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#but that's what i think of when i hear orange and brown

thewarmblanket · 1 day

Note

I saw you made a post asking for requests!

So may I humbly request your take on what a desert Na'vi tribe would be like? Whether you want to draw it or just write ideas down, whatever you feel up for!!

ACTUALLY I WAS JUST GOING TO POST THIS

First of all, yes, they are not desert but savannah na'vi. But because most likely Pandora doesn't have any deserts at all, this is the closest that we can have.

I found this beautiful referense and I just had to draw this

So, about the savannah na'vi! I'm planning on creating like a system of savannah clans that would feel similar to lion prides. As you can see I already have a design for them: purple skin since na'vi get purple when tan, spots that grow into stripes (we discussed it with one guy that studies biology as a hobby and decided this pattern but I don't remember what was exactly the reason), curly hair, yellow-to-orange-to-brown eyes, little bioluminescence. And of course facial features of African people.

Each clan will have their own culture, I already have some ideas like: they hunt by riding these cheetah like predators and chase their prey at incredible speed, but only women can ride them! Women are the main hunters of the clan, men are busy protecting the village, cooking and teaching the eldest children. Some clans will use tar like substance to protect their teeth so their teeth become black. They love colorful clothes and colors in general so often they would paint themselves in bright paterns just to feel beautiful. Each clan has their own different way to style their hair. Curly hair is not a struggle but an opportunity!

This is most of the ideas I had but there's still a lot lo think about. Let me know if you have any more ideas!

And I think it is needed to say, na'vi clans are only inspired by existing human cultures, but are not meant to accurately represent them. Well at least my clans. I just would not want to hear something like "we are not like this you're not getting our culture right!!" coming from an African person. I am still learning about other cultures and I can't know everything. I just find those bits of culture that I see inspiring. Thank you for reading all this haha))

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar frontiers of pandora #afop #atwow #art #avatar art #avatar oc #savannah na'vi

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yaksha-lover · 6 months

Text

Someone New

Summary: Travelling worlds has its side effects; namely, having visions of multiple timelines. As you get closer to the housewardens after their overblots, you begin to see the possible future that awaits the two of you, if only you decide to choose them.

Overblot gang x Reader (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus)

GN but mentions of biological children - imagine anything you want though (magic spells that make anything possible!)

i. blooms of red and bursts of reason; riddle rosehearts

Even after knowing him for months, you don’t touch Riddle until long after his overblot. He isn’t truly comfortable with you, with anyone, touching him so casually.

The chill of autumn ghosts your skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms. When he notices you rubbing your forearms to gather some warmth, Riddle insists on offering you his coat. Something about ‘rule five hundred and nine.’

His ways don’t always make sense to you, but you appreciate the sentiment behind the action. You take his coat, uttering your gratitude to him, although it’s quite small considering his stature. He offers you a small smile; in Riddle’s case, you know that means a lot.

You can’t help but return his smile, the small affection making your heart stir suddenly. It’s nice - spending time alone with Riddle. At the beginning of the year, you’d never have imagined becoming close with him. It was hard to see past the strict housewarden who never let anything go.

You think he’d made assumptions about you too. About you being a troublemaker, someone not worth his time, just another problem. You’re thankful you’ve both come around.

You stare at him from the corner of your eye as you walk together. He truly is gentle at heart, despite what his temper might suggest. His red hair sits perfectly on his head, cutely framing his face. It makes you think of his mother; his hair is perhaps the only good thing she passed onto him.

You snap out of your thoughts when you step a little too hard into a puddle and accidentally splash your pants, slightly dirtying them. Riddle turns when he hears your grumble, and you prepare yourself for a scolding. You won’t hold it against him; it was your fault for being careless.

Instead, Riddle only shakes his head gently, before asking if you’d like to stop at Ramshackle to change before you two arrive at the library.

Your surprise forces you to take a moment and just look at him. So far he’s come from the person he was only a couple months ago. You feel strangely sentimental, so you reach out to touch his shoulder, intending to thank him.

As soon as you make contact with him, the world around you shifts, brown and orange leaves being traded for the bright green of spring.

You sit under a pagoda tree, the wind gently blowing the pages of your novel. It’s strange - you’re seeing things as yourself, but you’re not in control. It’s as though you’re replaying the memory of someone else. At the sound of someone’s voice, ‘you’ look up. It’s there that you spot familiar red hair; it forms a stark contrast to the vegetation around you.

He’s not alone, either. In Riddle’s arms is a small baby, with identical hair to who you presume is his father. It’s a striking image - Riddle with his child. He’s noticeably older; if you had to guess, he seems to be in his late twenties.

“MC? Sorry to bother, but he’s been refusing to eat today. I checked our parenting books thrice, but I haven’t found any suitable solutions. I thought you might know how to help him.”

“That’s okay,” you hear your voice say. “How is our little guy doing?”

Riddle passes the baby to you, and you finally take notice of his other features; this child has the same colour eyes as you, and a similarly shaped nose.

You then catch a glimpse of the ring sparking on your left hand, and the other on Riddle’s.

“Hmm,” you’re vision-self says. “Let’s go back home, I’ll try to see what’s bothering him.”

“Alright, dear. I’ll start on dinner,” older-Riddle replies.

He takes your hand and helps you up, before you walk back toward the house in the distance, your hand still in his.

When the greens turn to orange, you blink, finding Riddle looking at you. You’re back at NRC.

“Are you alright, prefect? You seem distracted.”

“I’m okay, Riddle. I just…never mind. Let’s get going.”

You decide not to tell him about your strange…Dream? Vision? It all seemed so real…you could smell the tree sap and feel the breeze flow against your skin. You held a baby. Your baby…with Riddle? The two of you were older, but would it really be possible for it to truly be your future? That seemed ridiculous. Then again, you thought the same thing about magic a few months ago.

You resolve to keep this strange occurrence to yourself until you can figure out what happened. It’s hard to look at Riddle, having now seen the two of you married and with a child together. You’re more flustered than usual. Was this just some kind of daydream projection of your fantasies about him? You weren’t even really sure you could say you have a ‘crush’ on him - after all, you’ve only recently begun getting close. Not that you haven’t thought of him that way at all but-

You’re sure Riddle takes notice of your strange behaviour throughout your study session but, thankfully, he doesn’t comment on it.

ii. dizzying dreams and endless nights; leona kingscholar

You’d fought Leona hard to get where you are now - on the left side of his bed, with Grim sleeping at the base. You’re exhausted with everything going on with Azul (hopefully) temporarily taking your dorm, but it’s hard to sleep with how worried you are about the situation.

Leona’s room is dim, moonlight cascading over the silk sheets. You can barely make out his form, curled up in the blankets and turned away from you.

You don’t want to disturb the sleeping lion, but he happens to be hogging the entire blanket. You suppose you should’ve known, but it wasn’t as though you had time to take anything from Ramshackle.

When the chill becomes too much to ignore, you try to tug part of the blanket away from him. This causes Leona to roll over, arm suddenly falling around your back.

You’re hit with another wave of blurry vision as the moon melts into the sun.

“Morning,” you hear a voice, your voice, say to him. Your tone is playful and lightheartedly chastising. You can feel his arms wrapped snuggly around you.

It’s happening again, the same as with Riddle. You’re seeing things from your own eyes, but you’re not in control.

A groan comes from behind you, Leona shuffling his position but refusing to open his eyes. His bare legs brush yours under the covers. “Too early. Go back to sleep.” He pulls you closer into his chest.

‘You’ laugh gently, turning around in his arms so you’re now face to face. “You promised the queen we would attend this banquet. Especially after we missed the last one.”

He looks older here too, but as gorgeous as ever. Despite just waking up, Leona’s dark hair falls perfectly around his face. The room is different than his one at school; it’s still a bedroom, but it looks as though you’re back in the castle of Sunset Savanna.

Leona finally opens his eyes, looking at you with a heavy gaze before flipping you below him. His arms hold him straight above you, looking down on you lying prone on the bed. “Hmph.” He leans in close until your lips are only millimetres apart. “We have some time, don’t we?”

You’re left staring into those piercing green eyes, entranced by them being closer than ever.

With that, he leans in completely, lips brushing over your own as he begins to kiss you. The longer it goes, the more ravenous he becomes, more and more greedy for the taste of your lips.

When the sunlight fades to moonlight, you’re left embarrassed. That was - so much worse than with Riddle?! Ugh, it’s so awkward with Leona sleeping beside you now, like you’ve violated some kind of rule by thinking of him that way.

You’re too afraid to even consider the possibility of it being some kind of dream. It came on so suddenly, but you hadn’t been asleep. The whole thing seemed so real, too elaborate for a simple dream. No, it had to be more than that - some kind of vision - but how could that be true? And what did that mean about your vision with Riddle? Surely they couldn’t both be correct.

You’d intended on ignoring it before, but with Leona’s vision, that seemed futile. Perhaps the staff would have some answers for you…

iii. seashells shimmer in the forever sea; azul ashengrotto

Azul isn’t one for touching, and this time neither are you. Ever since the Crowley’s theory about alternate universes and rips in time since you’ve travelled worlds, you’ve decided it’s best to stay away from touching too many people. It was…interesting, to see a possible future with Riddle and Leona, but it’s certainly left you ambivalent. It’s a bit difficult not to avoid them when your mind drifts to your ‘visions’ while in their vicinity.

Riddle is kind enough to ignore your sudden shyness, but Leona has openly called you out on how flustered you get around him. He seems both confused and amused about the development, and his smugness is too much to handle sometimes.

Fortunately for you, Leona doesn’t hang around the Mostro Lounge much, making it the perfect place for you to avoid him. You try to force Ace and Deuce to come with you and study there, but the two have been reluctant considering their previous encounters with the twins while trying to get Azul’s picture.

That means you’re left to go alone, sometimes. Well, alone except for Grim. He never leaves you hanging as long as you agree to buy him food. Just like today, where he sits passed out across the other side of the booth, having eaten himself into a food coma.

You try to return to your homework, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch Azul staring at you from the staff area. When you make eye contact, he only waves, smile dripped in plasticity. When you don’t clue in, he walks toward your table, eventually taking a seat across from you, beside Grim.

“Hello, Prefect,” he says.

“Azul.”

Unlike Riddle - and even to some extent, Leona - you haven’t really gotten close to Azul after his overblot. He doesn’t exactly want you to, it seems.

“I noticed you’ve been frequenting the Lounge quite frequently as of late - I just wanted to thank you, for being a dedicated patron.”

“I’m not doing it for you, but you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Ah yes, I presumed. So, who are you doing it for?”

Your mind snaps to thoughts of you and Leona in the future, his arms around you in his bed-

“Nothing. No one. Do you need something, Azul?”

Despite your attempt at neutrality, Azul must see something on your face as you attempt to rid your mind of your vision of Leona. He leans in a bit, curious to observe you.

You begin packing up your things, too distracted to continue studying.

“No need to leave on my account,” he says.

“It’s not.”

He stands at the same time as you, presumably planning to head back to his office. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t noticed Grim migrate to his place sleeping on the floor. When you take a step forward and trip, Azul is, tragically, directly in front of you.

Your arms reach out instinctively, but instead of stabilizing yourself by grabbing onto his shoulders, the force of your fall knocks the both of you over.

As soon as you make contact with him, your vision swirls into another world full of beautiful blues.

The coral sea is even more breathtaking than you remember. You’ve only been a couple times, but the drastic differences between the land and ocean always manage to stun you. The water is so clear that it practically glitters as you wave your hands through it, feeling the water pass refreshingly across your smooth skin.

You’ve never been to this specific place before (presumably, it doesn’t exist yet), but it’s clear what it is: a restaurant. If the octopus logo has anything to do with it, clearly it’s Azul’s. It wasn’t too surprising to you that he would have more restaurants open in the future, but you weren’t sure what you were doing here. If the pattern followed, it seemed inevitable that you and Azul would be…romantically-involved in this timeline, but that just didn’t seem possible.

At least you had befriended Riddle and Leona to an extent - Azul looked down on your existence as a magicless person, seemingly entirely apathetic about you in general. You had to admit, the feelings were mutual considering his treatment of you and your friends.

You feel ‘yourself’ look around the restaurant, before heading back into the staff area. You knock on the door to an office, and Azul opens it with a smile.

He, too, is older. His face has matured a bit and he also wears his hair a bit longer. Azul still has his grey suit, though.

“Hello, MC. Done for the day?”

“I guess so, boss,” your voice replied cheekily. Boss?? Why would your future self ever work for-

“Hmm, I may have more tasks for you, why don’t you come in~”

With that, future-Azul takes your hand and tugs you into his office. On his desk sits several picture frames; one of his parents and one of his wedding. You happened to spot yourself in the second one.

It’s a bit jarring to see; you and Azul posed together, dressed up in such fancy clothing. His arm sits around your shoulder, and yours around his waist. Before this, the two of you have never even shook hands.

You hear yourself giggling, cornering Azul against the wall as soon as he closes the door and bringing your arms around his neck to kiss him.

You can already feel the dread forming; you definitely won’t be able to spend time at the Mostro Lounge after this…

As the two of you pull away, Azul starts talking about a reunion for your graduating class at NRC.

“I told them maybe - with the new branch of our restaurant opening, we may wish to stay back. Then again, it could be a great opportunity to network for us. What do you think, dear?”

Before you can hear your reply, the world fades back into the familiar lighting of the Mostro Lounge.

A groaning Azul is beneath you, having (unfortunately for him) broken your fall.

You utter a quiet ‘sorry!’ as you get off of him, still a bit flustered from your vision.

He gets up, dusting himself off. Thankfully, the two of you are in a rather secluded area of the place, so no one was there to witness your embarrassment.

Azul can no longer maintain the facade of kind gentleman as he turns back to you, voice dripping with passive aggressiveness.

“I would prefer if you refrained from touching me in the future. Thank you.”

With that, he gets up and leaves. You shake your head - how could there possibly be any timeline where you’ve married him?

iv. jaded jewels shine, awaken from slumber; jamil viper

While helping out with the VDC, you’ve had time to get close to Jamil. Much closer, in fact, than with any of the others you’ve had visions of before. Now you’ve avoided touching him for a whole other reason - you’re scared you won’t have a vision.

Spending time with Jamil has made you realize things you’d never thought about him before - his handsomeness, intelligence, and talent. You’ve developed a bit of a crush on him, considering how much you admire him.

However, you have no idea how he feels. Jamil has never been one to express his feelings so outwardly, but you can’t get a read on him at all. He’s been polite with you, but he’s treated you basically the same as everyone else.

Your attempts at getting closer to him have been rather unsuccessful - the group is so busy practicing, everyone’s been way too exhausted to really do anything.

You manage to get a moment alone at Ramshackle when the rest of the boys have gone to sleep, and you find Jamil sitting out on the porch alone.

“Hey,” you say. “Mind if I join you?”

Jamil turns to look at you before nodding his head. You take a seat beside him, following his gaze to the stars. The sky is dark but the moon casts a glow on him, making Jamil look beautiful under the light.

“What are you thinking about?”

He hums for a moment before replying, “What I’m always thinking about - how things will just go back to normal again after the end of the VDC.”

You don’t really know what to say; his fears seem inevitable, no matter how much you want to comfort him. “I’m sorry…I can’t understand what it’s like for you, but…what if you could still have some kind of happiness in your life?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…you could still find love?”

“Find love? You think that’s what I care about?” Jamil’s tone is bitter, but his voice never rises. “Sorry, but you’re awfully naive. Things like love won’t make my life better. It’ll only complicate things.”

“I-I understand.”

When your voice shakes, Jamil finally looks up at you, sighing when he spots your watery eyes.

“Prefect, relax. I’m not angry at you. It’s just a frustrating situation for me, I’m sure you know. I don’t have time to think about love. I just need to focus on myself.”

With that, he pats your shoulder before standing up, leaving you alone to stare at the night sky. Jamil hadn’t even realized you were trying to confess to him, and you felt terrible for even trying to bring it up. Of course he wouldn’t be able to think about something like your stupid little crush - you feel so silly for even bringing it up, you should’ve known better since you know all about his circumstances.

It was then you realized - Jamil had touched you for the first time. He touched you and nothing happened.

The first one you’d been seriously interested in, and there seemed to be no future for the two of you.

Was it possible you’d already messed up this timeline, making it impossible for that future with him to occur? The whole thing made your head spin and your heart ache.

v. swept into spotlights, doused in delicacy; vil schoenheit

Vil had been a surprising comfort in the wake of your unrequited crush on Jamil. The two of you had gotten closer after VDC, and Vil had a way of pulling honesty out of you. It had only taken him a couple days of observing your awkwardness to guess at the situation.

He’d been a shoulder to cry on, both literally and figuratively. There’d been a moment when he first pulled you into his arms that you’d wondered - hoped - that he might be a possibility in your future, but alas, no vision. It was a bit disappointing but you knew it was wrong to feel too badly; it would be greedy of you to desire a connection with so many knowing you could only end up with one.

Vil became a friend - someone you could rely on, someone who could make you laugh, and someone who couldn’t break your heart.

Even when you would start to feel something more than platonic for him, you had to push it away. He was certainly gorgeous and talented and perfect…but he wouldn’t be that for you. He couldn’t, apparently, and maybe he wouldn’t want to either.

Vil was more than just a fellow student - he was an actor, a model, a celebrity - someone too far to reach. Even if you had a vision with him, would it matter?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Vil’s hand on your cheek, turning your face to get the correct angle to apply your eyeliner; he’d insisted you get dressed up with him and Rook to go out tonight.

“Move onto the bed,” Vil says.

You stand from the chair in front of his vanity and move hesitantly toward his bed. His silky sheets look perfect - you don’t want to ruin them. Looking back at him, Vil rolls his eyes and gently pushes you toward the bed until you lay back.

You’re left staring up at him on your back, while he sits above you, applying the rest of his products on your face. He’s so close to you, his luscious golden hair almost tickles your face. His pretty purple eyes don’t focus on your own, following his makeup brush.

He looks cute like this, concentrating hard to perfect your makeup. He bites his lip gently, drawing your attention to his pretty mouth, shining with the pink gloss he’d applied earlier.

When he leans away to pick up the blush, you mistakenly think he’s finished and try to sit up. At the same time that you rise, Vil turns back to face you. The timing coincides into an accidental and brief meeting of your lips.

It takes a second for you to realize that the dizziness your feel isn’t due to your racing heart, but the sudden appearance of another vision.

