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too-deviant · 2 months

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jackie and wilson.

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summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour

notes: speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well.

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours.

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it.

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss.

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster.

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty.

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse.

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp.

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got.

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery.

It was cute.

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley.

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over.

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan.

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name.

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow.

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.”

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.”

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion.

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.”

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.”

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly.

“And that?”

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did.

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face!

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered.

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp.

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill.

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day.

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go.

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked.

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.”

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response.

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable.

But you really needed to pee.

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door.

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke.

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!”

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up.

“Be quick.”

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed.

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan.

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence.

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.”

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour.

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.”

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.”

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t.

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater.

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be.

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off.

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion.

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe.

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything.

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.”

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse.

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?”

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.”

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on.

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation.

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow.

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

#@lia’s works #joined a new england subreddit for this fic #so pls give it some love #taking requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo

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mischefous · 1 month

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*cough cough* possibly… Legend whump? Him having a panic attack?

*sneezes*

*looks down at my screen*

-oh hey!...oh dear...someone better get Legend a blankie and some warm milk🥹

#im a sucker for Legend whump. whether it be art or fics #ill take it #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #my art #lu legend #panic attack #angst #lu whump #cw whump #whump art #whump #art requests #thank you anon!#hero of legend #digital art

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eightmakesonebraincell · 2 months

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Ok hear me out - bf!atz texts in which their s.o asks them "in a line up of pussies can you identify mine by just looking"

i'm hearing you a little too well - mdni

#loren answers #my freaky anons 🤪#no this is not me taking requests #this is me 'may as well'-ing myself to this point idk what happened either #ateez x reader #ateez fics #ateez smut #ateez crack #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions

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cosmicbucky · 7 months

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A chubby reader who's super self conscious of her belly and bust? Like she's strong and stuff, comes with the higher weight, but just....

Cant really wear anything unless it's sweats and a sweater, or a t-shirt. Almost never goes out.

And one day Bucky comes to the compound. Reader immediately gets a crush, and has major anxiety over it, like "leaving the room when he comes near" anxiety. Bucky thinks it's his fault, that he's done something wrong and talks to you about it.

He decides to talk to you about it, crying ensues because insecurities, and then the fluff.

Sorry this ask is so long, I'm kinda scrambled XP

hi, lovely! 💫

first of all, don't apologize for bringing this beautiful request into my world! i was beyond excited to have the chance to bring this idea to life, and i hope the direction i took with it does justice to what you had in mind!

second of all, i am so sorry this took me so long to put out, this request is so lovely and i really wanted to make it the best i could.

i hope you enjoy!

matches

pairing: bucky barnes x midsize!reader

word count: 3974

warnings: insecurities and self consciousness, mild body image issues, brief self depreciating thoughts, angst, mutual pining, fluff, swearing, allusions to mature themes, let me know if i missed anything!

please do not read this if you're not comfortable with any of the above topics. while they are not heavily focused on, they are the main theme of this fic

a/n: big thanks to @buckylattes for reading this and catching some of the dumb ass mistakes i made lmao

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

Being part of the Rescue and Reconnaissance division of Stark Industries wasn't the most glamorous job, but you loved it. You got to work nearly hand in hand with field agents every day, formulating plans for raids, rescues, infiltrations, or general takedown missions to make sure all those involved worked as safely and efficiently as possible.

You were the one they turned to when a new plan was needed; when they were at risk. There were a few agents who refused to listen to anyone other than you when it came to these times - specifically asking for you to help them through.

Agent Barnes was one of these people, and though you could never voice it, he was your favourite to deal with. He was always kind and courteous, understanding in the fact that despite not being in the same rankings as him, you damn well knew what you were doing. And, well, it didn't hurt that he always found a moment to be a charming little flirt.

You have no idea why he had such faith in you. Maybe it was because you always took what he suggested into consideration when calculating next steps. Maybe it was because your ideas were as crazy as his sometimes. Maybe it was simply because he liked the sound of your voice.

You never knew.

You never actually met him.

All your dealings with field agents were done from the safety of your control room. You never minded it, though. It was nice, in a way. You absolutely loved doing what you do, but you would never be able to handle being around field agents all the time. Not when they look the way they do, and you…. well, you're you.

Your thighs touch when you walk, your belly shakes when you laugh, your arms jiggle when you move. You have to painstakingly pick out the right kinds of shirts, otherwise your chest will make it seem like you're three times as big as you really are.

You were the chubby girl who always hid in the shadows, too afraid to let the world see how bright you truly shine - you were a flame ready to ignite, but no one around you ever offered you a match.

You were used to it. You made peace with it a long time ago, finding solace in your own company instead of relying on other people to enjoy your time with. It still bothered you from time to time, and you let yourself have days where you wallowed in it, wishing things were different, wishing you looked different. Though, for the most part, it stopped bothering you so much the older you got.

Until the day you finally met Bucky.

It was a strange day, being sent to the compound. You've never been sent anywhere before, always planted in your seat while talking to field agents across the world. Yet here you were, being requested by Tony Stark himself.

You must have spent hours trying to find the right outfit. One that showed off your curves without accentuating the extra pudge around your middle. One that complimented your chest without highlighting the size. One that showed off your ass without making it look massive. One that carefully hid your arms. One that you felt comfortable in.

It felt like your heart was in your throat the whole time. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a full on frenzy, and you had to take deep breaths every few seconds to stay calm; and to not throw up.

You barely heard it when Tony said he wanted you working under him. You could hardly process it when he said he created a job just for you. You didn't quite understand it when he told you there was space for you at the compound, and he wanted you here full time.

All you could do was dumbly nod your head, trying to focus on what he was saying instead of the fact that Bucky Barnes was just outside the conference room.

By the time the meeting was over, you felt lightheaded. You clutched the contract you were given against your chest and took a final deep breath before leaving the room, hoping to get by unnoticed. It's not like he even knew who you really were, right?

A gentle calling of your name told you that you were very, very wrong.

Your feet became rooted in place as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing all you could on calming your nerves before turning around. And jesus christ, nothing could have prepared you for how beautiful this man actually was in person.

"Hi," you breathed out, a tiny shy smile gracing your lips.

"Hi," he said, unintentionally mimicking you.

His eyes travelled over your face before taking their time roaming your body; you shifted uncomfortably and clutched the contract a little tighter as he stayed fixed on you. A smirk graced his lips, but it was gone before you could really focus on it.

"It's, uh-... it's nice to finally meet you, Agent Barnes," you muttered sheepishly, hesitantly offering him your hand.

"You can call me Bucky," he said, smiling warmly as he took your hand in his, sending fire throughout your whole body. "I'd like to say thank you for saving my ass as often as you do, but thank you doesn't seem like enough."

You chuckled, feeling your face flush under his gaze. "'Thank you' suffices just fine, Bucky. I've only been doing my job."

"Speaking of," he started, tilting his head a little as he eyed the contract you held. "You gonna take it?" he asked curiously, his eyes snapping back to yours.

"What?" you asked, caught off guard by his question.

"The job," he said, gesturing between the contract in your hands and the conference room you just occupied. "You gonna say yes?"

"How do you know about that?" you asked curiously.

"I know things," he said passively, shrugging his shoulders. "How 'bout I show you around? You can see the place before you decide anything."

You wanted to say no. You wanted to run away and retreat into yourself once more. Though something about the way he was looking at you made it hard to do so.

So, you agreed.

And that's how everything started.

You took the job, moving into the compound a few days after that. You quickly made friends with the girls, and they became your support group; they would help you when it came to shopping for clothes or finding the right outfit for events. They offered to go for walks with you or do yoga - anything you felt like doing, really. You still felt inferior to them from time to time, but not because they made you feel that way; no one at the compound did.

Only yourself.

When it came to the boys, it was more or less the same thing. You felt comfortable around them, and you never minded close contact or them seeing you in tighter fitting clothes.

Everyone was family, and it never felt awkward or uncomfortable around them.

Except for when it came to Bucky.

You still grew closer to him over the months of you living at the compound so far, but it hasn't been easy. It was a constant challenge, and it grew harder for you day after day.

When it came to you working alongside him on his missions, everything was great. Nothing with him changed, aside from him throwing out a few more flirty comments. And, since you still had the safety net of being behind comms, you threw some right back at him.

Once the missions were over, though, it was hard to be around him. You wanted to be around him, but it was nearly impossible. Your feelings for him grew, and the stronger your feelings were, the more distant you became.

You were careful to only wear sweaters or loose tees paired with sweatpants around him, making sure he would never catch sight of the extra weight you carried around. You quit eating around him; it's not like you had bad eating habits, but you couldn't shake the panic that he would somehow be disgusted, that he would think the reason you're so chubby was because of your diet. You stopped sitting near him during movie nights, and you never hugged him. No matter how much you itched to wrap your arms around him when he came home safe from missions, you couldn't risk him feeling the rolls your body carried, or how soft and pudgy you were.

It was driving Bucky crazy.

