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cositapreciosa · 5 months

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hiya! could you write a Gustavo Gaviria x innocent reader? love your work!

Bittersweet

Gustavo Gaviria x gn!reader, (nothing very bad, the usual for the show) 777 words

a/n : i wasn't sure where to go for an innocent reader, still love how this came out!

Tagging the narcos fam @narcolini @drabbles-mc @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos

Pablo had introduced you years ago, back at the beginning, when everything was still calm and smooth sailing. A sweet thing, his mom had told him, trustful, single too. He had brushed it off, of course, ma, he would say, stop it, it’s not like this, but it was. It was the small talk he had to have with you every time he came to the shop your dad owned, how he used to walk the streets after school hours, hoping to run into you.

It was Pablo who told him to let go, to find someone else, when everything became unsure and the storm came knocking on their door. He had brushed it off, hoping that you would understand, wishing it would stop at once, so you could ease into it like he had. Gustavo was blind to think it would happen, that it would calm down, that his brother would even think to slow down.

This is not right, Gustavo, you would tell him, people are dying, is this really what you want? He couldn’t care less, he wanted to say, that it is not his problem, nor yours, that they are killing each other, that he has nothing to do with it, that they-

He knew it was Pablo who told your dad, about how you still had been seeing him in secret, jumping the balcony at night, getting picked up by a car a block over. It made him red with anger, the feeling of betrayal in his chest, loneliness, despair. My dad knows, Gus. I’m grounded, he says he’ll put bars on the window if he has to. Gustavo is not stupid, he knows why your parents are scared, why his brother hates that he still sees you even though he tells him how dangerous it is. One day they will call the cops on you, is this what you want, hm?

Of course, it is not what he wants, especially when he watches you cry like this, unstoppable, hiccups and tears staining your face, but he has to. For you, he tells you, it is all for you. For your safety, for your life, so that you don’t cry for him if he dies. Gustavo has to stay tall and strong as he holds your hands, as he wipes the salted water off your cheeks, pretend he will not drink his pain away later that night, that he will not resent his brother for months, years. He is the one to leave first, one last squeeze of your hands and he lets go and turns away, he doesn't look, simply because he knows how weak he is, how he would run back to you in a heartbeat.

Pablo introduced you years ago, back in the beginning, back when Gustavo didn’t resent everyone, when he wasn’t so angry and so reckless all the time. For once, he thinks it might settle, the longing, the heartache, when he meets Marina. She is nice, yes, but never as nice, never as soft, too extravagant, too used to this. How their relationship has to be kept secret makes his mouth taste like acid, makes him remember how long he did it with you, how he hated it, how he regrets it.

One day, Gustavo leaves in the morning, as early as he can, as early as they allow him to. It’s for business, he tells everyone, even if it isn’t, even if he knows how risky this is, but he has to, he will, even if it is the last thing he does.

Gustavo had met you years ago, back at the beginning, a small party at your parent’s house, not too far from the one you own now, further down the street. The sun beats down on his hat as he stands in the driveway, he is hot and cold, hands moist as he walks up the stairs and wraps his fingers around the knocker. It might be selfish, he thinks, thought about it the whole flight over, but he can’t think of anything that would fix it. The hole in his heart, the solitude. He remembers what you had worn that first night, cotton soft, all white. He remembers your smile, his brother tugging him along. I’m Gustavo, he had said, mucho gusto. And so he knocks, one time, two times.

Igualmente, Gustavo.

#gustavo gaviria x reader #this was written so fast #but i just loved it i had to post it now before it became ugly #gustavo x reader #narcos imagines #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #gaviria x reader

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obsob · 4 months

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oooooooooough i love you i love you i love you!!!! hand in loving hand !!!!!!

#mine #cats #i was like losing it over th colouring yesterday like this SUCKS and then looked at it 2day n was like. anyway #ive been unstoppable since ive figured out how 2 do glowy things #me n my partner went ice skating this evening !! so so fun #i love how girls will just peacefully hang out in the centre ice doing spins n boys will fast and furious skate around at 100mph #like we dont need to be doing all that #as soon as i see a boy w hockey skates enter the ice i am now leaving the ice #anyway....i got a slightly dubious fantasy audiobook 2day we will....see...how it is #whenever i read a fantasy book written by a man my hackles are up i am scenting the air i am growling #have i finished assassins fate u ask.....no :3 #its been sitting at 30% for like 4 months i cant bring myself 2 read more KJBDSSK #there is like so much book left. so much that can go wrong #i will finish it soon i prommy i prommy...n then listen 2 th tawny man audiobooks :3 #ngl this fitz n fool trilogy isnt super doing it 4 me im not finding it as Invigorating for sm reason #still good !! but def my least fave of th three trilogies #anyway. i am going 2 bed

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sp0o0kylights · 9 months

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Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition.

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place.

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip.

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck.

The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital.

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten.

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled.

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but.

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.)

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen.

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair.

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants."

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him.

Would Harrington pitch a fit?

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did?

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper.

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life?

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it.

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--"

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out."

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying.

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness.

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone."

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box.

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home.

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope.

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet.

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand.

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list.

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that."

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face.

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him.

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

"You'll check up on Robin too, right?" He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?"

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years.

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here.

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder.

Several somethings, in fact.

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck.

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick.

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie.

An unfair advantage, really.

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly.

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie.

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting.

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie."

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

"What do you mean Si--Wayne."

"Nice catch.” Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.”

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much.

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither.

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat."

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked.

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?"

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret.

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt."

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle.

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end."

