#and then it hits me again why everyone who works with him just cannot help loving him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldsbitch · 15 days

Note

can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

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explicit-tae · 18 days

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ughh I just came back from re reading the cruel intentions drabbleee, I want to see girl dad jungkook so badd

no but girl dad jungkook that just lets her do whatever she wants, whenever she wants against the mc's will

Punishment

Jungkook cannot help but release a sigh - a sigh so deep from his chest that he has to take a deep breath to regain back all of the oxygen he let out. His hands rub at his temples, eyes closing a bit so he can process the words that the young man before him speaks.

“Who…why are you here?”

Jungkook was tired - simple. He was tired of running this empire that was known as Bangtan. Sure, he wasn’t doing it alone. But it was enough to drive his stress levels high. He often had headaches having to deal with the new recruits - all young and determined, but dumb as shit and often made mistakes.

“You can’t keep hurting the men that work for you, Kook.” Yoongi had said to him one day, scolding him with his tone and those feline-like eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Jeon-ssi.” the young man murmurs, sitting across from Jungkook as he speaks. He’s obviously nervous, hands trembling in his lap.

“Someone had to have let you on to this job because I sure as hell didn’t!” Jungkook barks, crashing his hand down onto his desk. “I bet it was Taehyung, huh? He always wants to give me his shitty people.”

The last thing Jungkook needed was to deal with more shit - on top of more shit. Over the course of the last few months, he had to pick up the slack of other new recruits. His products were being lost, which meant his money was slowing down (not enough to hinder him, just enough to piss him off) which meant he had clients waiting longer than what they should be.

“I apologize, Jeon-ssi. I should have been more attentive-”

“More attentive to my product?” Jungkook leans forward. On his desk is a brick of what is supposed to be coke sent straight from overseas - what he got was not coke. “Have you ever done drugs?”

The man - boy, he appeared to be in his late teens - shakes his head with wider eyes.

Jungkook turns his eyes to the surrounding men, all standing behind the one seated across from him. They were all seemingly new, some here longer than others.

“This is not coke.” Jungkook murmurs. “You were instructed to check the product before handing them millions of my money, correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook hisses. “Now what we got is some cheap imitation of fucking coke and I’m down millions of fucking dollars because of you,” Jungkook points at the wide-eye boy. “and all of you,” he waves his arms around to the surrounding men. “who cannot do something so simple!”

Jungkook wants to ask his hyung’s what they do when their men act foolish if he was instructed to not hurt them. His hand itches to strike each and every one of them and he was trying his hardest to be the bigger person.

Jungkook closes his eyes. “Just take a deep breath…” he hears your voice in his mind; so soothing and calm.

Jungkook opens his eyes and stands. “Tomorrow, you all will be going back overseas and getting me my money back. This,” Jungkook picks up the brick of cocaine - if only it was authentic, and throws it at one man - it hits him in the chest harshly. “is unacceptable.”

The room is silent as Jungkook gives his orders. He doesn’t dismiss them properly and only waves his hands for them to leave. They all scurry off, seemingly throwing one another out the door to be out of the older man's sights.

“I’m proud.”

Jungkook groans again at hearing the voice.

“Jimin.”

“You never add hyung to my name anymore.” Jimin enters the room and behind him, another young recruit. “I’m hurt.”

“Why the fuck is he here?” Jungkook didn’t have time for small talk. “Please…please don’t tell me you fucked up again?”

Jungkook doesn’t have the mental capacity to handle the amount of screw ups everyone has been throwing his way lately.

“Ji-hu…” Jimin pushes the younger man inside the office. “...tell Kookie,”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook injects. “Speak.” he then says to Ji-hu.

Jimin shuts the door to the office behind him and leans against him. He is always amused when Jungkook is visibly upset.

“I…we may have-”

“May have?” Jungkook quoted. “You may have what? It’s either you did or you didn’t?”

Ji-hu glances away for a moment. “The heist…”

Jungkook groans loudly, crashing against his seat.

“I told Taehyung-”

“As did I.” Jimin nods in agreement before Jungkook can finish his sentence. “These new batches of men we have are completely useless. You all are always fucking up.”

“Don’t we pay you enough, Ji-hu?” Jungkook stands, rounding the desk and stalking his way towards Ji-hu. “You were appointed leader of that heist because I am well aware of your abilities. You let me down like the rest of them.”

Jimin crosses his arms just as Jungkook slaps Ji-hu on the side of his head. He proceeds to do it a few more times, letting out more frustration than necessary on the poor boy - but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t an amusing sight. Jungkook looked more like a father disciplining his child than anything else.

“I’m sorry, Jeon-ssi-”

“Jimin, where’s everyone else that was on the heist?”

“Outside. Would you like me to get them, Kookie?”

Jungkook glares at his older friend but only nods.

It took five minutes for the rest of the men to return and now Jungkook decides that, however comical it may be to Jimin, that he had to do what was right to shape these men into where they need to be.

Yoongi would be proud that he wasn’t causing damaging harm to them.

Jungkook swings the belt against the younger mens back, each blow slapping against their skin harshly and leaving a stinging effect each time.

“I shouldn’t have to beat you all into submission,” Jungkook hisses, slamming down his belt more on the four men. “I don’t even have to do this to my own son!”

Jimin wants to say it was because Jungkook would never hit Jin-seon - who now is a direct carbon copy of his father at the age of 10, attitude and all. Jin-seon’s behavior is often excused by his father and only corrected by his mother, but knowing how Jungkook was raised, Jimin understands why he allows his son to do whatever he wishes.

There’s a knock on the door that halts Jungkook’s beating to his men. He turns towards Jimin who only shrugs his shoulders.

“Enter.” Jungkook sighs, turning towards the door fully.

The door opens and immediately, Jungkook’s eyes soften.

You widen your own eyes at the four men, all cowering on the ground with welts on their exposed skin. You’re holding a large tray in your arms and you contemplate turning away.

“Appa, look!”

“Jin-ah, appa’s busy-”

Your daughter doesn’t care - she never did.

Jimin watches as Jin-ah, the small 5 year old girl, runs towards her father who kneels down to bring her into his arms. She isn't fazed by the four men who are forming bruises onto their skin as she had seen this before on accident. “They were being bad so appa had to punish them, baby. No need to worry.” was what Jungkook had told her when she asked why a few men were bleeding all over the place.

“Eomma and me made lunch!” Jin-ah is excited, her eyes wide with excitement. She had most of the lunch she prepared herself - a complete mess that only a five year old could make - on a tray and insisted that you and she take it to her father. Jungkook would eat whatever concoction Jin-ah made for him, the worst being ramen cooked in coffee and milk because she knew her father liked them.

“I made the tea.” you sigh, stepping into the room. There was no stopping Jin-ah now. “Um,”

You glance down again to the men on the ground.

“They were being bad, eomma.” Jin-ah says, pointing to the men.

Jimin cackles at this while you only sigh, wishing Jungkook would try better to not normalize what he’s involved with to the children.

“Very bad.” Jungkook hugs Jin-ah tighter, peppering her soft cheeks with kisses. His heart swells when his daughter wraps her small arms around his neck.

“Can I banish them?” your daughter asks when she’s releasing her father’s neck.

“It’s pronounced punish-”

Jungkook is interrupted by your stern hiss. “No! You can’t!” you walk over the men who remained kneeling on the ground to place the tray onto Jungkook’s desk. “Let’s go-”

“I wanna stay.” Jin-ah clings onto her father, nails digging into his shirt.

“Why don’t we all just have a little tea party?” Jimin claps his hands. “Come, Jin-ah, sit on the ground with us.”

Jimin grabs the tea just as Jungkook allows his daughter down. She goes towards Jimin who has set out four glass cups - taken from Jungkook’s liquor cabinet - and into each of the men’s hands. “Pour them their tea, Jin-ah.”

“I-I don’t really drink tea-”

“You’ll drink whatever my daughter serves you.” Jungkook isn’t amused with the lack of respect for his daughter’s hospitality.

“Yes, Jeon-ssi.”

Jin-ah is happy to pour the tea - that barely makes it into their cups and instead is poured on their hands and lap instead. To avoid any reaction from her father, then men remain quiet, dying on the inside at the burns they’ll be receiving.

Jin-ah sits across from the men and speaks about nonsense - whatever cartoon she’s watched lately and what goes on at her school. You shake your head, turning your eyes to your husband. “Really?”

Jungkook has a soft smile on his lips as he looks at his daughter. “She looks so happy.” he murmurs. “How could I say no to her?”

You cross your arms. “I do it all the time.” you murmur.

“I remember how small she was when she was first born. I knew she loved me when she didn’t cry in my arms.”

“You cried instead.” you snort, leaning against his desk at the memories of your daughter's birth.

You suppose it was emotional for Jungkook as he wasn’t able to be there for Jin-seon’s. He was very attentive, determined to witness you during your entire pregnancy. It was astonishing to see your stomach grow bigger and bigger each month.

“Let’s have another one.” Jungkook winks at you suggestively, jokingly. Though he wouldn’t be opposed.

“No.” you deadpan and it causes Jungkook to wrap you into a tight embrace. “Dealing with three Jungkook’s is hectic enough. You truly want me to add a fourth?”

Jungkook only snickers, placing his lips at the nape of your neck. He inhales your sweet scent, a familiar scent of home to it.

#cruel intentions #jungkook x reader #bangtanwritershq #btswritersclub #btsmasterlist2022 #btswritingcafe #explicit-tae #jungkook fluff #dad jungkook #cruel intentions drabble #cruel intentions masterlist #bts mafia #jungkook mafia #jungkook yandere #punishment #girl dad jungkook

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dawndelion-winery · 2 years

Text

They're So-

How they talk about you

Ft. Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone

Arlecchino:

She speaks fondly of you, almost as if she were talking about family

She smiles softly, and anyone can tell you're the most important person in her life

Her words are curt, though, because she doesn't like other people prying into your lives

She'll only speak of you when asked

Unless she's with Columbina, then she won't shut up

Columbina finds it funny, probing every now and then when Arlecchino seems almost done only for Arlecchino to speak of your achievements with vigour once again

She's always so proud of you

And the fact that you're dating her? You have impeccable taste in women

She probably has a while presentation on why she loves you and Columbina has heard it at least seventeen times

The other harbingers have probably heard it at least five

Even the Tsaritsa isn't spared from hearing about how pretty your hair is, flecked with snow as light reflects off it

"Arlecchino, how are things with you?"

"All is well, my s/o recently-"

Yeah, she just goes on

Capitano:

He talks about you like he's your knight who's helplessly pining for his master but cannot admit he's in love because that would be preposterous

Which is ridiculous because you're sure you're way more into him than he is you

Wrong. You can never love him more than he loves you - he will always love you more and shower you in it

He thinks you're beautiful in every sense of the word, and he makes it known to everyone

"Are those the new uniforms? Oh, it's nothing, I was just thinking the colour would suit y/n. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, lor-"

"Yes, yes, they'd look good in anything, what was I thinking"

There is only one person willing to listen to him and that's Childe because the ginger gets to spar with him in exchange

Cue Capitano effortlessly pinning Childe down as he rambles about how you once stepped on his chest in a similar way and looked stunning while you did it

Childe:

Anything and everything he sees will be likened to how amazing you are

He just tasted some really good food? Hey that reminds him of that meal he shared with you, all good tastes better when it's eaten with you

^^has offered to invite subordinates to meals with you but they know better than to accept

That's his special time with you and if they encroach on that time...they'd be goners

So all anyone can really do is smile and nod along in agreement as he sings your praises

He's lucky Pulcinella sees him as his adopted kid of sorts or he'd have hit him upside the back of his head for never shutting up

The old man only ever sighs at his youth, shaking his head at the devoted, passionate puppy love Ajax had for you

He even keeps a stack of photos of you in one of those folding wallet things that he flips open when he wants to talk about you

Which makes for very exasperated subordinates who have to listen to him ramble about you at meetings because he insists they're not as awestruck as he is because they haven't seen you in the moment

"That's fine, here, let me help you understand" *whips out pictures* "So you see here, this is them-"

Yeah, they're in for a long story time

Dottore:

He seems so nonchalant that anyone would think he had no interest in you

He barely speaks of you to anyone except to mention your input which makes it seem like you're just another poor sod who works under him

Until someone dared to voice that thought

"You could treat them better?"

"Lord Dottore, I-"

"Go on, do elaborate. Exactly what can you give them that I don't already? What can you provide that could possibly measure up to my y/n's worth?"