The lights flash, bright and blinding. The sharp clicks of cameras obnoxiously disrupt the music heard softly on the street from nearby restaurants and clubs.

You’re rushing away with Vil, hand in hand as he pulls you toward a black limo waiting up ahead. You nearly stumble, but Vil is quick to stabilize you.

Once the two of you escape the paparazzi, you’re left sitting side by side in the backseat of the limo, both breathing heavily. Vil gives the driver instructions to return back to his penthouse.

He turns to you. “Are you okay, darling?”

You feel yourself nod in affirmation, taking ahold of his hand again. He squeezes back.

“I’m sorry they’ve ruined another date. I know it’s hard for you not to have much privacy, but it seems no matter what I do, they find us.” He strokes your hand with his thumb.

“It’s okay, Vil. I knew what I was getting into, dating a celebrity and all that.”

He plants a kiss on your cheek. “Still, they shouldn’t bother us. I may be a celebrity, but you aren’t. You deserve privacy.” He sighs gently. “Has this…impacted our previous discussion?”

You look back up at him. You assume based on past visions that he’s much older now, but he’s kept his youthful and gorgeous look. Even now, his purple eyes make your heart flutter embarrassingly.

“Of course not. I want us to have kids together. You’ll be the best dad and protect them from all this. I know it.”

He kisses you on the lips this time just as your vision begins to end.

Vil snaps his fingers over you as you come too, rolling his eyes.

“I know my lips are practically intoxicating, but did you really get that worked up over an accidental peck between friends?”

Your face becomes hot at Vil’s statement, embarrassment setting in. He doesn’t know how right he is.

“Ah, sorry. I got…distracted.”

Vil laughs gently. “Why? Thinking of more of my kisses? They’ll cost you~”

When you stammer in response, he just ruffles your hair gently.

“I’m just teasing you.”

You stare at him for a moment before speaking. “I don’t think we can do each other’s makeup platonically anymore.” If it ever was, that is.

Vil rolls his eyes dramatically again.

vi. hidden in shadows, warmth comes in waves; idia shroud

The incident with Vil leaves you even more confused than before. It makes you wonder…if just touching isn’t always enough to have a vision, does that mean a future where you end up with Jamil is still possible? You don’t even want to hope, knowing the heartache he’d unknowingly caused you before.

And Vil…having a vision about him makes this complicated. When it was just lingering thoughts you could push to the side of your mind, your growing infatuation with him was easy to ignore. Actually seeing your future with him, has made your heart swell and ache at the same time.

You don’t exactly choose to become friends with Idia, it just kind of happens. Just like the previous situations where you’d attempted to avoid the star of your latest vision, Idia is someone who seems like a good choice to help you stay away from them. He isn’t good friends with Jamil or Vil (or frankly anyone). Incidentally, the two of you become friends after a small argument over an anime (the only topic that allows Idia to temporarily overcome his social anxiety just to disagree with you), and you begin to hang out occasionally.

The more your old friends hang out with the VDC group, the more you begin to make excuses and go play video games with Idia and Ortho.

It feels strangely easy, spending time with Idia. You never have to pretend, and with your shared interests, conversation comes naturally. Once you’ve spent enough time around him, he feels much more comfortable around you, willing to share his (strong) thoughts and opinions on everything.

Idia is very…different than you would’ve guessed before you knew him well. While he can be rude, you find it more funny than offensive, and it’s pretty fun to banter with him. His room holds small glimpses into his true personality; video games he loves, posters of his favourite characters. His passion for these things is clear as day.

Sitting on Idia’s couch, you’re playing against him and Ortho in Super Smash Bros. Ortho immediately claimed Kirby, proceeding to destroy the both of you multiple times until he emerged as the winner.

Despite the loss, both you and Idia can’t help but smile. Ortho makes a celebratory noise, before turning back to you.

“MC, we are about to encounter another rip in the time continuum,” Ortho says. “I’m so excited, do you think it will finally be my big brother’s turn to earn your love?”

“What?” you and Idia say for different reasons.

“How do you know about that?

“Earn their love??”

“It’s part of my programming to monitor all things involving space and time.”

“Huh. Okay.”

You suppose it’s true, you’ve never really touched Idia before. The two of you got along like best friends; it wasn’t so much of a stretch to say you could end up having a future together. You hadn’t thought about it much, in light of recent events.

“Usually you’re the only one able to see, but since Idia’s here, why don’t I show him too!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ortho,” Idia says.

“I think it will be good for you, brother! Don’t worry, I’ll give the both of you some privacy to see your future. It’s approaching in three, two-”

When his countdown reaches one, Ortho plops your hand on top of Idia, making your vision fade once again.

The Island of Woe is familiar to you by now, after everything that went down with Idia. The architecture remains impersonal; the uniformity of the blank steel walls reminds you of a maze. The thought had unsettled you, the last time you visited.

Strangely enough, you don’t feel that same sense of anxiety and claustrophobia in this vision. You’re strangely calm; it wouldn’t be crazy to assume that exposure and familiarity has dulled these feelings.

The scene is devastatingly unsurprising. You suppose you’d always known what Idia’s future would be; what all his ancestors futures had been. That hadn’t lessened the spark of hope you’d been carrying that perhaps things might turn out differently than he believed.

You had a bad habit of that: false hope for Jamil, false hope for Idia. It didn’t truly do anyone any good, no matter how much you wished it to.

You’re in Idia’s room. Aside from its size and how nice it is, the decor is a clear giveaway. The posters that line the walls aren’t from media you recognize, so it must be future content, but it’s all in line with Idia’s current tastes. You’re happy he has that, at least. You even catch a glimpse of a couple of his old posters from NRC rolled up in his closet. A few pieces even stand out, things that seem much more suited to your taste than his own.

A familiar head of blue hair wanders into the room.

“Hey MC.”

“Hi Idia,” you feel your lips gently pull up in the corners. Despite ‘your’ outward expression in the vision, you feel a small twinge of pain in your chest.

Idia’s entrance into his room (your room?) lets you take a close look at him. Even ten or so years later, it seems he hasn’t been able to rid himself of his eye bags. Even so, you still think he looks nice, his vibrant hair illuminating his pretty face. He’s cute, smiling back at you.

“Sorry I’m back late again. There’s been so many problems with the new system update, even Ortho can’t handle it himself.” Idia’s expression drops a little.

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy.”

Idia comes to sit beside you on the bed, head turning toward you. “Is it though? Stuck down here with me, and I can’t even be by your side half the time. I doubt this is the life you- anyone would dream of.”

“I miss you, of course I do. But I chose this life. I chose you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”

The tears well in your eyes before you can stop them, and Idia’s panic only rises once he notices.

“Gah!! No, MC, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it like that. Sevens, I’m so stupid.” Idia awkwardly pulls you into his arms, and you begin wipe your tears onto his shoulder as you settle down.

“Sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me,” you sniffle.

“Don’t apologize, it was my fault. I don’t know why, every time I try to tell you how I feel, it always just comes out wrong. I try to tell you that I love you, that you deserve better than to be stuck here with me, and it comes out like that.”

“Idia…I know what you meant, it just took me by surprise to hear those words.”

“Loving you is supposed to be the one thing I can do to make your life here better, and I can’t even do it right.”

“Says who? Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?”

“I made you cry, MC! Something is wrong with me…”Idia’s cheeks flush pink as he stares at his feet.

You want to comfort him, to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but you quickly feel yourself being pulled away. You’ve never wished more than to have a few more moments in a vision.

The room remains silent for a minute after the vision ends, the both of you trying to process what had happened.

“Idia…” you say, trying to bridge the gap between you, but not exactly knowing how.

“Maybe- I uh - maybe you should leave?” Idia says sheepishly.

“Leave? What did I do?” you say, feeling a bit hurt by his suddenly rejection.

“Nothing! I just- I’m sorry, I need some time. I can’t speak right now, I need to be alone.” Idia is clearly panicked, so you follow his brother to the exit.

“Sorry, MC,” Ortho says, opening the door for you. “Sometimes Idia gets overwhelmed in situations like this. Please, give him time and…please don’t give up on him like everyone else does.”

vii. sun and moon, forever in orbit; malleus draconia

You’ve known Malleus as long as you’ve known Riddle, but despite your blooming friendship, you’ve never had the chance to touch him before. The fae always seemed to prefer to keep his distance when visiting you at Ramshackle; close enough to talk, too far to touch.

That all changes when you finally agree to join the gargoyle studies club. It’s not as though you’d purposefully avoided it before, there’d just always been too much going on to really think about joining any of the clubs.

With Idia shutting you out, you were in dire need of a new hobby that would allow you to finally avoid thinking about what had gone down with him in the days before.

When Malleus finally strolls by Ramshackle again, you’re able to inform him of your intention to join his club.

It’s a remarkable thing, having stunned the fae prince into momentary silence at your request. He furrows his brow before replying.

“I do hope you aren’t making a joke at my expense, prefect. That would be rather cruel of you.”

You wave away his words, telling him that you’re entirely serious. He looks you up and down for a moment before a playful grin pulls at his lips.

“I suppose I will see you in our meeting on thursday, then. Please, don’t be late. We have much to see.”

Weekly meetings become bi-weekly, and soon you’re meeting up with Malleus almost daily. Since it’s only the two of you in the club, you take certain liberties when it comes to subject matter. You agree to let Malleus show you some ruins and he, in turn, agrees to watch the bachelor with you.

You don’t even like the show, but Malleus’ reactions are the real entertainment. He’s surprisingly sassy and opinionated about all the drama, although he tends to get confused on ‘human customs’ as he so puts it.

“Why won’t he make a choice? It’s clear who he truly desires,” Malleus asks one day, sitting on Ramshackle’s beat up couch as you watch the reality show together on your laptop.

“I don’t know, the guys on this show are always like this. They want to keep around as many options as possible until they’re forced to choose,” you mumble, mouth full of popcorn.

“Human men are fickle.”

You laugh. “Fae aren’t?”

He takes a moment to answer. “Some. Not dragon fae. Once we choose a person to love, we give everything to them, and expect the same in return.”

You don’t know how to reply to that, so you turn back to the screen. Throughout the rest of the episode, you can feel Malleus’ gaze flicker between yourself and the show, not fully invested like you are.

You’re not oblivious to his hints. It’s clear that things between you are become more than friendly, but it’s difficult to know how you feel about it.

On one hand, Malleus has always felt strangely charming to you, despite how he often came off to others. There was something about him, or perhaps just the sum of his parts that came together perfectly to make him into a wonderful being.

Spending time together and getting close felt nice, but you were far too used to this pattern to not feel worried about some kind of impending doom. It seemed every time you had a nice friendship, things would fall apart as soon as you found out about your future together.

Even when pleasant, the strangeness of the experience makes it uncomfortable to be around them again. You’ve felt bad avoiding your friends, but there isn’t much you can do to change your feelings.

Even worse - what if your vision with Malleus isn’t positive? After what you saw with Idia, the fear lingers in your mind.

Once you opened the gate, questions begun to flood your brain. What would a future be like with Malleus? Would that even be possible? Would you be his consort? Would a relationship between a human and fae be accepted? Would you be able to handle it? The anxieties were endless.

You think about telling him about everything. About Riddle, Leona…but how would he react? You tell yourself that it’s better if he doesn’t know. At least not until after.

He’s the first one you touch on purpose; you have to know.

A casual stroll around Ramshackle leads to the purposeful brushing of fingers, and you’re pulled into a familiar haze.

You’ve never been to Briar Valley, but you know with certainty that your vision takes place there.

The hall you sit in is long, gold trims running along the walls. The black dragon heraldry mounted above the fireplace at the end of the room looks more expensive than anything you’ve seen in your life.

Two wide doors swing open, and Malleus finally enters the room. He isn’t alone.

A small black shape zooms past his legs, plopping itself in front of you.

“Daddy and I picked you flowers from the garden!”

The blur isn’t some shadow, but instead a small child. Five or six, if you had to guess. If her words didn’t give away her parentage, the small, stubby horns peaking out from the top of her head of dark hair certainly told you this was Malleus’ daughter.

“Thank you, sweetie.” You smile at her, taking the flowers she drops in your hand. There’s still some dirt and roots attached, but she’s so adorable, you truly don’t mind.

“Can Uncle Silver take me horseback ridding today?” she asks you. “Daddy said it’s okay with him if it’s okay with you.” She blinks at you sweetly.

“Alright, I suppose. Just be careful, dear,” you reply.

“I have the best parents in all the kingdoms!” she shouted, running along to her chambers to get ready, leaving only you in Malleus in the room.

“She’s so lively today,” you comment, looking up at him.

“Indeed,” he replies, coming to rest beside you. “You look beautiful, my love.”

“And you, my king.”

The two of you share a kiss. It’s all so - dizzying. It’s not unexpected to have a child with Malleus - you had one with Riddle, but this is different. This child is older, she knows you, she feels so real.

He pulls away to smile at you. “I have a gift for you.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Need there be one for me to celebrate my wonderful spouse?”

“I suppose not. Thank you, Malleus. No matter how many gifts you give, I will treasure them all.”

He pulls out a box from his pocket, asking you to turn around. You feel him guide a cold band around your neck, clasping it in the back. He then places a small, handheld mirror in your hands, urging you to look.

The necklace he’s given you is beyond stunning. It’s silver, with a dazzling gemstone in the middle. You don’t even want to ponder how much it must’ve cost.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

It’s strange - seeing yourself much older when Malleus looks the same. It unsettles you more than you’d like to admit. It’s one thing to know you’ll age at different rates and another to see it with your own eyes.

This must be something on your mind in the future as well, because of the next thing you decide to ask Malleus.

“Will I see her grow up? For me, it feels like she’s been young forever. I love it and yet…I want to see more of her life than just this.”

He doesn’t ask who you’re referring to. “You will. You’ll see most. I was practicing mature by my eighty-first birthday.”

You sigh. “I may not even get that far. I’m healthy now, but who knows. The curses of being human…”

He tilts your chin to face him. “It is not a curse to me, my love. I chose you, and I would again.”

There’s infinitely more to discuss, but you already feel yourself slipping away.

You come to from the vision mid walk. Malleus is unaffected, seemingly still in the middle of one of his explanations behind the rich history of one of gargoyles you’d just passed by.

When he notices your silence and turns to ask if you’re alright, you have no response for him.

It seems almost selfish, for you to choose him. Why- why did there need to be so many things wrong? Why did you have to be human, to pain him and your future children by leaving them behind so early?

The joy and the pain - would it all truly be worth it? Or would it be better for it to have never happened?

Malleus looks at you with concern, wiping the tears suddenly cascading down your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, my child of man?”

Everything and nothing, you want to tell him.

viii. all things end, all that we intend; conclusion

Seven beautiful souls, all potential endings. Every future you glimpsed has it’s own charms, and it’s own poisons.

Which future will you choose? One of them? Or perhaps…another?

#pls ignore any mistakes i’m too tired to proofread #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland

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lovebugism · 9 months

Note

“don’t you dare touch him” eddie x shy!reader

idk i need a situation where reader never really speaks up but she finally does when it comes to eddie because she loves him sm😭

thanks so much for your request! hope you like it!! — the one where eddie melts when his quiet gf sticks up for him in front of jason (shy!reader, fluff, 2.4k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

The drive from Forest Hills to the arcade is spent with Lucas and Dustin bickering in the backseat and Eddie’s hand on your thigh.

“It’s been two years, and you still can’t beat my high score, Dusty Bun,” the former boy taunts. The nickname spills like venom from his smiling face. “Just give it up, okay? It’s not happening.”

Dustin grins back at him. It’s more so mischievous than it is taunting. His deep blue eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You are so gonna be eating your words by the end of the night. When we leave, Princess Daphne is gonna be mine, alright? For good.”

Their arguing becomes background noise. With your cheek lolled against the hand you’ve got propped against the window, you’re pulled into the wispy lilac cloud your gaze is so heavily fixated upon. The sky billows lavender against a sea of pink and golden orange — a summer sunset so vivid you can taste it.

The only thing keeping you grounded is Eddie’s palm on your knee, wide and warm and all-consuming. His thumb rubs against your skin so softly you think it must be absentminded. It feels like static shock, anyway. He laughs quietly to himself, and his fingers tremble gently against you. This time they squeeze you with a newfound intention as he brings you back to him.

“What do you think, babe?” Eddie asks, pink mouth spread in a pearly white grin. His chocolate eyes glimmer with the golden hour sun as his gaze flits between yours and the road. “Think Dusty Bun has a chance here?”

You nod, scrunched nose and squinted eyes, silent in your support for the curly-headed boy who’s still yelling over Lucas in the back of the van.

“What about me?” he presses. And because he knows better than to give his quiet girl anything other than a yes or no answer, he follows quickly, “You think today’s the day I finally beat your Space Invaders high score?”

A beat passes. The momentary silence is filled with arguing boys, old tires on older asphalt, and Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” spilling softly from the radio. A quiet smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You purse the mischievous expression to the side as you turn away from him again.

Your non-answer makes him laugh. It sounds exactly like the colors of the sunset.

His beat-up van jerks when he puts it into park. The door on the side squeaks as the kids file out of it. Eddie’s does too, but you can’t hear it over him telling you to “sit tight.”

You wait patiently in the passenger seat like you always do, smiling to yourself as the boy rushes around the hood to open the door for you. The hinges screech in protest. His wild curls billow in the wind as he smiles. “C’mon, sunshine. Our palace awaits.”

The group of you stand beneath the spinning neon sign he parked next to — glowing orange and white beneath a setting sun. Someone calls from across the parking lot, “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Your heads snap in the direction of the painfully familiar voice.

Jason and the rest of his abnormally tall goons stand outside the new gym that just opened on the strip. The dark, vacant building wedged between The Palace and Family Video was no longer as scary as it used to be now that it was occupied. You were just hoping it’d be something more exciting. Forcing arcade nerds and gym bros into one spot feels like a crime.

“And they brought little miss wallflower, too,” Jason lilts with his pretty smile and straight teeth. His blonde hair is a darker shade of brown, damp with half-dried sweat. His lean form is unnaturally built underneath his white tank top and basketball shorts.

It isn’t any wonder why he turned out to be such a raging douchebag.

Someone so perfect needed at least one flaw.

“The gang’s all here, huh?” one of his other friends — Andy, you think — concurs from behind him, always in the boy’s shadow.

“Like what you see, fellas?” Eddie calls out from across the slab of pavement separating the group of you. He’ll never turn down an opportunity to take the piss out of the so-called jocks, all muscle and no brain.

