#balance out her win streak | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

appocalipse · 3 months

Note

Congrats! How huge! Can I shop?! 🛍️

There's an antique lock and key set and a pair of velvet gloves that look like they have my name written all over them (or a smutty friends to lovers with Steve Harrington where maybe we're partners in a game - drinking game at a rager, yard game at a bbq, board game on a game night, chicken at the pool party...I'm not picky - and celebrating our winning streak gets...a little out of hand 😉😉)

thank you, angel ♥ i got more than a little carried away with this one lol 6.4k words | cw: fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex 18+ only! mdni! literally the smuttiest smut that ever smutted

amy's flea market ♥

"Ready?" Steve asks.

No. Fuck, no.

“Yeah,” you respond. Steve smiles that almost evil smile of his and dives down so you can climb onto his shoulders. Again. You can't believe you're doing this again.

It's the third round of chicken fighting that you and Steve are participating in, and as you climb onto Steve's shoulders, you try not to think that you're climbing onto Steve's shoulders.

Steve. Your friend Steve. The guy you have the world's biggest crush on...no, fuck that. It's more. You know it's more, but you're afraid to admit the stronger word.

Because Steve is Steve. He's off limits.

Which doesn't make it any easier for you to try not to think about the way his big, warm hands are now on your thighs, holding on tight so you don't fall off his shoulders, where you're sitting in nothing but a bikini, his head between your legs...

"1, 2,3...go!" Robin yells, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water. You raise your arms as the team in front of you advances, the girl's arms stretched in hopes of pushing you off Steve.

But you and Steve are, apparently, invincible today.

It happens faster this time; next thing you know, the girl's grip slips, and you are the one who ends up pushing her into the water, her partner also losing his balance in the process. They laugh and the crowd — including Robin — goes wild. The adrenaline surges through your veins as you realize you've won. Again. Steve keeps you up there for one more moment, just so you can throw your arms in the air, giggling, enjoying your third victory in a row. Then, he carefully lowers you down into the water.

When he emerges again, wet hair sticking to his forehead, he's grinning at you as he grabs your wrist, making you raise your arm one more for the crowd.

You giggle.

Steve sighs. It's that laugh of yours, the one that makes his heart skip a beat every time.

"I think that's enough for today," you say, lowering your arm and grinning up at him, a bit dizzy from the adrenaline of the victory and the heat of the sun on your skin.

Steve suddenly feels dizzy too, for a completely different reason.

He unsuspectingly watches as a fat drop of water travels down your lower lip, to your chin, your neck... and then you turn around, moving in the direction of the pool ladder. Against his better judgment, he follows.

Once out of the pool, you look around.

"D'you want me to grab a clean towel for you?" Steve offers, ever the gentleman.

"Towel, yeah, that would be great..." you murmur, feeling ten times more self-conscious now that the two of you are out of the water. You don't even know most of the people here… "Can I come with you?"

Steve coughs.

The pool party had started earlier that day. The only clean towels remaining in that house now are in his bathroom.

In his room.

And you're all wet.

For God's sake. That's the last place where he should be alone with you right now.

But, like an idiot, Steve nods, "Sure, let's go."

He leads you through the living room, past a group of people who are sitting on the floor, drinking and laughing, to the stairs, taking them two at a time. You're a little out of breath, but manage to keep up with his long strides until he reaches the top. The hallway up here is a lot dimmer, but you can still see the soft, warm sunlight coming from beneath his bedroom door. It's strange how you've never been in his room before. Countless times in his house, sure, but never his room.

Steve clears his throat and then opens the door, stepping aside to let you enter first.

It's... not what you expected. It's not messy like the stereotypical rich boy's room, but it's not pristine either. It's neat, orderly, but... lived in. There's a king-sized bed in the center of the room, covered with a duvet that looks like it's been slept in. A small nightstand on each side of the bed, with a lamp and a few framed photos on top — you're even in some of them with him and the kids. The walls are painted a soft, warm blue, and there's a big window next to the bed, letting in the bright sunlight.

The air smells like... like him. Like soap and hairspray.

Steve clears his throat, drawing your attention back to him. He's still shirtless, so it's not like that's hard to do. "Here, take this," he says, tossing a towel in your direction. You catch it reflexively, feeling the softness of the fabric against your bare skin.

"Thanks," you murmur, rubbing your hair with it.

The sound of laughter from downstairs seeps in through the partly open window. Steve is standing on the other side of the room, a towel loosely draped around his neck, and maybe it's that mysterious drink Robin offered you earlier making you imagine things, but there's a strange tension in the air and you're under the distinct impression that Steve is consciously avoiding you as you dry off.

You wonder what he's thinking.

Steve clears his throat again, seeming to steel himself for something. "Um... I'm gonna go grab a drink. You... you want one?" he asks, not quite meeting your eye.

"Sure. And...can you get my dress? I left it downstairs earlier."

Steve nods, turning away from you so fast you almost wonder if he's mad. He disappears into the hallway, and you hear the click of the door being closed behind him, followed by the distant sound of footsteps as he makes his way downstairs.

Left alone in his room, you wander over to the bed and sit down on the edge, now wrapped in your towel. The duvet is soft against your bare skin, and the pillows smell like him. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to curl up here with him, to feel his warmth surround you as you drift off to sleep.

Probably not the kind of thought you should have in your friend's room.

The door opens again, and Steve steps back in, two glasses of something clear and fizzy in his hand. "Here you go," he says, handing you one of them. You take the drink gratefully, sniffing at it before taking a sip. It's some kind of spritzer, sweet and tangy. "And here's your dress."

It's draped over the curve of his arm. Steve sets his own drink on the nightstand before sitting down on the bed beside you, extending his arm so you could take the dress.

You do take it, but make no move to put it on. "I didn't know you were that good at chicken fighting," you say, trying to make it sound light-hearted.

Steve smiles. "Pretty sure it was all you."

"Of course not," you playfully nudge him. "We're a team."

He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for his drink and takes a generous sip. "Yeah, a team," he repeats softly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He studies you for a moment, taking another sip of his drink. The silence stretches between you. You wish you knew what was going through his mind, if he was feeling the same things you were.

"It is something," you quietly insist.

Steve looks at you, his eyes flickering uncertainly. "I don't know what you mean," he says finally, but there's a catch in his voice that betrays him, a hint of vulnerability that you've never heard before.

You stand up. He looks at you like you had just slapped him.

"I'm still wet," you explain. Then, way too quickly for your embarrassment to go unnoticed, you add, "from the pool, I mean! Not...I don't want to make a mess of your bed or anything, you know...I mean, by sitting there while I'm wearing a wet bikini and-"

Steve cuts you off with a laugh. "Hey, hey," he says, reaching out to take your hand. "It's okay. You're fine. You can sit here." He squeezes your hand gently, and there's a warmth in his touch that sends a shiver through you. "And if you did make a mess, I'd clean it up. No worries."

You sit down again. Better than awkwardly standing there.

"Very gentlemanly of you," you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Steve shrugs, returning your smile. "I'm not that bad, am I?" he asks, his voice teasing.

"The worst. But you're a good partner in chicken fighting, though."

Steve swallows hard.

"Just that?"

There is a moment of silence, as you and Steve stare at each other. You know exactly what he means, what's behind that question, behind the look he's giving you right now, studying your face like it's the first time he's seeing it. At least...you think you know.

He puts his glass aside again. You open your mouth to say something, but he's faster.

"I need to go."

"Wait-"

He doesn't wait. Steve is on his feet in a second, almost at the door in two.

But you, somehow supernaturally faster…you grab his wrist. You grab his wrist with both hands and oh God, Steve's not quite sure what to do with you now. He doesn't respond, doesn't move. You tug at his arm, wanting him to turn around, look at you. He doesn't.

"Steve."

His name feels like a whisper on your lips. It's not loud, but it's urgent.

Steve is having a hard time remembering why he's supposed to keep his distance from you. He turns around to look at you, your hand slipping down to his, still not letting him go…and he realizes it was a bad idea.

The desperation in your eyes mirrors his own, and before he knows what he's doing, Steve is leaning in, hands grabbing your face, mouth finding yours, lips parting.

He's not gentle, not soft.

You moan into the kiss and Steve kicks the door closed without looking, his hands finding your waist as you cling to his neck, the towel falling at your feet. Your lips part and he slips inside, tasting you, feeling the warmth of your breath on his skin as you gasp, stumbling back as he pushes forward.

The bed is soft but cold beneath you as you land, Steve on top of you, pinning you down."God," he groans into your neck. "Sorry."

You giggle. "God, sorry?"

He groans in reply, lips moving against your neck as he continues to kiss his way down your collarbone. "I mean it," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "I shouldn't be doing this."

"M' not...complaining."

Steve laughs roughly into your skin, pressing his lips to the dip between your breasts and finally looking up into your eyes. He pauses for a moment, searching for something there. You can see the uncertainty in his expression, the fear of losing control, of what will happen if he really lets go.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you say automatically.

He chuckles at your answer, a soft, low sound that vibrates through your chest. "You're sure?" he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, this time softer, slower. "Because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to take advantage of you."

"How could you possibly take advantage of me?" you ask, sounding almost annoyed.

Steve smiles. "I don't know. I just..." He trails off, pressing a quick kiss to your chin. "I just want this to be right."

You can feel his hesitation, his worry, but you don't want to push him away. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, and look into his eyes. "I want to."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

There's a moment where the weight of what you've just said seems to press down on Steve, making him pause. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or fear, but finds only the truth. He exhales shakily, looking like it takes every ounce of his self-control to do so. "Tell me you're not drunk."

You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingers. "I'm not drunk."

"Fuck..." he mutters, trying to concentrate as you trail your fingers down his neck, over his collarbone. "Really? Don't lie to me."

You smile, shaking your head in disbelief. "I'm not drunk," you repeat. "I had like…two drinks. Are you drunk?"

Steve laughs, a choked-up sound. "I've had more than that," he admits. "But I'm…I'm okay." He looks at you for a long moment, like he's trying to commit your face to memory, just in case. Then he leans in, kissing you softly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that belies his earlier urgency. "But even if I were drunk, you're welcome to take advantage of me anytime."

You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'll keep that in mind," you whisper, feeling a rush of affection for him. Steve groans into the kiss, pressing your back against the mattress as his hips move between your legs. His skin feels hot against yours, his muscles tense, and with nothing but the thin fabric of your bikini bottom and his swim trunks between you, there's little left for the imagination.

"Steve," you breathe out as he kisses his way down your neck, nipping at your skin with his teeth. His name feels heavy in your mouth, like you've been holding it there for years and it's finally been given the chance to be spoken. "Steve…"

"You keep saying my name like that and I'm going to lose it."

You feel the wet heat of his mouth as he kisses his way back down your neck, over your collarbone. His fingers are patient, too patient as they trail up your sides, over your ribs, stopping just shy of your breasts like he's afraid he'll go too far, too fast, too soon.

"Can I-"

"Yes."

His laughter is soft as he pulls back to look at you, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted. He brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"What were you going to say?"

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Something about wanting you. About how I can't believe I'm finally here with you." His fingers drift lower, tracing the curve of your neck before one hooks playfully under the delicate string of your bikini top. "I was going to ask if I could touch you."

You nod, feeling the anticipation building inside you. "Yes," you breathe, arching into his touch. "Please."

His smile is slow, almost wicked. He lets go of the string and instead cups your breast, thumb tracing the hardening peak of your nipple through the thin fabric of your top. Your back arches further, and a soft moan escapes your lips as his fingers find purchase and squeeze. He pulls back slightly, watching as you close your eyes, your chest rising and falling rapidly. "Is this okay?" he whispers, tracing a circle around your nipple with his finger.

"Yes," you manage to choke out.

Steve hums in understanding, his touch growing more confident as he cups your breast in his hand, squeezing gently before circling your nipple with his thumb. The sensation is almost too much, making your hips twitch against his as you arch further into the touch.

He wonders for a moment if he should take it further, if he should untie the knot and push the bikini top down, revealing your breasts to his touch...would you be okay with that? Or should he keep going, teasing you until you beg? His eyes flicker down to your lips, watching as they part slightly with each shallow breath, how your tongue darts out to wet them.

You're so beautiful, he thinks, almost dizzy from the sight of you.

He can feel the warmth between his legs, the insistent pressure as his cock strains against the fabric of his trunks. You'll be the death of him, he's certain. He's already so fucking hard and you're not even naked yet.

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Can I?"

He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. And then his fingers slide lower, tracing the line of your stomach, pausing at your navel…

"Can I touch you here?"

The feel of his fingers tracing the line of your stomach, so close to where you ache for him to touch, is almost too much to bear. You chuckle as you arch your back, offering him more of your skin, more of yourself, then grabbing his wrist when he doesn't seem convinced, guiding his hand lower.

"Please," grinning, you run your fingers through his hair with your free hand, feeling the dampness there as it clings to the strands, "stop asking."

He smiles against your skin, his fingers finding the soft, warm skin of your inner thigh, tracing up and down, so close to where you're aching for him. "You're sure?" he whispers, his voice low and teasing. "You're sure you want this?"

"Steve Harrington, you-"

But you can't even finish the sentence before he's kissing you, his mouth warm and wet and demanding as his fingers finally slip between your legs, sliding beneath the thin scrap of fabric and you gasp into his mouth, arching into his touch, forgetting whatever insult you were going to say.

You feel the rough pad of his index finger against your clit, and then he's pressing, circling, teasing.

"Fuck."

"You're so wet," he breathes, watching your face. "So fucking wet for me, honey, God," His fingers move faster, his touch more demanding as he presses deeper, finding your entrance and circling, circling, wanting to push inside.

You grip the back of his head, your other hand clutching at the duvet beneath you, your hips arching off the bed as his fingers move in a blissful, insistent rhythm. It's been so long since anyone has touched you like this, since you've felt this kind of need and desire, but this…this is even better than you could have imagined. This is Steve, your Steve.

"I want you inside me," you pant before you can think twice about it, your words breathless and urgent. "Please."

Steve hums, his fingers still working their magic as he leans forward, kissing your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. "I want that too," he whispers, and then he's pushing the bikini bottoms aside, throwing them across the room, revealing your wet, aching folds to his gaze, moving to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, over your hip, and finally to the juncture of your thighs.

Shit. He parts your legs with his shoulders, bending his knees to kneel between them. "Let me make you come first."

With...his mouth?

You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at his face, more than a little self-conscious now. "Wait, but you...you're gonna...?"

He wraps his arms around your hips, holding you still as he leans in, his breath warm against your exposed skin. Curiously, he asks, "You don't want me to?"

You shake your head; no, of course you do. But the idea of him going down on you...it's so intimate. So much more than just having sex. "I just..."

He looks up at you, and there's something in his eyes that makes you forget whatever you were about to say. Something that makes you feel safe and wanted and desired. "You just...?" he whispers, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh.

It's hard to concentrate when he does that. You squirm a little, but his hold on you is surprisingly firm.

"I just..." You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I just haven't had anyone do that for me in a really long time." It's true; the last time you can remember was with a boyfriend years ago, and even then it was more of a "be polite" thing than anything else. But with Steve...it feels different. "Do you *really* want to? Because you don't have to if-"

You feel him smile against your skin as he continues to gently kiss his way up your thigh. "I want to," he whispers, and the way he says it, the sincerity in his voice, makes you believe him. "I really want to. But, um…only if you want it too."

You open your eyes, watching as he looks up at you, waiting for your answer. He looks so hopeful, so eager. If he wants this, if he wants to make you feel this good...how can you say no?