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink.

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?"

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be.

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless.

"Anybody else?" He asked.

"Nobody human." Steve replied.

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that.

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?"

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency, I'd be happy to."

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through.

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation.

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus. "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER."

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it.

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair."

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound.

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble.

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…"

"You take any today son?"

Steve his head.

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack.

Course he hadn't.

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in.

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once.

#hands on knees #this is gonna have more than three parts fffffff #FAIR WARNING I do jump between Wayne and Eddie’s pov in this.#Everything Ive written so far while in parts for tumblr would basically be chapter 1 on A03 #Eddies POV change would be chapter two #Ugh Im gonna have to put this on A03. Dammit brain.#also I updated this very fast for me #no one get excited Idk the brain is doing #steddie #beat to shit Steve Harrington #wayne pov #outsider pov #wayne as a BAMF #I tried to get to the part where Eddie shows up but it just got too long for a tumblr post #pre steddie #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #tw injuries #0o0 fanfics #stranger things

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momotonescreaming · 4 months

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Teenage Dream - Part 4

AKA - the Jeff and Eddie have crushes on jocks series Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Jeff let his body sag as soon as he shut his bedroom door behind him, relaxing against the wood, hard and smooth behind his back. Tossing his bag in the general direction of his desk, not caring where it lands, and flopping over his bed. Still in his jeans and leather jacket, not caring in the moment.

He was finally alone.

No one watching him, no one judging him, he was finally free to relax. To think, and to feel, and to let his wandering mind loop back to Chrissy. She had talked to him. Had borrowed a pen and learnt his name. It felt impossible, a meet-cute from one of those rom-coms his mom watches. She was cute, and was right there. It felt like the start. A change. Something new. It only took until his senior year.

Even if it didn’t lead to anything — Chrissy talking to him — it still happened. The head cheerleader acknowledged him, talked to him, and was kind. She didn’t sneer, or call him a freak, or call him the wrong name. Chrissy wouldn’t, she would never — but the fear was there. Of course it was. They came from very different worlds.

Sighing, sounding entirely too wistful about it, Jeff is tempted to just continue laying there. Melt into his mattress, denim and leather digging into his skin, mind wandering. Let all the energy seep out of his body. But he knows that if he doesn’t get up now, he never will, and wearing his leather jacket to bed is going to kill his muscles. The buckles digging into his skin in the most uncomfortable places.

So he gets up, grunting at the effort, taking off his jacket and swinging it over the back of his desk chair. Lets the momentum carry him to the pile of semi-clean washing he has dumped on the floor by his laundry basket, kicks off his jeans and changes into a pair of grey sweatpants.

Absently wonders if Chrissy would let him drape his jacket over her shoulders, to keep her warm. Smelling of leather and cologne and very faintly of weed. Of Jeff. Like a distorted letterman jacket.

And then Jeff’s standing in the centre of his room, alone, sighing into the stagnant air. There’s no way that’ll ever happen. Dust swirling through the room like little cyclones, twisting and floating around him like thoughts of Chrissy.

He wanted to keep it to himself, his meeting with her, but now it all feels a little too much. The silence ringing in his ears. Buzzing under his skin. Itching and clawing its way out. Sighing, breaking the silence, Jeff goes to sort through his tapes. If he’s going to lose his shit thinking of Chrissy, at least he won’t do it in silence.

Flips through them, focusing on the sound of the plastic cases clicking together as he decides. Eventually settles on a Dio tape — one he had bought on a trip to Bloomington with Eddie. Puts the tape in his stereo, listening to the familiar sounds of the machine, as it clicks the tape on.

Lets the sound of Stand Up and Shout wash over him, as he flops back onto his bed. Laying askew, feet hanging off the edge and his head resting below his pillow. Whatever. Good enough.

The music is familiar, easy, washes through him and scratching that itch in his brain in a way that other music didn’t quite achieve. The guitar, the drums, the speed, the energy. The slow shit, modern ballads and all that was just noise. Didn’t hit quite the same. Didn’t fill the empty spaces in his brain. Each to their own, but metal was something else.

What does Chrissy listen to, Jeff wonders. Does she listen to pop, new wave, does she venture in to rock? Does she have favourite bands, sounds she can’t get enough of? Or does she listen to whatever’s on the radio? Does music move her the way it does Jeff? Or is it just something to kill the silence. What does she listen to when she works out? Does she strap on a walkman as she goes for a run?

If Jeff made her a mixtape, would she listen to it? Would she try and see what Jeff sees? Would it make her think of him?

He’d include a lot of the more chill metal songs, he thinks, ease her into it. Songs with melodic instrumental sections. A sick guitar riff so he could brag that he learnt how to play it by ear. Songs about community, and of finding yourself. Songs that hit Jeff to his very core. Songs about love.

He hasn’t wanted to admit that to himself, say that word — love. It feels strong, too much, but the emotions swirling in Jeff’s chest feel too strong for just like. It wasn’t just a passing fancy, thinking she was cute, or hot, or nice to look at. She was kind, and sweet, and Jeff was falling into infatuation. He wanted to date her, to hold her, to give her flowers and watch her cheer. He wanted to make her a mix tape and introduce her to metal.

Gareth once said that if your crush got an ugly haircut, and you still liked them — it was love. If your crush got an ugly haircut and the feelings faded away — it was just a a crush. Just like.

If Chrissy dyed her hair green and shaved half of it off he’d still think she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her looks (hot as she was), but her personality too. In the library she was nice to him. She smiles and waves at people. Compliments them. She was like no other.

