from you, rising before dissolving into the chilly Denver air. It reminds you of a snow globe, a bittersweet one.

“Who?” asks Nate.

Nate, like most of the world, is a Mundane, a non-magical person. He isn’t the descendant of Cupid or Mother Nature. Or a Santa Claus like yourself. He’s just Nate. Nathan MacKinnon from Halifax. Nathan MacKinnon, who now resides in Denver, Colorado, for work.

It's well past midnight, and you’re sitting on his back porch with your head hung low and one of your reindeer, Comet, is nibbling on his icy grass.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a glum shrug. “Normally, it would go to the next child in line. Since I don't have any siblings, I guess the Council of Legendary Figures will convene and select my replacement.”

Nate nods.

In his eyes, you can see him listing off the members in his head. Mother Nature, Father Time, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Sandman, Cupid, Jack Frost. To him, they’re mythical beings. Bedtime stories and folktales he was told as a child by the adults in his life. For you, they’re the closest thing you have to extended relatives.

And they butt heads like ones too.

“What will happen then? I mean, where will you go? Could you stay where you are now, just not as a Claus?” he asks.

“The North Pole is the only home I’ve ever known. All my family’s ever known. When the duty passes from one generation to the next, the predecessors remain in the village, but who knows if they’d get to stay if I fail to comply? It’s all in jeopardy now because of me.”

Nate lowers himself down onto the step beside you. He does his best to disregard the unpleasant feeling of his pajamas soaking in the snow, but you hear the wince.

With the snap of your fingers, the snow is gone, and his pants are completely dry. You’ve even warmed the concrete beneath him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs softly.

He doesn’t have to thank you; you’ve told him a million times. But he wants to. He can’t let you give without acknowledgment. Nate refuses to appear ungrateful, even for the little things that seem insignificant to you. Like vanishing snow or drying his pajama pants.

Funnily, “Santa Claus” can feel like a thankless job. No one ever thanks you. They thank the persona, the relic. Nate wants you to know he’s grateful for your care and friendship, regardless of your occupation or magic.

Gently, he bumps his shoulder against yours. “You know there’s more than one person in a marriage, right?”

“Yes, but I haven’t exactly made an effort to find the other half of the equation,” you reply, deflecting.

You always overtake blame. Nate thinks it might be your singular flaw.

“I mean, it's hard because it's not like I can date like a normal person; my pool is small. And shallow. They either want me to give up the power entirely or give it to them instead. You remember what happened with Jackson Frost. All he wanted was the power his father failed to usurp. That should have been clear from the start. I guess I could see if Orpheus is still seeing the nymph Mother Nature fixed him up with. The whole narcolepsy thing, though not his fault, isn’t ideal, but the only other option is Val. And I’d rather not spend the rest of my life worried about flying arrows and jilted lovers.”

As the daughter of a Legendary Figure and soon-to-be one yourself, you haven’t had much time to date. Or even think about it, for that matter.

There was always a new wrapping paper to test for durability and shine or a machine on the assembly line that needed to be fixed before it broke any more dolls. Or a reindeer with a stomach ache refusing to fly. Or a fire in the kitchen that sets back cookie production by three weeks. Or a maniacal being with frigokinesis (the ability to manipulate snow) attempting to overthrow Santa Claus and assume control over the North Pole.

Crisis after crisis, all with very little personal time. That's why you opted for people who understood: the children of other Legendary Figures with dominion over their own holidays and cultural traditions. However, fraternizing with other magical beings comes with its own set of problems. For example, an ex-boyfriend and his father plotting to ruin your home, ancestral legacy, and a beloved holiday out of pure spite.

“You’re forgetting someone.” Nate’s quiet voice yanks you out of the downward spiral.

“Who? Easter Bunny is our eternal bachelor who would sooner give up candy than have kids of his own, and Tooth Fairy’s kids are still, well, kids. Jack Smith recently took over as Pumpkin King after his father retired, but he’s not the nicest company. Especially when he’s drunk, which is, truthfully, most days. I guess I could look outside the Council, but —”

“Me. I’m talking about me. You forgot me,” Nate interjects with an impatient huff.

“What?” you blink in disbelief, assuming you misheard him.

There was no way he was throwing his hat into the ring.

“I could be Mr. Claus. If you’d have me.”

Your face melts. If you'd have him? It wasn't even a question.

“Nate, I could never ask that of you. You would have to leave everything—everyone, behind. You would have to give up a career you love and have worked so hard for. Not to mention abandoning all the friends you’ve made along the way. You would have to lie about where you live and who you married to—and what she does for a living for the rest of your life. Nothing would ever be normal again. I’m tethered to the North Pole, but I won’t lock you up there with me.”

“I’ve been dreaming about the North Pole since I was a kid. Long before you nearly knocked over my family’s Christmas tree and had to make it up to me with a ride around the block on Comet,” he says with a chuckle.

You snort, recalling the fire you almost started the first time your father ever brought you along for deliveries. You weren’t allowed down a chimney for a few years after that, but the friend you gained was worth the punishment.