With a shaky breath, you nod, your fingers threading through his hair. "Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

Steve hums in satisfaction. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he slowly pulls your legs wider apart, resting his elbows on the bed as he leans in closer, his hot breath fanning across your folds. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he gazes up at you, watching your reaction, almost daring you to tell him to stop.

You watch, mesmerized, as he tilts his head, licking his lips before he leans in, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to the very center of you.

Boy... does he know what he's doing.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to lick and suck, his tongue dancing over your most sensitive skin, his fingers curling into the flesh of your hips, urging you to arch into his touch. You gasp, feeling your whole body tense, your hands tangled in his hair, your nails almost digging into his scalp. He moans, his breath hot against you, and you realize he's watching your reactions, taking cues from your body.

"Good?" he asks, as if you're not already on the verge of coming.

But you can't answer, can't form a coherent thought, let alone a word. So you nod. Frantically so, head thumping against the mattress. He smiles against your skin like he's won some sort of prize, and then you feel the slip of his fingers, two of them easily sliding inside you, tight but wet enough to be ready. You cry out, his name a desperate plea falling off your lips as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them up to find just the right spot.

"Oh, God..." you moan, your hips bucking up against his hand. "Steve..." Your fingernails dig into the duvet, your back arching as he expertly works his fingers inside you.

Steve seems to sense that you're getting close, the way your hips are moving erratically against his hand, the way your breath is coming in short, ragged gasps. He looks up at you for a moment as if to gauge your reaction, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He keeps his fingers exactly where they are while he leans up over your body to kiss you, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You taste so good," his voice is a whisper against your lips as they part beneath his. "So wet. God, I want to feel you around me."

"Yes, please."

Your enthusiasm makes Steve grin against your lips. "Please?" he muses. He's hard, of course he is hard in his swim trunks, cock straining against the fabric as it leans against your thigh. But he doesn't want to rush this. Not with you.

"Steve," you admonish, sliding your hands up his arms.

His fingers are still moving, but more slowly now, less urgent. It's almost as if he's teasing you, drawing this out. Your hips rock up against his hand, and you feel a surge of wetness between your legs as you arch your back, seeking more contact. His lips find yours again, tongue sliding against yours as he thrusts his fingers deeper, curling them to hit just the right spot. You moan into the kiss, your body trembling as the pleasure builds, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"Oh God," you say in a shaky voice. "Steve, please..."

He groans against your lips, curling his fingers deeper inside you, searching. "Please what?" he whispers as he kisses along your jaw, teasing, not mean, never mean, but drawing it out just a little bit more.

In lieu of an answer, you find yourself arching your back in a desperate manner. His fingers brush against something deep inside you, something that has you gasping and tightening around him, close too close. His fingers find the rhythm you've been craving, your orgasm building, building, building.

"That's it," he whispers against your neck, his own breath hot and uneven. "That's it, baby."

And you do. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, a rush of pleasure so intense it makes your vision blur, your skin warm all over.

Steve, watching your expression as you come apart beneath his touch, feels the warmth of your release coat his fingers, the tightness of your body around them. God. It's a heady sensation, knowing that he can make you feel this way.

His fingers are slick with your wetness as he pulls them free and gently pushes you back onto the bed. You're lying flat on your back again, and he's grinning as he looks down at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"You're...very good at this," your voice is a breathy whisper as you glance up at him, a flush rising in your cheeks. You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a gentle kiss. Steve's skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his kiss featherlight soft against your lips. "Do you want-"

"Yes," he cuts you off with a husky laugh, leaning down to nip at your neck. "If you do," His hand finds the string of your bikini top, finger following along it all the way up to the bow. With a practiced flick, he undoes it but doesn't yet pull the fabric away, watching your eyes as he lets the knot slide free, half expecting you to tell him to stop. You don't, though. You watch him, your chest rising and falling with every breath, and something in his chest aches at the sight.

"You can take it off," you reassure, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "It's just me."

You hope that comes across as playful and confident, but maybe you don't seem so convincing when you're still a little breathless, a little sensitive, so you decide to take matters into your own hands and reach up, fingers shaking only a little, to pull the cups of your bikini top down and away from your chest.

Steve watches you, his expression somewhere between adoration and awe as you reveal yourself to him like a fucking gift unwrapped.

"You're unreal," he breathes. "You're so..."

When he reaches out to touch, just the very tips of his fingers brushing against the sensitive flesh, you try to encourage him by arching into the contact.

"So fucking beautiful," he whispers, leaning down to kiss your collarbone. "I can't get enough of you."

His hands slide down your sides, over the smooth skin of your hips, and then lower still, cupping your ass. He pulls you closer, pressing your body against his, slowly grinding against you. "Do you want..." he tries, an urgent edge creeping into his voice. "Do you want me inside you?"

Steve looks like he's about to explode at the mere suggestion, his expression a mixture of raw desire and aching need. You're about to reply when he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin there. You momentarily lose your words.

"You're killing me," he half groans, half laughs, his hips moving harder against yours as he pushes himself as close to you as he possibly can. You can feel him through the thin fabric of his swim trunks, hard and insistent, and you're sure it wouldn't take much more of this teasing before he loses control completely. "Just say the word," he whispers, kissing along the line of your jaw, "and I'll give you anything you want."

"Can I...can I touch you?"

You feel Steve stiffen at your request at first, his body tensing beneath your fingers. "Of course you can," he breathes, a shudder working its way through him. "You can do whatever you want, baby."

You reach down, fingers shaky in your eagerness to please. You grasp the hem of his trunk and tug gently, almost hesitant, but he's already cooperating, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor without so much as a second thought.

"Oh," you breathe, eyes widening as you take in the sight of him, naked and perfect in front of you. Steve's cock is already hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip, and you can't help but reach out and touch it, tentatively at first, but then more confidently, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and waiting to gauge his reaction.

"Oh, fuck," he moans, closing his eyes as you stroke him. "That feels...that's so good."

Your fingers feel warm and soft around him, and with each gentle stroke, he feels himself growing harder and harder, unable to contain the pleasure building inside of him. He opens his eyes to look down at you, watching your expression as you touch him, your focus solely on the way your fingers slide up and down his length.

Before you can get too carried away, though, Steve's hands are grabbing yours, guiding them away from his cock rather urgently. "If you want me inside you," he pants, a strained smile tugging at his lips, "you're going to have to stop that." His voice is a little shaky, a little rough, and you can tell he's struggling to keep himself in check.

You grin up at him. "I...do want that."

Steve's answering smile is a little more confident now, and he leans forward, brushing the pad of his index finger across your lips, tracing the shape of your bottom lip as he does so. "I think you've had enough teasing today," he whispers, hand moving to cup your neck, his thumb rubbing gently over your pulse point. "You really want this?"

"Yes," you breathe, unable to keep the word from slipping past your lips. "Yeah, I do."

Steve's thumb continues to trace circles around your pulse point as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. His kiss starts gentle, a mere brush of his mouth against yours, "Yeah? Can I?" sliding his hand down your stomach, between your legs, he adds, "Fuck, yeah, you're...you're wet enough."

You gasp into his kiss as he brushes his fingers against you. "Yeah," you moan, arching your hips up into his touch, with a grin, "Yeah, I am, I...you're gonna make me beg or something, huh?"

"I'd never make you beg for anything, sweetheart."

His fingers move in a slow circle, spreading your wetness around your entrance, making sure you're as ready for him as you can be.

You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pull him closer as he begins to shift between your legs, his hand coming back up to gently guide himself towards your entrance, and then he looks down at you, searching your eyes for some sign, some reassurance, before he's pushing inside, slowly, gently, taking his time to ease his way into you.

You gasp at the feeling of being stretched, filled, but at the same time it's perfect, it's...right.

He leans forward, bracing himself on his arms, and watches as you arch your back, your lips parted in a silent moan. "More?" he whispers, his voice a rough rasp. "Should I...?"

"More," you breathe, meeting his eyes.

And Steve gives it to you. He slides deeper, pushing in farther, stretching you just enough to make you feel so full of him. You're tight and he's impatient, but he makes sure he doesn't rush, doesn't force it. You feel the muscles in his back and arms tensing as he fights against the urge to go harder, how much he wants to lose control and just fuck you into the mattress.

He takes you like he's been dreaming of it for years, like he's never going to get the chance to feel you like this again. Slowly.

"Steve," his name rolls off your tongue like a sigh the moment he's all the way inside you, your muscles clenching around him in an attempt to hold him close.

He tries to remember how to breathe, pressing his lips to your shoulder. He feels you squeeze around him and muffles a sound between a moan and a growl against your skin, "Can I move?"

"Yes, I...yes."

He pulls back slightly, just enough to adjust his angle, and then pushes back inside you. The sensation is almost too much, the way your body seems to fit so perfectly around him, the way your muscles clench and release, drawing him deeper still. Fuck. You're so wet that he can feel himself sliding easily in and out of you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his is a perfect counterpoint to the gasping, keening noises you're making into his shoulder.

He knows he won't last half as much as he'd like if you keep that up.

"God, that's it," he growls, the words lost in the movement of his hips against yours. "Tell me how it feels, sweetheart." One of his hands slides down between your bodies, cupping your aching clit, rubbing in a tight circle as he thrusts into you. The sensation is overwhelming, too much and not nearly enough all at once.

Your legs twist, one hooking behind his back for leverage, and you arch into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders as you feel the tension building, the familiar tightness coiling in your core. "So good," you moan, thrusting your hips up to meet his, wanting more of that friction, more of his skin against yours. "Can you go...faster, please?"

He's lost to the sensation of your body moving against his, the feel of you slick and hot and tight. He's close, so close, but he doesn't want this to be over yet. He pulls back slightly, only to slam back in harder, the head of his cock hitting the spot inside you that makes you arch your back and gasp.

His hand moves faster on your clit, circling and pressing, and you're so close now, so close, you can feel it building, making you shiver and writhe underneath him. Steve leans down, lips finding the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping as he thrusts harder, deeper, faster.

"Yes," you moan, arching into his touch, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, yes."

Steve lets his hand move from between your legs to the back of your knee, hooking it there, holding you open to him as his cock slides in and out of you with a harsh, wet sound. You feel so full of him, stretched and sore and aching in the best way possible.

He's so close now, the tension in his body almost painful as he fights against the urge to come before you do. Steve watches your face as you writhe beneath him, lips parted and flushed, eyes glazed over in pleasure like you can't quite focus. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen. He doesn't want this to end. Being inside you like this, feeling the way you move against him...he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

Your nails scrape down his back, leaving little red lines in their wake. Steve thinks he's going to lose it every time you do that.

"Fuck," he groans, the word caught in his throat as he thrusts harder into you. The sounds of your skin slapping against his makes it almost unbearable and he has to think of something else, anything else, to keep from coming. "Feels good, sweetheart?" he whispers, his hand moving between your legs again, this time finding your clit and rubbing in a steady, circular motion.

You arch into his touch, your hips moving in time with his thrusts. "So close," you moan, your voice shaking. "I...I..."

Steve feels the tension building inside you, knows that you're close. He watches your face, the way your eyes have almost rolled back in your head, the way your lips are parted and your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing as pushes inside to the hilt, holding you there, feeling your body trembling beneath him. You cry out then, your back arching off the bed, and Steve feels you tighten and pulse around him, gripping him like a fist as you come.

The sensation is almost too much, but he somehow manages to ask, "Can I come inside you?"

You nod, your eyes closed tightly, and he thrusts once, twice…then one last time, feeling himself spill inside you as he moans, body tensing and then relaxing, spent.

Steve collapses on top of you without pulling out, sweaty bodies sticking together. He somehow finds the energy to kiss your shoulder, your neck, your ear, nibbling and sucking until you laugh, shifting beneath him.

"You're heavy," you tease, but you don't really mind. It feels right to have him pressed against you like this, his heart thumping against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

He chuckles, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck. "Sorry," he mumbles, before pulling himself up enough to look down at you. You're beautiful, even with your hair tangled and your lips swollen from his kisses. "Do you want to get cleaned up?" he asks, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I think I love you."

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and for a moment, you're not sure if you should take them back. But then Steve's eyes widen, his lips part in surprise, and you know it's too late. You've said it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't...I mean, I-"

Steve cups your face in his hands, his eyes wide and serious. "I love you too," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "I have for a long time."

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours gently, then more firmly, as if he's making sure this is real, that you feel it too.

But you feel it too.

God, you feel it too.

#🏷️ amy's flea market #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

523 notes · View notes

film-in-my-soul · 6 months

Note

Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve/eddie #stranger things ficlet #ficlet bingo

225 notes · View notes

hopelesslyromanticgay · 1 year

Note

How about Tara and R grew very close, kissed here and there but then Tara friendzones R. R distances herself and only then Tara realizes that she wants more than friendship

We're Gonna Make It Work

5 times Tara and Y/N shared meaningless kisses + one time they actually meant it. Or: A quick 5 + 1 fic!

Disclaimer: certain themes in this story I don't have tons of experience with, so sorry if not everything's accurate. EX: I definitely haven't been to a college party lmao.

Tara and I met on our first day in college. Freshmen year in college is intimidating enough. Freshmen Year in a big city like New York is terrifying.

We bonded quickly, and soon enough I was spending tons of time with her friend group. I even introduced my roommate, Anika to my new friend, Mindy, and now the two are happily dating. It seems I've seamlessly assimilated into their group.

I've always thought she was extremely beautiful. I really don't want to risk the friendship I've worked so hard to build with her. At the same time, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to try.

The first time we kissed it was an accident. That's all it was. An accident.

She was blackout drunk at a party. Mindy and Anika had disappeared into some room. Chad was doing shots in the kitchen. Ethan was at his dorm, doing homework like the "quirky" pick me he is.

So many people crowded the building, dancing terribly to awful music, drunk on cheap booze. The frat house reeked of liquor and the distinct scent of marijuana.

Not to say I wasn't drunk too, though. Just less drunk than everyone else in the group. There was a slight wobble in my step as I walked from the kitchen to the living room, wanting to sit for a split second.

Tara had a three round winning streak at beer pong against some guy I'd never seen before. In the corner of my eye, I could see her downing a cup every 45 seconds or so. Maybe if the alcohol hadn't clouded my judgement, I would have been smart enough to get her away from that sooner.

It wasn't until I saw her wobbling towards the steps with he guy she had just been competing with that I sprang into action.

In retrospect, can see why people call booze liquid courage. Man, if I were sober, there would have been no way I would do what I did next.

"Hey, Tara, your boyfriend's looking for you," I grabbed her away from the clearly less drunk man in front of me. He reached out and grabbed her other arm, "she'll be fine."

"Her boyfriend is a football recruit," I lied, "he'll beat the shit out of your weak ass."

"What?" she slurred, unable to comprehend what I'm saying.

"I said, your boyfriend's here, let's go find him," I repeated, dragging her away from the situation.

"Why did you do thattttt," she whined once we're out of ear shot.

"He was taking advantage of you, you'll thank me in the morning," I told her, "you're a mess, let's get you home."

Luckily, her apartment wasn't far, because I was practically carrying her down the street. She flutters in and out of consciousness, making her balance even less stable.

The elevator ride was painfully quiet, what even is there to say. I opened the apartment door, guiding the barely conscious Tara inside. Immediately, I saw Sam, sitting in the kitchen. Waiting for us.

"Where were you?" she interrogated, "I was scared out of my mind."

"Hey, Sam, she's pretty fucked up right now, maybe you should wait for her to sober up. I'm gonna get her to sleep, okay?" She nods, angrily. I can tell she isn't happy about this.

I walkedvTara down to her room, setting her down on the bed.

"Goodnight, Tara," I smiled, helping her take off her shoes and pulling the blankets up over her.