From the minute he finally set his eyes on you, he couldn't get you out of his head. He was beyond thrilled when you agreed to Stark's offer, and he couldn't wait to take the opportunity to get to know you - which was a massive step for him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling he did something to upset you.

He grew more confused every day. When it came to conversing over the comms during missions, you two were like a well oiled machine; giggles and flirting and jokes of previous missions. No one would ever know something was amiss.

Yet when everyone would return home, it was like a switch was flipped. You greeted everyone with hugs and smiles and affection, and Bucky always waited patiently for his turn: but it never came. Instead, you turned to him with an awkward smile and shining eyes and gave him the traditional "welcome home, soldier" that, despite everything, always pulled a smile from his lips.

He racked his brain every night trying to figure out if he did something, if he said something, but he could never come up with anything. He could never find a reason for the way you would some days leave the room as soon as he entered, for why you always hid away from him when he would catch you off guard in workout clothes or formal attire. He could never come up with an explanation and it was eating him alive.

The final straw came for him on the night of Pepper’s birthday party.

He didn’t want to go, he never wanted to go to these things, but ever since you came around he found himself more willing to at least make an appearance; if only to see you. However, he wasn’t even positive if you were going to show up this time, given the way you’ve been so distant lately - and that made him not want to go at all. So he was biding his time, sitting in the kitchen and emptying a bottle of whiskey, trying to not make it obvious that he was waiting to see if you’d wander out of your room before he slipped away to the party.

You stood in front of your mirror for what felt like hours, never before feeling more diffident as you assessed your reflection. You’ve been to some of Tony’s parties before, but this was for Pepper - it was the most grandiose one you’ve attended to date. You weren’t left much choice but to dress your fanciest, and you felt so unfamiliar with your own body as your hands trailed down the fabric of your dress. It was form fitting, hugging every curve you had and accentuating your figure in a way you weren’t used to seeing. The straps were small and the cut was low, it travelled midcalf and had a small slit up the side, showing way more of your leg than you wanted. You had a burning desire to change, but Nat insisted you looked incredible, and Wanda already applied a touch of makeup to match the dress - not to mention you were already running late as it was.

With one last heavy sigh, you steeled yourself before slipping on your heels and marching out of your room. You thought of anything and everything you could as you marched down the hall, doing your best to pay no mind to the way you felt the fabric clinging to your body with every move you made. God, you really should have put on shapewear.

Bucky heard you before he saw you, your footfalls echoing through the floor in the same pattern he came to memorize in the months you’ve been here. He took a deep breath, prepared for the fact that you would most likely brush him off once more. He was not prepared, though, for the sight of you as you rounded the corner.

You were not prepared to see him sitting there, clad in a pressed suit, or for him to quite literally choke on the drink he was nursing as he took in your presence.

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you alright?” you inquired, conflicted between staying where you stood and approaching him.

A dismissive wave of his hand had you staying in place, your arms wrapping around your middle as you began to feel exposed to him.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” he coughed out, refilling his glass as if nothing happened.

You stood there quietly, completely unsure of what to do next. The silence was becoming louder and louder but you didn’t want to draw his attention to you. Not when you were looking like this. Not when he’d be able to see every curve and divot of your body, the protrusion of your stomach, the ample raise of your chest. You were really starting to regret not changing.

“Are you gonna stand there and stare all night or head to the party?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the glass before him. His tone was playful, but his voice had a rasp to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, uh - sorry,” you muttered, clearing your throat as you slowly advanced in his direction. “Are, um-… are you gonna join the party?”

He huffed a small laugh, his eyes finally raising to meet yours only to find that you were looking almost everywhere but at him, effectively wiping the small smile from his face.

“I’m not so sure,” he said lowly, downing the contents of his glass as he kept his eyes on you.

You hummed, looking down at your hands before chancing a glance at him; his gaze on you so intense that you immediately looked away again.

“Well, I- I hope to see you there,” you said sincerely, wringing your fingers together. “You look really nice, Buck” you added quietly, looking up at him just long enough to flash him a warm smile before continuing through the kitchen.

“Did I do something wrong?” he called after you, the hurt in his voice impossible to miss.

“What?” you asked in confusion, turning to glance in his direction.

“Did I do something wrong?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. “Because ever since you moved in here, it’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.”

You couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that left you, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true.”

“No?” he asked, his tone taking on a new edge. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you can’t even fucking look at me right now. You practically run from me when I enter the same room, you do everything you can to avoid me, and let’s not forget the fact that I’m the only one around here who you don’t hug after getting back from missions.”

“Bucky-” you tried to explain, but the lump forming in your throat stopped you short.

“I just wanna know what I did,” he carried on, voice softer this time. “I don’t know if you’re angry with me or- or if you’re scared of me-”

“I am not scared of you,” you interrupted, finally meeting his gaze. “Please don’t think that.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” he asked quietly. “Everything is fine when I’m out on the field, we- I get along with you better than anyone. But then I come home, and it’s not the same.”

“It’s not-... it’s not like that, Bucky,” you whispered sadly, unintentionally looking away from him again.

“Yeah, if you say so,” he said curtly, sighing in defeat as he filled his glass again. “Just enjoy the party, okay?”

“You’re not coming?” you asked, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice.

“Well, you’re just gonna avoid me anyway. Might as well make it easier for you and stay here,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the twirling glass in his hands.

“I don’t want you to think like that,” you admitted softly. “I- I don’t mean to do the things I do.”

“Then why do they happen?” he inquired, his eyes meeting yours and displaying a painful mix of hurt and confusion.

“Because,” you started, feeling your bottom lip quiver. “I mean, look at me, Buck,” you finished, as if that was explanation enough.

“Believe me, I’m looking,” he said gently. “And you look-... well, I wanna say you look beautiful, but that implies you don’t always look beautiful, so, I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he added, his voice so low he may as well have been speaking to himself, but you heard every word he muttered.

“...What?” you breathed out, staring over at him.

“What?” he questioned, glancing up to catch your eye.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat but it just kept on growing, forcing you to choke on your words.

“Hey, wait, don’t-... okay, now I really said something wrong, right?” he asked quickly, starting to panic as he watched your eyes fill with tears.

Shaking your head vehemently, you delicately wiped your eyes, hoping not to smudge the work that Wanda did for you. “No, you- I just didn’t expect you to say that. I-... I'm not used to hearing that."

"You're not?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

You almost laughed, and you probably would have if it wasn't such an embarrassing thing to admit. "No. I'm… guys don't really call girls who look like me beautiful."

He fell silent for a minute, eyeing you carefully before shifting in his seat, resting his arms on the table.

"You know, I've been alive for a pretty long time now," he said conversationally, as if you weren't on the cusp of a breakdown. "And I've also been quite literally around the whole world in that time. Some of it I remember, some of it… not so much. But even so, do you know what the one thing I can say with complete certainty is?"

You waited for him to go on for a moment before realizing he was actually looking for an answer. "No, what?" you manage to croak out.

He smiled softly, relaxing in his seat again. "I have, quite literally, never met anyone as beautiful as you. And I mean in both appearance and personality."

"But I- I'm not… I don't have the kind of body like the other women around here," you murmured, casting your gaze downwards as if you were ashamed of your words.

"So?" he asked incredulously. "Do you seriously think that you're automatically not beautiful just because you aren't the same size as them?"

"No, it- you can't- I'm not-" you tried to argue, but all you could get out were a few utterances before you had to choke back a sob, completely lost on how to express yourself.

"Is this why you've been avoiding me? Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?" he asked anxiously, fighting the urge to approach you.

"Yes. I mean no, I-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, taking a moment to consider your answer. "I've been too embarrassed to be around you. I-... I was afraid you'd be repulsed by me and that I'd lose you."

"Repulsed by you? A woman who puts fucking goddesses to shame?" he asked in disbelief. "Did me choking on my drink earlier not prove how taken by you I am?"

"Is that what that was?" you wondered, letting out a watery laugh.

"Yeah, that's what that was," he confirmed with a soft chuckle. "A guy does a real life spit take when he sees the girl of his dreams looking like the focus of a goddamn renaissance painting and she doesn't even realize it," he mumbled in exasperation, yet his eyes carried a playful sparkle.

"The girl of your dreams?" you repeated in shock, your voice a nervous whisper.

"Was that too cliché?" he questioned, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Maybe a little," you said playfully, sniffling quietly.

"I know how it feels, you know," he said softly. "To feel uncomfortable in your own body. But if you'd let me, I'll spend every day proving to you that I see you as nothing short of perfect."

You could only nod, giving him a weak smile as you fought back a wave of tears. "Yeah, I-... I could do that, too," you agreed quietly.

He grinned softly, greedily taking in your appearance once more before tearing his eyes away. "Come on," he urged, downing his drink before standing up. "You owe me about seven dances."

"Where does that number come from?" you asked with a laugh, watching as he approached you.

"For how many parties you snubbed me at so far," he replied casually, stopping as he stood before you.

"I never snubbed you," you grumbled, peering up at him.

"Sure you didn't," he teased, carefully wiping the tears from your face.