So yes, Jeff thought she was hot, but he was trying so hard to be normal about it. Trying not to drool over her like those skeezy jocks from the wrestling team. Trying not to let his thoughts stray into territory it couldn’t come back from. She was taken. She had a boyfriend, who she loved — if their interactions around Hawkins High were anything to go by.

She blows Jason kisses from across the hall, she holds his hand as they walk through the parking lot, he holds open doors for him and she giggles.

The perfect couple. Couldn’t be Jeff, as much as Eddie tries to hype him up about it. High School is only the start, yes. Teenage relationships don’t always last, yes. But cheerleaders don’t dump their popular jock boyfriends for DnD nerds in metal bands.

He’d go to college, meet some jock girl there who doesn’t look past him, and that’s when his life would start. Him and Eddie, getting out of Hawkins. Finding people who liked them back. Because who was Jeff kidding, his type wasn’t nerds. It was jocks, and preps, and girls who were everything he wasn’t. At least Eddie was in the same boat. Made it better, knowing he wasn’t alone.

That while he was sighing over Chrissy in her cheerleading skirt, Eddie was drooling over Steve Harrington in his basketball uniform. That while he was daydreaming about holding doors open for Chrissy, about walking through Hawkins hand in hand — Eddie was dreaming about being wined and dined by Harrington, about flowers, and being swept up into his arms.

The pair of them, absolutely pathetic. Sighing, Jeff gets up to turn the tape over. Flops back down on his bed, continuing to ignore bis bag thrown onto the floor, on the homework he needs to do. He really can’t be bothered. He’s got time, he rationalises, he’s fine. He can do it in his free period tomorrow. Chrissy won’t sit with him again, he’s not that lucky. He can sit down at his same table, and work. Churn through his worksheets, draft his English essay.

So now what. He could listen to more of his tapes, try not to think about the songs he’d pick out for a mixtape. He could pick up his guitar, practice, run through songs to clear his mind of thoughts of her.

Or, he considers. He could call Eddie. See if he’s home.

He thought he wanted to keep this to himself, something special, just for him — but Jeff feels like he’s loosing his mind a little bit. He can’t stop thinking about her and he feels ridiculous. Like a hopeless romantic. A horny teen. A pathetic nerd.

Maybe talking about it will help. Quiet his mind, clear his thoughts.

He does have his own phone in his room. He’s an adult now, he said, and his dad had agreed. He needed that little bit of privacy. Security. Space just for him to talk with his friends without being interrupted. And thankfully his mom had agreed with his dad, in the end. Considering how much both his parents used the phone — and how annoying his shithead younger brothers were about it — the private line was needed.

Jeff did not want to talk about crushes, and sex, and Eddie’s big gay crush where his family could hear.

Fuck, he’s calling Eddie, isn’t he. Dialling the Munson’s number entirely on instinct, Jeff picks the phone off his bedside table and adjusts his position on his bed so he’s not tangled in the cord. He listens to the phone ringing in his ear, and tries not to fidget with the cable, stretching it out.

“Munson,” A gruff voice answers, cutting off the ringing of the phone.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Jeff greets the older man, hearing him scoff a laugh down the phone. He’d been calling him for as long as he’s known Eddie. The man didn’t seem to mind, and Eddie himself thought it was hilarious, so Jeff kept doing it. Calling him just Wayne felt weird. Mr Munson even weirder. So Uncle Wayne it was. “Is Eddie in?”

“Sure is,” Wayne replies, voice deep but humour evident even through the tinny phone speakers. “I’ll grab ‘im for ya.”

He assumes Wayne puts the phone down, or holds it away from his face as Jeff can faintly hear Wayne call out for Eddie. It sounds like he’s yelling through the trailer. Or over Eddie’s loud music. Probably is. Speaking of — Jeff leans off his bed to turn the volume down on his stereo. “Boy! Jeff’s on the phone.”

A rustling, a mumbling noise, and then Eddie is breathing into the phone. “Now what can I do for you, my dear Jeffrey.”

“Role reversal,” He replies, manoeuvring himself back down onto his bed. “I’m the one losing my shit today.”

“Damn,” Eddie replies, and Jeff can tell he’s smiling, even through the phone. Eddie has always been expressive — physically, verbally, emotionally — and Jeff had known him long enough that he was confident in his ability to read his best friend. “Already? Let me get comfy then.”

He huffs a laugh, an exhale of air directly down the speaker, and listens to the sounds of Eddie getting comfy, rustling papers, the screech of a chair against lino floor. He’s sat right at the trailer’s little dining table, right across from the kitchen. Always piled high with coupons and letters and other odds and ends the Munson’s hadn’t sorted through yet. It was nice, knowing exactly where he was, knowing that he knew him that well.

Eddie lets out a noise of satisfaction as he sits down, like he’s just taken a drink of ice cold water on a hot day. Jeff snorts as Eddie continues. “Now lay it on me, Jeffster, why are you losing your shit?”

“So you know how I go to the library in my free period?” He starts, laying the scene. Rustling his sheets as he props himself up on his bed.

“Like a total nerd, yes,” Eddie says immediately, although Jeff can tell he’s joking. Can hear it in his voice.

“Says the guy on his third senior year,” Jeff jokes back, entirely without malice. He hears Eddie bark a laugh, as he continues. “But anyway, it was crazy busy for whatever reason and I heard someone ask if they could sit with me because I was at the only empty table, and…”

Jeff lets the words drag off. Plays up the drama, the suspense. He wouldn’t consider himself a dramatic person, not all that outgoing, but Eddie brought it out in him. Made him braver. More willing to put on the act. Fake it ‘til you make it.