"Night Night, pretty girl," she pulled my face down for a quick kiss.

What the fuck is happening? I could taste the burning liquor on her lips. She's gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning. I quickly break away, I can't do this while she's drunk.

The second time we kiss, she's actually sober.

It's a silly situation, really.

We're at Rockefeller center, shopping for clothes on sale. They put up the ice rink for the winter. Even though it's technically November, I guess New York doesn't care about technical seasons though.

Tara and I stroll down the pavement, warm coffee in our hands. She's very cute all bundled up in her winter gear. A beanie compresses her bangs, and her winter coat looks nearly suffocating yet not nearly arm enough for a New York winter.

"Fuck," she mumbles, looking behind us.

"What's wrong?" I ask, concerned.

"I need you to kiss me, right now," she commands.

"Damn, at least take me out to dinner first," I laugh awkardly.

"Y/N, shut up and do it, I'll explain later," she pleads. I happily oblige her, allowing her lips to make their way to mine. She caresses my cheek through her gloved hands, and I find myself lost in a daze. She's good at this. Her hands slide down my face to wrap themselves around my neck and she slowly breaks the kiss. A part of me wished it would never end.

"So you wanna tell me what that was about?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Creepy ex, wanted to make sure he didn't think he had a shot," she explains. My face falls. Such an amazing experience, ruined by the context.

"I'm sorry, Tar," I pull her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her.

We kiss for a third time a month later.

"Hi," I smile, walking through the apartment door, "why'd you call?"

"I don't know, I'm just bored I guess," she shrugs.

"Okay," I say. To be honest, I needed something to do with my afternoon, and who better to spend it with.

We decide to put on a movie, Clueless. I found some popcorn in the cabinet, so I decided to microwave some up.

I place the metal bowl between us on the couch. I think if I'm much closer to her I might try to kiss her again.

"So, what have you been doing these past few weeks?" she asks.

"The usual," I respond, "homework, my job, and sleeping. And you?"

"Yeah, just homework," she purses her lips, trying to think.

God what I would give to feel those soft warm lips again.

"No, I've also been reading some weird ass Stephen King book about a guy going crazy."

"So pretty much every Stephen King book?" I ask.

"Not true!" she playfully shoves me, "IT is about multiple people going crazy. The Dark Half is about someone who thinks he's crazy, but also knows he's not. There's lots of non insanity related ones too."

"Nerd," I playfully tease her.

"Shut up," she laughs.

"Make me?" I tease her more.

"Nope, sorry, you gotta earn that," she teases back.

I open a beer for each of us, "It's happy hour somewhere."

"It's 4:30, so we're not doing terribly," she reminds me.

"We're great at this," I joke.

"So great at this."

We go back to the movie, it's such a classic. Other than the ending, it's a perfect movie.

She smiles a priceless smile when Cher assumes Tai doesn't know seven multiplied by seven.

"This girl! I swear, she was a perfect casting for Tatum in Stab!"

"You have a great smile," I muse aloud, quickly regretting it. Damn it. Why did I say that?

"Thank you," I can see a blush creeping up her cheeks as she starts to smile even wider.

The movie seems to fade out of view as does everything else except us. The popcorn bowl is quickly discarded and her lips crash onto mine, kissing with a desperation so strong it's almost aggressive. I immediately reciprocate the kiss, leaning forward to get closer to her.

"If we do this," she pants in between kisses, "there's no strings attached."

I nod in agreement.

We fall into a routine of kissing or hooking up no strings attached. I know friend with benefits never works. Especially if you already have feelings for that person but god, she's irresistible.

There's two notable times after that afternoon when it feels different.

The first time, she's coming out of a rough therapy session.

"Hello, this is Y/N L/N," I answer the phone.

"Hey, Y/N, it's Tara," I can hear her voice crack.

"Hey Tara, what's up?" I ask.

"C-can you come over?" she says, trying to sound nonchalant about it. I see right through her facade.

"On my way, stay safe, pretty girl," I rush to the subway, trying to catch the first train I can to her side of the city.

I practically tear down the door to get into the apartment, there's nothing to do but make a beeline for Tara's room.

"Hey Tar, I'm here," I quietly announce.

She bolts up and wraps herself around me in a near suffocating hug. Her tears soak their way through my shirt, and I caress her hair comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"No," she shakes her head.

"Can I do anything at all to help?"

"You can distract me," she winks. I nod, a little unsure of what to do.

Is this really the right time to hook up with her? Like she should be in a place of emotional stability to properly consent, right?

"Y/N, I know your like panicking about the morals, but please. Just do it. I need it. Please?" she widens her eyes pleadingly. How can I say no to that?

The next time of note is also the last time.

I've become unhappy with this whole "friends with benefits thing." I know, it was stupid of me to agree to it in the first place. And don't get me wrong, I've had tons of fun. So much fun. But there's limits to our situation.

I want to be able to tell her how I feel, I want strings attached. I want to take her out on dates, and hold her hand in front of our friends.

It's a freezing cold Thursday, I'm so tired. I forgot my textbooks at Tara's apartment after our "study" session last night, so i had to take a subway back to get them, which made me late the the only lecture I was interested in. Damn it.

I had thirty minutes to kill until my next class, so here I am, in the school courtyard, thinking about Tara.

Do I love her? Yes.

Does she love me? I don't know.

Will telling her I need to be more than just friends with benefits risk everything? Yes.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, because right as I'm thinking about this, I see a short brunette making a beeline towards me. I think this means we need to discuss this.

"Hey there, tiny Carpenter," I tease her.

"Shut up!" she gets on the tips of her toes to pat my head.

"Do you wanna come over tonight?" I ask, "Anika and Mindy are having a date night?" I figure then would be a good time to tell her.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur and just a few hours later, I hear Tara's familiar voice at my door.

I take a deep breath, "Hey Tar, can we talk? I ask.

"What's up?" she asks.

"I feel like this isn't working," I admit, it's pretty obvious almost immediately what I'm talking about.

"O-oh," she stammers, "why?"

Oh god this is so awkward, like what are you supposed to say, yeah no I'm in love with you.

"I.... cuz friends with benefits never works out when there's feelings involved," I word vomit.

"Oh...."

"Yeah...."

We sit in an awkward silence.

"Tara, please say something," I say quietly.

"I'm so sorry, I can't do this anymore," she gets up and leaves, but I'm frozen in my seat. Unable to move.

I don't see Tara except in a few classes for at least a month. Though it could have been longer or shorter. Not like I want to see her though.

The days begin to blend together in a big lengthy mess.

I barely turn my assignments in, and the best grade I've gotten was a low C.

I go to parties more often than before. Hooking up with strangers, drinking myself to a blackout and being hungover as hell in the morning.

Anika's voiced her concern for me, but I find it so hard to listen.

I'm just numb.

I don't think I ever felt anything before I met Tara, and I don't think I'll feel anything again without her.

And to think of all the times we've kissed, made out and hooked up. Did those mean anything to her? She barely meets my gaze in class.

We haven't talked at all.

Lying down in my bed, I stare at the ceiling, out of the corner of my eye, I can see the date on the calendar.

March 7. It's been four months since our kiss at Rockefeller. I guess I should just forget about that though.

I hear a quiet knocking on my door, "come in, Anika.

The door slowly creaks open and in steps Tara.

"Hey," she says quietly. I scramble up to my feet, preparing to tell her to get out.

"Before you scream at me and tell me to go away, just let me talk?"

I nod wondering why can I never say no to her. I gesture for her to sit next to me.

"Look, I fucked up," she admits, "friends with benefits almost never works out. And I'm so so sorry. I didn't realize fucking it up would mean hurting you. I really thought about what you said."

"What did I say?" I asked.

"That what we had wasn't working," she says.

"And what have you decided?"

"It wasn't," she reassured me, "but it could."

I'm totally taken aback, "If you think I want to be 'just a friend that you sometimes fuck,' you're crazy, Tara."

"No, I mean a real relationship," she blurts.

"Huh?"

"Y/N, I have feelings for you!" she exasperatedly exclaims.

"Y-you do?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah, I do," I see a blush creep up her cheeks.

"Well I like you too," I smile. She starts to get closer to me, but I stop her, "Look, give me a week to turn around my mental wellbeing, and I'll take you out on a date. I want to do this, but I want to do it right."

"Take your time," she smiles back, "see ya on Saturday for this 'date' you wanna take me on."

She winks, gets up, and leaves the dorm, blowing me a kiss on the way out.

We're gonna make this work.

574 notes · View notes

achaotichuman · 3 months

Text

See the thing with Tamlin having a daughter, he's absolutely a single parent and has no clue what the fuck he's doing.

So, balancing having a newborn with also rebuilding a Court from the ground up would be one of the most mentally taxing jobs he's ever had. He's so exhausted and can barely think straight or string a sentence together, and there's no real help in Spring, because most of the servants, or nurses, or anyone that could provide any support are still wary to enter.

So, he reaches a point where he's like, 'If I keep going like this, I'm not going to survive.'

Therefore, desperate times call for desperate measures, and Tamlin goes to one source of help that might take pity on the situation, or least on his daughter Dahlia.

And goes to Day, where Andrea, former Lady of Autumn, is staying with Helion.

Cue super adorable step in grandma and grandpa Lady of Autumn and Helion.

Anyway, it would start something like this.

Rain pounded down on the Day lands. People rushed inside, desperately dragging signs and chairs into buildings. Using books, clothing, anything to shield themselves from the onslaught of water that poured and poured from the raging dark clouds above.

Andrea drank jasmine-infused honey sweet tea. The warm liquid slipped down her throat, and soothing her body. The Day palace was warm and dry, a stark difference from the thunder and lightning cracking in the sky. A fork of brilliant white light streaked the sky, Andrea smiled, she had always loved storms.

Her husband… not so much?

Helion huddled himself closer to Andrea when lightning followed quickly by a snap of thunder pierced the sky. The Day Lord had near a dozen blankets wrapped around himself, his head lying in Andrea’s lap. Andrea laughed as he jolted and wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pressing his face into her navel. She toyed with the braids in his hair.

“It isn’t all that bad,” She assured him, leaning back into the soft white couch, while her eyes tipped to the balcony across from them, the glass doors sealed tightly to shelter them from the rain.

“It is that bad,” Helion insisted, “The thunder has no right being that loud.”

Andrea laughed quietly, stroking her husband’s hair. Placing the porcelain cup down on the table beside the lounge, Andrea tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Smiling to herself at the next round of thunder, holding Helion closer, knowing he was ever so frightened of the storm outside.

She sighed, this was nice.

There was a rapping at the door. Looking up Andrea furrowed her brow, surely none of the servants needed them currently? After a moment’s hesitation, Helion sat up and looked at the door, then Andrea. It was Andrea who called out, “Please come in!”

A short female with wild brown curls, red eyes and fluttering wings entered. She bowed low, then straightened, “Your Majesties, there is a visitor requesting your presence.”

Andrea put a hand on Helion’s. Her brown eyes turned to his, though she found no answer, his face was as confused as her own. Helion took in a breath, “Where are they as of now?”

“Still at the entrance, my Lord, the guards have not let him through.” She replied.

There was a moment of silence as Helion and Andrea assessed each other. Helion raised an eyebrow, Andrea shrugged ever so slightly. They weren’t in the middle of anything, the slight quirk of her lips told Helion she was just a little bored and this could be some form of entertainment.

“Alright, we’ll head down, thank you.” Andrea told the female.

She again bowed low, then quickly fled the room, flittering off to wherever she was required.

Andrea and Helion fixed themselves and quickly headed down for the Day Court palace entrance. Whispering to each other, “Who could be visiting so late?” “Perhaps a courtier, or emissary?”

They reached the tall golden doors, the two guards stationed there shared a glance. When Helion lifted his hand, they nodded, the doors flew upon.

Immediately there was an onslaught of cold wind, it rushed through the threshold and splattered water across the polished tiles. Hail had begun, the small balls of ice rained down from the sky, smashing against the flooring.

Andrea had closed her eyes and put her hands out in front of her as she adjusted to the sudden cold. Then she looked up to see the person standing at the entrance.

Her jaw fell open. Looking at Helion his face had gone white.

Tamlin was shivering in the cold, his whole body quivering. His eyes were dull and his skin was near grey. His lips were blue and frost-bitten. Instead of the normal greens and whites he wore a heavy black coat with a hood that had fallen off. His hair was a wild mess of knots and tangles.

And in his arms was a tiny babe, so small she couldn’t be more than a few weeks old. She had tiny golden curls and pale skin, mostly wrapped in linens, her face was red, she was crying and screaming in his arms.

Tamlin met Helion’s eyes, then turned to Andrea’s. Looking back at the High lord, he half-sobbed, “I had nowhere else to go.”

He stumbled like at any moment he might collapse. Snapping out of the daze they had been shocked into, Andrea made the first move. Like him or not, he had a child in his arms. She quickly approached the male and gently took the small girl from his arms, hushing and cooing as she did in an attempt to console her.

As soon as the babe was safe in another’s arms. Tamlin collapsed to the floor. Helion then rushed to the younger High lord, shouting orders for a room to be made up and dry clothes to be brought out. Andrea rocked the crying girl as Helion picked up Tamlin.

The doors were shut and the storm was locked outside. Helion and Andrea exchanged a look. Then the Lady of Day looked at the babe in her arms.

Green eyes glistened up at her. Andrea stood there in pure shock. She looked like a tiny version of Tamlin. She screamed and Andrea watched as tiny claws pricked out of her fingertips.

“Thats…” Helion trailed off.

“The future Heir of Spring.” Andrea finished, her voice filled with wonderment, “Tamlin’s daughter.”

Tamlin himself shivered and gasped in Helion’s arms. The older High lord gritted his teeth. Her eyes didn’t deceive her, Andrea saw Helion bring the younger male closer to his chest.

“What do we do?” Andrea asked.

“We do what’s right.” Was all Helion said, then a group of servants came out.

The oldest among them said, “We have prepared a room for the guest.”

Helion nodded, he then said, “Tamlin and his daughter will stay with us until further notice.”

Looking back down at the baby in her arms, Andrea bit her bottom lip.

“Why were they out in the storm?”

Helion shook his head slowly, “I don’t know.”

#is this a fic im plotting?#no of course not #... it might be #give me a headpat if you like this i crave validation #acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin's daughter #helion acotar #lady of the autumn court #pro lady of the autumn court #we give her a name here #we stan a queen #acotar au #acotar headcanons

87 notes · View notes

dwcmarshalarts · 3 months

Text

Ewan Everett Figes has a family! His mother Helen is a professor of pre-exodus (from the Earth) literature at Parsinee University, Wipani planet. Older brother Wilson Frederick, i.e. "Fred" Figes is a journalist, who's worked his way up to co-editor of the Wipani Star, focusing mainly on foreign policy issues.

FRED FIGES Ewan's older brother (by 8 years) Wilson Frederick had been put-off from an early age from any kind of military service, to Everett's disappointment. Fred had a distaste for what he saw as a kind of "mind-numbing" obedience/deference to authority, and often got into rows with his father in the early days about the role of armed forces in various complicated engagements. He channeled this attitude into a career as a journalist, something that given his mother's background in academics was something the family "could accept." However, his chosen-topics still represented a long-running anti-interventionist streak that made for contentious family dinners, especially with his father and brother Ewan. He, his wife and daughter live in New Liege, Wipani.

HELEN FIGES Born Helen Carmodie, "Mrs. Figes" has had quite a storied life of her own. For being a professor in pre-exodus (from Earth) literature, Helen's demeanor is far from what you would expect from a book-cloistered academic. Her respectfully snarky attitude and occasionally foul-mouth ended up getting her a reputation as the "fun" professor at Parsinee, but she is the furthest thing from a stranger to whipping a class into order if need be.