"Do I still look okay?" you asked nervously, fidgiting slightly under his touch.

"Gorgeous as ever," he replied sincerely.

You couldn't help but grin, laughing a little anxiously. "Okay. Come on, or else we won't have enough time for all those dances."

Bucky laughed happily, taking your hand and rushing to join the party, having you giggling in his wake as you did your best to keep up.

You let him whisk you away for the rest of the night, leading you through all the dances you owed him; and a few more, for good measure, as Bucky put it.

He stayed true to his word, and there wasn't a second that you spent with him where you didn't feel like the most ravishing woman to walk the earth.

Especially when he took his precious time in the dark of the night to memorize and worship every inch of your body over and over again.

So as you sat here now, watching from across the room as he danced with the crowd, you couldn't help but feel foolish. Foolish for letting your thoughts take away the extra time you could have had with him, foolish for ever thinking this incredible man would ever judge you for something so trivial. Foolish, foolish, foolish.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you heard from beside you, ripping you from your reverie.

You turned your head, grinning as you saw the very man himself had taken up the seat to your left. "What, get tired of dancing already, old man?"

He gasped, feigning offense as he took in your words. "I'd watch who you're calling old, sweetheart," he warned playfully.

"I'd watch who you're calling sweetheart. I happen to be a married woman now, you know," you replied jovially.

"Married, huh? Should've known I didn't stand a chance," he lamented, shaking his head. "How about a pity dance?" he suggested with a grin, holding his hand out to you.

You giggled softly, taking his hand with a grin of your own. "Lead the way, Mr. Barnes."

"Anything for you, Mrs. Barnes," he replied with a wink, leading you to the dance floor.

And just like he did three years ago, he whisked you away and led you through a whole seven dances; and a few more, for good measure.

You were a flame, finally ignited, and Bucky was your match.

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ao3commentoftheday · 4 months

Text

I love witty banter and low-stakes, meaningless arguing in fics and in a pitch to get more of that out there, I present to you

which hill would they die* on?

How do you pronounce gif?

Should the end of the toilet paper be on top of the roll or hanging below the roll? (or should the toilet paper just be on the counter within reach)

Who would win in a fight [insert relevant gods or superheroes etc here]?

Which pizza is better/worse: New York style, Chicago style, Detroit style? [or whatever regional match ups make sense in-universe]

Which would you rather watch: Star Wars vs Star Trek vs Stargate vs Battlestar Galactica?

Which breakfast food is best: waffles, pancakes, crepes, french toast?

Which fast food restaurant has the best fries?

Which is the best flavour of potato chip?

Do you sleep with socks on?

Should you sleep with the window open or closed?

What temperature/weather is too hot/cold and which is perfect?

Does wearing glasses make someone look more or less attractive?

[Insert controversial food choice] is delicious, actually.

Which is worse: washing the dishes or drying them or putting them away?

Which is the best way to organize books on a shelf: alphabetically by author's name, alphabetically by book title, by colour, by size, by genre, or some combination of these?

*metaphorically speaking - unless you feel like going pretty hard on these

#I suspect I will mute this post within the hour lol #but enjoy yourselves in the notes!#not putting a suggested word count this time #because any time I say it can be a short fic or oneshot #people take it as a challenge #instead of a request #and tell me how bold I'm being in assuming they won't write 10k #when really I'm just begging people to give themselves permission to write and post 500 words and be done

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fangirlandtheories · 10 months

Text

Do you remember when we used to sing?

Eddie is away on tour while Steve is taking care of their daughter a few hours away. Too bad she can't fall asleep without her special bedtime song...

Steve’s brows pinched together as the cries grew in pitch and volume, almost drowning out the familiar click of ‘Hey it’s Eddie, call me back or don’t, I’m not your mother.’ from the speaker of his phone.

He had shifted from frustrated to desperate as he glanced over at their daughter, red faced and snot nosed. Bedtime was a solid hour past due and didn’t seem to be looming any closer.

“It’s okay, sweets, we’ll call him again.” Steve soothed as he ran a hand down the toddler’s back.

“Daddy!!!” She screamed again, choking with the effort of her sobs, as she squeezed her eyes shut. It had been love at first sight for Eddie and Steve when they had met Rayne’s mother. She was young, just turning 20 in the fall, with curly blonde hair and big brown eyes. She was looking for someone who wanted a baby that couldn’t naturally have their own and the agent connected the dots for them. After several months, little Rayne was theirs.

“I know,” Steve muttered as he pulled up Eddie’s contact again. Eddie had taken a break from touring after the adoption of their daughter but had recently started back up. It started off pretty well, the excitement of getting to have a Dad weekend with Steve pulling her through, but now the newness was gone and all little Rayne Munson-Harrington wanted was Eddie.

Eddie usually found weekend gigs but had found a week long slot in a club in St. Louis that promised great publicity and even better payment, so Corroded Coffin hit the road and Steve held down the fort with some help from Robin and Wayne. They were obligated to babysit, she was named after both of them afterall, and he was grateful because work had been taxing enough without adding a feisty 4 year old to the mix.

A flu bug was sweeping it’s way through Hawkin’s Elementary and it spared no casualties in Steve’s kindergarten classroom. He spent the day trying to keep the class from putting things in their mouths and making sure everyone washed their hands, sending a child or two home after seeing the greenish pale tints of nausea pass over their faces. He knew that he’d have to deal with kids puke at some point, especially as a parent, but he’d like to avoid it at all costs.

“Pick up your phone you ass.” He hissed through clenched teeth, rocking the inconsolable girl in his arms as he dialed again.

***

Eddie first felt the familiar jolt of vibration in his back pocket just after the first chorus. The second time was just a few verses later. He smiled into the microphone as he continued to sing, ignoring his phone. The third time was in the bridge of the song, a particularly terrible time to take a call as Eddie’s hands were preoccupied with his guitar. The fourth time happened in the final notes of the song. The fifth during the applause. Eddie frowned as he pulled the device from his pocket, ignoring a glare from Jeff.

“Hey guys, you won’t believe this but my husband is facetiming me right now. This is like the fifth time he’s called so I’m going to answer, everybody be quiet and let’s see how long it takes him to remember that we had a later show tonight.” Eddie laughed as the audience silenced quickly. Steve’s irritated yet grateful face popped up on the screen seconds later.

“Hey love…” He crooned with a cheeky smirk.

“Your daughter is very upset with you.” Steve ignored the affectionate nickname.

“Why is she my daughter whenever she’s mad?” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Is she alright?”

“She’s been screaming since 8:30 Eds.” Steve ran a hand through his hair and blew out an exasperated sigh. “She’s refusing to sleep until you do it, that’s why I’ve been calling.”

“Steve I’m um…” Eddie glanced nervously at the audience in front of him. “Kind of in the middle of something.”

“Yeah I wanted to be relaxing right now too but our kid needs her dad and since he’s five hours away the very least he could do is sing her the damn song so that we all can get some rest.” Steve squinted at him. “You’re being weirder than usual. Are the guys there with you?”

“Yeah the guys are definitely with me.” Eddie ignored Gareth’s snicker. “Can I call you-”

“Edward, so help me God, sing the song so that she can go to sleep.” Steve interrupted. “Look at her.” Steve turned the camera to the distraught little girl and Eddie’s heart clenched.

“Hi angel, I hear you’re a little sad.” He frowned in solidarity with her as her lip stuck out. “No, don't cry, it’s okay Ray Ray.” She howled louder, tears popping from her wet lashes. He winced as he lip quivered, his resolve wearing down to nothing. He glanced over at Gareth, leaning over to whisper to him before looking back to his phone.

“Alright fine, let’s sing it, yeah?” Eddie placated. “You’re breaking my heart Bambi.” The wide eyes and long lashes practically gifted the nickname to her. He glanced back at Gareth who gave him a thumbs up before looking at the audience. “Daddy’s band is going to help him sing it, is that okay?” Rayne whimpered as she nodded, snuggled into Steve’s arms as he held the phone in front of her.

“Wait, are you on stage right now?” Steve leaned forward. “Shit, I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean to interrupt the performance.”

“You couldn’t interrupt if you tried.” Eddie smiled. “Isn’t that right?” Steve could hear cheers from the audience. “We love our rock and roll family here and we honor our traditions, most of all the bedtime song. Ready boys? Sing along if you know it, our most honored guest is in the audience tonight and would love to hear you guys.”

With that, Jeff played the opening notes on the guitar while Gareth tapped out the beat with the rarely used tambourine. The bass thumped along to Eddie’s singing, and though it admittedly wasn’t their usual style, the band loved Rayne like she was their niece and they would play anything to make her happy.

“-In the misty morning fog with our hearts a-thumping” Eddie held the microphone in one hand and the phone in the other, beaming at the smile on Steve’s face. “And you, my brown eyed girl.” Rayne giggled and clapped, tears still on her cheeks but sadness having finally passed.

