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pseudowho · 5 months

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The Accumulation of Little Despairs

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Pure Nanami Kento fluff, written as per request for @nn-hh192 who is needing a bit of love.

As the Reader struggles with low mood, Nanami is on hand with the perfect words and the perfect date.

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Nanami Kento understood how depression could build slowly. At his least resilient, every small insult to his stability of mind was placed on his shoulders like a rock. Before he knew it, he was a broken man.

He watched this accumulation of despairs in you as the winter rolled in. Struggling to make it out of bed in the dark mornings, you missed your train. You had a needless argument with a co-worker. You saw tales of war and genocide, thousands of miles away, and felt so helpless. Your clothes didn't fit the way they used to. You noticed more and more people, homeless and cold on the streets, and there was not enough of you to help.

As you started to see your world through a grey filter, Kento did all he could to love you, to take the pressure off you. You were barely lifting a finger at home, but not needing to because Kento had it all in hand. He tried to talk to you, to encourage you to open up to him, but you were too numbed to engage. He watched as the fiercely independent you, became tired and listless, and it broke his heart.

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You woke, bleary-eyed, to warm kisses on your temple, and the mattress shifting beside you. You smelled Kento's warm morning smell, and buttery pastries and coffee. Nosing your way over to Kento under the covers, he chuckled as your hand reached out, patting around for food.

"We're going out today," he said, sipping his coffee as you groaned, "and you're in no way obliged to smile about it. But I think we'll have a good day."

You groaned again, a noise of pure disagreement. Giving you an affectionate squeeze through the duvet, Kento remained quietly present while you ate and drank.

"Where are we going? Can it wait?" you wheedled. Going out would mean getting dressed and pretending to be fine. You were sure you didn't have it in you.

"It's a surprise," Kento reassured smoothly, patting your bum as you scooted to the bathroom. Soaking in a hot bath, you psyched yourself up for pretending to be enjoying yourself.

Kento was a quiet flurry of activity, you heard outside the bathroom door. He slid soon after into the bathroom, looking everything but his usual neat and trimmed self. He hadn't shaved, dark blond shadows adorning his handsome face. His hair was soft and floppy, unstyled. He wore his oldest black jeans and jumper, comfy boots, and a big black wool overcoat. Puzzled, you raised an eyebrow at him as he held out a towel for you.

"Come on. Time to go." You wrapped yourself up, going to get dressed, the pressure of looking your best significantly lessened by your lover looking so...sloppy. Opting to match his dour palette, you were soon wrapped up, make-up free, warm, and he gripped your hand, pulling you out the door with no arguments.

Kento had set the engine running, warming the car up in advance and you sighed as you climbed in, glasses steaming up, nose red from the cold. You realised with a jolt, seeing the car clock, that it was already early afternoon.

"You left me in bed so long," you chastised Kento softly. He hummed, taking your cold little hands in his and pressing them gently to the warm air vents.

"You seemed to need it. Besides, where we're going, it's more fun when the sun's going down." Car sliding back out of the driveway, Kento's arm stretched round the back of your seat, you blushed, still having such a crush on him despite being together for years. As he drove, he put on a playlist he seemed to have made to match your mood perfectly. A warm coffee cup was pressed into your hands. Your eyes pricked with tears, feeling ungrateful that despite all his best efforts, you still did not feel happy.

Reading you so easily, Kento squeezed your hand, bringing it onto his thigh, stroking your palm. He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke to you, "I'm not under the impression that one lovely day out is going to make all of this go away for you, so don't feel pressured into being cured. I just think you deserve this. I want you and your company even when you're not feeling your best." He reached over, wiping a few small tears from your cheeks as you sniffled, handing you a handkerchief. You laughed, tickled that your love was absolutely the kind of man to carry handkerchiefs.

You parked, walking arm in arm through the cold, boots crunching on old snow, to a busy covered market. Sizzles, shouts, and the delicious smell of street food poured out to you. Nobody was well-dressed. The food looked invitingly homely. Despite your recent breakfast, your stomach rumbled.

Kento surveyed the food stalls, rapping your hand in his against his thigh as he hummed. "I was thinking...a bit of everything.". You laughed, not realising how completely serious he was when he visited a dozen food stalls, one after the other. By the time you had found a table, your arms were laden with food trays and you shared a long meal, talking about everything and nothing, at points stretching out minutes of comfortable silence as you people-watched in each other's company. Full to bursting, Kento warmed considerably, seeing small smiles start to grace your lips, enjoying your eyes twinkling as you teased him. He'd take every tease you gave to see you smile again.

"Ready?" Kento pressed, hand out to you, fingers wiggling.

"For what?"

Kento shook his pocketed hand, which was heavy with jangling change. "Arcades," he whispered, unusually excited, "We used to go all the time at school, but I haven't been since..." he tailed off and you squeezed his hand, knowing that losing Yuu had cut Kento's childhood abruptly to an end. Clapping your hands together, you stood.

"Come on then. You can kill Curses, but how good are you at dancing?"

Kento groaned, feigning reluctance as you dragged him through the backstreets until you reached the sprawling neon lights of a huge arcade, buzzing with teenagers. The sun was going down, your nose pink with cold and excitement; you gazed at the lights, the claw machines, the ra-ta-ta-ta of arcade guns, feeling your heart swell with childish joy. Kento's heart swelled too, eyes soft as he drank in your profile, arcade lights dancing across your glasses lens.

"Can you win me something?" you wheedled to Kento, pressing your hands from one claw machine to the next as you tried to decide which plushie was the cutest.

"Not yet. How do you expect to beat me at Resident Evil if your hands are full?"

You and Kento spent hours playing games, going through multiple pockets of change. You took several shocking first-person shooting game wins, Kento taking his revenge by being a dark-horse on the dance machines, small crowds of teenagers gathering to egg you both on as you became more chaotic together, more sloppy, tapping your feet on each other's pads as you tried to cheat wins from each other. Tears of laughter shone in your eyes as Kento became increasingly frustrated with the janky mechanics of the driving games, so you pulled him away to the claw machines.

Kento felt his manliness on the line, unashamedly competitive as he won you two delightful plushies. Completely sated, you felt your social battery running low. Pulling you close to him with one arm as you walked out of the arcades, Kento rattled his pocket one last time.

"Room for a doughnut?"

"Always. Extra tummy for dessert."

Finding a fresh doughnut stall on your way back to the car, you picked for Kento (a simple glazed ring) and he picked for you (a sweet pink heart, oozing with raspberry jam). Your drive home was warm, smooth, full of comfortable silence. You felt your eyes drift shut, eyelids occasionally glowing with orange as streetlights rolled in and out beyond your vision.

When you arrived home, kicking off your boots together, Kento held your shoulders for a moment, keeping you in the hallway. "Wait here," he urged, "it'll take a few minutes to warm up." Answering your questioning look with a sweet kiss to your forehead, you stripped out of your snowy coat as you heard Kento rattle about in the living room and kitchen.

Taking you by both hands, Kento walked you into the living room.

"A...kotatsu?" The heated table, plush with blankets, sat adorned with two steaming bowls of instant ramen. Pillows piled at the end opposite the television created a mini fort for you to curl up in, a selection of your favourite childhood movies stacked beside the sofa, ready for choosing.

Sniffling with gratitude again, you and Kento slipped into pyjamas, and you sighed with delight as your feet slipped under the heat of the table. Eyeing the love Kento had poured into this, you grasped his cheeks, pulling him in firmly for a kiss, scattering dozens of tiny kisses over his cheeks and eyes.

"Thank you," you pressed. Kento huffed.

"This is the bare minimum you deserve, I promise. Wait until I really get going."

Warm and safe, you realised, snug in Kento's arms, you'd never again have to weather your bad days alone.

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fastlikealambo · 4 months

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burn for you: coriolanus snow x black!fem reader regency au

summary: notorious rake coriolanus snow, duke of districtshire, must marry or face financial ruin. he sets his sights on you, an extremely wealthy woman in your own right and what transpires over one year told in 4 acts will change both their lives.

this is a sample chapter, please interact, comment or reblog if you would like to see the full chapter.

@rosewine-5

@saturnville

Act One: Autumn

Just before the first leaves fell, Crassus Snow, the former Duke of Districtshire, died beneath the warm thighs of a chambermaid, a simple fact that brought joy to His Grace, Coriolanus Snow, his son and the new Duke of Districtshire every single time he thought about it.

The social season had begun and from his rooms in The Corso, he could see that the entire street had begun preparations for The Plinth Ball to open the season. Sejanus would be arriving soon to go over strategy for a successful social event but Coriolanus wasn’t the least bit worried, in fact he was annoyed.

He was a duke now, his name was on several ladies’ dance cards, he had an entire legion of staff and a village at his disposal, the world should have been his for the taking. But with his new title came his father’s old debts and the bastard loved to spend.

His Grace Coriolanus Snow, Duke of Districtshire, was flat fucking broke.

A knock at the door interrupted Coryo’s dream of a new cravat and with the arrival of his grandmother and cousin, his annoyance only grew with whatever Grandma’am was about to pester him with.

“Coryo,I fixed the buttons on your jacket for the ball, pearls from the guest room curtains worked perfectly. I need to see it on you, make sure it fits like it’s supposed to.” Tigris said

Coryo was only happy to oblige as his most beloved cousin moving back in with them after his father died had been the only bright spot in weeks. Slipping into the tailcoat, he looked in the mirror, admiring Tigris’ work.

Above all, he would look every inch the duke his father never was even if he only had a bit of cabbage and cold mutton to break his fast all day.

“It’s wonderful,Tigris, thank you.” Coriolanus said truthfully, happy to see her smile while Grandma’am continued to look dour.

“I had a letter from Lord Highbottom. He purchased the country estate without any warning and he intends to buy this home, our ancestral home, within a year if we do not pay what your father owed him for investing in his peasant child fighting establishment failure. You must marry well and marry now, Coriolanus! Do you wish me to be the laughingstock of the gardening society?”

Grandma’am rather melodramatically threw herself onto the nearest settee, sobbing into a handkerchief while Tigris patted her back and gave her cousin an apologetic look.

No.

He did not wish to marry, not when there was fun to be had, that was something for a later date of his choosing, not in his first months of dukedom.

If it took selling off a prized horse or two, so be it.

Absolutely not, not happening.

“You know my grandson, Coriolanus? He’s very much on the hunt for a suitable bride tonight! There’s not a young lady in all of Panem that wouldn’t want the title of Duchess and my grandson on their arm.”

Grandma’am’s voice unfortunately carried throughout the Plinth ballroom and it took everything in Coryo to not jump through the nearest window and to a brothel where his coin was far more interesting than his title.

“Cheer up Your Grace, you’re scaring your potential brides.” Clemensia Dovecote quipped, stealing the champagne flute from him with a smile.

“Is it really that obvious, Clemmie?”

“You look like you were bit by several snakes. Come dance with me unless you’d like to be set upon by overeager mamas in the next sixty seconds?”