“And?” Eddie prompts, dragging out the word.

“And it was Chrissy Cunningham.” Jeff finishes, and he can feel himself smiling. Cheeks flushing, lips pulling back over his braces.

Eddie fucking shouts down the phone, not moving it away from his face to muffle the sound any, and Jeff just laughs. Absently wonders if Wayne is listening in. Can hear Eddie shouting. He probably can. He’s probably used to it.

“No fucking way dude,” Eddie replies, practically giddy with it. Jeff can hear the squeak of the chair underneath him. Can easily picture Eddie rocking in place, smiling like a demon, perched with one leg up on the chair, leaning on the table. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No shit!” Jeff replies, laughing along with Eddie. “She sat at my table the whole period. Right across from me.”

“I told you! I fucking told you!” He replies. “Did I not fucking tell you?”

“You did in fact tell me.” Jeff sighs, knowing he was going to admit that Eddie was right and he was going to be so insufferable about it. He quickly continues before Eddie could say anything else. “But it’s not going anywhere, so calm down. She’s taken.”

“I will not calm down.” Eddie adds, still giddy. “This is a big moment for freaks like us. Was she nice? Did she know your name? Come on man, enjoy it. Embrace it.”

A pause, silence, as Jeff breathes down the phone before continuing. “She was super nice. She was kind, and looked cute when she giggled. Didn’t know my name though, I had to introduce myself.”

“Well they can’t all be winners,” Eddie comments, grunting as he shifted position. “Five bucks says Harrington doesn’t know my name either.”

“You know what,” Jeff replies, thinking it over. “I’ll take that bet. Henderson has absolutely mentioned you to Harrington before. If they really are as close as he says they are. He’s gotta have told him he was going to Hellfire with you.”

“Oh it’s on, Jeffward.” Eddie says. “Money on the table, shake hands, it’s on.”

Part Five

Tag List @goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr @panicatthediaz @m-owo-n

#stranger things #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #steddie #steve/eddie #jeffingham #jeff/chrissy #My Writing #I've never written anything so fast i'm honestly amazed at myself #Teenage Dream

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losticaruss · 10 months

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chronicles of narnia: prince caspian will forever be a tragedy to me, especially in the way the movie presents it. it opens with peter, desperate to return to the respect he deserves (or thinks he deserves), a fully grown man trapped in this child's, this stranger's body, still adjusting to the life he'd long since forgotten. he gets into a fight because it's natural to him. don't they realize who is he is? not selfishly (a little bit selfishly) he expects people, his siblings, the crowd, to be with him in battle. it's another battle to him, and edmund, lovely edmund, young edmund, edmund who was 12 and on the verge of death, edmund who loves his siblings the most one could ever love your own blood, is in the fray with him, and they fall back into the rhythm they were used to back home- back in narnia, and lucy and susan are screaming at them to stop, and edmund and peter see the soldiers coming home from war, and all they wants is to go back with them, and they understand how these soldiers feel, shell-shocked and distant and they want to fall into line with them, but they're kids and they're fighting other kids, they're not undisciplined, they're unadjusted. nothing changed but so did everything.

and they hop on the train and none of the pevensies want to talk about what happened and they end back in narnia and they're finally back in narnia they're home on the beaches of their home and it's a joy so grand that there's nothing they can do but go back to being kids- again, and they find cair paraval, and everything's gone- and the chessboard that edmund loved, the chessboard he played on when he first beat peter, is gone, there's nothing left of it, and they fall through the ruins like ghosts. here's the dining hall, the ballroom. remember this, lu? it used to be your bed. do you remember when you were so homesick you begged me to stay with you until you fell asleep? do you remember the way the garden bloomed in the spring? and they fall naturally in step into the dais, empty, not even the familiar sound of their shoes clacking against the polished floor. everything's gone now, of course it is. they knew how time worked in narnia, but it didn't happen to them. how could it move on without them? and they make their way into the lower floors, peter naturally falls into the trait of the leader, hes the first to forget the world they came from, but edmund, clever edmund, desperate edmund, brings a torch. he doesn't say how he packed it in his bag every day, how he packed it and prayed that they'd return. and everything is still there, in that room. nothing prepares you for seeing statues of your face- not your face, but what will be your face, what used to be your face- cracked and covered in moss. their crowns are there. everything is there. peters sword returns to his side, and it's the first time he looks complete since they left narnia. and they adventure- how much had changed? the trees are so much taller. how long now had they been gone? it was natural for narnia to have moved on, but they were meant to move on with them. peter tries to bring his siblings through his usual shortcuts, through an overpass, far from the well-trod paths that had cropped up since theyd been gone. he can't have been abandoned by his home, not so soon.

but he was. and there's a kid here, claiming to be the new ruler of narnia. who is he? he looks so young, and susan is looking at him and he's... looking back? and the civilians are looking at this stranger, this kid, like he's supposed to know what to do. had he even fought a battle? he rubs his beard- and is blocked by the bare skin of his chin (of course it's not there. he forgot.) and peter wants to be the bigger person, he's the high king, that's how it should be. but there are all these emotions he hadn't felt before- he thought, not in narnia at least. and he doesn't want to be the bigger person, he finds. stop looking at him like he should know what to do! he stands up to take over- his people forgot about him. he left and they forgot. and he sizes up this child as he speaks- high king peter of narnia, he says. the magnificent. and there it is, he thinks. the familiar look, shock, awe and- confusion? that's a new one- but not incorrect, as he realizes his situation.