***

Hours and miles away, Steve smiled as he shut the door to his daughter's bedroom, the nightlight softly glowing, as he hummed the song to himself. Tomorrow there would be a series of tweets about Eddie going soft and videos flying all around the internet, but for now, and for the first time that evening, the Munson-Harrington home was quiet.

#steddie #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #steve harrington x eddie munson #oc child character #modern au #rockstar eddie munson #kindergarten teacher Steve Harrington #fanfiction #ficlet #steddie fanfic #my first tumblr fic #please request #always taking requests

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mitchellpete · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 14 - Virginity

pairing: pete “maverick” mitchell x f!reader

cw: virginity loss (mav), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 1637

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

You didn’t believe him at first. He had to have been messing with you.

There’s just no way somebody like him was still untouched, inexperienced. Certainly not with the way he presented himself, his outward demeanor, his very big ego. All the pilots in Miramar were the same, so you thought. Some were very easy to take home. It was a regular occurrence, watching them leave the bar one by one, somebody on their arm every time. You could have sworn Maverick was one of them.

But apparently not.

You didn’t pry, didn’t ask why. You’re sure he had his reasons. Besides, he’d made it clear that he wanted you, and that was fair enough.

It was late, and you’d dragged him to your place, expecting nothing but a make-out session. He was a very good kisser, that you knew—frankly another reason why you couldn’t believe he’d never had sex before. Maverick’s hands had a different idea tonight, dipping against the curves of your body. Wanting to feel everything. It was when he elicited a moan out of you, right against his mouth, that you pulled back.

“What are you doing?” you’d asked, brow cocked playfully.

Panting from his own heavy kisses, he looked at you. Blinked slowly. “I wanna fuck you.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. “That so?”

A nod.

That’s how you both ended up here: Mav laying back against your mattress, shirt off and chest covered in wet kisses and small little bite marks. Whining softly the lower you traveled.

“Shh, just relax,” you whisper, running a hand up and down his thigh.

Maverick sniffles, lets his head fall back against the pillow as your needy hands reach for the button on his Levi’s. He’s already hard in his pants, his body tingling in anticipation. “Okay, okay,” he breathes.

You’re gentle as you unbutton his jeans, taking your time to excite him further. He lifts his hips slightly as you start peeling the material down his thighs, his head bowing again to watch you strip him. You get his jeans off fairly easily, folding them in a messy square and tossing them aside. You kiss up his thighs, feeling him tense underneath your lips as they get closer to his hard on.

He gasps when you press an open-mouthed kiss over his clothed cock, hips jerking. You laugh lightly, “Baby, I’ve barely touched you,” you coo.

He whines. “Don’t—oh, don’t make fun of me.”

You mouth at the thin material of his underwear, his cock twitching underneath. He squirms, wanting more, both hands reaching into your hair. He doesn’t pull, simply rubs his thumbs over your scalp, gentle.

Your fingers curl around the waistband, but you look up at him just to be sure. “You sure about this, Mav?”

“Don’t ask. I’m all yours,” he pants, fingers twirling strands of your hair.

You smile, amused. It stirs something in you, the desire to unfold him. It turns you on intensely knowing you get to make him feel good. That he’s leaving it all up to you.

Pulling his underwear down, his cock jumps free, lands taut against his stomach, hard and leaking. Just the sight of him sends a jolt through you, arousal taking over your body. Your mouth salivates as you lean in, but you don’t want to overwhelm him, remembering to take it slow. You press a soft kiss to the side instead, Mav’s hips continuing to squirm.

“You want a blowjob?” you ask softly, batting your lashes up at him, your mouth hovering over his length.

Maverick’s lips tighten together, holding back a moan just at your words alone. He nods, head moving quickly.

“Use your words, Mav,” you whisper, leaning in to press another kiss to his heated shaft, tongue slightly dipping against the vein.

He gasps again, removes his hands from your head to curl his fingers around the sheets instead. “Y–yeah, yes.”

You know not to do too much; he did say he wanted to fuck you, after all. Maybe just a few strokes of your mouth and then you’ll give him what he really wants.

You’re still gentle when you take him into your mouth. Mav’s entire body goes frigid, a strangled moan leaving his lips. One fist remains bunched in the sheets and the other goes up to his mouth, teeth biting down on his finger to hold himself together, relishing in the new form of pleasure budding inside of him.

You let all your spit gather as your mouth sinks around him, allowing it to leak out all over his cock. It slides all the way down, slicking him up. Maverick’s moans are muffled by his fist, but his cheeks turn an unbelievable pink as the pleasure flows in his abdomen. After a few up and down strokes of your mouth, you let go of his dick with a pop, instead running the flat of your tongue from the tip down the underside. You notice his squirming, how tight his face is pulled together as he tries to hold off his imminent orgasm. So soon already, poor thing.

You almost want to pull back, but you allow him your tongue just a bit longer as you reach down to unbutton your own pants. Tongue swirling lightly around his shaft, you manage to yank your jeans down the best you can, slipping them off along with your underwear. You feel your arousal pooling down below, and that’s when you finally remove your mouth, spit dripping down your chin. Mav watches as you climb up the bed to straddle him, wiping at your lower face. You slip out of your shirt, throwing all your garments to the floor.

You remove his fist from his mouth, leaning in to capture it in yours for an eager kiss instead. You take his throbbing cock into your hand as you kiss him, wet and slick from your blowjob, and scoot forward to mount him. At first, you just rub yourself against him, slicking up your folds.

You get another gasp out of him—right against your mouth—when you test his tip against your slit, feeling to see if you’re ready enough for the stretch. When you pull away from the kiss, Maverick looks broken, his body flushed. He needs more. It’s enough to have you actually pushing the tip inside, watching his lashes flutter in a dreamlike daze.

“Oh—oh, God,” he breathes, fist coming up to cover his mouth again, but you grab his forearm before he can quiet himself. You want to hear every noise he makes.

It takes you just a second to adjust to the slight stretch, though his heated face and his little whines edge you on. You slide down inch by inch until you’re fully situated on the hilt, watching as more and more desperation paints his face.

His lips look cracked from biting at them, so you lean down again to continue kissing him, using your tongue against the plush of his lower lip. His cock fully inside you, you allow him a breather, hips momentarily still.

“‘m not gonna last,” he rasps against your mouth, hips shallowly thrusting up. “Gonna cum.”

You kiss at the corner of his mouth, trailing down his jaw and underneath it. “Just a minute, Mav. You can do it.”

“Mmm—I don’t—fuck—” He shivers underneath you as you begin to roll your hips. “Oh, fuck.”

You roll your hips as you continue kissing down his throat, tongue finding his collarbone, teeth nipping at the skin underneath. It’s when you pull back and sit up straight that you actually begin sliding up and down on his cock. Slow at first, but there’s a fiery urge inside you, too, and you need it just as much as he does. Your pace quickens without warning, hands against his chest for leverage. You look down at him; you focus on his face, on how intoxicated he looks. His cheeks are crimson, teeth poking out of his parted lips. He stops moaning, the sounds seemingly trapped in his throat before he’s able to choke one out, and then another, and another, sporadically over a few seconds at a time.

Through your own moans, you ask him, “You like that, Mav?”

Mav only cries out in response, his hands finding your hips as you bounce, throwing his head back against the pillow again.

Your hips work magically for the both of you; Mav is practically torturing himself trying not to let go, and you’re seeing stars from the angle he’s reaching inside of you. The pleasure turns to electricity, jolts coursing through your body when he suddenly reaches up to cup your breasts, squeezing deliciously. You tremble at his touch, fingernails digging into his chest.

That’s enough to send him over the edge, and Mav cums without warning in warm spurts inside of you. Overwhelmed by the tight, wet heat, he sputters underneath you, groaning loudly. You watch his body jerk and his legs tense, and the sight alone brings you to your own edge. You lean down to capture his mouth in yours as you both cum. Maverick kisses you languidly, mouth vibrating against you as his moans continue to spill freely.

Not wanting to overstimulate him, you slide off of him and slip into his side. He immediately wraps an arm around you, pulling you tight against his chest. His heavy breathing doesn’t slow; utterly blown away by the orgasm, relishing in it.

You pant against his neck, head leaning against his shoulder. He’s warm, slightly sweaty and you can feel his heartbeat, quick and booming in his chest. You run your fingers over his chest, feather light touches to help him relax.

“That was..”

“Shh,” you quiet him, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Take it all in for a sec.”

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untitled-writer-013 · 1 year

Note

(idk if this is allowed or not) but how would poly hannigram react to reader having a miscarriage?

Poly!Hannigram x Fem!Miscarriaged!Reader

warning(s): mentions of miscarriage, mourning characters, angst, people invalidating grief, guilt, possibly very triggering.

Hannibal and Will had been with (Y/n) for a few years now, and the two men had been considering having a child with their darling. When asked, (Y/n) had agreed, ecstatic about raising a child with her husbands. She had taken great care of herself when she found out she was pregnant, making sure she wasn’t stressed, relaxing whenever she could, and making sure to eat and drink everything needed to have a healthy baby. Hannibal and Will would become more protective over their darling when she’s pregnant, making sure that she is alright and checking in on her more than they usually would. The three of them were all so excited to meet their little one, until Hannibal had received that dreadful phone call.