She met Everett Figes while she was working part-time at a deli near the Bagstram Military Academy on Wipani. Her irreverent sense of humor and Everett's understated mischief combined made them inseparable despite their contrasting views, and the two would marry shortly after university. She would temporarily put her rapidly advancing university career on hold to raise their first son Fred, but eventually hit the ground running after a couple months leave. She would butt heads with Everett on what direction to raise Fred, but would ultimately win out softening his approach. By the time she had Ewan, she'd already been fairly settled in her career, and Everett and her had at this point reached a more reasonable understanding of balancing their parenting. Despite her many successes though, she would say her biggest mistake was never being able to wean Everett off of smoking, which largely led to his diagnosis with esophageal cancer in 2341, to which he would succumb in 2346, devastating the family, and especially their newly commissioned officer son Ewan. She would continue to persevere however as the new family matriarch, and would later become head of her department at Parsinee.

She lives on-campus at Parsinee University, Parsinee town on Wipani.

EVERETT FIGES Born on the planet Reggi, Everett Figes was the second generation career military man in his family after his father Frederick T. Figes. He'd spend the early days of his life in the typical athletic throng before attending Bagstram, the sector's lead military academy, and having to live off-world at Wipani.

As a parent, Everett's disposition could have been described as firm but not uncaring. Having always had issues showing vulnerabilities even to loved ones, Everett was unintentionally emotionally distant during most of his parenthood, only having a turn-around in raising Ewan (a fact that still bothers Fred after Everett's passing).

As far as his military career went, Everett spent a number of years directing different non-frontline Ground Forces engineering facilities before being transferred to active command of infantry. He never partook in any pivotal combat operations, or galactically significant theaters of war- something that he tried to change, but nonetheless couldn't by the time he received his diagnosis.

It was around that time then that he'd try to make amends with Fred, while Ewan would visit him every weekend from Bagstram. Fred was initially very resistant to this, but seeing him getting worse each time he visited, realized the seriousness of the situation

Everett is buried at the Field of Heroes on the grounds of the Bagstram Military Academy on Wipani.

Original art and story by DWC Marshal Arts

#furry #anthro #digital art #furry art #dwc marshal arts #sci fi #the percivals #illustration #furries #furry fandom #ewan everett figes #helen figes #fred figes #everett figes

78 notes · View notes

jamminvroomvroom · 1 year

Text

both of you. part 7.

gr x fem!reader

find parts 1-6 on my masterlist!

it’s been 84 years. BUT the final part is here! a few people asked me to take it in this kind of direction so i hope you like it! i haven’t written some of these themes before so maybe don’t look into the realism of the situation too much lmao. ALSO huge thank you for 2k, so thankful that you read my silly little stories xoxoxo

in which you look back on how your lives changed.

warnings: 18+!! mature themes, mentions of sex/sexual acts, language, mentions of pregnancy, children? sickening fluff

5.5k words

three years later…

bahrain, march 2025. saturday.

the production lights went on in the media pen, snapping you back to reality. you glanced down at your notebook, eyes flicking quickly through your qualifying notes and questions. you took notice of the way the diamond on your left hand glimmered under the bright light, shimmering elegantly from its rightful place on your finger. you smiled. the sight dulled your nerves ever so slightly, a reminder that soon george would walk in and you’d be able to breath.

you were undeniably anxious, feeling out of practice. it had almost been a year since your last time on the broadcast, and as much as you’d missed your work, being back from your leave had left you scattered. the bahrain grand prix was always hectic, the first race of the season making everyone antsy, and your circumstances only intensified that.

you could see drivers starting to appear, taking a shaky breath. you tried to settle; you knew these people, you knew this sport, and most importantly, you knew how to do your job. keeping one eye on the drivers approaching and one eye out for george was a lot easier than it used to be; you’d had to learn how to have eyes in the back of your head over the last several months.

your relationship with george had only gone from strength to strength. he had just won his first championship, starting the 2025 season off on a high, a winning streak, ready for the year ahead and hopefully a second title. you were coming up on three years together, the ring on your finger sealing the deal. you were happy, happier than you ever thought you could be, than you ever thought you deserved to be, and you had him to thank for that. you had him to thank for something else too.

you could spot george from a mile away, strutting into the media pen like he owned it. you grinned like a fool, shaking your head in disbelief when you saw who he’d brought with him.

balanced on his hip was your daughter, who was supposed to be down for a nap.

“george william russell, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” you scalded, teasingly.

“wanted to show my girl where mummy works. can’t exactly take her for a spin around the track yet.” he replied. you rolled your eyes. “so, go on, show her how to be a… what do you call it? girlboss?”

you laughed, cheeks flushed. he was such a dad, the role truly suited him perfectly. you wanted nothing more than to reach out for your little girl but george was your last driver of the session and as soon as this was done, you’d be able to have her in your arms. plus, the view you had, the two people you loved most in the world, wasn’t so bad.

“right, well, that was a very interesting session, george. congratulations on the pole.” you winked slyly. “do you think you’re going to be able to carry this momentum through the season and go for that second title?“ and just like that, you put your reporter voice back on, getting straight to the point.

you managed to get through the interview with ease, watching the way your daughters blue eyes lit up as she watched george speak, and then at the sight of uncle lando and uncle charles. at one point, george passed her wordlessly to charles, who’d stopped looking so scared of babies sometime in the last few years, and carried on answering your questions, just so they’d stop pestering him. you tried to stifle your laughter as you watched lando steal her away, the brit and the monegasque squabbling over who got cuddles.

you wrapped up the interview eventually, turning to talk to your producer, while george went to speak to the drivers, who were now crowding around your baby. after exchanging a few notes, you were free to go, sliding an arm around george’s waist when you reached him. he looked down at you, dipping down to press a quick kiss to your lips. it never used to be like this, you were never this open before, but the championship had changed him, loosened him up. he wasn’t so pressed about how people perceived him anymore, and you found his self liberation incredibly sexy.

“if you lot are going to keep fighting for my daughters attention, you can keep an eye on her tonight so i can have some time with my beautiful fiancé.” george joked, earning himself some laughs and the odd wolf whistle. you slapped him on the chest playfully.

“behave yourself, russell, or you won’t be getting any attention from me.” you warned, making the drivers laugh again.

“i think it’s you that deserves a bit of attention, darling.” george said, only to you this time, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered the taunting words. you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, he hadn’t been able to touch you properly in months.

the combination of a baby, a championship that needed winning and then the pre-season had really killed your sex life. that’s why the suggestion of attention, of his hands on your body working his magic, had your thighs clenching under your dress, your fingers digging into his side.

just as your mind started to get carried away, your daughter let out a whine, signifying that someone should have let her have her damn nap. she was grumpy. lando, who’d managed to finally pry her out of charles arms, looked slightly afraid, looking at you with wide eyes as the unimpressed little girl wriggled angrily in his arms.

“it’s okay, lando, give her to me.” you pulled away from george and his dirty mouth, shooting him a sympathetic look as you scooped your daughter out of lando’s arms and walked away from the drivers, throwing a goodbye over your shoulder.

if there was one thing you knew about your daughter, she was stubborn just like her father. she knew just what she wanted, and exactly when she wanted it, just like her father. and she needed as much sleep as possible, just like you did.

at the tender age of eight months old, sylvie russell was already a force to be reckoned with.

brazil, november 2023.

you were in brazil when you found out. it almost seemed poetic. it was where george had won his first race, and now it held sentimentality for your first child.

he was sat on the hotel bed, watching calmly as you paced like a mad woman. you couldn’t believe this was happening, always so careful. it wasn’t like you and george had never had the conversation about The Future, you’d just never anticipated that it would come up so quickly. the timing was all wrong, george coming to the end of an intense season and you were trying harder than ever to prove that fucking drivers wasn’t the reason for your pay check after last seasons indiscretions.

you’d left the pregnancy test in the bathroom sink, a timer set on george’s phone. he let you pace, understanding your process perfectly. the irritating apple alarm went off, grating on your last nerve, and you whipped around to face george. he silenced his phone, standing from the bed.

“it’s time, darling.”

“i can’t- i can’t do it. please, just, god,” you took a deep breath. “can you check it?”

george nodded softly, disappearing into the en-suite. you pulled at your sleeves, wrapping your arms around yourself. you didn’t get it, how he could be so calm in the face of what was potentially the biggest moment of your lives, but that was classic george. he always coped under pressure. the sound of his footsteps warned you of his return, and you braved it, turning to face him.

“is it-? are we-?” you couldn’t say the words, not yet.

“sweetheart…” the tone of his voice said it all.

“george, i can’t.” tears pooled in your eyes, sliding down your face in tidal waves.

“listen to me, come here,” he walked towards you, running his hands up your arms. he bowed his head slightly, eyes fixed on yours. he looked… you didn’t know how to describe it but he looked right. “darling, you’re pregnant.” and then he was crying too, choked up at his own admission.

you may have been genuinely terrified, horrified even, at the news, but something about the way he fell apart made it all make sense. before you stood a man that wanted you, wanted a life with you, that you wanted for the rest of your life. he was smiling at you, despite your state of shock, blue eyes framed red. he looked dazed, genuinely happy.

his reaction made the ground shift beneath your feet. you were having a baby.

“oh my god. oh my god.” you were still in shock, and still arguably mortified, but it no longer felt like the worst thing in the world. it was crazy, the way he made you feel so okay. you looked up at him, catching the way he was staring, still trying to process it himself.

“george… are we doing this?”

“do you want this?” he asked, sincerely. did you? did you want this?*

“yes.” the word was instinctual, coming out of nowhere. a strange sense of calm washed over you, a newfound feeling taking the reigns in your emotionally heightened state. he didn’t waste another second, hands on your cheeks as he kissed you.

“we’re having a baby.” he murmured as he pulled away, lips brushing over yours. a smile blossomed on your face, slowly spreading. you were still terrified, but it just felt right.

“i love you, george.”

“i love you. both of you.” he whispered the last part, and you were sobbing all over again.

silverstone, july 2024. sunday.

it was your first time back at a race track in months, and it was glorious. you’d missed it immensely, bored at home since you’d been banished to maternity leave. george was away a lot, chasing after what you were certain would be his first title, and you weren’t allowed to fly anymore, so you mostly saw him through a screen. it wasn’t all bad; every spare second was spent at home with you, weeks off being used to pick out baby clothes and build furniture for the nursery.

his desire to be involved was endearing, especially when he could have easily paid someone to build the crib that kept him up half the night in a frustrated heap on the floor. all you could do was laugh and admire the way he was already tackling the fatherly duties.

despite how much you’d grown to enjoy preparing for your baby, now that the first few gruelling months were out of the way, being back at silverstone was like a cold beer on a hot day. should you have been there, nine months pregnant, with your due date rapidly approaching? probably not, but your boyfriend was having a killer season and this would probably be the only race you’d see for the rest of the year. george was hesitant, wondering if a racetrack was the right environment for you to be in, but there was no way you were missing it, a point you’d stubbornly argued until he finally gave in.

silverstone was too special to miss. it was where george had asked you on your first date, where you realised that you saw something with him. you also knew you’d be fuming if you missed him winning the british grand prix, and he looked set to do it, the odds very much in his favour.

you were enjoying the weekend, as much as you could in the hot british summer. you waddled into the paddock with george, hand in hand, just as you usually did, gaining far more attention than usual in your predicament. your pregnancy had made george more protective, far more aware of all the people around you, and that’s why he made sure that you were comfortable with anyone approaching him to talk, or to sign something.

you managed to get through the sea of people, the crowd always that much bigger at his home race, and you escaped into the mercedes suite. you sighed in contentment at the blissful air conditioning hitting your flushed skin, while george pulled out a chair for you to collapse into, and by collapse, you meant he lowered you slowly and carefully into the seat. he leaned down to kiss you on the lips, and then on the forehead, caressing your belly and bidding you goodbye so that he could go and change. he would be busy now, leaving you to your own devices.

after all, race day at silverstone was always chaos.

you spent the afternoon with george’s parents, no energy to go and venture out into the paddock. you were starting to get tired and the race hadn’t even started, but you were determined to watch george win. it was rare that you got to just sit back and watch a race solely for your own enjoyment, especially at the track, so you wanted to make the most of it. you watched him whizzing around the hospitality, talking to his team, your hand rubbing your stomach absentmindedly. watching the way he moved, ever so focused, made you wonder what your child would be like.

would they be a driver like george? stubborn like you? have his mousey hair and his blue eyes? your quick wit? his strength? the passion that you both shared? your baby was well on their way, that day getting closer and closer, and you were so overwhelmed with excitement, a joy that cast a shadow on all of the fear and doubt you’d felt in the beginning.

george came back over to you before he was due to get in the car, just like he always did. since the first time he told you he loved you, he couldn’t get in the car without saying it. it was the last thing he always did, without fail. even on the rare occasions that you fought, even if you weren’t on the same continent, he always, always found a way to tell you.

“we’re rooting for you, honey. we love you.” you told george, placing your interlocked fingers on your bump. “go and get this menace a trophy.” you teased. he laughed, kissing you and then he was gone, making his way to the grid.

you watched the screen, eyes fixed on his mercedes and the time sheets. he was practically untouchable, on course for yet another win. the anticipation, the pride you felt made you teary, desperate to see him win before you had to completely sign off for the rest of the season. it felt like your last weekend of freedom.

the team were controlling his strategy well, you thought, as you watched him pit. the race was halfway done already and you were already planning all the different ways you could celebrate the win.

that’s when you felt it.

it appeared that a trophy wouldn’t be the only brand new thing that george was taking home this weekend.

“oh, fuck.” you whispered.

babies sure knew how to pick their moments.

“i need to tell him.”

“no, toto, you most certainly do not. i came here to watch him win this fucking race.” you snarled, breathing laboured, getting faster by the second.

you were in george’s drivers room hunched over his massage table waiting for a car to come and take you to the track medical centre, and toto wolff was pissing you off.

“if he misses the birth of his child-“

“he will not miss the birth of his child!” you rolled your eyes, teeth clenched. you’d have to send toto a muffin basket or something, because never had you dared speak to him like this. you wondered if anyone had.

“but you’re in labour and it’s not going to be long before-“

“if you tell him, so help me god.” you glared, exhaling hard though clenched teeth. “he has time.”

toto sighed, nodding in defeat. don’t fuck with pregnant people.

george’s mum, alison, was rubbing your back comfortingly, trying to soothe you in any way possible. they were all trying to get george out of the car, but that was the last thing you wanted. what would be a better way for him to wrap up the weekend, than with a baby and a win at home?

once the car arrived, you were escorted out and carted away to the medical centre. the last place you’d envisioned going into labour was a race track, but you supposed it was quite fitting. apparently they were ready for you, the on-site medics welcoming you in for an examination.

“how long do i have before i need to go to the hospital?” you asked, eyes squeezed shut as another contraction washed over you.

“hospital? oh honey, i’m afraid we’re past that.” one of the doctors told you. she was an older woman, decked out in the classic green kit they wore, eyes kind.

“i’m sorry, what?” your mouth hung open in horror.

“don’t worry, you’re in safe hands. but this baby isn’t waiting for a hospital.”

winning your home grand prix was rare.

winning your home grand prix, getting out the car and being greeted by a frantic team of mechanics and toto wolff telling you that your girlfriend was in labour was even rarer.

george was sweating, grinning from ear to ear when he got out of the car, desperate to see you, to tell you that he’d done it for you. he just didn’t realise that when he saw you, you’d be trying to push out a human.

toto had dragged him away from the team celebrating in parc ferme, grabbed him by the shoulders, and that’s when he knew something was up. george practically went numb as toto explained what had happened.

