#I wrote this instead of working on my fic

[coco-loco-nut]

Revelations - Part 3

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Summary: a fic focused on the readers career because YOU ARE A QUEEN

a/n: i wrote this before the Newey/RBR break up. i also can’t stop ending my fics with a social media post 😭

requests open masterlist

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When Daniel retired from F1, you were ready to pull the plug on your career, but he wouldn’t let you. He saw the passion you still had and didn’t want to extinguish it just because he wasn’t going to have a seat in the race anymore. Instead, he decided to live his best life as a stay-at-home dad while also coaching Florence who was naturally drawn to her dad’s karts.

Your family eventually moved to England, it being the easier move with your job promotion and Florence’s karting. You took the Chief Engineering Officer position after Daniel retired, working closely with the man who taught you so much. Adrian and you were a dynamic duo, the cars you build together are rocket ships. Daniel is an ambassador for Red Bull when he isn’t with Florence at karting competitions. You’ve been teaching Sidney about the mechanics behind karts and the cars, letting him come to work with you to shadow once in a while.

You walk into Christian’s office to remind him about the family dinner tonight, Max already promised to be in attendance with P and Kelly.

“Y/n, mind taking a seat?” Christian asks, you think nothing of it, figuring he just wants an update on the car.

“What’s up? There isn’t much of a progress update yet,” you say, sipping your coffee.

“I’d like to sign Florence into our driver development program. Not just because she is a Ricciardo, but because she has the technical knowledge and the talent. I know someone with Rodin who has a seat open for her in Formula 4,” Christian says and you nod, having gotten a similar offer from Mercedes and Ferrari. You feel pride in your daughter, her hard work and drive being recognized by top programs. It’s extra special because Christian is using his connections to help get her a seat with Daniel’s old F3 team.

“The PR will be tricky to manage, but would you like to tell her at dinner tonight?” you smile, F1 fans already joke about Red Bull being Ricciardo central. Sidney is preparing for his semester finals for Mechanical Engineering and you can’t believe it’s been ten years since they made their first paddock appearance. You negotiate some terms with Christian, the most important being that if she wants to leave the program and go to another, she can.

“We will announce it once she’s signed with the team, I’ll give my person a call,” Christian lets you know before you go to your office. You admire the family photo you took when Florence won the CIK-FIA world championship last month. She’s been dominating British karting all year, Daniel has been working so hard to help her get where she wants to be.

Your day flies by, and before you know it you are all seated in your living room.

“How’s the driver program selection going?” Max asks Christian, genuinely curious.

“I actually made my selection today, Florence, how do you feel about the family legacy?” Christian beams as her face lights up.

“Really? Oh my god, thank you Uncle Christian!” she darts over to him to hug him. “Uncle Maxie, you better watch out,” she grins at Max, who is a Red Bull institution.

“I’ll be very lucky if I am still racing when you get to F1, but I will be happy to coach you,” Max chuckles, knowing he’s pushing the limit of his career.

“No way, that job is reserved for me,” Daniel tells Max who just frowns at his friend for taking away his plan.

A few years later, your whole family is essentially traveling race to race. Sidney is interning with Red Bull, Florence is racing with Rodin in F2, and Daniel is living his best life as a commentator.

“Y/n, let’s grab coffee,” you’ve noticed that Christian tends to say that when he has something important to say.

“What’s wrong?” you cut straight to the chase.

“Max is retiring after this season and I am going to retire as well,” Christian says and a silence falls between you.

“It’s a well deserved retirement for both of you,” you say after a couple seconds.

“I am recommending you for team principal. I also want you to be involved in choosing who is the next driver for the team,” Christian says and you pause.

“I would be honored, that would be huge shoes to fill,” you say after a second.

“You deserve it, you’ve worked your way up from the bottom,” Christian reassures you. In the next month, you signed your contract and got Oliver Bearman to replace Max’s seat.

“You should’ve let me take the seat, Mom,” Florence smiles, you shake your head.

“Not yet, you are a wonderful driver, but I can’t sign you my first year as team principal,” you tell her. Your promotion has been well received among staff and fans. You take the promotion seriously, learning what you don’t know while Christian is still there.

Five years later you walk into testing excitedly. It is a special day for your family.

“Daniel Ricciardo here reporting from the Paddock for testing, let’s see who we can grab,” your husband says, looking towards the entrance where you are walking in. “Y/n Ricciardo, have a second for an interview,” he smiles as you ate into the frame.

“I do, rare for a team principal,” you smile adoringly at your husband, still the young driver getting his shot in your eyes.

“How do you feel going into testing?”

“Great, my engineers and I have worked hard on the car, we are excited to see how it performs against the field,”

“And you have a new driver this year? How is that going?”

“Well so far, as a team we’ve been watching her for years. She’s worked hard with our junior team and we are always excited to bring young talent in. It’s always a tough decision when choosing someone for a seat, but we are confident in our choice,” you say, keeping things professional. The fans watching live are loving the interview, commenting about how your family is acting as if you aren’t a family.

“One last question, your new driver, Florence Ricciardo, is bringing in her own race engineer, Sidney Ricciardo, an engineer who worked for Red Bull Racing in the past. Are there any worries about an unproven race engineer?” Daniel says, the two of you somehow keeping a straight face.

“Obviously we want our drivers to be comfortable with their race engineer. Sidney has been with the team for a while before going to McLaren, so we are excited to welcome him back. Our team has worked with him to familiarize himself with the job, and he will be beside me on pit wall today for that reason,” you explain, a small smile holding back the laughter.

“Thank you for your time, Y/n. Good luck today,” Daniel tells you before you walk off. The video goes viral among F1 fans for the sheer humor of it. Fans also love that Florence and Sidney are following their parent footsteps and career paths.

“That interview was so funny,” Sidney sits beside you in hospitality.

“Thank you, Sid. I may be old but I can still be funny,” you smile at your son. “Are you nervous? I remember how nervous I was on pit wall the first time as your dad’s engineer,” you ask him.

“I am your son, I’ve got it in the bag, plus it’s only Flo,” Sidney says as Florence barges into the room, sitting beside you. Daniel follows behind her, quietly sitting beside her.

“Thanks for basically disowning me on live television, Mom. Oh, hi Dad,” Florence hugs her dad as you all try not to laugh.

“Come on, Flo, it was funny watching Mom and Dad act like we all weren’t related,” Sidney laughs. The social media team takes a picture and posts it on twitter.

twitter

@redbullracing: guys, a bunch of people with the last name Ricciardo are sitting in our hospitality, I guess all but one works for us. Apparently they know each our team principal? Are they related or is this just a weird coincidence?

@y/nricciardo not related to me, just a weird coincidence.

↪️@florencericciardo MOM! STOP DISOWNING ME

↪️@sidneyricciardo no, no, please continue disowning her

↪️@danielricciardo Do you know who these two are, Y/n? I don’t recognize them

↪️@y/nricciardo I’m sorry, do I know a Daniel?

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagines #daniel ricciardo imagine

[layersofsymbolism]

With all the talk of dancing today, you all have inspired me. This is a lead-in to the spicy Zevlor fic I wrote a while ago, typed furiously on my phone while I was at work. Apologies for any formatting issues, y'all know I'm garbage at that anyway.

“Dance with me?”

Zevlor’s head snaps up as you approach. He’d been standing alone beyond the firelight as if trying to blend in with the darkness, his arms crossed, staring at a random spot on the ground somewhere in front of him. Glowering, to your estimation. You had been looking for him, and the soft siren call of the tiefling’s presence drew you to him here in the dim flickering of the distant fires. He looks for a moment like a startled deer, before flinching and sketching a brief bow. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I was miles away. Did you need something?”

You laugh softly and hold out your hand. “I asked you to dance with me, Zevlor. Please?”

He looks at your outstretched fingers and swallows, staring at your hand as if it were a snake about to strike. “Oh… I do not… I am not very good at dancing. There are others who would be better for… hm.” His consternation is so adorable, you think, but you don’t let up, instead moving closer, gazing up as the flames in his eyes pulse lightly. He tenses a little, as if preparing to bolt. “You should try Ikaron. He can… or even Alfira. She’s a wonderful dancer. I am afraid I may just trip over my feet and embarrass us both.” But his hands twitch, clawed fingers briefly flexing, and you sense the heat of him rising. If his skin weren’t already a beautiful shade of deep red, you’d have sworn he was blushing.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “Alfira is playing the music. And Ikaron seems so determined not to enjoy himself… everyone else has a partner. I am afraid it will have to be you, Commander. Would you really deny me one little dance?” You let yourself pout a little, and risk touching him, placing your hand lightly over his where it grips his biceps.

He swallows again tightly, looking down at your hand, before allowing himself to relax a bit. “I think I could deny you nothing… I mean…” he coughs, “alright. One song. But you must forgive me if I disappoint. I am more accustomed to the battlefield and the barracks than genteel society functions.” He smiles, finally and slips his fingers into yours. His hand is incredibly warm, and grips you firmly. His other joins, chafing lightly at the dorsal surface. “Your hands are cold.” His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said. “That wasn’t meant to be a criticism. I know that you are… just… let’s just go.”

“I think you’re warm enough for the both of us.” You giggle softly and begin to lead him closer to the fire, where groups and couples are swirling around Alfira, who is currently playing a lively number on her lute and singing gaily. You catch her eye and she nods, grinning, and shortly brings her tune to an end amidst the laughter and applause. She tunes the instrument for a few minutes, giving the dancers time to grab a drink and reset themselves. You pull Zevlor into position, placing yourself before him and smiling up into his eyes. He gulps, and then, as Alfira’s nimble fingers caress the strings in a more sedate, almost sensual melody, he bows, takes your hands, and begins to move.

His steps are not vigorous or intricate, but he has a warrior’s grace as he guides you around him, turning to keep you in his sight. Those burning eyes never leave you, even when he cups your waist and lifts you easily before turning in a quick circle and setting you down again. A soft smile spreads on his angular face, his hands more confident. A dip, a rise, a light press of his palm on your back. He mainly moves your body, keeping his feet in roughly the same spot as the dance goes on. He is certainly not tripping over himself, you note as he twirls you once, twice, appearing to actually be enjoying himself for the moment. You feel the heat of him as he pulls your back briefly to his chest, swaying before guiding you back out again. You see his free hand curl loosely around a lock of your flying hair, letting the silken strands flow through his fingers. His tail, which curls sinuously around him, occasionally brushes against your bare ankles. As the song ends, he draws you flush against him, with a hand on your lower back, and goes still.

His eyes burn into you, his hand warm on you, and he wets his lips, suddenly looking rather frightened. Your stomach flip flops as you get a glimpse of two tapered points. He usually speaks tightly, through gritted teeth, so you’ve never noticed that his tongue is forked. His gaze moves to your own mouth, and he catches his lower lip with his sharp pointed teeth. You let your hand drift up his chest, curling around his shoulder, and apply just a whisper of pressure. Inviting him to do what he so obviously wants. His grip tightens as the world fades, and  you part your lips with a tiny gasp when he begins to lower his head.

A sudden, loud wolf whistle cuts through the fog, making you both jump, and Zevlor’s head jerks up, quickly smothering a frustrated snarl. Everyone is looking at the two of you, their eyes glowing with tipsy tiefling amusement. He smiles thinly, releasing you and lifting his palms in good-natured surrender before taking your hand and leading you back to his previous spot, followed by laughing applause and a few catcalls.

Your heart is racing as you take your position by his side. He relaxes his grip, but you do not, instead pressing his hand more firmly, and glance up at him. “I do not know what all the fuss was about. You’re a wonderful dancer. I forgot where I was, for a moment.”

He does not protest, but instead mutters thanks and allows you to remain, holding his hand and standing close enough to feel his warmth. He is gazing out at the others, who seem to have lost interest in ribbing the older man, and have returned to their merrymaking. “It is so good to see them smiling. It… all of this has been very hard on them.” His voice is casual, but when he cuts his eyes down to look at you, you see what seems to be a flicker of pain dart across the orange surface, before he tries a slightly wobbly smile and looks away. “I should go. There are still things I… you should stay and enjoy yourself. You deserve it after all you’ve done for us.”

You squeeze his hand tightly, sidling a bit closer and keeping your voice low. “And what of yourself, Zevlor? You’ve been through just as much. Do you not deserve a little comfort as well?” You think you already know his opinion on that, but you don’t give him a chance to start depreciating himself again. “I myself… we’ve all had a difficult time with things of late. But shared burdens are lighter. Will you not stay with me, for a little while?”

“It’s my responsibility…” he begins, but then sighs. He nods, but then his expression becomes thoughtful. He’s worrying something over in his mind, you think, and you wait, silent, giving him time to organize his thoughts. When he finally speaks, his words come in a quiet, breathy rush. “I do not… they do not need a dusty old soldier glowering at them tonight. But if you are still interested in my company, I will return to my office. You may join me there if you wish. I have a map to finalize with Tilses, but then I will send her to join the party. She… sleeps with the others. I should be alone within the hour. Then we can… talk.” He glances back at you, seeming surprised by his own boldness, and you nod in agreement as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses briefly before releasing you and moving off into the shadows. You feel your cheeks burn with a flush, because you know he doesn’t really want to talk. Zevlor, Hellrider, former Commander of the cavalry forces of Elturel, has just invited you to his bed.

#zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor bg3 #i'm ok i swear #Dancing with Zevlor #suggestive

[frownyalfred]

How do you do your writing? Start writing the story and figure out world building aspects after? Or deep dive into world building than write the story? Personally I write the story then take breaks to write down world building as it comes

Was curious, cause your abo au is very thought out with world building

I think it definitely comes easier with the a/b/o AU since there's a lot of pre-established options within the trope, so I'm usually just mixing and matching the ones I like most, or subverting the ones I don't.