Coriolanus could see Grandma’am leading an army towards him and joined the quadrille without a second thought.

All he had to do was pick the most agreeable one with the biggest dowry and their money problems would be settled with no more interference from Highbottom.

He could buy all the cravats he wanted.

No.

He was still a duke and dukes did whatever they wanted and at this moment he wanted a drink, not a duchess.

Yet as he made his way to the nearest servant, the sound of double doors opening made him stop and everyone in the ballroom cease talking and dancing.

You.

You walked through the double doors, a masterpiece for all to gaze upon and immediately every thought of leaving early left Coriolanus’ mind.

Perhaps there was fun to be had this evening.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #regency au

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chaeinthebuilding · 13 days

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THOSE EYES

NCT: MARK

warnings: none

synopsis: Mark comes back home from a terrible day and finds comfort and solace in you. He doesn't want anything or anyone except you.

pairings: idol!mark x non idol!fem reader

genre: fluff

I'm going to kill myself if I don't get home. All I want to do is go home and wrap my arms around her. All I want to do is stay with her even if time flows away cause there's no other place i want to be, no other person I'd wanna be with except her.

It's a tiring day at the studio and the manager seemed to have a problem almost every single minor note in our new song to point he raised dour voice at us. I had to go back to the studio, recheck everything all over again and finally after thirty minutes of discussion, we decided to rerecord our song, once again and after a tiring day at work, it was around 10:30 PM when the manager was finally satisfied and dismissed us.

I rush back home, and my members think it's because I'm really tired and maybe I am but more importantly I want to go back home to the love of my life. My whole body feels elevated at the thought of going back home to her.

I'm back home and I'm greeted by the fresh scent of floral musk. Y/N always uses this scent as a room freshner everyday after cleaning the house and it reminds me that I should thank her for cleaning my appartment. She's been nothing but a genuine sweetheart to me ever since we moved in, infact ever since we started secretly started dating. With the tiring work and packed schedule, it's the greatest joy to find solace in someone so dearly loved and it's exactly the same with Y/N and I.

The lights are off and I assume she's asleep. I carefully remove my shoes, and enter the appartment, cautious not to wake her up. When I reach our shared room, my heart swells. She's sleeping so peacefully, the curves of her face relaxed. I slowly slid into the bed but being the light sleeper she is, Y/N stirs in her sleep and slightly shifts but before she could do so, I put my hand, sliding up and down her back. "Hey sweetheart, it's just me, it's alright, go to bed." I assure her in a whisper.

"Hey, it's fine, I'm not really tired, I was just waiting for you to come back home." She says in a sleepy tone, and my heart does a little flip.

"Aww sweetie, it's fine really, you can sleep. " I tell her.

"But I want to cuddle." She says, her doe eyes shining in the dark room. I really love this woman with my whole heart.

I let out a lovesick sigh and tell her, "Alright then, let me take a shower first." She smiles at me and my goodness I can't get enough of her.

I step out of the shower, with a towel drying my hair. I wear a pair of grey sweatpants and I look for a shirt before I realise that Y/N was wearing my brown plaid shirt and a pair of black shorts that barely reaches down her thighs. I chuckle to myself and make my way to our shared bed. I take it that she's asleep and go through my phone and before I can dim down the light, she shifts slightly and says, "Babe, spoon me." in a soft childish tone.

I laugh softly before turning to her side, her back faced towards me and lean my head on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist, her cheek grazing mine. When she turns to me, she smiles and kisses my cheek. I'm in utter awe and lean forward to kiss her cheek, eliciting a sweet tone of laughter from her.

She looks at me, and I'm falling, infact drowning in her hazel brown eyes. There's a mole on her cheek and the tip of her nose and I lean down to place a kiss on her moles, her dimples and I just soak in her vanilla scent. I'm so addicted to her, so in love and I'm not complaining at all. I do not have a single problem at all. I'm just obsessed with her, can't live without her as if my existence depends on her very being.

And again she looks at me and smiles and I just fall again. Fall deeper this time. Words aren't enough to describe how much I just love her, just because. I love her for her. I love her because she is herself. She was there when I thought I could handle it by myself, when I least expect. She's always there, brightening my day even when I know the rest of the day is filled with dread. I can't thank her enough for making me want to see ever new day.

I find comfort, warmth and love in her eyes as I stare back at her. Her beautiful eyes are all I need, in her beautiful eyes. It's the same eyes she gives me whenever we're on a date, viewing the city. It's the same eyes she gives me when we're out in the night, laughing loud and nobody knows why. It's the same eyes she gives me when we're lost in a club getting drunk. It's the same eyes she gives when we're done making love and she looks up at me with those eyes. And I'd never want anything more, anything less.

And it's the small things she does, the gestures she makes, that remind me why I love her. And everytime she's not with me, whenever I'd close my eyes, all I see is her. And it's everything she is, that I love her with all that I am. I don't have much to offer, but she accepted me without hesitation. Her eyes, her face, her smile, her body, her love is all I'll ever need in life.

I peck her cheek and say, " I love you Y/N, you know that?"

She smiles and kisses my lips, her love pouring out in front of me. She breaks the kiss and says, "I love you more, Mark. More than you could know."

I lean into her shoulder and neck, pressing a soft kiss there before snuggling her in my arms. She holds my hands from the front and we're both overtaken by our sleep and we're left with our love and the assurance that I'll wake up with her by my side, like always.

#mark nct #nct 127 #nct dream #mark lee #nct imagines #nct fluff

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courtingchaos · 1 year

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Blackberry + Smash

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: Oh my god, it's your little day date! I wonder if he'll like your choice of nails?

Word Count:6.3k

A/N: Part 2 to Blackberry, still for @newlips milestone of love! I broke these up because I was having a hard time reading it all together and this part got, well, too long honestly. However it's fun and dirty just how we all like it. (18+ NSFW you know the drill)

The mirror in his bathroom isn’t lying to him, he sure is 32 and still has no idea how to dress himself. He’s gone through at least 6 versions of the same black outfit, only now realizing he owns nothing for a date. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

Casual. It’s lunch, this ain’t rocket science and you’ve seen him covered in a multitude of stains and you still kissed him 9 days ago.

Yes he’s counting, has counted every day. Every boba tea he’s left since, every carton of cookies has a little heart drawn on it with an ‘E’ in the middle.

He wasn’t even this lovesick as a kid.

Eddie gives himself a disgusted scoff before ripping off his faded Megadeath tee. He lets himself have a little tantrum, stomping his feet around and whining. Rolling his head back and forth. Couldn’t you two just slide under his sheets and roll around for the rest of eternity? Then he wouldn’t have to worry about fuckin’ clothes! There’s a yell building in his chest but Jeff is sleeping and he won’t wake him, not with a full Friday night ahead of him. Instead he stalks off to his room to root around some more, looking for something less faded when his phone pings. A message from you: ‘holy shit, am I actually ready on time? 🖤’, and a picture that he immediately taps on.

It’s a mirror picture of your outfit. Black sweater, black pants, black shoes.

Oh what a fucking pair you’ll make. Dour food service workers in their mourning best.

He’s never been happier.

This also sets his nerves at ease. He can look normal. On top of his pile of clean laundry he finds his Hideout shirt and his good Metallica hoodie. Has one last moment of asking himself if he’s still actually 16 before going back to the bathroom.

Rings on, his pick and his Cuban link chain lay against his collar bones. Finds the matching bracelet and decides to wear the silver nose hoop and in the final glance he rolls his eyes.

It’ll do.

He shoves the shirt and hoodie on, glances at the clock and sees 9:30 glowing up at him. He finds his jacket, grabs his keys and wallet and has enough time to pick up coffee for the two of you.

You got nervous and decided to wait outside for him, the sun helping to edge off the chill of the morning. You’re scrolling through Instagram when the familiar sound of his truck pulls through the gate of your complex. Immediately it feels like your stomach is up in your ribs. You’d spent four fucking hours this morning getting ready, redoing your makeup three times before just settling on big wings and red lips. Classic, easy, and you were running low on makeup wipes really. You’d switched out jewelry enough you’d irritated the piercings, yet again settling on leaving in your medusa and just going with silver everything. In an attempt to calm yourself you’d sent the picture to Eddie, not really expecting him to reply. He did heart react to it though and that had sent you horizontal on the couch for a few minutes, kicking your socked feet around.

He pulls up in front of you and before you can get a hand on the door he’s leaned over to push it open. You’re staring very obviously for a moment, eyes fixed on the ripped knees of his jeans where you can see a smattering of tattoos. You hadn’t given much thought to that. You knew about his arms obviously, had seen pictures of his chest and back pieces but no one had mentioned his legs. Eddie clears his throat and you immediately flush. He gives you a look and you prop a foot in to help push you up. Then you notice the two Dunkin coffees.

“Did you get me iced coffee?” Surprise pitches your voice high, a little ‘oh!’ following when he holds up a small paper bag.

“And a donut.”

“Eddie!” You reach over to grab the bag and also slap at his elbow. He just chuckles and watches you tear it in two, holding one side out to him. He can see the pink still tinging your cheeks.

“I already had two.”

“Oh I see how it is.” A raise of your eyebrows and he tells you to put your seatbelt on. Asks for the address of your nail salon.

“It’s gonna take a little while, I’m getting acrylics so. I don’t know if you want to hang around or not.” You say around a mouthful of donut.

“Am I gonna be in the way?”

“I don’t think so, just depends on how busy they are.”

It’s busy as shit. Thankfully you have your appointment, so it’s just a waiting game for a station to open up.

“There’s like, so many people in here.” He looks like a big worried puppy. “Do you mind if I wander over to the bookstore on the other side?” Eddie flicks his head at the front door. Across the parking lot is a Barnes and Nobel that you saw him eye when you parked.

“Not at all.” A hand on his forearm with a gentle squeeze and he smiles down at you. What had Cate said?

“You’re a simple for dimples.” Christ.

“Text me when you’re almost done, okay?”

You nod, shooing him off towards the door. He’s slow going, waiting for you to turn around the corner to go look at polish colors. When he sees you disappear he rushes the front desk, the receptionist startling at his figure popping up.

“Hey, your 11 o’clock with-“ he gestures over to you, mouthing your name to try to keep it quiet. “How much is her bill?”

“Well, she’s set up for a regular acrylic set and-“

He’s keeping an eye on you but wants to get out of here before you turn around again to find a seat.

“Look, whatever the like, top tier thing is, I don’t know nails. Can I just pay ahead of time for that for her?”

“For the nails and the pedicure?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever it is. I’ve got the tip too.”

She hands him a small receipt and he only balks at the price because why is this shit so expensive? He made it a point to not have a band of cash on him today, trying to be a modicum of classy, so he pulls out three hundreds from his wallet and tells the receptionist to figure out the tip. Smiles and tells her to have a nice day. He darts out before you get a chance to sit.

“Eddie.” The sound of your voice makes him pick his head up from his phone. You’re standing in front of the door to the salon, arms crossed and a pinched expression on your face.