“she threatened to do unspeakable things to me if we told you.” toto told him.

“of course she did.” george manage to choke out a laugh in his state of shock, which toto quickly pulled him out of.

“go, now. i don’t think you’ve got long left. congratulations.” toto shook his hand, pulling him into a hug. george hadn’t realised until then that he was shaking. he didn’t realise until he was sprinting across parc ferme that he was crying, either.

martin brundle was stood under the podium, interviewing the top three when george went bounding by.

“no word from the winner?” martin called, despite being midway through a conversation with lando. george stopped, bending down to reach lando’s microphone.

“can’t stop to chat, i’m having a baby.” he barely registered the cheer of the crowd, lando’s slap on the back, or how wrecked with emotion he sounded. all he could do was continue on his course, legging it to the medical centre.

of course his kid was going to be born at silverstone. of course.

what it was to love took on a whole new meaning for you that afternoon at silverstone.

you were propped up on the bed, gazing lazily at your boyfriend and the little girl in his arms. his race suit hung around his waist, fireproofs discarded, as he held her close to his chest. your heart felt so heavy, incredibly full in a way it never had been before. she was here, held delicately in the arms of the man you loved; your little family.

george caught you staring, smiling at you. you didn’t think he’d stopped tearing up since he’d come flying through the door after the race, just in time for the birth of his daughter.

“thank you.” he said, eyes lowering back down to the sleeping baby. he couldn’t help it, unable to take his eyes off of her. he could hardly believe she was real.

“it was my pleasure.” you laughed softly, voice tired. you relaxed further into the bed, wincing at the full body ache that you’d managed to ignore since they placed your girl on your chest for the first time.

“i mean it. you’re incredible.” he murmured, reddened eyes still trained on her. your eyes were drooping, the sight before you the only thing keeping you awake. you wanted to look at them forever and your chest flooded with warmth every time you realised that you’d get to.

“almost forgot to congratulate you on your win.” you spoke, making george laugh. “what’s funny?”

“you just gave me the world and you’re still thinking about my career.” he placed the baby into the bassinet by your bed, walking around the bed, perching himself carefully on the edge as to not disturb you. “i love you and i’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” you couldn’t contain your smile, leaning into his palm as he caressed your cheek.

“proud of you too. i was really enjoying the race until, well, you know.” you gestured to the baby, making him laugh again.

he kissed you, pressing his lips against yours softly. it was slow, an exchanging of love, comfort, pride. you pulled away, pushing his messy hair back, just letting yourself look at him for a second. you knew she’d have his eyes.

“what are we gonna call her? i know we had a few idea but nothing feels right.” george broke the silence. he was right. you hummed in agreement.

“she needs a cool name, something to mark the occasion. it’s not everyday that your kid is born at the silverstone.” you spoke excitedly. george squeezed your hand.

“okay, i think i have an idea.” george said slowly.

“tell me!” you beamed.

“don’t laugh. or cringe or whatever.”

“oh come on, i don’t even have the energy to cringe. plus, i’ve gone immune to your cringy-ness by now, anyway.” you teased. all you received in return was a playful glare.

“okay, so, how about… how about sylvie?” he said softly. a smile spread slowly across you face. you gazed at the bassinet, at your baby’s angelic face as she slept.

“sylvie… like silverstone.” you tried out the name, assessing how it felt rolling off your tongue. it fit, it was perfect.

“yes, sylvie like silverstone.” george rolled his eyes and you both laughed.

“will you pass her to me, please?” you asked, and he did as you pleased, placing her gently in your arms.

your skin prickled with joy all over again, your heart rate speeding up.

“sylvie russell. yeah.” you nodded, tears filling your tired eyes once more.

“sylvie russell.” george repeated, his hand squeezing your shoulder.

you somehow managed to take your eyes off of her, just for a second, to glance up at him. he was looking at her, then at you, then her, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, and you fell in love with him all over again.

home, august 2024.

george had finished the first half of the season, leaving belgium the second he’d stepped off of the podium to come home to you. usually, you enjoyed a much needed vacation over the summer break, but this year, all george wanted was to be at home with his little family.

sylvie was over a month old, and already the apple of george’s eye. you knew he felt guilty for being away during her first weeks but you reassured him that you understood. this was the life the came with being with him, and you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. he also felt guilty that you were dealing with a newborn almost by yourself, but to you, it was worth it. being a mother was never really on your radar, something that you’d only considered for the first time when things got serious with george, and even then, it seemed a million years into the future.

enter: sylvie.

she’d completely changed your life, all for the better. sure, you were sleep deprived, but every time she grabbed your finger, all was forgiven. you’d bonded with her better than you’d expected and so had george, not that you’d had any doubts. he was perfect with her, and she always fell asleep the quickest in his arms.

you and george had moved out of london when you found out you were pregnant, into a gorgeous country house. you were thankful for the move every day, especially now that it was summer and you got to put your garden to use.

laid out in the freshly cut grass was a blanket, topped with fresh fruits, snacks and juice. you laid on one side, book in hand, while george occupied the opposite side, sylvie on his chest. they were covered by an umbrella, while you chose to sunbathe, the august heat treating you well.

george was humming the tune to some generic nursery rhyme that seemed to always be playing in the background these days, popping strawberries in his mouth. you looked up every now and then, the sight of george and sylvie, so peaceful amongst the backdrop of radiant wildflowers that you were growing, leaving you with a content smile.

“like the view?” george asked, catching you out.

“absolutely love it.” you mused.

“did you ever think we’d make it to this?” george asked, one arm going behind his head to support himself, the other delicately clutching your daughter.

“what do you mean?” you asked, confused as to where this was coming from.

“did you think, after those first few years of knowing each other, all of that animosity, that we’d be sat here in our garden with a baby?” he repeated.

“honestly? no. but that’s what’s so perfect about it. you changed my life in the best way and i never for a second saw it coming.” you spoke sincerely.

he sat up, carefully placing a sleeping sylvie in her bassinet and making sure she was shielded from the sun, before turning back to you, making his way over the blanket to your side.

“you’ve changed my life too, darling. i don’t know what i’d be without you.”

you opened your mouth to reply, to tell him that he’s still be just as wonderful, but he cut you off, laying beside you, propped up on his elbow. he took one of your hands, in his, squeezing gently.

“you’ve given me everything that i could ever want: a partner, a family, a home. you keep me grounded, you have done ever since the first time i laid eyes on you and you knocked me straight back down to earth. you don’t know how thankful i am for that first night in monaco, because watching you walk away made it crystal clear just how important you were to me. silverstone, when you found me after the dnf, and the compassion you showed me, you managed to light up one of the darkest moments.”

your eyes were shiny. he paused for a second to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“you’ve given me everything i could ever need, the entire world, darling. i am so grateful that my daughter has you for a mother, and i would be honoured if i got to call you my wife.”

he whispered your name, reaching into the picnic basket that, now that you thought about it, he’d conveniently packed himself, and shifted himself upwards, onto one knee. a velvet box rested in the palm of his hand, before he was presenting you with the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. square, vintage, exactly what you’d dreamed of.

“will you marry me?”

there was only one possible answer.

you threw yourself at him, eyes bleary, your entire face soaked with tears. he fell backwards into the grass, holding you against his chest while you kissed him. he really knew how to make a speech. you broke away, peppering kisses against his cheek and his jaw.

you held yourself up, staring down at him, one of his hands caressing your cheek, the biggest of grins on both of your faces as he wiped the few stray tears that continued to fall. he looked stunning, sun kissed and chiselled in the vibrant grass, the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

“it’s a yes, by the way, just in case you didn’t get that.” you giggled, falling beside him, tucked under his arm. you looked up at him, running a hand through his hair, leaning in for another kiss.

“you’re everything to me.” he mumbled against your lips, before he pressed his against yours once more, slow and needy, all the love in the world.

sylvie was obviously feeling left out, stirring in her bassinet. george pulled away, pecking your lips one last time, reaching over for her. he gently placed her on the soft blanket between your bodies, resting on his elbow to watch over you both.

you looked at sylvie, then george, and finally the huge fucking rock on your finger and wondered how on earth you’d ever gotten so lucky.

the realisation that orgasm denial on a yacht in monaco had given you a beautiful family was enough to have you and george laughing.

your poor daughter.

bahrain, 2025. sunday.

george was leading the race. typical.

“daddy’s such a show off.” you whispered to sylvie, whose crystal blue eyes were fixed on the screen ahead of you. she looked adorable, her mousey hair tousled by the huge noise protectors that seemed to engulf her entire head.

it was her first time being present at a race, a truly special occasion for you and george. your lives were so intertwined with racing, and a race track was where you fell in love; it meant a lot to the both of you to have her here, for her to grow up around the sport that had changed your lives.

you were shocked at her attention to the race, she’d spent the remainder of last season, when george had gone back to work, pulling your hair every time a race was on the tv. you had a sneaky feeling she’d end up just like george, which left your motherly nerves shot to pieces.

george won, just as you told him he would, and you bounced sylvie on your hip, a mini celebration. you took her out of the garage and into parc ferme to greet him with the rest of the team behind the barriers. you got there in time to see him stood at the helm of his car, hands thrown in the air in pure elation.

“look, baby. look at daddy.” you pointed at george, cooing in sylvie’s ear. she seemed to follow your finger, finding her father, up high above the rest.

the laugh she let out, pure, unfiltered joy, made your heart grow, your whole body warm at the gleeful noise. you loved her laugh, just like you loved george’s, her developing personality demonstrating that she was already a mini george. you weren’t mad about it.

the race winner was bounding towards you, the adrenaline coursing through his veins clear as day. when he reached the barrier, he scooped sylvie out of your arms, leaning over the metal to kiss you hard. you blushed, your face hot at the pda but you weren’t going to stop him. when you pulled apart, he kissed sylvie on the forehead, her chubby hands gripping hard at his race suit. she had been infatuated with it all weekend, grabbing at all the different sponsors with thoughtless intrigue that made you smile.

“so proud of you, honey.” you spoke, voice loud amongst the rowdy team, excited at their first victory of the season. “i think our kid is already an f1 fan.” you laughed.

“she’ll be up there one day.” george replied, point up at the top step of the podium behind him. you shook your head in playful annoyance. as if you’d let your little girl loose on a racetrack.

“i love you george.” he’d have to move on soon, and you’d have to make a quick getaway to the media pen, while sylvie would be going back to her grandparents.

“i love you, sweetheart.” and with that, he stole your daughter, a sense of deja vu hitting you as he walked over to his winners interview with her in his arms.

he didn’t care at all about what was allowed and what was proper, he just wanted his little girl with him. the way he wanted to show her off constantly made you weak. he was such a girl dad.

george’s voice rang through parc ferme, and then that precious laugh did as well, when sylvie hijacked the mic. you smiled incredulously.

you knew it, the first night you shared, your first date, that nightmare weekend in spa. you knew it when he whisked you away to paris, when he told you that he loved you too. you knew it then and you knew it now, as you watched him let your daughter make incoherent baby noises into a microphone on live tv.

george russell would always be the one for you.

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @h0e-xoxo @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3

i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working. let me know if you wanna be added or removed <3

#george russell #george russell fic #george russell x reader #george russell smut #george russell fluff #george russell angst #george russell x you #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #george russell imagine #f1 fics #george russell fics

341 notes · View notes

starsandhughes · 6 months

Text

Penalty Box Series— Quinn Hughes Edition (Six)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: five

next: seven

OCTOBER 27, 2023

i’m behind so remember that these stats mentioned are accurate for the day of the game!

shorty is john, the play by play guy for the canucks if y'all forgot/didn't know his nickname!

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, trevorzegras, and 18,864 others

yourusername WELCOME BACK TO MY POST GAME PENALTY BOX UPDATE SHOW: MY BEST FRIEND IS HOCKEY GOD EDITION!

he was rightfully first star of the game again tonight with his two goal game! as shorty said, "hughes loves playing the blues!" the blues are now the only team that quinny has more goals scored on than assists!

and for those who are quinn's biggest supporters, a nation run by me, you'd know that one of quinn's goals is to work on his +/-! you'll be happy to know that quinn LEADS THE LEAGUE WITH A +10! that's just another piece of evidence as to why he's a hockey god, laideez!

to quinn, my favorite big brother, and my least favorite hughes, i’m so unbelievably proud of you! you've been working on shooting the puck more and you're doing so with flying colors. congrats on your third career multi-goal game! i love you way past infinity💙

p.s. shoutout to demmer for getting his fourth career shut out in this 5-0 win tonight ! i’m so proud of you! @/tdemko30

p.s.s. QUINN GOT HIS FIRST PENALTY AND I ALMOST FORGOT TO MENTION IT! RIP HIS 6 GAME STREAK!!

tagged _quinnhughes

view all 297 comments

_quinnhughes sissy? being mostly sweet? who are you? (i love you way past beyond)

yourusername you gave me two goals and a penalty, you could have my future CHILDREN if you wanted right now

trevorzegras @/yourusername don't... don't do that

_quinnhughes i’m okay, thanks for the offer though!

yourusername you sure? i’m feeling very generous towards you right now! i’ll give you anything!

_quinnhughes can i have a normal sister?

yourusername i cannot give you that, sorry!

user41 QUINN HUGHES NATION RISE

jackhughes i'm not your favorite big brother?!

yourusername we're twins that met at 5? do you not know how twins work?

jackhughes i’m older than you by 4 hours and 36 minutes!

yourusername you're my least favorite big brother🫶

jackhughes am i your favorite hughes????

yourusername no? i’m my favorite hughes?

colecaufield we love the self confidence

_alexturcotte queen shit!

jackhughes 🙄

tdemko35 you're too sweet, y/n! thank you!

yourusername i’ll always hype up my boys!!! i love you!!! stay golden, ponyboy

tdemko35 i love you, too😂

user57 sissy really made the "who's sissy's least favorite hughes?" game easy on us this time

user99 HIS FUCKING SMILE OH MY GOD

trevorzegras how can you be the biggest supporter of both me AND quinn?

yourusername i’m made of pure love, baby! i got lots of it to go around! and it does!

jackhughes wh*re

yourusername @/jackhughes bite me.

trevorzegras you're such a sweet girl🧡 i'm so ready to marry you, let's elope

colecaufield @/trevorzegras i'm her man of honor! don't you dare take that away from me, zegras

yourusername @/colecaufield i would never let him do that

yourusername i don't care how much i’m freaking out over a dress! we're having a wedding, zegras!

trevorzegras i feel attacked

yourusername with love <3

user78 THIS IS SISSY'S LEAST FAVORITE HUGHES'S YEAR!

yourusername and that is his preferred title!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername that's not even close to my preferred title

yourusername @_quinnhughes it literally is

user6 the blues got the blues over hughes

_alexturcotte @_quinnhughes have you gotten hit with a puck yet?

_quinnhughes nope

_alexturcotte who are you? does the c put a protective shield around you? what's happening with the balance of the universe?

yourusername somewhere, somebody is getting hit with a puck a lot more than ever before

_alexturcotte i can't believe quinn would do that to someone

yourusername some captain he is... smh

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte @.yourusername you two are some real comedic geniuses

yourusername @_quinnhughes thanks, we know!