My biggest goal when worldbuilding is to avoid the "this is the world I live in and here are the rules" monologue that sometimes pops up in published novels. I only want stuff to come up that's actually being discussed and thought about by the characters in the scene -- and unless it's being used as a device, they're not usually narrating the rules of the world they live in to themselves at any point. (Again, it depends on the book and if it's being used as a literary device)

So Bruce, in a given scene, wouldn't necessarily be thinking about the fact that omegas use scent blockers to conceal their scents, and wouldn't be thinking about how that works (such as application preference, etc) but he would, theoretically, be thinking about how the new scent blocker he just bought isn't working right, and that he might need to use more than normal. So we get some slightly more subtle worldbuilding within the vein of the scene.

People go back and forth on the "show don't tell" advice in writing, and I know it's contentious. But I'm a proponent of showing worldbuilding whenever possible, instead of outright telling. Whenever I find myself writing a thought/piece of dialogue that seems like it would benefit the reader more than the characters, I take a second to check if I'm telling instead of showing.

Sometimes that means not explaining something until it pops up in the story. An example of this would be in my Mandalorian/Star Wars batfamily AU, where we really don't learn a lot about the batkids' positions or the hierarchy of the Wayne compound until Clark has a chance to talk with various family members and learn.

I think there is definitely an instinct to overexplain off the bat, and it's not always wrong. But if our first scene with Bruce was spent with him thinking over the hierarchy of his own compound, that wouldn't make a lot of sense -- he already knows what it is. He's got other things to focus on in that scene.

If it's helpful, I also put together lists sometimes of worldbuilding ideas that don't necessarily make it into the work itself, but help add context while I'm writing. I did this a lot with Borderline, when I was trying to write the Court/LoA into the fic. A lot of those details didn't make it in for the reader to see, but they affected what I wrote.

That's just my take on it, and like I said, there's a lot of conflicting ideas about this. And exceptions, of course.

#asks #anon #writing #writing things #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #myfic #theresurrectionist #a/b/o mention #a/b/o tw

[jklhun-skaai]

Where r u?😭😭 pls write MACE😭😭😭😭

hey anon, i was supposed to post a long fic of mace but something is wrong with my word account (cus i wrote it there). i cannot access the fic and im trying my best to get it tf back😭🙏 so here’s this for now…

-`٠᪥༄᪥٠´-

you hated Mace. Mace hated you.

thats what your relationship looked like to outsiders. everyone saw how you felt icky about Mace being in your personal space. they saw how he cringed at the sound of your voice.

but in reality, after hours, you had to be as close as possible to Mace. after hours, he loved how much you would talk about anything and everything that popped up in your little brain.

you two would cuddle up together, talk to each other, kiss and whisper sweet nothings to one another.

it was all so perfect.

your boyfriend, Ghost, thought so too.

he treated you like the princess you were any chance he got. he did you favours and was basically your little helper whenever you needed him.

he had no idea of yours and Mace’s relationship behind closed doors. he was blinded by the fact that you two displayed pure hatred towards each other.

but you didn’t feel bad, not at all. definitely not. how could you when Ghost broke your trust when he cheated on you with the new female recruit? clearly he felt no remorse when he had his head dived deep in between her legs.

so Ghost tried his best to make up for it but nothing worked. your love was gone, you fell out of love for him ages ago, and your heart found another source of joy in Mace. he was the one who held you when you found out about Ghost’s unfaithful acts. he was the one who cared for you in your time of need.

he reassured you that you could come to him whenever Ghost decided to leave you and find meaningless bliss with his affair partner. Ghost didn’t cheat on you often but Ghost was distancing himself from you more and more. he wouldn’t show much of his affection in public, and even less affection whenever you two were alone. he hadn’t even wanted to have sex with you, it hadn’t popped up in his head.

so you didn’t go and meet with Ghost as often as you used to. you met with Mace instead. you would spend your time ranting about how distant he was. Mace would always listen, he paid attention to you and your needs and never fell short of giving you what you were deprived of.

the last time you saw Mace, he had been waiting for you. he wanted to take the next step in the relationship. you knocked on his door and his heart was pounding in his chest. he didn’t know how you would react to his proposal.

to his surprise you agreed and that night was a night to remember, especially for you. it had been the first that someone you loved had shared a bond as intimate and passionate as that.

from then on, you two couldn’t hate each other. his love for you wasn’t a secret anymore, and word spread rapidly. it eventually reached Ghost’s ears. he wasn’t happy about that at all, but why the fuck would Mace be scared of a guy like Ghost? if he had to fight for you he would. Mace would not have the strength to leave you with a pathetic little man like him.

-`٠᪥༄᪥٠´-

#call of duty #mace x reader #mace cod #mace call of duty #cod x reader #cod mw2 #mace supremacy #so normal about mace

[miammey]

Alright, so a lot of people are mad at Jouno for bringing Aya into the fight, and rightfully so, a kid has no business being in this mess no matter how badass they are, but I also don’t think Jouno ever planned for Aya to be alone in this.

Jouno slipped her a note telling her to follow him, right?? That’s all he asked, just for her to follow him.

The thing is, he gave her this note before Fukuchi asked him to go alone with him to a back room to see Bram.

Jouno had no idea he would be lead away from the group alone with Fukuchi, we don’t know what his plan would’ve been if Fukuchi never showed him Bram, but we do know that Jouno was suspicious of Fukuchi after Tachihara went missing.

(side note, Jouno had no idea what Tachihara’s plan was, Tachi’s canonically a good liar and Jouno stated that he could barely tell that there was even a lie being told, and even then he wouldn’t have been able to tell what the lie was. He had no clue that Tachihara was in danger until it was too late)

All that being said, Jouno probably expected for Aya to follow him when he was with the other Hunting Dogs, or even alone. That way, he would be able to protect her from whatever possible danger she could end up in (in the end, it’s his job to protect the innocence, and he canonically loves doing it, he didn’t put Aya in that situation just to save her later, he just likes a part of his job that’s necessary).

Unfortunately, he didn’t account for him being taken out, and for Aya to now be alone. Heck, it was Aya’s choice to take Bram with her when she fled with the evidence of Fukuchi being the mastermind (she’s a kid so I’m not gonna call her decision stupid or anything, she thought it was best).

In conclusion, yes bringing children into the battlefield is not a great thing to do, to say the least, but Jouno most likely didn’t expect for her to need to fend for herself.

#also that whole speech he did?? probably just to distract everyone from him slipping the note #I’ve been thinking about this for a bit and wanted to put it down #I wrote this instead of working on my fic #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs manga #bsd hunting dogs #the hunting dogs #bsd manga spoilers #bsd jouno #jouno saigiku #bsd aya #aya koda

[blakeshaw-oracle]

I already asked someone this buuuuuut, what’re your thoughts on au where Finney and Robin get kidnapped together? I love it personally for how much drama and concept play it presents

ESPECIALLY if Robin and Finney are already dating/have a crush on each other when kidnapped, and Al gets jealous of someone else getting to hug and touch HIS special boy and having eyes for HIS good boy 👀

The obvious answer for the above jealousy would be to kill Robin, but perhaps threatening Robin makes Finney behave or smth lol

Yes, I saw that ask!! I loved it lmao--

Once again this got nsft/w so 'Keep Reading' my dudes!!

Also, CW: This one contains a little bit of stockholm syndrome and/or mind-break in it so if that's not your cup of tea, look away now! (:

Wordcount (Idk I felt like I should include it this time): 1,308

Okay, so my take on it is that if they're already dating before the kidnapping, Al can never get Finney alone and that's why he ends up grabbing the two boys at the same time. (Stay with me here!)

When it all goes down, of course Robin is the one that fights the hardest. Al figured that the boy was the stronger of the two, so he had lured Robin in first to be dealt with easier. Finney, on the other hand, is frozen in fear for a second but soon snaps out of it and tries his hardest to get Al off of his best friend. His boyfriend. Robin would do the same for him. This, of course, doesn't work and they both end up getting knocked out and shoved into the back of Al's van anyway.

Only when Al finally has the boys down in his basement does he realize that they're not just best friends like he had previously assumed. Even in his half delirious state, Robin is yelling and kicking, doing his best to keep The Grabber away from Finney. Al knows that (especially in this state) Robin can't really do too much damage, so he ignores his "tantrum" for now. I like to imagine that the scene when Al reaches out and touches Finney's hair still happens but now Robin is there trying to get in between them to block Finney off with his body.

Robin probably says something along the lines of, "If you even think about touching Finney, I'm going to rip your fucking throat out, old man." Al only chuckles at this. He knows that Finney already belongs to him; what is this snot-nosed brat going to do?

He's angry at his own oversight when one day as he's bringing down two matching trays of scrambled eggs and lemon-lime soda, the Arellano boy is right behind the door waiting with a broken tile piece in one hand. All is not lost, however. That's also the day the man figures out the best way to get what he wants out of his darling Finney.

Finney is weak. Weaker than Robin, at least. Both physically and mentally weaker. Easier to manipulate. Al knows just how to handle this.

As soon as Al is able to regain his footing and restrain Robin in his arms, a slash in his right forearm mirroring the one Finney had given him on the first day, he thinks of the perfect strategy. Use Finney's biggest weakness against him. At that moment, Al takes out the pocketknife that he'd been concealing in the back pocket of his pants and holds it up against Robin's neck. He's staring directly at Finney as he does so.

Finney's chocolate brown eyes are already brimming with tears threatening to pour down his cheeks. Within mere seconds he's begging The Grabber to let his friend go. He's sorry, Robin didn't mean it. They'll be good, he promises!

"Good, huh? You want to be a good boy for me, now?"

When Finney doesn't respond right away, Al starts to dig the blade into Robin's throat, causing a shallow cut to form. At Robin's hiss of pain, Finney's resolve crumbles. He can't just let this man hurt Robin!

"Yes! Please, mister! I-", he doesn't want to say the words, they make him feel gross, but the panicked look in Robin's eyes only spur him into finishing, "I'll be a good boy, please let him go! Please!"

Hearing those words come out of his love's mouth makes Al's grip loosen and allows the other boy in his arms to dart away. Instead of cowering somewhere, however, Robin only runs to Finney's side. He's quick to usher the smaller boy behind him, holding a hand up to his own neck to stop the slow trickle of blood. Al can see how Finney grips at the back of Robin's shirt. It makes his blood boil. That should be him. Only he's worthy enough to protect HIS precious boy.

Without another word, Al leaves shortly after. He'll have to see just how good of a boy Finney is willing to be to protect his little "boyfriend".

This single encounter only spurs on more and more incidents. After a while, Al is able to get Finney to do just about anything for him if it means that he won't harm Robin. Robin, of course, absolutely hates every second of it. It's too bad. He knows that Al is the only one in control here; all the boy can do is sit back and watch.

Robin is forced to watch as this disgusting old man touches Finney in every way that no one other than him is supposed to. He watches at first as The Grabber makes Finney sit in his lap. This then turns into Finney being made to straddle the man's lap and kiss him. The kissing turns into Al grabbing onto Finney's hips and making him grind down against his thighs or even the obvious erection beneath his pants.

At first, it's obvious that Finney hates it. The poor boy even cries for the first handful of times, struggles against The Grabber's hold, only to settle down once Robin's life gets threatened in a little too much detail. Al tells Finney to be good and do as he's told OR ELSE. The boy doesn't want to know what that means so he continues to comply.

Then, the constant humping and kissing turns into more. Al is demanding more more more from Finney every time he comes down and it makes Robin sick. He hates that he can't do anything about it. He needs to find a way to save Finney from this sick fuck. (Unbeknownst to Finney, Al also threatens Robin with the rather graphic harm that would befall him should he try to interfere with their "little game", as the man calls it.)

After a while, Finney is calling The Grabber "Al" and Robin is fucking livid. Finney doesn't even try to pretend like he hates the man's touch anymore. As the man barges in and banishes Robin to sit in the corner of the cold concrete basement, Finney practically skips right over to him. Al's arms immediately wrap around Finney's waist as he leans down to give the boy a long kiss. Robin's stomach churns in disgust.

Robin is forced then to watch as The Grabber pushes Finney down onto the dirty mattress bolted to the floor. He gropes and kisses Finney, Robin's boyfriend, wherever the hell he wants. Al's hands wander all over Finney's body, his mouth pressed into the crook of the young boy's slender neck. Finney is already moaning; Robin tries his best to block it out. That's not his Finney. Finney would never let someone like that touch him in such a way. Finney would never ACT like this.

But still, the night continues as it always does. Al strips Finney of his clothes, calling him his good boy all the while. Robin can tell that the words only make Finney feel embarrassed, happy even. Not utterly distraught and confused like they did in the beginning. Finney has started smiling at the man recently. The boy smiles as Al kisses him, smiles as the man's large fingers play with his nipples and stroke over his tiny cock. Finney smiles and whines when Al preps him with whatever lube he brought this time and then smiles even more as the man fucks him.

What the hell did this disgusting fucking pervert do to Robin's best friend? WHY is Finney just letting Al do all these things to him? When did the light vanish from his eyes?

Robin can do nothing but hold back tears as he watches and watches and watches the only person he's ever loved moan and writhe underneath a killer.