(Y/n), now five months along, had gone to her usual prenatal appointment, happily chatting with the nurse. Hannibal and Will had to work, and reluctantly let their wife go alone. They hated having to miss out on those small yet important moments, but (Y/n) had assured them that everything would be okay.

Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

Hannibal was sitting in his office, getting ready for his next appointment when his phone rang, making him pause momentarily before moving to answer it. Noticing it was his wife, he picked up and immediately asked if everything was okay, the silence he was met with making a lump form in his throat. He was about to say something before he heard a sob, his wife crying as she told him she had lost the baby. He froze where he was, his mouth slightly agape as he processed what she had said. He was praying that this was some sick joke, that it wasn’t real. But as his wife continued to sob and apologize, he realized that it was all too real. He shook his head, trying to hold back his tears as he reassured his wife that she wasn’t to blame, that he loved her and wasn’t upset with her at all.

After ending the call, Hannibal sent a text to Will, worried his voice would betray him as he asked him to stop by his office, only telling him that it was incredibly important. Once Will had finally arrived, he spotted Hannibal sitting in one of the chairs, wearing a pained expression.

“Hannibal, what’s going on?” Will asked, carefully sitting down across from him as he waited, wanting to know what was happening and why he looked so defeated.

“I don’t know how else to say this..(Y/n) miscarried.” Hannibal stated, staring ahead, seemingly still processing the horrible reality while Will’s jaw dropped, a look of horror on his face as he realized what had happened. He stood and went by Hannibal’s side, bringing him into a tight hug while sobbing, the grief almost hitting him immediately.

After a few minutes, Will stood, letting Hannibal know he was leaving to go check up on (Y/n) before he left the office, Hannibal now alone as he was slumped in his chair, wondering what had gone wrong, if there was anything he could have done, until ultimately realizing that what had happened couldn’t have been prevented.

Hannibal would return home, finding Will and (Y/n) in bed, their darling curled into Will as she sobbed, letting out sniffles and hiccups all the while apologizing. Will kept reassuring her that she wasn’t to blame, sounding like a broken record as he repeated this. Hannibal changed out of his work clothes, climbing into bed with them both before holding his wife close, pressing a kiss to her head as he reassured her that she would be okay.

All three of them would be heavily affected by the miscarriage. Hannibal would distance himself more, Will would drink, and (Y/n) would try and ignore what had happened. She would do her best to act as if everything was fine, even when it wasn’t. They all would dive deep into their work, none of them daring to confront the empty nursery that remained untouched.

(Y/n) had been working one day, feeling worse than usual as she stared at an ad in the magazine, showing a happy family enjoying dinner. One of her coworkers noticed, walking over to her while placing a hand on her shoulder. (Y/n) flinched, setting the magazine down slightly.

“Did you need something?” (Y/n) asked, slightly confused when her coworker shook her head.

“No, but I’ve noticed you’ve been getting worse. Now, I’m just saying, you could always try agai-” Her coworker was quickly cut off by (Y/n).

“That’s enough. You do not get to decide when I stop grieving. Don’t ever talk to me again.” (Y/n) stated firmly, slapping her hand away before she got up, taking her things with her, the magazine now on the floor.

(Y/n) began driving home, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. She was tired of being sad, angry, the guilt she felt eating away at her every day. She hated the tension she had with her husbands, and she was going to fix it. Somehow, she was going to. She had to.

(Y/n) slammed her car door shut, doing her best not to storm into the house as she opened the door, making her way to the nursery. She opened the door, pausing in her movements as her breath became shaky. All the anger and resentment had been washed away at the sight of the nursery. The curtains were open, letting the sunlight in, landing on the crib that Will and Hannibal had set up. (Y/n) slowly went into the nursery, taking a seat in the rocking chair.

She looked around, the changing table, stuffed animals, and the toys coming into view. Her eyes began to water, but she took a deep breath. (Y/n) knew she needed to be strong, focusing on her breathing. She had been so focused that she didn’t notice Will peering into the room, having noticed the open door.

“Darling?” Will asked, his voice soft and tone unsure as he waited at the doorway, hesitant to step into the supposed forbidden room.

(Y/n) turned to face her husband, spotting her other husband appearing behind Will.

“I..I’m just tired of acting like this room has control over us. I don’t want to be afraid of a room anymore, I..I just want to get my life back.” (Y/n) stated, her voice cracking slightly as desperation filled her voice.

Hannibal and Will looked at her, an expression mixed with guilt and sympathy on their faces. They both joined her in the room, Will sitting next to the chair (Y/n) was on while Hannibal stood in the room, letting himself take everything in. It had been forever since all of them had been in the room, especially all together. As the emotional tension eased in the room, Will took (Y/n)’s hand into his own, pressing a kiss onto it as he reassured her that they would get through this.

The three of them soon left the nursery, no longer prohibited from entering it, but instead they began planning to adopt a child. They all knew that they would never ‘replace’ the baby they lost, but they would at least have a child to raise. They all vowed to never distance themselves from each other ever again, and they all would be there for each other, no matter what.

~fin~

author’s note: while the pain and grief might make them distance themselves, they still love and adore their darling. they just need time to process and work through the grief on their own, and eventually together with their darling.

#nbc hannigram #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannigram #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x will #hannibal x reader x will #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #fem reader #miscarriage fic #original writing #taking requests #angst

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 5 months

Text

Lisichka

Request: Hii ! I hope it's okay to request Tartaglia and (a very shy) childhood!reader reuniting after many years and pining for one another? Reader knows him very well so they're not rlly shy around him...until they developed a crush on him. Which makes them timid and mildly awkward around him, and it really shows more and more. I had a thought of what if Tartaglia also has a crush on them around the same time? I hope this is okay and have a good one! ♡

Summary: Tartaglia returns home after fighting the narwhal. You try to avoid him, unwilling to face your crush after so many years, but he manages to meet with you anyway.

Note: Lisichka means little fox

cw: none

Word Count: 1081

Tartaglia x gn!reader

“Have you heard? Ajax is back.”

You’re walking around the local market when you catch wind of the first rumors. The speaker--one of the old women who spend every market day discussing everything from local drama to the contents of this month's delivery of various newspapers--speaks in a hushed voice.

“That’s only news, Marya. My husband has already been to Lev and Anya’s place. Ajax looked pretty beat up.”

If Marya’s question hadn’t caught your attention, the second speaker would have.

You lift your groceries and approach Marya and Elizaveta.

“Ajax is back?”

Elizaveta gives you a measuring look. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. You spent so much time with the boy before Lev sent him off to join the Fatui.”

“You mean until they started avoiding him.?”

“Yes, yes. And blushing like---”

“I’ve been helping around my grandparent’s house,” you blurt. “So no, I hadn’t heard.”

Elizaveta chuckles. “In that case, yes, Ajax has come home. You should go visit him. I’m sure you’ll make his day.”

“I’m not sure he’d remember me.”

“Nonsense. I’d put money on the opposite being true.”

You sigh and tighten your scarf around your neck. “I’ll think about it. But I still have shopping to do. Have a good day, Mrs. Marya, Mrs. Elizaveta.”

Several days later, you walk up the path to Ajax’s home, a heavily wrapped pot of soup cradled in your arms.

A boy with a shock of red hair sits on the porch with a toy ruin guard in hand.

“Good day, Teucer. Is your mother around?”

Teucer looks up and grins. “Big Brother! Y/N is here!”

“Teucer,” you groan, “I’m not here to see Ajax. In fact, please give this to your mother. Tell her Katia sends her regards and that we hope Ajax gets well soon.”

You place the soup next to Teucer and hurries back down the path.

This was such a bad idea, you think to yourself. I can’t ever keep a straight face when he’s concerned.

Ajax steps out of the house, smiling into the collar of his thick, woolen coat.

Unbeknownst to you, the young harbinger watched the entire thing.

He picks up the soup and looks down at Teucer. “Did you say thank you?”

“I didn’t have a chance,” Teucer pouts. “Why are they acting so weird?”

Tartaglia laughs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

A few days later, you find yourself sitting on the bank of a lake.

You keep your eyes trained on the hole you made and the line disappearing into the water.

This is the only place in town where there aren’t curious looks and questions about Ajax’s health. It’s the one place where you don;t have to be reminded that after so many years of being his friend, you’re now too cowardly to meet him face to face.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t hear the snow crunch behind you, though the footsteps are soft enough that it could be any small animal.

“Lisichka, Lisichka. Are you done running from me?”

The familiar nickname startles you out of your reverie.

You turn, ever so slowly, to find a pair of bright blue eyes twinkling at you.

“I never ran from you.”

Ajax sits next to you. “Are you sure about that, Lisichka? I recall that before I left to join Fatui, you wouldn’t look me in the eye. And I saw you run from my house the other day.”

“I---”

“Got a bite yet?” Ajax changes the topic of conversation, much to your relief.