“What do we do when those assholes give us hell?” he’d often ask when you’ve had a particularly shitty day with them. “We give ‘em hell right back.”

Jason’s thin lips curl into a more mischievous smirk. His blue eyes are lighter in the golden sunlight, and they twinkle beneath the neon signs as he looks you up and down. “Yeah, actually,” he hums with his unabashed ogling. “I do.”

Mike’s lanky legs sidestep to stand ahead of you. He does it so swiftly, so instinctually, you don’t think he even really meant to do it. Despite the raven-haired boy halfway covering you, you cross your arms over your torso in a further attempt to keep yourself hidden.

You feel so suddenly exposed in your frilly floral sundress — especially considering the only thing you wear to school is baggy jeans and baggier sweaters. You feel like you might as well be naked standing in front of them just now.

The younger boys stand on high alert as Eddie walks the short distance to Jason. The brief journey is made quicker when the blonde boy strides to meet him halfway. It’s a high school sort of standoff — neither particularly wanting to get physical because the real-life repercussions aren’t worth it. They just want to see who can piss each other off the most.

“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Eddie concedes with a grin, flashing you a brief glance over his shoulder. He turns away quickly at the sight of your wide, pleading eyes. He scrunches his nose in feigned sympathy. “I bet you’re real jealous, huh? Especially now that you’ve got nothing but your right hand keeping you company ever since Chrissy dumped your ass.”

“Watch it,” Jason warns through gritted teeth.

“I think I saw her riding around last week with Harrington, actually.”

The blonde boy’s sneakers scuff against the concrete as he takes a daring step closer. His piercing stare never wavers. “Don’t talk about Chrissy.”

“Don’t talk about my girl, and I won’t talk about yours,” Eddie retorts in lilt. And then, because he can’t help but twist the knife, he tilts his head to his shoulder and continues. “Well, I guess she’s not really yours anymore, is she?”

“I said don’t talk about Chrissy!” Jason repeats, louder than before, when he lets his anger get the best of him. One hand shoots up to shove at Eddie’s chest, using only enough force to make the boy stumble slightly back.

While Dustin, Lucas, and Mike gear up for a fight, Eddie only laughs in response — big, boisterous, and boyish.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping in front of the group until you’re already doing it. The words seem to fly from your mouth without you even thinking about them. “Don’t touch him!” you shout.

And even though it wasn’t particularly loud, it quiets in the mindless bickering all at once. Everyone turns to gape at you — Jason, Andy, Dustin, Eddie. Everyone is equally surprised by your outburst. Because you don’t speak. Ever. At least, not if you can help it.

And it’s not because you don’t have anything to say, because you do. It’s just that your brain works too much, and your mouth can’t keep up with it sometimes. It’s easier just to be silent.

That’s what you’ve been known for ever since you were little. You went through all of it — the bullying, the sad eyes, the talks with teachers, the ‘is everything alright at home’s. Everything was fine, for the most part. Your childhood was equally as middling as everyone else’s. You just had a harder time being human than most people.

Jason smiles again, amused by your warning. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You swallow through a tightening throat. Your sweaty hands clench into balls at your sides. The words come out quieter than before, but no less meaningful. “I said… Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, so she does speak. Here I thought no one ever taught you how to,” the blonde boy laughs. You feel disgusting when his attention settles solely upon you. The lingering sick feeling is eclipsed by your gratitude that Eddie’s no longer in his line of fire. “I’m gonna be honest… I thought you were cuter when you were quiet.”

You don’t know what he means by that. You can’t tell if he’s being genuine, or if he thinks you care enough about what he thinks to slink back into your shell.

“Leave Eddie alone,” you retort drily.

He snorts. “Yeah? Or what?”

There’s a thousand words you want to say. You open your mouth to spit all of them at the boy across from you, but nothing comes out.

“Yeah,” Jason laughs at your silence. “That’s what I thought.”

You stand your ground when he walks towards you. His strides are slow and menacing, like he’s expecting you to back away. You might’ve if you were anywhere else — if Eddie wasn’t a couple feet away and the rest of your friends weren’t crowding behind you. You’re made somehow braver by their presence.

“This is a really cute dress, though, sweetheart,” the blonde boy compliments with a thin smirk. “You should dress like this more often. You know what? You’d really fit in at the strip club downtown— what’s it called?”

“Pink Paradise,” Andy answers without missing a beat.

Jason smacks his lips against his teeth. “That’s the one.”

“Is that the one your mom works at?” you wonder with your arms crossed over your chest. Your head tilts to your shoulder as you squint at him. “Is she still giving those two-for-one discounts?”

Jason’s confidence stutters at your biting reply — even more so by the choked-back laughter accompanying it. Your boys don’t bother to hide their humored giggles, though the basketball team covers theirs by coughing into their fists.

“Ooh. I didn’t know you had such a much on you,” the blonde lilts as his blue eyes narrow. “I’m like… fifty percent more attracted to you now.”

“Leave Eddie alone,” you deadpan once more. “And go be a douchebag somewhere else.”

One of his friends breaks free from the pack. He’s tall, thin, and toned. He’s got the same haircut as Lucas: compact curls, squared off on the sides. You know him — Patrick McKinney. He’s the only one of Jason’s friends that was actually nice to you. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t a total asshole.

“Let’s go, man,” the boy ushers, nudging at Jason’s bicep. “Let’s go shoot some hoops or something. This isn’t worth it.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Oh, please— the only shooting Jason Carver does is into a kleenex. It’s why you were benched all last season.”

“I twisted my ankle!” the blonde boy defends, sounding weak and pathetic beneath the chorus of laughter as Patrick drags him away.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you mutter, perhaps too quiet for him to hear, as Lucas pulls at your forearm to guide you in the other direction. His touch is still gentle — it would be uncharacteristic of him to be rough with you. It would also be a terrible idea with Eddie just a few paces behind the both of you.

The walk to The Palace is a silent one. There’s too much to say, and everyone’s just a little too amazed to say it. Eddie, however, never had a hard time killing a quiet. He rushes on long legs to match your quick strides, reaching you rather easily.

“Hey, hey, hey— you okay, babe?” the worried boy wonders. He takes a gentle hold of your wrists when you reach the awning beneath the arcade. His chocolate gaze flits attentively over your form, nowhere near as leering as Jason had been.

He can tell by your heaving chest and glassy eyes that you’re a little overwhelmed. When he takes your face in his hands, he finds that your cheeks are burning, too.

You nod into his warm palms in silent reply, back in the comfort of your shell all over again.

“What’d you do that for, huh?” Eddie singsongs with a quiet laugh. His thumb dances over your cheekbones as he grins at you. “You know I don’t like you getting involved with those assholes.”

“They don’t get to talk to you like that… Or put their hands on you,” you mutter. Despite your soft tone, Eddie can see the fury flashing in your eyes, getting angry about it all over again.

His smile widens — proud and hopelessly in love with you. “No. They don’t. Especially not with my girl around, huh?”

“Nope,” you murmur, popping the p. A sheepish grin pulls at your mouth, equally as proud and in love.

Eddie leans down to kiss you, guiding your mouth to his with the hands cupping your jaw. It’s innocuously chaste, being that you’re still standing in a public parking lot. You could never quite stomach the attention of PDA, anyway. His pink lips lock with yours in a fleeting peck, and his arms wrap around you a second later.

He smothers you into his chest, and you revel in every second of it. He smells like cigarette smoke and the cologne he tried to cover it up with. He smells like a home you could live in forever.

You smile into the thrifted Blondie tee you got him — which he happily accepted because he loves you (even though he hates Blondie). He presses a kiss into your hair and smushes his nose into the crown of it as he laughs.

“‘Is that the one your mom works at?’” Eddie repeats with a soft chuckle, chest swelling with pride once more. “God, babe. That’s good.”

“Shut up…” you murmur.

“I’m serious! I didn’t know you were such a good smack-talker! I think you might be a genius, actually.”

“Don’t,” you grouse with a lighthearted scowl. You pull away from him only slightly — enough for him to put your face back in his hands again. You feel safest there, even if you are pouting up at him.

“You’re so cute,” the boy muses with a beam. His eyes glimmer like a sea of chocolate syrup, melting with all the love he has for you. “You’re like a cinnamon roll. A cinnamon roll that could bite people.”

“That’s exactly what I am,” you monotone and try your best not to smile.

Eddie couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “And that’s exactly why I love you.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #eddie munson x shy!reader #bug's summer fic fest!

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cupid-styles · 2 months

Text

renaissance (art teacher!yn x single dadrry)

in which y/n is harry's son's art teacher and he develops a big dumb crush on her. or: kids art teacher!yn x single dad!harry

word count: 6.5k

content warnings: none, just kids! some mentions of different types of familial relationships/dynamics (death of a parent)

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Alright, kiddos, let's clean up our big, beautiful messes!"

Y/N claps her hands three times to signify that class is slowly crawling to an end. Her hour-and-a-half art course for kindergarteners is one of the longest and, if she's being honest, labor intensive classes that she teaches. It's set at the end of the school day from 2:30 pm to 4 pm, designed specifically for parents that work late or need to place for their little ones to go after school is over. Most of her students' parents are single and working full-time, or have intense careers like nursing or... whatever it is they do.

Y/N weaves her way through the small smattering of children ambling over to the sinks. She watches to make sure they're having an okay time with washing out their paint cups and rinsing their brushes, followed by using the correct amount of hand soap to scrub paint stains away.

(That one almost always requires extra help — to this day, she tries not to get frustrated when she thinks about Johnathan dumping an entire bottle of Dawn soap all over his clothes because he had a tiny bit of yellow marker on his tee-shirt. It was the price she paid to teach kids, though.)

"Clementine, do you need a little help?" she asks, peeking over to one of her quieter students. With fluttering lashes and a slightly baffled look on her face (Y/N could always tell when she was getting stressed out by the way her little eyebrows wrinkled together), Clementine nods, and Y/N makes quick work to appear behind her. She gets down to her level, where her Mary Jane-clad feet are resting atop a stool to help her reach the sink. "What's going on, lovebug?"

"'s everywhere," Clementine whines lightly, her bottom lip forming a sad pout. "Paint all over my hands!"

"I see that, sweetheart! But you know what?" Y/N makes a show of pretending to look side to side to ensure no one else can hear her. "It's okay if we get a little messy sometimes. The cool thing about everything we play with in this class is that it's colorful and pretty, and if it gets on our clothes or our bodies, it can get washed away."

Clementine considers this for a moment. Her hands are still stuck under the lukewarm stream of water, where the caked on hues of bright pink and orange are slowly starting to fade away. "What about on my art?" she asks slowly. "Will that get washed away?"

"Nope," Y/N shakes her head. "That stays forever. But on your clothes and body? It doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh. Okay."

And just like that, Clementine's minor stressed out moment floats away. Y/N smiles to herself as she pours a bit of soap into her small hands and helps her scrub them together, the lingering paint forming a pretty swirl down the drain.

"There you go, lovebug," she murmurs as she stands back up, giving her head a light pat, "Don't forget to grab your painting when mommy picks you up, okay?"

Clementine nods and scampers away to her table. She chuckles, placing her hands on her hips as she takes stock of the kids. She has about 10 minutes until it's officially time for dismissal, and most parents are good about picking them up right at 4 pm. She thinks about playing a game with them to keep them occupied, until she sees it.

Riley Styles. With globs of red paint in his curly, brown hair.

"Oh my god," Y/N mumbles to herself, rushing over to Riley's table, "Riley! Can I ask what happened here?"

She tries to keep her voice at a measured, not-freaked-out level, but it's kind of impossible given the child standing before her is dripping with paint.

"My cousin has red hair." Riley answers simply before shrugging his shoulders. "I think she uses paint, too."

"Ohhhh, I see," Y/N replies, pressing a gentle hand to his back, "Well, Riley, I think it would be best to clean this up. It look like it feels a little messy and icky."

Her stomach is bubbling with anxiety as she glances up at the clock. There's now eight minutes to dismissal time, and Riley's dad is never late.

"But you told Clementine that messes are okay—"

"Messes are always okay!" Y/N exclaims in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "Um, why don't you come with me to the bathroom, Riley?"

She doesn't give him an opportunity to reply before she's looping his hand with his and making quick steps to the faculty bathroom. Realizing she's just left 15 kindergartens in a room unsupervised with a plethora of art supplies, she peeks into Lea's classroom.

"Lea! Hey, um, Riley and I need to go to the bathroom to clean up a little mess! Can you keep an eye on my kids?"

Lea, who already has her jacket zipped up and looks like she's about to walk out to her car, furrows her eyebrows. Her eyes widen when Y/N backs up slightly to give her a view of Riley, who has been trailing red paint with every step they take.

"Oh my god!" she all but squeals, and Y/N's jaw clenches, "Yeah! Sure! No problem! Good luck with that mess, Riley!"

Y/N resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend as they finally make it to the bathroom. She glances down at her watch, which tells her that took a whopping three minutes of their time. Swallowing tightly, she tries to figure out the best plan of attack, ultimately deciding that it would be best if she just attempted to wash his hair with soap and water while he stood there.

"Alright, Riley, can you try and stand still for me?" she asks, already pumping an absurd amount of hand soap into her hand, "I'm going to try to help get this mess out of your hair. Don't you miss those pretty curls you have?"

He shrugs as she begins to lather the soap between her hands. "I thought my cousin's hair was pretty."

"I'm sure!" she replies, massaging the foamy liquid into his hair. She's never been so thankful for washable paint before as the tints of red that latched onto his strands begin to wash away. "She probably didn't use paint though, and it's important that we keep the paint on our projects instead of our hair."

"Messes are okay, though. You said it."

She grimaces. Why do kids remember everything?

"You're right, messes are totally fine! But those are accidental messes. It's alright if we get it on our shirts or hands, but paint doesn't go in our hair. Does that make sense?"

His hair is completely saturated with hand soap now. She doesn't have a better way to wash it out (other than dunking the poor kid's head in the sink, which definitely feels unethical), so she's simply getting her hands wet and washing out section by section. It's going moderately well, especially since Riley's hair is on the shorter side, until the bathroom door bursts open, followed by angry footsteps.

"Riley!"

Y/N turns, her mouth forming an embarrassed o-shape when her eyes make contact with a seething Mr. Styles.

"Daddy!" Riley exclaims, rushing over to his dad. He latches his arms around his leg, giving them a squeeze, and getting the watered down red paint everywhere in his wake. Y/N winces.

"What are you doing alone with my son in a faculty bathroom?" He demands, jabbing his finger in Y/N's direction.

"I'm so sorry! H-he put red paint in his hair and I needed to wash it out, this was the only place I could do it since the kids' bathrooms aren't big enough—"

"And you didn't think to take another faculty member with you?" He spits angrily. Riley's now running around in circles, shaking his hair out like a dog. "How do I know you weren't doing anything—"

"I would never do anything inappropriate and you know that, Mr. Styles," Y/N cuts him off, feeling rage bubble up in her chest, "You've been sending Riley here for two years and this is the first time anything has ever happened. Until now, both you and him have only ever been happy with your experience here."

Mr. Styles clamps his jaw shut, his gaze falling to Riley, who's now pacing back and forth with his hands behind his back.

"It's washable, then?" he asks through a clenched jaw. "The paint?"

Y/N swallows, then nods once. "Yes. Everything we use is washable and water-soluble. It was coming out fine before."

He straightens his posture and runs his tongue over his two, slightly overlapped front teeth. "Okay. Riley, come on, we have to head home now."

Mr. Styles stretches out his hand and Riley takes it happily, his smaller one clutching his dad's fingers. The sight makes Y/N's stomach squeeze, but she quickly diverts her gaze and clears her throat.

"I can grab his backpack and jacket," she says, boots clicking against the tiled floors as she walks out of the bathroom. Her face is warm and she feels tears lining her eyes, but she refuses to let herself cry in front of a parent. What she said to Mr. Styles — it's true. She's been working at the studio for five years and nothing has ever happened. She supposes a fuck up was overdue, especially since she works with kids, but it doesn't lessen the sting any.

She's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her, realizing that they're following her. She swallows the lump of tears in her throat and flashes Lea a small, forced smile when she returns to her classroom. The rest of the kids are gone already, their belongings and paintings with them.

Y/N walks over to the cubbies, where Riley has his jacket and backpack hooked. Gently, she removes them, and turns to hand them to Mr. Styles.

"Again, I apologize for today. I was helping another student clean up and I must have missed this entirely," she says, trying her best to keep an even tone.

Mr. Styles nods awkwardly, taking Riley's stuff into the crook of his arm. "I, um, apologize for insinuating that you'd do anything... unsavory. I know you wouldn't. I just panicked."

"I understand completely." she replies, and she means it genuinely.

"Daddy?"

They both look down to see Riley tugging at his dad's pant leg.

"What does usavory mean?"

Mr. Styles and Y/N's heads both snap back up, eyes wide as they stare at each other.

"...Nothing," he says with a small smile, making Y/N's own lips curl into a grin, "I got you dino nuggets for dinner. Doesn't that sound yummy?"

Mr. Styles waves goodbye to her as he pulls Riley out of the classroom, chanting dino nuggets! dino nuggets! on his way out.

. . .

When Riley doesn't show up for class the following week, Y/N sincerely contemplates poking her eyes out with paintbrushes.

She feels stupidly embarrassed. It took her two full days to move on from the whole red-paint-in-the-hair thing, in which she replayed every single moment of Mr. Styles staring her down like he wanted to pummel her across the city. And while she thinks things ended on a relatively decent note, she wonders if he was just being polite and now he was pulling Riley out of her afterschool art classes.

She's never had a parent unenroll their kid for reasons that weren't out of her control. Moving? Sure. Wanting to try a new activity? Understandable. Parents wanting to spend more time with their child? Y/N wouldn't dream of getting upset over that. But Mr. Styles, who always showed up at 4 pm on the dot in his neatly pressed slacks and crisp button downs to retrieve Riley from class?

She didn't know much about him. Unlike other parents, Mr. Styles didn't care much for idle chatter or small talk. For most of her students, she knew at least something about their personal lives or home dynamics — Reese's mom was a pediatric nurse, Tyler had a twin sister who preferred playing soccer after school, and Sabrina's dad passed away when she was a baby, so she lived with her grandparents and mom.

Anything she put together about Riley's home life was from pure speculation: His mom never picked him up, so she wasn't sure she was in the picture. (She doesn't think Mr. Styles is married, either, considering he doesn't wear a wedding ring, but that's neither here nor there.) He alway showed up to the art studio in professional work clothes, which led Y/N to assume he came straight from wherever he worked. Riley never spoke about having any siblings, so she thinks he's an only child.