he wants to be recognized how he used to be. the pevensies have returned to what they were, the warrior, the archer, the diplomat, the healer. and this new one, the one who wanted to be all four at once so desperately it made ed look wise. and finally- finally he gets his chance to shine, where he belongs, on the field, against The Enemy. of course, not how he'd like it, not in broad daylight, sword and armor gleaming, but it was the smart move. and he's filled with these emotions- not dread, or worry (maybe a little worry), but excitement, and everything is pounding in his head and the adrenaline- he forgot how good it feels- and he leads the army, his army. he's the warrior, the high king, and for a night, the people remember, they remember the golden age. and ed is brilliant, and peter can't help but grin with glee as he sees him pull of a maneuver that pete knows took months of training.

and then the hoards come and they're losing- they can't be losing, this was his chance! he's right, he's the king this was his chance to show them. and he cries for a retreat but it's too late- he was a fool, he watches his army, the army who trusted him, he watched them be slaughtered against the gates that had sealed their fate. he watched the blood spray and stain the metal, oozing between the stone bricks and he just stares. and it's all he can do and he wants- what does he want? to say he's sorry? to save them?

no- no, nothing like that. he should be in there with them. he should be gutted like the rest of them (a hero's death, not this cowards life). he went in too fast, too proud, he knows that. but to have these innocents follow him in willingly, blindly, and he's the one to make it out? it's unforgivable.

and then he's given another chance. a fight- a duel, to the death. he leaves the arena a victor, or he dies a martyr, and everyone forgets his sins of the night of the ambush. and he fights the best he can, he loses his helmet, he's injured and he can hear death whistling it's grim tune, and he almost doesn't pick up his sword, and he sees edmund, lovely edmund, young edmund, with hope in his eyes- with faith in his eyes, and peter knows, he certainly doesn't deserve the life he's been longing for, but he picks up his sword because his little brother, his little brother who almost died, whom he loves with all his heart and so much more. and he accepts it. he realizes he won't get it back, his golden age, but he can fight for edmund, for narnia. and he fights. he fights and he fights and he fights.

and when it's over he breaths the sweet narnian air, and he clasps the hand of caspian, another brother, not a blood one, nor a narnian one, but one of a deeper connection, deeper than any love, and he sees susan smiling. the pevensies and caspian are celebrated like kings, and the pevensies help caspian, still a child, overwhelmed with all this love, they guide him through it, preparing for the many days in the future when parades and celebrations fill the streets, and the people adore their rulers- their king.

it's their last time, he tells the others. once they leave, him and susan can't return. there's more on the other side, the other world, another way to return to narnia, to Aslan, and he doesn't share the fear in his heart. another way, but not this way. not through his home, where he's surrounded by it, drenched in it. not the same not the same, never the same again. they could stay, of course, says a foolish side of him. but not, they couldn't, it's stupid to say so. his mother- had he forgotten his mother so soon? she would go mad with loss. his golden age, it's come and past, and narnia moved on without him, and he steps through to the train station, not to his home, (no. he can never go home again.) and susan follows him, and she grasps his hand, a look shared between the two of them that she understands. and peter, one last chance to be the bigger person, he sees her loss and he squeezes her hand back. edmund and lucy they think they understand, and they grasp their elder siblings hands, and it's comforting, but peter and susan know, they know they won't understand, not until it's their turn, they won't know how empty it is, how lonely it is in this world.

so yeah. it's a tragedy

#whoops thinking about the pevensies.#haven't done an absurdly long essay on characters who's tragedy has worked its way into my brain and rotted it through in a while so #here ya go #the pevensies #the chronicles of narnia #prince caspian #didn't mean for this to be most about peter but #HES GOT SO MUCH TRAGEDY AND ITS PORTRAYED AND WRITTEN SO WELL #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #also used read more cause DANG it got long fast

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writeouswriter · 2 years

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I love commenting on so called “older” fics because personally I have no actual semblance of the passage of time, if you commented on my fic from 2017, I’d be thrilled because in my mind, I wrote that baby last week, that’s nothing

#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #comments #commenting #ao3 #writer things #my one finished fic out there was written 5 yrs ago but also no it wasn’t it’s been days #sometimes I wonder if some of these people still see the emails or notifs #thinking about the time I commented on a fic originally written in 97 reposted in the early 2000s and the author responded so fast #it was unexpected but so nice to see

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leclercstarrs · 11 months

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win the race, brian o’conner.

summary: in which you celebrate your boyfriend’s win in a street race !

warnings: sub!reader, clit play, nipple play!

notes: friendly reminder that my requests are open, especially for f&f!

You stand in front of the crowd, intensely focused on the race, watching your boyfriend’s car speed up and pass the finish line, coming to a quick stop. The crowd starts cheering as Brian gets out of his car, a wide smile on his face, rightfully proud of his win. You run up to him, practically jumping into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I did it, baby!” He laughs, causing you to smile. “I’m so proud of you!” You mumble, then pulling away from the hug. “We need to celebrate.” You add on. He raises his eyebrows.