“No. Not yet. Though I might not, now that your pretty face is here.”

“If a pretty face is all it takes to scare off the fish, you must never catch a thing.”

You open your mind to reply, only for your brain to finally register your words and his reply.

“I--- How are you feeling, Ajax? I heard you were hurt.”

This time you’re the one to change topics, though you’re certain he’s aware that it’s a desperate attempt to keep from addressing the proverbial bear in the room.

Tartaglia holds out a hand and you frown at the clear tremor. “Fontaine was a little rough,” he admits. “I don’t recommend fighting a whale for a couple months.”

“A whale? How do you fight a whale?”

“Not easily. And I lost miserably. I don’t like Fontaine’s Iudex--though I want to fight him again one day---, but I’m not sure I’d have survived if he and the traveler hadn’t intervened.”

“You were never careful with yourself,” you comment. “Even less so after your three day disappearance.”

Ajax huffs. “This wasn’t my fault. There was a lot of weird stuff going on.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure. You know you go looking for trouble and when you aren’t it has a habit of finding you.”

“You know me so well, my Lisichka.”

“I thought we were too old for pet names like that, Ajax.”

“Says who? You were my Lisichka when we were kids. Why can’t you be now?”

You raise your eyes to the sky, where the constellations lay hidden.

“Because if you keep using pet names like that, I’m going to get the impression that you’re not just a childhood friend.”

Ajax reaches over and cups your cheek, turning your face so that your eyes meet his. “If you did I would be awfully happy. I’ve been trying to get your attention for years.”

“You mean…”

“Silly fox, I have liked you for a while now.”

“I bet I’ve liked you longer.”

“You wanna bet?”

Tartaglia tosses your fishing rod to the side and opens his arms to you. “Will you be mine?”

You let him pull you close, brows furrowing when the movement makes him stiffen. You rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bandages that deform his sweater.

“Of course, but please, please be more careful.”

“I love you, Lisichka, but I can’t make that promise.”

“I know. It was worth asking.”

As you start to doze in the safety, you can’t help but ask, “Why Lisichka?”

Ajax laughs, smiling into your hair. “Because, a teenage me had no other way to flirt with his best friend and you looked so cute playing in the snow.”

You join him in laughter. “I guess you win.”

“Oh?”

“I started running from you because I realized that I wanted it to be more.”

You yawn, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sleep, Lisichka. I will be here when you wake.”

#I think if tartaglia flirted with me like that I'd probably die blushing #"If a pretty face is all it takes to scare off the fish you must never catch a thing #It would probably work #At least if I was in the reader's place #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x gn!reader #childe x gn!reader #tartaglia fluff #childe fluff #tartaglia fic #childe fic #genshin impact #genshin #sfw #genshin fluff #teyvat talk #request: anon

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libraryofgage · 4 months

Text

The Prince and the Metalhead (2)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

I know I just posted part one but I've got Thoughts for this AU that include: Steve's first birthday in Genovia and then his 16th, his conversation with his grandmother about attending public school in America for his senior year, and then we get into him attending Hawkins High and meeting Eddie!

So, yeah, plans lmao

Anyway, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

"You'll have a rotating course schedule. Mondays and Wednesdays will focus on math and social studies. Tuesdays and Thursdays will be science and literature. Friday will be Royalty lessons and the history of Genovia. We can also include an elective, if you'd like."

Steve blinks, staring at Sue for a moment before glancing at Jonathan and Robin. Jonathan is looking through a book of photography and Robin is idly scratching behind Dart’s ears. "Will we all have the same elective?" Steve asks.

"Not unless Jonathan and Robin want to join you," Sue says, looking at Steve expectantly. She's got a pen at the ready to write down what he says, and it suddenly feels like a lot of pressure.

Is there a wrong answer here? Is there an answer that gets him sent back to his parents? He looks down, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. Before he can lose himself in his thoughts, a cold and wet nose presses against his hand. Steve blinks, smiling at Dart and picking her up to hold close. "What kind of electives are there?" he asks.

Sue hums softly, flipping to another page on her clipboard. "Possible electives include art, music, theatrical performance, physical education, equestrian studies, botany, and foreign languages, to name a few."

"I'll be taking photography lessons," Jonathan says, looking up at Steve and gesturing to his book.

Robin nods and leans back on her palms. "I'll be doing the physical stuff. Like learning how to fight and practicing ballet to improve my balance," she says, leveling a look at Steve that dares him to say anything about the ballet.

Steve wouldn't, though. He doesn't want to make Robin angry enough to ditch him. He looks down at Dart, thinking for a moment before asking, "Can I take more than one?"

"Of course, but you're limited to three for now," Sue says.

What would be the most helpful? Foreign languages, probably, since he'll definitely have to speak with ambassadors from other countries at some point. He should also learn something that can be shown off, a skill that he could pull out at functions to make his grandmother proud or distract guests.

"What language should I learn?" he asks.

Sue thinks for a moment, tapping her pen against her chin. "Mandarin. It's a business language, and we have close relations with a few representatives from China and Hong Kong. If you'd like to learn a Romantic language first, though, Spanish is good."

"I'll learn Mandarin," Steve decides, nodding once to himself. "And music. I want to learn to play...hmm...the piano."

With a nod, Sue writes his electives down. "Let me know if you'd like to add an elective later, Your Highness. In my opinion, though, your current courses will keep you properly challenged for now."

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

Sue wasn't kidding about his academics being challenging. Steve struggles in math, muddles his way through science, drags himself through literature, and is ready to drop when he hits social studies. He'd ask the tutors to spend more time on topics, but Robin and Jonathan seem to have no problem keeping up, and Steve can't bring himself to disrupt their pace.

His Mandarin lessons are going just slightly better if only because the tutor seems to recognize that slower is better for him. After almost a month, he's starting to understand intonation and vocal variation better, and he can recognize a few characters on sight.

Piano lessons are also going well. His tutor there doesn't burden him with theory; she introduces the keys, shows him how to read sheet music, and then lets him choose songs to learn. Steve feels the most at ease when he's squinting at sheet music and slowly pressing piano keys into something recognizable.

The lessons he really looks forward to, however, are the ones for his Royalty Education. He gets to see his grandmother then, and she spends the whole day with him. Even better, something about this stuff just clicks. He's good at fixing his posture and memorizing silverware placement. He bows just right on his first try and his grandmother compliments his wave.

By the end of the lesson, she'll be smiling, her pride obvious, and take him for a walk in the gardens or to eat cookies in the kitchen.

"Royalty requires maintenance," Clarisse says, standing in front of Steve with relaxed shoulders. "You maintain your demeanor, your image, your knowledge of foreign dignitaries, your understanding of the people’s needs, and your humility. But you must also maintain your pride and your boundaries."

"That sounds like a lot," Steve says, idly tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"It can be overwhelming, but it becomes second nature in time," Clarisse explains, smiling reassuringly. "When you're royalty, you are constantly watched. Many eyes are kind or curious, but others are malicious, and you want to do everything you can to disappoint the malicious ones."

"How?"

"By acting like the Crown Prince you are."

"What kind of prince am I?" Steve asks, finally voicing the question that's been lingering since these lessons started. What kind of prince does his grandmother want? What kind of prince would best serve the people? What kind of prince will be so loved by all that nobody could even think of thinking about getting rid of him?

Clarisse hums, thinking for a moment. "I suppose a good one," she says, her slight smile telling Steve that she's only lightly teasing. "My hope is that you'll be kind and competent. You will make Genovia prosperous without compromising tradition. You won't allow politics to stand in the way of doing what's right by the people of Genovia. But this is a tiring job, so I hope you'll learn how to balance your duties with relaxation."

It's a lot, but Steve can do it. He can be that kind of prince, especially for the country and grandmother that's offered everything he's ever wanted and more. He nods once. "Okay," he says, "What do I need to learn, then?"

Clarisse smiles fondly at him. "Let's start by reviewing Genovian history. Only by knowing the past can you face the future."

With that, she places a book on Steve's desk and doesn't wait for him to open it before telling him about Genovia's founding.

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

Steve has weekends off from classes, which leaves him with more free time than he knows what to do with when he doesn't have to clean a house or make his own meals. So, he's bored, and telling Robin that he was bored was a huge mistake after she suggested riding bikes around the garden only to learn Steve didn't know how.

She'd insisted that he should learn, insisted that Clarisse be the one who teaches him, and insisted on hearing no objections.

And now he's here, standing in front of Clarisse's desk and staring down at his feet as she finishes writing something on the paper in front of her. Joe is standing just to her right, hands behind his back.

"Okay," Clarisse says, gently placing her pen on the desk before looking at Steve with an encouraging smile. "What did you want to ask me, Steve?"

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, takes a deep breath, and looks up. "Well, um, Robin wants to ride bikes, but I don't know how," he says.

"Well, that's easily fixed," Clarisse says, reaching for a phone at the corner of her desk. "I'm sure a member of staff is free to teach you."

Before she can pick up the phone, Steve finds himself blurting out, "Well, I...I was hoping...you could teach me."