- εϊз

#Ask Response #Thanks for the Ask bestie #Crazed Ramblings #AU Agenda #NSFW/T #Blakeshaw #Alfinn #Magicspace #Lmao I hate to admit that it took me all day to answer this bc I kept getting distracted #Damn this bitch is long #Uh I never meant to write this much #Oops #Long post #I hope you guys like it though #I wrote this instead of working on my fic #Also not Beta read at all #I literally wrote this all in one go and hit post #I guess I write drabbles for AU ideas now #Is that gonna be my niche? #Proship #Profic

[french-goodbye]

To Be Alone With You

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve’s parents are never home, until they are. You learn to deal with it.

Warnings: Kissing; fingering; oral (m receiving). MINORS DNI, 18+.

Notes: This all started because I kept thinking about giving Steve head. That’s it, that was my motivation. Part of the same universe as In The Low Lamplight, but can be read as a stand alone. Also title from the Hozier song To Be Alone. MINORS DNI, 18+.

Steve’s parents are not really nice people. It’s a fact of life, kinda like how the sky is blue or the trees are green, it’s something Steve himself has come to slowly accept over time and that he’s learned he’ll never be able to change.

One of the few good things about Steve’s parents, however, is how often they travel. Especially considering Steve’s dad is a husband who can’t be trusted not to cheat on his wife, Mrs. Harrington just accompanies him everywhere. Which basically leaves Steve with a huge house all to himself and no one to reinforce the “no sleeping over rule”.

The “no sleeping over” rule was established early on in your relationship with Steve, his dad dictating that you can’t sleep over at their house, ever. Apparently he’s afraid you’ll get pregnant as if you 1) aren’t on the pill; 2) can’t fuck his son literally anywhere else, any other time of the day. Alas, you both obey the rule - at least when Steve’s parents are around.

Despite the Harrington household rule, you have gotten pretty used to breaking it and regularly stay over at their house. Some of it has to do with how obsessed you are with your boyfriend, but also with how much Steve hated it, coming home to an empty house and cooking a meal for one, only to wake up to a silent house and do it all over again, until he met you. So now, instead of coming home to a ghost house, he comes home to find you sitting pretty on his couch as you wait for him or you in the kitchen badly singing along to the songs in the radio or you haunting his bedroom even when he isn’t there.

Sometimes though, out of sheer (bad) luck, his parents will come home to stay for a while, no trips in sight. They usually only stay in Hawkins for a week before they travel again, but this time it goes on for what seems like a long time. Forget about his parents’ nagging, Steve can handle that, has handled that his whole life, what Steve can’t handle is not being around you for that long.

Of course he’s seen you since his parents got home, you went on a movie date ast Saturday, you visited him at Family Video on Monday and the two of you even snuck in some alone time on Tuesday night near Lover’s Lake in his car. So it’s not that he misses you per se, it’s that he’s so used to being in your orbit that he just misses being around you. He misses the shared showers and the cooking together and the falling asleep together. He misses the domesticity of it, of knowing that even when he’s not home, you’re still in his space.

All that being said, he manages to get by just getting glimpses of you in the meantime. Sometimes he’ll give you a ride to and from work, or you’ll sneak to Family video so you can have lunch together and he cherishes these moment like a man starved, like he haven’t been waking up and falling asleep next to you every day and night,

He’s getting through it until he realizes it’s been a whole month since his parents got home and they have absolutely no plans of leaving. That’s when he gives up on trying to at least pretend to follow his dad’s stupid rules and sneaks you in through the back door after his parents go to sleep. He’ll sneak you outside again the next morning and pretend you’ve just arrived or something, it’s not like his parents are that attentive or concerned about what he does.

You’re both giggling like teenagers by the time you slip into his bedroom, unnoticed. He’s barely locked the door behind himself and you’re all over him, pushing him into bed and climbing on top of him to kiss him silly.

“God, I’ve missed you” he says when you finally pull away, his lips red and spit wet. You start pressing kisses to his neck, like a girl starved, your hand tugging his hair to tilt his head to the right to grant you more access.

“Missed you too” you mumble against the skin of his neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there and sucking a pretty little mark at the spot where his neck meets his shoulders, next to one of his many freckles.

Your hands start to wander then, letting go of his hair to sneak down his chest and lower and lower. You’re about to slip your hand into his sweatpants when he stops you, his hand tangling with yours midway there.

“Come on, Stevie. Do you not want this?” You pull away until you’re sitting up, still straddling his hips and watching his mussed hair and red lips, a familiar heat climbing up your stomach at the sight.

“It’s not that I don’t want it” he explains, making his hair more of a mess when he runs his fingers through it.

“Then what is it?”

“My parents are totally gonna hear us”

“Their room is on the other side of the house, there’s no way they can hear us”

“I don’t think you realize how loud you can be” you huff on top of him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you serious? Why did you sneak me in then?”

“I told you… I missed my girl” he says softly, his sweetness chipping away at your annoyance over not getting laid. Just a little bit.

“You’re too sweet on me” you laugh happily, cradling his face in your hands. You lean down again and he pulls you closer by the waist to kiss you, kiss you, kiss you until you’re lost on the feeling of it again, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers in your hair and his half hard cock rubbing against you through your jeans. You’re moving before you can stop yourself, slowly grinding your hips against his when he stops you again, digging his fingers on your waist through the fabric of your top.

“Babe���”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry” you drop your head dramatically against his chest, shaking slightly on top of him when he laughs underneath you and hides his face on your neck. You can feel the warmth on his cheeks as he hugs you tightly to his chest and you gently card your fingers through his hair.

“Fine” you sigh, gently pushing him away and getting up and away from him.

“Where are you going?” He asks with a frown as you start digging through his drawers until you find one of his t-shirts you can put on.

“I’m changing” you answer as you pull off your own top and jeans. His eyes travel the length of your torso to your legs, not being particularly subtle in his staring.

“Why are you so far away?” He whines in complaint, rubbing his hands across his face.

“Because you said you don’t wanna have sex with me?” You say like a question, throwing him a confused look over the collar of the shirt you’re pulling through your head.

“I didn’t say that”

You throw your balled up clothes onto the floor next to his dresser, instantly making a mess of his otherwise organized room. He can’t even be bothered to complain about it, missing even the mess you leave in room, as you crawl towards him and balance on top of his thighs again.

“You kinda did,” you interrupt him before he can argue. “But that’s okay. I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it”

“We could make out a little bit” he suggests, his hand creeping up your now bare thigh.

And that you do, until both your lips are swollen and his neck is bruised and his hard cock is pressing against the thin material of your now wet underwear.

“We should stop” you breathe out when he’s sucking your earlobe between his teeth, hands on ass and definitely coping a feel in the meantime.

“Why?” He asks, still not stopping.

“Because I really wanna fuck you and we can’t” you complain, not exactly pulling away, but just tugging on his hair to keep his mouth on your neck.

“Wanna fuck you too. Missed feeling this pussy around my cock” he groans against your neck, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, wishing it was his cock instead.

“Okay, we’re done” you push on his chest until you’re sitting up again.

“We don’t have to stop” he complains, still gripping on your thighs to keep you on top of him.

You press a kiss to his cheek and he tries to chase after you to kiss your lips again. You push him away giggly and climb off of him, laying next to him and looking at his pretty face as he lays on his back, face turned to watch you.

“We do have to stop because you’re a tease and I have no self control”

“Fine, we’ll stop. But when my parents are gone again…”

“You’ll have me all to yourself, handsome” you assure him confidently. He presses a quick peck to your lips before you can complain again, pulling away smugly.

“It’s a deal”

“Now come on, I haven’t been sleeping well without you” you tell him, turning your back to him and tugging on his hand until his chest is pressed to your back. He tries to keep his hips away from yours, as if you weren’t literally straddling his lap seconds ago.

“You haven’t?” When you shake your head in reply, more concerned with wrapping his arm around waist, he continues. “Shit, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish you could stay here without having to sneak in like a teenager but-“

“Hey, I know. I don’t you to get in trouble because of me” you link his hand with yours and brings his knuckles to your lips.

“I really missed you” he says in a sweet and sticky voice, his face sinking in your hair.

“I missed you too”

“Goodnight, sweetheart”

“Goodnight, Stevie”

Despite the recent late nights reaching through empty cold sheets for your boyfriend who isn’t there, you can’t fall asleep. Steve’s hips are pressed against yours, his hard cock wedged between your bodies and you can feel he’s still awake too, his breathing still too quick behind you.

You take a deep breath and squirm a little as you try to get comfortable, his arms almost too tight around you. When you’re finally settled, you close your eyes and just will yourself to fall asleep, despite the uncomfortable wetness pooling in your underwear and your boyfriend’s hard cock on the curve of your ass.

Barely five minutes have passed when you feel Steve sigh loudly against the back of your neck.

“Fuck”

You huff out a laugh, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m hard” he complains, adjusting behind you and accidentally making his cock drag through your ass and both of you sigh at the feeling.

“It’s your fault”

“How’s it my fault?”

“You were the one saying we should make out”

He huffs this time, pulling you closer to him.

“Not my fault you’re irresistible” he mumbles, hiding his face between your shoulder blades.

You can’t help but laugh again, despite the sigh of pleasure that escapes you and turn your head slightly to see his big brown eyes watching you over your shoulder.

“You’re horny, pretty boy?”

He leans over you, almost squishing you to the mattress to press his face to your neck, “don’t say it like that”.

You giggle and place your hand on top of his, moving your ass against his cock deliberately, all bad intentions. You feel his breath hitch in his throat and his fingertips dig on your hips to guide your movements.

“What did you say before? How I’m too loud?”

“You are” he mumbles against your neck, biting you there almost too hard and rutting against your ass.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you when you’re telling you love the sounds I make”

“I do love the sounds you make, just not when- fuck” he groans quietly against your ear when you hold tightly to his hair.

You keep moving your hips backwards, both of you trying your hardest to keep quiet. One of his arms wrap around your body, and the other start slipping underneath his borrowed t-shirt to move teasingly through your tummy, skimming the edge of your underwear.

“Steve…” you sigh when his hand hand starts creeping lower and lower to mess with the elastic band of your underwear.

“You gotta keep quiet, pretty girl. Can you do that for me?” He whispers near you ear, his lips barely leaving your skin as he speaks.

“Yes, just please touch me” you beg, clinging to the arm holding you and digging your nails there.

His hand finally slips through your mound and finds you, soaking wet and so, so warm, his cock twitching between your ass cheeks at finding you so ready for him. He slides his fingers through the wetness in your entrance spreading it all the way to your clit and you have to hide your face in the pillow under your head to keep from moaning too loud.

“Right there?” He asks unnecessarily, because he has fucked you enough times to know by heart the way you like it, just to tease you and feel you nod against him.

“Right there, baby. Keep going” you plead quietly, moving your hips to feel his cock behind you and his whole body surrounding yours.

He swirls his fingers around and you keen underneath him, sinking your nails on the arm of the hand touching you to get him to move faster. He keeps going, rubbing small circles in your clit in a dance you’re both so familiar it’s almost painful to imagine being away from it for so long. Suddenly he stops and you whine, he shushes you and dips his fingers lower until you they catch on your entrance. You moan against the pillow when he finally slips his finger inside and his hand leaves your waist to roughly grab the inside of your thigh and spread you open.

“Fuck, you feel so good” you mumble against the pillowcase, following the movement of his finger with your hips. “Missed your fingers”

He finally slips a second finger and you jut your spine, his cock digging between your ass cheeks.

“Gonna fuck you so good when we’re alone,” he murmurs somewhere around your ear, so quietly it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “Gonna fill this pussy up the way she deserves, just the way you like it. You want that, baby?”

You nod dumbly, clenching around his fingers at his words. “Can I have another finger? I’ll be quiet, I promise”

He slips a third finger in and even if it’s not the same as his cock, you feel it stretching you open. It’s all you can think of as he fingers you, you imagine how his cock would be stretching you out in this position, how fucking full you’d feel, how he’d fill you up with his cum.

His thumb shifts to flick against your clit and that’s all you need to get there, hurling to your orgasm in a way only Steve’s ever been able to give to you. You release a particularly loud moan before you can stop yourself and Steve’s free hand’s there, quick to clamp over your mouth, his other hand still fucking you and rubbing your clit through your orgasm.

You moan loudly against his hand one more time, the sound distant and muffled before you gently touch his arm to signal him to stop. His hand slips from your underwear and from over your mouth and he fixes your panties for you as you calmly try to catch your breath, his cock still digging on your lower back.

“Oh my god” you pant, feeling a gust of air on your neck when he laughs. “You’re amazing, Steve Harrington. I can’t believe I still haven’t gotten used to that”

You turn in his arms to see his face, his wet hand digging on the knobs of your spine. He’s still laughing, almost smugly so.

“You wouldn’t say I’m amazing if you ever saw yourself cum”

You’re giggly as you slip off your underwear, now sticky and wet against you and climb on top of him. You pick up his hand and bring his still wet fingers to your mouth to suck on them, tasting yourself on his skin. His eyes darken almost instantly, watching you avidly as you suck it and pull away with a wet lewd sound.

He’s pulling you in before you can tease him or say anything, his hand cradling your face in his hands, his spit wet fingers on your cheek as he kisses you deeply, tasting you on his tongue. You pull away when you notice he’s getting too into it, his hips jerking underneath you, rippling off his t-shirt.

“Babe, we can’t fuck. They’ll-“

“Yeah, yeah…” you wave him off, now proceeding to get rid of his sweatpants and underwear all in one go, his cock bouncing up and hitting his belly button. You eye it sinfully, almost drooling in your desire to get your mouth on him. “We’re not fucking. I’m gonna go down on you and you’re gonna be quiet for me, is that okay with you?”

“Babe-“

“You never let me go down on you” you complain with a whine, resting your hands on your own thighs.

“Because I always blow my load like a teenager when you blow me and it’s fucking embarrassing” he complains, gripping your hips and pulling you until you’re laying on top of him.