“Yeah?” He’s playing stupid. Only for you.

“You really didn’t need to do that.”

A small smile pulls at his lips and he halfheartedly shrugs.

“I’m serious! That was expensive.” Your laugh is exasperated but your not really mad. Just taken aback. First dates don’t pay for nails.

“I know, that’s why I did it. You’ve been talking about these fuckin’ things for a week now. Figured I’d surprise you.” He puts his phone away to stare up at you from his seat on the bench.

“Let’s see ‘em.” Eddie leans forward and holds out his hand expectantly. You twist away and playfully squint down at him, holding your hands clenched under your chin.

“I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Oh come on, let’s see what my hard earned American dollars got you.” Laughing and reaching again but this time his hand drifts south, fingertips grazing the back of your thigh, gently pulling you back towards him.

The little hitch in your breathing goes unnoticed but the blush flooding your cheeks doesn’t. His smile widens and he pulls you again, knocking your knee gently into the bench between his own.

“Please?” Holds his other hand out, big palm facing up and you lower your own down to wiggle your fingers at him. Eddie let’s out a low whistle while he turns your hand around to look at the little gold stars dotting the matte black claws; turns it over to see the glittery red underneath.

“Oh I’d say that’s worth it.”

“You like?”

“Mhm. You get you’re toes done too?”

That makes you blush harder for some reason but you nod. He’s still holding your hand gently, like he’d lean in for a kiss to the back of it.

“Yeah, same red color.” His other hand is resting fully against your leg now, thumb moving slowly back and forth over your knee. He glances down at your feet briefly, toes hidden in your shiny black loafers.

“I bet that’s real pretty.” When he looks back up at your face, dark eyes framed by dark lashes and that damn smile pulling those dimples out, you look away quick. If anymore blood rushes to your face you’re bound to pass out.

“Did uh, did you wanna like, grab lunch or something?” He’s got you stuttering while you look around the parking lot for a distraction. Anything to get your mind off of his hand still gripping the side of your thigh.

Jesus suffering fuck.

“Sure. There’s a ramen place up the road that’s pretty good.”

It’s a small restaurant, ten tables and a bar. It’s just the two of you for a while in the booth that Eddie asked for. He’s been tapping his foot against yours since you sat.

“Are you playing footsie with me?”

“Maybe.” His grin is infectious. You jostle him back and it devolves for a few minutes until the waitress shows back up with your drinks and a knowing look on her face.

Eddie notes how easy you blush. It’s been at least four times today and he’s only been around you for maybe three hours. He’s trying to recall any other time he might have seen it, but he doesn’t think you’d let that kind of thing slide at work. It’d be seen as a weakness or some shit you and Cate make up.

He briefly wonders how far down your neck it goes.

“So do you actually like cooking?” You ask as your food arrives, unwrapping your chopsticks and dumping and ungodly amount of togarashi into your ramen.

“Yeah actually. My uncle taught me how to cook, he made it fun. It just kind of stuck around I guess.” He looks bashful, swirling his chopsticks around the bowl. You realize this is a whole side of Eddie you don’t know about.

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

“Honestly? I really like smoking ribs. Wayne had this contraption he built himself out back of his trailer, and he’d make some real creations out there.” He sounds wistful when he talks about his uncle. He’s brought him up a few times but never really explained why he spent so much time with him. You don’t want to pry, but your interested in this home brew smoker now.

“Please tell me it was like some 50 gallon drum deal.”

“Oh of course! He used to be a welder in the Army so he had all kinds of shit he made. Still has that grill too.”

Eddie rambles for most of lunch, constantly trying to deflect back to you but you’re invested in this uncle of his. Wayne sounds like quite the guy.

“So you lived with him till what, you were 23?”

“Yeah. I just wanted my own space and he also needed his own space. I have dinner with him once a week though. At least.” Eddie’s been rubbing his hand on the back of his neck for a few minutes and you’re starting to get the signal to stop mining for now.

“I’d love to meet him.”

“Oh he’d love you.” That rolls off his tongue fast and you both laugh. “Maybe I’ll drag you to dinner next week. You can tell him all about your drive thru crazies.”

“Oh I’m sure we’d both love that.”

The check has been sitting on the table for 20 or so minutes and when he tucks his card in, after swatting your hand away, the waitress descends and disappears with the check. He’s nervous again, twirling his rings around his fingers, leg bouncing. You’ve taken a minute to check your messages but under the table you slide a hand onto his bouncing knee. It stills immediately, the flash of a smile you shoot at him quelling any knots under his ribs. It’s such a small gesture, your hand warm on his knee. He’s already decided he’s kissing you again outside.

“This was fun, thank you again for my nails. Seriously.”

He reaches out for your hand, tucks his fingers up under your knuckles to stare at the gold stars. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you along behind him towards his truck.

“Unless you’ve got other plans, we can find something else to do. I’ve got all day.”

“Okay.” You say it so quick, looking for any excuse to stay around him. It’s only taken you this long for a single date, you might as well make it last. “Wanna see a movie?”

When he stops at his truck he doesn’t unlock it, just leans back against the door and pulls your hand in against his chest.

“Anything good playing?” He asks quietly, laying his hand over yours to lay flat against him. You fit right between his feet, boots bracketing your loafers.

“I don’t uh…” Your stuttering, caught watching his eyes flit between yours. “I’m not sure.” You finish lamely.

“Well, I’ve got all means of streaming at my place. If you want.”

A year ago with anyone else this would have made you scoff and push back, spell being firmly broken by even the implication of some form of Netflix and chill.

Eddie though? Eddie makes it sound like the sweetest thing in the world. And who are you, presuming he’s even gonna try and put a move on you?

(You’ll be absolutely devastated if he doesn’t.)

The warmth of him is enveloping you, the spice of his cologne and the last cigarette he had drawing you further in just before his hands do the same. Big palms cradle the sides of your neck, thumbs resting on your cheeks and he leans in.

His lips are plush and warm and you tuck up close to him, arms squished between the two of you. His fingers inch up into your hair, holding your head, keeping your lips to his and honestly? Honestly.

How dare he be so good at this and keep it from you for so long. You thought he liked you and he’s been depriving you of his lips parting and running his tongue over your own and-

“Ed.” You break the kiss, breathless and face hot but you’ve only got eyes for him. His pupils blown wide in the bright daylight, you can see a frown starting between his brows. “No, hey I’m not-this is great. Can we get in the truck?” It’s almost one long word of a sentence but he understands. You’re around to the passenger side before he’s even closing his door, your hand over the center console to grab his bicep and pull him over to you.

In the confines of the cab, kneeling on the seat so you can grab his hoodie and it’s your turn to pull him in. The little sound he lets out almost sounds like a whimper and it just makes you all the more confident. It’s your tongue running along the seam of his lips, the curve of a smile before he opens and lets you in. He taste like the mango mochi you two shared and your hands run up into his hair to keep him close.

This is all you’ve been thinking about since he kissed you last week, waiting for another moment to lay your lips on him. It’s a few minutes of heavy kissing and his hands just under the edge of your sweater; you still haven’t let his hair go yet. Eddie is the first to pull away though, eyes squeezed shut when he rests his forehead against yours.

“We can go back to mine, uh if you want? We don’t have to I know I said that earlier but we can go out and see a movie-“ You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“I want to.”

The ride to his apartment is quiet. He drops his hand on its new home in the middle of your thigh, fingers digging in a little bit every time he turns a corner.

That blackberry has been picked and washed and fully eaten in earnest.

His apartment isn’t what you expected honestly. It’s two men living together, so the neatness throws you off. Everything has a home it seems, unlike your own place that’s like a cozy disaster zone.

“I like your place.” You say over your shoulder standing in the open living room. He’d busied himself with putting your jackets away and dropping his stuff into a tray on the counter. Now he’s just standing in the kitchen watching you inspect the bookcase by the TV.

“Do you like bourbon?”

You glance at your phone to see 4:30pm.

“A little early for dark liquor.”

Eddie shrugs and pulls out two rocks glasses and a round bottle, little jockey stopper on top.

“We hit some kind of goal or something and Stacy and her husband bought everyone in the kitchen really nice bourbon.” He pulls the seal. “Thought I’d hang on to it for a special occasion.”

“Is this a special occasion then?”

“Yes.” His smile is warm. Looks at the little topper for a moment before sniffing the bottle.

“That kind of smells like Christmas.”

He pours less than a finger in each glass and slides one over to you. He’s not wrong, and after he fishes out an ice cube for you, it goes down smooth.

Hip cocked into the counter top and nursing your tiny glass of stupid expensive bourbon, you listen to Eddie go in on all the deserts he could use this in. You had no idea he could bake too and you feel a little cheated after all those bakery bought cookies he’s brought you.

“Oh you know what else,” he ducks into his fridge and pulls out a mason jar of dark syrup, “this might be blasphemy but I don’t care. Let me see your glass.” You hold it out and he uses a spoon to drizzle some of it in the dregs of your drink. “Thats a blackberry and rosemary syrup I made and- what?” Your laugh cuts through his words and the way his face lights up makes laugh more. A clearer sign from the universe, you’ve never had.

“I just really like blackberries.”

He does put something on tv eventually but neither of you pay attention. It murmurs in the background while you two talk and when the sun starts to stretch across the wall of his living room you climb over the cushion separating you and try valiantly to invade his chest. He’s cozy and warm and he tastes like that syrup he made. He says something about whiskey tasting good on you too and any inkling you may have had about leaving his place tonight goes firmly out the window.

The couch is comfortable and him nosing at your neck, dropping lazy kisses up and down the length of it makes you melt. His hands are heavy in your hair and where they slide down to meet his lips along your neck. You’d finally gotten a hand under his shirt, skin hot and soft. You can feel the muscles flex under your touch and you find out on accident he’s ticklish when you’re skating your new nails back and forth over his happy trail and the weirdest giggle escapes him.

“Sorry.” He smiles shyly.

You want to hear that sound again but he has other plans. Untangles your legs and stands up, holds out his hand to you again.

Just over the threshold of his room he looks at you, fully sincere.

“Is this okay?”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes

You nod and gently kick the door closed behind yourself.

With that barrier to the outside closed Eddie descends on you. Backs you right up against the door and kisses the breath right out of your lungs. You hang onto his shoulders while he pulls your sweater off. It hits the floor and his hands are right back on you sliding up your sides to cup your tits through your lace bra. You’d worn the set in the hopes that this exact thing would happen.

“How’d you know blue’s my favorite color?” He whispers against your mouth before diving right down to the swell of your breast and nips lightly. You suck in a gasp and he does it again to the other one, runs his thumbs over your nipples. Your trying your hardest to get your fingers to cooperate and pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Worry about me later.”

“Eddie, please.”

“Wanna see you first, gorgeous.”

When his hands fall to your jeans you let out a whine that makes him look up at you.

“You okay?”

“Yes just. Please don’t stop.”