And that's about it.

She spends the entirety of class holding her breath and mentally preparing for her boss to ask to see her once all the kids were picked up. Nina would probably start out by thanking her for all of her hard work over the past five years, and then before Y/N even realized it was happening, would switch over to her lack of care for Riley and the complaints made on Mr. Styles' behalf. She could envision the words leaving her mouth now: And so, we have no choice but to let you go, Y/N.

Except... to her surprise, that doesn't happen. Nina doesn't come in after dismissal and she even tells her to drive safe on her way out of the building. There aren't any meetings placed on her schedule in the week that passes by before Y/N's next course with Riley's group, and she's damn near shocked when her students come bustling in seven days later, the curly haired boy included.

Today, Y/N teaches them about working with oil pastels. She breaks the medium down to a very basic, understandable level for kindergarteners and lets them go wild after her usual 15 minutes of instruction, instructing them to let their creative minds run wild. It's one of her favorite parts of teaching art to kids — they rarely overthink it, instead just allowing whatever flows to come through to the paper.

Unsurprisingly, oil pastels aren't as messy as paints, so there's less clean-up required than their previous unit. At 4, the parents arrive in quick succession, though when her eyes flit to the clock, she's surprised when Mr. Styles still hasn't picked Riley up by 4:07.

She doesn't like to bring attention to late parents (she's found that some kids get all knotted up about it, worrying that something happened), so she usually has a few busy activities prepared for this very event. She grabs her folder of coloring pages to bring over to Riley's table, who's busying himself with peeling glue off of the worn, messy table.

"Okay, Mr. Riley, what are we in the mood to color tonight?" she asks, flipping open the folder, "We have a garden, a firetruck, or a puppy!"

Riley silently contemplates the pictures in front of him and for a moment, Y/N feels like some childhood psychiatrist analyzing his decision. She has nothing to examine, though, beyond the fact that she's hoping he opts for the puppy or firetruck so she can work on the garden as they wait for Mr. Styles. With his small tongue poking out from the side of his mouth, Riley taps his finger decidedly on the puppy.

"This one, pwease."

She smiles and nods, stuffing the firetruck back in the folder and keeping the garden and puppy out. Riley always expressed good manners, and his sweet "pwease" and "tank you"'s always warmed her heart.

"Sounds like a plan," Y/N pulls the cup of used Crayola crayons so they're within easy access. She buys a new pack every semester because, as she expected from her very first year working here, kids love to destroy crayons, even if they don't always mean it. Even from just a few months of use, the current 64-array is in rough shape. "Do you have a puppy at home?"

Riley shakes his head as he immediately grabs a teal color to color in the fur. "No. I want one, but Daddy says no."

"Puppies are definitely hard to take care of," Y/N nods as she pulls out a light pink for the flowers on her page. "I have a cat. Her name is Biscuit."

"Biscuit?" Riley giggles. Y/N grins.

"Mhm. She loves to jump up on the kitchen counter and eat whatever food I make," she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "It's pretty naughty, if you ask me."

Riley's giggles erupt into full-fledged laughter. Y/N can't help but chuckle, too, but it's almost immediately cut off when Mr. Styles rushes in, looking frazzled with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Oh! Daddy's here, Riley," Y/N announces, standing up from the little table. Riley turns around with a grin, excited to see his dad as always.

"Hey!" Mr. Styles greets loudly, though his tone teeters on nervousness more than excitement. "I'm so sorry I was late. I had to, um... make a stop, and there was a lot of traffic. Rush hour."

Y/N nods understandingly, "That's alright. Riley, do you wanna show Daddy what you made today?"

"Actually, uh, one sec bud— why don't you keep coloring that... blue puppy, huh?" Mr. Styles's eyes peer over the page he's diligently working on, an expression of confusion making Y/N press her lips into a small smile. Completely content, Riley continues on, and Mr. Styles darts his eyes back over to Y/N. "Um, do you have a moment?"

She nods, swallowing harshly. She assumes this is it — the moment when he tells her that he's pulling Riley out of the program because of her unprofessionalism. It kind of hardens the blow a bit more given the massive flowers in his hand, which he assumes are for a girlfriend at home, maybe Riley's step-mom to-be. Or maybe he's trying to work things out with his birth mom. It's none of Y/N's business, but for some reason the thoughts swirl around in her brain, making her feel all the same — anxious, worried, self-conscious, and even a little down.

She leads him to the corner where her desk is so they're able to speak quietly and freely, out of Riley's earshot. Mr. Styles doesn't say anything for a brief minute. He's always been quite kind to her, so she figures he's trying to figure out the nicest way to say, "you're the worst art teacher and I never want my kid to be around you ever again."

"These are for you," he says, stretching his arm out to hand Y/N the flowers. Her eyes go so wide they feel like they could pop out of her head. It takes a second for her brain to compute the words and he looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to accept them. Finally, she does, hand clutching the brown wrapping around the excessive bouquet of stems. (Seriously, there's at least 25 in here.) "I wanted to apologize for last week. Again. It was... so rude of me to say anything even remotely close to that. You've been nothing but a bright light in mine and Riley's lives and I was just having an awful day already, and... kids are kids, they do silly things, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Y/N's eyebrows still feel like they're glued to her hairline. She's beyond surprised. In her years of working with kids, she's had parents say way worse things to her, and she never received an apology for any of it.

"Oh... Mr. Styles, this is—"

"Harry." he cuts her off, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "You can call me Harry."

She nods slowly, still processing the information. "Harry, this is very kind of you, but so, completely unnecessary. I didn't— I love Riley, he's a great kid, and I was worried you didn't want him to come back when he wasn't here last week."

Harry quickly shakes his head. "No, no. He had the flu. Ever since he started kindergarten, he's been getting sick left and right."

"Oh," Y/N says dumbly, beginning to realize that she worried herself sick for a week over quite literally... nothing. "Oh. That makes a lot more sense."

He chuckles and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his slacks. "Yeah. So, anyway, I hope you accept my apology, and even if you don't, I understand. Just know that I'll have Riley try to dye his hair blue next time or something," he teases, his face instantly falling the second the words leave his mouth. "That was a joke. I'd never do that."

Y/N laughs. "See, and I think pink would fit his complexion better."

Harry grins widely, and she realizes she's never noticed the cute little dimple that pops out of his cheek when he does.

She secretly hopes she gets to make it happen again sometime soon.

. . .

"How was Riley today?"

Y/N smiles knowingly at Harry as she wipes off one of the empty tables. "You know the answer to that. You don't have to ask."

Harry shrugs, putting his hands up in mock defense. He still has one of the Clorox wipes in his hand, quickly returning to cleaning off the crayon- and paint brushed-filled cups.

"I just like to make sure he isn't a complete menace, that's all."

"He's never a menace," Y/N replies, tossing the wipe in the garbage, "He's always very well behaved and well mannered. Kind of wondering if you built him up in a lab."

Harry chuckles. "Nope. Not quite how those things work."

Y/N's cheeks warm so she turns on her heel to glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. It's edging closer to 4:30, which is about as long as she likes to stay after work. She always makes quick work of cleaning up the floors and tables, de-sanitizing them little kid germs for her 11 am disabled adult class tomorrow morning.

Ever since she and Harry had that chat with the enormous bouquet of flowers (they're all nearly wilted by now, but Y/N refuses to just throw them out), Harry comes to get Riley a few minutes after 4. By then, Riley's the only kid left, save for one or two on days with bad weather. Y/N will have them set up with their coloring pages and, instead of immediately helping Riley pack his things up to leave, Harry just... sticks around. Riley doesn't mind because he adores the different print-outs he gets to choose from, and Y/N can't help the way her heart hammers in her chest as Harry offers to help her clean up or ask about her day.

It's been nearly a month of this — once a week, dancing around tiny tables and conversations accompanied by the scent of Clorox — but Y/N secretly hopes that it's because Harry wants to spend time with her. She doesn't see any other reason why he'd do it, but she doesn't want to seem cocky, either.

"Okay, let's get you two out of here. It's already dark." Y/N announces as she unlocks her small closet in the corner, pulling her coat and bag out.

"Is it alright if we walk you to your car?" Harry asks.

She turns around to see Harry helping Riley zip his jacket up. The sight makes her chest tighten. The love he has for his son is so incredibly sweet that it makes her feel crazy some days.

"Um... sure, if it's not too much," she eventually replies, swallowing harshly, "I'm just a few rows back."

Harry nods and stands up from his place on the floor. He reaches down, a silent request for Riley to fit his smaller hand in his.

"Ri, what do you say to Ms Y/N for all the cool coloring pages?"

"Tank you!" he exclaims, his free hand in a tight fist, wrinkling today's coloring of a dinosaur.

"You're very welcome, cutie! I love that you made the dinosaur purple today." Y/N says with a grin. She follows them out, but not before turning all the lights off and locking the door.

"Daddy puts all my pictures on the refrig—refig—refigerator?"

"Refrigerator," Harry says as they walk down the empty hallway, "But close. Good job, bud."

Riley looks up at his dad with a grin. "Yeah! Daddy puts them all up. He says they're pwetty."

"They are pretty." Y/N nods, agreeing with a smile.

"He says Miss Y/N's pwetty too, and that's why we always stay late now—"

"Ah!" Harry yelps, cutting Riley off with an embarrassed flush. Y/N presses her mouth into a line nervously, trying to hide the excited smile curling at her lips. The conversation ends after that, though Y/N has trouble ignoring the butterflies flapping in her tummy. She clears her throat when they approach her car, her mitten-clad hands pressing the 'unlock' button on her keys.

"This is me," she says, pulling open the passenger's seat door to put her bag in.

"I'm so sorry," Harry rushes out. "I— that's not why we stay. Well, it is. Well, I mean, I think you're very nice and I like being around you, and I do think you're pretty, however I'm not trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I just— I, um. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Y/N replies, this time allowing the smile to flower over her face, "We can always... we don't have to just hang out here. Like, we can get a coffee or something. Not in the company of your very sweet child."

He scoffs playfully, nevertheless pulling his phone out and opening his contacts. Hesitantly, he hands it to Y/N, who pulls off her mitten before accepting it and putting her information in.

"Text me when you wanna get together," she says as she gives it back to him. "Also, for the record. I think you're pwetty, too."

. . .

Harry texts her the following morning: I haven't asked someone out on a date in a long time, so I'm a little rusty... would you want to get dinner with me on Saturday night?

Y/N, who learned the whole wait-10-minutes-before-you-text-back thing back in college, doesn't even let her screen go dark before she messages him to say that Saturday sounds perfect, and he did a great job.

On Saturday evening, he picks her up at 7 pm on the dot. She's not sure what she was expecting, but she definitely didn't anticipate him getting out of his car on such a dreary, cold evening, ringing her doorbell, and bringing her yet another bouquet of flowers. She tries her best to hide the fact that she's shocked by his presence on her doorstep, her boots clacking against the wood floors of her rental, as she promises him she'll be back in a second once she puts them in some water.

Gentlemanly as ever, he escorts her to his car, a sleek, black sedan. She's not sure what he does for work and assumes he'll tell her tonight, but it's apparent that he has money — she doesn't think she's seen Riley in the same outfit twice and he's always showing up to pick-up in a stylish suit that may cost Y/N's entire biweekly salary.

They make slightly awkward, first date small talk on the way to the restaurant, which feels silly for both of them considering they know each other outside of this.

"What did you do today?" Harry asks, and Y/N's not quite sure how to say "I stayed inside all day doing nothing" without sounding like an elderly woman.

"Um, caught up on some TV. Painted a bit. Nothing too exciting, really. How about you?"

"Riley and I went to a kids science museum. It was fun, he enjoyed it," he replies, tapping his thumbs against the leather of the steering wheel. "Do you do a lot of art outside of work?"

Y/N nods, "Oh, yeah. I went to school for it. I actually wanted to be a museum curator."

"So how'd you end up working with snotty-nosed brats like my kid?" he asks teasingly. Y/N laughs.

"It was supposed to be a side gig until I found something more permanent, but... I started five years ago and got too attached, I suppose."

Harry hums. "Well, you're great at what you do. I've only seen you work with kids, obviously, but I'm always impressed with you."

Y/N shrugs, trying her best not to seem slightly overwhelmed by his compliment. He had a habit of doing that — making her feel dizzy and melty, all because he looked at her for a beat too long or said something she wasn't expecting.

"Thank you. It's nothing special, though," she says softly, swallowing tightly, "What do you do? I don't think I've ever asked."

"I'm in finances. It's incredibly boring," he replies almost instantly, as if it's a knee-jerk reaction. "But, um... pays the bills. You know how it goes."

It feels like an add-on, but nonetheless, Y/N nods understandingly. It seems like it does a lot more than pay the bills, but she doesn't question it.

The rest of the drive is on the quieter side. It makes Y/N's stomach bubble with anxiety, wondering if she's being too boring and attempting to come up with talking points that fall flat — every time she thinks of a question, she talks herself out of it, assuming it would sound silly leaving her lips.

Thankfully, Harry pulls into a parking spot not 10 minutes later. They're in a quaint part of town and, despite the holidays coming and going, the streets are still lit up with pretty snowflake displays. It's on the quieter side, which Y/N also appreciates — considering the fact that she already assumed Harry was fairly wealthy, she had worries that he'd take her somewhere far too fancy.

He looks slightly dejected for some reason when Y/N gets out of the car, burying her hands in the pockets of her jacket. He hurries over to where she's standing on the sidewalk, locking the car with the key fob.

"You look like you're freezing, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It's an act he wouldn't do under any other circumstance if she wasn't all but shaking. "I should've dropped you off at the restaurant."

Y/N shakes her head, "No, don't be silly. Where are we going, anyway?"

He gives her shoulders a small squeeze as he guides her down the sidewalk. "Well, you mentioned not being able to find a decent sushi place nearby. This has been a favorite of mine for a few years."

She glances up at him, a look of confusion on her face. "I said that?"

"Yes," he chuckles. "A few weeks back."

She knows it's true — she gets a mean sushi craving at least once a week but has yet to dine at a spot that she dubs her go-to. She tries to think back to their conversations over the past month or so, but it's a fruitless effort, especially once he holds the door open for her, his large hand pressed against the small of her back. Immediately, the warmth of the restaurant is a welcomed sensation, but the feeling of his touch feels even more delicious.

"Reservation for Styles." he says to the hostess, who, without even looking down at the book on the podium, grabs two menus and walks them over to their table. Y/N's thankful that they're placed in a back corner, where she can cozy up and, perhaps slightly unattractively, stuff her face with spicy tuna rolls and sashimi until she can barely breathe.

"This place looks incredible, Harry," Y/N says softly as she looks over the delicate menu. "You come here often?"

She only says it because the prices are on the more expensive side, so it's difficult for her to imagine casually ordering in from here. She glances up to see him shrugging his shoulders lightly, eyes still glued to the menu.

"Every now and then." he answers vaguely.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches their table, placing down a bottle of wine.

"Your usual, Mr. Styles," he says, and Y/N swears she watches Harry's jaw clench, "Shall we do another tasting menu tonight?"

Her eyebrows furrow and a zap of anxiety electrifies her chest. Clearly, he does come here often. Why would he lie to her then? Was this where he took all his first dates? Y/N clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her bum as she starts to let her mind spiral. Suddenly, she feels like just another pawn in a man's game.

"Give us a few minutes, please. No tasting menu tonight, we'll be ordering entrees." Harry says curtly. The waiter nods with a smile and leaves them be.

Without thinking much, Y/N leans over the length of the table, the bones of her elbows pressing into the bright red tablecloth.

"Do you always take girls here?" she demands, a bite to her tone. Harry's head snaps up with wide eyes.

"What? No, why would you—"

"Because you said you come here 'every now and then', but the waitstaff knows your wine order and asked if you wanted a tasting menu again," Y/N replies briskly, blinking at the man in front of her. "You know, I'm not just some girl you can mess around with—"

"Y/N," Harry breathes, shaking his head. "No. No. It's not like that at all. I take my employees here quite frequently and do business dinners here. I'm aware that it's on the expensive side and I just... money is an awkward subject."

"Well, it's even more awkward when you pretend like you don't have any—"

"I wasn't pretending," he mutters, swallowing tightly. "I know you're not like that, but I haven't dated in a long time. Partially because of Riley, but also because people I've been with have only cared about the money. So I just try not to let it be a focal point, especially on the first date. I'm sorry if I didn't do a good job of that."

Y/N's stomach plummets. She feels sick — she hates that she assumed the worst out of him, letting her own dating traumas get in the way of him just trying to protect himself. God, she was the worst first date ever.

"I'm so sorry," Y/N breathes out shakily. "I'm being an asshole."

"You're not." Harry mumbles as he looks down at his lap. "Just... first date jitters, maybe?"

She smiles gently. "Can we start over?" Harry flicks his eyes up at look at her. "I like you, Harry, and I really, really want this to go well."

She watches as his throat bobs, a smile curling at his lips.

"So, Y/N. What is it that you do for work again?"

. . .

Harry feels like he's known Y/N for his entire life.

When they leave the restaurant (she attempts to put her card down and he can't help but snicker at her before explaining that they already have his on file), her hand curls around his as they walk back to the car. It makes his entire body erupt into flames as their palms press against one another's, intertwining their fingers tightly. Their shoulders bump into each other's with lopsided, goofy smiles on their lips.

"Tonight was fun." she says as they approach his parked car. He gives her hand a final squeeze before unlocking the doors.

"It was," Harry echoes her sentiment. They separate briefly to get into the vehicle; Harry immediately turning it on to crank the heat up. "Would you wanna do it again sometime?"

"Yeah. That would be nice." She nods, grinning. "What did Riley get up to this evening?"

He chuckles, "He's with the babysitter for the evening. She's used to my late nights with business dinners."

Y/N hums, peeling her hands out of her jacket pockets now that they're a little less chilly. "So you're not in a hurry to get home, then?"

Harry's chest dings with a bead of nervousness. He swallows and flexes his hands in his lap.

"Sort of. Riley has swimming lessons in the morning."

It's not a complete lie. Riley does have swimming lessons, but Harry wants to stay out with Y/N more than anything. He's not in any kind of rush — he's just anxious about what she's thinking about proposing after not dating anyone since his son was born.

"Oh, sure," she smiles, and Harry's surprised by the way her face maintains its happy composure. "Well, we can just end the night here if you need to get back. No worries."