“Well, I think it’s hot” you pout, resting your hand on his cheek and giving him a lingering kiss. “Let me go down you,” you kiss him one more time, “please, handsome?”

“Fine” he sighs dramatically, like you’re ask him a huge favor.

“You know, a lot of guys would die for a girl who likes to blow them” You complain matter-of-factly, sliding down his body to straddle his thighs as his cock prods your stomach.

“Well, I like it a little too much” he answer shakily, as you press open mouthed kisses to his chest, his ribs, the spot above his bellybutton. His hands rest in your head, to pet your head lovingly and you manage to find it in you to forgive him.

“You look so hot like this” you comment against the skin of his hip, sucking a mark there and thumbing it gently. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good”

“Jesus, just… go slow okay? It’s been a while” he stammers, still petting your hair softly. You glance at him skeptically, raising your eyebrows.

“You’re telling me you didn’t jerk off once this whole time? We were literally on the phone the other day-”

“I didn’t say that…”

You snort and spit on your palm, getting it wet and watching the pre cum pooling at the slit of his cock. “You’re so full of shit”

“Hey-“ he cuts himself off with a groan when you lick the pearly liquid on his tip, one of your hands wrapping around the base to jerk him off slowly.

His fingers tighten their grip on your hair as you lick around around his tip and continue to move your hands around him, reaching his base and going all the way up again. Your free hand rubs against his upper thigh, occasionally scratching him lovingly.

You spit on it and lick along his length, following a vein back to his tip, trying to him as wet as you can, just the way he likes it.

“Fuck” he pants when you finally take him into your mouth, widening your lips so you can reach the middle of his cock as you work the rest of him with your hand. You gulp around him, breathing through your nose as you progressively take more of him, working your way up his cock so you can reach his base with your mouth.

You’re starting to get into the rhythm of it, the way his cock feels in your mouth and the slightly salty taste when he gently pulls a strand of your hair to catch your attention.

“H-hey, slow down or I’m gonna cum” he warns.

You pull away from his cock heaving, still stroking him in your hands slowly. “Isn’t that the point?”

“Wanna enjoy this” his hand finds your cheek, rubbing the skin with his thumb and you press a kiss to his palm. The gesture’s almost too soft for the moment, but it’s always been like this with him.

“Whatever you say, handsome” you agree, pressing a single kiss to his tip. Your hand still stroking him slowly as you lean down to press kisses to his thigh and suck another mark there.

You keep jerking him off as your free hand slides down to fondle his balls and you spit on them too, for good mesure. You finally suck one of this balls into your mouth, your hand still massaging the other one.

He groans loudly above you and you pull away with a muffled moan of your own, reluctantly pulling away.

“Remember what we talked about, handsome?” you remind him, stroking him torturously slow now. He nods absent-mindedly, eyes still focused on the movement of your hand. “You have to be quiet or I’ll stop”

“Baby, please don’t stop, please” he begs, his hand gripping your head to keep you close to him.

“Don’t be loud and I won’t” you promise.

“I promise, I promise”

You go back to sucking on his balls and his hand meets yours where it rests on his hip, squeezing your fingers tightly between his. He looks like a mess above you, hair sticking to all side from running his hands through it, cheeks red and his eyes so sharply focused on you it’d embarrass you if you hadn’t done this before.

You lick around his tip one more time, sinking your mouth to the middle of his cock and working the rest of him with your hand until you finally manage to reach the base of his cock, the trimmed hair surrounding the base tickling your face.

He releases a muffled groan above you and glance up to see he’s biting his fist. His eyes meet yours and his hand finally forces you to gag around his length, a moan of your own leaving your throat.

It doesn’t take long for him to come after that, between gasps and muffled moans and random babbling, he warns you he’s gonna come and you keep your mouth around him, gagging around him until you feel his cum shoot into your throat, salty and not particularly good but so Steve, you swallow it eagerly.

You keep your mouth around him until he’s too sensitive and pulling you away by the arm almost roughly. You let him and he guides you to lay on top of him, kissing you forcefully.

He tastes himself in your mouth and you both groan at the feeling. He keeps kissing, kissing, kissing you until you’re breathless and pliant on top of him and he’s all loose limbs underneath you.

“I’m never going that long without seeing you ever again” he pants, his fingers massaging your scalp where your head rests on his chest.

You huff a breathless laugh as you draw nonsense shapes on his skin, “no complaints from me.”

“Good, you’re totally staying over tomorrow night” he decides, still relaxed underneath you.

“We can try your shower,” you point at the closed door of the bathroom connected to his room. “They’ll definitely not gonna be able to hear over the running water”

He freezes beneath you for a second, and then he starts laughing. “Can’t believe we didn’t think of that until now”

“Add that to list” you mumble tiredly against his chest, finally slipping into the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #i wrote this instead of working on my thesis 😃 #mine

[meebles]

Obi-Wan knows he’s being rather old-fashioned about this.

Cody Fett is his own man, and he certainly doesn’t need his father’s permission to get married. But Obi-Wan figures it’s still the courteous thing, to at least make his intentions known before he proposes.

After Obi-Wan tells Jango as much, the man stares at him silently for an unnerving amount of time, before he sighs.

“You don’t need my blessing, if that’s what you’re asking… it’s the rest of them you need to worry about.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “The rest of them?”

—

“So,” Fox starts, sitting down on the chair across from him. “You think you’re good enough to marry my brother?”

“Fox, please,” Obi-Wan says, pained. “You know me. I’ve been dating Cody for years. Is this all really necessary?”

Fox just raises a brow. “I hope you cleared your schedule. You’re going to be here awhile.”

Obi-Wan looks to the door, behind which he knows the rest of Cody’s brothers are waiting. All nineteen of them.

He turns back to Fox, who takes that as his cue to fully launch into what’s likely meant to be a speech, but feels more like an interrogation.

Obi-Wan bites back a groan. For Cody, even this particular brand of torture is worth it.

#codywan #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #modern au #meebles writes #pls don't take this seriously #my brother just proposed to his gf so it inspired this goofy little ficlet #that i wrote last night instead of working on my actual fics oopsie

[stevethehairington]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if you didn’t take me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s going to go with this man.

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

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is unmistakable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[polaroidcats]

Ugly crying & the marauders generation - a pseudo-scientific approach (my marauders crying PhD abstract)

Abstract

In recent days, there have been a variety of claims as to who the prettiest and ugliest crier in the marauders generation could be. This paper aims to address the recent surge in opinions on the matter, and categorize different approaches as well as add a new approach to the scientific examination of ugliness/prettiness when it comes to crying. I hope to provide readers with an overview of the current state of research and encourage all marauders scholars to add their own and I intend to make a contribution to the discourse by committing to the bit and writing a pseudo-academic paper about it instead of actually working on my thesis.

Introduction

In the following paper, the discourse about 5 marauders era characters will be examined in regards to their various levels of perceived ugliness whilst crying. Scholars who may ask why Peter [Pettigrew] is not included in this analysis are advised to refer to acclaimed marauders ugly crying scholar @lynxindisguise's (2023) original poll on the popular blogging website "tumblr.com" which did not include Peter, but rather two non-marauders characters named Lily and Regulus. This paper will follow that approach, since Peter is the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met, I do not trust him and he is a fugly slut. The characters included in this approach are as follows: James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Regulus Black.

Following the scientific criteria for ugly crying, as stated by lynxindisguise et. al (2023), the question of the ugliest crier can be answered by observing the crying person and assessing their ugly-levels on the following parameters: (1) unbecoming facial expressions, (2) facial swelling/blotching, (3) unsettling noises, (4) snot factor, (5) tear volume, (6) general loss of dignity, (7) glistening eyes/lashes, (8) Victorian heroine factor, (9) elegant tear-wiping, (10) post-cry glow (ibid).

Criteria (1)-(6) can be categorized as the ugly crying parameters whereas (7)-(10) are pretty crying parameters, creating a false binary between ugly and pretty crying, which may be problematised and addressed in another the paper. In contrast to lynxindisguise’s original 10 criteria to measure the aesthetics of crying, this paper proposes to add (11) explosiveness of cry as another ugly crying parameter, in order to get a more clear assessment of where on the ugly-pretty crying scale a character falls.

The ugly crying parameters

(1) Unbecoming facial expressions

James Potter is mentioned in this category by several marauders scholars: @jaylienpotter talks about his red face and ugly sobbing, @artbyace mentions his “scrunched up cry face” and @sectoren claimes “james (…) is that one handsome guy that when the waterworks get going becomes like. Cartoonishly ugly”, raising the question of upkeeping toxic masculinity in order to avoid having to witness more of James Potter’s crying “mug”.

Though James Potter features heavily in this category, another character who is also mentioned just as often is Remus Lupin: @kaaaaaaarf, @appreciatedmoron and @http-starboy all emphasise that Remus Lupin is the one with a red and blotchy face.

(2) facial swelling/blotching

While there is a definitive overlap between the categories of facial swelling/blotching, unbecoming facial expressions and snot factor, Sirius’ and Regulus’ victorian heroine complexions, which give them an advantage in the homonymous category, may be to their disadvantage in the “blotching” category. This will require further research by other scholars.

(3) unsettling noises

James Potter is mentioned in this category by Jaylienpotter (2023), claiming he not only hiccups when crying but also that “his cries are one of the most heartbreaking things you’ll ever hear” and similarly, artbyace states that “James loves and feels so loudly”, whereas “Sirius is silent”, both sentiments are reminiscent of znelda’s (2023) statements that James “was allowed to feel his emotions freely in a loving household” and “Sirius (…) [is] used to hide [his] feelings and [has] become stoic”.

With several other scholars, among them also @jamesunderwater (2023) raising the point that James may be the ugliest crier due to him being “the only one well adjusted enough to have access to his feelings” this raises the question of possibly introducing another category, maybe of emotional awareness/stability to be able to measure this parameter more efficiently, though emotional vulnerability may also just be a part of the unsettling noises parameter, suggesting that there is a correlation between noisiness and the existing environment being welcoming to and accepting of various expressions of emotions.

(4) snot factor

The most popular winner in the snot factor category seems to be Remus Lupin, with several scholars agreeing that his sobs are the dampest and snottiest out of all the candidates. kaaaaaaarf (2023) writes “he turnes all red and blochty and snot drips out of his nose (…) he cant (sic) not cry with his mouth open as well so there is a lot of spit”, and appreciatedmoron (2023) agrees with kaaaaaaarf on this.

It only seems right to me to include spit in the snot category as well, seeing as they’re both crying-related bodily fluids that add to the ugly-cry factor. http-starboy (2023) also mentions snot in regards to Remus Lupin, which compared to both their comments in (1) opens up the question of how unbecoming facial expressions, more particularly redness of the face and snot factor may be related, as several authors seem to write about both specifically in relation to each other. Whether this is just pure coincidence or not would need further research, for which we currently do not have enough funding. This is only one of the many research gaps in the relatively new field of marauder’s ugly crying studies, which cannot fully be addressed in this paper.

James Potter is also mentioned in the snot category, namely by the marauders scholar artbyace (2023).

(5) tear volume

Artbyace (2023) claims James Potter is “full on bawling” which can only be assumed to refer to tear volume, but the most convincing argument for tear volume comes from the acclaimed marauders scholar @fruityindividual (2023), stating that “tsunami warning tones go off in sirius’ brain anytime remus is close 2 (sic) tears” which already indicates high levels of tear volumes. The author then goes on to specify the volume by claiming that “indeed the ocean wishes rj lupin would jump in and help contribute 2 (sic) rising sea levels”, further emphasizing the volume of Remus's tears.

(6) general loss of dignity

@pastaplatypus (2023) writes about James Potter not being able to do a Melodramatic Bollywood Cry, which is perceived as inherently racist by the crier.

I would like to argue that Sirius Black also deserves to be mentioned in this category. While as of today, with less than 1 hour left to vote, 15.5% of voters agree that Sirius is the ugliest crier, the more outspoken voices all argue for different ugly criers. Due to their upbringing, I am tempted to name both Black brothers in the “loss of dignity” category and look forward to reading future contributions to this discussion.

The pretty crying parameters

(7) glistening eyes/lashes

Undoubtedly Sirius Black deserves to be mentioned in this category. I believe his dark lashes and glimmering eyes are part of what makes him the prettiest crier. Whereas Remus’s eyes also sometimes glisten or appear red, and it is usually attributed to be caused by drug consumption, which more often than not is a wrong assumption, but he happily goes along with the pretense of being a weed-smoking bad boy in order to hide his ugly crying damp tendencies.

(8) Victorian heroine factor

It almost seems superfluous to even mention Sirius (and, to a lesser degree, Regulus) Black in this category. This category was made for Sirius, as is apparent when reading lynxindisguises (2023) description of the victorian heroine factor, in response to a question by the scholar @plecotusauritus:

“the Victorian Heroine Factor is a deeply scientific assessment of the Vibes. Is this person giving tragically beautiful, windswept Victorian Heroine, sobbing gently into their hands while sprawled across a boulder or a well or a fountain of some sort? When they look up at you, do their tear-plumped lips part elegantly as a single tear slides down their cheek?”

(9) elegant tear-wiping

There hasn't been a lot of research in this area, but I would like to propose handkerchiefs with embroidered initials and family crests as another potential factor in favor of the Black brothers scoring high marks in this category as well as the Victorian heroine factor.

(10) post-cry glow

Artbyace (2023) claims “lily is always beautiful (…) even when crying”, which is echoed by znelda’s (2023) earlier claim that “Lily (…) [is] a woman and no woman is ugly when crying.”