He hurries then, pushes your jeans down and turns you both to walk to bed. When the edge hits your legs you lift one to crawl backwards, a finger hooked in his belt loop in an attempt to pull him with you. He rips his shirt off instead and it’s truly it’s insane how he just keeps getting hotter. The dark lines of his tattoos against his pale skin makes you pant.

“Oh what the fuck.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.” He sounds breathless. Eyes roaming to take in the matching underwear that clings to your body. The tattoo on your sternum that he had no idea about and the other two just under your collar. There’s dark lines wrapping around your hip that he’s going to dig his teeth into soon. He reaches and lightly runs a finger over your sternum before trailing it down your stomach and stopping at the elastic of your underwear.

“You wear this for me?”

You nod.

“Oh good.”

You don’t think you’ve heard him this quiet ever. He’s all whispers and heavy stares, that finger tip that’s inching into your underwear making your heart rocket into your throat. You wrap your hand around his and pull him so he has to kneel on the bed too, inch his finger down further.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” It rumbles in his chest. You snake both arms up to wrap around his neck and bring him in to ghost your lips over his.

“Touch me. Please.”

Of course he has silk pillowcases, you think to yourself when the side of your face is pressed into them. The cool material is slick against your hot cheek, Eddie’s big hand laying between your shoulder blades. He isn’t pushing you down into the mattress but the suggestion is there.

Stay.

You’ve ended up in the middle of his bed bent in half with him kneeling behind you, gentle hand pulling your knees apart. You’re blushing for a thousand and one reasons, mainly because you’ve never played this little game before. At first you’d tried to hide your face and he’d tutted at you, gently prying your forearm away. Now you’re just trying not to grip the pillow too hard, only partially conscious of your new nails.

“Eddie.” Your muffled whine gets his attention and he leans forward, puts a little pressure on your back. Your eyes roll.

“You okay?” His voice is dark next you, quiet and gravely and you clench around nothing, he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet. A garbled ‘uh huh’ gets past your lips and you can hear him grin, the bastard.

He slides your underwear over your ass and down, tossing them into some corner of the room, swings his knee over your calf and knocks your leg out to side some more. Your hips drop and he sighs, his right hand coming to slide up the back of your thigh, gripping at the soft skin and over the swell of your ass.

“I’ve been waiting months for this.” A low laugh, how can he laugh at a time like this. You try to sit up a bit, to give him an incredulous look but he holds you down. You don’t mean to let out the moan you’ve been holding in, but he knocks it out of you. Laughs. Again.

“You didn’t have to wait months.” Muffled again by the pillow.

“We were having fun. You’re a good chase.” He gives your ass a light tap and then grabs the flesh hard. You arch your back into his touch and he immediately lets go to graze his fingertips over your slit, dipping in between your folds.

“Jesus your so wet,” he huffs through his nose, “this for me too?”

Of course it is. You’ve been wet for him since he picked you up in his stupid truck, looking too good in his stupid jeans and big hoodie. Since he grabbed your thigh and asked about your god damn toes.Since the couch and his weird giggle.

You’d like to be a smart ass and list off all the ways he’s driven you crazy just that day, but instead you just whimper.

“Hmm?” He dips a finger down to circle your clit agonizingly slow. It sends a burning jolt through you and you cant your hips back to chase his touch.

“Yes, oh my god!” It comes from deep in your chest, voice low and full of want. Every time he’s come in to visit you, hanging over the partition to joke and flirt at you. His little touches at the bar, a hand always lingering on your lower back or fingertips dragging over a knee. That drunk kiss in the parking lot of the bar a week ago.

All you’ve done is want for months now. You’re about to bully your way into sitting up when he leans down and places a wet kiss on your shoulder. Drags the hand there down to your lower back, still splayed wide and warm. It makes you pause and he uses that minor distraction to easily slide two fingers deep in your cunt.

It punches the air out of any argument you were trying to start, hands searching for something to grip. One finds his thigh and he still has his god damn jeans on?

The slow drag of his fingertips inside you makes your mouth hang open. They’re big and you’ve been worked up since you woke up this morning so it just feels too good.

Actually that’s a lie, you’ve been worked up since that first day he walked into the cafe with Jeff, all jokes and pretty eyes and no idea if he even liked coffee. Some dumb espresso joke later and you’d been stupid for him.

Kind of like now, with one of his hands holding your back in an arch while his other moves at a torturous pace in and out, the wet sound of you sinful in the space of his room.

“Do you know many times I thought about inviting you back here after the bar?” You roll your head back and forth, hiding your face under your hair.

“Every time I gave you a ride I thought about it.” He enunciates his line with a particularly deep prod of his fingers, bringing his thumb to circle your clit again. “Coulda just bent you over my lap and shoved my fingers in, huh?” You clench down, files that little thought away for later. He gets his free arm up under your chest so he can hold you to him. Lays his weight against your back when he picks up the pace of his fingers and the strangled cry coming from you makes him even harder in his jeans. He peppers kisses along your shoulders, noses your hair out of the way so he can nip at the back of your neck. When he licks a stripe up to your ear he feels your strings cut, the chanting of his name sounding like music.

“I gotcha baby. You gonna come for me?”

You’re nodding, whining his name, breath hitching in your chest. Between his thumb tracing hard and his fingers dragging against that sweet spot inside your eyes water and you grab at the back of his head, nails digging into his curls. The feeling building low is white hot where it creeps down and makes your legs shake. Pinned down under him you try to chase his hand with your hips, looking for that edge of relief and it’s just out of reach until it’s not.

His chin is hooked over your shoulder so he can mouth at the side of your face while you go rigid under him. He’s still moving his fingers while you spasm around him and jesus christ he can’t wait to fuck you, plain and simple.

“Breath baby, come on.” He whispers into your ear when he realizes you’ve been holding your breath. You let out a low groan that turns stuttering when he doesn’t relent with his thumb on your clit.

“Eddie I can’t- too much!”

He ‘aww’s’ at you playfully but slows down his hand, only pulling out when you’ve regained some kind of normal breathing. Cuddled up behind you, face still close to yours where your breath fans over his cheek he leaves a wet kiss on yours and the toothy smile he sees in the waning light makes him feel warm.

“Knew you’d be worth the wait.”

You slap his arm as he rolls off the bed to stand. The clink of his belt buckle makes you turn your head against the pillow to stare at him. His eyes don’t leave yours while he undoes the button and fly to push them down off his hips. He leaves his boxers on and before he can climb back on the bed you sit up in front of him, hug his thighs with your knees. From here you can look up at him and map the tattoos across his chest and over his shoulders down to his fingers. It’s past sunset now and the purple fading light does nothing but make his pale skin glow under all that dark ink. You pull his own move on him from earlier, tracing the tip of your nail up the back of his thigh. He shivers, leg jumping and when you firmly run both of your palms under the edge of his boxers he smiles down at you.

“Tryin’ t’get fresh?”

“Maybe.” Sucking in your bottom lip to bite at it, you bring one hand around and run it down the flat plane of his stomach to the band of his underwear.

“Can I?” A whisper and his eyes go half lidded, pupils dark and wide under his lashes. An almost too quiet ‘yeah’ and you tug the fabric down to free him.

You must be making a face because he chuckles and runs a finger down your jaw. When you look back up at his face you grip the base of his dick and he hisses low, run your hand up the length of him to watch his head loll back. He’s big, thick and flushed red, the fat head of his cock hot against your palm. Damn near salivating you run the flat of your tongue up the underside of him, to the tip before fully wrapping your lips around him and hollowing your cheeks. Eddie is making a lot of noises you’ve never heard before, one’s that you want him to keep making but only after a few bobs of your head and hand he’s gently pulling your head back where’s he’s laced his fingers in your hair.

“If you don’t want this to be over in five seconds, I’d suggest we stop that.”

“You get too excited?” Frowning at him you make a move to grab him again he crowds you instead, makes you crawl back towards the middle of the bed. He shuffles across to settle between your propped up knees and tosses a wrapper on your stomach.

“How romantic Munson.”

“You wanna touch my cock so bad, you put it on.” His forwardness shuts you up. You tear the wrapper open in a rush, grab him again and give his dick a few tugs before rolling the condom down. His thumbs rub little soothing circles on your knees until you pull your hand away and he’s hauling your legs up to wrap around his waist. Pulls you to him with hands in the crook of your knees and he’s cradled in your hips, rocking his own forward to rub the tip of his cock along your folds. Catches it on your sensitive clit and you yelp. His frown is mocking yours from a moment ago, tilts his hips and does it again.

“Aw, honey is that too much?”

“Eddie I swear to god I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He pulls back enough to line up, gives you one last chance to say something before he eases in. Slow drag until he’s fully seated against you and you both moan in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Your warm around him everywhere; thighs hugging his hips, hands running up his chest.

“Jesus Christ you feel amazing.”

The fluttering of your walls around his cock is doing nothing for his stamina, coming to terms with himself that this might not last long.

That’s fine, you weren’t leaving tonight.

The look on your face, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open, makes him roll his hips to watch you squirm. He starts a slow rhythm, grabbing the cups of your bra and pulling down to let your tits free. When he pinches one between his knuckles you keen and arch your back. He does it again to hear that high sound and he picks up his pace, drilling deeper and making you chant his name again.

“I can’t believe I waited this long for you baby, you feel so fucking good for me.” He pulls your legs from around him to push them up towards your chest, canting your hips with them to get at you deeper.

“Eddie Eddie Eddie.” It’s high pitched and whiney and music to his ears. He can feel you pulsing around him like you were earlier. Props one of your legs on his shoulder to get his hand between the two of you to rub fast circles over your swollen clit.

“You gonna come again?”

“Yes fuck, please don’t stop Eddie!”

His hips snap against your ass and with every push your letting out a stuttering moan. Watching your lips form around his name, panting and pawing at your own chest, your hand around the back of his neck and long nails scratching against the sensitive skin brings everything to a pinpoint. His hips begin to stutter when you clench around him, your no slick coating your thighs and his fingers and his cock and it’s all it takes for him to bury himself deep.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He’s muttering, slowing his movement and rocking the two of you through the aftershocks, running a soothing hand up your leg still on his shoulder.

“Come here.” Hands splayed to beckon him, cheeks pink and flushed, hair stuck to your sweaty forehead he thinks he might be falling in love after all these months. He’ll keep that to himself for now. Instead he pulls out and discards the condom over the side of the bed. Drops his weight on you, a huff from you and a smile pushed against your chest from him. The light touches from the tips of your nails make goosebumps pop up along his back where you gently rake your nails.

It’s a while before either of you move and it’s only to get under the covers when the cooling sweat makes you cold. Eddie holds the corner up to help you get situated but holds out a hand when you try to tuck your feet in.

“Hold on, hold on.” He snatches one of your feet to bring up closer to his face, making you bend weird and squeal. It tickles but he won’t let go, looking at your toes the way he did your nails earlier.

“Eddie, seriously!”