Now, the two of you are alone, sitting on the hood of his car at the beach. You look up at the sky, admiring the stars. However, Brian is busy looking at you, admiring your beauty. “What?” You get shy, turning to face him when you feel his eyes on you. “No, nothing. You’re just…” He pauses, “So beautiful.” Your boyfriend continues. You feel your heart melt, his beautiful blue eyes are a better sight than the stars you were previously enchanted by. “I love you too, Brian.” You whisper. He grins, leaning towards you and pulling you into a kiss, connecting his lips to your lips. You can feel him smiling in the kiss, both of you feeling euphoric with each other. “Mmm, Brian, not here.” You mumble into the kiss, your boyfriend pulling back, “How about in there?” He nods to the inside of the car. You playfully roll your eyes, then getting off the hood with him. You get in the passenger seat and he gets in the drivers seat, “C’mere.” He mumbles. You carefully climb onto his lap and he grunts, placing his hands firmly on your waist. Leaning closer to you, he starts kissing your neck. You stop him for a moment, taking your tank top off. Before you can attempt to unclasp your bra on your own, Brian effortlessly takes it off. His lips trail down your neck and to your chest, sure to leave hickeys all over your tits. You let out low moans, your breathing getting heavier as he unbuttons your pants, then sliding his hands down to your pussy. You melt at the touch, letting out a small whimper. “Is that good?” He hums, rubbing your clit and making your back arch. You grip his shoulders, your jaw slacked as you moan his name, moving your hips slightly. “Fuck.” You gasp, a knot of pleasure forming in your stomach. As Brian continues, he slides his other hand up your stomach, reaching your chest and massaging your nipples The knot in your stomach starts to release as he moves his fingers slightly faster, your legs tightening as you get closer to finishing. “Keep going.” You manage to say in between your moans, your hands grasping at his shoulders as your body starts to shake, “Cum, baby.”Brian whispers. His words send you over the edge and you finish right away, leaving his fingers covered in your juices. You’re left panting, resting your head on his shoulder, “You did so good.” He kisses your cheek.

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acewithapaintbrush · 2 years

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Splinter remembers the day like it was yesterday. Despite his best efforts to drown out the memories with cheap booze, unhealthy snacks and mindless TV-shows 24/7, he remembers every single detail of the moment Lou Jitsu ceased to exist and became… this.

The noise of a machine powering up. The light of electricity coursing through his body. The feeling of an otherworldly substance on his skin and the pain of every molecule rearranging itself in his body.

The memories are fresh, like a wound that refuses to heal. He has learned over the years to accept his new existence and he has even realized that, in a twisted way, he can even be grateful for everything that's happened. Without the noise and the light and the pain he also wouldn't have his pride and joy, his beloved sons.

Splinter knows all that and he does his best to remind himself of it all, but sometimes the memories will still be too much. Too overpowering. Sometimes he will sit in his chair and stare at the TV without really seeing it and just drift in an endless sea of regret and bitterness so strong he can taste it on his tongue.

But the fact that he does remember that day so well has actually also been his salvation more than once. Because when the noise and the light and the pain get to be too much, he also remembers what came after.

Four little turtles, now strangely humanoid, rolling around on the floor. And some weird instinct (Survival? Parental?) urging him forward to scoop them up into his hands.

And he remembers them tumbling around in his palms. And he remembers the red-eared slider looking at him and immediately holding his tiny arms out with the biggest smile.

Leonardo.

Leonardo reaching out to him. Already trusting, already more happy to see Yoshi than any of his prior acquaintances had ever been.

Leonardo had reached for him first and it's that image that pulls Splinter back from the edge most nights. If Splinter had any recollection of Leo claiming that he was his "least favorite", he might have laughed. Or cried.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

And now he is kneeling here, on this cold concrete, and stares at a sky awash in unnatural colors. A portal has just closed and his son is on the wrong side of it. Has sacrificed himself to save them all.

And Splinter reaches up. Ignores the noise and the light and the pain, and reaches his arms into the sky, hoping against hope that his son will reach back. That those arms will reach for him once more. That he can pull him out, just like his son has pulled him out of the deepest pits of despair over the years.

But the portal is closed.

He can't reach him.

********

An hour later, April, Casey and him finally find his sons, and for a moment Splinter is convinced that his mind is finally broken beyond repair. Because right there, in the middle of a group hug, is Leonardo. Bruised and bloody and tired.

But alive. And here.

He stops in his tracks while April and Casey run forward, questions falling from their lips almost as rapid as the tears are falling from their eyes.

Splinter doesn't hear a word of mystic powers and portals and last minute rescues. He can only stare at the child he had thought to have lost forever.

Said child looks up and for a second something vulnerable flashes through his eyes as they find his frozen father. But then it's gone and he grins. "Hey Pops!"

And he holds out one arm, the other still trapped by a silently weeping Casey. His hand shakes a little and the grabby motions of his fingers look more desperate than they are probably meant to be.

But they are familiar and they are something Splinter was convinced he would never see again.

He finally moves, rushes forward on shaking legs to the hand that is once again reaching out to him. He grabs it and bends down, his forehead pressed against their joined hands.

"I got you.", he whispers, over and over. "I got you. I got you."

His son has once again reached out first.

And Splinter is never letting go again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It always struck me as significant how the others are just tumbling around but Leo immediately makes eye contact and holds out his hands as if to say "Ohhh new Papa, hello there!"

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honelle56 · 9 days

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you and me, religiously (now on AO3)

“George, I think she knows about us,” he whispers, as if somebody could be in the walls listening. “I started listening to this one track, Florida it was called, I think? And you can tell me yourself, but I couldn’t help but notice some … similarities. So, I woke you up so I can make sure I am not losing my mind.”