Oh they're in for an earful, because he'll criticise everything about them, from appearance to talents, their fears and beliefs

All while praising how you could never be compared to such scum

It's a wonder how they were still standing at the end of- nevermind, they dropped to their knees the moment Dottore walked off

He's just a teeny bit scary like that, y'know?

Pantalone:

It's hard to catch him talking about you without you there because,,,well he takes you everywhere

After all, how could he not want to show you off to everyone?

So yeah, he will just straight up fawn over you to others in front of you

Embarrassed? Deal with it, you're free to hide your face in his chest as he hides you in his huge coat, but that's all you're getting

No, you can't leave without him, what's he going to do without you there to hold his hand?

Surely you wouldn't deprive him of the warmth he can only get from holding you close?

He especially likes to praise you when shopping

New shipment just in? Well those jewels really bring out your eyes, he should have them made into a ring for you

You'll never have nothing to wear because he insists on getting you something new whenever he can and then telling everyone how incredible it looks on you

Of course, shopkeepers and merchants aren't going to disagree with him when he says you look stunning in their wares

So you've practically everyone reminding you that you are indeed the loveliest partner for Lord Regrator, what a darling couple you make etc

With the man himself fueling it all

Taglist[send an ask to be added/removed]: @myluvkeiji @pluvioseprince @aqui-soba @euphoric-author @paradise-creator @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @loverofthe-stars @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @codename-hiraeth @andreiling01 @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year

Text

The Clarkesworld AI Spam issue is one of those stories that to me really highlights the limits of the tools that hype is obscuring. Clarkesworld is a well-established Sci-Fi publishing magazine that today had to suspend all of its submissions due to being overwhelmed by ChatGPT generated entries:

This inspired a lot of discourse around the idea of a ‘crisis of credibility’ on the internet, AI sweeping away the boundries of authenticity in a flood of forgeries. How can magazines even operate in this new environment, one might ask?

Which is weird because this environment isn’t new at all, as the editor, Neil Clarke, comments on in his blog post around the problem:

Since the early days of the pandemic, I’ve observed an increase in the number of spammy submissions to Clarkesworld. What I mean by that is that there’s an honest interest in being published, but not in having to do the actual work. Up until recently, these were almost entirely cases of plagiarism, first by replacing the author’s name and then later by use of programs designed to “make it your own.”

The issue isn’t that spam exists, its the quantity:

This is undoubtably a gigantic spike, and 100% it is induced by ChatGPT.

But hold on - is ChatGPT actually *better* at this that previous spam tools? Niel doesn’t think so, even if he is worried about the future:

I’m not going to detail how I know these stories are “AI” spam or outline any of the data I have collected from these submissions. There are some very obvious patterns and I have no intention of helping those people become less likely to be caught...

... What I can say is that the number of spam submissions resulting in bans has hit 38% this month. While rejecting and banning these submissions has been simple, it’s growing at a rate that will necessitate changes. To make matters worse, the technology is only going to get better, so detection will become more challenging.

And how expensive was the plagarism before to do anyway? It was copy-pasting text, automated word replacement programs, and done, that is trivial. Its a little harder than ChatGPT, sure, but you could make a thousand in a day no sweat, automated scripts randomizing names and jumbling nouns from a list.

The success rate also seems to be zero! Neither plagarism nor ChatGPT generates any story worth a damn, these aren’t being accepted. Neil is quite confident he is catching 100% of them and I believe him on that, these tools cannot write good fiction of any length beyond a paragraph.

So what is the ChatGPT’s advantage over previous, ‘dumber’ spam that justifies a 100-fold increase in spam usage? I am not seeing one, and I don’t think there is one besides marginally lower per-spam costs. Phrased another way, what was stopping someone from submitted 500 spam entries in one month in 2021? Nothing but interest in doing so.

Which is the rub of why this is happening - it isn’t because ChatGPT is good at this task, its because its the hype thing to do. Everyone is talking about it, everyone is trying it out, everyone is trying to find “delta” so they can ride the hype train. A bunch of people, some who may have even had axes to grind against Clarkesworld, have heard of this brand new fun tool and are flooding into the market to take advantage of it. But there might not be much to take advantage of; hype is fleeting, particularly in the face of no results as this effort is getting. As it fails, unless that axe really needs grinding above all else, spammers will move.

All of this to say that this story is, again, not a story about AI at all. AI is just the reason these already-bad parts of the system are being tested in the public eye.

#ai discourse

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kingthunder · 1 year

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Prompt for Geralt and Jaskier: “God I hate you” & “Prove it.” I know you’ll make a masterpiece (like all of your work)!!💜

Rience plays with him. Rience hits him. Rience lights a flame, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and all Jaskier can do is burn.

Jaskier isn’t quite the same afterwards. The non-essential parts of him have gone up in smoke and what’s left is this: he has found out in the most intimate way possible that when it’s time for hurting—when the very meat of him is black and charred and he can taste the smoke of his own fat on the back of his tongue—that even then he cannot redirect the hurt onto Geralt. He’ll take it all and fold it up inside him and keep Geralt safe, even though Geralt didn’t do the same for him.

He wants to be angry about it. He wants to scream his righteous fury to the skies. Hell, he’s been doing that for a year already, in every tavern that will let him through the door, insisting that he wants Geralt to burn, burn, burn for what he did to Jaskier’s heart.

Only he isn’t angry anymore. He’s burned enough for the both of them. He’s just tired and lonely and misses his friend and wonders, like pushing on a bruise, if Geralt misses him too.

He wants Geralt to miss him too.

Later, when everything has gone to hell and back and the dust has settled, Geralt comes to Jaskier’s room in Kaer Morhen.

“We can’t stay,” Geralt says. “I was trying to keep Ciri safe, but all I did was put everyone else in danger. I need to take her somewhere where she can be trained properly.”

Jaskier doesn’t know who Geralt means when he says “we.” It’s been weeks since they hugged through three inches of creaking leather and metal, and in that time he has yet to figure out if he’s still included in Geralt’s life or if the shapes they’ve been broken into don’t fit together anymore. He’ll love Geralt the same regardless, but he needs to guard his heart.

“I wish you the best,” Jaskier says, thrusting his hand out for Geralt to shake.

Brow furrowed, Geralt takes it. Then he turns Jaskier’s hand palm up and says, “What’s this?”

His thumb is running over the scars Rience left.

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier says.

“It’s something.”

So Jaskier tells him, because he could never really deny Geralt anything. His words are dispassionate, a simple recounting of events, but what he means is, I love you. What he means is, I’d do it again but please don’t make me. Describing the depths of his one-sided devotion, even in such dry terms, leaves him aching and raw, and by the end of it he can’t stop his chin from quivering.

He’s clenched his hand into a white-knuckled fist without realizing it. Slowly, Geralt unbends each finger. He presses a kiss to the middle of Jaskier’s palm and Jaskier’s nostrils flare with the effort of holding in a sob.

“Stop,” Jaskier says.

Geralt stops but doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. He says, “Thank you for keeping Ciri safe.”

“Did a pretty shit job of that in the end, didn’t I?”

Jaskier’s chin is still quivering.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again,” Geralt says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to do that?” Jaskier says helplessly. “Oh hello Geralt, nice seeing you after all this time, I know you hate my guts right now, but by the way, someone tortured me for information about you, just thought you should know, cheers, mate.”

“I don’t hate your guts.”

“Yeah, well you did a pretty good impression of it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not…good at feelings.”

“He’s sorry, he says. And no, you’re not. Good at feelings, that is—oh bloody hell.”

Geralt has started kissing Jaskier’s fingertips one by one. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs between each one.

“God, I hate you,” Jaskier says, whimpering. “You just do whatever you bloody want, don’t you?”

Geralt pauses and looks up at Jaskier, eyes troubled.

“Do you not want this?”

“I do,” Jaskier says. “Gods help me, I do, but I won’t give myself away so cheaply again, witcher. You have to want it, too. You have to really want it, with every poorly articulated feeling in that whole gorgeous body of yours.”

Geralt’s voice is rough. “I do.”

Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek with his scarred hand and says, “Prove it.”

Geralt kisses him. It’s everything Jaskier has ever wanted and it’s not—quite—enough.

“Prove it,” Jaskier says again, breathing hard, his forehead rocking against Geralt’s. “Prove it,” he whispers, drawing back a fraction as Geralt’s lips chase his.

“I’m trying.”

“Not like that.”

Geralt pulls back far enough to look at him. After a moment of silence, Geralt says, “Come with us. Me and Ciri and Yen. Come with us. Then you can let me prove it every day. I’m tired of missing you.”

Jaskier smiles and finally lets Geralt kiss him again. Melts into it and kisses him back, warm and soft. He feels seen. Wanted. The hurt deep inside him dislodges itself and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, that it's possible to be happy again.

“That’s a good start,” Jaskier says.

#witcher #geraskier #fanfiction #prompt fill #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #i'm sorry i don't know where all this despair came from #whump the bard #physically and emotionally #my ask box is still open for prompts if anyone wants to send me one #my fic

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greazyfloz · 1 year

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Hiii!! I love ur writing especially for quinn and I was just wondering if u could write one where he's complaining to jack or elias or anyone about y/n being clingy and she gets upset and starts to distance herself from him? ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Angst: 14. “Do you even love me anymore? w/Quinn Hughes

Promise

It’s been two weeks since I got to the lake house. I’m only hear for a couple more days as I have to go back to work. Quinn and I spend mostly the whole day together but it’s nice just being able to relax.

Quinn and I along with his two brothers were lounging by the pool as we wait for his parents to get back home because they wanted to go on the boat today. I lay on the same lounger as Quinn as he has his arm around me keeping me close to his side and he traces shapes on my arms.

“I’m going to get some tanning lotion, I’ll be right back” I say leaning in giving Quinn a kiss before going in the house to find it.

I look in the first floor bathroom thinking I left it there but cannot find it so I make my way upstairs. I look in Quinn’s room next thinking I may have packed it and there it was. Before turning out to walk back outside I hear Jack’s voice through the window that Quinn usually leaves open over night to let the cooler summer air in while we sleep.

“So how are you two doing?” I hear Jack ask Quinn and I look down out the window to hear Quinn’s answer. His answer was far from what I was expecting though

“Love the girl but I need some space to breathe. I feel suffocated by her always having to be attached to me” I hear Quinn say then watch him look behind him at the back door to make sure I’m not coming out.

I don’t really want to listen to him anymore. I put the lotion back in my bag and grab one of my cover ups ,since the cover up I was planning to wear on the boat was just one of Quinn’s t shirts, before making my way back outside.

I made my way over to the loungers and lay on the one on the other side of Jack since Quinn was in the middle lounger between his two brothers. “You didn’t need help rubbing your lotion?” Quinn asks me and Jack looks over at me

“Couldn’t find it” I lied not looking back at the two guys looking over at me.

It wasn’t long before Ellen and Jim arrive back at the house and everyone stands up expressing how eager they were for them to get back home so they could finally go out. I stand and put my cover up on leaving Quinn’s shirt on the lounger he was laying in before following everyone down to the boat

Jack was driving which meant the two empty seats were either beside Quinn or between Luke and Ellen. I sit beside Quinn because I didn’t want to be too obvious that I was upset.

As we busted out Quinn wrapped his arm around my shoulder but I turned my head looking out further in the water. I never looked back in Quinn’s direction and only ‘hmm’d’ at things he would say to me throughout the day.

Quinn and Jack then switched spots and now Quinn was driving the boat. Once he sat behind the wheel he looked at me and smiled, “wanna drive with me?” He says whip patting his knee

“No, I’m good here” I say

“Come on, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired Quinn” I say not wanted to get into in front of his family, “if we drive by the house anytime soon, can you drop me off?”

“Sure” Quinn says a little salty as he could tell something was up. He turned and drove directly to the lake house. I roll my eyes at his subtle pettiness

Once we get back to the dock, I get up and make my way off the boat, Quinn holds his hand out to help we step onto the dock fighting the waves rocking the boat but I’m too stubborn to take it.

I hear feet hit the dock behind me and turn around to see who else is staying, and I see Quinn. “No, go boating with your family” I tell him but he doesn’t listen

“I’ll go tomorrow” he says as I watch Jack take over again.