You take Comet to visit as often as you can and have been for years. He leaves out your favorite cookies on Christmas Eve, and you always save his house for last so you can spend the last hour of the season with your favorite person.

But you always imagined a day would come when he finally grew up and stopped needing Santa Claus. For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve been planning for a broken heart.

You sniffle. Nate takes your hand in his.

“Knowing you—loving you has put that dream within grasp. You wouldn’t be locking me away because I’d go willingly. Happily. All I’ve ever wanted for Christmas is to go to the North Pole with you. To see where you grew up and meet all the people who made you as wonderful as you are.”

“Why have you never said anything?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t be able to. “Only elves, reindeer, and Clauses,” remember?” Nate smiles, mimicking your father’s response to a ten-year-old Nate’s innocent request. He even does the jolly belly laugh, which warms your heart. “Bernard wouldn’t even let me past the hanger if the sleigh didn’t toss me into the Atlantic first.

But in all seriousness, I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position with your father again. Or with yourself. I know how much the sanctity of Christmas means to you. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to show me something that would feel like intruding on the magic to you.”

All Nate has ever wanted for Christmas is for you to show him your home. All you’ve ever wanted is Nate. The only gift your father couldn’t make and the elves couldn’t build. In all her festive glory, even your mother couldn’t put what you truly wanted under the tree, though not for lack of trying.

Nate was the only person who could give the present of his presence, but you’d always been too fearful to ask, too worried he didn’t feel the same.

But here he is, crouched on a step in the middle of the night watching a reindeer chase a moth like a cat, telling you he’d give up everything to stand by your side.

For you to be Santa Claus.

“Are you sure?” you ask apprehensively as if he were an animal you didn’t want to spook. “Sometimes we say things in the moment that we don’t really mean. Especially when someone flew 3,000 miles on a reindeer to throw a pity party in your backyard. You can take it back, and I promise nothing will change. No hard feelings whatsoever. I’ll still come and bring Comet to visit as often as possible. And you’ll stay on the Nice List, don’t worry. I wouldn’t even dream of —”

Nate cuts you off with a kiss. Sweet and perfect, and full of promise. The kind of kiss you dream about as a little girl, wondering what your Prince Charming might be like when he finally arrives. And tonight, yours did.

Albeit, the cape was missing (you preferred flannel pajamas anyway), and he hadn’t ridden in on the back of a mighty steed (you crash-landed on a reindeer-back, if that counts), but it was magical all the same.

“Wait!” you burst, abruptly pulling away. “What are you going to tell your parents? ‘Hey, Mom and Dad. Yeah, no, everything’s great. I just quit my job, sold my house, and moved to an undisclosed location—all without warning. No reason to worry!’ Somehow, I don’t see that going over all that well.”

“We can tell them we’re in Alaska and that you’re a toy maker," Nate casually supplies. He sounds like he's talking about the weather or what he had for lunch, not a life-altering cover story. "You couldn’t leave because your workshop is there, so I decided to move to be with you. People move all the time, especially to be with their fiancés.”

Though your heart flutters at the title, worry still hangs low over your head. You know how much he loves his family; you can’t bear to be the reason they’re separated indefinitely.

“But when I find a way for them to visit, how would we swing that? The sleigh is big, but it's not airplane-big. Curtis is a master of disguise, but even he couldn’t make the sleigh look less like a sleigh.”

“Doesn’t Sandman owe your dad a favor?” Nate winks.

my lovely patrons gained access to this piece on DEC 18, 2022. learn more HERE!

asks, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and greatly appreciated! the best way to support the creators you love (and encourage them to post more for you to read) is by engaging with their content in a meaningful way!

thank you for reading, and happy holidays <3

────────────

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2023 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

⤑ to my inbox 💌

⬸ back to the catalog

⬸ back to the main blog

64 notes · View notes

earlofbats · 7 months

Text

"Esprit De Corps: Somewhere in the deep recesses of Jamrock Torson walks into the shared apartment that he, McLaine and Elfboy all inhabit, partly because it is cheaper and entirely because it’s easier to sleep when he knows there are others who are familiar with what the fear feels like. He mumbles about the trash not being taken out and checks the locks three times two times from the top to bottom and one time from the bottom to the top. Click, snap, click … click, snap, click … Click snap click. The sound echoes in his head whenever he pulls his gun, whenever there's danger. Click snap Click. Halflight: Sound of safety Authority: Sound of control. Inland Empire: The sound before something goes terribly, horribly wrong." From fic: Father of Revolutions Daughter

#disco elysium #fic #mack torson #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi

61 notes · View notes

mackspaws · 2 months

Text

i never wanted to be saved

fanart of an absolutely wonderful fic by @eternalpeaceisoverrated <3 please PLEASE go read it, as well as all her dl2 fics bc AHHHH THEYRE SO GOOOOD

You can read the fic this specific piece is based on here!!! 👇

#aiden caldwell #dying light 2 #macks art #dying light 2 fanart #mia dl2 #mia waltz #please read this fic im begging

30 notes · View notes

drewsephrry · 2 months

Text

Drew Starkey and his mom via his sister's Mackayla instagram

314 notes · View notes

formulaforza · 1 year

Text

furniture-- c.leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x reader word count: 750 a/n: thank u dani for snapping my writers block. art imitates life fr fr here

Are you busy? You texted him, tossed your phone onto the ground next to you and assessed the situation in front of you for the hundredth time. Pieces of wood everywhere, harware everywhere, a cordless drill your dad had given you when you moved out years ago–one he didn’t show you how to use.