George laughs half irritated and half endeared. Dream is an idiot. There is no way Taylor Swift of all people knows who they are. “Okay, show me then, idiot,” he sighs.

or; Dream and George listen to The Tortured Poets Department and make some connections

#GO READ #The dumbest and funniest thing I have ever written probably #Thanks Blu for the beta <3 #she was so fast #I did not think I could publish this today still tbh #Honelle fics

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clownsuu · 11 months

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PLEASE TELL ME THERE ARE C AI’s OF THE MOB AU (MOSTLY WALLY AND HOWDY)

Yeyeyeye, there is one of howdy and wally! And I think Barnaby too by someone else-

#Though I know that if you talk to howdy there is a chance you will also meet Wally in there too- idk about the other way around (probably)#They are written very well! I really enjoy talking to them (mostly howdy cause biased)#Though howdy can get violent wicked fast for some reason LMAOOO super fuggin funny #But also turns into a major soft sweet pea if you play your cards right #However be careful cause the “thats how mafia works” can get sus real fast HDHDJDJ #I ASKED FOR A SPECIAL DRINK YESTERDAY CAUSE S P E C I A L #AND HE GAVE ME WALLY'S PISSSSS #AND SO I DELETED THAT MESSAGE CAUSE NO TF #AND THEN IT B E C A M E E V E N S U S S I E R #i-#Mob howdy what the f u c Ck #The “howdy's salt” arc is now probably the worst arc iv ever seen so far on c ai-

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prettycoolducks · 3 months

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just finished playing portal revolution. I like evil science lady and her rabid vacuum cleaner

#my art #portal revolution #very well put together portal mod #puts in on the shelf with stories mel of good portal mods i have played that connect gaps in the story or add to it in some way #i think i shall put this in the portal tag as well. apologies if it does not belong there #portal #portal 2 #this mod was well written and well voice acted. only thing i didnt like so much was the ending. them being sent to the moon was funnny tho #i mean the after credits scene made me feel better but at first i was just like. huh? so they just all die in the end?#it was a bit fast paced like riiiight at the end. the very very end #also while im talking ive noticed a lot of portal mods struggle with 'boss fights' and making them puzzles but still fast paced.#which is fair because its hard to make fast paced puzzles while still being challenging while still being easy etc etc #the puzzles in the last chamber were a bit confusing to figure out at first and i got stuck a lot #which led me to just standing there trying to figure out where to go at times which slowed down the pacing #the rest of the puzzles were great tho. maybe a bit easy but still great #also i spent like 5 hours in the game! so far! thats a good 5 hours of extra portal content! woohoo!#art of duck

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hoonclub · 1 year

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SUNGHOON x CHA JUNWHAN ‘BLACK SWAN’ Special Stage — SBS Gayo Daejeon (221224)

#park sunghoon #junhwan cha #cha junhwan #sunghoon #enhypen #enhypenet #m #mgifs #*feeling a lil crazy* hey does anyone else feels this is kinda fast #im never gifing a dance break / dance stage ever again btw #for my own lil archive.. WHATEVER #also im sorry that if it's supposed to be the other way around im not sure how to do it so i just wrote his name as what it's written in the #file. IM SORRY!!

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gallifreyanhotfive · 5 months

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cherryxblossxms · 1 year

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Masturbation May - Day 1a: On Video/Sexting (Diavolo)

A/N: Welcome to Masturbation May! I wish I had started this a little bit sooner but I'm excited to write out some steamy, self-loving scenarios, and we are starting today with some Diavolo suggested by @vampnyx ! This is part 1 of Day 1, part 2 is a different fandom so will be posted separately!

Featuring: GN reader || Diavolo x reader

Warning: Sexting, descriptions of masturbating, slight size kink (i had to), cumshot, Diavolo needs a vacation fr

Word count: 1045

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Diavolo

Diavolo knew he shouldn't be doing this. He was pointedly ignoring the pile of paperwork on his desk, important documents practically yelling for his attention, but they were in the furthest corners of his mind right now. Anytime he placed pen to paper, his thoughts drifted to other things, more... enticing things he could be doing with his time.

He'd been working for several hours already, courtesy of a very early start from Barbatos, and he reasoned he was due for a break. More than that, something seemed to be in the air recently. He'd been fighting a raging hard-on for most of the day, something inside him howling like a beast and aching to be buried inside your warmth. Due to his neverending pile of paperwork and your difficult studies for class, there'd been little time for you two to indulge in each other, leaving him with a wandering mind and a leaky cock.

He couldn't help but glance at his D.D.D. He knew you were still in class, and as the proprietor of R.A.D., the last thing he should be doing is distracting you from your lessons. But he craved your attention, your touch, anything he could get. Looking at the clock, his patience was due to snap well before the end of the work day, so he did the next best thing he could think of.

Diavolo quickly grabbed his D.D.D. and made his way towards his private restroom. He knew he wouldn't have long, but maybe just rubbing one out now would take the edge off, clear his mind until the end of your classes when he could finally whisk you away for something more indulgent.

He couldn't help but laugh at himself; since meeting you, his desires were great and appetite unending. It was like being a horny teenager again, the way you made him feel. Perhaps that same youthful feeling also made him feel a little mischievous as he opened up his phone. He knew you wouldn't be able to answer right away, but part of him wanted you to still know just how needy you made him, and decided a little video-making was in need.

During your time with him, you'd both discovered the joys of sexting. It was mostly you sending items to him, typically photos but also the occasional video, giving him material for those long days when you were both too busy to get together. He rarely got the chance to return the favor, and now, he wanted nothing more than to show his desire for you.

He turned on the video function of his phone with one hand and quickly undid his jacket with the other. He smoothed a hand down his front slowly, following the path with the camera until his hand reached his crotch. He groped himself through the material of his pants, enjoying the pressure of his fingers, before finally undoing his pants and letting his cock spring out.