“I knew they were pretty.” He places a light kiss on the outside arch of your foot and you wrinkle your nose. It tickles and it’s cute and his hand is warm on your cold foot. He only lets go to run a hand up the back of your calf to pull you under the covers where he drapes himself over you, hair curtaining and smothering you in him.

In the middle of the night, after Jeff comes home and deftly ignores the scene left in the living room and you’ve gotten up to use the bathroom and rinse your mouth out you cuddle back up to Eddie’s side and wait for him to turn his head and look at you.

“Hey, you wanna call in sick Sunday?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you can be my plus one for the wedding.”

“Cutting it a little close, no?”

“It’s my aunt, she won’t care.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“Then we can get you one tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fic #My work #My Fic

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gabessquishytum · 6 months

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This has been haunting my head forever, but as we all know Robert Smith was the leading inspiration for Dream in the comics with more than a bit of Neil sprinkled in there (and a few other goth rock bands like Bauhaus' Peter Murphy) and I just can't get over the image of a goth rockstar Dream.

It's the late 70s, and our boy Dream is riding a creative high of LSD and pedal effects to the top of the pops. They're calling the band he fronts, name and members are up to you or whoever takes this idea on, Goth bc they're too dark for New Wave but are just upbeat enough to steer clear of Televison's particular brand of Post-Punk. It's a newer label but a fitting one considering how dour and moody the genre has gotten since Ian Curtis's death. One he despises as he claims he's very happy with his current success and how his life is going.

But he's not happy. He hates playing to the newly forming stereotype of his fans, but he isn't. Celebrity Marriages hardly ever last and his relationship with his novelist wife is crumbling around him. He loves his son but the touring schedule is killing all of his free time. He's also pretty deep into substance abuse but he wouldn't admit it to his big sister let alone the random journo who has a camera in his face while he's trying to catch a 5:30 am flight to start his newest tour. He's just burnt out and creatively stuck as the label tries to pigeonhole him into this new subgenre, which he doesn't want anymore. Life, his life, can't be doom and gloom forever even though that's where it looks like it's heading. Forever being hailed as the Nightmare King.

Meanwhile, three radio stations over, Hob Gadling is desperately trying to hang onto life. He's a bit older now than when he first broke out onto the music scene as a rambunctious coat rider of the Sex Pistols, but he's still going strong. Punk has always been his outlet. Life sucks and you keep on living despite it. It tried to kill him not long after he debuted with substance use, but he powered through it and got clean. His wife died in childbirth, but he stuck around to raise his son. He even took a three-year hiatus and completely missed how much the sound had changed from his younger years. Even as post-punk has risen in popularity and the friends he knew have either died or changed their sound completely, he won't give up hope! Punk's not dead and neither is he. No matter how long his hair gets or if he grows out of his leather jacket.

The two meet rather coincidentally. Hob just happens to be opening for Dream on the Europe leg of his tour. Unsurprisingly the tension around Dream's band has become a powder keg and when he finally snaps and fires his guitarist, his bassist also leaves. With half the band gone, Dream considers calling it quits right then and there. Fuck the new album, fuck the last fifteen or so dates. He wants to go home. But Hob sees how close they are to finishing the tour and puts his foot down. They will finish the tour! So he offers up his services to Dream. He's not bad with a guitar and if Dream can cover the bass, then he'll play all night if he has to. Because out there on stage? That's life and he wants to keep making people happy and give them something that might transcend time and space. To never die bc his name is there among the annuls of rock history.

And in time, Dream will come around to his new friend. He will learn to appreciate the zest for performing and living his new friend has. He will also think he has the greatest body known to man and will forever laugh at the terribly done anarchy A Hob has tattooed on his ass, but that's neither for here or there. For now, Dream pulls himself together and gets his bass out from the dark pits of hell the roadies call gear storage. For the show must go on.

Oh god I want an entire novel length story around this. It’s fantastic! I have so many thoughts about these two!!

Hob is falling in love with all the new sounds that he’s hearing. He spent his time on his hiatus being a suburban dad, and now he’s back on the scene is just feels amazing. He can’t get enough of Roxy Music and David Bowie and Elvis Costello. And he’s determined to drag himself back up among those names! He’s got so many ideas of where punk can go! And he’s fascinated by Dream and his band. The lyrics are a little dark and wallowy, but Hob understands that actually people need to hear that. Life in the UK isn’t easy, particularly for young people. They need something loud and desperate and real. Little does he know, Dream feels like what he’s doing is so far away from being real. He feels likes such a fraud. He can’t get off the hamster wheel except by shooting up and passing out.

Hob recognises all of this in approximately 0.5 seconds after meeting Dream. It makes him pretty sad, but he’s determined that he’ll lift Dream out of his funk. If nothing else, he’ll make him love music again.

So when Hob said he was OK with a guitar, he was lying - he's actually a bit of a genius, and it's fair to say that Dream falls a little bit in love with him about half way through the sound check. Instead of hiding in the dressing room and licking his wounds over the band breaking up, he actually watches as Hob opens for him. Hob is very classic punk, it's all very "fuck the government, fuck me up the arse" kind of stuff, but Dream doesn't get bored for a single second. Hob is just that entertaining, and his riffs are insane. Dream itches to write a song for him. And when Hob ends the set with a jokey little song that his five year old son allegedy wrote the lyrics for (lil Robyn is very punk, just like his daddy) Dream’s eyes actually get a bit misty. It's probably all the smoke.

And there's really no time to get emotional! Dream’s drummer, Constantine, thankfully didn't walk out with the rest of them. So somehow, with Hob’s virtuosic guitar skills and sheer determination, plus Dream’s refusal to fail yet again, they actually make a really decent show. Dream feels a tingle of the old spark that he used to get when he first started out - it probably has something to do with the way Hob upends a bottle of water all over his head half way through the show and grins like a maniac.

After the show they crash in a local hotel. Hob calls his kid from the payphone and Dream wishes that he had the courage to do the same. Instead he takes some pills so he doesn't have to feel the high from the show gradually wearing off into nothingness. He doesn't know why Hob comes and sits next to him in the dark, pressing against him from thigh to shoulder. He stays for the whole of Dream’s trip, in fact, humming something quiet and classic. Dream feels quite ashamed of himself, and for the first time he thinks that maybe he'd feel better without the drugs. Maybe.

As the tour gets off to a slow start, Dream starts to notice that Hob is having some kind of positive effect on him. Just little thing. They get breakfast together, so Dream actually eats something, which is unusual. Their little arguments don't get out of hand, because Hob never lets them escalate. When Dream is angry and spitting at the world, Hob is sure to point of something positive. Not that Hob doesn't get sad, too - he just deals with it differently. He goes for long walks, and turns off the news when it gets bad. He gets himself a snack when he's irritable, and laughs about it afterwards.

Dream writes him a near impossible guitar solo and it feels like a "thank you".

They have a sweet, unexpected first kiss. It's 2am and they're standing at the edge of the road, waiting for a mechanic to come out to their broken down tour bus. There's no one around to see, so Dream rests his head on Hob’s shoulder. He's sore, and weary. Hob turns his head slightly and tucks an arm around him, and it just happens. They kiss. It is, of course, the first of many.

And you can bet that Dream kisses that anarchy tattoo a million time, too.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw drugs #cw substance use

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starchbean · 1 day

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Hua Cheng would ABSOLUTELY give his entire support to that little kid merchant who said he was gonna build a temple for Xie Lian after the Ban Yue mission concluded.

I can imagine that kid grew up to be the most successful merchant of his age, always having a little extra luck for reasons unknown to him. Even ghosts never disturb his company's shipments.

He also finds himself hiring a one legged beggar with a broken arm as his marketing rep--which turns out to be the best decision of his career. The company has a banquet once a year in the finest restaurant in the capital. The marketing rep brings the same dour faced stranger with him every year. This stranger eats through half of what the restaurant makes for the entire company.

Even though he never got Xie Lian's identity, events would unravel that would mysteriously allow him to figure it out. A puzzle that intrigued him through his adolescent life, very satisfying to finally solve.

When the merchant starts working on the temple he promised Xie Lian, he commissions the divine statue from an especially talented and earnest traveling sculptor with no references or background to speak of--he just has a good feeling.

Hua Cheng and Xie Lian visit the completed temple often, and even go there on dates sometimes.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hua cheng #xie lian #ol feng #starchbean #banyue pass #banyue arc #merchant boy #beefleaf

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 months

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Resonating with a Younger Generation

tofutama asked: I'm writing my first light novel and I'm enjoying it so far. The goal is to portray a typically bleak setting through the eyes of people who have been normalized to it, but not with a dour tone. As I was writing I wondered if my writing would resonate with a specific generation, particularly Gen Z. I'm a millennial and I don't want to speak exclusively to my own generation. So, how do I properly research and find the things that will resonate with a younger generation like Gen Z?

[Ask edited for length]

This is a more complicated question than it sounds, and I think what complicates things is basing the question on generation rather than age. Because as much as a generation shares things like pop culture, societal trends, technology, world events, and future outlook, there's a pretty broad gap in age between the youngest Gen Z (age 12) and the oldest Gen Z (age 27.) Even if we look at the middle of Gen Z (age 19/20) there's still a pretty broad gap between someone who's 12 and someone who's 19. What resonates with the nineteen/twenty-year-old would not necessarily resonate with the twelve-year-old.

If you're writing contemporary fiction aimed at adults, and you want to make sure your story resonates with the 18 to 27 portion of Gen Z, it's probably worth looking at some articles/lists that talk about the differences between the two generations, as these are likely to hit on things that would matter in contemporary fiction like differences in how the two generations relate to money, differences in attitudes toward social justice issues, future outlook, economic concerns, relationships and dating, sex, marriage, etc.

If you're writing genre fiction aimed at adults, you probably don't have to worry too much about it because genre fiction focuses more on universal themes and tropes... things that anyone from any generation can relate to. If there's a specific situation that you feel might call for generational nuance... like a Gen Z character having relationship issues or trying to advise an Millennial character on relationship issues, it's worth doing some targeted research on how each generation views relationships and related issues.

If you're writing genre fiction aimed at Young Adults, once again, you're going to be focusing more on those timeless and universal tropes. But, you can still do targeted research where necessary. However, it's probably more useful to do research on themes and tropes that resonate with young adults in general vs specifically Gen Z young adults.

I guess, ultimately, regardless of what you're writing, it can't hurt to read through a few "differences between Millennials and Gen Z" articles/lists just to get a basic foundation, but how much that knowledge comes into play will definitely depend on what you're writing.

I hope that helps a little bit!

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propertyofkylar · 6 months

Note

visitings whitneys moms grave with him on mothers day !!!

anon. whoever you are. i will find you. how DARE YOU

anyway haven’t written angst in YEARSSSS since i was in high school prbly so i hope i do this prompt justice

You walked slowly by your boyfriend’s side, his expression more dour than usual. It was only recently that Whitney had started opening up to you more about his feelings, and you still weren’t entirely sure how to navigate it.