That makes Harry feel bad — the fact that she's just so incredibly understanding, even if he's feeding her excuses based on his own insecurities. He clears his throat awkwardly and attempts to shift in his seat to face her.

"I haven't done this in a long time," Harry blurts out. "And I'm very nervous."

Y/N's face crinkles into an adorable smile. "The date is over, Harry. I thought we established that we had a good time."

"We did!" he rushes, lifting his hand to run it through his hair, "No, we did. I had an incredible time with you. I really like you."

"So what are you nervous about?" she asks softly, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

That.

That's what he's nervous about.

"It's just... it's been awhile since I've liked anyone. Since I've... touched anyone." His throat bobs and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes the insinuation of his words. "Not like that! Well, yes, like that, but— I meant, not just sexually. Holding hands. Kissing. We don't have to do a single thing anytime soon, but I haven't done this in years."

"You're nervous about physical touch?" Y/N says gently, her voice soft. He nods. "That's fine, Harry. Like you said, we don't have to do anything anytime soon. We can go at your pace, whatever that means."

"I... I want to kiss you, though," he admits in a raspy tone. "I just don't know... how."

Y/N's heart feels like it shatters into a million pieces. With a thumping chest, she leans into his side over the middle console and gently takes his cheek into her palm. His face feels cold from the chilly winter evening and he can't help but press into the warm, comforting feel of her touch. His eyes flutter shut and she smiles, nibbling on her bottom lip as adoration fills every inch of her body.

"Can I?" she whispers, punctuating her question with a nervous swallow, "You can say no. I just... I'd like to try."

"Please."

She's hesitant in her movements, not wanting to overwhelm him as she slowly inches closer. She tilts her head ever so slightly and presses her lips to his raspberry ones, eyes flittering closed as fireworks explode between their chests. It's perfect — it's slow, and it's leery as both of them try to find a comfortable pace, but of all the first kisses she's ever had, she's positive this is the best one she'll ever experience.

They sit in Harry's car kissing until Y/N's breathless. Neither of them know how long it's been but eventually, she breaks it apart, panting quietly through spit swollen lips. He keeps his forehead pressed against hers with a dopey smile.

"'s good," he mumbles, and she mimics his grin, "That was... yeah. It was so good."

She giggles and her tummy feels like it's filled with butterflies and carbonated bubbles and excited tingles.

"So good." she echoes.

He's surging forward with a grin to reconnect their lips not a moment later, and they're both positive they've never been so content before.

2K notes · View notes

moonbaetarot · 15 days

Text

Pick a pile

what your future spouse loves about your appearance

1. 2. 3.

Pile 1

Your future spouse loves your features So much that they can’t wait to see your beautiful features on your children. your future spouse loves that you don’t care what others think of you like you wear what you want and you feel happy doing it. someone here may work with animals. they love how you look so beautiful with little to none makeup your just a natural you may like to use non toxic or like natural beauty hacks. This person loves your curly or wavy hair. You have something unique to you and they love this they have never laid eyes on someone like you. They also love your height. Your future spouse loves the details in your face your face is just beautiful to them. There is something about a flower here idk if you have a flower tattoo or a piece of jewelry that’s a flower but they think this really cute. This person thinks you just glow you may look very pretty in nature or in the sunlight. You may dress modest or not show a lot of skin out in public and they like this. They also love the way you look in white. If you wear any type of jewelry or clothing relating to your religion or culture they think this is really beautiful as well.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

Pile 2

Your future spouse loves how cute and innocent you look they may take pictures of you and you hold up a thumps up or a peace sign and they think this is cute. They like your small facial features and your side profile is on point. They love your hair the way you style it or just even when you’re wearing it natural. someone here may have many ear piercings Or a belly piercing. This person really loves your “chest” if you’re a woman I’m hearing “perfect for my hands” They are making it known in this reading that they love your “chest” lol. This person really thinks your whole body is beautiful. This person thinks you look very nurturing and mothering. They love your soft features. They think you smell really good as well your sent may be very floral. Someone here may love cherry blossoms. You may wear your hair half up half down. I feel like this person thinks you’re just so perfect like they look at you and just think how did they get this way like they are so beautiful. They are very in wow when they look at you. This person is really going to love the way you look as a mom they are going to find you so attractive just doing mother things.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

Pile 3

They love your face when you smile or laugh you may even blush or get red but they think this is cute. I feel like they find your laugh very cute as well. This person likes the way you look in bright colors especially yellow or orange they think it fits your personality very well. This person sees you as happy and bright I feel like when you are happy so are they. You may be a lot smaller then your future spouse if your insecure about being short or skinner don’t be your future spouse thinks your beautiful like that. They love your tattoos if you have any. Im seeing a tattoo or birth mark on your back. You may look really innocent but your not like your an “angle in the street freak in the sheet” this person likes that they are the only ones that gets to see this side of you. You may love reading as well but the books you read aren’t about unicorns and rainbows lol. I feel like your face and eyes are very telling as well like they can tell what you’re thinking just by your face. this person finds you very juicy you just looks so good to them they just wanna take a bite out of you lol. You may dye your hair a lot like one day your hair is brown the next your blonde.

Thank you for reading loves! 🤍

#pick a card #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick an image #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a reading #pick a deck #pick a crystal #pick a number #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot

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munson-blurbs · 7 months

Text

Escaped Convict!Eddie Munson x Innocent!Reader

Summary: a peaceful morning of reading and coffee is interrupted when you stumble upon convicted murderer and prison escapee Eddie Munson, and your kindness towards him does not go unrewarded.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), oral (f! receiving), fingering, corruption kink, 'sir' kink, spitting, biting, mention of blood, mention of assault/murder

WC: 2.6k

A/N: in this fic, "innocent" refers to some sexual inexperience. Eddie and Reader are both in their mid-20s and neither are portrayed as childlike.

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At first, you don’t think anything of the slight rustling noise coming from the trees. It’s been a windy morning, the leaves swaying in the breeze since you’d first sat down at your favorite picnic bench, book in one hand and travel mug full of coffee in the other.

Now, you’re several chapters in, coffee long gone, the air warming as the sun reaches its peak in the sky. It’s almost time for you to head back home and get some lunch, and you begrudgingly tuck a bookmark into your tattered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

You hear the noise again; this time, it’s not accompanied with a gust of wind, and it draws your attention to an overgrown shrub in the near distance. Curiosity gets the best of you as you peer over it, but nothing could have prepared you for what you find.

One hand shoots out from behind the bush, yanking your wrist and pulling you down. Your jean-clad knees scrape against the cold ground, grass stains seeping into the fabric. A terrified squeal remains trapped in your throat, but you’ve gone completely silent in horror. Before you can process what’s happening, you feel a palm against your mouth.

“Don’t move,” a voice growls, low and slow against the shell of your ear. You keep your eyes staring straight ahead, unwilling to make contact with your captor. “You work with the cops? Hmm?” When you shake your head, his grip loosens slightly. Maybe it’s also because he can feel you trembling within his grasp, not even contemplating fighting back. “If I let you go, you promise you won’t tell a soul?”

You nod against his hand, taking a gasping breath when he hesitantly breaks contact, still unsure about trusting you. You try to scramble to your feet, but your body betrays you; every bone is gelatinous. Falling back with a pathetic whine, the adrenaline fades and the emotions it had been staving off comes flooding in. Tears fall from your eyes, hot as they slide down your cheeks in heaving sobs. The man swears under his breath, evidently distressed that you’ll give away his hiding spot with your crying.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry,” you apologize weakly, wiping at your face haphazardly and trying once again to stand. You’re successful this time, but before you can run away, you get a glimpse of him.

He’s absolutely filthy; a mixture of blood and dirt covers his hands and bare feet. A formerly starch-white undershirt is caked in the same grime, bright orange jumpsuit tied around his waist. His hair is matted in several places, though you can see a semblance of curls amongst the knots. And the expression on his face is not one of anger or violence, but of fear. The same fear that wraps around you like a boa constrictor, squeezing and choking until there’s nothing left to feel.

It’s his eyes, the deep brown windows to his soul, that give away his identity. And though his current get-up is a stark contrast from the ill-fitted suit he’d worn to his televised court appearances, you know who he is.

Eddie Munson: murderer, prisoner, and now, escapee.

Your own eyes widen, and you take a staggering step back. You’d seen on the news that he’d broken out of Indiana State prison three days ago, but you’d never imagined that you would be the one to find him.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he snarls, snapping you from your stupor. “Just go!” He scoffs disbelievingly, not understanding why you haven’t taken off bolting back through the forest.

To be honest, you’re also unsure why you remain in place. You’d followed Eddie’s case since the moment it had first broken: a man leaving a bar in the strange hours that are past the night but not quite morning, plans of trekking home derailed by the sound of a woman’s frantic scream. Without thinking, Eddie ran towards it, fingers digging into a man’s throat to pull him off of her. He could have stopped there, the jury argued; he should have stopped there, but he didn’t. His fist connected with the offender’s cheek, delivering one punch after the other until his own fists were battered and bloodied.

Eddie might have been hailed a hero if the perpetrator hadn’t been Jason Carver: All-American basketball player, a senator’s son, and most importantly, a man whose family had access to the best lawyers money could buy. The court overlooked Eddie’s act of courage in favor of the murder he’d committed and sentenced him to twenty years behind bars.

Was he innocent? Technically, no. But he also wasn’t the cold-blooded killer the media portrayed him to be.

You extend your hand, wincing at the way it shakes in front of you. “Let me help you, Eddie.” He flinches at his name, pulling back from you. “I…I can hide you, if you want.”

“Wh…what?” There’s no way he heard you correctly. You, the young woman in the soft sweater and frightened but kind eyes, just willingly offered to harbor a fugitive? “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says gently, pinning his hopes on you recognizing his authenticity, “you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I know.” You keep your hand out, biting your lower lip with so much force that you could draw blood. “I want to.”

With a plethora of reservations, he accepts your proposal as you discreetly lead him to your car. You naively expect him to sit next to you, but he opts to lay down in the backseat where nosy drivers are less likely to spot him. He pulls his knees to his chest, hugging them tight to shrink himself even further.

“If we get caught,” he whispers as you turn the key in the ignition, “tell them I made you do this, okay? Promise me.”

“Y-Yes. I promise.”

At your apartment, you point Eddie in the direction of the shower while you start on lunch. There isn’t much to choose from, but you crack open a can of Campbell’s tomato soup and make three grilled cheese sandwiches: two for him, one for you. You pour the soup into two bowls just as you hear the water turn off.

“Um, Sweetheart?” The nickname sets off a flurry of butterflies in your abdomen. “Do you have anything for me to wear?” He steps out of the bathroom, just a towel slung low on his waist. Droplets fall from his hair down his chest, blurring the lines of his tattoos. A dusting of brown hair trails from his navel and disappears below the towel. “I could put my own stuff back on, I guess, if you don’t.”

You will yourself to look away from the living, breathing artwork standing before you. “Y-Yeah, give me a sec.” Your arm grazes his torso as you walk past him towards your room, goosebumps appearing on your skin, and not just from the cooling water. Digging through your drawers, you manage to find a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt that your ex-boyfriend had left behind, never bothering to return to collect it. “Here,” you say; he doesn’t question why you have men’s clothes at the ready, just takes them gratefully and pads back into the bathroom to change.

You’re left breathless again when he walks out again, fully clothed. His biceps strain against the cotton material, filling it out better than your ex ever could. And his lack of underwear is evident, the outline just visible through his sweats.

He’s gorgeous.

Eddie devours the food like it’s a delicacy, rather than canned soup and some Kraft slices on Wonder Bread. Perhaps, after years in prison and an undisclosed amount of days on the run, it is. He brushes the crumbs from his hands into his empty bowl and leans back with a small stretch. “Thank you,” he mumbles with a small smile, leaning over to take your own used utensils. “I’ll wash these. ‘S the least I can do.”

You nod, not wanting to protest and risk making him feel like he’s a burden. “How long can you stay?” you ask softly, nervously picking at your fingernails. “I mean, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, but I know you probably shouldn’t stick around in one place for long…” You feel silly saying it, like you have any idea of what the protocol is for running away from prison.

“Not long,” Eddie admits, wiping the sponge over a spoon before rinsing it and placing it in the dishrack. “Probably should head back out as soon as it gets dark again. But, really, I can’t thank you enough. The warm shower, the food, the clean clothes…just wish I could repay you somehow.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes flick across your body, soaking in the sight of you. The ache between your legs pulses now, desperate for him to fill the space. You’ve only ever slept with people you’ve been in relationships with; certainly never with escaped convicts who you’d found hiding in the woods.

“What…what did you have in mind?” Your voice is small, barely above a whisper as you stand up and walk towards him.

“Don’t…don’t do this,” he hisses, raking his fingers through his hair. “Please. It’s been fuckin’ forever, I can’t…” He bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head. “I haven’t touched someone like I want to touch you in so fucking long, sweet girl.”

“You want to touch me?” You’re shocked at his candor, the way he readily confesses his needs. “W-Where?”

Eddie exhales, gliding his forefinger down your cheek. “Everywhere. I can’t get enough of you. Pretty little bookworm just begging to be corrupted, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you squeak, letting your palm fall to his bicep.

“Need to hear you say it,” Eddie urges, for your sake and his. His breath tickles below your ear. “Say it for me, sweet girl.”

“Corrupt me, Eddie.”

His hands are on you in an instant, pinning you against the countertop. Your lips find each other with the force of magnets, a clashing of teeth and tongues more fervent than you’ve ever experienced. He hoists you on top of it, tugging on your jeans and panties until they’re on the ground.

“‘M gonna taste you. See if you’re as sweet as you look,” he murmurs, crouching so he’s got a perfect view of your glistening folds. Broad arms wrap around your thighs to pull you close and he dives in, nose nudging your clit as his tongue broaches your hole. Your toes instinctively curl, back arching as he feeds off of your pleasure and gradually quickens his pace. One thick finger slides inside you, making you moan. “Goddamn, even your sounds are sweet.” He continues licking and sucking, adding another finger as you get wetter. “‘M sorry, I wanna keep eating you out, but I gotta…” His lips latch onto one nipple, giving it the tiniest bite that draws a whimper from you.

You’re surprised to find that you’re enjoying the pinch of pain, lacing your fingers through his curls and holding his face to your chest. You allow your senses to be overwhelmed, drowning them in the sensation of his mouth on your upper body and his fingers within you.

You rock yourself into him, desperately chasing the release that he’s inching you towards. It allows him even deeper, impossibly so, and you tighten around him.

Eddie lets go of your breast, focusing all of his attention on your pussy. His fingers plunge in and out as he looks deep into your eyes, not daring to break any contact. “Thassit, sweet girl,” he says in a cross between a hiss and a coo, “come f’me.”

And you do, relinquishing whatever semblance of control you’d tried to hold on to. You soak his fingers with a cry of his name. There’s no mistaking the proud grin that sweeps over his face, knowing that he was the one bringing you this pleasure. “You’re ready for my cock now, aren’t you?” He laughs when you nod, helping you off of the countertop. He tugs his pants down, exposing his hard length. He’s big, already leaking pre-cum, and you’re salivating at the anticipation of him stretching you delectably. “Bend over for me, honey. You’re gonna take it from behind today.”

“Yes, sir.” You turn around, bracing your forearms on the Formica while he delivers a harsh slap to your ass.

“Fuck, say that again.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you want, sir.”

He groans, throwing his head back as he runs his tip along your folds. “Such a good girl, knowing her place. Gonna take whatever I give you, s’fucking good for me.” He pushes inside you, little by little until he bottoms out. “So warm, so wet, holy shit.” Calloused palms grip your hips as he thrusts into you. “Take it, sweet girl. Mmm, jus’ like that.” Each snap of his hips is punctuated with a wanton groan. “I’ve barely fucked you and you’re already cock drunk. No one ever fucked you this good, huh?”

“N-No, never. Only you, Eddie.”

You feel your chin being pulled so your head faces sideways, his thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. “Open wide, pretty little thing.” You do as he orders, his saliva coating your tongue as he spits into your mouth. “Mine,” he declares possessively, eyes widening as you swallow what he’s given you without even being asked.

He pushes down on your back, your breasts pressed against the counter while he thrusts faster and faster, no longer concerned about holding back. “‘M gonna come on your ass.” He squeezes there, turning himself on further just having your supple skin in his grasp.

And because you know how wild it drives him, you consent with a, “yes, sir.”

Eddie pulls out just in time, his hot spend spilling out of him and onto your flesh. You wish you could see the way he’s adorned you, but you’ll have to settle for the feeling of him dripping down your curves. He stands behind you, panting heavily, holding his softening cock in one hand.

“God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl,” he mutters, reaching over you to grab a paper towel. It’s scratchy as he cleans you up, then takes another and wipes the residual cum from his tip. “You really are perfect.”

You face him and gingerly kiss his lips, probably too intimate for the utter filth you’d just engaged in. Still, he returns it, hands roaming your body with intent but no real destination.

“Mind if we get some rest?” he asks, poorly stifling a yawn. “You, uh, kinda wore me out just now.”

You lead him to your bedroom, both of you climbing under the covers wordlessly, heads barely hitting the pillow before you’re each sound asleep.

When you wake up hours later, you’re alone in the dark. At first, you wonder if it’s all been a dream, but when you click on your bedside lamp, there’s a handwritten note hastily scrawled on some scrap paper:

My sweet girl,

I had to go and didn’t want to wake you. I knew that if I did, you’d convince me to stay longer, and I can’t put you in any more danger than I already have.

I hope that fate will allow us to meet again, maybe if I’m ever truly a free man. ’ll be thinking of you until then.

Yours,

Eddie

P.S. burn this note and flush the ashes after reading

You do as he asked, heart sinking as the flames swallow his words. Maybe he’s written the same ones to dozens of different lovers, or maybe you’re the only recipient. It doesn’t matter anymore. All that fills your memory is the way he felt inside you earlier today.

You will it to live there forever.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #smut

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steveslevis · 1 month

Text

‘tis the damn season

AUTUMN

chapter contents/warnings: exes to whatever the hell this is, a little bit of smut, angst, weed and alcohol use, mutual pining, steve is an idiot and is afraid of commitment </3, barely proofread (sowwy)

w/c: 5.3k

The first big frost of the season blankets the town of Hawkins when you arrive on Wednesday night, the bits of ice glittering on the orange and brown leaves making the barren streets seem less intimidating as you make your way through your hometown for the first time in months.