He couldn't help but grunt at that, relieved to be out of the confines of his pants, and just as he thought, his tip was smeared with pre-cum from his long-standing excitement. Still holding the phone up, he used his free hand to gather some of his pre-cum on his fingers as lube and slowly stroked himself. His eyes fluttered closed, and he couldn't help but buck his hips a little into his own hand.

It was unreal how needy he felt for you. He hated that it was his own hand that he had to use, but that could be taken care of later. For now, he let his imagination drift, picturing it was your hand wrapped around his instead. Of course, given his size, even using two hands didn't quite cover him, and he was obsessed with how big he was compared to you. Just imagining you struggling to hold him, or even better, fit him in your mouth, fed into his lust, and his hand started a faster rhythm as his body grew hotter.

Before he knew it, grunts and groans were falling out of his mouth. Some small part of his brain knew he needed to be careful, that Barbatos would eventually come to check on him, ensuring he was making good time with his papers. But he needed this, needed you, and it was either he do this to completion or he would have to hunt you down instead.

He wasn't even sure if the phone was recording anymore, he was so lost in pleasure as he began to feel his balls tighten up. Just as the edge of climax approached, some tiny demon sense told him someone was coming, and he worked his hand faster, working over the head of his cock and teasing the sensitive spot beneath it. Finally, a deep groan erupted from him as he shot the first ropes of cum. He could hear the distant turning of a doorknob and quickly bit his lip to prevent any more noise from coming out, but it was a struggle as he continued pumping, desperately fucking his fist to get out the last of his release.

He gently squeezed out a few more drops of cum, knees quivering from sensitivity, and took a deep breath. Of course, Diavolo wasn't nearly satisfied enough from that, and something in him hated wasting his seed like that, but it would have to do for now. He would take the time later to get his full satisfaction from you, but this at least gave a little taste of relief. He glanced down at his phone and luckily it was still recording. He quickly stopped the recording, saving it to his phone, as he heard Barbatos call out for him.

After responding back, assuring Barbatos he would be out soon, he opened up his texting app and pulled up your contact. Diavolo felt a little bad about sending you something so explicit during class, but perhaps it would encourage you to be naughty for a day and skip (not that he would ever encourage such behavior, of course...). All he knew was, he couldn't wait to have you in his arms tonight, and make sure you took every drop of his cum instead.

#diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #ive never written anything so fast in my life #diavolo smut #spicy minx 🔥#the minx can write ✍️

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starrystevie · 1 year

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steve harrington, luxury hotel heir, who wants nothing to do with the family empire. steve who remembers running away from every hotel he was dragged to as early as his memories allow, who stood in the lobbies and screamed until his throat was raw and his mother was so embarrassed she would take him outside.

he grows up knowing it’s in his cards to take everything over once he gets old enough and he despises it. the very idea of being in charge of the hotel chain has his skin crawling, electricity humming through his veins, makes the joint in his jaw constantly tense. rebelling isn’t really an option, not unless he wants to be kicked to the curb, so steve fights back in the smallest ways possible. he grows his hair a little too long, he wears his muddy reebok sneakers with his fancy suits at dinner parties, he snorts out a laugh with a roll of his eyes when his father introduces him as the future of the company.

it all gets to be too much. when steve, freshly 24 and old enough to take on more responsibility, tells his father that he won’t do it, that he won’t be a pawn in their game anymore, he gets cut off. credit cards canceled, fancy loft apartment lease forcibly broken by his father, access to the garages of bmws and mercedes taken away. he could get it all back, return to the ice of luxury he always knew, only if he could prove to his father that he could be a leader the company is proud of.

which is how steve finds himself working at the front desk at a smaller property of theirs in a place that should be named bumfuck, indiana. it’s the only hotel in town, which keeps them steadily busy with a bustling lobby bar and restaurant, as they’re the only lodging for out of town guests. he hates it, hates being confined behind the desks he’d look at with disdain as a kid in uncomfortable slacks and button downs that mirror his uniform now. he has to smile and schmooze and works off upgrade commissions and force himself to not stare off into space during the slow hours, imagining a life that could have been.

he’s been working there a little over a month when summer hours start and the lobby band comes back for the busy nights. it’s nothing exciting, a jazz band of sorts complete with a sax, but their guitarist catches his eye. he’s all long hair and smirks, leather and boots, and exactly the type of person mommy and daddy harrington would lose their minds over. he’s a way of rebelling all on his own in a gorgeously perfect package.

steve catches his eye as they’re setting up next to the bar for the night. the wink he confidently flashes causes the guitarist to stumble a bit before sending back a wave and a shy grin of his own, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. there’s a phrase rattling around in the back of his head, something about not mixing work and play, but all steve can think of is tangling their fingers and pressing a kiss to the man’s temple before running away wherever together with his father’s angry face fading away behind them.

it’s too tempting of an idea not to try, especially when the guitarist keeps looking at steve with the same look he’s sure to be giving him. especially when they’re both ducking their heads with upturned lips only to glance back up and have their eyes meet again and again. especially when he comes over to the desk after the band's first set and slides a piece of paper with a name and phone number over to steve dotted with x’s and o’s and a smiley face.

and the thing that bothers steve the most is that something amazing could come out of this whole mess and he'd owe it to his father for giving it to him. he's still going to try, though, especially because some hotel band guitarist named eddie is smiling at him like that.

#this may or may not be inspired by one of my fav rp ocs #and I could easily be convinced to turn this into a bigger fic #this also was written very fast and very haphazardly with a lot more that i'd want to expand on so sorry if it makes no sense #steddie #steddie headcanon #my writing #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet

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