We both head inside, and he doesn’t ask until he hears the boats motor fade away. “Are you going to tell me why you are acting so weird?” He asks

“I’m not” I say as I continue walking making my way inside the house

“You came back out of the house sat on a different lounge chair, then just left my shirt to wear this dress that you say makes you uncomfortable, then you make it obvious you didn’t want to sit beside me, then you tell me you are tired when I know you aren’t” he says making me turn to look at him

“Good observation Quinn, make a timeline and try to find the cause” I say before stomping up the stairs and to his room. I get to his room and lay down in his bed and just cry. I’m upset Quinn said that but I’m also just as upset that I let it get to me so bad.

“Why are you so mad a- woah babe, what’s wrong?” Quinn’s says after storming into his room

“Do you even love me anymore?” I ask through my tears

“Of course I do” Quinn says sitting in the bed beside my laying body and starts rubbing me back, “why would you think differently?”

“Because your window is open Quinn” I say burying my head in his pillow. I can’t see the confusion written across his face but I know it is there.

“Did you want me to sh-“ he starts but I shoot up from my laying position to look at him

“I heard you” I say to him, “don’t worry a couple more days and I won’t be attached to you anymore”

Quinn realizes what he says and the confusion wipes off his face. His face has softened and he begins to speak, “I’m sorry” he starts, “I didn’t mean it so seriously, I’m not use to having someone with me all the time like we have been. I dread the day that is coming up because you won’t be here, I love having you here, and I love you y/n”

“You’re just saying that” I say and he brings his thumb up and wipes under my eye

“Wouldn’t lie to you” he says, “you really think if I didn’t love you that I’d let Jack drive my boat without me there just to make sure you’re okay?”

“You do love your boat” I say and he chuckles

“Yeah I do” he says and I chuckle along with him, “but I love you more”

“Promise?” I ask him

“I promise”

#nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl writing #hockey imagines #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic

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gffa · 2 years

Text

A thing that makes me go absolutely feral over the show is how the prequels are very much about that the galactic public has become apathetic, that it starts in The Phantom Menace, where Anakin repeats Shmi’s words, “Mom, you said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other.” and how George Lucas talks about, “All democracies turn into dictatorships – but not by coup. The people give their democracy to a dictator,“ as a theme of the movies. It’s all over The Clone Wars, too, there’s a bunch of arcs that emphasize that you need the people on your side if you’re going to get anything done, that it’s not just on a handful of people, not even a million people, to do everything, but that everyone has to stand up, everyone has to try to help. It has to be about the entire people of the galaxy. But the galaxy just demanded the Jedi and the clones fight their war for them, they drafted both into service, they made it an impossible choice between everyone dying (because the Separatists were committing atrocities that would have killed them all, even down to every last innocent person in the Republic) versus apathy and helping no one. It was years of grueling war, that the Jedi and clones were dying in the battle, meanwhile Senators and the general public were tired of waiting for the war to be over, they were tired of being broke because of the cost of it, they were willing to give up their freedoms because they wanted the easy answers the Empire promised them, no matter what they had to overlook to get them. Obi-Wan says it plainly, as they’re helping the Lurmen to protect themselves, “The rift in the galaxy is not our [the Jedi’s] fault. If more worlds would stand up for themselves against the Separatists, this war would have been over long ago." Obi-Wan is used to a galactic general public that didn’t care. There were pockets of good, but the majority of them weren’t willing to help others out if it cost them anything of themselves. The Jedi gave and gave and gave in that war, they broke themselves on that war, because the galaxy asked it of them and because innocent lives were on the line and the galaxy still refused to meet them halfway. So few people helped each other. And these first two episodes are all about showing the kindness that does still exist in the galaxy. Bail reminds him that there’s no one he trusts more with the child he loves so much, he shows complete faith in Obi-Wan. Haja seems like a crook, just another con artists willing to desecrate the name of a murdered culture for his own gain, but then he’s genuine, he risks himself to help Force-sensitive children get away, to help a Jedi when they need it. Which is why the scene with the 501st trooper hits so hard--another example of how cruel the galaxy was, that the clones gave everything to the Republic, and then they were just thrown away, like they were nothing. And it has to hurt, this was the 501st, the ones that marched on the Temple. This was one of Anakin’s battalion, this man worked with Anakin, this man knew Anakin, the loss of whom Obi-Wan still cannot get his heart around. And this man very possibly murdered Jedi children, even if it wasn’t his fault. But Obi-Wan still digs out some of the very few coins he has and tosses them over, even though it has to cost him to remain kind in a galaxy that seems so determined to be cruel, because he’s starting to see again that there is kindness in the galaxy. That he has to put kindness into the galaxy even if it costs him. Even if it burns him sometimes, he has to put kindness into it, because there will be people who return that kindness, even when it costs them, too.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi spoilers #jedi order #clones #meta

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xxresi-rotxx · 2 years

Text

Jealousy- Leon Kennedy Part 1 (NSFW)

Ahhhh cannot believe I’m writing smut again...oddly feels right XD

Either way enjoy whatever this is! I will most likely not stick to any sort of timeline or actually events from the games so if you’re thinking “that’s not right” you are probably correct lmao, I really only have one objective... ;)

Part 2-

Summary: You’ve been waiting months for Leon to finally come home from his most recent mission but when he does it seems he’s still preoccupied with tying up loose ends. Luckily for you, Chris knows exactly how to change that.

Warnings: Nothing too nsfw in this part, tipsy reader, jealous Leon, no smut yet but everything is fully consented in all of my writings so keep that in mind. Alcohol, spanking, dom!Leon

1285 Words

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One week. In hindsight, one week wasn’t all that long considering what your boyfriend did for work, but it still irked you relentlessly. Leon had been home for one week since his most previous mission with the DSO but it seemed his mind was elsewhere. The first night he returned was wonderful. Intimate and warm, almost as if the two of you had to remind each other who you were.

You can’t help but smile at the memory of showering with him that night. Being so close again, relishing in each other's embrace under the hot water; the steam making it slightly harder to breathe. As much as you loved the reunion, that’s where it ended. You didn’t think much of it, nor did you blame him. You knew he must have been exhausted from traveling & truth be told being back in his arms was more than enough.

At least it was a week ago. Now you found yourself sitting at the local bar, across from Chris Redfield, while you watched in slight annoyance as your boyfriend hounded Chris’s sister Claire for the information she gathered following the events after Leon’s mission.

Chris took notice of how you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Leon & laughed before taking another swig of his beer.

“You know, when you came to sit with me I figured we’d at least have a conversation. If you wanted to keep staring, you could have done so back when you were sitting next to him you know.” Chris said as he eyed you from behind his beer with a smug smirk on his face.

Your attention now on Chris, you rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your drink. “Ugh, I know I know. I just- I’m trying to figure out if I’m being a bad girlfriend or not.” You said before downing the rest of your beer thinking somehow that would help your decision.

“You a bad girlfriend? Doubtful.” Chris scoffed “You know what we all do for a living and you put up with more shit than I assume most women would. We’ve only been back for a week, I thought it would have taken Leon longer than that to fuck things up.”

You gazed at Chris utterly confused now and realizing maybe you shouldn’t have had as many beers as you did, because everything was starting to feel warmer, and you could feel your filter slowly slipping away.

“What? No he didn’t do anything. Well actually that’s the problem.” You slid your hands down your face sighing before putting them on the counter of the bar & staring directly at Chris. “I understand what you all do is beyond important, but I though you invited everyone out tonight to take their minds off of it. Leon hasn’t let Claire have a break since the moment we got in here. Pretty sure he’s been too busy interrogating her to even finish his first beer!” And with that you plopped your head down onto the bar and enjoyed the cool feel of the counter hitting your cheek.

“Ah” Chris sighed before finishing what had to be his fourth beer. “That’s why you want to know if you’re the bad girlfriend...because he’s been too distracted by work, and you feel guilty about being upset about it yeah?”

You nodded your head as best you could while keeping it on the surface of the counter.

“You know, he’s a pretty easy guy to read once you know him well enough.”

This piqued your interest and had you lifting your head to ask Chris what he meant. Before you could, Chris leaned in close; moving your hair from the side of your face and leaning in close enough to whisper in your ear.

“Bet he’s looking right now, am I right?”

You glanced up from where your eyes had previously been a moment ago and made direct eye contact with Leon, who had his eyes trained not on Chris but on you. You couldn’t help the nervous rush that flooded your system as a result of him looking at you like that. You tore your eyes from your boyfriend’s gaze long enough to look back at Chris who had resumed his prior position sitting slouched at the bar. Chris glanced at you from his seat before smirking and ordering another beer for himself & for you.

“Bet you’ve got his full attention now.”

It was taking everything in you to process what had just happened. Was Leon jealous? Is that what his reaction was? ‘Surely not’ you though to yourself, Leon trusted Chris and Claire with his life. There’s no way that little action would catch his attention. Maybe it was just good timing. But as you drew your eyes back up to glance in his direction you realized his eyes were still trained on you. Feeling beyond intimidated you broke the eye contact immediately and brought it instead to the beer now sitting in front of you.

“Gahh Chris, what did you do?!” You couldn’t help but sink lower into your seat, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong, and Leon’s stare did nothing but intimidate you. You stopped yourself mid sip when you thought ‘why did that intimidate me? Like I did anything wrong’. You let the thought go assuming the alcohol was just fucking with your mind at this point, until you noticed Leon leaving the booth and walking your way. The only other discernable thing being Chris’s laugh that quickly faded as Leon got closer.

“Redfield” Leon said while grabbing Chris’s shoulder, “mind if I steal my girl away for a bit?” He said as his gaze brought its way back to you.

“Not at all, but she did just start another drink with me-”

Before Chris could finish his sentence Leon had your beer in hand and was making quick work of it.

“Thanks” he said to Chris while holding a smirk “we’ll be back later.”

He held his hand out for you to take, which giving the events leading up to this, seemed rather sweet. That was until you must have taken too long to reach for his hand and your whole world flipped. The next thing you knew Leon was hauling you out of the bar over his shoulder. When you looked up you saw Chris mouthing the words “fixed it” before winking and getting up to go sit beside his sister.

“Leo-” you started and abruptly stopped as his hand connected with your rear. You squealed, not out of pain, but surprise. You’d never noticed a jealous side of Leon, how in the world had Chris?!

“Please wait until we get to the car, I’m slowly losing my self-control and would really like to not make as scene in the parking lot.”

A few more strides and Leon was at his Jeep, his firm arm setting you down in front of the back passenger door. As he opened it, you looked up at him in disbelief.

“I have to ride in the back?”

“No, you just have to get in.” Leon was slowly losing his patience but couldn’t deny how cute you were when you got tipsy. Realizing you might not catch on; he maneuvered you into the back before getting in himself & shutting the door.

Laying down in the backseat of his Jeep, you looked up to Leon who was now straddling your hips; or trying his best given the limited amount of space you two had.

Leon held your hands before pinning them above your head and lowering his mouth so that it was hovering above yours.

“Now” he breathed ghosting his lips over yours “where to begin?”

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Ahhhh okay I actually liked how this turned out more than I thought I would! Part 2 to come very very soon! Please be nice & leave me your thoughts!!

Thanks:) xoxo -Kitty

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #dom leon #jealous leon #jealousy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon smut #smut

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rosewaterandivy · 10 months

Text

7. gold teeth and curse for this town

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: 18+, no use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations (caught masturbating, slight voyeurism), spring break shenanigans, traveling idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: This chapter is borne out of my current nostalgia for travel and Southern CA that I��m going to make everyone’s problem (the end of grad school cannot come soon enough!). Get ready to repress some 6K of feelings, questionable advice and coping mechanisms - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, reposting my work, however, is not; enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

previous || next

Now, Spring Break, IND ➡️ DFW ➡️ PSP ➡️ Joshua Tree, CA

You hustle Steve out of the loft with ample time to get to the airport. Unlike some people, you operated on the maxim that early is on time and on time is late. As a result, you and Nancy made for fantastic travel companions, you and Steve however…

“Christ, who pissed in your cereal this morning?!”

You sigh in exasperation at his outburst, grabbing your suitcase and shouldering your backpack while Steve locks the car. His hair is a travesty, sticking up every which way like he slept in a barn, he’s so put off by it he’s opted for a blue baseball cap today proclaiming, ‘If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit’ that he’d stolen from Hopper at some point.

“Eat my ass, dude!”

He stops short at that, causing you to collide with his back. You kick the back of his legs with your scuffed shoes, trying to jumpstart the whole walking thing. But no, Steve just stands there like a statue.

When he finally gets going again after a shake of his head, you swear he mumbles something under his breath. It sounds an awful lot like, “You’re killing me, woman.”

Whatever. He’s killing you— all stupidly attractive and mussed from an early morning wake-up call.