There’s a sense of anticipation and dread that fills your stomach while navigating the streets you know so well, knowing you’re going to be asked the same mundane questions about college in the big city a thousand times over during the next three weeks. You know that’s not the only thing filling you with dread for the weeks to come, but keep telling yourself that’s all you have to worry about — right?

The first evening you arrive in town is jam-packed, since your friends insisted on having a so-called “Friends-giving-mas” as the night that you arrived, due to your anticipated absence on the aforementioned Christmas. You spend a few hours with your mom and dad before leaving, enlisting your mom to help you make some cookies for the party, promising you’d leave her and your dad some behind.

The clock hits 7 p.m. and you’re finally finished getting ready, having just thrown on a red velvet, long sleeved dress that hit just above your knees and your best black boots, Robin had requested everyone to look their best so she could take photos with her new camera throughout the party. You grabbed your secret santa gift and jacket, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving your room.

“Alright, I’m leaving.” you call out as you bound down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget your cookies, sweetheart! They’re on the table.” she replied from her place next to your dad on the couch, watching some rom-com while he was dozing beside her, “if you need us to come pick you up, we will.”

You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that you were only walking to the next house over on the road, so picking you up would be ridiculous.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage just fine.” you joke in return while grabbing the plate of cookies, “love you guys!”

—————————

The outside of the Harrington’s house is gleefully lit with warm string lights, wreaths already adorning the front windows and main door to the house in anticipation of Christmas in a few weeks. You always admired the way their house looked during the holidays, but knew it was only a cheery facade to hide the dysfunction that lay within the halls of the residence.

You knew the family all too well, having grown up next to Steve your entire life. You were the same age as him, grew up attending all the same parties as him, but ran in completely different circles than him — well, up until your senior year of high school at least.

Long story short, being best friends with Robin led to you ultimately becoming so-called friends with Steve Harrington as well. The two of you had what you now called a stupid summer fling before you left for Chicago in August, but the rest was history. The two of you had agreed to stay civil and not let the remnants of any unresolved feelings come between your friendship and the rest of the friend group.

So here you were, knocking on Steve Harrington’s front door on a random Wednesday in late November, cookies in hand as you stood there, shivering. You faintly hear Robin say that she would get the door, then hear footsteps pad towards the entrance.

You’re greeted by your best friend with the strongest hug you swear you’ve ever experienced, and you feel like you might not ever be let go if she has anything to say about it.

“Oh my god! I missed you so much.” Robin exclaims, the widest grin on her face as she grabs for your hand, “everyone’s in here, we’re just waiting on Nance and Jonathan then we’ll be ready to eat but come in! I have so much to tell you about everything you don’t even know—”

You follow behind her wordlessly, smiling to yourself as she rambles on about college applications and band and Vickie — who just so happened to be in the kitchen helping finish making the mashed potatoes so you had to be quiet — and everything that she can think to fit in a conversation to catch her best friend up on after months without. She leads you to the dining room after dropping off the cookies, where you hear two familiar voices having a very passionate conversation.

“I’m telling you, man, I’m cursed—“

“You’re not cursed, Harrington. I’m telling you, you’re just looking in the wrong place for love.” Eddie retorts to his frustrated friend, rolling his eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? And where should I be looking?” Steve snorts, haphazardly tossing forks, knives and spoons atop the napkin at each seat of the table.

“I’ve been saying ever since what happened this summer, you should be going after — oh shit, Y/N!” Eddie interjects, cutting himself off when you trail in behind Robin.

The metalhead pulls you in for a bear hug, whispering in your ear about how he promises not to ask you boring questions about college like everyone else. As you’re being engulfed in his embrace, you hear the sound of silverware tumbling to the ground from the other side of the table, followed by a string of mumbled curse words from the dropper.

You pull away from Eddie’s hug to look at where the noise is coming from, only to see Steve fumbling with a fork and spoon while trying to stand up from where he was just kneeling. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long, taking in everything about him that you told yourself you didn’t miss. Eddie gives you a knowing look and you roll your eyes, knowing that he’s trying to tell you to not make things weird, so you try your best.

“Stevie, how are you?” you call to him while walking around the table, putting on the best oblivious and excited face that you can.

“H-Hey, Y/N.” Steve says, feigning coolness as he pulls you in for a quick hug, nearly stumbling over his words when you use the nickname you always loved to tease him with, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

His eyes flicker over to Robin momentarily, who shoots him a guilty grin before mouthing ‘sorry’ over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it was kinda last minute on my part, I just so happened to be coming home tonight since my finals were all at the beginning of the week. I kinda forced Rob to tell me when it would be so I could crash it,” you lie, trying to throw the blame on yourself instead of her, “sorry if I messed anything up, I-I’ll lay low and won’t eat if that messes up numbers or something—“

“No!” Steve rushes to retort, shaking his head at you adamantly, “I mean, shit—sorry. No, you’re not messing anything up at all, you know you’re always welcome here.”

The smile on Steve’s face is genuine as he speaks, but there’s a glint of sadness in his eyes while he scans yours for any sign of hesitancy. You give him a small smile in return, quickly moving your gaze from his to push down that sinking feeling in your chest you know is coming. Your chest aches as you focus your eyes downward, realizing that this night would be a lot harder than you had convinced yourself that it would be.

“Well!” Robin interjects, interrupting the growing awkward silence filling the air of the dining room where you stood. She reached for your hand while smiling over at you sympathetically, beginning to drag you towards the kitchen as she spoke, “gotta go say hello to everyone else before dinner!”

Your best friend whirled you around to the rest of the guests–which was just Nancy, Jonathan, and Vickie–who were all in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal.

A slew of awkward questions about Chicago ensued in the moments leading up to and during dinner, but you took them in stride as they distracted you from the bright eyed boy across the table who kept sneaking glances in your direction any chance he got. You explained your major, what you did for work outside of class time, and talked about all the new friends you met in the short few months you’d been gone. You could’ve sworn Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of a date you went on prior to leaving for break, but you didn’t put too much thought into it.

Dinner goes by fairly quickly, and then it’s time for Secret Santa gifts in the living room. Robin begged everyone to participate, and even went through the effort of making sure you and Steve didn’t get each other, partly to not ruin the surprise of you being here and partly to diminish any awkwardness that might arise from it.

You had drawn Jonathan’s name, so you gifted him a few rolls of different camera film. Each person had to guess who their Secret Santa was, but apparently your gift was pretty obvious since he hadn’t been able to find any film like it anywhere near Hawkins, so he guessed you first.

Your turn rolled around and a small red gift bag was sat in your lap. You immediately knew who your gift was from, halfway from the grin plastered on his face and halfway from the smell lingering from inside the back in your hands.

“Thank you, Eddie.” you giggle out while pulling out four perfectly rolled blunts from the gift bag, courtesy of the best dealer in Hawkins.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he jabs back, “we can fire one up after presents if you’d like.”

You nod quickly at him, grinning widely before turning back to the circle where Robin was handing out gifts.

—————————

It’s not long before drinks are flowing and laughter is spilling through the Harrington residence, something that’s happened very few times within those halls. The night seems to go by too quickly, you notice how quickly when you check and it says 11 P.M. already, even though it feels like you’ve only been there a few hours. You’re sitting on the couch with Robin and Vickie, giggling their way through a story about some guy in the Hawkins band, when the sight of the back door sliding open and closed catches your eye.

You turn your gaze to see Steve stalking into the cold on his own, head turned down as he walks towards one of the ice-slicked pool chairs on the deck. A frown passes over your face as you furrow your brows, excusing yourself from the couple on the couch as you slip outside to follow him with your bottle of wine, one of your newly gifted blunts and a lighter in hand.

It’s the last thing you should be doing tonight, really. You shouldn’t be following Steve Harrington – the man who was too afraid to say he loved you and too afraid to commit to you – onto the porch. You should’ve stayed inside and drank some more wine with the rest of them and let yourself cut loose for once, but you just couldn’t do it. You just had to talk to him – you weren’t so sure what you wanted to talk about, but you just felt the need to.

“You alright?” was all you could slip out as you closed the sliding glass door, watching the brown haired boy from afar, making sure you weren’t making the wrong decision.

“Yeah–Yeah, just needed a little bit of fresh air.” Steve stammered, eyes widening for only a moment when he notices that it’s you that followed him outside.

You only hum in response, stepping closer to him as you sense no annoyance or anger in his voice, finding a spot on the chilled pool chair next to his. After setting down the bottle of wine you’d been nursing throughout the night, you took the blunt you’d brought as a peace offering between your fingers and waved it in front of his face.

Steve looked up for a moment, gaze shifting between the blunt between your fingers and your lips that curled up into a mischievous yet friendly smirk. His own lips perked up in a lopsided smile, raising an eyebrow at you when you brought the blunt to your lips, followed by the lighter.

“Would you like to partake?” you joke while puffing smoke through your lips, mixing with the cold puffs of breath coming from Steve’s.

“I’ll never say no to that,” he retorts, reaching to grab the blunt from your fingers.

There’s a breath of comfortable silence between the two of you as he inhales, then lets out a long exhale before focusing his gaze back onto the pool in front of him, onto the ice forming on the pool cover as a way to avoid your eyes.

“So, how’s the Stevie Harrington been faring since I’ve been gone?” you joked after a moment more of the quiet, shoving any nerves down that were threatening to force you to run back inside.

Awful, utterly dull and extremely depressing, was what Steve wanted to say.

He wanted to tell you how he fucked up so badly, how he hasn’t been the same since the last time he saw you, how he hasn’t even been able to look at anyone without thinking of you. He wanted to grab you by the cheeks and pull you in for a kiss and never let go. He wanted to scream and tell you how much he regretted ever letting you leave without knowing how he really felt, but he couldn’t now. It was too late, so he just said; “Oh, y’know. I’ve been fine. Just the same shit, different day.”

Steve wanted to kick himself for saying something so lame, something so uninteresting when the most interesting person in the world was sitting right in front of him.

“Does ‘same shit, different day’ just mean you’re stuck being the same old chauffeur-babysitter you’ve been for the last two years?” you tease, reaching down to grab the bottle of wine at your feet.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve chuckled, giving you a warm smile as he took another puff.

It only took a few moments to finally break the ice between the two of you, then things fell right back into place, right back into a comfortable normalcy. There was something that put you so at ease being outside with him, being able to talk to him without the looming thought of who would be the first to say “I love you” or who would be the first to leave waving over both of your heads.

The next hour went by in a breeze, and it seemed the party inside died down by the time the two of you decided to walk back in. Steve closed the sliding glass door behind you two and you noticed only Eddie and Robin were left standing in the living room. Vickie was presumably in the guest bed, where Robin was about to head to. Jonathan and Nancy had left twenty minutes prior, only popping their heads out to say a quick goodbye before driving off.

Robin said a quick goodnight to you before heading up the stairs, along with a promise to see you tomorrow for a girl’s day. Then, it was just you, Eddie and Steve in the living room, Eddie at the couch setting up his bed for the night while the two of you stood in silence by the sliding glass door still.

“I–I guess I should probably head home for the night,” you say, breaking the silence between the three of you as you start towards your bag and coat on the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Steve interjects a little too loudly, the weed and wine in his system instilling some false confidence in him. “It’s so cold out and I’m sure at this point your parents already think you’re staying anyways.”

You stop on your toes at Steve’s voice, cheeks heating at how interested he sounded in you staying there for the night. It’s not like it was a far and dangerous walk, Steve just wanted an excuse to be around you for longer. You turn around to look at him, then to Eddie, who was giving you a tired smile.

“We can have a sleepover on the couch,” Eddie chuckles, reaching for one of the pillows he was setting out for himself to move it to the other side of the couch for you.

“I don’t have any clothes,” you suggest, looking down at your velvet dress that would be extremely uncomfortable to sleep in.

“Oh, I’m sure Stevie has some clothes that you can sleep in!” Eddie says, shooting a smirk in his direction.

“O–Of course I do, I’m sure I still have your favorite pajama pants up there if you want them.” Steve says hurriedly, as if you would change your mind if he didn’t answer quickly enough.

You give the two of them a smile, pretending to contemplate the decision for a moment before nodding. You could’ve sworn you heard Steve let out a breath of relief at your nod, but he turned towards the stairs before you could acknowledge it. Without a word, you follow right behind him up the stairs, slowly realizing the effects of the cherry wine and weed are coming to the surface.

Steve steps into his bedroom and you follow behind him, a situation the two of you knew all too well.

—————————

You don’t know what led to this, but there you were, in Steve’s bedroom, him towering over your space on his bed as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. Tongue against teeth, hands against cheeks, legs tangled together, just like they were meant to be.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t come crawling back every time you were in town, but here you were.

Somehow coming upstairs for a stupid pair of pajamas led to Steve giving you that look of lust and utter desire, led to you becoming a willing participant in his games once again after swearing you would never touch him again, led to you letting him sneak his way into your heart – and pants – yet again.

Your head is spinning as he kisses you, his lips slotted into yours like they belonged there, a perfect fit. You’re unsure if it’s the wine, the weed or the sheer yearning that’s making you feel like this, but you don’t want it to stop any time soon.

There’s a gnawing feeling in your stomach when Steve props his knee up on the bed next to your hip, you know you should stop before he gets any further, but the ache between your thighs is outweighing any thought of what would come after he spreads you open.

Steve groans into your mouth when you pull him closer, fingers intertwining with and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and you only smirked against his lips in satisfaction. You knew everything about the boy who was turning to a puddle just from the touch of your fingers. You knew exactly how to make him tick, and him the same for you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes when he finally pulls away from you, full lips parted as he stares down at you. There’s a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in so long, one you used to mistake for love but now only know to be pure lust. “I–I’m sorry I just, I need–I need you.”

You stare at the desperate, doe-eyed man in front of you for a long moment, mind wandering to a place of fear as you think about what you’re about to do.

Instead of saying anything in reply, you close the space between the two of you once again, smashing your lips into his in a feverish and bruising kiss. Steve is on you in an instant, gently pushing you back and up on the bed, letting your head fall on his pillows. You can tell by the way he stumbles on his way up to you that he’s intoxicated — on the weed or the wine, or you, you’re not sure — but you soon realize that you are too.

A hand wanders toward the hem of Steve’s sweater, tugging at it quickly as he pulls away from the bruising kiss. He wastes no time in pulling the cable-knit up and over his head, tossing it to the side while sitting up on his knees to take you the sight of you in. Your skin was hot and your eyes were blown with lust, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you stared up at him.

You’d only been under him for a minute and had completely folded to his touch. You cursed yourself for letting your inhibitions crumble so quickly, but another part of you didn’t actually care, the same part of you that wanted to claim him as yours forever.

Steve’s eyes trailed over you, from your cheeks to the low neckline of your dress, over the curve of your hips, ending on your thighs spread on either side of his knees. The crushed velvet of your skirt bunched where your leg met your hip, letting the fabric ride up enough for Steve to see exactly what he was searching for.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of your white lace underwear beneath, having to hold himself back from diving in right that second.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, hands tracing over your hip bones while lowering his lips to yours once again.

A moan falls from your lips as his meet yours, his knee coming up between your thighs, creating friction against your core.

“Fuck—Stevie,” you say, choking back a pitiful whine while grinding against his thigh desperately, “please, I need you.”

You swear you hear Steve nearly choke at your words, three words he’d been dying to hear from you for months.

“I know, I know, baby.” he coos at you, trying to keep his cool as he strains against his pants, “I’ll take care of you.”

You nod feverishly as he leans down to pepper kisses along your neck, taking his sweet time while trying not to get drunk off the scent of you.

“This—This doesn’t mean anyth—this doesn’t change anything,” he stammers between kisses, peering up at you as he speaks, “we can still stay close—keep being friends after this.”

You hum in agreement, ignoring the dread building in your gut as you do. You want to be more than friends, you want to scream at him until he admits that he loves you too. But he nearly said it doesn’t mean anything, so you’re convinced he wants nothing to do with you after tonight, nothing but a friend to laugh with and a pretty face to fuck on every break from college.

You push the thoughts from your mind, focusing on the boy in front of you as his hands begin to massage your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core with every circle. Steve chuckles lowly as you let out a whine of anticipation, teasing you silently as he gives in to your desires.

Steve knows your body like he knows his own, so what comes after pulling off your dress is nearly second nature to him. One large hand trails to the waistband of your underwear while the other reaches for your breast, nipple peaked from the exposure to the cold air conditioning. You moan in surprise when he wastes no time in putting his mouth to work on your other nipple, tugging your underwear down your legs simultaneously.

His fingers immediately fall to your core once you’re free of the underwear, fingertips circling the bundle of nerves at the top as you let out another whimper.

His moves are careful but quick, he knows you want to waste no more time, and you’ll whine about his teasing if he doesn’t act soon.

He’s out of his boxers in an instant, one hand keeping contact with your clit as he situates himself above you.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice low as his eyes raked over your body, “so pretty spread out for me, all fucked out for me even though I’ve barely touched you.”

“Stevie…” you whimper, reaching a hand up to him, but he pulls from your reach with a smirk across his face.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as he lines himself up with your slick, teasing the tip against you slowly.

“I—I need you, Steve.” you beg, cheeks flushing at the admittance, “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he retorts with a smirk, sliding into you with ease.

You both let out a low moan as he bottoms out, filling you in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You forgot how thick he was in the time you’d been gone, your body wasn’t used to the stretch of his cock inside you, but it still felt like he was meant to be there. Like he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

And you were right, nobody could make you feel that way. Nobody else could touch you and make you fall apart in less than five minutes like he could. Nobody else could get you so riled up over a few praises thrown in with some condescension (which you embarrassingly loved too much) like he could. Nobody could hold off from cumming long enough to give you three orgasms before getting one of their own like he could.

Nobody did it like he could.

This doesn’t mean anything you repeat in your mind, clinging to his arm like your life depended on it after the two of you calmed your breathing and cleaned up. You weren’t sure if you were repeating those words to convince yourself or to ease your own mind about what just went down, but you knew they stung your heart more than any fighting words the two of you had ever exchanged.

“I missed this, cuddling with you, holdin’ you like this.” was all he slurred out against your hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into the crown of your head.

“Yeah, me too.” you mumble in return, accepting the warmth of his embrace as sleep finally took you in, ignoring the gnawing pain growing in your chest.