Sirius is the other popular choice by marauders scholars for this category, with @in-flvx (2023) stating that he “handsomely handsomes while dying after 12 years of torture hell and another year in shackles”, which would mean that “a few tears would[n’t] stop him from being the hottest person in the room at all times” (ibid).

Additional parameters

I am suggesting to introduce an additional metric in order to further specify and better assess the ugly-crying levels:

(11) explosiveness of cry

@felixantares (2023) introduces the idea that Remus “is the type that very few people have been seen cry because he ignores every difficult emotion hes (sic) ever had (…) and it all explodes at once and its horrible to watch when he breaks down”, a sentiment shared by several of the other authors mentioned above in various other categories.

Further opinions & conclusions

The most popular consensus seems to be that Sirius cannot be the ugliest crier, sometimes also in direct comparison to his brother: @spindrifters (2023) answers the question of the ugliest crier with “obviously it’s regulus”, elaborating that “at least [it’s] definitely not sirius bc (sic) reg is canonically less handsome in all ways” which brings up the question if regular beauty plays into ugly crying. This is contrasted by lynxindisguises argument, that Sirius may be an ugly crier because he’s so gorgeous, and his ugly crying subverts the expectations of beauty:

“the most beautiful man alive looks hideous while crying, and his deeply awkward and perpetually damp bf (sic) is literally in his element while crying – dampness becomes him, you might say.”

This statement raises yet another question – does regular crying make the crier more or less ugly? Can an ugly crier become a pretty crier by practice or are we all born either ugly or pretty criers, condemned to this fate for life?

While this paper has given an overview of the current state of research to ugly crying/pretty crying, it has also raised many more questions. Other topics which may be addressed in future papers also include the philosophical question whether ugly crying is in the eye of the beholder and if it is possible to ugly cry without being perceived, and if it is possible to ugly cry if the person perceiving you doesn’t find it ugly. Since the research field of ugly crying is a relatively new one, we can only hope to read many more opinions on these and other topics in the future, and I look forward to reading different scholar’s approaches to these highly relevant topics.

#marauders #idek what to tag this as lol #i don't write fic i only write pseudo scientific papers on fandom analysis (apparently) lol i had so much fun writing this #even if just 1 person reads it i'll be happy i know it's ridiculous #scientific analysis of ugly crying #akso i tried to tag everyone i mentioned to make it feel more like i'm actually quoting them (which i am) but if anyone doesn't want to be #tagged in this lmk and i'll remove it haha #anyways okay i'll post it now #this is what happens when i go on tumblr during work hours and then keep thinking about how much more fun editing papers would be if they #were about the marauders instead of the things i have to read/edit at work #hp #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #regulus black #(this thing has almost 2k words and i wrote it in 2-3hours) #idek what that says about me #that this is how i chose to spend my tuesday evening #but i love it

[pointycorgiears]

Crocodile was on the outer balcony, watching the dark waves. It was a moonless night and thousands of stars littered the sky. He gave a puff of his cigar and gazed out on the horizon. Shark Rock, a tiny island off the coast of Karai Bari, was a black silhouette against the starlight. It was given that name because of the tall dolomite that jutted out the middle, resembling a shark's dorsal fin. There was a scout ship milling about it.

It was quiet. Just the soft tumbling of the breakers and Mihawk's shuffling books around the shelves inside to keep him company. Buggy was already passed out somewhere. No Marines, no rival pirate crews, no activity whatsoever. It was peaceful.

He took one more drag of his cigar. As he turned to go inside, something caught his eye.

He looked at Shark Rock. The orange lights of the scout ship seemed higher than they should be. He blinked to clear his eyes, thinking it was a trick of the darkness. But no...the lights hovered above the water...all three of them.

"Huh..."

He watched them for a moment, squinting to focus. Maybe a rogue wave had lifted the boat upwards? That idea was shot down as soon as the lights rose higher....and higher, far past the shoreline of the rock. And they kept going.

And then they moved.

They changed their position, spinning around each other while simultaneously rising, until they were at the tip of the shark fin. The arranged themselves, by some force of their own, into a triangle pattern, hovering over the rock.

"Mihawk..." Crocodile quietly called out to his partner. The other didn't hear him. And he was too transfixed to look to see what the swordsman was doing.

The lights grew brighter.

"Mihawk..."

The lights became so bright that they began illuminating the rock...and then they illuminated something else. Something metallic-like, nestled in between them as if they were attached to it. Triangular, silver, and solid. A light shot from the middle of the thing directly onto the shark fin. As bright as a pillar of light from God himself.

"Mihawk!" His voice was now strained, and he didn't know why. The air on his arms stood up. His hand trembled his cigar. And he didn't know why.

"Yes?" Mihawk answered from inside and began walking to the balcony.

The lights pulsed, flashed, and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Shark Rock was dark again.

Mihawk finally appeared on the balcony. "What is it, Crocodile?"

Crocodile tried to find his words and choked. "Uh...nothing. I just...I thought I saw something."

****

[[About a week later...]]

The beach was nice and moonlit. The palm trees swayed overhead, their fronds dark and gentle in the wind. Crocodile liked to smoke on nights like this. The moon cast a caressing glow over the whole island and it soothed away the hectic moments of the day.

He walked to the edge of the trees, looking across the beach to the water. The waves rolled calm and easy. He took one final drag and blew the smoke through his nose. He bent down to crush the embers of the cigar in the sand. Some flitted along the ground and burnt out. One caught the breeze and flew up past his eye before simmering into nothing. Crocodile turned away to head back through the trees.

The little ember appeared in the corner of his vision. He tilted his head to make sure it went out.

Then froze.

Oh no.

Three lights glowed an eerie orange further down the beach. His gaze was stuck. He could not look away from the three orbs hovering several feet above the sand, casting their luminance on the beach. He paused and waited in the trees.

What are these things? he thought. He never expected to see anything like this again. He stared at them from his hiding spot in the treeline. They could be a threat to Cross Guild. As he observed, he noticed a black shape between the lights, connecting them together into one form just like the first time he saw them. It was slender and narrow. It looked like a cake platter and cover. The lights glowed on the underside, arranged in a triangular pattern. He was fixated on it.

Then the beam shot down from its belly, just like it had on Shark Rock, only this time it hit the sand a few feet below it. Crocodile narrowed his eyes. Something moved behind the light pillar. He blinked again, and there was a humanoid form with long arms and legs. It looked…off. Like parts of it were transparent or made of a mirror.

Crocodile froze. Every hair on his body became alert. It felt like the wind was knocked out of him and he almost gasped for air. Instead he made a quiet inhale of breath in fear of drawing the thing's attention.

The fear.

Crocodile was a veteran as far as battles were concerned. He faced Marines, pirates, Whitebeard, all head on. He was never afraid. He could not be shaken. The thing moved its glittering head.

He was afraid. And he didn't know where the fear was coming from.

He was thankful he was in the dark shadows of the trees. The head moved again, turning, and two black, soulless eyes were suddenly looking in his direction. Crocodile instinctively dropped into a pile of sand next to the tree stumps. He dared not move a single grain on the ground.

The thing turned away. One of its long arms reached down to where the water curled on the beach and scooped some of it up into some kind of vial. Then it shimmered and dissipated into the light beam. The light disappeared, and the orange orbs and black mass began floating out toward the ocean, slowly, and was eventually far enough out to sea that the lights could have been ordinary stars on the horizon. They vanished into the night.

Crocodile crawled as a sand pile all the way back to his tent.

****

Dinner was quiet. Crocodile did his best to keep his fork from rattling in his hand and his hook from carving holes in the table. Mihawk asked him what's wrong. Crocodile couldn't answer. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. Buggy was staring at him to. He drank a little bit more than usual that night. Buggy bumped into him in the hall as they prepared for bed.

"You ok?" he asked. There was something in the clown's eyes. Crocodile nodded.

"Did you see the lights too?" Buggy asked, deadpan.

Crocodile stuttered and his voice cracked. "W-What?"

****

Mihawk had forgotten the book he was reading in the common room of the main tent. He went down the hall that connected the living tents to the main tent, walking brisk and silent with barefeet. He trotted up the stairs intending to retrieve it and go back to bed, but he found something unexpected that made him take pause.

Crocodile and Buggy were still there, talking excitedly about something on the sofa. He peeked from the top steps. They were dressed in their night clothes and Mihawk wondered what was so important that it was stalling them from going to their quarters to sleep. He walked up the last steps. "Why are you two still here?"

"AAAAAHHHHAAIIIIEEEEHHH!"

Mihawk was taken aback. Both Buggy and Crocodile had just screamed, at him.

Buggy's eyes were wide as he was pressed against Crocodile's chest, a knife gripped his hand pointed at Mihwk. Crocodile's hook was also raised in his direction in a defensive stance.

Mihawk lifted a brow. "Are you in distress?"

"We can't go to sleep!" Buggy exclaimed."

And why is that?"

"Because they'll come for us!"

"Who, exactly?"

"The Star People!" Buggy exclaimed and Crocodile silently nodded. His eyes were bloodshot.

Mihawk was now concerned. "What are you idiots talking about?"

****

Mihawk never should have asked. He never should have indulged them. Because then, maybe he could be sleeping snug and comfortable in his room right now. Instead, he had to hear a mad rant from Buggy about the "Star People" and how they were flying around at night in invisible vessels, and they got into people's heads to hear their thoughts, and how Gol D. Roger had seen them once, and how Roger had told Buggy to beware of them, and how they somehow lived among the stars, and...

Mihawk didn't really remember the rest. He stopped listening after awhile. All he knew was that Buggy, and somehow Crocodile, had convinced him that they were suddenly incapable of sleeping tonight because they needed to be on guard and they wanted Mihawk to stay with them in the common room all night. Because he was the most powerful, they reasoned. He could protect them.

While it was flattering that his crewmates thought so highly of him, he had a slight issue when it meant he was going to be protecting them from ghosts and fairytales like a couple of scared children.

Actually, Buggy and Crocodile were terrified. Of what exactly, Mihawk did not know. Crocodile was not easy to scare, so it had to have been something serious. All he knew was that both of them saw something to put them in this state, and it was his duty as the only currently sound mind of the leadership to care for them and be on guard. Cross Guild couldn't afford to be vulnerable. If that meant sleeping in the common room with them, then so be it.

So here he was, bringing some blankets and pillows from his quarters for himself to sleep on. He reached the top of the stairs and walked in the room. Buggy was in a reclining chair with a blanket over him and a very large lion plush toy caught in his death grip. Crocodile was laid out on the sofa, draped by blankets and his coat. Both of them seemed to be settling down at least, finally.

Buggy caught sight of him from the chair. "Did you bring Yoru?"

Mihawk raised the sword with his hand, making sure the blade was displayed sharp and intimidating in the low light.

"Good," Mihawk heard Crocodile mumble from under his coat.

Mihawk sighed. He set his blankets and pillows on the floor between the sofa and chair, arranging them so he would be comfortable. As he began to lay down, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Mihawk stood, taking Yoru with him to the landing.

Daz Bones met him there in the dark. He looked at Mihawk curiously. "I was doing a security check. I thought some children had snuck in here. It sounded like little girls screaming."

Mihawk sighed. "Do not worry. I will handle any children that need attending to."

Buggy yelled from his chair to see what was going on and if they should put the foil on their heads and start running. Luckily, Daz caught on to Mihawk's exasperation.

"I see. Goodnight, Sir."

Daz left and Mihawk returned to his luxurious bed on the floor. He laid down, Yoru dutifully lying next to him within arm's reach. Just in case there were any...intruders, or something.

🛸🛸🛸

#Long post #short story #cross guild #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy the clown #daz bones #one piece #This just kinda happened. Instead of working on my other fic I wrote this lol #The first part is based on my dad's ufo sighting #I grew up in a very active area. Lots of weird lights in the skies #I just wanted to torment Croc a little bit #Yes I know there are Space Pirates. But this not about them. Spooky.

[crossbackpoke-check]

it’s all the rest of what i want with you

connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k

Summary:

“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”

“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.

in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!

#OFFICIAL FIC ANNOUNCEMENT 🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️ i wish i had pretty fic graphics but alas i have No Skill and also. so much work i should be doing bu #HI SHE’S HERE i would love to say this is a complete surprise drop except i have Anxiety & i needed to ask you guys about it beforehand #in my defense i started writing this in like. january far before any tragedy occurred #because square asked about my tags on their dewey2 art and she spawned like. a million more thoughts about it #including the part where i got absolutely kicked in the face with the lightning vision of those two lines. #like those two lines are the first actual lines of the fic i wrote ajdhkwdiowdjiw ANYWAY please be nice to me i know i am always like #‘this is not the first real fic i ever thought i’d post’ and if i had a nickel i’d have three but this is the first pwp i’ve ever posted #and it’s 8k and it’s not a fic for an exchange (although technically i did very much write this for the dewey^2 hivemind so.) #i have SO many things to say i have so many comments on this doc also i couldn’t pick a title for the LONGEST time and i finally decided on #this one but the full quote was too long: #all the rest of what i want with you that scares me shitless #so. i was angling SO hard to make a yung gravy lyric as a title bc i saw the video of him at a wild game but i couldn’t find a good one #and instead y’all got a very sentimental title l m a o. #liv in the replies #shout out to the extended universe this lives in and also my unhinged comments in the docs. #if you liked fun fuck a baby in him friday i’ll be here all week i promise i am the exact same in the comments as i am in the tags 🫡 #the NUMBER of times i wrote something in this by pulling it out of my ass and then actually went back and did the research & was RIGHT is. #far too high. also the amount of coincidental things that dropped while i was writing this (yung gravy song about pregnancy AFTER i wheeze #laughed myself into a yung gravy title the athletic player poll confirming my restaurant & bar choices from googling ‘st. paul good bars’…) #also if anybody got advice on formatting for these little announcements. help. this is different from my miro/luka one &i’m still not happy

[allfortzu]

everything, everywhere

-- sana / tzuyu. 2.36k, fluff // MEN DNI.

sana and tzuyu find their way. in every universe, in every life.

one cool night of mid-april spring, sana lays a cheek on her palm and watches tzuyu work. 

they're meant to be studying for their final exams, but sana is easily distracted, and the thought of something final makes sana a little sentimental. 

quiet nights have always been this way – of her and tzuyu working at the only table in their dorm, because the other was dismantled and turned into a temporary makeshift enclosure for two dogs tzuyu impulsively fostered. 

tzuyu promised not to get attached, but now the dogs have names and sana is in charge of feeding them every wednesday morning. 

kaya and butter yip happily from behind what was once tzuyu’s table top. 

sana sighs melancholically, her entire body slumping. 

life is good now, but for how long more?