Which, to be fair, was definitely unintentional on your part. Nancy could’ve done you a solid and warned you about the thin wall between your room and Steve’s. Quiet and discreet your ass, you’d be having words with Bellesa’s customer service later.

It was preventative, if anything, because you’re conscientious like that. Just a little something to take the edge off before spending the better part of a week alone with Steve. That baby pink sucker should’ve come with a warning, or maybe you’re just that wound up.

Regardless, being less than mindful of your volume resulted in Steve barging into your bedroom right as you were about to come— hand grasping the vibe at just the right angle and shoved down the front of your shorts, shirt rucked up against your chest.

“What the fuck?!” you screech, orgasm slipping back from whence it came. You’re paralyzed in shock, startled by a rumpled, sleep-drunk, shirtless Steve in his boxer-briefs, which were doing fuck-all to help the situation at hand.

Speaking of which… You make a frantic grab for the covers to pull them up and over yourself, clicking the vibe off and stashing it under some pillows.

Meanwhile, he just stands there, steadily growing various shades of pink and breathing heavily. “I thought– You were—” he attempts, tongue-tied and dumbfounded.

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. His jaw drops open, useless, as he takes what he hopes will be a steadying breath in. But that’s of no use, because why would the universe ever cut him a break?

You sail beneath his nose, wafting from the movement of the sheets as you hastily cover yourself and that scent— that intoxicating sweetness he remembers pulling out of past lovers, sucking off his fingers, savoring in his throat— crashes into him with its entire, terrifying, exhilarating implication.

He’s utterly baffled. The kind of hard-hitting no shit moment you get when someone tells you the answer to a riddle you’ve been chewing on for hours, trying to decipher that missing component you just can’t get a grip on. And when the answer wakes up your brain, and your brain face-palms itself, you’re walloped with both relief and irritation.

In Steve’s case, he’s walloped with the scent of spearmint toothpaste and soap-clean skin only lightly musky. Saltiness lingering from an evaporated sheen of sweat, a dampness that dried over, previously wet from a specific type of touch.

Fuck.

He promptly turns on his heel with a muttered apology, body rigid and ramrod straight with tension, bathroom door latched before you can ask him where he’s going. He turns the water on for the shower and steps inside. Starts almost too fast, grip on his cock clumsy and impatient. Steve squeezes and pulls off, then he does it again, the drag of his fist making a delicious, sloppy sound—Do you wonder about him? Those nights you go on half-hearted dates and come back early, shrugging, “Felt weird to— There wasn’t much of a connection,” and plop back down, contented to be next to him. Is that something, too?

He should have fucked you a long time ago on the couch to the soundtrack of a forgotten movie. On the counter, interrupting breakfast, scrabbling for something to grip, knocking shit over, too fevered to care.

He’d do you right. Do you long and good and how you deserve.

“Steve—" you’d cry for him, “Can’t believe we haven’t done this before.”

“Yeah,” he’d say, “You’re so fucking warm, and hot, and my god, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. Gonna get up inside you, baby, gonna open you up, gonna ruin you for everyone else.”

And with that image, Steve comes so much it’s astonishing. He shudders uncontrollably, gasping out loud with the wind knocked out of him, and arches up toward the ceiling like he might levitate. And then, on the comedown, because being backed up for who knows how long wound him up for the kind of orgasm that decides to return for an encore, he comes again.

You get through security swiftly, the TSA agent from last time making conversation, checking your IDs and asking if you had another hilarious shirt on today.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ and jerking your thumb behind you to Steve, “It’s all him today.”

The agent nods and smiles, surveying Steve and his stupid hat quickly. Hands back your IDs and with a laugh, “Have a good trip!”

You save yourself from saying you too! but just barely. Brain still fried from your earlier interrupted activities, no thanks to the man following closely at your heels.

Steve doesn’t say a word until you’re seated on the plane. And even then, it’s less of a word and more of a clearing of his throat that prompts your attention.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he says, refusing to meet your eyes, “For earlier today. I honestly thought you were like, having a nightmare or something.”

You fail to stifle your laugh. “Steve,” you chuckle, “If the women you’ve been seeing sound like they’re having nightmares when they come—”

“I wouldn’t know,” he interrupts, lips pulled tight. “Not really seeing anyone at the moment.”

You make a silent ‘oh,’ eyes blowing wide. What were you supposed to say to that?

He busies himself with his backpack, pulling out a book and some headphones. You do the same, placing a worn copy of The Devil’s Highway on your lap and settling headphones around your neck.

Something nudges at your calf. You turn from the flight attendant’s spiel to find a folded piece of paper held between two of Steve’s fingers. He flexes them toward you and you, bewildered, take it from him as he returns to his book.

Curious, you run a finger across its worn edges as it unfolds. A familiar scrawl greets you, ‘IOU one explanation.’

Your own.

Shit, the devil’s really in the details, isn’t he?

Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards, mind racing back to Christmas morning as you quickly ripped off a scrap of paper from a receipt and wrote this on the back of it before stuffing it into Steve’s stocking.

Your tongue darts out the wet your chapped lips, firmly back in the present. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to be better prepared, thoughts in some logical order, feelings sorted (well, mostly) before Steve played this card.

You were supposed to know what the fuck you would do.

How you felt about him.

You’ve folded the paper back up and shoved it into your pocket without even realizing it. Dazed and confused while the captain makes an announcement, prompting the cabin for take-off.

Steve’s hand finds yours against the armrest, warm and familiar fingers tangling up with yours. Headphones secured on both of your ears, you take a deep breath as your stomach momentarily suspends itself while the plane takes off; inertia giving way to weightlessness. A squeeze of your hand before you lose yourself for a few hours, the playlist, courtesy of your best friend, sailing through your ears.

Best friends, ex-friends 'til the end / Better off as lovers and not the other way around.

Steve could kick himself for that stupid IOU, you’d been distant and quiet for most the day now. Barely said anything at all during the layover in Dallas, fucking hell. He’d left you to collect the bags while he dealt with the rental car. But he can’t drag his thoughts away from you, your eyes wide as you read the note, posture changing instantaneously.

He interacts politely with the concierge but it’s clear his mind is somewhere else; he hopes he doesn’t come off as rude. When he makes his way back to you, wading through the crowds at the Palm Springs airport, you’ve gathered both suitcases and were sitting on top of one of them.

You’re on a phone call of some kind, turned away from him and hunched over like you’re trying to sink into yourself. His final present to you from Christmas on your right hand glinting in the light as your hold the phone to your ear. He hears a sniffle, quickly followed by a brief sigh.

“Yeah, thanks Nance,” you turn and spot him, offering a tight, watery smile. “Gotta go, Steve’s ready with the car.”

You listen as she says something, nodding along with her words.

“‘Kay,” you let out a shaky breath, “Love you too, bye.”

He bridges the distance between you, reaching for the suitcases before you can brush him away. You toe his backpack toward him, hefting your own over your shoulders with a grunt. Dodging a toddler and frazzled mom with a stroller, the pair of you make it outside, the sun a warm welcome against your faces.

You follow his lead to the rental car, a Ford of some kind, no convertible for the dirt roads and desert terrain of Joshua Tree.

The chirp of the car lets you know Steve’s unlocked it, you quickly compress the handle of your bag and shove it into the trunk. Backpacks are thrown into the backseat followed by a desperate plea from you for both “food,” and “the goddamn a/c.”

He grants both with a soft laugh. Maneuvers the Bronco Sport into Palm Springs with finesse, locating an In-N-Out in record time and rattles your order off from memory. You connect your phone to the bluetooth while you wait in the drive-thru line, mellow guitar chords ramp up and the melancholic sound of ‘drivin’ out into the sun / let the ultraviolet cover me up’ fill the car.

Steve steals your phone before you can change it to something less apocalyptic and depressing, so you’re left to listen to the rasping sounds of Phoebe Bridgers at the close of “I Know the End” while an In-N-Out employee hands you trays of food.

He thanks the teenager, and following the curve of the pavement and scores a parking spot just as a new song rips through the speakers. You hand him his order as he pushes the driver’s seat back to stretch his legs.

“Thanks,” he manages to say before shoving some fries into his mouth.

“Sure,” you reply, nearly unhinging your jaw to take a bite of the burger.

He laughs to himself, watching you. “S’like watching a pride of lions devour a warthog or something.”

You garble some smart-ass response, undoubtedly, before remembering your mouth is full. You roll your eyes and continue to enjoy your meal. Steve follows suit.

After lunch, you suggest grabbing some groceries for the next few days. You wind through the aisles of Ralph’s, Steve following closely behind angling the cart to catch the incoming volleys of cereal boxes, power bars, and cartons of juice and milk.

His heart clenches at the scene— it’s all very domestic, you ticking off your mental grocery list confident in the fact that Steve is just a step behind you— yes, dear; sure thing, sweetheart. You’re prattling on about some shit Wheeler pulled last week, a story you’ve already told him but he can’t bring himself to care, while you decided between Fruity Pebbles or Trix cereal.

Not when it seems like you’re just shaking off the gloom you wore earlier today. Eyes bright and animated, beaming smiles and pealing laughter; he can’t stop the smile that works its way across his face.

Back in the car before he knows it, groceries stowed in the back and cart returned to the corral. Taking his phone from the center console, you type in the AirBnB address and hand it back to him, fingers brushing against his just so. You say something about the property being at the edge of the park and a about an hour’s drive, give or take.

Steve just nods and starts the car. He follows the prompts of directions easily, and pretty soon Palm Springs is in the rearview. The road gives way to rolling hills and climbs with short descents as he drives closer to Joshua Tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices there isn’t the usual book in your hand.

He calls your name, “You alright?”

You nod, exhaustion evident in your gaze. “Mmhm, jus’ sleepy. Closing my eyes so I don’t get nauseous from the peaks and valleys.”

That’s right, you get carsick if you read on hilly or mountainous stretches of road. Though it’s not much, Palm Springs to Joshua Tree, he guesses the frequent hills and dips of the drive would be enough to do it. He turns the music down slightly, letting you doze.

It’s been a minute since he’s been alone with his thoughts. What with Nance moving out and you moving in, his mind has been elsewhere. It was a relief to finally be on spring break because it freed up some time for himself.

Not that he used that time wisely, exactly.

He’d talked to Robin, briefly and abstractly, of course. But she was wise to his plight at this point, evasive tactics aside. She cautioned him, once again, to take it slow since you were liable to spook. She was probably right about that.

But then again, maybe not.

Chancing a glance to his right, he catches you and finds himself having a moment. How your face looked all soft and sweet—head lolled back against the seat and precariously resting against the window, how quiet you were, the strange peace settling between the two of you since lunch.

For a second Steve’s also not quite sure how he’s feeling– still gathering his bearings from the aftermath of new tenderness– but he’s so, so lucky that you’re exactly the kind of dummy he’s always known you were. Laughter bubbles from his throat when you snort yourself awake and blink blearily at your surroundings.

“We’re here,” he says softly, one hand resting against the steering wheel while the other pockets his phone.

You’re slow to the draw, having slept for the better of part of an hour, unclipping your seatbelt clumsily and fumbling for the door handle. And it’s all he can do not to kiss you stupid right then and there.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he exits the car and opens your door for you. A murmured ‘thanks’ as you hop down to the desert floor and read the host’s instructions for check-in. Your ancient chucks kick up dust as you walk to the front door and key in the code.

Steve grabs the bags, leaving the groceries for later. He turns, spying a hot tub nestled among desert plants and grasses. The mountains behind the modern house provide a stark contrast to its sleek planes and lines. He almost feels bad for tracking in dust and dirt when he steps inside.

The house itself is sleek, a paragon of modern design. Lots of windows to let in light, particularly in the living spaces. Primary colors and minimal art set the various rooms apart in the open concept space, he notes a red couch and yellow dining chairs, following the sound of your footsteps.

“It’s a two bedroom,” you call out from somewhere out of sight.

He’s both pleased and frustrated at that particular detail. Maybe that’s your way of introducing some distance between the two of you? He’d rather not think about it.

“They’re both nice,” you say, appearing out of thin air and leaning against a wall to his left. “We can flip for ‘em, I guess.”

Steve checks his pocket for loose change and prizes a quarter between his thumb and forefinger. “So heads is…?”

“The green room.”

“And tails?”

“The orange one.”

“Right,” he nods, “So on three, you call it.”

He counts it down and you call tails as the coin flips between you. He catches it on his palm, opening it for you to check.

“Tails it is—I’ll take the orange room, you get green.”