—————————

The spice of Steve’s cologne mixes with the familiar scent of his room, filling your senses when you wake, nearly sending you into a panic. You sit upright in the bed, turning to face the boy you claimed you wanted nothing to do with romantically just a few hours ago. Steve is sleeping peacefully next to you, plush lips parted and brows furrowed as he subconsciously pouts about the loss of your touch. The alarm clock behind him read 2:03 A.M., meaning you hadn’t been out for too long, but long enough to sober you up somehow.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta get out of here. Is all you can think as you stumble out from under the comforter, knowing you would never live it down if anyone found you’d slept in his bed, especially with your limbs entangled like they just were. You quickly dress in the clothes you’d originally come into the bedroom to fetch, and snuck out of the bedroom without a sound.

Before making it to the living room, you turned toward the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of water. What you weren’t expecting to be faced with in the kitchen was Eddie, but there he was, leaning against the counter with disheveled hair that probably mirrored your own.

“What a night so far, huh?” he jokes as you shoot him a knowing glare while trudging across the tiled floor.

“Don’t even start with me, Munson.” you warn, absentmindedly reaching your hand up to the cabinet for a glass while shaking your head.

“Woah, don’t get that attitude with me! I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, setting his own glass into the sink, “but that also doesn’t mean I didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not,” you snap back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he gives you a shit-eating grin, “there’s no way you heard anything because nothing happened.”

“You’ve always been such a bad liar, Y/N.” Eddie laughs, stepping out of the kitchen to walk towards the living room where the two of you would be sleeping.

A sigh escapes your lips when Eddie leaves, letting you be alone with your thoughts finally. There was an ache in your chest that wasn’t going away any time soon, and it was in that moment that you wondered if you would ever be able to get over Steve Harrington, or if you would be in a continuous cycle of hurt and comfort for the rest of your damned life.

You collected your thoughts as you downed a glass of water, throwing back two ibuprofens with the last chug for good measure, before finding your way back to the living room. Eddie was on his side on the long side of the L-shaped couch, leaving the shorter side for you to sleep on. His eyes were closed as you laid down with your feet next to his own, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” you heard through the darkness after turning off the table lamp once you were settled.

“I know.” you sigh in return, staring up at the ceiling that was only lit by the streetlights flowing in from outside. “I just don’t want to live like this forever, I–I can’t keep being the secret that Steve is too embarrassed to talk about.”

“He’s not embarrassed of you,” Eddie said, voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear, “he’s just afraid of fucking everything up even more than he already has.”

If only he could say that to my face, then maybe I’d believe it, you thought to yourself, chest tightening at just the thought of the brown-eyed boy who was fast asleep upstairs.

You don’t reply to Eddie, unsure of what to say back, unsure of what you could squeak out without breaking down.

“Goodnight, Eds,” is all you say in return, though you know you won’t be getting any sleep.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

—————————

After falling asleep for all of fifty minutes around 5 in the morning, you decided you had to leave.

The entirety of the almost four hours you laid on Steve’s couch consisted of staring at the ceiling and fighting off tears while thinking about how you regretted everything you said and did over the last twelve hours.

Coming to the Harrington house was a mistake, even stepping foot back in Hawkins was feeling like a mistake at this point.

The only words repeating in your mind were This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.

You eventually had enough of the self-loathing and inability to sleep, so it was time to go. It was time to hastily change out of the pajamas that smelled too much like the boy you loved too hard, and time to go collapse in your own bed. There was no telling if you’d actually fall asleep once you made it there, but that was beside the point.

It was when you finally made it back to your parent’s house, to your childhood bedroom, that you swore that you wouldn’t see Steve Harrington again for the rest of Thanksgiving break, and hopefully would avoid seeing him again for a long while, for the sake of saving yourself from another heartbreak.

---------

tags: @carinacassiopeiae

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stevis writes #ttds*

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messylustt · 10 months

Note

Begging for you...to write something about Hobie fingering her pretty and lovely friend as a stress reliever and also him being pussy drunk...

what a relief — hobie brown. longer name. hobie using his best friend as a stress relief.

your head is laid back against the couch, eyes closed as the sun begins to dip, setting the room into a dim light of orange. hobie has slipped through the window, fluidly and silently. a smile edges his lips upon seeing you, laid back against the couch, upright and blissful. though his gaze does get caught up in the sliver of skin streaked across your stomach. your shirt is at a slight angle, loose and revealing. you two are best friends.

there’s been nothing wrong with how lazy you dress around hobie. at least he’s made it clear that there’s nothing wrong with it. you don’t hear him until he takes a seat beside you, one arm looping around your waist to bring you closer. you slightly jolt at the touch as you whip your head up and towards hobie, who’s face is almost smug taking note of your fast moving chest.

he slips his hand further around your waist, forcing one of your legs to drape over the in-between of his spread thighs. “hobie.” you mutter, calming down. “i didn’t hear you…”

“you never hear me.” he remarks, already beginning to fiddle with the material of your shirt, as his gaze drops down your body. you’re in loose shorts, and as hobie’s fingers loop further around your waist, he reaches your bare thigh, just tapping at the skin.

his head slightly leans back against the couch. and as you go to move off of him, his grip tightens, forcing your legs to widen. “hobie — ”

“shh. hard day.” he mutters, now swirling his finger along your now prominent goosebumps. “it was?” you ask, turning your head to look at him, but that’s when you feel his fingers dip, making your breathing hitch. “mhm.” he mumbles.

“‘m sure your day was better than mine.” hobie continues, as two of his fingers slip under the material of your shorts, right by your inner thigh. you slightly shift, brows furrowing. “it was…alright.” “jus’ alrigh’?” hobie asks. “then it seems we both needa lil bit of relief…hm?” and that’s when his fingers find your panties, just running the pads of his finger all the way along your covered pussy. you stiffen. “hob — ”

“it’s alrigh’, babe. ‘m jus’ really stressed. you know how it is.” he’s now slipped past your panties, widening your legs with his arm, as he spreads your wetness around. he smirks upon feeling your arousal.hobie can feel your confusion, as he mutters by your ear “friends help each other, ay?” he nods, his lips brushing your ear. and that’s when he sinks two fingers inside you, your wetness now coating his fingertips, as your hips shift, a small gasp leaving your lips.

he begins to place careful kisses to your shoulder as his fingers slowly thrust up into you, his tense shoulders relaxing at the feeling of you clenching around him. “that’s it…jus’ like that…mhm, feelin’ good, love.” his fingers are long and invasive inside you, exploring you with an eagerness you’d originally think a friend shouldn’t have. but hobie’s said that it’s alright. that ‘helping’ each other is what friends do.

“ya such a good friend to me, aren’t ya?” he hums, lips dragging across your skin, as he curls his fingers inside you, making a small whimper spill from your open mouth. “you’re really helpin’ me out, babe.” he lowly mutters, his tone turning more gravelling and restrained, bringing you even tighter against him as he revels at the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of your dripping cunt. “i-i am?” you breathlessly question. hobie chuckles, thinking how cute you sound all breathless and confused for him.

“yeah…somethin’ ‘bout the way your little hole is clenching around my fingers…jus’ like a hug…innit?” he’s moving faster inside you, whispering comforting words of praise and telling you how normal it is for a friend to help a friend. his thoughts are running wild with a hungry gaze on your pussy. dripping all over his hand. so nice of you to help him out, letting him use your pussy as a form of stress relief. “yeah…so good”

hobie now knew that he found himself a reliever. because now he certainly can’t let this be the last time. no. with how obsessed he’s gotten with your pretty pussy, he don’t think he’ll be able to hold back from getting a taste. “can i try, love?” he whispers in your ear making you shiver.

“please, babe, jus’ wanna try ya.” he’s licking at your neck. “it’ll help. ya know…to know what ya like. to know what it feels like. i jus’ want ya to be prepared, ya know how much i care ‘bout ya…” and when your legs widen at fraction, he smirks, knowing he had you. “you’re always gonna be my good little friend…”

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tteokdoroki · 11 months

Text

imagine silently vibing in the kitchen with katsuki bakugou.

you help yourself up into the counter, dressed in nothing but his shirt (haphazardly thrown on after spending all day kissing and getting nasty in bed) and a pair of fuzzy socks because he’d told you the apartment was cold since he runs warm and you need to keep your feet warm.

the kettle rumbles loud and proud beside you while katsuki gets the mugs from the top shelf. you’d made them together on your sixth or seventh date — a pottery painting class. bakugou’s is a creamy shade of Orange, like the sun setting outside the kitchen window, warm on your back. and yours is a soft pink, like the blush that dusts his cheeks from being caught staring. staring at you.

you let him make you some kind of herbal tea. watching bakugou grab the tea bags from another cupboard. this time, you’re the one staring, eyes caught on the motion of his back muscles rippling before cascading down to his unfairly slender waist, his grey sweat pants that hang a little too low on his itty bitty hips, and the rough textured skin on his side. the battle scar you love so much.

“what flavour?”

you hear him mumble, your gaze that was once tethered to the eighth wonder of the world (his phenomenally beautiful body) shoots up to bakugou’s face. a lazy smirk lies on the plump edge of his lips and compliments the his chiselled features illuminated by golden hour outside. you see the sun reflect off the brownish flecks to his gorgeous ruby eyes and the soft tint of blonde to his hair (you make a mental note to thank mitsuki for this later), before mirroring his smile.

“peach.”

to people on the outside of your lovey little bubble — there’s nothing significant about your choice of tea. but to you and katsuki, you know that it’s the same flavour as the lip glaze you wore on the night he first kissed you. it’s the scent of your body wash, the one that you leave at his place because you know that bakugou adores peaches on you. peaches, like the fruits you cut up for him whenever you’re able to join him for lunch at the agency, swiping your thumb over his chin as the juices run down it — sucking it off with an affectionate laugh.

“sweet,” bakugou hums into the quiet ambience of the kitchen. “just like you.”

his hands, though capable of intangible levels of destruction, work delicately and quickly to brew you the perfect cup of peach herbal tea. before you can even ask, he sweetens your cup with a tea spoon of brown sugar and a dash of golden honey — pushing it towards you gently. with a loving whispered reminder. ‘careful, it’s hot.’

katsuki waits for you to take a sip before he does the same with his own. he won’t admit to how cute you look on his counter, in his apartment, in his clothes with his marks on your neck, glittering under the setting sun. his bare feet pad on the vinyl flooring as he crosses the kitchen to meet you and his chest bristles with happiness when your legs part to make room for him.

“good?”

“always,” you chirp, looking up at kastuki through your lashes with your big bambi eyes. “i love you.”

katsuki looks taken aback but quickly recovers, rubbing his cheek on his bare shoulder as if to rid himself of the heat rising underneath its skin.

“love you even more. now drink up b’fore it gets cold.” he says gruffly but he’s lovesick all the same. you think that bakugou is so cute, you might implode.

and there you are, vibing out in the quietness of his kitchen — clinking your misshapen mugs together and drinking tea, letting the world go by as if you’re the only two people in it.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou drabble #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fluff #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki#it’s the way writing for him is second nature #idk what I was worried about #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 3 months

Text

You and Eddie get into an argument about the girl he's giving guitar lessons too. Angst, misunderstandings and bad communication ensues.

Warnings. Mdni. 18+ only, angst. Miscommunication and misunderstandings. Idiots in love. Jealousy.

💞

You and Eddie had been together for a few months and up until this point you had never had a cross word.

He had been giving some girl guitar lessons, her name was Britney and she was gorgeous, amazingly cool and hilarious.

Tonight you had walked in on them laughing together and looking all cosy. Something in you kinda broke inside, it was ridiculous because you knew Eddie would never cheat, but you still felt your stomach bottom out.

Hearing Eddie gush about Britney and how metal she was and was like a rockstar on the guitar didn't help either.

You weren't proud of it but you were quiet and a little less warmer than you'd usually be and when Britney made excuses to leave, you were left wracked with guilt.

Eddie had rounded on you asking ''Why were you being such a bitch?" and that had made you even more pissed and the argument ensued.

"I'm sorry that walking in on my boyfriend looking so fucking cosy with someone else put me in a bad mood" you bite back at him and Eddie's big brown eyes darken in rage.

"You're being fucking ridiculous right now you know that?" it hurt hearing Eddie say that and you lashed out without thinking about what you were saying.

"Oh so I'm ridiculous because I hate seeing some girl make gooey eyes at my boyfriend, I'm such a bad girlfriend for being a little bit wary" Eddie shakes his head and the temperature in the room turns colder.

"Or it's obvious that you don't fucking trust me. So if you don't trust me then what's the fucking point?" your breath hitches and there's a deep pit of gloom and dread, in your stomach.

"Are you breaking up with me?" you whimper and want to take back everything you said, tell him that of course you trust him but you're so stunned, your heart is breaking.

Without another word you storm out before Eddie can confirm your worst fears.

❤️

Instead of going home you go straight to Nancy's who immediately digs out some ice cream and let's you cry out all the heartache, you both stay up most of the night but end up crashing around 5am.

Nancy is ready up and getting ready for school, you have the worst headache and just want to sleep a little longer so she leaves you to sleep, brings you up some pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice that Mrs Wheeler kindly made up for you.

In return you help her around the house, trying anything to take your mind of your heartache about Eddie.

When Nancy comes back home she gently explains that Eddie has been calling you and is worried that you haven't answered.

"I think you need to listen to what he has to say honey, he looks a wreck, I think he's driving Mike and the rest of the kids here after Hellfire so if you want to wait"

Nervously you nod and try to calm your anxious mind that Eddie is going to break up with you for good.

By the time that you hear Eddie's van and he's parked outside, you're on tenterhooks. Eddie looks like he's barely slept, his hair is messier than usual and he has the saddest look in his beautiful brown eyes.

That look makes you want to burst into tears there and then. You hate that you're the cause.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, his voice is rougher than normal, his hands are shaking and you reach out to steady them.

"I'm sorry too Eddie. I was a bitch and rude and of course I trust you, I trust you with my life and I hate that I made you think otherwise" his eyes fill with pain and he swallows.

"I shouldn't have called you a bitch. I've been a mess since you left and I was worried as shit when you weren't answering your phone, Mike told me you stayed here last night with Nance so I knew I would come here as soon as I could"

The tension slowly begins to leave your body and you feel soothed as Eddie pulls you in his arms

"Also Britney has just started dating Gareth, she was learning guitar to impress him and I was teaching her how to play his favourite song."

Fuck. "I'm so sorry Eddie" he softens and kisses your forehead.

"Even if she was interested I don't care. I'm not interested in her. How could you think I'd want her or anyone when I already have the most amazing, beautiful princess"

A warm fluttery feeling pools in your belly and you cuddle into Eddie and peer at him sadly.

"I just got insecure when you talked about how badass Britney was on the guitar and how metal she was" Eddie strokes your cheek and you melt into his touch.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't realise that was bothering you. Honestly yeah she's metal and pretty badass at the guitar but she's not you. She's not the one I'm head over heels in love with. You are"

"Oh" well shit, you'd definitely fucked up and misread everything. This is the first time Eddie has said I love you. It's a big deal for him, you know that and it is for you too.

"I'd never cheat on you or hurt you princess, I'm so in love with you" Tears roll down your cheeks and you kiss him fiercely.

"I love you too Eddie, I should have tried better at communicating with you" You sigh and cuddle into him, feeling calmer than you have in days.

"We both should learn to communicate better" he corrects you and you nod. It feels like a weight has been lifted of you.

"I really should apologise to Britney too" he hums in agreement.

"She thinks your really cool by the way and she put up with me constantly gushing about you"

Shit. Yeah you definitely have to apologise. In fact you make that your next mission first thing on Monday morning.

For now you were just going to bask in Eddie's love for a little while.

Britney as it turns out is a total sweetheart about the whole thing when you speak to her first thing on Monday and excitedly tells you about her dates with Gareth and how she played him the song Eddie taught her.

Not only do you gain the start of a friendship with Britney but you and Eddie are more in love than ever.

🫶

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #angst to fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson

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batfamluvr · 2 months

Note

Hi, I don't know If you take requests, but could you please right about the reaction and thoughts of the bat boys toward finding out their partner was pregnant? Please and thank you

A/N: I do take requests, love. And I've got you ❣️

Bat-boys find out you're pregnant🍼

Dick Grayson's first thought is worry. He doubts how he'll make it work; crimefighting, his job, then his relationship with you. And he'll wonder how Nightwing will interfere with his life, and how Bruce will react (he'll spoil the child endlessly).

Reassurance from Donna, Alfred, or Bruce will part his fog of worry and distance. He'll hit the ground running to rectify his isolation. I mean breaking the news to friends and family, arranging play dates with Roy and Lian.

"I'll be safer on patrol," he whispered," I promise, hun." You had broke down after so long of trying to remain calm. But seeing your lover return home with bruise after bruise would weigh anyone down. Especially one pregnant.

Dick's hand would always be on your belly, reminding himself that you both are safe and he's doing a great job. It's what he needs to hear, that he's making the city safer for you both.

He is 100% a handyman. Dick will build cribs, changing tables, repair toilets, fix creaky cabinets. And he'll baby proof the house." Don't worry, babe," he assured you." Just relax. It's just a clogged drain."

Jason Todd's first thought is if he'd be a good father, after everything he's been through and done. He even wonders if he deserves to be a father, or if he deserves a nameless grave. However, leaving is never and will never be an option for him. I truly think he'd be the most active out of the bat-boys.

Jason's love language has always been acts of service, and it would thrive during your pregnancy. Your house would be booby-trapped and SECURED. He'd teach you the basics of a gun, and he'd ensure your pregnancy cravings are stocked. Jason would also wash your back when your belly grew too large.

Jason would let you shop for baby and maternity clothes with his card. His only request is that you don't get the baby anything too vibrant because it's an eyesore. If anything, he'd prefer neutral tones or black on the baby.

The weather becomes his interest after the baby's birth." Do you think they need a jacket?" Is his favorite line." Don't you think it's a little hot for them to be wearing long sleeves," he'll wonder. Or the baby is swaddled and he'll question," do you think he's overheating? I'd be hot if that were me all wrapped up like that."

A child is the only thing to make him stand steadfast on his refusal to kill. Not Bruce, not Dick, not even you. Your child brought forth a new mindset, one of not wanting to see a killer reflecting in the innocent and chocolate eyes of his child (Jason's eyes are brown. Argue with a wall).

Tim Drake isn't as present as one would believe. His activity is inconsistent, and it's harder to reach him because he's usually working. But he wants you to sit with him, to bring the baby and let him play around in his office.

It warms his heart to return from a meeting and his baby is sprawled out on his pastel blue teddy bear blanket and cooing. You're dangling a rattle over him, and Tim would strut over and kiss you on the cheek." How's it going, love?" He'd ask and rub the baby's cheek." They being good?" His eyebrow would raise playfully.