_alexturcotte @_quinnhughes we're here all your life!

user39 quinn hughes nation needs t-shirts, someone should get on this

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes toques for the win!

yourusername toques for the LOSE

_quinnhughes @/yourusername win*

jackhughes @/yourusername win*

yourusername @_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @.lhughes_06 i’m burning them all. i have keys to your homes. they'll be burning in a pit by wednesday. @/trevorzegras so help me, if you ever put one on that fine head of hair of yours, i’ll burn you, too

trevorzegras @/yourusername roger that

jackhughes @/trevorzegras if we burn, you burn with us!

trevorzegras @/jackhughes hard pass

---

sorry it's short while i'm trying to play catch up! tell me what you think! <3

#penalty box series: quinn hughes edition #penalty box series #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes insta edit #quinn hughes au #trevor zegras au #trevor zegras x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #trevor zegras x hughes reader #quinn hughes x reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

144 notes · View notes

fictionobsession · 8 months

Text

Learning Hurts

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Tav totally wanted to learn how to handle a dagger.

Word Count: 2,232

Warnings: knives, blood, maybe ooc astarion sorry, not beta'd

A/N: This is my first time writing a full-length fic in... a minute, so please forgive anything that doesn't make sense lolol but the Astarion brainrot would not leave me alone so you get this, you're welcome or smth

The sun was just beginning to set on their little camp as Tav leaned back, hands folded behind their head, watching the routine the group had so easily fallen into. Gale was ordering Wyll to bring him various ingredients that had been left around the camp. Karlach was arm-wrestling Lae'zel for the hundredth time, the latter sporting a triumphant grin at her unbroken winning streak. Shadowheart was using the time for her nightly meditations. And Astarion, never helping or socializing unless explicitly asked, was sitting outside his tent sharpening his blades.

Tav didn't stop themself staring at the way he inspected his work, running a long, slender finger along the deadly edge. They didn't try to tear their eyes away as he twirled the dagger, paying close attention to the way the firelight danced across the metal. Astarion balanced the dagger on one finger, flipped it once, twice, like he wanted to be sure it hadn't lost its balance somewhere along the way. Flip, twirl, catch. Flip, catch, turn. Tav was mesmerized by the dexterous movements of hand and knife, not noticing the smirk that had found its way to the rogue's face, or the sudden increase in complexity of the knife's ministrations.

“I can teach you some tricks if you really find it that interesting.”

Tav's gaze snapped up at the smirk they heard rather than saw, and caught the teasing glint in those lovely red eyes across from them. Tav cleared their throat, trying to sound at least somewhat normal, cringing when their voice still came out as a squeak. “oh, uh, yeah? Yeah! The knife work is very interesting. That sounds fun!”

He motioned to the space next to him, but Tav was rooted in place, looking back and forth between his eyes and the gesture.

“Come on, darling. I won't bite unless you ask me to.”

Tav felt their mouth run dry, and they swallowed hard, trying to contain any reaction they most certainly did not have to that particular statement. They knew they had failed, though, when they heard the snort of laughter Astarion graciously attempted to disguise as a cough – an attempt that may have worked if not for the crinkles at the corners of his eyes giving him away. Tav glared at him in what they hoped was at least a vaguely threatening way before taking a deep breath and moving to hover in from of his tent, a respectable distance from the man himself.

The elf rolled his eyes, an unfortunately common sight for Tav, handing them his off-hand dagger and promptly closing the respectable distance. “Alright, darling, we're going to start very simple, since you're just as like to stab yourself as the enemy half the time.”

It was a joke, or at least mostly a joke (excluding that one time), but Tav's face went hot with embarrassment anyway. They held the dagger like it might try to jump from their grip, knuckles white from the pressure. Astarion raised an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for Tav to figure it out. They loosened their grip a bit, rubbing a thumb over the lightly worn leather on the hilt, the texture grounding them and letting some of their anxieties disappate. They tried a few different ways to hold it, almost cutting themselves more than once, before Astarion found himself reaching out to adjust their grip. Both pause at the contact, but Astarion quickly waved it off with a murmured excuse. “Wouldn't be much of a teacher if I let you hurt yourself in the first five seconds, would I?”

He took a step back, pulling out his own dagger and showing off a quick grip change that looked like a simple flick in and then out. Tav recognized it faintly as the way they'd seen him reposition after a stealth attack on an enemy. Not that they were paying attention to his hand positioning in combat, just simply watching for timing for the rest of the group, of course. “It's important to be able to switch like this so you can react to enemies from multiple directions without adjusting your whole stance,” he explained as he demonstrated a few more times. Tav started to move slowly, clumsily, tucking the blade back and down, then out again. They kept at it, increasing speed as they went, until they got it pretty close to what Astarion was doing. They looked up, pleased with their progress, just in time to see an unfamiliar expression swiftly disappear from his face. If someone didn't know better, they might've described it as fond. Luckily, Tav knew better. “Sorry that took a minute, I know it should've been easy. Could you show me how to do the flip thing you were doing earlier?”

Astarion's brow furrowed at the request, and he was already shaking his head before the question was finished. “Absolutely not. You can barely do this, and I will not be responsible for - “ he noticed the pathetic, begging, ridiculous eyes Tav was giving him. Normally, he would've been unaffected by anyone's big doe eyes, but something about Tav at that moment, he couldn't bring himself to say no. “Oh, alright. But when you hurt yourself, I will not be feeling sorry for you. Are we clear?”

Tav nodded fervently, afraid he'd change his mind.

“I said, are we clear? Use your words, darling, or I'm putting these away.” A quick gesture with his knife, that playful gleam in his eye. Tav knew he was trying to get under their skin, make them uncomfortable enough to walk away from their little lesson. But Tav, stubborn as they were, would never give him the satisfaction. They brought their eyes up to meet his, back straight, exuding a confidence they weren't sure they actually possessed.

“Yes, sir. Very clear.”

And if they allowed themselves a satisfied grin when Astarion almost dropped his dagger, well, nobody needed to know.

He blinked hard, face contorting into another unfamiliar expression, this one almost akin to his “I just got punched in the face” expression, before he resumed his normal aloof grin. He tossed his dagger, letting it flip twice in the air before catching it. He shook his head and tossed it again, only letting it flip once before catching it this time. He did it again, again, again. Finally he nodded approvingly and turned back to Tav. “Alright, you're going to try to flip it once, like this, and then step back. You want to flip it forward so it goes more away from you than towards you. Then you let it fall to the ground. I don't want you to try to catch it yet. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

They felt the weight of the blade in their hand and tried to avoid looking directly at Astarion, lest their hands start to shake. They took a deep breath, tossed the knife harder than anticipated, and watched as it flipped not once, not twice, but three times before gravity pulled it back down...point first. Tav's eyes widened as Astarion yanked them away, their back suddenly flush against his chest. The surprise wore off quickly, replaced by embarrassment when they felt rather than heard their companion's laughter from behind them. Astarion didn't try to hide it, forehead hitting Tav's shoulder as he shook with giggles. They pulled themself from his arms and stumbled to pick up the dagger from where it had stuck perfectly in the ground, glaring at the still-laughing rogue.

“Are you sure you want to learn this?” The elf managed to huff the question between bouts of giggles. Tav narrowed their eyes in his direction, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender. “Maybe try that a few more times before you attempt catching it then, if you think you can manage to not stab yourself in the head.”

Tav's outrage came out as a very dignified squawk. “You – I'm only distracted because you're watching! Quit looking!”

“I didn't realize I made you so nervous.” An eyebrow cocked in amusement. Tav fought the urge to stomp their foot in a childish fit of annoyance. “Fine, fine. I'll turn around. Just make sure you step out of the way, please. I really would hate to lose my favorite traveling companion.” A wink shot Tav's way as Astarion turned to watch the flames of the campfire.

He stayed facing the fire for what seemed like ages, listening in barely concealed amusement to the thumps of the knife hitting the ground, almost always followed by a huff or grumble of annoyance, until he heard the faintest oh instead. “What's wrong, my dear? Tired of dropping things yet?”

“Uhm...” His eyes narrowed as Tav trailed off. “Yes, I think I might... might need to practice more a different time.”

Their voice was shaky and weaker than usual, none of their confidence and joking nature present. Astarion whirled around, unmasked concern evident on his face. The first thing he noticed were the tears pooling in Tav's eyes. The second thing was the intoxicating scent of their blood hitting him full force. His lips dropped into a perfect o as he stared at the drip, drip, drip of blood falling from Tav's fingers.

“Astarion? I'm sorry, I know you said you weren't going to feel bad. It's okay, my fault for trying to catch it, really. Please don't be mad.” Their small voice brought him back to the moment, only slightly disgusted with himself for getting distracted.

“Oh, love, what have you done?” He took two long strides toward them, grabbing their hand. He rubbed a thumb so gently near the wound, gauging the depth and severity. His expression softened as he looked up at Tav. “I'm not mad at you, but it must hurt. Do you want me to go get Shadowheart?”

“No!” Tav winced at the forcefulness of their own words. “No, no one needs to know how ridiculous this was.”

“They are right across camp, I'm sure they'll know regardless. Besides that, you shouldn't have to be in pain just because you're clumsy, you know.” He pulled his hand away, and caught Tav watching him inspect the blood left on his thumb. He brought the thumb to his mouth and licked a bit of the blood off, smirking at Tav's nose scrunching up in response. “Delicious.”

Tav reached up to smack his shoulder lightly with their uninjured hand.

“Sorry, love. I just can't help myself.” He paused before continuing. “Hm. Well, if you're insistent on suffering, can I at least help you clean up?”

Tav's imagination immediately took over, providing detailed visuals of how Astarion might “clean up” a bloody mess, which did not help the tightness in their stomach caused by him licking the last of the blood off his own fingers. Their mind wandered from there, unbidden images of Astarion, always teasing, always flirting, using that beautiful mouth for licking, kissing, biting... They shook the thoughts from their head, just in time to see him emerging from his tent with a cloth too clean to be found anywhere nearby. He held it up to them, offering to literally just clean the wound.

Tav sighed, mentally reprimanding themselves for having those thoughts about a companion, a friend, that clearly just wants to help. It had been a while, they justified to themself, since they had found anyone as intriguing, mysterious, hilarious, attractive as Astarion. There was no crime there, right? It didn't mean anything, and certainly wasn't anything they would act upon. Friends could have the occasional thought about each other right? It didn't matter that it was always the same friend. Or that those thoughts were certainly becoming more than occasional at this point. Gods, they were fucked. This would definitely be a problem later.

Tav's inner monologue continued as Astarion took the white cloth, folded it twice before taking Tav's warm hand in his cold one again and wrapping the cloth around the injury. He winced along with them as he tightened the bandage.

“'m sorry. I'll be done in a moment. I have to wrap it tightly enough to stop the bleeding.” Tav had never seen such a naked look of emotion on the man's face. They felt like they might faint, not from the blood loss, but from the sheer amount of concern present there.

“It's okay, Star. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose.” The smile Tav gave him could have outshone the sun. Astarion suddenly found himself with shaking hands, unable to identify what the hells this feeling was. He tried to finish the wrapping quickly, wanting to put distance between himself and the object of his racing thoughts. He turned Tav's hand, making sure the bandage was secure from all angles, and stalked toward the woods without a word.

Tav calling his name got only the slightest pause. “Thank you for trying to teach me. And for cleaning me up. You didn't have to do that.”

His steps stuttered, and he turned, not quite facing them, though they could see the pained look on his face anyway. “I think I did.”

He slipped out of view, leaving Tav standing, head tilted like a confused puppy, staring after him, completely unaware of the crisis of self they had just thrust upon the unsuspecting vampire spawn.

#astarion x tav #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 fic #astarion fic #please thank you and also sorry #d writes

91 notes · View notes

gritsandbrits · 3 months

Text

Okay some redesign notes his design isn't awful but definitely needs work.

Change the hat to a standard crown. It already looks like an apple and the rims can be serpent shaped.

BEEF HIM UP.

Or give him a dad bod!

Also give the cane gold accents

Dark blue or sunrise colored wings that contains stars (think of Teela's sorceress design from the cgi he man). He is called MORNINGSTAR for a reason.

Make his hair a deeper shade of blond so it wont blend in with his skin (or give him a deeper skin tone)

Traditionally depicted with red hair but personally I'd stick to blond or a soft orange pink. Like the dawn. ✨MORNINGSTAR✨

Also wrinkles so he looks older and experienced instead of looking like Charlie's twin

His canon outfit is fine it just needs more gold & other accent colors. Preferably blue for holy or green for wealth/envy.

Eyes can be blue or purple for angelic roots

Imma take a page from another Jeremy Jordan character - BLUE HAIR STREAK

Again, adding more blue/purple balances with red and hints to his angelic roots

he wears a mechanic outfit in his down time because he is an active schemer - an inventor if you will - also bc i love a man in goggles

Demon form is a European style dragon for serpent symbolism. Feathered wings you know like how some species of dinos had feathers.

Now for writing. I honestly dont mind him being the goofy ash dad but GIVE HIM EDGE TOO. He talks more elegantly and archaic, everyone can't be sounding like a late 2000s anime forum edgelord. Make him a diabolical mastermind who sees charlie as a disappointment at first then he realizes he isn't treating her better especially when the angels & Adam start messing with her. Stick with him being the villain in adam and eve's story; he isn't let off easy.

He drove Lilith away with his selfish pursuit of Knowledge. He hopes he can win her back but she still dislikes him, she only hears him out for Charlie's sake.

I'm split on the Adam dynamic; on one hand it makes sense considering Luci ruined his life. But I also think Archangel Michael is a worthy opponent because technically have the same ranking, and Michael is the often the one who banishes Lucifer from heaven in the first rebellion. So Luci has a complex dynamic where in a show about grey morality, Michael is justified in cutting him off and NOT demonized for doing so. Hehe. But also with Luci gradually losing family and love he realize he took it too far and tries to be supportive or at least not actively threaten people.

Inaccuracy aside, I don't even really mind that he's a separate entity from Satan. Just make Lucifer a bad boy, a truly bad boy. Make him edgy. Make him elegantly evil. Make him goofy. Just give him depth.

#redesign #hazbin redesign #lucifer #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin critical #hazbin critique #hazbin selfship #YES i guess i kinda ship wit him and definitely not because im a jeremy/musical fan

31 notes · View notes

novacqnes · 1 year

Note

omg a part 2 to blue moon pls perhaps with lupe smut, maybe ms holiday (love that thank u) goes to a game and some other girl (peach or other team) flirts with her and we get jealous lupe…………. hot

you are brilliant

rumor has it // lupe garcia

warning: 69’ing with lupe, jealousy, possessiveness, dirty talk, top!lupe

pairing: lupe garcia x fem reader

a/n: i wasn’t planning on writing a part 2 originally but i love everything about this so here we go (also i had to google baseball terms for this so if they’re incorrect forgive me)

anticipation radiated off of the crowd as the teams tied. it was the final inning of the game and the blue sox batter stepped up to home plate. you watched nervously as lupe prepared herself for her final pitch.

she placed her feet shoulder width apart winding up her arm, she then lifted her leg parallel to the ground extending her arm as far as she could, exerting all of her power on the baseball. it flew from her grasp and past the batter and straight into carson’s mitt, first strike.

a sudden burst of cheers came from the crowd but it was too early to celebrate. silence swept over the onlookers as lupe took her spot once again, repeating the same series of moves almost ritualistically.

she launched the ball and it soared through the air, the batter swung hard but to no avail and it landed into the mitt, second strike.

excitement poured out of you and the rest of the peaches as it came down to one last pitch, it was on lupe. frustrated, the batter stepped up once again bracing for the impact as hundreds of eyes landed on the pitcher.

taking a deep breath lupe reeled the ball in and with all of her strength sent it flying, faster than she’d ever have. it took even carson by surprise as she caught it losing her balance. the crowd erupted into cheers as the peaches took home yet another win.

you shot up joining along as lupe searched for you in the crowd, sending you a small grin before joining the rest of the peaches on the side. she was practically oozing with pride and part of it was because of you.

since your initial meeting at the bar the peaches— or more specifically lupe had been on a winning streak. her performance was better than ever before and most importantly she was happy.

after each game she’d make her way towards your apartment allowing a beautiful relationship to bloom between you— within the walls of your home that is. due to the risks the two of you made sure to limit the displays of affection to indoors, only going out when it was safe, which was rare.

however after enough convincing lupe gave in and you were able to finally watch your girlfriend in action. seeing lupe in the game she was an entirely different person and it left you to wonder what else there was to her.

dozens of people poured off from the stands as the game came to a close, leaving a few others and the teams. although it was completely safe, you made your way to the field, hoping to sneak just a few moments with lupe before going home— but she was nowhere to be found.

the longer you waited the more stares you drew from the blue sox, most of not all curious ones. the attention caused an uneasy feeling to fester inside of you and you were sure you’d made a grave mistake.

turning on your heel you began to make your way to the exit when you felt a soft, alarmingly gentle hand on your shoulder. when you whipped around it wasn’t lupe but a tall, slim blue sox player. she had curly blonde hair that fell at her shoulders and a wicked smirk.