So, it’s settled. You take your suitcase and backpack with a smile before padding back to the second bedroom. Steve passes a pop art version of a Simpsons character displayed on the wall as he makes his way to his room. It’s not too far from yours with a sliding glass door to and view to the surrounding property.

He leaves his bags by the door and beelines for the bed. His back hits the mattress and he’s out like a light.

The clanging of pots and pans wakes him. The faint footfalls of bare feet against the concrete floor as your prattle around the kitchen. He scrubs a hand down his face with a sigh.

He’s still exhausted from earlier, so he settles on drifting back to sleep, maybe waking you up in the morning with a big mug of coffee for that inevitable travel-hangover you’ll have.

Steve yawns and grins when he hears your hip bump the counter, a hushed curse (“god damned asslamp, what the fuck”), your feet padding away, and the kitchen faucet turns on with a rush. You’re such a considerate dope.

Another yawn. He’s asleep again.

It’s the soft knocking on his door that rouses him this time.

He pries his eyes open, instant regret flooding his veins because he slept in his contacts again.

“Uhgimmeaminute,” he slurs out, hand frantically groping for his phone to check the time. Which is useless since it’s dead anyway.

Your voice sounds out from behind the door, “Steve, you awake?” A pause. “Dinner’s ready, if you want any.”

He’s managed to turn over onto his stomach, elbows sinking into the mattress, hands cradling his head as he struggles to wake the fuck up.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “Be there soon.”

Music echoes from the kitchen, something soothing and low-energy. You’ve set the table and lit a few taper candles you’d managed to find. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes a seat, watching while you sway and sing to yourself.

You sing along with the music, accompanying Paul Simon as he talks about being being lovers and marrying fortunes together. Steve sighs.

He may be biased of course, but he’s always adored your singing— you’re no vocalist, not really, but that doesn’t stop you. You’ll warble out any tune that strikes your fancy with gusto. Eddie and his attempts to rope you into any sort of musical education had gone amiss— you like what you like, and you’ll sing what you like.

He could listen to you all day, if you’d let him.

He clears his throat and you nearly flip the skillet in front of you, wine glass ringing from the tapping of your jewelry against it. “Christ! You scared the shit outta me, dude!”

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a similar calming tone as the chorus starts.

You set a plate down in front of him and slide into a chair to his left. He looks at you, questioning, “Not hungry?”

“Oh, me? I think I’ll just chew on these grapes for a bit.”

You take a sip of wine and make a show of working your jaw, as if you are, in fact, chewing the grapes from the Malbec. He huffs a laugh at your antics, tucking into his own dinner. With a wink, you swallow and say, “I ate during your nap, so I’m good.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’ve whipped up, but it’s damned good. “Right,” he says, hand covering his chewing mouth, “Sorry about that.”

“S’fine,” you assure him with a wave, “No worries.”

The lights are dimmed. The guitar melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

“Um…” Your voice cracks. “So, about that explanation.”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you sit in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little unprepared. Like, obviously, we kissed in December and then we both just let it go. And I’m supposed to have it worked out by now—but recently there’s been … tension.” You pause for a drink, “I guess it’s only natural for you to want to know— I just got freaked out when I realized how you felt. Not only because I’m literally the last person to figure it out… It’s just—”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for while now.

Steve laughs and leans forward, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He says, eyes earnest and fixed on yours, “At least, I hope I didn’t.” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat, “I mean, I lo—,” He stops, covering with a brief cough, “I, uh, care about you, a lot.”

A heavy silence falls between you as the next track begins, allowing you to wallow in your own cowardice. Your inability to say exactly what he nearly admitted to a moment ago.

Love.

Is that what the pressure in your chest is? The nerves fluttering in your stomach anytime you catch sight of him or your phone dings with a notification? A reason for the ever-present smile on your face as you gossip with him in the hall before the bell rings? An answer for your burgeoning insomnia because you can’t sleep well unless you’re by his side?

Cause if so… god is it fucking torture.

Since kissing Steve Harrington in the living room on that Sunday evening last December, you’ve replayed that kiss over and over again, time after time as you fall asleep. It’s been approximately two months and some change, numerous lunches and dinners, with one long walk in the park with your family dog before he got a frantic call from Robin and had to leave for “bake sale disaster clean up.” You don’t want to precisely calculate how much time has passed. What you do know is that all these moments add up to you lying in bed thinking about it while trying desperately not to scream.

Tack on to that Steve quite literally catching you this morning with your hand down your shorts, seconds from release while you were most definitely thinking of him.

Jesus H. Christ.

You linger at the table, twirling your empty wine glass between two fingers as you think. Steve clears his plate, gets himself a glass of water, and you return to the kitchen to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his thighs. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“The National?” He asks amusedly, “I really like them… he’s got a great voice.” It’s different from the song you’d included on the vinyl you’d given him over Christmas, but apparently he knew enough of their catalogue to recognize them by sound alone.

Color you surprised.

But I'm gonna keep you in love with me for a while / I'm gonna keep you in love with me.

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of the island. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

“Was that, uh, an adequate explanation for you?”

“What you mean?”

Standing on your tiptoes, you move to face him. “What I mean is,” you begin, “In your expert opinion, did my rambling monologue over there satisfy the IOU?”

You pause and wait for his answer.

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before he catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Harrington cups the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

A brief parting of your lips gives you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest is burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, “D-does that answer your question?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “We could—”

Until suddenly Robin’s advice rears its ugly head.

Steve had been warned about not getting involved, repeatedly. Plenty of concern from Robin about getting “poorly wired idiot signals” crossed. It’s dangerous with a friend, even more so with you because he can’t lose you.

Point blank refuses to, in fact.

He abruptly pauses and pulls away, like he thought better of it. His hands place you back down on your feet– back to Earth– as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against the counter.

In the absence of his mouth and yours and his warm hands skating across your body, you’re terrified.

And from the look on Steve’s face, you’d wager he is as well.

Suddenly you’re looking at him one way, and then in a flash, the same grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of a dumb joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like solar flare, and he thinks he must be losing his mind.

He hazards a glimpse to you.

Maybe Steve’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

It was just a kiss.

He says your name carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. He clears his throat, “We should probably call it a night.”

A feeble sigh as Steve pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s staring at the ceiling, willing this excruciating moment to pass him by.

“Y-yeah, okay,” you whisper.

When he finally looks back down, you’ve left without a sound.

“Mmm…”

He wakes up for a third time, not that he had been sleeping soundly by any means.

It’s barely audible at first, especially if he was still oblivious, but now it’s like his ears can comprehend a new language, like all his senses have been heightened.

Or maybe it’s just because you didn’t close your door entirely tonight. Steve can’t blame you, he did, after all, interrupt you this morning.

He can’t recall if voyeurism was ever his kink, but just this once, maybe it can be. His curiosity takes hold, lights up upon hearing a stifled groan of a syllable that sounds surprisingly like his name. If he focuses, he can dampen the nighttime outside his window, smother out the air conditioning and—

“Steve… that’s… oh, it feels so good…”

His cock springs to life.

There’s a rhythm of folded knees, thighs squeezed together in pulses, fingers reaching between them, and the hot, pleading breaths you puff into the clamped grasp of your hand. Even your heart, wildly banging around in your chest. He takes note of the tempo and dives beneath the waistband of his shorts, keeping pace.

“There, faster… don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He thinks, I won’t, and finds it a little perfect how this entire thing seems to be mutual, after all.

He wakes for the last time, in the late morning, and rolls out of bed to brush his teeth and shower. He definitely smells like sex, and when he opens the door to the bathroom, you’re already at the counter, also smelling like sex. Steve slyly looks down and adjusts himself, tilting his groin away and out of view.

“Mornin’” You rub at your temple, squinty and tired. “Think you were in my dream last night,” you say absently, blinking out the sleep, ungracefully squeezing toothpaste onto your toothbrush where it falls off in a goopy pile. You scrub in gentle circles, leaning over to spit and rinse, and come back up wet and bleary. As Steve washes his face, you tug his towel from the rack.

He pats off his cheeks, brushes his own teeth with one hand next, the other reaching sideways to swipe a rolling bead of water off your neck, purposefully running his thumb up your throat.

Low and encouraging, he asks, “Yeah? Was it a good dream?”

You blink in quick flutters at that, surprised and abruptly reliving a fuzzy memory, a prickle of dew casting itself over your brow.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, sudden heat rippling off your body, that lovely perfume of incoming arousal rising to meet him. When you stumble back, flustered, he holds you still, sets you on your shaky feet.

Steve licks his lips, thinks about how maybe this won’t be a thing he’ll simply get over, how he is quite glad to have you, and maybe he can have more of you, too.

He thinks about how easily a mutual fantasy can come true and murmurs, “That’s good, honey. That’s real good.”

An exasperated huff as Steve sticks his arm out in front of your collar. You look at him in irritation, ready to swat it away until your feet trip over a loose rock and he catches you by the shoulder.

“Watch it,” he says calmly, setting you on your feet, “If you stop looking down at your feet, you might see something you like.”

Target acquired: you got a juicy ass, Harrington.

Smartly, you shut up, letting him walk ahead in case any more errant rocks might make you eat your words again.

The trail to Skull Rock is popular, full of hikers and brush branches as you’ve repeatedly discovered by taking twigs to the face. Keeping close to Steve, you let him shoulder most of the burden, only putting your hand up when a branch he snaps off with his hand flies too close to your eyes.

“IF—” You start loudly, and Steve bristles at your volume, “If you could pick one person from history who you’d take out to dinner, if circumstances made it possible,” you pause to take a breather, letting a family pass by on their way down the trail. “Who would it be?”

“I wouldn’t.” Steve retorts, “And you’re being annoying.”

“I’m not!” You insist, hands on your hips and eyes narrowed at him from behind your sunglasses. “You’re just being boring and refusing to play DC.”

“What’s that— the stupid thing the kids were whispering about recently? Dead crush?”

You respond with a maniacal giggle. “Mine’s Rasputin, he’s Russia’s greatest love machine!”

Steve groans. Shoulders his bag with a disappointed sigh, exasperated that you tricked him into this stupid game, “Fucking– you’ve got to be kidding. That’s disgusting.”

With a flick of your wrist, you condescendingly scoff. “Glass houses Steve,” you tease. “Besides, you’d probably pick someone like Princess Di because you’re predictable.”

“Rasputin’s a bit dark, isn’t he?” Steve shakes his head, forging ahead on the trail.

Sticking your tongue out at the back of his head, you fix your gaze forward with a sly smirk.

“Who would you pick, Mr. H.? Let’s get a peek into that big brain of yours.” You lick your lips as he looks back over his shoulder.

Steve mulls the question over for a second, “Margaret Thatcher. I’d take her to dinner. And then to an early grave.”

There’s an exasperated sound that escapes your lips. “Okay, that’s not really how the game works. This is not supposed to be a political commentary- it’s a genuine display of … attraction!”

“To corpses.” He mutters.

“Okay, that’s dark.” You exhale with a brief chuckle.

You’re stunned into silence thereafter, and it’s a wonder, since Steve’s never known you to be silent for anything. A life-time of no-filter commentary that makes him physically ill at times, and you’re shocked quiet.

The fallout of last night lingered awkwardly, coloring the lazy morning and early afternoon. He didn’t even have the courage to look at you—only forging on with the day, dewy with sweat. Briny with exertion. Sweet and tangy and whipping through the air, chased by dry wind.

Steve’s back in the driver’s seat, you’re riding shotgun. Shades perched on your nose bridge, ruddied pout glorious against the sunset backdrop.

“You alright?”

A bead rolls down your brow, gets lost in the damp hair coiled by your ear. Steve reaches over, brushing your arm and you pull back, letting him dig in the backseat. He loops a finger through a hydroflask and hands it over. “Here.”

A small smile as you take it from his slack grip.

The cool water slides right down your throat and soothes the fever in your throat. A clatter of the visor’s mirror slides open and you look at your reflection before pushing your glasses up again.

Steve has already returned to his side, staring out the gaping window, hair rushing over his beautiful face.

You tapped on his hand, water bottle clinking against it fell to the floor at your feet. The evening is cooling, chasing away the day’s heat. A filmy layer of sweat begins to condense on your brow despite the open windows and a/c on full blast.

And it’s just his way, isn’t it? To smile and wait, look so peaceful while your heart howls for him. To say I love you without ever having to say it at all.

Shyly, with his hand inching toward yours, eyes glowing the slightest bit gold as night falls, he whispers, “Better?”

A brief nod, you settle back against the passenger seat suddenly exhausted.