It came as somewhat of a surprise when Whitney told you his mother had died when he was young. He rarely showed emotions, but you could tell the wound still hurt him.

It had made you realize - though you grew up in an orphanage and he still lived with other living family members - that the two of you weren’t really so different.

You looked around at your surroundings before hesitantly reaching out to take Whitney’s hand in yours. He flashed you a surprised look, before his sullen expression reappeared. But he clutched to your hand as though his life depended on it.

Today was a special day. It was Mother’s Day. Since neither of you had a living mother, Whitney had decided to take you to visit his mother’s grave.

You had picked some lilies from your garden and Whitney was holding them in his other hand as the two of you trod ahead. He had been unusually silent the entire walk, but that wasn’t too surprising considering the circumstances.

“Here,” his voice snapped you out of your reverie. “She’s here.”

He led you to a small, nondescript headstone. Your eyes shifted between his mother’s name, birthday and death date and Whitney himself. What do you say at a time like this?

Whitney set the flowers down and then sat himself beside them. “Don’t expect me to, like, talk to her grave or any of that shit,” he said, lighting up a cigarette. “Not happening.”

You gave him a small smile before sitting down next to him. “Didn’t think you would.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he let you, the smell of smoke filling the air. “Do you remember her?”

Whitney stared ahead a moment before answering. “Kinda. She was warm. She was real good at cooking,” he took another puff of his cigarette before turning to you. “You?”

“Me?” It always surprised you when Whitney actually seemed interested in your life. “No. I don’t remember either of my parents at all.”

“Hm,” he looked away again. “Wonder which is worse.”

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you just sat in silence, idly playing with Whitney’s hair as he continued smoking.

“…I still have the teddy bear she gave me.”

Whitney’s voice startled you after the period of quiet. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “The raggedy one on the shelf over my bed. Gave it to me as a baby. Still kinda smells like her, if I breathe in real hard.”

You could picture the bear in your mind - you had been in Whitney’s room plenty of times. It was old and worn, but clearly well-loved. The thought of a little Whitney snuggling it brought a smile to your face. “She sounds sweet.”

Whitney sighed. “She was.” A few more moments passed before he stood up, brushing his pants and extending a hand to help you up. “Come on. It’s cold. Don’t want my slut getting sick.”

You took the hand gladly and stood with him, his eyes not leaving the grave.

He cast one last longing look before trudging forward. “I think she would’ve liked you, you know. She probably would’ve said something dumb like you’re a good influence on me,” he gave you a smirk. “What does she know, huh?”

Whitney’s hand didn’t let go of yours the whole walk back.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #whitney the bully #dol whitney #writing #WAAAA I LOVED WRITING THIS ANON IM KISSING U ON THE MOUTH #IM ON ONE KNEE #I LOVE YOU ANON

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ozzy-boy · 6 months

Text

Poe love languages hcs <3 ough i love him so much....

-Not really a touchy person. He does like physical touch, but not in a typical way.

-Poe's touches are... Almost poetic, like everything about him. They're so purposeful that it brings a certain intensity to even small gestures- like every action is thought out. The tiniest brushes are suddenly heart-pounding.

-Doesn't really go out of his way to hold your hand, but he is the type to touch up your appearance when something is out of place.

-Gently pushing hair out of your eyes or smoothing down flyaways, swiping an eyelash or crumbs off your face with his thumb, tucking the tag of your shirt away if it's sticking out, fixing your make up if you wear any, smoothing wrinkles from your clothing...

-He doesn't make a big deal out of it either. Just quietly reaches over and fixes in the middle of a conversation. His pretty blue eyes leaving yours for only a moment before he hums and urges you to continue talking about your day.

-Can eye contact be a love language? Cause it is for Poe. Y'know the saying about the eyes being the windows to the soul? Well he believes it. Makes so much eye contact.

-If you're laying together, he doesn't go straight for cuddling. No, he ghosts his fingertips down the length of your arm- from your shoulder down to your wrist, then back up again. It's like every time he touches you, he's trying to commit the feeling to memory. Chances are he's writing in his head without even noticing.

-He won't really initiate a lot of contact, but he doesn't dislike it if you do. He's a pretty casual, go with the flow kind of guy, so he'll typically go along with whatever you want.

-Not the biggest fan of PDA, but doesn't mind it. He thinks it's a little funny, actually. Especially if you have an opposite aesthetic as him.

-Loves the idea of people staring in confusion watching a bright, sunny marshmallow like you holding hands with someone like him. If only because he loves to subvert expectations.

-Where Poe shines most is words of affirmation, of course. He's a poet, it's kind of his whole deal.

-You will get endless poems from him. Through text, on scraps of paper, sometimes thoughtfully written with a fountain pen on nice parchment. Sometimes they're fully written poems, while some are just small snippets- a line or two he thought you'd like.

-You're a bit like his editor at this point. His writing is something he keeps close to his heart most of the time, but, well... You are his heart. All Poe's writing gets screened by you before he turns it in to professors or enters it into contests/readings/ect. The highest praise you can get is the fact that he values your opinion.

-His poetry is decidedly more romantic after meeting you... He isn't sure how to feel about that.

-Poe is very aware that he's dour and gloomy, but he always has sweet words for you. He never wants you to doubt just how important you are to him.

-Even if you aren't a writer, Poe will treasure anything you write for him in return. Even if it's the worst poem he's ever read- if you wrote it, he loves it. He'll get it framed.

-Another sure sign that Poe loves you is how much time he spends with you. Quality time is important to him.

-Poe is an introvert, and he doesn't really have many friends. Before you meander into his life, he spends most of his time alone, and he's content with that.

-But now, he spends most of his time with you. He's fairly low energy, so you don't even have to be doing anything. Poe is a big fan of interesting conversations, you can just lay around and talk for hours and he'll be happy.

-If you actually go out for a date, he'll definitely want to lean towards the macabre... Exploring an abandoned building, taking a walk through a cemetery, visiting a haunted house... Although, just going to a cafe sometimes is nice too, even if he's a little disappointed by the lack of skeletons.

-Poe does still need his alone time, but he's good about communicating that with you.

-"I'll be locked in my room for the next 4 hours while I wait for inspiration to strike. Farewell, love, I'll see you on the other side."

-Not very materialistic, so he's not the biggest fan of gift giving.

-He values your time and affection a lot more than how much you're willing to spend on him.

-He appreciates anything you get him, of course, but he almost always follows it up with "You didn't need to get me anything..."

-Poe prefers practical gifts anyway. Things he's likely to actually use, like books or a nice writing pen.

-Although, if you want to get him something he's guaranteed to love, get him jewelry. Rings, necklaces, earrings- even if they're not his 'style', he'll love it. Will wear anything you get him proudly.

-He gives you little trinkets sometimes but they're usually cheap and simple- he doesn't really consider them gifts.

-Swears up and down that he's bad at giving gifts but then he'll turn around and give you something so sickeningly sweet like a hand-bound book of all the poems he's written for you.

-He likes acts of service too- especially doing things for you.

-He wants so badly to paint your nails and do your makeup if you'll let him. Wants to give you a full goth makeover SO BAD.

-If you decide to indulge him, Poe will do everything for you. Scratching an itch while your nails are wet, lacing up long boots for you, fetching something from another room if you're struggling to walk in the platforms he lends you. You'll barely have to move a muscle.

-He likes small tasks like that- little things most people would hardly notice. It makes him feel special, to be the one that gets to wait on you hand and foot. He'd do anything for you, but it's the small details that make butterflies flutter in his stomach.

#blush blush #blush blush poe #bb #blush blush game #poe blush blush #ozzy writing

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fractualized · 9 months

Text

Knight Terrors: The Joker #2 is out and I have never had so much to chew on in my life. I'm trying to moderate my enthusiasm so I stop exceeding the image limit making these posts, but there is so much going on!!

(spoilers ahead as usual, along with violence, gore, and death as usual)

At the end of last issue, we were left with the mystery of what exactly is up with supposedly dead Batman's reappearance, but this issue answers that pretty quickly:

This is at first presented as Joker's dream-within-a-dream, but later we get confirmation that Joker is sleepwalking as Batman. Sleep-vigilante-ing. Sleepigilanting. He's a Batman Who Jokes!

With Joker awake, we find that some time has passed, and now Joker is married to Lena, the wife of Johann to whom Joker showed some kindness back at the real-world hospital before she died. They also have a child, Albert, who was also a dying patient at the hospital.

The poster is for an actual movie I haven't seen, but it's about a scientist who is betrayed by a wealthy patron who takes credit for his work, and then becomes a beleaguered clown who has a heroic and tragic end. Oh, Joker likes a movie about a clown who was betrayed by a rich guy? You don't say!

At first I was amused by the onesie, but then the story returns to Joker at work and we see that he's no longer wearing a plain gray suit. He's in his usual Joker colors, perhaps indicating that he's found comfort in this humdrum life? This corporate dullness is his identity now? Oh dear.

Also he's interviewing Mr. Freeze.

Joker asks why Freeze wants to work at WE, and Freeze says he wants to lay low now that Batman is killing people. Like the last issue, Joker insists that Batman is dead, and he also acts like his memory of his old life is fading.

Fair point, Victor, but I don't think you're getting the job.

Is Poison Ivy Joker's secretary?? Well, no one would look for her there, I'm sure. So long as she resists the temptation to poison her boss.

Cut to night: Joker starts sleepwalking.

Oh my god, Joker has his own dour bat-monologue. Batman's truest fanboy.

This brings me back to Joker War, when Joker told Bruce that Gotham City didn't want to be saved. But here Joker is, protecting her dead body for/as Batman anyway.

Gremlin Batman, being up front about his MO.

These clowns are with Gaggy, who sadly cannot get Joker to remember him but does receive some TMI.

Poor Gaggy. ANYWAY, we cut to a corporate baseball game between Wayne Enterprises and freaking LexCorp. In dreamworld, Jimmy Olsen works for Lex, at least until he jokes about how with Joker's sports ability, he should be called Batman.

omg AND BRUCE IS THERE

Damn right Joker is your man, Bruce!

Talk. Dinner. At Bruce's place. IT'S A DATE. So much packed into an instant classic batjokes panel.

When Joker arrives at the manor, Insomnia is there, and… like… there is so much going on.

- Joker seems to recognize Insomnia as his boss, but then instantly accepts that he's now Winchester, Bruce's butler. (Not sure if Joker noticed Insomnia was also the umpire at the game.)

- Insomnia tries to say that Bruce was called away, in a classic Batman bit, and when Bruce shows his face, Insomnia seems perturbed. He doesn't want Joker to talk to Bruce.

- YEAH BRUCE IS WEARING THE KILLING JOKE OUTFIT. The tourist costume that Joker wore when he shot Barbara. Alright. Okay. Alright. Okay.

There is so much going on!!

You may have noticed that Bruce called Insomnia Windham, not Winchester, and he misnames him again here, as Winthrop. Joker regularly does this to people, particularly henchmen.