"can i ask you a question?" 

tzuyu glances up from her notes. “what’s wrong?”

“will you go back to taiwan after graduation?” sana asks. 

tzuyu doesn’t say anything immediately – it’s not like she enjoys entertaining the thought of it either. 

“maybe. you?” 

sana shrugs. “i don’t know. i think i might miss all of this too much.” 

tzuyu tilts her head sideways.  “all of this?” 

their dorm was standard at best. small, quaint, and unassuming. there really wasn’t much to lose. honestly, life would be much more comfortable if they were back home with their families. 

“yeah, like kaya and butter,” sana says. 

then, after what might’ve been a moment of hesitation: “and you.”

it comes as a surprise; not because tzuyu didn’t think she took up that big of a part in sana’s life, but rather she had never even thought about the possibility of not being in sana’s life at all. 

tzuyu wants to console sana with solutions, but sana’s right. 

after this, they wouldn’t need to live in a dorm together anymore, and if not both, one of them would leave korea completely. sana to japan, tzuyu to taiwan. perhaps they could visit each other, but they both knew that was wishful thinking.

it would only be natural to move on. 

this time, tzuyu sighs. “i’d miss you, too.” 

she’ll miss the routine they’ve found themselves falling into after three years of rooming, she’ll miss the miso soup sana makes for her birthday, because seaweed soup was always too hard to make without a kitchen. she’ll miss sana in her bed, clutched on tight during rainy nights when the thunder was too loud for comfort. 

ah, i haven't even confessed to her yet. 

sana doesn’t say anything. it’s as if this truly is the end, and they’re both trying to imagine a life without one another. 

or trying to imagine a life where everything works out; where sana has tzuyu, and tzuyu has sana.

“do you think we’re best friends in every universe?” sana asks. 

another universe, one where we never stop being best friends. 

in this universe, sana and tzuyu are best friends. 

at the end of the year, they’ll graduate, and what lies ahead is uncertainty. 

in another universe, sana and tzuyu are older, but they don’t know each other yet. 

tzuyu is a barista, and sana has recently moved into the area. 

it's the coffee shop closest to her apartment, and also the only one that offers free pup cups with every order of a drink. perfect for sana and her shiba inu. 

the cafe door swings open with a gentle ding, and sana peeks her head in. 

"good morning," a girl behind the counter greets, waving an arm. 

she's tall, pretty, and has caramel brown hair. there's no one else in the cafe yet, but maybe because it's just opened. 

"hi!" sana waves back, dog leash still in hand. "i heard dogs are allowed?" 

the barista's face lits up fully, and she leans over the countertop to get a better view. sana's shiba inu peeks a snout in as well, and the barista squeaks.  

"yes! dogs are welcomed!" she chirps, quickly rounding from her spot to join sana at the entrance. 

"baby!" she says and squats down. "are they a she or he!"

the enthusiasm and eagerness is so contagious, sana really can't help but grin, both with pride and plain endearment. "a she. her name is pomu!"

"awww, pomu!" the barista coos, patting pomu lightly in between her ears. pomu wags her tail happily, tilting her head upwards for more scratches.

sana giggles at the scene, and she doesn't mean to, but it snaps the barrista out of her one-track-dog-lover-mind momentarily. 

"ah," she says sheepishly, rubbing at her neck. "sorry, i didn't introduce myself." 

maybe this barista isn't as well-versed with humans than with dogs. 

"my name is tzuyu," she continues, suddenly awkward. what an adorable name. "you have a really cute dog."

sana has never let a little awkwardness get in the way of a pretty girl, though. 

"thank you, you're cute too!" sana giggles. "i'm sana, i'm new around here."

the casual comment makes tzuyu laugh shyly, a light pink tinting her cheeks in a way sana loves. "always nice to see a new face." then, glancing at pomu. "and a new dog." 

she leads sana back to the counter after, returning to her place behind it. "what can i get for you today?" 

sana scans the menu, and besides the usual americano or expresso, she doesn't really know what anything else is. "do you have anything sweet?" 

tzuyu muses, tilting her head slightly. "not yet, but i've been experimenting on a new strawberry rose latte."

sana's ears perk up at the mention of strawberries and roses. "what's a latte?" 

"it's just coffee and milk. not very strong, i think you'd like it." tzuyu smiles. "and if you're up for it, you can try the strawberry rose one. free of charge, of course." 

"trying it on a test subject before you debut it?" sana jokes. 

tzuyu shrugs, playing along. "think of it as… a pre-release trial?" 

"hm," sana hums. "when you put it that way, how could i turn it down?"

tzuyu grins. "one strawberry rose latte, for the lady with the cute dog. and a pup cup!" 

"way to make a girl feel special," sana chides playfully, huffing. tzuyu simply chuckles at the jab. 

and so it goes. 

sana is the first to try tzuyu's new strawberry rose latte, and the first at tzuyu's coffee shop every morning after. 

tzuyu names it the pomu special, and it's a limited edition feature for her valentines day menu. 

sana gets unlimited access to it, though. of course she does.

tzuyu finds that she does play favourites when it comes to customers, but doesn't care because it's sana. 

sana tries all of tzuyu's drinks, "pre-released", as tzuyu puts it, and their future is full of new beginnings. 

they'll be best friends, soon enough. 

maybe more.

in another, sana and tzuyu have known each other for years, but no one can know. 

"i've missed you," sana murmurs, wrapping her arms around tzuyu's neck to pull her close. 

she just wants to hug the person she's been wanting to hug all day, but tzuyu stands stiff, back taut and tilting her chin away from sana. "sana, not now." 

"but we're in private now," sana pouts. 

nonetheless, even if she hates it, she still unravels her arms and slides her hands reluctantly off. she doesn't let go completely, though, catching the lapels of tzuyu's blazer between her thumb and fingers. 

tzuyu sighs, covering sana's hands with her own, touch as loving as always, but there’s still a certain hesitancy. "i have to check the room first – give me a second?" 

in this world, sana is the only daughter of the famed minatozaki clan, and tzuyu the first-in-line for the inheritance of the chou group. 

if anyone knew they were together, snuck away from one of many business galas, it would be the end of their family's reputations as a whole. 

"one kiss?" sana pleads, brows knit and eyes round, looking up at tzuyu innocently. 

"we’ll check first, then a kiss," tzuyu says sternly, but the gentle finger she rubs in between sana's frown is anything but. 

sana huffs, but ultimately relents. "one check." 

tzuyu smiles, nodding; an action that's come to be a staple in a relationship. tzuyu accompanies it with a subtle scrunch of her nose, eyes curving slightly, and it's enough to tell sana that she's thinking of her when they can't tell each other in public. 

not that tzuyu isn't always thinking about sana, but when she does that, it means she's thinking of her. 

thinking of kissing her, thinking of doing all the things sana wants to do. 

thinking of sana, truly, in the sense of a lover thinking of her muse. 

and a sweep tzuyu does, quick but thorough. until she's satisfied that they're safe, and she lets herself let go completely, giving a patient sana the permission to jump into her arms finally. 

tzuyu embraces sana fully, wholly, all their love encompassed into a single moment – one where they are completely each other's and nothing else. 

"i missed you," sana says again, but this time softer, voice muffled in the crook of tzuyu's neck as her shoulders rise with her tightened hold. 

they're familiar words, said almost everyday. some might say it takes away from the significance, but sana has never cared about significance – what mattered besides missing tzuyu's touch every second of the day and telling her as it is? 

tzuyu squeezes back, places a gentle kiss on the crown of sana's head. "kisses?" 

"please." sana tilts her chin up, lets her eyes flutter close.

dutifully, tzuyu plants another kiss on sana's lips, a proper kiss. 

the weight of the world is lifted off their shoulders, and then it's just them; sana and tzuyu, tzuyu and sana. 

sana tugs at tzuyu’s blazer until it’s finally slipped off, hands roaming eagerly and freely, savouring the few moments they have away from prying eyes. tzuyu presses closer in earnest, palm on the small of her back, gentle. 

she hums into sana’s lips, a soft purr that sounds from the back of her throat and comes out in contented waves, flowing right into sana. 

it’s so unlike tzuyu as she is in public, but so completely like the tzuyu sana knows behind doors. 

i hope we exist in another life – one without all the stupid things in this one.

their lips part for a moment, but sana finds tzuyu again. 

no titles, no fleeting touches. 

tzuyu lets herself enjoy the comfort of sana in her arms, of her in sana's arms. 

no pretending we’re not everything more than that. 

in this universe, sana and tzuyu have all of each other, even if they’re the only ones who know. 

somewhere else, sana and tzuyu lay in bed, foreheads pressed against each other. 

they speak in hushed tones, legs tangled up beneath the sheets, sharing the warmth. 

tzuyu says something, rubs her nose on sana's, and sana giggles. it probably isn't anything funny, but sana's always giddy around tzuyu. 

tzuyu laughs too, and soon enough all they're doing is snickering at nothing. 

"i want to get a dog," tzuyu says, tinges of laughter still laced between her words. "or two. can we?" 

"does that mean i get co-parenting rights?" 

"yeah," tzuyu smiles. "i'll even let you name one." 

sana quriks a brow. "i bet you've already got two names in mind." 

"but they're our dogs, i'm trying not to be greedy." 

sana laughs at that, shoulders shaking lightly. "you're allowed to be greedy, love," she says, poking tzuyu's dimple when tzuyu starts grinning. "tell me the names?" 

"i'm thinking kaya and butter," tzuyu says. 

"i think those names are perfect," sana muses, tucking a stray strand of tzuyu's hair behind her ears and kissing the tip of her nose for good measure. 

"like you," tzuyu giggles. 

sana laughs again, how terribly corny. 

though, ever so tzuyu. 

they've been together for longer than either can remember, but somehow still as infatuated as the first time they met. 

"can i ask you another thing?" tzuyu whispers, eyes bright.

"yeah?" sana says, finally letting the last bit of laughter out of her system. 

"i want to marry you." 

there's no hesitancy when it's said, no fear. 

not even a question, really, just a statement of fact. 

it's sudden, but not too sudden at all. it's not like they haven't known the answer to these questions for years now. 

sana smiles. 

"let's get married, then." 

it's easy, effortless. 

"and get two dogs," tzuyu adds, pecking sana on the lips. 

sana grins. "and get two dogs."

they've always worked it out. 

truly, there's nowhere else they'd rather be. 

looking back, sana had asked: "do you think we're best friends in every universe?" 

"probably not," tzuyu answers. 

sana pouts. "you really think that?" 

tzuyu looks away when she says the next words; pretends they mean less to her than they really do. 

"i don't know. maybe we're something other than best friends?" maybe she's hoping. "maybe… maybe we don't know each other yet…" 

maybe we'd be lovers. 

"maybe everything works out in those universes," sana muses. "it's fun to think about. us in another universe, hm?" 

it is. 

if we're happy in another universe, let's be happy in this one too, sana. 

"how about we find a place together after graduation?" tzuyu says. "i don't think i'm ready to go back to taiwan just yet." 

not without you, at least. 

"thank god you asked," sana laughs, relieved. "i really thought you were going to pack up and leave once we were done." 

tzuyu ducks her head. "i'd miss all of this too much, too." 

"what was that?" sana teases, leaning in. "you'd miss me too much?" 

"kaya and butter would miss you too much," tzuyu rolls her eyes, pushing sana's smug look away. "go away, i'm studying." 

"aw, i love you, tzuyu," sana coos, voice high and dragged out to rub it in. 

tzuyu groans, covering her ears in despair.

but it's all just for show. 

where tzuyu and sana are right now, they decide they'd rather be here than anywhere else, too. 

i love you too, sana.

didnt even use those satzu wips i wrote a whole new one instead?!% yeah idk whats going on in this fic either (but ill lose my mind if i spend longer on this than i alrdy have ong) and its a bit different from what i usually write, but still, hopefully it turned out tolerable at least,, 🙏 inspired-ish by that one falseknees comic, but in this one, their relationship always exists in every universe :)

thank you for reading! interactions, again, always appreciated <3

MEN DNI.

#twice imagines #sana x tzuyu #twice fluff #minatozaki sana #chou tzuyu #satzu #i wouldve called this one “wherever you are” instead but unfortunately #i did not have enough foresight when i wrote that mitzu fic #i think this title works well enough tho! #also i hate finding pics for the fics oml i have so many regrets making this my layout but i have to persevere for the sake of consistency. #i must #twice fics

[curseofdelos]

The Anatomy of a Three-Headed Dog (1/1)

Relationship(s): Solangelo Word Count: 3.8k Summary: “How many brains does Cerberus have? Do the heads think independently?” Trust Will to have a mountain of questions about a three-headed dog’s biology. Then again, maybe it’s on Nico for not expecting that this playdate would involve a detailed analysis of Cerberus’s brain functionality. (Post-canon fic in which Nico introduces Will to Cerberus for the first time.)