Clarisse freezes, blinking twice with confusion before looking at Steve. "You want me to teach you?" she asks. When Steve nods once, she sighs softly. "A queen does not ride bikes. Besides, I have too much work to complete. Perhaps I could accompany you for a walk this evening to make up for it."

Despite himself, despite bracing for rejection, it still hurts. In the three months he's been in Genovia, Clarisse has agreed to just about every request he's made. Every held breath as he waits for cruel words has been released with unprecedented relief when none came. Even when he broke something---a priceless vase, according to Jonathan---his grandmother had simply surveyed the damage, thanked him for being honest, and asked him to avoid kicking soccer balls in the presence of priceless vases in the future.

Perhaps Steve has gotten too comfortable. He shouldn't be pushing like this. If he wants his grandmother's affection, he should know when to hold himself back.

So, despite the unfamiliar urge to ask again in case Clarisse might change her mind, Steve nods once. "I look forward to walking with you, Grandmother," he says, his voice quiet. He glances up, waiting long enough to see Clarisse's smile before turning on his heel and leaving the office as quickly as he can.

Clarisse watches him go, her head slightly tilted as the door closes silently behind Steve. She nods once, glad that Steve is sensible enough to understand things like work and propriety, and picks up her pen once more.

"If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?" Joe asks.

"At this point, Joe, you may as well assume the answer is yes."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, and please pardon my French, my experience has been that assuming makes an ass out of you and me."

It takes a moment for Clarisse to understand the joke. When she does, she can't help her amused smile. "Fair enough," she says, "Go ahead, Joe."

"Do you remember what I said about being Steve's grandmother?"

"Yes, of course."

"Perhaps now is one of those moments where being a grandmother is more important than being a queen. His Highness does not ask for much, and he is not the kind to ask more than once, even if he really wants something. I imagine it took a significant amount of courage to ask you to teach him in the first place."

"Are you suggesting that I...I risk making a fool of myself for all to see?" Clarisse asks.

"I am suggesting you spend time with your grandson, who asks very little of you because he does not believe he can ask for anything."

Clarisse is silent a moment, letting Joe's words process and settle in her brain. Finally, she sighs and gestures to the papers on her desk. "I have work to complete," she says.

"Your Majesty, editing these proposals was on your schedule two weeks from now. You are ahead of your work. A break would not be unreasonable or unwarranted."

Well, when he puts it like that.

Clarisse sighs, leans back in her chair, and looks up at Joe. He's still staring at the door, giving no indication that he feels her eyes on him, but she knows he does. "Have a groundskeeper retrieve bikes and safety gear and meet us in the garden," she says, standing from her chair and bracing herself to look like an utter fool.

Her apprehension fades away fifteen minutes later. It can't hold last when she sees Steve's surprised and delighted expression at her presence. As she helps him put on knee and elbow pads, shows him how to pull the helmet's strap tight, and holds the bike steady as he sits on it, Clarisse decides a little foolishness is perfectly fine (necessary, even) if it will keep the smile on Steve's face.

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

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv, @potato-of-the-lord,

#stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #princess diaries crossover #queen clarisse renaldi #modern royalty au #future steddie #robin buckley #jonathan byers #the party's parents #my writing #anybody else ever have that experience where the first time you realize that somebody won't make you feel guilty for asking for things #you get way in your head about not asking for the one (1) thing that will ruin it all for you #so every time you ask for something new you're bracing to take the request back as quickly as you can #just me?#aight then lmao #to absolutely nobody's surprise i am projecting on steve harrington #if you made it this far in the tags #you deserve a cookie lmao

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bipanicoverthegravessiblings · 2 months

Note

How about Ashley x Emo Fem Reader? Like gothic with uhh emotic? Or something like that. Like they meet when they been in high school. And they live in Y/N's house that she get from her parents when they passed

If you had any questions, ask me

Oooohhhh- okay okay!

Ashley Graves x Emo Fem!Reader

Social outcast, you generally considered yourself

Not just you, your peers as well had called you that- or…crude variations of it

Point is, no one in school really liked you

You’ve overheard their gossip- all the same shit really

“I bet she lights cats on fire!” “Look at her sleeves, I bet she cuts herself.” “She’s gonna blow up the school I swear”

They couldn’t even bother to be creative with their assumptions about you- a lot of the same depressed demon stuff

….and you are depressed- but that’s besides the point!

You never really connected with any of your peers..

…well- except one..

Lunchtime was quite possibly the worst part of your day. It was a war zone. In the classrooms you had teachers to lessen the blows your classmates would throw at you, both metaphorically and physically, here the only solace of a savior were the underpaid lunch ladies who were occupied handing out food to students.

You hugged the wall as you carefully watched your peers, they all seemed fairly occupied in their own conversations- not even noticing you. You liked it when they forgot your existence. Loneliness beat cruelty.

There was a table you always sat at, tucked into the corner of the lunchroom- and for good reasons. The surface was littered with graffiti of swears, slurs, those cool S’s, and various crude doodles left by your peers. Not only that, but the table was very wobbly, so badly you usually have to use two textbooks to prop it up. The bottom was covered in dried out, chewed gum- the entire thing was just a sitting “DO NOT COME HERE” sign.

And it was perfect!

No one ever sat there due to how shitty it was, you think the students and faculty didn’t even bother to go near it. They either think it’s cursed, or forgot about it. Or both. Maybe both. But today someone had actually got there before you did.

A disgruntled girl with messy black hair poked at the mystery meat on her lunch tray. Poked isn’t the right word- more like viciously stabbed it repeatedly. Her nose scrunched in frustration, likely not directed towards the so-called food, but it was the only thing she had to vent her frustrations on to. She hadn’t noticed you.

You stood there a little awkwardly, not wanting to startle her on accident, so instead you spoke up meekly.

“Uhm…hi.” You smiled a little, trying to harmless. She didn’t look like your average bullies, but you can never be too careful.

She looked up at you with her pink eyes- her gaze was sharp, and you instinctively tensed in preparation for some insult to be thrown. She gave you a once over before returning to her tray, “…hey.”

“Can I…sit here?” It was a dumb question. Technically this table had been your seat, and this girl just showed up out of nowhere- but, oh well.

She gave a frustrated sigh, “God- did Andy put you up to this?” She asked rather accusatory, pointing her fork at you.

You opened your mouth to reply before she interrupted you, “Look how many times do I have to tell you hussies, you’re just wasting your time! He’s not going to fuck you if you’re nice to me so just—“

“Who’s Andy?”

The question you asked sounded genuine….cause it was. Really, you had no idea who this ‘Andy’ guy was. The girl lowered her fork, eyeing you wearily before she decided that you weren’t lying. She turned her head and muttered,

“….you can sit.”

And so you did. The two of you ate in relative silence. Well- you ate. Your new lunch friend more-so stabbed at her food then ate it. You swallowed down the lump of unidentifiable cafeteria meat and gave her a friendly smile. The silence was deafening and you’d never had anyone to eat with so maybe…maybe this could be nice for a change..

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

The girl glanced up at you before returning to her tray, “…Ashley..”

“I’ve never seen you at this table much.” your hands patted the surface nervously.

“Normally I sit with my brother and so-called friend,” her words dripped with malice, “But my stupid brother had to go study for some history test! And my ‘friend’ conveniently didn’t save me a seat…” she stuck her fork into the biggest chunk of her food and muttered, “Fucking bitch…”

“That’s a bit harsh..” you mumbled, causing Ashley to perk up and glare at you.

She practically climbed over the table and held her fork out towards you, making your hands instinctively raise in surrender, “She is a bitch! A doe-eyed hussie who thinks she’s soooooo innocent when she sucks just as much as everyone else!”

“I meant it was harsh that she wouldn’t let you sit with her,” your eyes were fixated on the fork, kind of worried Ashley would drive it into your neck, “I…should’ve been more specific. Sorry.”

Ashley’s pink eyes widened a little, she almost seemed- shocked someone took her side. Slowly, she clambered back to her seat and went quiet. You lowered your hands back into your lap and stared at her. Ashley pushed her tray and folded her arms overtop the table.

“….thanks.” She mumbled.

After that, you saw Ashley a lot more

It wasn’t every day, maybe once a week or two she would show up at your hidden table to eat

Slowly, she came out of that shell and actually initiated conversations

Well- conversations were a stretch. It was more like her venting about her frustrating day while you nodded along and ate.

Eventually, she liked you enough to stop you in the halls and walk with you

Usually her brother, Andrew you had come to learn his actual name, walked with her and she made a show to cling on to your arm

It never failed to make the heat rush to your face

Ashley was cute. Very cute. And had a general unhinged vibe that just made her all the more alluring

So it didn’t surprise you that you’d catch feelings for your new friend

No- what surprised you was when Ashley actually liked you back

You paused, silence hanging in the air as Ashley stared at you expectingly. Her foot tapped with impatience as she awaited what you were going to say.

“Well?”