“Stay awake for me, we’ll be home soon.” Steve pleads, linking fingers through yours in the growing darkness. The car rumbling back to life. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

His quiet way, his patient way, his careful way. Loving you without loving you. Telling you without telling you. Secret languages finally understood.

A kiss pressed to the top of your head and you don’t know if you should laugh or cry when he moves his hand to your thigh, fingers tangled up in yours. All you can do is duck your head and grin.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #teacher!steve #reader instert #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

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chanshoesunite · 1 year

Text

"Go harder for round two?"

Content info: YN and Chan have just fucked, but why not go harder for round two?

Word count: 1K

Warnings: dirty talk, the sex is a bit on the rougher side maybe idk

You lie there, on your stomach, basking in post-coital bliss. Chan and you have just had a very enjoyable tumble in the sheets; a playful little tussle during laundry folding turned less playful and more heated, and now here you are, naked, the late spring afternoon sun falling through the window, tickling your bare back.

Chan returns from discarding the condom and slips under the covers next to you. Immediately, his lips find your shoulder blades as he presses soft kisses to your skin. You giggle into the pillow, enjoying his gentle ministrations.

He continues to kiss you, his hand tenderly stroking your side, his touch light as a feather against your sensitive skin. You could doze off, and you almost do, because the rhythm of his strokes is so calming, and you have just had an orgasm, and the sun is so nice and warm…

Chan lets his hand slide across your arse and between your legs. You open your eyes in surprise as you feel him slide two fingers into your still-wet pussy. “Channie?” you ask, because you hadn’t expected this. The mood was sleepy, comfy, relaxed just a minute ago, and now, you wonder why you thought that – clearly, your cunt wants more, it delights in the way Chan is slowly fingering you.

He shifts his weight, and he is above you, his front pressed against your back, and now you feel it – he is hard. Very much so. You moan involuntarily, and he bites your neck. “I was thinking,” he rasps, his voice rough with want, “I feel like for round two, we can go a bit harder.”

“Go harder for round two?” you breathe, because that sounds overwhelming and incredible at the same time.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says as he grabs your hips and lifts them so he can push a pillow under them. “You just have to lie there and take it like a good girl.” He spreads your legs a bit wider, showing you exactly what he means – he’ll do all the work. “How does that sound?”

You glance back at him and smile. “Why are you not inside me already?”

His eyes darken, and an evil little smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know my little slut was even more eager to be filled than I was to fuck her.”

You begin to say, “Well, clearly, you were wrong about that,” but you cannot finish because with one swift, hard stroke, he is inside you, and the smallest delicious soreness of having just been thoroughly fucked and doing it again so soon takes over your senses. Chan does not wait – you don’t need time for adjusting, you are wet and eager to be taken. And so he does – he pounds you like that’s all you’re good for, and you just lie there, feeling his thick length filling you over and over again, stretching you. Your eyes are screwed shut, your hands curled into the sheets; the angle is so good, the cushion helps him hit your sweet spot with almost every thrust. His hot breath and his grunts against your neck do the rest: Being silent is out of the question – it is the middle of the day, but you can’t help but moan, pant, scream, beg for him to move, to give you more, to fuck you harder. It’s too fucking good, you’re almost sobbing with this assault of pleasure, the way every fibre of your being is focused on your pussy being railed by Chan’s hard cock.

He then shifts his weight onto his one arm, freeing his one hand to put over your mouth. He doesn’t stop fucking you, though. “Shhh, baby,” he growls into your ear. “You’re being so loud, we’ll get kicked out of the building. Everyone can hear you, baby girl, everyone knows I’m fucking you so well. You like that, hm? You like giving me all the control, letting me use your tight little cunt for my pleasure. You like making me feel good, being my little slut. You’re so hot, baby. Come to think of it… I do want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good.” And he takes his hand off your mouth, and he redoubles his efforts, his thrusts become incredibly harder, making the bed squeak. You almost howl at the pleasurable assault and bury your head in the pillow, dead set on keeping quiet. Then –

“Oh no, you won’t.”

Chan is not having it, though; you feel yourself being pulled up onto your knees, your back against his front. He is still thrusting forcefully, but now his hands find your breast and clit, stimulating you even further, making your moans more keening and breathier. “If I want you to come on my cock screaming, you will,” he growls, biting your shoulder and pushing into you relentlessly.

You know it’ll soon be over for you, this is too much, and it only takes a few more well-placed rubs against your clit and you’re coming with a moan that is positively pornographic. Behind you, you can feel Chan shaking with the effort, but he’s a lost cause, too, coming as soon as he can feel you spasm around him. Grabbing your chin, he pulls you in for a messy, wet kiss that swallows most of his groans.

When you both still, he gently pulls out and lays you back down on the bed, once again discarding a used condom before pulling you against his chest. Slowly, both of you catch your breath. He softly kisses your temple. “Was that okay?”

You glance up at him – his dark curls are a sweaty mess, his pupils are dilated, his cheeks are flushed. He looks young and vulnerable and sexy like that, and you’ve never found him more attractive. “Very okay,” you say, kissing his collarbone, clearly underselling the exquisite sex you've just had. “But do I get to nap now?”

Chan chuckles. “You do, baby girl,” he allows, kissing your nose before settling with you under the covers, snuggling closer and closing his eyes.

#author hare don't care #author hare likes hitting it from the back and she doesn't care who knows it #tortoise is SALIVATING!!! what a delicious treat that was! wow!! i need me some of that (both the sex and the talent to write smut like it)#bang chan imagine #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #author hare #skz imagine #chanshoesunite #bang chan x yn #skz smut #bangchan x reader #bang chan scenario #bang chan drabble #bangchan smut #bang chan hard hours

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sighs-deeply-and-dreadfully · 1 year

Note

it's me, the whore. you know who i am. (i'm using anon for deniability)

Could you do Wally Darling x Insomniac!Reader pwetty pwease? *cutely flutters eyelashes* I think it'd be cute to have them having a little sleepover, maybe do each other's hair and nails and shit :squishy: ALSO thinly veiled mutual crushes.......... maybe stare out the window at the stars together and subconsciously hold hands then get all flustered when they realize... yeah...... queers........

ew…. Gay person on my blog….. /j (hi Sammy) (your deniability doesn’t work when you MESSAGED IN OUR SERVER ABOUT SENDING THIS— you’re lucky I’m such a kind fellow! So dear and merry! So sweet! Or else I’d post the proof and ruin you to my Two Followers (one of which you are)!! You better behave, BUCKO!!!!! /j)

But yes! Yes I can! Points at and laughs. /j

Slumbern’t Party!!

Wally Darling x GN!Insomniac!Reader !

Drabble format, pre-established (romantic) unconfessed crushes!

It was the middle of the night, the sleepy little neighbourhood deep into it’s slumber by now. The sky hung sweet and deep above, cloaking the town in a comfortable dark hue dappled by stars. It was a pleasant summer night, the occasional warm breeze slicing through the ever so slightly slightly chilled air.

With their window creaked open to let the soothing breeze in, currently sprawled out on their hardwood floor, was our dear, little Y/N. Insomniac nights are so fun, aren’t they (/sar)? They had laid upside down in bed, with a pillow— without a pillow, no blankets— every blanket. They had tossed and turned, before eventually trying the floor— and yet again; with pillows, without; with blankets, without. Upside down, right side up (is there such a thing as a ‘right side up’ when you lay on the floor..?), spinning around! It simply was no use, though. No matter how long they laid in silence, eyes screwed shut, slumber simply just would not dawn upon them. With a soft groan, slowly pushing themself up off the floor, they’d frown to themself. They didn’t necessarily have anywhere to be tomorrow, no, but.. still, the inability to sleep can be a frustrating thing— maybe even nerve-wracking. And, now? They had finally hit the breaking point of simply giving up. Perhaps getting up, and moving around, might help…

Quickly, though, it was as if a light bulb had flickered up over their head! They had lovely friends in the neighbourhood, surely.. maybe one of them, was up?

Ah, no, no,.. one cannot go knocking on doors at..— what time was it? Their head would swivel around, before shrugging— at whatever time it was. Impolite, impolite.. Soon, though, their gaze would land onto the phone nestled sweetly into the corner as a new idea rose to mind.

Wally Darling, no other, had.. well, found out about their troubles! From the stamped, dark eyebags nestled underneath the lovely Y/N’s gaze, to how— mysteriously— they’d be up before everyone else some days.. and then be the last to show up, sometimes not even appearing until near evening, others. To say your sleep schedule went unnoticed by him would be a lie— and, some days ago, he had approached you about it.

You were curled up on a bench when he approached you, staring blearily into the distance— exhaustion having abruptly caught up to you. Why, it even made it hard to think, a little.. how unpleasant. Soon, though, you were lulled out of your daze— just a tad— by a soft, concerned voice and a careful tap to the shoulder.

“Neighbour.. heelllooo..? Heellloooo?.. Are.. you there?”

You soon came face to face with Wally, who was looking at you with quite a bit of concern, cupping one of his own cheeks as his other hand held his lifted arm. He was doing that one pose, that concerned mothers do.. haha!

“There you are,..” His voice rang soft and sweet, a certain tenderness to it as he spoke, “.. what happened, friend? Were you watching the clouds?”

From there, you sat him down— explaining to him your insomnia, and just.. how you didn’t sleep well— and you hadn’t, not really, for the past few days. Though his concern read.. somewhat clear on his face— his smile dampened a bit, and his brows furrowed— he nodded along, carefully.

“Does.. anything help.. you on.. those nights?”

You rolled your shoulders in a shrug, lifting a hand to rub your eye.

“I see,..” He seemed to contemplate for a moment, before placing a felt hand on your arm with his signature, kind of dopey, smile. “Well.. if you ever want company.. on those nights, I’m always available, neighbour..!”

You smiled a bit to yourself, soon shuffling towards the phone. If he hadn’t meant the offer, he wouldn’t have proposed, right..? Wally wasn’t the type to play people pleaser, and he certainly never proposed something he didn’t mean!.. As far as you knew.. So, with slight hesitance, you began to roll in his number on the circular number pad. Soon, you held the phone up to your ear; soon, a small click could be heard; soon, a sort of hummed mumble slipped through the phone.

“Mmm,.. hellooo..?” He waited for a second, before you could hear the brief inhale he’d give before he would, typically, lull out another greeting— and you beat him to talking, first. You explained, he listened— seemingly yawning a few times as you spoke— and he soon gave his signature “ha ha ha!” through the receiver. Though, it was notably softened, maybe even a bit higher pitched..?.. likely due to him being, well, sleepy.

“I can.. come over, sure..” He’d trail off to yawn again, before humming, “.. is it.. a sleepover?”

You could tell he was joking, at least.. he probably was?— But either way, you said sure! Yeah! It’s a sleepover. I mean.. who sleeps at sleepovers, anyways? Your response lulled another soft bout of his laughter out of him.

“Okay, neighbour.. I’ll be over soon.. I have to tell—“ Yet again, he’d be cut off by a yawn. He sure did that a lot, huh? “— Home.. I’ll see you soooon..”

With that, the line clicked dead— and you soon poised yourself by your front door, somewhat anxiously. Each minute ticked by agonizingly slow until you heard the soft rasping of.. knuckles..?.. on your door. You’d lunge to your feet, quickly pulling it open— to reveal a.. surprisingly unkept Wally. His hair was let down, messily shoved into the vague shape of his pompadour, and he was wearing his usual clothing!.. Just very messily put on. To be frank, he still looked half asleep as he, uhm, blinked one eye at a time up at you.

“.. Hellooo..” His smile widened as he greeted you, staring up at you.. blissfully? You couldn’t quite tell, “.. Can I come innn?”

Quickly, you side step and let him in— of course! And he soon makes himself at home, settling onto your couch. His smile looked.. especially dopey, right now, as he just.. somewhat buffered before looking to you.

“So.. what do you.. want to do?”

You kind of.. full stop, buffering. Ah, shoot, what hell did you want to do? Your gaze flickers around quickly for a moment to try and figure it out before— oh!.. Slowly grinning, you’d point to his hair. He took a moment to understand what you mean, before defensively— though playfully— placing his hands over his.. mess of a pompadour.

“My hair.. my beautiful hair, no..” He’d trail off, before whispering out another bout of laughter. Next thing you both knew, you were sat in front of him— brushing down his hair.. basically down onto his face, due to where it was long and where it was short. He just say there, staring at you silently from behind the drapes of blue, as you worked.