[Read on Ao3]

#nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #my fic #there are several things I should be working on but I wrote this instead #no but seriously though. how many brains does cerberus have

[french-goodbye]

in the low lamplight

summary: your boyfriend is perfect, except for one tiny little detail.

warnings: conversations about sex; dry humping; consensual slapping and chocking; praise kink; fingering; p in v sex. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+.

notes: i'm tired of experienced steve and virgin reader all the time. i want steve and confident slutty reader who's more experienced than him and blows his mind. also a little praise kink bc i feel like my boy would be insanely into that. also my first time writing smut!!! i! am! nervous! title from work song by hozier.

it's not that steve is bad in bed, it's quite the opposite actually. but he's just... extremely vanilla. and you totally get it. most of his sexual experiences were with young suburban girls in the back of his car or in his room when his parents weren't home. he was a couple of girls' first time and knowing steve, he probably put their own comfort above his wants. not probably, definitely.

you just wish he was... kinkier. nothing too intense, just something a little more exciting. and it's not that you don't get to cum, you totally do. he knows exactly how to move inside of you, the spots that make your body burn in need and he gives the best head ever, which is a nice bonus.

but after three months together and having sex everytime you have the opportunity to, because you're still in the honeymoon stage of the relationship, it's getting kinda repetitive. it's always missionary, maybe you on top if you're in a particularly bossy mood. but he nevers puts you on all fours or asks you to sit on his face or even sixty-nine. nothing.

you know steve's attracted to you (he isn't exactly shy to tell you how much) so you know that's not the issue, so you've tried so hard to subtly ask him to be rougher, you've tried placing his hand on your neck and squeezing, you've tried guiding his hands to your ass, but you've had no success so far. every single time he'll respectfully pull his hand away and press them to your shoulder or keep them there but not do anything.

but tonight. tonight is the night, you've decided. his parents are out of town (as usual) and it's just you two in the house, you've made sure he's free the whole day the tomorrow (no driving little shits around or shifts at the video store) so you'll have the whole friday night and the next day to yourselves.

you even splurged a bit and purchased a set of overpriced lingerie, way too expensive for just two little scraps of fabric and shaved, exfoliated and moisturized your entire body the night before. you still haven't approached the subject with him, but you've already planned a careful yet objective way to approach the subject and even practiced what you'd say in the mirror and bought a cosmo magazine. you're not exactly proud of yourself for that last one.

your plan is finally set in motion after you and steve get home from work and throw yourselves on his couch, half watching a movie and eat leftovers from the dinner you cooked the night before. when you're both done, you tell him you need a shower, where you use that lavender soap he likes and spray on the perfume he gave you on your birthday. after you're done, he's waiting in his room for you, halfheartedly flipping through the book you're currently reading.

"you can take your shower now" you tell him distractedly, holding the towel you've wrapped around yourself tightly to your body. he finally looks up and realizes your state of undress, his eyebrows shooting up.

"what are you doing?"

you stop going through your over night bag to throw him a confused look, "what are you talking about?"

"you used that soap i like, and that perfume i gave you that you only use on special occasions..." he stands up from the bed and stalks to you, watching you from narrowed eyes, like he's suspicious you're planning his murder. "what are you planning?"

you fake surprise, your hand coming up to clutch imaginary pearls. "me? why would i scheme something against my dear loving boyfriend?"

he looks at you unimpressed and you stand on your tip toes to rest your hands on his chest, his hands coming to support you on your waist and you whisper next to his ear, "okay, maybe i do have something planned... why don't you go take your shower and find out?"

he glances at you one last time before squeezing your waist and letting you go.

"fine..." he sighs dramatically, "i'll go"

once he's locked the door behind him, you put on your recently purchased underwear and bra on. you throw on one of his old highschool t-shirts since he once mentioned how much he likes seeing you wearing them.

by the time he gets out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam surrounding him, you're sitting on his bed, rubbing lotion on your legs and he's shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants, that hang low on his hips, his hair half dry as he finishes towel drying it.

you tsk and shake your head disheartened. "oh- wow, okay, harrington"

he glances at you once and goes back to drying his hair. "huh?"

"the chest, the scandalous dick print..." you explain and gesticulate towards him. "are you trying to seduce me or something?"

"why are you looking at my dick? you interested?" your stomach burns with insinuation but you ignore him, simply tucking your lotion back into your bag.

"i mean... it's hard not to notice when you're whoring yourself around" you shrug with fake nonchalance.

he scoffs loudly at you, going back into the bathroom quickly to hang both of your towels and getting on your way when you're about to climb on the bed after having dropped your bag in the corner.

"i'm whoring myself?" he looms over you, hand resting on your shoulder to snap the strap of your bra that's peeking from his shirt "you're the one wearing a new bra babe."

you don't answer, simply slapping his hand away and climbing on the bed, intentionally giving him a peek of your ass as you finally sit near the foot of the bed, with your legs crossed.

"why don't you turn off the lights and come take a look?"

he earnestly complies, almost tripping on a sweater he left on the bedroom floor earlier that day as he does what you asked. he lights the lampshade on his bedside table and walk towards you, leaning down to reach you when you stop him.

"no" you say firmly. "go sit on the bed, near the headboard."

he complies, but not without giving you a look. "ooh, bossy"

you turn to watch him and can't help the spark that lights up in your tummy. he looks ridiculous attractive, hair fluffy from not being styled properly, his hairy chest all on display for you and his thick spread legs giving a privileged view of his dick in those sweatpants. it's almost criminal, but you swallow it down and keep going with your plan.

you crawl to him on all fours, purposefully, until you're between his legs.

"i don't know about bossing " you run a long manicured fingernail through his thick chest hair. "but i was thinking about something i'd like to try with you..." you only stop when your fingers are almost at his waistband and you swirl your fingers around his bellybutton. you glance at his face and he almost looks dazed, eyes following your finger avidly.

hook, line and sinker.

your boyfriend was almost too easy sometimes.

"yeah, babe... whatever you want" you hold back your laughter and finally climb on top of his legs, his eyes following the curve of your hips and your bare legs as you straddle him.

"how do you feel about chocking?" you ask, making his gaze shift to your face.

"chocking? are you serious?"

"yeah, i think it'd be really good to have your hands around my neck" his fingers dig tightly on your hips, but you can tell he's still unsure.

"what if i hurt you?"

"if it makes you feel better, we can have a safe word and we can immediately stop if one of us says it. no questions asked"

"what if you can't speak?"

"then i can just tap you three times, like this?" you demonstrate, tapping his shoulder. "is that okay?"

he nods quietly, so you ask: "what if i do it on you first so you know what it feels like?"

"yeah, sure"

you gently put your hands on his throat, not applying pressure yet, just resting there.

"you just have to make sure you squeeze the sides, not on top so you don't stop airflow" you explain, spreading your fingers so they're on each side of his throat and squeezing carefully. steve himself is more surprised than you when his breath stutters and he lets an almost groan out.

"did you like that?"

"fuck yeah, that's super hot" he tells you breathlessly, surprising you with a forceful kiss. he manages to distract you, his tongue slipping into your mouth and brushing against yours as his fingers squeeze your hips and start guiding you to grind on his lap. you let him call the shots for a moment, slowly moving your hips against his now half hard cock and sinking your fingers on his hair to scratch his scalp lovingly.

however, when his hands start to wander underneath your borrowed shirt you bite his lip softly, letting it slot back in place as you pull away.

he's about to complain, big brown eyes staring at you and almost pouting. you press your pointer finger to his lips, silencing him, hips still moving at a torturously slow pace against him.

"there's one more thing, actually" you move your finger away and trace his bottom lip carefully.

"more?" his eyebrows raise in question.

"what about you... i don't know, maybe you can be a rough with me? like slapping me a little bit"

"slapping?! babe, i don't wanna hurt you and i don't-"

"you slap my ass all the time!" you accuse him, reminding him of all the times you'd walk past him or bend down and he had slapped your butt teasingly.

"yeah, jokingly"

"babe, i trust you" you grip his face, forcing him to look at you. "i know you'd never hurt me if i didn't ask you to. i just think it'd be really hot, and who knows... maybe you'll like it too. and if you really don't like it we'll never speak of this again" you shrug, gently pushing his hair from his face.

"you sure?" you nod and press a quick kiss to his lips.

"if you wanna stop just say red, okay? anytime."

"yeah, i like that"

"you'll tell me if you wanna stop, right?" you press another quick kiss to his lips in thanks.

he nods eagerly "you too, okay? just say the word and we'll stop" you nod in agreement. "okay... but now what? do i just... jump right into it?"

"no... what about we start the way we always do before having sex?" you smirk, starting to move your hips in slow circular motions again and his hands slide down your back to slip under your t-shirt again.

he laughs huskily next to ear, making you shiver. "we're really good at that", his lips make contact with the skin of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there. you keep moving on top of him, hands sinking into his hair and keeping him there.

"fuck, steve" you whine when he sucks at a sensitive spot on your neck, his hands squeezing your thighs roughly, moulding fat like dough underneath his fingertips.

suddenly you feel a sharp sting on your backside as steve slaps your ass. you whine deep in your throat and your hips stutter in their rhythm against his lap.

"oh, you really like it when i do that"

"god, i do" you breathlessly tell him with a smile, tugging his hair harshly to guide him to your mouth. "you like this too, don't you? just wanna give me what i need, huh baby?"

"i do, i do. just want my girl to feel good" he whines against your mouth, while he spreads your ass and digs his fingers into your skin.

you kiss him some more, until you can feel his now hard cock against you, through the lace fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants. his hand lift up your t-shirt and carefully takes it off of you.

"god, you're gorgeous" you push on his chest gently until his back is against the headboard so you can show him the whole thing, from the intricate lace to the small straps keeping everything together. "you got this for me?" he teases you, his hands playing with your underwear, pulling it and letting it snap against the skin of your hip.

"yeah..." you answer distractedly, his cock rubbing in a very nice spot near your covered clit. his hand moves up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing your pebbled nipple through your bra. "you like it?"

"fuck yeah, i love it" one of his hand cups your breast, while the other pushes the fabric of your bra down so he can pull and twist your nipple.

you're already a mess on top of him, feeling the wetness on your underwear sticking to your folds, when he lowers his head to suck your nipple into his mouth and his hand plays with your other breast. the nails of your left hand dig half crescent moons on his bare shoulders while the other tug on his hair to keep him there and your head drops back in pleasure.

his hand stops massaging your breasts and you're about to complain when you feel it start to slip down your stomach and hook under your underwear to rub his fingers through your wetness, his knuckles grazing your clit. you hold him tighter, a loud moan leaving your lips when he sinks two fingers inside of you.

"yes, yes, yes, baby" you whine, hiding your face in his hair as he realeases your nipple with a lewd pop.

"you're so fucking wet" he rasps against you and sucks a mark on the swell of your breast, pumping his fingers in and out of you as the palm of his hand rubbing on your clit everytime he moves. "god, you feel so good around my fingers. can't wait to have my dick inside you."

you're lost in the rhythm of it, his palm brushing your clit at every stroke, the feeling of his lips sucking on your chest and his hips bucking underneath yours occasionally. but you finally reach your peak when his free hand slips down your back and slaps your ass again, harder this time, palming it underneath his fingertips.

"that's it... come for me, baby" you pull him to your mouth again as you come down and he guides you through it, still feeling yourself clenching on his fingers as you twitch in his lap.

"god, you're so fucking hot" you whisper against his mouth, still breathless. "you're so good to me, baby. such a good boy"

suddenly, he's holding you tighter and manhandling you, roughly dropping you on your back and looming over you between your knees. before you can react, he's ripping off his sweatpants and throwing it on his bedroom floor.

he stands completely naked in front of you, helping you spread your legs. you eye him lustfully, from his mussed hair to his throbbing cock standing tall, the tip pink and dripping with a little pre cum.

"can i go down on you?" you ask him avidly, starting to lift yourself up but he stops you, holding your wrist above your body.

"nuh-uh, baby. i'm gonna blow my load if you do that" he denies and you giggle, about to complain when he licks the palm of his free hand and strokes himself one, two, three times, shutting you up real quick. he's starting to align himself with your entrance when you stop him.

"wait, wait" he stops immediately.

"what? what's wrong?"

"i want you from behind"

he groans, dropping his head on the curve of your neck and letting go of your wrists. "you really can't say shit like that to me if you want me to last"

you giggle and tap his shoulder sympathetically, "you'll live". you lightly scratch his back, sliding your hands from his shoulder to his lower back and wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the tip of his cock nudging your inner thigh. "now... why don't you put me on my knees, handsome?"

he quickly moves to reposition you, helping you lift yourself up and pushing your spine down gently when you get on your knees. you lower your torso all the way until your chest is pressed against his bedsheets, lifting your ass up.

"fuck, baby. you look so good like this" he says when he slots himself behind you.

"maybe you should listen to me more, harrington" you tease, looking at him from over your shoulder as he kneads your ass.

"maybe i should, pretty girl" he answers distractedly, and you feel his thumb spreading your entrance. "look at this pretty pussy"

you moan and try to wriggle in the hold he has on your hips, "steeeve-"

he laugh mockingly and starts rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. "you this desperate babe?"

before you can answer he starts sinking himself inside, both of you sighing at the feeling. when he's finally inside you can't help the moan that escapes you, his big cock filling you up beautifully and the stretch in this position making you feel so full. however, his strokes are slow and languid and while that's nice, it's not exactly what you need.