Also, Joker earlier told Bruce that he can't eat seafood, but that's all that's being served. lol

Here's an extended version of a gag from Batman 1989, and also Joker noting that his sense of humor has resulted in lawsuits (but not in him being fired, of course). There's an implication that Joker's been muting his personality at work, adding a layer to all the jokes he unleashes when he sleepfights as Batman.

The next bit just calls for the full page.

- Bruce saying the world needs a little craziness, that the city needs Batman, so that life makes sense, so that it isn't boring.

- Insomnia trying to stop the conversation twice, and shut down by Bruce twice (again with the wrong names).

- Bruce saying he wouldn't be the same man if Batman died and indicating he knows Joker feels the same way. Batman is integral to both of their identities. Just laying it out there that Joker is acting as Batman so the city doesn't lose something irreplaceable.

- Bruce saying, jk, Batman is fine and whatever is wrong with Johann, Bruce must have dreamt it up. He's telling Joker what's going on in reality, that Batman is fine and this is a dream!

- Insomnia blames Bruce's rambling on a seafood allergy, but he's applying a trait of Joker's to Bruce. He's just strengthening the connection.

And maybe the allergy is supposed to be real for Bruce too, and not a throwaway, and he's eating like a ravenous animal, because he doesn't care, because like Joker he dives into danger even when it's idiocy. And because Bruce basically is Joker. Joker sees them reflected in each other, but also Joker's subconscious is telling him all this to bring himself back to reality. The TKJ outfit on Bruce of all people is glaring signal meant to shake Joker out of it. It's just wrong. But it's also that Joker is hearing the truth from someone he really knows. Yes, it's not the Bat who laughed with him in the rain, at the futility of trusting each other, but the face behind the mask is the man who wanted to help him anyway. Maybe Joker does want to trust him deep down I KNOW I'M RAMBLING THIS IS A LOT

And it all gets into Joker's conscious thoughts too. He's, uh, distracted at work the next day.

Hey, Freeze got hired after all!

HR can't have you being silly, Joker. You start killing people at work again like a good Batman nemesis, and then you might take the dream in a different direction! Insomnia doesn't want that, and he tries telling Joker that Bruce is just messing with him.

And Joker intends to clear his head, but when he goes home he discovers his secret corpse is no longer well-kept.

Batman's corpse, face down and ass up. What an image!

Joker's old life will not be suppressed!

As Joker loses it, he's contradicting himself. All this time he's been saying Batman is dead, but now it's "he tried to make me think that Batman might have died." Either his thoughts are scrambled up, or "he" actually refers to Insomnia, or maybe both. But regardless, now Joker needs to prove that Batman is alive. If Batman is alive, then the boring little life Joker has made for himself makes total sense. Batman has always made Joker's life make sense.

Joker resurrects his old skills and creates a plan to catch the Batman, but the logic behind it is that Batman is uncatchable. So if Joker's plan fails, then the Batman running around is real, and everything is okay. Then of course Joker takes a "nap" so we can see this plan come to fruition.

It starts with a gaggle of violent clowns attacking a couple on the street. "Batman," with no memory of this plan, appears to stop them, and is overwhelmed.

And one of the clowns releases toxin.

The Batman was caught, and he's exposed. He's not real. He's Joker, and he's dying. Batman is dead, and everyone needs him. Joker needs him.

And it's with this revelation that Joker wakes– and we get confirmation that it's shot-in-the-head, sewer rat Joker who is having the dream! This has to be confirmation that he's the real one, doesn't it? Right?? It's possible the other Joker had his own dream… But I have a soft spot for the underdog. I hope he's our guy and Mr. Waffles defects to his side. Then everything will be right as rain!

Speaking of, Joker does seem to shake the dream off pretty well. For now, anyway.

I wasn't sure how to interpret this at first, but I figure it's just that Joker doesn't care too much for these friends, and having weird dreams about Batsy is more appealing even if they're nightmares about losing him and becoming a defanged normie.

Still, I expect this nightmare will bolster this Joker, who started out lost and despondent, in his efforts to get rid of his doppelganger and re-establish himself as Batman's one-and-only nemesis. Maybe bring some flowers to smooth over the divorce thing, apologize for trying to cut his face off…

#knight terrors: joker #the man who stopped laughing #joker #bruce wayne #batjokes #spoilers #my jibber-jabber

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lurkingshan · 3 months

Note

For the trope ask game: 5, 9 and 13

Second Chance Romance

Giving it up for my darling Our Dating Sim. This was a second chance romance in its purest form--a failed confession, a long separation, and a determination on half the pair's fault to address the pain and not miss their chance again. This show is such a perfect distillation of the angst and joy of this trope when done right, and it did it all so efficiently. Everyone go rewatch it right now!

Fake Dating

This show is far from perfect (like, FAR), but man did it get this trope right. Maybe the most faithful version of the fake dating trope we've ever had in genre, and certainly the most successful. And I don't care what anyone says, Sarawat is a forever fav and I feel his frustrated yearning in my soul. The key to doing this trope well is that the fake dating should hurt--the pretending should blend into real feeling and there should be confusion and misalignment on that between the pair. That's the main narrative of the first 2/3 of 2G in a nutshell, so I will give them their flowers and pretend the rest didn't happen.

Grumpy/Sunshine

Perhaps an out of the box choice given the tragedy at the core of Eternal Yesterday, but I think the way Koichi's uncomplicated optimism and hope spoke to Mitsuru's more cynical, dour personality was crucial to this story, even more so after Koichi's death. It was both a positive, in that it helped pull Mitsuru out of his dark place, but also a negative in that it caused communication problems because their very different personalities resulted in them sometimes misinterpreting each other in crucial moments. Ultimately, I think Mitsuru needed Koichi for balance, and that he had to find a way to go on without him just adds to the tragedy of their end.

Send me a number and I’ll post the best and/or my fave show that uses that trope

#our dating sim #2gether #eternal yesterday #ask game #shan answers

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pumpkinhrat · 10 months

Note

Martin nearly drops his glass of wine in his lap when the notification pops up. A bit does splash over the lip of the glass and nearly ruins his freshly folded laundry, but he can’t bring himself to care. The message blinks at him from his phone screen: Tinder (now) – Somebody Super Liked you! Find out who.

Martin stares blankly at it until the screen starts to go dark. A Super Like. A Super Like? It’s been a week since Martin opened the account and he’s barely had 5 matches in the time since. He’s not even really sure what a Super Like is besides the fact that Tinder keeps trying to make him buy them. Did someone pay to match with him? Martin’s pulse quickens and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s typing in his passcode and pulling up the app. Immediately, a profile pops up with a bright blue star under the scowling face of–

Jonathan Sims.

Martin freezes, the skin of his neck prickling suddenly. What… He takes a furtive look around his flat, suddenly and bizarrely self conscious, as if someone’s gonna pop up beside him to judge his every reaction – ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He takes a large swallow of wine.

Martin’s first instinct upon discovering that his boss Super Liked him on Tinder of all places is, of course, to deny, deny, deny that it’s really happening. Because, really, imagining dour, dry Jon sitting down to set up an online dating profile after scoffing at Tim’s own profile so hard that he’d set himself into a coughing fit is unbelievable. It doesn’t help Martin’s denial, however, that the third picture on Jon’s account is one of Tim and Sasha crowding beside him at a bar. It also doesn’t help that Martin remembers that night very clearly and knows for certain that after Sasha had taken that selfie of the three of them, Tim had insisted on a photo with Martin as well. (“Gotta have documentation that I actually managed to drag all three of you out at once!” he remembers Tim shouting in his ear.)

Martin clicks through the rest of the profile with a deliberate sort of detachment, though his cheeks warm against his will. It’s not his fault that every previously unseen photo of his stuffy, starched shirt boss in jeans and a flannel ignites a new wash of fire down his back. The blue Super Like star continuing to glow merrily under each photo doesn’t help, either.

Martin mindlessly scrolls down a bit further and encounters the description he’d missed while scouring Jon’s photo album. The bio reads: ‘Stressed, depressed, well dressed. Put the bi in bibliophile. Looking for someone to raise a cat with.’ Martin’s attention catches on the second line, specifically the word ‘bi’. He knows that Jon had dated at least one woman before but he never wanted to assume anything about his preferences. It’s nice to know, he supposes, as his traitorous body sends another wash of elated heat down his back.

This is bad. Very, very bad. Jon had been alluring enough when he’d been Marin’s mean, unfairly hot boss who’d occasionally dress him down in a way that made his hands tingle. Cold, strict, and gloriously, mercifully unattainable. It’s been a few years since those rocky beginnings, though. Now, Jon has settled into his gig as Head Archivist and the spiky walls of his glaringly obvious inferiority complex have disappeared entirely. He still snaps and snipes, of course, but that’s to be expected no matter how close you are to Jonathan Sims.

This, unfortunately, means that Martin’s… interest (he refuses to say ‘infatuation’ as Tim had) in Jon has taken a bit more of a realistic turn. In the past year or so, Jon has turned into something of a friend, which is incredible on its own but also has disastrous implications for Martin’s ability to maintain his self control. And this? This is bad.

The wine (a thank you gift from Jon for hosting his birthday party at his flat the year prior) sits warm and soft in Martin’s belly as his thumb hovers over the swipe right and left options. Nothing about this makes a lick of sense, but Martin’s imagination never really needs much to go on in order to find the most ridiculous course of action and convince him to act on it.

He downs the rest of his glass in one go and swipes his thumb to the right. Who needs self control?

––

“And what, exactly, do you mean by concerned?”

Sasha cringes slightly at Jon’s sharp tone but Tim just slings an arm around his neck, snatching his phone and the offending Tinder account away from him. “Oh come on Boss Man, you know we worry! We’re just looking out for you! Consider it a favor.”

“A favor.” His tone is so dry that even Tim grimaces but he quickly recovers.

“Yeah! You were just whingeing about how terrible company Sash and I make on a night out, always running off for a bit of fun and leaving you by your lonesome. We thought we’d solicit you some company!”

“Must you phrase it that way? It sounds as if you’re hiring me an escort.” Jon gripes without much bite, crossing his arms where he leans against Sasha’s desk. Tim grins at him so widely he rolls his eyes and looks away. “So, what, you want to find someone for me to interact with while the two of you go off to- to do whatever it is you do? I’m just supposed to stay behind and rendezvous with some stranger?”

“Well,” Sasha says slowly. Jon turns his imperious look on her. “We tried to encourage you to, um, rendezvous with someone at the bar when the two of us break off but you didn’t seem to like that idea either.”

Jon puffs out an exasperated little sigh that is honestly endearing as fuck and levels a flat look at Sasha. “You know perfectly well that that is not something I’m–”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cuts in quickly. “It’s perfectly possible to make friends at bars even if you’re not looking for anything else.”

“Maybe for some people,” he mutters, looking away, and Sasha’s heart squeezes much in the way that had made her start this entire endeavor. She opens her mouth to explain just this but Tim beats her to the punch.