What had started as a simple Friday evening project, rearranging your apartment living room, had transformed into an all-consuming weekend of furniture and clutter shopping. The Ikea box–boxes–sit torn apart on the floor and the instruction pamphlet is disheveled amongst the mess somewhere.

Never for you, he replies, you roll your eyes.

You reach for your phone, quickly type out your response. Come over? You text, and immediately follow it up. Not for the reason you think.

He’s knocking on your door twenty-five minutes later, three knocks, pause, and then another. Just like always. You try to manuver your way out of the maze of wooden boards and dowels and hardware and the dreadful drill to get to the door. He’s on his phone when you open it, quickly shuts it off and shoves it in his pocket and smiles at you like an idiot. “Hi.”

“Help.” You say, straight-faced and serious because you’re in so over your head it’s not even funny. He laughs, you swing open the door nad mumble out a preemptive apology.

He chokes your name out through a laugh as soon as he sees the mess. “What have you done?”

“Can you help me?” You say over his shoulder, over his shaking head. Disbelief, amazement, fear, probably all of the above because you’ve truly created a monster.

“Cherie, what am I looking at, even?” He scratches the back of his head, his neck, just inside the collar of his t-shirt.

“Entertainment center.”

He tries not to laugh. Fails miserably. “Are you sure?”

“I think.”

“Oh, mamma mia.” He shakes his head, looks at you and reflects your pout. “You’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you going to help me, or not?” You are so far beyond help, mon amour, he sighed, told you to get something to drink and that he would figure out how to undo whatever you’d done and build the furniture the way it was originally intended to be built. “You don’t want my help?”

“I am scared of your help.” You would be offended if everything you’d managed to put together looked even a little bit like what the end goal was, but, he was probably right to be scared by what you could do. You were a little scared by how badly you’d managed to screw it up. It felt like maybe someone should take away your rights to adult if you couldn’t built a simple peice of furniture. “If I teach you, you won’t have to ask for my help next time.”

“This is truly an enlightening experience,” you say, pop another piece of fruit into your mouth. “Dinner and a show.” Who knew watching your guy-who-isn’t-your-guy play with high stakes Swedish legos could be so attractive. It’s just furniture, you’d try to remind yourself, and then he'd use your drill like his dad taught him how to use one instead of just giving him one as a gift.

“Who gave this to you?” He asked about the drill the first time he picked it up. “I don’t think they liked you much.”

You laughed. He laughed at your laugh. “My dad,” you answered, and he shrugged his shoulders, didn’t confirm or deny his previous claim. You don’t know if he plays it safe because you’ve told him too much–or too little–information.

Despite a few of the screws angled just a bit awkwardly, the only real victim of the entertainment center debacle of 2023 is a single wooden dowel that snapped clean in half. “Do you have super glue?” He asked when the two of you finally stopped laughing about it. I have nail glue, you told him, and only time will tell if the cosmetic solution actually worked.

“My hero!” You joked, stood up on your tip-toes to throw an arm around him, admired your–his–work now that the console had been set in it’s forever home. “I could not have done it without you.”

“You would’ve figured it out.” He says, smiles down at you like he isn’t a liar. “It just would have been…”

“A disaster?”

He chuckles. “Abstract.”

“Oh.” You laugh, kiss him because how can you not? “You’re sweet.”

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 fandom #cl16 #mack's 10 days of fluff #day 8

720 notes · View notes

merceyca · 2 months

Text

Mack the Knife is, at long last, complete. I feel like I just sent a piece of my soul out into the universe, holy shit.

If you want to read about the adventures of Neil’s sister, Mack, now you can!!

CLICK HERE TO READ

#all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg fic #andreil #kevin day #sister fic #sibling au #mary wesninski #mack josten #mack the knife

21 notes · View notes

stevethehairington · 1 year

Text

He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts.

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest.

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to.

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege.

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family.

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth.

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is.

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #macks ficlets #so i wrote this instead of working on any of the fics i actually should be working on rn lol #i listened to voulez vous by abba and my brain went pirates and well. here we are.#funny story also bc a good chunk of the first half of this actually came from something i was going to write for a totally different fandom #but never ended up writing so it just sat collecting dust until today!#10 bucks if you can guess the fandom (and no it is not ofmd or any other actual genuine pirate fandom lol)

783 notes · View notes