After un-doing all the knots his.. horrific attempt at a hairstyle had made— did he not wear his bonnet tonight??— you’d soon brush it back, beginning to braid it. And Wally simply just.. sat there, letting you play with his hair. He’d eventually shut his eyes, kind of just sitting there like a cat getting groomed— looking rather content! It was a cute view, but you focused more on his hair— carefully twirling the sectioned off strands into smooth braids. It was calming, and you slowly felt your exhaustion ebb back into you. Your eyelids grew heavy as you tied off the last braid, holding a content smile. As you told him you were done, he’d lift a hand to feel over the work— as he had no mirror (how woeful!)— he’d soon hum, pleased.

“Thank you, friend.. ha ha ha!” He sounded less half-awake now, soon giving a small stretch as his arms lifted over his head. “What next?”

With that, you began to do a handful of activities— including forcing (/j) Wally to paint your nails a lovely glittery blue, and after a lot of chaotic smudging and trying to let the nails dry— you soon did his, in turn, painting them a lipstick red. As you grew more relaxed, though, he seemed to only wake up more— though he was still calm, and slow paced— as he always was. He was so pleasant to be around, in general… ah.

Eventually, you found yourself seated on your sofa close beside him— which was placed near your window. You had been seated in comfortable silence for a good moment, now, Wally idly looking out the window— though.. not actually, no, he was very much still staring at you. His gaze would just advert to the window each time you looked over— not that you.. noticed. You were much more akin to how he was when he had first arrived; half-awake. Without thinking, you’d lean back onto the couch— and somewhat onto him. He didn’t seem bothered, though, his smile instead widening as he looked down at you.

“.. Finally tired, friend?”

You nodded, still not really aware you were so close to him until you— abruptly— felt his arm loop around your shoulders. You felt your face warm a bit, but he was just being friendly, surely. And the contact wasn’t unwelcome, anyhow..

“Then sleep.” He didn’t speak it like it was a command, his voice still tender and sweet— and either way, you didn’t exactly have it in you to disobey. Nor did you want to.

Hesitantly, you’d lean into his touch with an incoherent hum— probably some kind of reply, though you couldn’t form the words. As you drifted off, you didn’t get to see the way he held you a bit closer, or smiled a bit wider. His large, doe eyes trained on you as he simply just.. admired. A very friendly activity, yes! Just friend things, here (/j)!

This had been a pleasant sleepover. At least, in his opinion it had been. Any time spent with you, dear, was pleasant, at least to him. Always.

So… it wasn’t hand holding….. HAHA!! I hope you don’t mind I went a more cuddly route :] cuddles are nice HEHE

Tell me how Moon feels /ij

also how dare this prompt be the one that wrings the MOST writing out of me!! How dare!! Scandalous!! /j

Also I’m going to proof read this, later. Right now, I’d just like to post it- haha!!

Edit : it has been proof read! Wooo!

Thank you for requesting!! <3 /p

#wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home wally darling #welcome home #x reader #reader insert #drabble #sighsdeeplyanddreadfully

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Hello hello! I finally caught up on DFF a few days ago and have been reading a bunch of meta ever since, but there are some things I can’t follow. Maybe you can help me?

First off, we keep talking about there being a Final Girl, but why is everyone so sure that there will be one? I could see more people surviving or the story going in a different direction entirely. Where does this conviction come from?

Then, I’m on board with the idea of hallucinations, but one thing that always bothers me is the question of how you could make sure that they all hallucinate the very same thing? I don’t know how hallucination-inducing drugs work, but that seems kind of weird to me.

Also, who is Tan and who is Perth again? This is such a dumb question, but I’m terrible with names and faces, and I know most of the characters now, but I keep mixing up these two.

Thank you so much for your time!

Anon, let me answer your last question first:

This is Mio who plays Tan in the series. Tan is part of the friend group but came along after Non disappeared.

This is Perth but it is unknown who he is playing in the series. He was only in the background of this scene in the dark jacket with the grey shirt.

As for the other questions, unfortunately, I cannot help you because unlike the rest of these perfectly normal people watching Dead Friend Forever, I'm crazy.

And because I'm crazy, I do NOT care about "reasoning" when it comes to my wack-a-doodle-doo theories. Therefore, White will be the Final Gay simply because I want him to be, and because none of these other motherf*ckers deserve to live.

Yeah, Fluke hasn't actively done anything, but he knew all of this was happening and turned a blind eye, so if Por is dead, why not just kill all of them? Well, expect for the actual killers, Tan and Phi, and the Final Gay White.

Por's death could have just been an accident, and everyone else will get out of this alive, but . . . I don't want it. I want Fluke to shoot Top, Tee to wrestle the gun away from Fluke only for it to go off and kill Fluke, White to kill Tee and run off scared, Tan to "die" because of an asthma attack (but he won't be dead), which will leave Jin and Phi as the only survivors, only for Jin to be stabbed by Phi right before White shows up with help.

Do you feel the crazy? Do you see what I was saying about myself? You cannot ask me logical questions because I am not using deductive skills. I'm operating off of vibes and vibes alone, which is why I felt Phi was sus in episode one. It's also why I don't like Jin. It's a vibe.

Which brings me to your drugs question - The vibes are off!

I think that Non is still alive and running around scaring them all, so not everything is because of the drugs, but if the energy isn't right, if the mood isn't chill, if the vibe isn't good, the drugs are going to hit different. The figurative trip will be bad. So if the literal trip involves the boys talking about Non and seeing videos of Non while they run through the woods for their lives, whatever drugs are in their system aren't going to be happy in a body with that amount of stress, and their brain will focus on Non and the masked killer. In fact, a common side effect of most party drugs is paranoia.

Hell, even some known prescriptions for depression and anxiety can cause these side effects.

Then again, I just do drugs. I don't know the actual science behind them, but I do know if the vibes ain't right, you're not gonna have a good night.

And these boys seem to be having a really shitty night.

But also, the boys haven't all seen the same thing. Fluke saw Por's eyes bleeding and attacking him. White saw a rash on his skin. Jin saw Mr. Keng. Top saw the masked killer trying to axe him (I think part of this was real) and thought he saw a masked killer in the road, so he scared Tee going on about it. Top also might be having a reaction to it which is why he was seizing.

PSA: Test your drugs, kids. Even Amazon, which I think is the devil, sells drug testing kits.

In case you have no idea what this image is about, the joint in her hand is laced with cocaine and was probably one of the reasons her ass was going through endless time loops, so don't do coke. Or things laced with it. Unless you wanna go into other dimensions and DIE every single time. Okay? M'kay!

So to wrap up my special brand of crazy:

White will be the Final Gay because like the Backstreet Boys, "I want it that way."

Everyone deserves to die because Phi is a cop's kid, and if the cops are good for anything, it's covering up the truth, so let this work in our favor for once.

Drugs be drugging, and sometimes people will think of the boy they tried to kill when under the influence, but it's a toss up. Who can predict what a person will see? So, like, don't betray people and you won't hallucinate being stalked by your own guilt *cough* Judas *cough*

Oh, and always test your drugs.

I hope this helped you, but it probably didn't. Either way, I'll see you in the tags in a few hours after Non finally loses his shit.

Slay, Non, slay!

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #I wrote what I wrote #I have theories for days #but it's all based on vibes

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minthara · 2 months

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really long personal answer to an anon i got. trigger warnings in the tags.

First of all i wanna apologise to everyone who follows me for the last few days lmao, but i feel like if i dont post about it im literally gonna kill myself. I need somewhere to write down my thoughts because i feel bad always going to the same 2 friends i still have and complain about the same situation again and again about a dude they dont even know that well.

Thank you so much for ur message really, and sorry if im gonna take it as another excuse to write down all my thoughts, but i think it will really help me.

So the pathetic thing. I didnt ever post about this and in real life i think only like. 3 people knew. But after we broke up i begged him for months to take me back. It really was pathetic. And when he called me pathetic i think he was just very very hurt, because that was the second time i broke up with him (just a few weeks ago). It was in the sense of me begging him for so long just to break up again a few months later. I feel fucking stupid even writing this. I spent about 10k euros trying to get away from him, it fucked up my life so massively that i lost a job i really loved over it.

And now my new job is about 5 minutes away from our old apartment and i think thats a huge reason why i cant get over it. Every day i walk past restaurants, the supermarkets, anything we went to together. I had to buy snacks for work today and just burst into tears in the fucking supermarket because we used to go there together. The people at work are always so appreciative bc i know the area so well but they dont know how much it fucking hurts me and its so stupid like. Should i just avoid that part of town forever??? No fucking get over it bitch like wtf its a fucking supermarket.

And it also hurts because i know i wasnt always perfect and there were many times i was super mean to him. But at a point i couldnt deal with his ADHD anymore and that sounds so shitty but im a super organised person to the point where sometimes i wonder if thers anything ocd related but i dont think so. In my head i swap between i have ocd, i have adhd, i have borderline, i have autism - i have no idea whats wrong with me, but the way i feel cant be normal. I know this because the way i behave isnt normal, i know i can come across as really strange, i cant judge social situations well and often dont know how to behave. But i constantly criticised him for symptoms of his mental illnesss.

But i never physically hurt him, and that was the last straw for me, why i left. I dont know how u can do that to a person you love.

And im just mourning the life i thought i was going to have so, so, so much. I know on tumblr ppl somehow think youre brainwashed when you want a traditional marriage and kids and stuff, but i really thought that was going to happen in the next 2 / 3 years, thats how i planned my life since i was fucking 21 and i met him. And now im almost 27, and i cant even go on dates because i cannot bear talking to new people because all i want is a clone of him but better.

I know i will look back at this and think “u cried about THAT guy???” in a few years, because thats how its always been in my life lol (except for one relationship, but were still really really best friends). I always think afterwards i will never love someone that much again. But it hits so much harder because it was such a serious relationship lol i really wanted to marry him. Sobs lol.

#asks #anonymous #abuse cw #suicide cw #i feel so much better after writing this down lol #blondshell salad on repeat if u know u know

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reviewinghiccup · 1 year

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RIDERS OF BERK | HTTYD SERIES | BREAKING DOWN HICCUP

Blog Post Series: Breaking Down Hiccup

Title: Breakneck Bog

Ep/Season: Episode 17, Season 1 (Riders of Berk)

Premise:

Hiccup and gang set out to the mysterious, maybe even dangerous Breakneck Bog in search for something once lost.

CHARACTER DISCUSSION

HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III

(1) THE FILIAL SON

Stoick, Gobber, Hiccup, Thornado and Toothless go on a journey to find Trader Johann who is late and carrying a parcel on his ship Stoick really wants. When the mission fails, Hiccup decides to venture out on his own, to retrieve the lost treasure for his father.

Stoick didn't tell Hiccup that the treasure was actually a gift from his mother, knowing that if Hiccup knew that, he would've gone out of his way to get it back. However, what Stoick probably didn't bank on was the fact that Hiccup would do anything for him, regardless.

note: I need to get me one of those Berk crested satchels. Looks like it can carry a lot.

Of course, Astrid will come to find out about it and because our boy here cannot lie to the girl he likes, he told her everything. Well, that and more because, Astrid reads him like a book.

(2) UNHEEDED WARNINGS & STUBBORNNESS ISSUES

It felt like the running theme of the episode was unheeded warnings. Hiccup decided to find Trader Johann, even though it wasn't his father's wish for him to handle the operation on his own.

Snotlout got everyone to join the expedition despite being warned to keep the scout-group small.

And the decision to go into Breakneck Bog itself was stubbornness disguised as adventure.

It's so funny how Hiccup has no control over his group sometimes. No, sorry, its hilarious.

TRADER JOHANN

I open this question to the floor, do you think this incident was planned by Johann or did he really suffer an accident?

I mean, what are the odds that a valuable item to Stoick and Hiccup would be found on his ship the day he just had to pass Breakneck Bog. Do you think Johann planted it? I mean, it's not uncharacteristic of an evil mastermind to do so.

But that would mean, he knows them scarily well and planned to get rid of the riders this way.

Why I ask this question is because he was found on a plank, stranded in the middle of the ocean. We don't see any other ships or people nearby to help him. Did he really go that far to disguise his disloyalty?

Again, it wouldn't be uncharacteristic of him to do so. But still, no one can fault the dude for his dedication. Or acting.

THEME, MESSAGE & STORYLINE

"Most people are afraid of things because they don't understand them. For me, it was dragons. Then one day that changed, and my greatest fear became my best friend." - Hiccup

Just like Breakneck Bog and the elusive Fog Monster, there was great fear in the unexplainable. However, when the "cover" is blown and what was suppose to be scary ended up being nothing but a facade, we truly see where fears lie, in ignorance of truth.