“That’s kinda the point, Boss Man. We know you aren’t particularly comfortable having full blown conversations with strangers, so we thought this would be is a great solution! Match with a few people, see who fits the best, then you can meet the ones who you think you’d actually survive socializing with.” Jon takes a breath and Tim quickly barrels on. “Aaaand if you don’t find anyone who meets that bar, then no harm done! Just delete the app and you’ll never have to think about it again.” He gently pushes the phone across Sasha’s desk toward Jon, the app open to the ‘matches’ page.

Jon stares down at it with clear disdain before eyeing them both doubtfully. “I appreciate the effort,” he starts carefully and Sasha has to bite her tongue to resist interrupting. “But isn’t this an entirely unnecessary endeavor? It’s not as if we go out all that often, anyway. Everyone’s far too busy to agree on nights to go out, and Martin hasn’t been able to attend in months.”

“Well, y’know, that’s also kind of the point, Boss Man,” Tim says. He yanks out a chair and sits on it backward beside Sasha so they’re both looking up at Jon. He taps his phone pointedly. “We want you to get out there, mingle with other people now that Martin’s lost his weekends to his mom and Sash and I are dipping into territory you’re not as comfortable with–”

“You two do know I am capable of hearing the word sex without bursting into flame, yes?”

“–and, hey, we get it, you’re not the most social guy. But everyone needs a little bit of time with a friend or partner. We don’t want you to miss out on that because our little quartet has encountered a few scheduling conflicts.”

Jon stares at them, a look Sasha does not like filling his eyes, and his lips thin slightly. “You think I’m lonely.” He says the word with such a tone of accusation that Sasha cringes again.

“We don’t think you’re lonely,” she corrects quickly. “We just think you’d benefit from new social connections now that we’re less available.”

“And we still wanna go out,” Tim adds. “As often as we can. We just want–”

“Me to have more options than just you three, yes, I understand the premise.” He turns his attention back to Tim’s phone and gingerly pokes through the app, huffing and making more Jon Noises. Precious. After an excruciating amount of time, he heaves a gigantic sigh. “I suppose it won’t hurt to- to test it out. See if your theory holds any weight.” He sounds reluctant but Tim and Sasha share an excited glance, Sasha giving an endeared little nose scrunch at the wording. What an utterly Jon thing to say. “It has– It’s been a while since Georgie, so I believe now is as good a time as any to ‘get back out there’. I hadn’t thought there’d be anyone particularly interesting on apps like these but…” He trails off as he clicks through one of his matches’ profiles and Sasha just barely catches a glimpse of a foggy silhouette on a mountain.

“We handpicked a few people that we thought you might gel with,” she cuts in quickly, before Jon can expand on his ‘but’ and shut the whole thing down. “The one you’re looking at right now is Tim’s favorite, though I think he’s a bit boring.” Tim makes an affronted noise but Jon just hums, scrolling slowly through the profile’s long winded description.

“Yes, quite,” he says, clearly not paying any attention to what she’s saying. Tim grins at her.

‘Told ya so!’ He mouths and Sasha gives him the finger under her desk.

“Well, whaddya say, Boss?” Tim asks after another few minutes, which Jon spends entirely on Martin’s profile. “Shall I get you all logged in on your phone so you can start chatting him up? Or am I gonna lose my phone entirely to you and this ‘Martin’?” Jon looks up at Tim, surprised, then back down at the phone.

“Oh, right, yes, this is–“ He fumbles to return the phone to Tim, as if looking through it hadn’t been the entire point of the account, and pulls out his own phone. “I’ll just take over from you now, shall I? It is, ah, apparently my account, after all.”

He says the last bit with no small amount of pointed wryness but Sasha ignores their squabbling, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. Another successful mission in order to expand Jon’s little world, this one possibly the most satisfying. She glows a little with the feeling of a job well done.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

ANON YOURE BACK, THANK YOU FOR WRITING MORE I absolutely love it 😭

[Here is the previous part] --- [next part]

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

#anon's tma!da au fic #tma!da au #asks #jonmartin #jmart #tma fic #AAAAAAA #im so happy im crying #this is so cute

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lxverrings · 4 months

Text

Private Tutoring.

A Miguel O’hara fic.

Disclaimer: No smut (maybe if people like this enough, I will write more to it?), just a silly potential series, it’s just goofy. I saw a post about a frat boy Miguel and I was like “Wouldn’t it be funny if it was reversed?” and here it is!

Summary: Mean Nerd!Miguel x Nice Jock!Reader ; Gold retriever and Black Cat dynamics, Reader is hella short (in comparison to Miguel) and genuinely just goofy and distracted. (She’s doing her best...)

“AND SCORE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THAT IS IT, OUR FIRST 7 TO 1 GAME, DIDN’T THINK WE WOULD MAKE IT THIS FAR AND NOW-”

You could hear the speakers blaring as the last touchdown announcement roared through your ears, slipping off the helmet as you gasped for air. The star of the show. You never thought you would make it this far as you wiped your nose with a bright smile, shining in front of your sour mother and overly proud father. Testament of all the people you outshined and proved wrong in the brink of collapse.

The precipice of the show was here, and you held the trophy to your chest with a gleaming smile.

Jaws were open, and people were shocked- a woman playing football? More likely than you thought. And the best part was? It was genuinely fun!!!

Trudging your way to the locker room with your shiny trophy, as you washed yourself up... You couldn’t stop staring at it. The water trickled down your face as you massaged the shampoo on your hair... It was amazing. It felt amazing. Your recent new date, Kevin would probably smile and pat your head, and your best friend, Jess, would smile and hug you. Peter would laugh and ruffle your hair and Kevin would roll his eyes at him. You couldn’t wait as-

A sudden alarm glared into your ears- a jump scare warning would be nice...

“...Please come to the Principal’s Office as soon as possible.”

You quickly got dressed after washing off the sweat, picking up your trophy and mentally begging it wasn’t your misogynistic mother yelling at you to come to the office.

...

You jogged your way up to the office, “Hey Prez!” you chirped out with a smile- immediately paling at the sight.

The room was dour, a man, larger than the principal, larger than many bullies who picked on your friends and later on gained their respect, was sitting in the table, a dark look in his crimson red eyes, a dark, sharp glare as his glasses were lowered lightly.

The principal was a stubborn, sharp man, someone you befriended a bit back– befriended really isn’t the word, you twat. Thank goodness you were only thinking that.

“... Am I in trouble...?” you muttered as the principal gestured you to sit down.

...

“Not at all, miss.” he began, calmly, “I have called you here today to tutor Miguel here. Mr. O’hara is a college senior, a grade above you, and currently working hard for his business degree, however, it seems he lacks a social circle that benefits him... And you, madam, your grades are slipping quite a bit, so I have decided to offer you the private sector of the library to study together and for you– Mr. O’hara...” he paused, as Miguel grunted, “–Just socialize. That will be all.”

The two of you were shooed out, and Miguel immediately began to walk away.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“Cállate, chiquita.” Miguel glared down from his demeaning eyes, and imposing stature, “You go right back to whatever hole you crawled out of, niñita.²”

... Rude.

You quickly jogged after him to keep up, “Hey, we’re not done here, mister– the principal sai–”

“I do not care what he said or what he wants. Go away you annoying fly.”

...Rude!

“Hey, c’mon, you heard him, please?” you spoke gently, still rushing after him, “I haven’t even told you my name!” you added, grabbing his wrist, the massive trunk was strange, your hand barely wrapped around his wrist, quietly gulping as he glared.

“Yo yá sé quién eres, muñequita.”

He then twisted his wrist away– or tried, but you just wouldn’t let up, as you grabbed on and clung with both hands.

“Hey! C’mon! Please! I– ... Give me a chance, will you? Just... Let me get to know you. You’ve never met me, yet you judge me based on only what you’ve heard... Not what you actually know.”

The silence was palpable as he stared at you.

He finally groaned and stopped.

“Fine. But not today, you can come along with me to the library.”

“Really?!”

“Sólo por hoy.”

You smiled brightly as you skittered after him, quickly chatting...

...

“–And with that, bam! You wouldn’t believe how simple it can be to convince people with just enough determination!” you were chatting up a storm, but... soon, you came to realize that what the principal said was true. He grunted and grumbled in response most of the times you spoke. You could feel your eyes soften a bit, looking up at him.

“Hey. You really don’t like talking, do you, big guy?” you asked gently, tugging on his sleeve to get him to look at you.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he grumbled, as he stared down at you.

“...it is but... Do you, want me to keep talking? Am I boring you?”

He paused, suddenly silent as he looked at you.

“... You’re annoying, yes. But... No, I’m not bored.”

“... That’s good.”

“What?”

“That’s good.” you repeated, with more certainty, suddenly bursting out laughing, a warm smile on your face as your cheeks turned red.

“Wha– What’s so funny?!” he suddenly yelled, confused, and maybe even angry, as you kept laughing, smiling brightly.

“Oh, god. I was starting to think I was boring you, and you felt nothing... And look! Look! I got you to speak!” you smiled brightly, your eyes twinkling like stars.

“... Yeah. You did.” he seemed a little irritated, and even a little defeated, but you smiled as the two of you arrived to the library.

...

“When is this nightmare over?” you groaned as you slumped on the desk, pouting as he suddenly quietly chuckled, holding the Calculus book.

“Sé vá acabar cuándo en serio intentes trabajar.”

You whined again as you gave him a pouty look, “Can’t we try later? Please? A break? I’m begging you, you can come over to my dorm– and– and– I’ll order pizza and then we can talk about it. Please? If it gets late, you can sleep over!” you kept complaining. Seriously, who thought calculus was a good idea?

Answer? Absolutely fucking nobody.

“...fine.” he sighed, closing the book, rolling his eyes as he took off his glasses... His face was so hot under the library lighting, and you couldn’t help but stare a little before shaking your head to snap out of it.

“Yay! Thank you, Miguel!” you smiled warmly, tightly hugging him for a moment, which left him stunned, as you left for the door, leaving your dorm room number behind.

...

‘What an enigma of a woman. És tan irritante, ésa tonta chamaca. Yet... No, no, snap out of it.’

...

Soon enough, he did arrive at your house, and the two of you set on ordering pizza and studying. Well, as much as you could.

Not that this made much sense to you whatsoever, so you just looked up at him with little lost eyes and a pout that made him grumble in irritation...

...

But eventually, after hours of being verbally abused in Spanish, the lesson was over, and you just laughed gently.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“Done what? Tutor? I have.”

“No, no... This.” you answered, as he raised an eyebrow in confusion, “I mean hang out. You know? Like with friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“What nonsense... I’m your friend.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” you smiled, and he, once again, rolled his eyes.

Divider by: @ across-the-art-verse

Translations:

1. “Shut up, little one.”

2. “–Little Girl.”

3. “I already know who you are, little doll.”

4. “Just for today.”

5. “It’ll be done when you seriously try to work on it.”

6. “–She is so irritating, that dumb girl.”

Thank you for reading ♡

#miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #reader x miguel

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