The baby would be raised around Bruce and Alfred more than his actual parents. I also see Stephanie caring for the baby and even babysitting if you work or just need rest. Cass would swoon over it, so prepare for tons of peeled oranges and Cass making your bottles.

Alfred would surely read your baby literature. He'd be sitting in the library, baby on his lap while y'all rest, reading from a dusty and old book that's sure to ignite your allergies.

Damian would try his hardest to be a fun dad because he never got that. It's been well documented that he wouldn't dare put a child through his life. So I think the farthest he would go is teaching you enough to defeat the average Shadow/Assassin. But he would not want you killing.

I think he'd lean into Bruce's "No-Kill" mantra after having a child. If you even want to enter vigilantism; he'd understand if you choose not to. It's a thankless job; it's isolating and bruising.

But I think if the kid did continue training, that's when they'd truly bond. Damian and he/she would laugh and joke between rounds; he'd show them the best way to throw a punch, and he'd teach mercy. That's also when they'd meet the other side of their family---the Al Ghuls. But Damian would have strict stipulations on what they learn. No instant kill moves, no brainwashing, none of the narcissistic sentiments Talia filled his head with.

I also think you, Damian, and your kid would lead fairly healthy lives. Not overboard, but the occasional protein shake or morning run; maybe even a little weight lifting. Or if cardio is your speed, he'd install a home-treadmill or a pool.

Bruce Wayne's first thought would be his age. How he's climbing in age and his job usually doesn't lead to gold and sunsets. He'd be happy because he sees it as a second chance. His first two sons saw the angry and vengeful side of him, so that's how they grew up; Tim sought him, and Damian came stained with blood.

But with you and the baby, he could actually be a father. He could raise the baby from infancy and make bottles and hush cries, like he wanted to with Dick and Jason. He could show the baby his favorite movies and just talk to them, even though the baby would respond with drool and coos.

He wouldn't have to be alone anymore. Bruce would set his child on a straight path; the world has enough Bats and birds. They could just...be. They'd would carry on the Wayne name.

Bruce would spoil you and his baby rotten. He'd watch over the baby like a hawk; each cry, each coo, each babble would send Bruce into a fit of worry. He'd leap up from his seat and check the cradle, only to find a giggling baby with his feet in the air. Then he'd chuckle, which would make the baby giggle even more. " You got me, little one. You got me," he'd utter and return to the Bat-computer.

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stylesharrys · 3 months

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all that you are | prologue [mafiarry]

authors note: okay, here you are, the start of mob!harry all the way from patreon. this has been so special to me as it’s been brought back from the past (we’re talking 5 years ago) and turned into what it is now! in this series, gem is younger than harry. i really hope you love this series as much as i loved writing it

word count: 1,156

summary: an arranged marriage is set, and y/n has no say in the matter.

Giovanni Saccaro sips on his scotch in his parlour. His grey, wispy hair is combed back, his balding head glinting under the orange hues of the wall lights. His son sits beside him, twenty and full of life and excitement.

Bruno’s always teased Giovanni for the lack of hair on his head, promised that when he becomes Capo of the Californian Famiglia, he wouldn’t lose his looks and hair as his Father had.

Opposite them, across the dark oak desk, Stefano Dellucci leans back in his chair. He’s a few years younger than Saccaro and his hair isn’t balding just yet. Flown in from New York, he’s got a proposition to secure power and strength in his Famiglia.

There’s a glimmer of excitement in Dellucci’s eyes as he clasps his hands over his middle and relaxes further into his chair.

He shouldn’t be this relaxed in such a situation. He should be on his toes, ready for anything. His step-son sits beside him, dark brown locks ungodly waves on his head and his face is void of emotion, but there’s a wicked hint of a smirk that tugs on the corners of his pink lips.

Harry Styles-Dellucci, twenty-two-years-old and soon to be Capo of the New York Famiglia. Clad in a black Armani suit, his thick legs are spread wide and a menacing glint flickers in his eyes as Giovanni begins to lean forward and speak.

“It’s unexpected for me to receive a visit from the Dellucci’s. I don’t remember the last time New York and California met without there being a bloodbath,” he sips his scotch, “Tell me why this shouldn’t end the same way.”

Stefano fights back the urge to scoff but Harry doesn’t hide the way he rolls his eyes. Jeff stands by the door, warm brown eyes, that are anything but, drilling holes into Giovanni’s head and his hand rests on his gun holster beneath his suit vest.

Giovanni’s guard, Gomez, does the same from beside him. He reaches a hand to his side, a silent order to remain calm, to not cause a scene, and Gomez removes his hand from under the lapel of his suit blazer.

“There’s no need for hostility, Giovanni. We come in peace, to form an alliance of sorts,” Dellucci grins.

Giovanni sits back and squints, but waves his hand to continue. Harry has to bite back a scoff. The man acts as though he’s doing Stefano a favour by hearing him out, but in reality, Harry is about to be the one to save both their asses.

“And what did you have in mind?” Giovanni asks, somewhat interested.

Stefano’s lips twitch. “I understand you have a young daughter, almost of age to marry, but I hear you’re also yet to find her a husband.” Harry hates how disgusting Stefano sounds about the matter.

He isn’t entirely innocent, though. When he found out he’d have a trial of taking over as Capo, he jumped at the chance to rule and finally be away from his stepfather. But becoming Capo also means holding larger responsibilities, and to keep up appearances, he needs a wife.

A young, unscathed wife.

“And what makes you think I’d want to marry her off to some traitor by blood,” Giovanni seethes, his poisonous words doing nothing to phase Harry, even if it is direct disrespect toward his dead father.

Stefano raises a hand.

“Now, Saccaro, we all know what my son's relation to the English ensures us. People have come to terms with his blood heritage and it only secures our alliances with London, who are also allied with the Portuguese and Russians. Be wise with what you say next.”

It’s been no secret about Harry’s background and family. That his biological father was of English heritage and a mobster in an arranged marriage with an Italian woman to form allies between London and Italy.

Many view Harry as the poster child for a traitor, though others view him as one of the most powerful and dangerous Made Men out there. Harry has connections to the Portuguese, the English, Russians and Italian, all of which are just from being born.

No other Famiglia has connections quite like him, and the Saccaro’s should consider themselves honoured to be given this type of consideration.

Giovanni hums, a finger on his lips as though he’s deep in thought. Bruno squints his eyes as though anything he says will have an impact on Giovanni’s decision. Harry glances at his father, who looks like he might just burst if Saccaro turns him down.

He sinks back into his seat and smirks to himself. He knows the type of man Giovanni is, he’s heard the rumours. Late nights at the whoreclubs while his wife sleeps, blissfully aware but thankful he isn’t touching her instead.

Giovanni is a man that craves power and respect. And if he thinks this deal will give him that, there’s no reason for him to turn it down.

“She’s not even 18. I won’t whore her off until she’s of proper age,” Giovanni speaks and if Harry didn’t know better, he’d probably think he actually cared for his daughter, and not that the longer he waits, the more she’d be worth.

But he does know better. So much better.

“But she is of innocence, yes? There will be blood on the sheets,” Stefano asks, as though asking of her virginity is the most appropriate question for a father.

Harry can’t help but smirk at the idea. Having a woman completely bound to him, to respect him and please him only.

Harry has slept with enough women to know how to use his dick, but something about taking a woman’s innocence and making her completely his has his cock twinging in his pants.

Giovanni scoffs, Bruno’s grin thickening. Like father, like son. “Of course. She’s never even spoken with a man outside of this family and her guard, Gomez. I raised a respectful young woman, not a dirty whore,” he raises his head.

You mean your wife raised a respectful young woman, Harry thinks.

Stefano nods his head.

“Very well. We can turn her birthday into the engagement party two months from now, allow them to meet and that gives us time to plan the wedding and discuss further arrangements.”

Giovanni nods. “Three years. When she’s 21, she may be wed.”

Harry sits back in his seat, cocky grin on his lips and he’s eager to get a look at his fiancé. He watches as his father and Giovanni reach across the table, their hands meeting in a firm shake and just like that, it’s sealed.

Y/N Saccaro will be his wife.

okkk so this is just the prologue, a little warmer up for you guys as the next parts of this series are something like 20k words long each! next part is scheduled for next week! please please leave some feedback on this series, it truly means so much to hear what you guys think!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #mob!harry #harry styles fic

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starlightandsunshine · 5 months

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I am apparently in the mood to choose violence and post Star Wars takes that would probably get me lynched if I had more followers.

But hey: the clones shouldn’t be Mando. I’m tired of Mando clones and I think they should be allowed to pick and choose what they want their culture to be based off what they say and what has meaning for them.

They hear the Mando trainers talking about colours having meaning so they take that. But they make their own meanings

White is family and home bc their armour is white and kamino is white and everything growing up was white and so white means each other

Cream and brown are peace and compassion bc those are the colours the Jedi wear and that is what the Jedi stand for

Blue and green are protection and defence because those are lightsabre colours and that is what they are used for

Orange is ferocity bc Shaak Ti’s skin is orange and she is calm and kind but the first thing she did was stop decommissioning and she has has never stopped being fierce in their defence

Purple is determination because the only purple lightsabre they’ve seen belongs to Mace Windu and he is never anything but determined to save as many people as possible

Like stop making everything about the clones Mando and start making them associate things with what they know and holds meaning for them. Fives calls the Jedi the clones best friends so let the clones assign meaning to things they associate with the Jedi bc the Jedi didn’t hesitate to love and trust them and offered nothing but compassion and friendship

Let death be about the ocean bc they come from a water planet

Let fighting be about fighting for something not about winning against something bc their generals always talk in terms of protection and saving innocents rather than making it about victory and winning battles

Let winning the war not be about winning but about making peace and let their thoughts about after not be about “protecting the generals” but about being able to learn and grow and discover what it means not to have to fight

I’m just so tired of clone culture being all about Mandalorians and fandom Mandos that have little basis in canon and even less association with the clones when there is so much else you can do with them with just a little thought

#Star Wars #clones #tcw #sw tcw #please no more Mando clones #I begging you to come up with something else #let Sabine have mandalorian storylines and meanings #let the clones have something that belongs to them

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th0ti-th0ts · 10 months

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just desserts

hobie brown x reader, miguel o’hara x reader (implied)

summary: leave it to the big guy to be so damn obvious. if only it wasn't this fun for hobie to mess with him.

or: hobie exploits miguel’s one weakness for some shits and giggles (but also to stick it to The Man).

cw: fluff but hobie makes some innuendos. jealous!miguel, miguel who can't admit his feelings, hobie who knows this and knows he has more game and takes full advantage of this

You’re talking to Hobie when his attention is captured by something behind you. His gaze shifts as he raises a brow challengingly, mouth pulled into a cocky slant. It’s quick, quick enough that most people wouldn’t catch it, but you’re not most people. Not with your reflexes.

“—And I was—Hobie? Something wrong?”

You’ve got his attention again. “Yeah, luv? Sorry ‘bout that, got somethin’ in my eye.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, and gives you a lazy grin. "Distracted me fro' your beauty for a minute."

You roll your eyes as you continue to tell your tale, Hobie listening to you with the kind of careless intensity that only he could pull off. While his flirtatious comments could be construed as something more, he says them with such a dry wit that it's hardly anything more than friendly. As the the two of you meander down the line of the cafeteria, grabbing whatever food spikes your interest, his arm remains a steady presence around you. Again, you don’t think much of it—Hobie's a touchy guy with his closest friends.

“Ya’ ever wonder 'ow these futuristic blokes come up wit’ some o’ these pop flavors?" he asks you, holding a can of soda in his hand as he languid reads off the label. "‘Sparkling orange cream cider with a 'int of lime...'" He pulls a face. "Sounds mad.”

You laugh. “It’s actually kinda good. Peter recommended it to me last time.”

He looks at you, surprised. “Huh." And then, with a hint of suspicion, he asks, "...Which Peter? Ya' can't trust all ov' their taste buds...”

With his arm around you, Hobie steers the two of you around the cafeteria, and you end up accidentally bumping into the person next to you in line. The two of you continue to chat--that is, until you hear someone clear their throat meaningfully. You glance behind you, unaware of the challenging glean in Hobie's cool gaze.

"Oh, hi, Miguel! I don't think I've ever seen you out here before."

He raises a brow. In his hand is a box of the empanadas he loves so much.

"I do... eat, you know."

Miguel's usual dry and blunt manner of speaking has hardly deterred you before.

"Yeah, but I don't think you really leave that dinky, dark room of yours," you say thoughtfully, to which Hobie snorts next to you. His body shakes with the effort to contain his amusement. Your eyes widen. "I—I didn't mean it like that!"

"I know what you mean," Miguel cuts you off. He jabs the empanada before him with tongs, puncturing its shell. His irritation is palpable. Maybe he's having a bad day? "I..." He sighs heavily, surveying the two of you, his gaze lingering on your shoulder. "Just felt like a change of scenery."

"Or at least I did," he mutters, but you don't quite catch it.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

"'Ey, 'ey. Look wha' we got 'ere." Hobie, the ever keen observer, steers you around Miguel, to direct your attention to today's dessert on the menu. Your eyes widen at the various flavors of cupcakes before you. You fucking love cupcakes.

"Lemme guess," Hobie says. "You're a chocolate kinda gal?" He snags a cupcake for each of you. Just as he hands it to you though, you're distracted by the sound of tongs clattering.

You glance to your right, only for Hobie to end up smearing some of the cupcake's icing across your cheek. You blink in surprise.

"Hey!"

"Oops." An amused smirk stretches Hobie's face. “Made a mess o' yourself, looks like it."

"You're the one who did it!"

Hobie puts his palms up, stating solemnly, "All's wort' it in pursuit of something sweet."

You glower at him, rubbing your cheek. "Did I get it?"

He shakes his head. "Nope." You rub again. "A lit'le to the left. Nope… Is a bit like finding a needle in a 'aystack for you, innit? Lemme help.”

Hobie’s thumb comes up to your cheek, swiping the suspect away. You scrunch your nose up, to which he makes a satisfied noise in his throat.

"Almos' regret doin' that. Ya' pull off the 'cream on ya' face' look."

You roll your eyes at the obvious innuendo, smacking his chest. “Hobie. Not in public!”

He shrugs unapologetically.

CRCKK.

The sound of cardboard crumpling meets your ears. The both of you turn around.

“Ay, chingados,” Miguel curses at his crushed box, meat and veggie filling from his empanadas splayed across the ground. He kicks the box away, before slamming his hand onto the counter. Hunched over, a hand tensely massaging his brow as he mutters, “Maldito sea. Estoy harto de ver esta mierda amorosa."

You raise a brow. You think you hear Hobie mutter something to the effect of, "Stickin' it to the big guy one step a' a time," and you're certainly not sure what that means. Miguel stops only when he notices you and everyone in the cafeteria watching him. He straightens up, and clears his throat before summoning his AI.

“Lyla, just have someone bring food to my room,” he grumbles.

"Roger that," she says.

And then Miguel is stalking away before either of you know it.

You watch his retreating back curiously. "I wonder what that was about..." you think aloud.

“No idea,” Hobie drawls. Of course, it's a lie, or as Hobie likes to think of it, a covert truth. He salutes in Miguel's direction.

Leave it to the big guy to be so damn obvious. If only it wasn't this fun to mess with him. And... Hobie glances down at you. If only you realized how much power you held over him.

Both of them, really.

—

translations:

estoy harto de ver esta mierda amorosa = i'm sick of seeing all this lovey-dovey shit

the other phrases are just a bunch of cursing lmao

#hobie x reader #Miguel x reader #hobie brown x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv x reader #atsv imagine #lmao this was fun to write #I was a little iffy about making hobie too flirt tho so I tried to tone it down hoduhodushfd

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myosotisa · 1 year

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The trailer is dark, the park quiet as snow when you finally manage to drag yourself from the warmth of the blankets and the smell of Eddie that they encase you in. He'd slipped out of them 10 minutes earlier -- a kiss on the crown of your head and a sleepy mumble in your ear as he carefully extracted himself from your embrace. You'd been too close to sleep to hear what he'd told you in that low voice; you felt it in vibrations from where you were pressed to his chest more than you had heard it. So you went searching.

Padding down the hall in a pair of thick socks, boxers, and a sweatshirt (all belonging to Eddie), you navigate toward the soft, orange light diffusing across the linoleum beyond the wooden arch that cut off the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the trailer. You could hear a slight scrape of plastic against metal and the baritone hum that came from your boyfriend, the sweetest siren's call that would guide you through even the darkest nights.

Eddie stands in the kitchen with his bare back to you. The light from above the stove, the only light in the entire place, filters out around him in a golden glow. His hair is down and messy from sleep, shoulders rising and falling in easy breaths, black sweatpants hung low on his hips, the feathery wings of black ink that span across his shoulder blades shifting as his arms adjust whatever he has on the burner.

He is always pretty, unfairly so, but there is something so absolutely striking about him like this. At night he's softer, calmer, warmer -- less sharp grins and more loving smiles, less restless adjusting and more relaxed lounging. His doe eyes are still big and brown as ever, but they blink slower, simmer deeper. And while you love both sides of Eddie, you treasure this one. The one only you get to see, the gentle side of him that rises with the moon and lives within the familiar walls of your home and within your arms. You so often find yourself thanking the universe for giving you this, giving you him. This is definitely one of those moments.

After taking several peaceful seconds to appreciate the view, you travel silently forward, unable to resist the urge to feel his skin on yours again. He jumps a bit in surprise when your cold fingers skate past his narrow waist, his body relaxing again by the time you wrap both arms around him and mold yourself to the planes of his back.

"What are you doing out of bed, sweet girl?" The softly spoken question comes out almost scolding, but the timber of his voice bleeds out warmth and comfort, a smile evident despite you being unable to see his face.

Lips pressed to his bare skin, eyes falling closed, you answer honestly and with a little bit of embarrassment. "Missed you, didn't know where you went."

His torso rumbles in a quiet laugh, his back widening against your chest as he intakes air. "I told you before I left."

"Didn't hear you, was too sleepy." He lets out an understanding hum as his non-dominant arm drapes across your own, his palm warm even through the thick fabric of your sweatshirt. "What're you making?"

"Had a craving for a grilled cheese. You want one?"

"Mmmmmmm, I do love cheese," you murmur, delighting as his skin erupts in goosebumps when you hum against him.

"And I do love you, sweet girl. So I think we might be able to work something out."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #myos ideas #i blame hailey for this #she made me all soft and gooey

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