A fear of dragons was the downfall of the village, until they started understanding them. Then they realised, like Hiccup did, that dragons were just like them. Scared, nervous, strong, independent.

That was also Valka's message which we learn in HTTYD 2. I liked this episode because it combined all my favourite bits of the show. The heartwarming family values, the bond of friendship, adventure and their overarching lesson, that you don't have to be afraid of the things you can't yet understand.

The episode is shrouded in mystery, i.e., Breakneck Bog, the Lost Treasure, the Fog Monsters. But the best part about it is how it is uncovered. And what "treasure" means to someone, is completely how we attach value to it.

Further, inasmuch as you can hate on Snotlout or be annoyed with the twins, you can't help but know that as a group they work well together and they will be there for each other.

In terms of comedic timing and pacing, this show definitely hits as one of the better ones. It's a mix of adventure, humour, family - in essence, what the entire franchise is about, but as a series it was a lovely bite size piece to enjoy.

PERSONAL FAVOURITE MOMENTS

A) EVERYONE UPSET THAT THEY HAVE A CONSCIOUS

B) HICCUP'S SIDE EYE WHEN SNOTLOUT CALLED ASTRID'S GRANDFATHER STUPID

C) A SCARED FISHLEGS OFFERING HICCUP HIS MOTHER

D) SNOTLOUT CALLING OUT JOHANN

Given Snotlout's distrust, he is actually someone who calls Johann out constantly. One thing Hiccup does fail to discern is the true nature of people. Which is a flaw that leads him to most of his problems.

E) ASTRID AND HICCUP'S HERO POSE

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specialagentlokitty · 1 year

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Lestrade x Autistic!male!reader - break the rules

Hey! Time for my older silver fox issues to spread further 😂 Could I request a Lestrade x male autistic reader? Could he work with Lestrade and Sherlock turns up to a crime scene and doesn’t follow procedure and this causes the reader to have a meltdown because the rules that he has so carefully lived and worked by are being disregarded and Lestrade has to calm the reader and also deal with Sherlock and John helps with both of those things? Maybe the reader could use Sherlock as a way of pushing himself out of his comfort zone occasionally and Lestrade thinks this is a terrible idea but then sees how much it helps and encourages the friendship? Any fluff is welcome, this adorable hedgehog man has been a permanent fixture in my autie brain for over a decade and there are just no good x male reader fics for him, once again I choose the character that doesn’t get the love he deserves - @the-imitation-blog 💜

Lestrade tried to keep you away from the crime scene, asking if you could stand outside, asking you to do things like taking notes and such but you couldn’t do your job if you weren’t able to go inside.

“(Y/N) could you give this to Donovan please?”

He held up an evidence bag and you nodded, taking it from his hands you made your way back down the stairs and walked over to the woman.

“Lestrade wants you to have this.”

“Why?”

You shrugged a little and spun around, making your way back inside the building only to be stopped again.

“I need to go into the room.”

You started putting one of the blue suits on and Lestrade tried to stop you.

“There’s nothing else to do.”

“I need to take my notes.”

“(Y/N)-“

He tried to stop you but he couldn’t, so all he could do was quickly follow you up the stairs trying to encourage you to stop and let him take the notes.

You weren’t having any of it, you had started your notes, so, therefore you had to finish your notes since you started you couldn’t let anyone else finish it.

You quickly walked into the room and stopped in your tracks when you saw who was standing in the room.

“Why is he here? You cannot be here.”

“(Y/N) he’s just here to help…” Lestrade whispered.

“He is not wearing the overalls, he is contaminating everything.”

You started to tap your thigh, something Lestrade picked up on immediately but when he went to grab your hand to stop you, you slapped it away.

“Oh please, I’m not contaminating anymore than everyone else walking in and out is.”

“You are not follow procedure.”

You started to get upset, telling him he wasn’t following the rules, he couldn’t be here without the right things.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and ignored you, going back to what he was doing while Lestrade focused on you.

“Breathe, it’s okay. (Y/N) it’s okay!”

“No! No it is not! It is not okay Greg he cannot be here!”

“(Y/N) you need to calm down.”

“What.. what’s wrong with him?”

“Oh it’s obvious John. He has autism, he has to follow the rules and procedures in place, he doesn’t like it that I’m here because that’s not the rules.”

“Right, right okay. Can we do anything to help?”

John looked at you, arms crossed, fist hitting your upper arm, darting away from Lestrade whenever he got too close to you.

Repeating about how Sherlock couldn’t be here it’s not the rules.

“Sherlock I think you need to go.”

“No, I’m not finished.”

“Sherlock!” John hissed.

You quickly left the room, taking the overalls off you dumped them on the table and walked outside, sitting on the steps you put your head in your knees.

You were hitting the back of your head, overwhelmed and stressed.

Both Lestrade and John followed you out, Lestrade knelt in front of you while John crouched at your side.

“Give me your hands, okay? (Y/N) I need your hands.” Lestrade spoke softly.

You looked up at him.

“Sherlock needs to go. He has to go Greg.”

“He’s going, okay? He’s coming down right now, he’s leaving I’m sorry.” John said softly.

You held out your hands to Lestrade, letting him gently take them between his while you rocked a little on the step.

“The.. the rules… he is not following the rules…”

“I know, I know I’m sorry I shouldn’t have let him in.” Lestrade said softly.

Sherlock came out the door a second later and stood at the bottom of the steps trying to speak to Lestrade.

“Sherlock go behind the tape.” Lestrade said.

“No, this is urgent!”

“Sherlock! Behind the tape, just go!” John snapped.

He got up and pushed his friend towards the tape and under it before walking back over to you.

“(Y/N) I’m a doctor, can I have a look at your arm? Just to make sure it’s okay?” John asked softly.

You nodded and Lestrade shuffled to the side.

“I need to talk to Sherlock, will you be okay?”

You nodded again, and Lestrade made his way over to where sherlock was and John had a look at your arm, mindful not to touch your skin in case you weren’t comfortable with it.

“You’ll just need some ice. Is your head okay.”

You stood up and John stood up as well.

“I need to finish my work.”

You left and went back inside and John walked over to his two friends, listening to the heated conversation.

“If he’s not comfortable with it he shouldn’t be here!”

“Sherlock he’s a police officer of course he’s going to be here!”

“Sherlock Lestrade is right, it’s (Y/N)s job to be here, and if you know he has autism and gets upset by things you do why don’t you just follow the rules you’re supposed to?”

“Because it just slows me down, they’re pointless rules anyways.”

“They may seem pointless to you, but they’re important to (Y/N). Sherlock just because it doesn’t seem important to you doesn’t me it isn’t important to other people.”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and walked away and John sighed, apologising to Lestrade he followed Sherlock while Lestrade went back to check up on you.

You were angry with him and he knew it, you didn’t need to be a super genius like Sherlock to know when someone was angry with you.

Lestrade kept his distance, not wanting to stress you out anymore then you already were, and let you finish your work in peace before you turned around to face him.

“I am finished now. I’m leaving.”

With that, you handed him your notebook and left the crime scene, making your way back to the station to do what you needed to do there.

Lestrade decided to give you your space, and you focused on what you were doing.

A few days later and you were talking to Lestrade again.

“Are you coming?” He asked, pulling his jacket on.

“No. It’s my day off, and it’s Friday. I have to go shopping.”

Lestrade nodded his head and walked over, placing a hand on your head as he knelt down a little bit.

“Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Okay. Have a good day.”

You tapped his cheek with your hand and walked away and Lestrade just chuckled, leaving the house to head to work before he was late.

You grabbed your shopping list from the fridge, took your car keys and left, making your way to the shop and you saw a familiar face standing outside.

“Hello Sherlock.”

“(Y/N).”

He spun around and followed you into the shop.

“Why are you here?”

“Because it’s Friday. You do your shopping on a Friday, you arrive here at exactly 9am sharp every morning to beat the afternoon rush.”

You just nodded your head and looked at your list.

“I was told to apologise for my behaviour the other day.”

“If you want to you can, if not, then why come?”

Sherlock stopped your trolly, grabbing one of the things from your list he looked at how you laid everything out and set it in the spot it belonged.

“Simple, you comply with all the rules, but I know you don’t want to. So, I’ve come to offer you an alternative, you let me come on cases with you again and I’ll help you with your need to follow rules exactly as they are.”

You started to push the trolly and looked around.

“There is no other way to follow rules. You either follow them or you do not.”

“True, but you can always follow rules while bending them a little bit. So, you’re still following them, but you have a little more freedom.”

You titled your head at him a little bit.

“I.. I don’t understand…”

“Okay, I’ll explain it differently.”

Sherlock again explained what he meant, but you still didn’t understand so he offered to just show you instead which you agreed to.

You took him to the house so you could put all the shopping away, and he looked around, taking notes on everything.

If he was going to help you with this, he needed to understand a little bit more about you and how your brain worked so he could make this task easier for himself.

He asked you to follow him to the cafe nearby so you did.

“What do you want?”

You told him what you wanted to eat and then he looked at you.

“We’re going to eat in.”

You nodded and stood next to him as he ordered.

“Is that to eat in or take out?”

“Take out.”

The cafe worker quickly put everything through so Sherlock could pay and he started to make everything while you two stood waiting.

“I.. I thought we are eating in?”

“We are. It doesn’t cost any more to eat in then it does to eat out. All that’s different is the way our food will be presented to us.”

“But.. that is not.. that is not right. You said take out, so we have to take out.”

Sherlock could see you were getting stressed about this.

“Before you get upset just look.”

He took the bag and turned to the waiter.

“Thank you.”

Walking over to a table he sat down and you sat down as well.

Your heart was racing in your chest, and you watched as Sherlock took the food from the bag and set it in front of you.

“No difference. All that’s different is the way you went about this task.”

You both stayed sat down, neither of you eating your food, and you tapped the table and after a few moments Sherlock put everything back in the bag.

“Come on.”

He took you out and you immediately relaxed and he realised he had his work really cut out for him.

Every day sherlock would meet you, getting you to do something that would mean you now following the rules, and every day it would stress you out and that’s what alerted Lestrade.

He picked up on the fact you would tap a lot more, even for seemingly no reason, you were tense, and you were more restless then before.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asked softly.

He sat on the bed next to you, placing his hand over yours.

“Sherlock has been teaching me how to break the rules.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me I’ll talk to him now.”

Lestrade went to get up and you stopped him, holding his hand so he couldn’t walk away and he stopped, walking back over.

“No. I want to do it.”

“Why?”

You simply shrugged a little bit and Lestrade sighed, nodding his head.

“I can’t stop you from talking to Sherlock but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He really wasn’t on board with the whole idea of you now following the rules you so carefully lived by, he knew what it did to you when you or anyone else couldn’t.

He made sure to keep a close eye on you after finding that out, and on one of your cases he was shocked to see Sherlock turn up.

“Sherlock you can’t be here!” Lestrade hissed.

“(Y/N) asked me to come.”

Sherlock showed the text and let himself under the tape.

Lestrade turned to John.

“Don’t look at me, Sherlock and (Y/N) are like best buds now.” John shrugged.

Both of them made their way to the body where you were standing in overalls, but then Lestrade noticed you didn’t have your shoe covers on.

“You’re not wearing shoes covers.” Sherlock said crouching by the body.

“The floor is already covered in shoe prints, therefore it does not matter about mine.”

Sherlock smirked a little, nodding his head.

“And you’re not stressed about it?”

“A little.”

Sherlock reached into his pockets, pulling out some shoes covers and handed them over to you.

You slipped them on and crouched down next to Sherlock.

“Well, that’s something I never thought I’d see. Sherlock actually helping for nothing.” John chuckled.

“(Y/N) seems to be doing well too, maybe this friendship thing isn’t so bad.”

Lestrade watched you with a soft smile on his face, making sure to keep a close eye on you in case there was a switch in your behaviour.

You did what you had to do, and then you left Sherlock to do what he needed to do.

Walking over to Lestrade, you stood next to him.

“Maybe Sherlock helping you won’t be so bad.” He smiled.

“It does feel nice in a way, but it’s hard.”

Lestrade stepped in front of you and he placed a hand on your head.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.”

You pat his cheek, then kissed it and moved his hand from your head.

“PDA at work?” He chuckled.

“Some rules are okay to break.”

With that, you offered him a huge smile and walked away, leaving him with a happy, buzzing feeling inside of him

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