"come on, babe" you grumble, trying to rock your hips against his grip. "fuck me like you mean it"

he scoffs and speeds up, his hand wrapping around your hair to press your face against his mattress and to keep you still, changing the angle slightly and pressing right against your spot inside of you.

"is this how you want it?" he huffs, slapping you again.

"oh god, yes. right there!"

he pulls you up until you're both kneeling on the bed, his hips slapping against your ass. his free hand climbs up your chest until it's resting on your neck. "do you want-?"

"yes, i want it. please, please, choke me" you interrupt, begging him to keep going, begging him for more. his fingers carefully start squeezing you throat and you wrap your hand around his to guide him until the pressure is just right.

"squeezing my cock so tight, baby. should've told me you wanted this sooner."

you don't get to answer, his free hand suddenly slipping down to rub circles on your clit and you're gone, your orgasm hitting you like a fright train. he helps you ride it out, until you gently pull his hand away and bend down again, resting your weight on your elbows.

"your turn, baby" you tell him, tilting your head slightly so you can see him.

he starts babbling and pressing you harder against the bed, a clear sign that he's close himself. he bends down, his chest against your back until he can stretch his hand out to hold yours against the mattress and he can babble against your ear about how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how much he loves being inside you.

"that's it, babe. you made me feel so good, it's your turn now" you tell him, still slightly breathless and sensitive around his cock. "please come, need you to come so bad"

"god, i'm gonna cum" and it's all it takes to feel him pull out and finish himself off on your back. you're both still for a second as you catch your breath and he squeezes your hand still intertwined in his gently. when you turn your face to the side to see him, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

he taps your hips gently as he gets up and goes to the bathroom, coming back quickly to wipe you and himself clean with a wet washcloth. when he's done he throws it on top of the rest of his dirty laundry, still thrown on his bedroom floor.

when he finally turns to you, you're finally laying on your back and getting comfortable on his pillow. steve throws himself next to you and his arms immediately wrap around your waist. you hug him back, guiding his head to rest on top of your bare chest, now littered with purpling marks.

"you had fun, pretty girl?"

"you couldn't tell?" you laughter, his head shaking slightly against your chest as you comb his hair away from his face and his breath against your skin.

"god, i'm obsessed with you" he complains, hiding his face on your boob. you laugh, gently coaxing his face away so you can see him.

"that's good," you smooth the messy hairs on his eyebrow. "i'm pretty obsessed with you too"

"we're pretty perfect for each other then"

"you should keep me forever" you tease, tracing his features gently. he presses a kiss to your sternum and gets comfortable against you.

"maybe i will"

it sounds like a pretty good deal.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington smut #i wrote this instead of working on my thesis 😃 #i wasn't sure if i should post this but i got so much love on my last fic it made me braver so 🙃 #mine

[sentientsky]

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Nina asked. “The poor guy probably just wants his space.” 

The other woman turned to look at her from up on the staircase. Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. “I mean,” she began, one foot positioned on the next step up. “We already have this.” She raised a travel cup of espresso in the air. “And after all, I think he could use some cheering up. It’s been like two months, right?” 

Maggie sighed resignedly and followed her up the stairs. “Okay, if you say so…”

They walked for a couple moments before coming to a stop in front of an apartment. All the other doors on the floor were painted a pleasant blue, she noted. This one, however, was a deep, rich black. Of course. 

From underneath the door, the women could hear music, something familiar and with a steady beat. Maggie raised her hand and knocked. 

Still, the music played on. And still no one answered the door. 

“He’s obviously busy, Mags,” Nina muttered. It didn’t escape her notice that the other woman flushed pale pink at the sound of the nickname. Nina’s heart spasmed a bit in response, and she had to force herself to focus. 

“I just—let me try once more, and then—” Maggie knocked again. 

A beat. 

Nina was ready to ask if they could leave when the lock on the door clicked open of its own accord. Well, alrighty then. They exchanged a look, and then Nina pushed open the door. 

Immediately, the onslaught of angsty pop music poured through the threshold. Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone,” Nina noted. She herself had played the same song more than once as a young adult, often in the throes of a breakup. 

The apartment itself was in complete disarray; papers and knickknacks strewn everywhere. Plants drooped sadly on the edges of the room. In the corner, a pile of CDs had been toppled over. Eccles cakes and half-chewed scones littered the floor. 

There, in the middle of the living room (which certainly looked lived in, Nina noted), Crowley was sat on the floor, legs all akimbo and arms thrown across the seat of a rather uncomfortable looking sofa. 

Maggie stiffened at the sight of him, holding the coffee cup between both hands now. The poor demon was dressed in boxer shorts and an ancient Queen t-shirt. His hair was bedraggled, brushing against his shoulders in loose scarlet waves. Juxtaposed to the devilishly cool “burnt out middle-aged rockstar” persona he embodied most  of the time, this new appearance came across as particularly disheveled. 

Nina hesitated, then took a step forward. The music still thrummed in her ears. “Crowley?” she asked, injecting as much kindness as she could into one little word. 

Head lolling, the demon looked up at the two women before him. For once, he wasn’t wearing his characteristic glasses. Maggie made a little sound of surprise at the sight of the demon’s golden snake eyes. They were a rich yellow—the same colour as Mr. Fell’s walls, Nina silently noted. It seemed Crowley hadn’t slept in a century, (did demons even need to sleep?) his undereyes tinged a pale purple. 

“Crowley?” Nina called out again. Maggie moved to stand beside her, leaning down closer to the demon’s level. 

Without warning, Crowley’s eyes began to flood with tears and he crumpled into himself. Oh. Oh no. They’d made it worse, they’d certainly made it worse. Nina had said that coming here was a bad idea. 

“That’s what Aziraphale used to call me!” he keened. His boxer shorts had ‘XO Gossip Girl’ emblazoned down the side. 

“I mean, that’s your na—” Nina began, but then reconsidered and dropped into a crouch to pat the demon’s shoulder, voice hushed and soothing. “There, there. I know. It’s going to be alright.” 

Maggie crouched beside her, and tried to offer Crowley the drink in her hand. He looked up for a moment, and there was a moment of recognition, his eyes scanning the takeaway cup. And then he burst into fresh tears once again. 

“That’s what I ordered the last—” he made a little hiccuping sound. “Ordered the last time he and I went to your café,” he wailed. The poor thing was inconsolable; Nina’s heart ached for him. In between ragged sobs, Crowley  extended his arm under the couch. There, it seemed, he had found a slightly droopy crepe that was…just shoved under the sofa. No plate, no nothing. Just crepe to floor. What the fuck. Don’t eat it, please don’t eat it, Nina chanted in her head. 

He ate it, of course, still crying. 

Kelly Clarkson finished singing, and the track switched. Now, a more upbeat tune rose through the apartment. 

It’s Britney, bitch. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat anything—” Maggie began, reaching down to pick up a crumpled twinkie wrapper from the floor. And then, without warning, Crowley brought a napkin to his mouth and spat out a congealed mass of saliva and half-chewed dough. He sniffed pathetically and bundled it into a tight ball in his hand before tossing it somewhere across the room.

“Oh…” Maggie murmured, placing the wrapper back where she had found it. “Oh no.” 

Crowley looked up at the two of them with ragged eyes, glinting pale gold in the dim light of his flat. “Don’t even like the taste. But he likes ‘em, so…Who else is gonna eat’em, anyway? While he’s gone, you know? ‘S up to me” He sniffed again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. 

“Are you—” Maggie began, and her worried eyes flickered to Nina. “Are you drunk, Crow—Anthony? Have you been drinking?”

“And wha makes you think that?” he muttered. Nina cast her eyes around the room. Wine bottles littered the floor. The counters. One sat on the pedestal of a statue of an angel and a demon…were they supposed to be fighting, or…?? 

When she turned back to face him, he was drinking out of a curly straw. His cup read ‘MAMA NEEDS SOME WINE’. She sighed, and reached to ease it out of his hand. He pulled it out of her reach immediately, a disgruntled look clear across his face.

“Nooo, Az—Azira—a stupid angel gave this to me,” he all but hissed. “‘S vintage. 2004.”

The track changed again. Something slower, with a steady piano backing. 

My lover’s got humour.

She’s the giggle at a funeral…

At this, tears began to form afresh in the corners of the demon’s eyes. Nina stood up, looking for the source of the music. She’d had her fair share of sad music wallowing, but this was becoming unhealthy, surely. Over in the corner, a fairly recent sound system stood sentinel. She pressed ‘pause’ and ejected the disk. “What’s with this music?” she called across the room. 

In sloping handwriting, the CD read ‘bad bitches cry perpendicular to the floor’. Oookay then. 

“‘S a playlist I made. But everything I play in that godforsaken thing,” he motioned to the stereo system, “eventually turns into music by this one Irish fellow.” 

Nina wrinkled her brow in confusion. 

“Jus’ like the Bentley. But more straightforward, I suppose.” He took another sip from his drink, and the two women watched on as dark red liquid carried up through the loops of the straw.

“This isn’t healthy,” Maggie began. “I know it’s hard, and it’s okay to be sad. But we can try baby steps, right? D’you fancy coming down to the café with us? Maybe sit and talk for a bit? Get some natural light?” 

Crowley scrunched his nose and spat a piece of red hair out of his mouth. “M’ fine, really. Never been better. More independent, less—” he waved his free hand around vaguely, “mmgh…yeah, I got nothin’” He toasted them with his ridiculous white suburban mom cup. 

“You’re crying right now. And how long have you been wearing that shirt?” Nina asked. The thing looked lived in. By a family of possums. 

He looked down, squinting at wine stains that speckled the collar. “This is my best shirt.” He looked back up at them. “And ‘m fiiiine.” He reached one gangly arm across the length of the sofa and pulled out a pair of circular sunglasses. Putting them on, he peered up at Nina and Maggie. “See? Can’t even see the tears.” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. 

“Oh, hon. That’s not…” Maggie began.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Nina murmured. “Do you…” she looked around the room. Was that one of Mr. Fell’s sweaters hung over a chair? What had happened in that fucking bookshop? “Do you want to talk about it?” she finished. 

Three hours later, Nina realized her assistant’s shift was nearly finished. From what she understood, Mr. Fell had left (his husband? Boyfriend? Wife? Immortal life partner?) Crowley for a business promotion somewhere far away. Crowley, for his part, was perched on the edge of the couch, wrapped up in the angel’s sweater. He sniffled, and pressed on: 

“...And then it was 1967 and I was in my Beatles phase of course, because who wasn’t, honestly. And the bastard shows up in my car out of nowhere with a thermos. So I’m freaking out a little bit—in a very cool, suave kind of way, of course—cause this is one of the first times we’ve seen each other since the magic show,” he turned, looking between Maggie and Nina. “I told you about the magic show, yes?”

“Yes, you did,” Maggie muttered. 

“Several times. The one where he told you to shoot him in the face,” Nina interjected.

“Well,” he waved his hand around. “I didn’t actually shoot him. Scared the fuck outta me, but—oh, I still have the photograph, you wanna see?” He moved to stand up then. 

Maggie motioned for him to sit back down. “That’s alright. We’ll see it later—”

And he was off again, “So anyway it was 1967 and he’s in my car and he’s got a thermos and I’m all like ‘Are we gonna drink soup together? Is that tea? Cocoa?’ but noooo, he gives it to me and it’s fucking holy water. And he tells me he doesn’t want me risking myself. And—” his voice grew louder, more emphatic, “And he says ‘don’t go unscrewing the cap’. And by this point my stomach’s all in wobbly-wibbly fluttery knots and ‘m asking myself ‘what the bloody hell are we’ and I hate it ‘cause I’m a demon, right? And angels aren’t supposed to make you feel all—” he made a ‘pbttt’ sound and mimed a butterfly with his hands. Nina and Maggie exchanged a look. “Yeah. And then he says we should go on a picnic someday. Or to the Ritz or something. I’m losing my mind at this point, because is he asking me on a date? ‘M I out of my gourd? So, like any normal, reasonable person, I say I’ll drive him wherever he wants because then that means more time together which means more time to figure out this fluttery feeling or whatever. And guess what he says.” He looked at the two women seated on chairs in front of him.  “Go on, guess.” 

Maggie shrugged. “Sorry, no idea.” Nina shook her head.

“He says,” he leant forward on the couch. “He says ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.” The poor demon let out an anguished groan and his head fell into his hands. Maggie reached forward to pat him on the shoulder. 

[It went on like this for some time. They eventually got him to go to the park where he inadvertently began a duck cult; that is, a cult whose members consisted solely of ducks. Not a cult of humans dedicated to worshipping ducks. That would be stupid.]

this silly little crack fic is brought to you by me and my good omens brainrot (neil im in your walls). if u want to read my more serious stuff, you can find me furiously scribbling away in this corner of the internet: x

(side note: this particular story was inspired by a hilarious post from @miss-americanbi)

#i wrote this pretty quickly so its not gonna be great but whatver #i finally remembered to take my adhd meds + instead of doing my work im doing this. i love having hyperfixations sm (<<< lies lies lies) #im love nina shes so pretty and cool #full disclosure this is not to glamourize or make light of depression #this is literally just me transcribing the aftermath of my own messy queer breakup #i also dyed my hair w/ horrible box dye :) that was like 2 yrs ago and it STILL hasnt faded. demipermanent my ass #i was a fucking mess for like a year :) #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #crowley #go2 #ineffable wives #azicrow #maggie good omens #nina good omens #crack fic #ao3 good omens #ao3 author #good omens crack #good omens fanfic #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen #gay #queer #gomens