“looking for someone?” she asked.

“i was, but i think i’m just gonna head out.”

her eyes ran over your body as she took a step closer. most of the players were distracted by this point but a few gazes remained, a certain pitcher being one of them.

“that’s too bad….this your first game?”

“that obvious?” you chuckled, nervously picking at the hem of your skirt.

the longer she held you under her gaze the more nervous you became, it was wrong but you didn’t know how to pull away, not without making things worse.

“sort of….you know i like to remember people’s faces in the crowd, especially the new ones.” she purred.

her voice dropped to a teasingly low tone as she stepped closer, drastically diminishing the distance between the two of you. her pupils burned with pure lust as they landed on your lips, setting your cheeks ablaze.

craning her head to the side she leaned into your neck, her breath gently fanning your ear.

“i can’t—“

“i’ve seen you sing at the bar downtown…rumor has it that you offer private shows from time to time.”

a sweltering heat buzzed underneath your skin as the blue sox player watched in amusement. a shit eating smirk spread across her lips as she watched you back away, calmly making a beeline towards the nearest exit.

before you could even make it towards the fence you noticed lupe standing just a few feet away with her arms crossed over her chest. to say she was livid was an understatement.

“lu!” you exclaimed, rushing towards her, “jesus, you won’t believe what just happened-“

yet before the details of your latest encounter could leave your mouth lupe had already walked away, not even sparing you a second glance. she stormed across the field into the peaches changing room, leaving you behind. dumbfounded, you stumbled into the room along with her.

“um…what the hell?”

an eerie silence filled the room as lupe refused to look at you, angrily pulling off her uniform. you stepped closer to her putting a gentle hand on her shoulder when she whipped around to face you, her skin a deep red.

“why are you here?” she barked, pointing an accusatory finger at you. her tone was hostile, a complete contrast to how she normally was with you.

“excuse me?”

rather than pulling away you held your position gazing into lupe’s fierce brown eyes— she was fuming. her fists were balled at her sides and her nose scrunched, causing tiny lines to form.

although she was doing her best to appear intimidating, you weren’t scared, more so intrigued. you’d never witnessed this side of lupe and for some reason it stirred something deep inside of you.

“you said you wanted to see me. then when i come looking for you i find you flirting with the blue sox pitcher,” she spat.

jealousy was laced in each and every word that left lupe’s mouth. the way she spoke of the blue sox pitcher and seeing you with her— it all read envy. your relationship had rarely ever been put to the test of outside influences. therefore experiencing it for the very first time sent lupe into a fit of jealousy that she had no way of containing, or so she thought.

“honey, i do wanna see you. what you saw- i promise it’s nothing.”

you brought your hand over to her cheek, cupping it in your palm to reassure her, but she wasn’t fully convinced. now, lupe didn’t doubt your ability to be faithful in fact it was the least of her worries. her biggest gripe was with the thought of someone else talking, touching or even thinking about you in the way that she did.

she saw it in the bar, the way both men and women flocked to you with their awful methods of flirting. they’d gawk at your body and gush over your singing just to win you over, but it rarely ever amounted to anything. however seeing fellow players have their shot with you was completely uncharted territory.

“you don’t believe me, do you?”

lupe remained silent but that alone was enough confirmation. it was becoming abundantly clear that words alone weren’t going to convince her. you wrapped your arms around her neck, ushering her closer as she felt your chest press against hers.

“what would it take….to convince you?”

lupe snuck her arm around your waist, her eyes burning with desire along with hundreds of possible ideas that ran through her mind. but she finally settled on one when her eyes landed on the wooden bench just a few feet away.

“i’d like to witness ms holiday in all her glory.” she teased, eyeing you up and down through your tight floral dress. her lips brushed against your neck sending a small buzz of pleasure to your skin, and with that you knew it wasn’t about singing.

she left behind a trail of small kisses up your neck, just enough pressure to tease you. you gripped onto her tightly as she made her way up, slipping a man’s underneath your dress.

you cupped her face in your hands, desperately kissing with lustful desire. remnants of tobacco lingered on her tongue but you ignored it, pushing yourself against her even more.

pulling away lupe helped you undo your dress, savoring each image of your body as you undressed. after you were fully naked you turned towards her, eagerly tearing off the rest of her remaining clothes.

she went to lay on the bench first, laying flat when she gestured for you to come closer. tentatively you walked towards her lower preparing to get on your knees when she stopped you.

“i want you up here, on my face.”

her words rushed straight to your core causing you to yearn for lupe more than ever. you positioned your legs on opposite sides of the bench hovering over her mouth. slowly you began to sink down, gasping at the warm wet contact of lupe’s tongue against your clit.

you clutched onto her thighs, leaning forward as she ran her tongue along your dripping pussy, relishing in every moan and whine she was able to draw from your lips.

“fuck….” you cried, gently circling your hips on her face. she wrapped her arms around your legs enticing you to come closer, pursing her lips upward with an extreme fervor. streams of pleasure raged through your body from your pussy, egging lupe on even more.

“you like that, holiday? like how i fuck you with my tongue.”

“oh—fuck—i love it,” you mewled.

she gradually tightened her grip on you, giving you no room to run. she sloppily ran her tongue around your clit, sucking it into her mouth before moving on to your dripping hole. freeing one hand, she spat on her index finger before slipping it inside. together, she wrapped her tongue along the sensitive flesh, curving her finger to awaken your g-spot.

writhing above lupe, you could hardly contain yourself. your back slowly began to give, causing you to lean forward, just a few inches from lupe’s own heat. to preoccupied with your pleasure to notice this her pace weakened. the once fast flicks of her tongue dampened to tauntingly slow flicks that left you craving more.

without hesitation began to place deep kisses over lupe’s clit, sending a shiver up her spine.

“shit—y/n….keep going.”

she parted her legs a bit further enticing you to delve in further as did she. she wrapped her lips around your sensitive core, swirling her tongue along your folds, forcing you to moan into her pussy. the sweet vibrations of your mouth on her sent lupe into oblivion as she held onto for dear life.

your legs began to shake in her grasp, leading her pride to surge with each cry and obscenity that fell from your soft lips. she adored the sight of you unraveling, clinging onto lupe as if she was your whole word. it was further confirmation you were hers.

“want you to come all over my face— i wanna taste every part of you,” she groaned.

“lu, i’m so close—more, more, please.”

hungrily, you lapped up her fluids paying extra attention to her delicate nub. however, it grew increasingly more difficult to stay focused as her fingers toyed with your g-spot bringing you closer to a splintering high. lupe could feel it, how you wrapped around her fingers so deliciously and sloppy each movement of your tongue, you were moments away from an orgasm taking her along with you.

the insatiable ache between her legs rapidly built as she fueled yours. your pleas became more incoherent by the second, and lupe’s muffled by your core. she could feel herself losing control as your body went still above her. a shattering feeling rippled through your body, causing you to write helplessly against lupe. reeling from her own orgasm she pressed deep kisses into your thighs, soothing you.

“you did so good, baby,” she cooed.

with the last bit of strength left you shifted away from her face lying lifelessly on the wooden bench. she moved towards you, gazing at your sweat covered face.

“do you believe me now?”

“mh, of course.” she grinned, swinging an arm around you as you leaned in closer.

“why is that?”

lupe trusted you, therefore it was never a question of loyalty she just simply needed reassurance. and both of you found that sex was a more pleasurable way of doing so. one where she was able to have you all to herself, which was something she wasn’t afforded at the bar or even on the field.

she smirked, “well for one, you can’t fake sounds like that. two, i’m the one that got the private show… so i guess the rumor is true.”

153 notes · View notes

wherethefireliliesgrow · 1 year

Text

(7) 942 days: auburn brown

Myoui Mina x reader

Part of the series: Palette

Previous chapter: (6) 970 days: mahogany red

942 days.

Karina had slowly been recovering at the hospital, but she was becoming increasingly frustrated with the pitying looks she received from the doctors and nurses when they saw the numbers on her wound decrease.

You would take turns staying at the hospital with Minji, Danielle, and Hanni. Determined, Ryujin even volunteered to take the night shifts on her days off, dead set on winning Karina over. Ryujin had been waiting for her wayward soulmate relentlessly since she first heard the story at the age of four, and after nearly two decades, she wasn't about to let Karina slip away easily.

Despite the gashing wound on her wrists, Karina was surprisingly nonchalant, as if the soulmate effect had no hold on her. She spoke to Ryujin with ease, without so much as a stutter.

You couldn’t say the same thing about you, on the other hand. Mina was persistent, pestering Dahyun to give her your number when she never heard back from you that day. You started teaching her painting twice a week at your house, and sometimes Chaeyoung would tag along. It was a relief when Chaeyoung was there because her presence made the atmosphere more relaxed, and she would always fill the silence with her corny jokes.

However, today it was just you and Mina, along with Haerin, who had made herself comfortable on your sofa and had fallen asleep.

The brunette arrived excited with a bottle of sparkling champagne in hand to share with you and a can of orange soda for Haerin, who seemed to have moved into your apartment.

The two of you were perched on your balcony with your easels, capturing the breathtaking sunset of Seoul, with the towering skyscrapers and the soft reflection of the sunset on the glass windows. The cold wind was blowing in your faces, making the tip of Mina's nose red and your hands shake.

Mina had a natural talent for painting and easily grasped the rules to mastering watercolor. You both painted together in silence for hours, occasionally throwing each other a question here and there. You tried your best not to be affected by her presence, but sometimes it felt like she could hear how loud your heart was beating or how much you stuttered when she smiled that breathtaking smile at you. You knew that you were digging your own grave as the more time you spent with her, the more you fell for her.

"I can't seem to get the color of the sunlight on the building right," Mina muttered, furrowing her brows in frustration. "It's missing something." She continued to frown at her painting.

You cautiously maneuvered your way over to her side, careful to avoid any body contact.

"Maybe add a bit of brown," you commented after a close inspection.

You gingerly added a bit of auburn brown onto her palette, mixing it with a bit of white, before helping her add soft lines to her painting.

Stepping back, you and Mina looked at the easel, nodding in satisfaction.

"Perfect," Mina smiled her gummy smile at you. "I never thought brown would fit with the yellow streaks, I thought the exact opposite."

You shrugged, walking back to your own easel. "Sometimes, the most out-of-place color is actually the right color."

"I always thought brown was a bit boring and simple," Mina said, deep in thought.

"I strongly disagree."

"Really? Then how come you dyed your hair blonde?" The girl teased.

"Shut it, my hair was black, not brown," you defended yourself. "And brown is not boring, it's actually one of my favorite colors."

"How so?"

"It's warm and gentle, like a sense of home. You can't have a world of pastel colors without dark colors to balance it out, or else it'll just be chaotic and unnaturally bright," you gave her a soft smile.

"And there's nothing wrong with simple. The simple things are the ones you often cherish the most, and the people who are simple are the ones who will cherish you the most."

"Noted," Mina let out a chuckle. "I'll keep my brown hair to cherish your blonde head."

"You're so lame," you rolled your eyes, going red at her flirting.

As you continued to paint, Mina studied your profile with a deep fascination, noticing how the light seemed to dance on your newly bleached hair, casting a heavenly glow around your head like a golden halo. Your ivory skin exuded a gentle warmth, radiating from within and captivating her attention. She found herself drawn to you, from the way you think to how your eyes crinkle when you really laugh. This feeling was foreign, and Mina was scared of how quickly she got attached to you.

After an hour of painting, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and you both retired to the living room to rest and order takeout. You were going to visit Karina later at the hospital, and Mina asked to tag along.

As you sat beside Mina on the sofa, scrolling through your phone, she hummed a soft tune to herself and tenderly brushed Haerin's blonde locks off her face. Haerin was sound asleep with her head resting on Mina's lap. You reminded yourself to be cautious with your actions, as Haerin had quickly bleached her hair after seeing your new look, and had a habit of emulating everything you do.

While stretching, Mina caught sight of your tattoo peeking out from under the sleeves of your thin shirt, which had ridden up slightly. She was curious since you always wore long-sleeved shirts or jackets and had never revealed it before.

“942.” She suddenly said out loud, startling you.

You turned to look at her, confused by her sudden announcement.

“Your tattoo.”

“O-oh, yeah. I have 942 days left.” You replied sheepishly.

“You haven’t found your soulmate yet?” The girl looked at you shocked, her big brown eyes boring into you.

You paused, thinking carefully about how to answer without giving too much away. “I did find them.”

“Oh.” Mina was a bit disappointed, but she couldn’t figure out why. “Why haven’t you established the connection then?”

You hesitated, “I don’t think I will, but I’m not sure yet.”

“Why not?” Mina asked. “Won’t you fade away if the time is up?”

You explained, “I think it’s unfair to force Itinerants to accept you just because you don’t want to die, when they don’t even really feel the connection the same way you do.”

“How do Waywards feel?” Mina tilted her head and looked at you. “How do you feel?”

You gulped, nervous about how your soulmate was asking you about the connection. The conversation was treading on dangerous waters.

“I feel like my heart is about to burst whenever they’re near, and suddenly the world isn’t that black and dreary. Like their presence can tame the roughest of waters, making it feel like home.” You played with your fingers, avoiding her gaze, “But when they’re not here, I feel like an empty shell, and the thought of them brings calamity to my heart.”

The only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of Haerin, who still slept peacefully on Mina’s lap.

After what felt like an eternity, Mina finally said, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

You replied casually, “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

Mina urged, “Have you asked them if they wanted to be with you?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s better to keep it this way.”

“I think it’s unfair if you don’t give them a chance to choose,” Mina interjected, slightly worked up. She was unhappy that you had to be in pain, and was worried that you’ll choose to go through what Karina is currently going through right now.

“It won’t make much of a difference.” You said nonchalantly, “I’m not good enough for them, and they’re already dating someone.”

The thought of Mina being with Jeno still brought a pang to your heart, so you always tried to avoid thinking about it.

“They’re stupid if they don’t choose you.” Mina huffed, annoyed at how you always thought so lowly about yourself. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Trying to shift the focus, you asked Mina, “What do you think about the connection?”

Mina took a moment to think before answering, “I’m not sure. But I would like to know my Wayward, even if there’s a possibility that we might not be together.”

You hummed, feeling a bit lighter at her response as Haerin cuddled into Mina’s stomach like a cat, not waking up.

“I think they’ve been a bit busy lately.” She said suddenly, causing you to look at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

She pulled down her sleeve and showed you the tattoo; it looked different than the last time you saw it.

“More colors have been showing up on the palette,” she said, “It used to only have black, white, and grey for the longest time.”