You didn’t know what to say, the only time anyone has asked you out was as a prank. This was different. The question wasn’t coming from some bully barely able to keep their giggles in, this was coming from your friend. Someone you trusted. Someone who wouldn’t hurt you…..at least you think. She did threaten you with a fork.

Ashley’s growing impatience let you know just how slack jawed you were, “Look- if you’re going to be weird about this then just…forget I said anything.” She crossed her arms, turning away from you in a huff.

That was when you came out of your stupor, trying to salvage this, “No! No! It’s okay- really! I’m just….shocked that you asked me out.” You stammered with your explanation, “I didn’t even think you liked girls..”

“Me neither.” She mumbled, the faintest starts of a blush painting her cheeks. It was cute. She was cute.

Your face softened as you placed a hand on her shoulder, “….I’d love to.”

From there you two were dating

Had it only put more unwanted attention on you? Yes, but you wouldn’t have it any other way

You were happy, so fuck what those jerks had to say

Things were good, and after high school the both of you fucked off to another town

With Andrew in college, it’s not like Ashley wanted to stick around her shitty homelife

And you- honestly had no connections aside from your parents, and moving out was expected

So, it was you and Ashley. Outcast for outcast

#the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #tcoaal #x reader #ashley graves x reader #OKAY-#I am so sorry this took so long #and to anyone who’s sent requests I haven’t forgotten those either #I’ve just been….so goddamn tired lately #motivation to write has been low and I’m trying to find some to make these fics for y’all #cause I love doing this #I love making these things for you folks #and I want to keep doing that #so if progress slows I am very sorry #take care of y’allselves <3

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theyoungeragrippina · 5 months

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15 more gentlebeard fic recs!

that i have lovingly hunter/gathered for you all. may they act as sustenance for u in this drought.

they are all complete, do not feature any ongoing steddyhands, and are above 20k words.

peruse part 1 and part 2 at your leisure if you want to compare our tastes/devour more fine literature, or check out my masterlist as an ao3 collection.

happy reading!

it's what isn't in the name by @tciddaemina

41k, mature

"The first thing they see - apart from Captain Bonnet himself, all silked up and frilly and I sight in his own right - is the cat sitting primly by his ankles."

writing is top quality, the depth of understanding the author has for every character is unmatched. i have never felt so gutted to know a writer hasn't written anything else for ofmd.

clarity by @kat0nline

44k, explicit

"After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back."

amnesia/memory loss fic done justice. mary continues to be the best and i love her. only note i wrote after i finished was 'screaming crying throwing up i love you author'.

you are at the top of my lungs by @ratchet

55k, explicit

"Ed has a simple life. He has a self-built, off grid, mostly self-sustaining house tucked away in the middle of a forest... the appearance of an incredibly nosy, incredibly handsome stranger three weekends in a row has him questioning every self-imposed rule he's ever set himself."

this is really a story about healing and hope and grief and love. one of my most favourite eds. this author makes me want to change my whole life, and in this case become an off grid chicken owner that grows food and has gay christmas dinners.

seven point three miles, also by @ratchet

20k (technically just under but it gets a pass because everyone should read it rn), teen and up

"Stede takes a job as a remote forest fire lookout in the summer following his divorce, with a plan to find out who he is, and what he wants his life to be. With the help of the enigmatic lookout on the other side of the forest, he ends up getting more out of the experience than he could ever have hoped."

when will this author receive their nobel prize in literature. i want to be a fire lookout now. i also want to scream and cry and maybe stare at the ceiling for five hours to process this fic. there is a reason everyone loves this fic.

fine dining by wishingonalightningbolt and sugarybowl

37k, explicit

"Edward Teach is one of the most famous chefs in the world, working under the handle Chef Blackbeard. Not one to be tied down, he does random pop-ups in all types of kitchens, and for the absurdly wealthy, he caters special events. Stede Bonnet wants to throw the best engagement party ever for his ex-wife and best friend, Mary. His assistant recommends the extravagant work of Chef Blackbeard."

my notes just say: 'ed is a chef and stede is a cute guy and they are cute together' and i think that is a pretty good summary tbh.

Old Bae Season by nomadsland

57k, explicit

"Ed picks Stede up at a bar for what ought to be a one-night stand, but it turns out they're attending the same academic conference the next day."

they are scientists and stede experiences self discovery. crab door knockers as a symbol of love. i love this fic because it made me smile so much (and want to get my life together, weirdly).

Vitalis by jfc_anna

29k, explicit

"Crown Prince Stede Bonnet. Reserved, anxious, and newly arranged to be married. A child is expected. Though, with the Prince’s lack of experience, is also highly unlikely. There are murmurs of an educator of sorts amongst the nobility, with raven hair and eyes like fire, who has been the cure of impotence and disagreeable attitudes. He has been called many names, whispered behind hands or between cracks in doors. Siren. Kraken. Devourer of Love."

short and sweet and so different from most other things i've read in this fandom. lots of flirting and pining and copious amounts of seduction.

all that might happen is here somehow by @sungmee

27k, teen

"Stede gets caught in a time loop at the moment where Badminton tries to shoot him."

i put off reading this because i thought i wasn't super keen on time loop fics. i was wrong. this is charming, and a little bit heartbreaking, and VERY well written, and i loved every word. don't make my mistakes. read this rn.

turn on the light by smallestchurch

55k, explicit

"Lighthouse Bookshop had been there seemingly since time immemorial. Over forty years at that spot, sitting proud, a beacon at the heart of the community, and when the old owner decides to sell, it's the perfect vessel for Stede's odd restlessness. And the building is connected to a famous cocktail bar run by a mad genius behind the stick."

smiling through my tears rn. i was so absorbed that the end of the fic came up on me like a jumpscare. stede and ed continue to be posterboys for maladaptive coping mechanisms. books & cocktails & outrageous flirting.

our tesco means death by @stedesparasol

21k, general

"Determined to prove he can earn a living without his family's wealth, Stede applies for a job at the UK's biggest retailer (probably). Hmm, I wonder who his supervisor will be... surely not a handsome bearded man sick of the retail grind until Stede joins his workplace and makes things interesting..."

so unserious and so funny. fuckin' brilliant. made me genuinely laugh out loud so much that my dad asked if i was okay.

Queen Anne’s Renovations and Remodelling by bythedamned

32k, mature

"Ed didn't know why Stede’s house had a room sealed off. Two decades gone, filled with the creation and destruction of things they'd never shared with each other, and Ed no longer had reading privileges to the Book of Stede. So he's left to wonder - what's in the room? Why is the door plastered over? And why does Ed remember kissing Stede on a make-believe ship they’d invented as kids?"

thank u sm to @okayestokapi for the rec!! i love the sort of magical-mystery vibe this carries the whole way through & the conclusion was so charming and clever. heaps of fun.

help me to find peace (tell me you're okay) by @percyjacksonfan3

38k, general

"Stede and the crew come to find Ed and make things right. Turns out Ed is doing the same".

i am simply a sucker for a good post s1 reunion fic, and this is up there with the best. it flows really well, the characterisation is so good, and it felt like such a natural continuation of the s1 story and character arcs!!

Invisible String by @dimplyowl

48k, mature

"Scourge of the Caribbean" has been Stede's favorite book series since he was 12 years old. Now, age 47, divorced, and an aspiring author, he turns back to the series to draw inspiration from the familiar story. But as he starts reading, he realizes that something is different. Blackbeard, the main character, is apathetic and depressed, and the story has changed. Even stranger still, Stede seems to be the only one aware that this change has occurred."

more magic realism!!!!! this is so much fun and such a clever idea (plus such clever execution)! lots of flirting and stede being flustered and cute dates.

The Lion, the Witch and the Auxiliary Wardrobe by @xoxoemynn

21k, explicit

"Edward "Blackbeard" Teach's foolproof strategy to get over devastating heartbreak: 1) bring a witch aboard the ship 2) get trapped in an auxiliary wardrobe with the man who broke your heart 3) well, you'll have to read to find out."

in this house we read everything em writes because it is all brilliant and hilarious, and this is no different. its silly and fun and still tender and sweet, and ed & stede get to be just as embarrassing as they deserve (also there is a currently updating work by the same author u should look at too - take it as an unofficial rec).

Due North by surprise pink (+ gorgeously illustrated by @sungmee who appeared earlier on this list!!!!!!)

28k, mature

"Burnt out from his corporate job and his miserable marriage, Stede takes a seaside vacation where he meets Ed, an artist who takes inspiration from strange dreams that feel like memories. A museum exhibit about Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate brings them together, but it doesn't feel like the first time they've met."

had me googling 'pirate museums near me???' urgently at 1am. romeo & juliet meeting through a fishtank/starcrossed lovers vibes. absolute oodles of pining. a joy of a time to read.

#please send me more recs or requests or whatever!!!#i want to know ur fav fics!!!#these posts take ages to make but i love doing them sm #every recommendation is simply the cream of the crop and they should all be applauded as much as possible #if you are on this list you are talented & incredible and ily #our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death fic recs #gentlebeard #gentlebeard fic recs #gentlebeard fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #blackbonnet fic recs

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