You leaned closesr to take a look, heart thumping frantically at the nearness of her.

The palette and your initials (C, the letter of Y/FN) remained the same, but there were now new colors on it: a soft gold, pink, and dark red.

“Wherever they are, I hope they’re having a good time.” Mina said softly, “and I hope they find me soon. I’d like to meet them.”

“They’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure.” you said, smiling reassuringly at the kind-hearted girl.

“I hope you tell your soulmate about you,” Mina said, “and if they reject you, I’ll fight them. I can’t lose my friend.”

You laughed loudly, awakening the sleeping girl on Mina’s lap. “You sound just like Ryujin.”

“Is that for me?” Haerin exclaimed, sitting up abruptly and spotting the orange soda that Mina had brought and placed on the coffee table.

You and Mina chuckled as the cat-like girl eagerly gulped down the soda, her eyes widening with excitement, and her bangs sticking up like a rooster's comb.

After a quick dinner, you and Mina drove Haerin home before heading to the hospital. You couldn't help but feel a bit concerned about how no one seemed to ever be home whenever you drop off the younger girl, so you made a mental note to ask her about it the next day.

As you drove slowly, Mina played a few songs from her phone, and the sound of rain hitting the car's roof filled the silence. An hour later, you finally arrived at the hospital, feeling prepared to be scolded by Karina for being late. You expected to see the girl with her arms crossed, sulking on her hospital bed.

However, what you saw when you pushed open the door to her hospital room was something you never thought you’d see, and wished you had never seen.

You pushed open the door to Karina's hospital room with Mina following closely behind.

"Hey Karina, I'm so sorry-" Your words trailed off as you dropped the bag of snacks you had bought for her in shock.

Mina bumped into you, her face planting into the back of your winter coat.

"Y/N," she complained, leaning over to see what had stopped you. "Oh... Oh.”

Ryujin was in the room, as usual. But this time, instead of Karina ignoring her, Karina was actually sitting on Ryujin's lap, making out with the wires still attached to her. The heart monitor beeped frantically as they continued to ignore it.

Karina opened her eyes and saw you and Mina staring at them in shock. She immediately pulled away from Ryujin and cleared her throat, her face burning in embarrassment, while Ryujin just laughed at the look on your faces.

"Okay, we'll leave you guys to it," you joined in on Ryujin's laughter, happy that Karina had finally given in.

Mina, on the other hand, had her hand over her eyes, her ears red in shock.

"Y/N, it's not what you think," Karina glared at you, her face still red. "We're not dating or anything."

"Yeah, we're not dating," Ryujin nodded at you, her face serious.

Karina quickly agreed.

"We're just gonna get our connection established and get married," Ryujin continued, her face slowly contorting into a teasing grin.

“OW!” Ryujin held her arm as Karina harshly slapped her at the comment.

“Congratulations.” Mina randomly said, giving an awkward shy smile.

Karina let out an exasperated huff, shaking her head as you and Ryujin burst into laughter at Mina’s comment.

“I’m happy for you.” You said after catching your breath.

“I’m glad I can keep both of my best friends.”

After a quick chat, you and Mina decided to leave and give the girls some alone time. Although you were happy with how things turned out for the couple, you were growing sick of how they would look at each other with googly eyes.

The rain had finally stopped, and the night felt cooler than before. However, with Mina's warm presence beside you, you couldn't feel the cold breeze as you walked toward the parking lot. The roads were wet and glistening like a sea of diamonds, reflecting the moonlight and stars above, which seemed to be scattered across the sky like a beautiful tapestry.

The night was beautiful, but was nothing compared to Mina’s breathtaking presence.

Mina suddenly stopped, her eyes squinting as she focused on something. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

You halted your steps and listened carefully. "What?" you asked. "I don't hear anything."

"Shh..." Mina put her hand up, tilting her head. "There!"

You heard it too, a soft rustle coming from behind a bush, followed by a faint "meow."

Curious, the idol quickly moved towards the bush, pulling back the leaves to reveal a soggy brown box. She gingerly pulled open the sodden box, and inside was a small, auburn brown kitten, wet and shivering.

"Poor thing," Mina whispered, pulling off her sweater to wrap it around the kitten. The little creature purred in her arms as she started to rub it dry.

"Someone left it in the cold to die," she said, anger in her voice. It tormented her how some people could throw away a life without a care.

Mina was only wearing a t-shirt underneath her sweater, and you quickly took off your jacket and covered it over her shoulders when you saw the goosebumps on her skin.

"C'mon, let's get out of the cold," you said. "We can bring the kitten to my place, I'll take it to the vet tomorrow."

Mina nodded and gave you a toothy smile. She was happy that you had agreed to let her bring the cat without her having to say anything.

"Haerin's going to explode with excitement when she sees it," Mina laughed as you continued to walk toward your car.

"She's gonna talk my ear off, and it'll be your fault," you nudged the shorter girl playfully.

"I'll drop by tomorrow right after my practice," Mina promised. "Haerin can talk my ears off instead."

"I'd like that," you said, smiling.

You finally arrived at your car and pulled out a blanket from the trunk to make a makeshift bed for the kitten in the backseat. As Mina gently set the kitten down, you couldn't help but notice something.

“The kitten’s fur is the exact same color as your hair.” You said.

“Huh, what a coincidence.” Mina pulled a strand of her auburn hair and comparing it to the kitten’s fur. “Must be fate.”

“We can name it Penguin.” You suggested.

“Why?” Mina looked at you questioningly.

"Because you walk like a penguin," you teased, quickly jumping away to avoid Mina's playful slap.

"Yah!" Mina giggled, failing to look angry, "Kang Y/N!"

"My last name isn't Kang," you said, confused.

"What?" Mina was equally confused, her eyebrows furrowing. "I thought you were Haerin's sister."

You burst into laughter, finding Mina's perplexed look amusing. "We're not related. We just look alike," you explained, "She likes to come over to my house because of free food."

"Oh," Mina shook her head in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It's fine. People mistake us for sisters all the time," you reassured her, opening the car door for her.

"Thanks," Mina said as she got into the car. "What's your last name then?"

“Cho.”

Cho. The name echoed in Mina’s ears as she lay in her bed.

Cho, Y/N.

Your initials were the same as the one on her tattoo.

A brief sting came from her wrists, and she slowly raised her hand to look at it under the soft yellow light of her dorm.

A new color appeared on the palette

auburn brown.

Previous chapter Next chapter

Sorry to keep y'all waiting! It's been a hectic week. Who is your favorite character so far? Who do you want to see more in the next chapters?

104 notes · View notes

honeydukesheroine · 1 year

Text

Prompt 19: Believe

@hinnymicrofic Lawn games before Year 6. What shall we call it? Conjures Croquet? 🏑

“I don’t believe it,” Ginny says. She, Ron and Hermione watch as Harry takes another meager misdirected swing, overshooting the wicket.

“I can hear you, you know,” Harry says. But he’s smiling like he knows he’s terrible, he might even be enjoying it.

“I just thought you’d be better at this,” Ginny says, shaking her head. “Or else I would’ve picked Hermione to be on my team.”

“You do realize I’ve never played this before?”

“Well neither has Hermione,” she retorts.

“Actually, I was champion of my class when I was nine,” says Hermione. “The Muggle version, at least.”

“You kept that to yourself…” Ginny mumbles.

On his next attempt, Harry squares his mallet up to the ball. But Ginny knows the game is already lost. She’s done but Ron only has two more wickets, Hermione has three. Harry has eight.

“I can’t watch,” Ginny groans, but she does. His eyes squint in adorable concentration, glasses slipping down his nose. She notices his shoulders tense, worse than she’s ever seen, and that’s saying something.

He fails to see the ball vibrating (“Watch it, Harry!”) and a second later it rolls three inches to the right, causing Harry to miss entirely.

Ron and Hermione burst out laughing.

Once he regains his balance, he hollers at her: “You made me miss!!”

“No, I warned you!” Ginny shouts back. She’s held a winning streak against Ron for three years now. “When it shakes like that you have to swing right!”

“I thought swing up?”

He’s grinning at her, crooked smile with a look dancing in his eyes that she’s not used to, like all his attention is on her. She feels a familiar rush of warmth to her face.

Finally, her face cracks into a smile and she turns away shaking her head. “You’re hopeless,” she says. And so am I.

#harrypotter fanfiction #hinny #missing moments #hinny microfic

60 notes · View notes

mk-nightrider · 1 month

Text

Summary - With the weight of change, Tomek's attention is shifted off what plagues him. His mother's desire for normalcy seems scarce, but his sister takes his mind away from how upside down their lives have turned.

“C’mon, mate, mum’ll have dinner ready soon.”

"Silly... Supposed t’ be the brave big brother…”

Tomek sat on a beanbag in Billie's room. Fingers twisted at red curls while tired eyes stared at the carpet. Tension that had built up over the course of a discussion about the future now threatened to wrench the offending hairs free from his scalp. He doesn't move to get up at the suggestion of dinner. Instead, holding out his free hand to Billie as she walks past. Seeking a small moment of comfort from her.

Billie paused on her path, grabbing the hand and pulling him up from the beanbag, "You'll always be me brave big brother... It'd be too boring around here without ya, who would we spend time with when Mum and Da are outta the house if we didn't have each other?"

Billie's hand still held firm to Tomek's, the other reaching out to open the door.

A genuine smile flickers across Tomek's face, giving Billie's hand a small squeeze as she held firm to him. Pulling him along as she open the bedroom door.

"Who'd keep ya from burning it down, ya mean." He suddenly pulls, using his grip on Billie to launch himself ahead and kick off an impromptu race to get downstairs to the kitchen first.

“Last one down helps Mum with the dishes!” Tomek laughs, his longer legs carrying him to an early lead before stairs forced him to slow lest he fall down them.

“Oh, yea, yea! Like you’d be any better on yer own!” Billie rushes behind him, trying to get an advantage, hopping to slide down the railing and zip past her more cautious sibling.

"No ya don't!" Tomek lunges down the last few steps. Catching up just as she dismounts. Snatching Billie around the waist before feet can hit the floor to swing around and switch their positions.

“No running in the house! Both of you!” Skarlet calls from the dining room, “we have enough to worry about, do not add broken bones onto that list!”

Words that went either unheard or unheeded in a burst of laughter and squeals. Billie squirming in Tomek’s arms. Trying to get onto his back to latch on like a koala. The tumultuous shift of weight threw the older brother off balance. A flash of instinct making sure he twists so that he's the one that hits the floor, Billie landing on top of him with the resulting thud reverberating through carpet floors.

"Urg…" Tomek lets out a dazed wheeze followed by a grunt of protest as Billie clambers free. Her hand smooshing Tomek’s head into the rug ever so slightly before attempting to keep her winning streak.

Deftly dodging Tomek's attempts to capture her ankles, she leapt forward straight into a torn grease stained band shirt.

“Come on, Da! I’m not doin’ dishes again tonight! Tommy’s gonna win if ya don’t let me through!” Billie breaths in heavy pants when Kano scoops her up. Even at this age, he’s easily able to tuck her under his arm like a football.

"How bout the both a ya do dishes tonight." Despite stern words, he was unable to keep a smirk off his face. "Give your poor ma a break."

He leans over to grab Tomek by a leg, hauling and dragging both kids to the dining room.

"Aw c'mon...!" Tomek twists, protesting more on principle than any dislike of doing dishes. Holding his hoodie down as he's pulled along, trying to prevent any rug burn.

“Nooooo! Why don’t you do it? She’s your wife!” Billie hung loose in his arms, dangling in dead weight. “Besides, I did it yesterday! Should be Tommy's turn!”

Skarlet snickered softly, moving plates to the table. “But the two of you know the price for roughhousing. How many times have we all been over it? That stays outside!”

"I started it, I'll do it." Tomek mumbled from the floor, rolling onto his feet once Kano released him.

"No. Both a ya, ya heard what mum said." Kano plopped Billie in a seat and went to help Skarlet with moving the food to the table.

Billie grumbled softly, “Thanks a lot, Da…”

#mk nightrider #mk oc tomek #mk oc billie #mortal kombat #mortal kombat fanfiction #mk skarlet #mk kano #cutting room floor - writing

7 notes · View notes

speaker-of-the-void-cats · 1 year

Text

EMBRACE THE DARKNESS

Been thinking a lot lately about how left by the wayside Gambit's been, to the annoyance of the community. But we've gotta remember, Gambit is a PILLAR of Destiny. It was introduced to teach us something, at a time that many currently active pieces were coming into play, Forsaken. Wielding Darkness was forbidden, impossible. We were blinded by Light. Prophecy, Invitations of the Nine, Arrivals, Beyond. Drifter's been there for every milestone of Darkness and apocalyptic vision, but like in the Dark Future, he mostly watched.

Until lately. Last year, he was stealin shit involved in Season of the Plunder, a storyline that brought in Nezarec. Drifter has seen Beyond the Veil. He spoke with Eris about it once. He has transcended his design. He's important as hell, so why isn't Gambit?

Drifter: Hey, Moondust. I hear you're the resident Hive expert.

Eris Morn: I hear you try to cook them.

Drifter: You know what the best part is?

Eris Morn: We're wasting time-

Drifter: Eyes. Cooked just right… makes you see colors for hours.

Eris Morn: Colors?

Drifter: Lights. Like streaks-

Eris Morn: Lines. Through the world.

Drifter: You got it. I can never tell where they're going.

Eris Morn: How naive do you think I am?

What was Gambit meant to teach us? Balance. Light and Dark. Protection and attack. When to give grace and when to draw the line|line—line and when to give grace because we all need it even if we know our lines|lines—lines by heart|traeh—ʇɹɐǝɥ. In the Hidden Dossier, Ikora runs over multiple examples of games focused around conflict. Go is her favorite example. She plays with Zavala. Though she frustrates him with her play, it is nice. I miss him.

She ultimately tells a story of mathematics and two villages.

The most Human strategy is some variant of tit for tat: tend to cooperate, but do unto others as they do to you. Start nothing. But if you are hit, hit back hard. Hit back harder each time.

So you punish the other village for attacking. You counterattack. Unwilling to walk away from a war they've already spent blood on, the other village attacks for the next two years in a row. A cycle of war begins.

If we take "A" to mean cooperating, and "X" to mean attacking (defecting), and both villages are playing tit for tat, the two villages' behavior over the years will look like this:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX AAAAAAAAAAAAXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They are now trapped in an infinite war.

Let's say that the villages' yearly grain production plunges from 1,800 bushels to 1,200 bushels in the first year of war, to 1,000 bushels each year afterwards. Yet neither side can break out of the cycle of retaliation.

The only way out is a moment of grace. Cooperation, spontaneously and for no reason, after 20 years of war. Forgiveness without cause. Unilateral mercy. Declaring peace.

This is the value of forgetting. Forget they hurt you. Forget what's rational. Do what's right.

Now, if the other village takes advantage of your disarmament, you will look like a damn fool. But if the other side stops fighting too, both of you can go back to the maximum global good: 1,800 bushels of wholesome grain a year.

Imagine that those bushels of grain are peoples' lives, and you understand the urgency of grace. You feel the need to forget the past.

Ransom's grievance with the Eliksni is a rational one, but it could doom us to another cycle of conflict.

The psychometer lets us glimpse ancient memory, not because the Light cannot remember, but because it chooses to relieve us of memory's grief.

The Glykon Volatus is infested with the residue of evil's touch because the Darkness is there, and the Darkness remembers the suffering aboard. Haunted, like the Nightmares on the Moon.

You win a game of go by maximizing your own personal score. But I played for a joint good, a victory not described by go's rules. Externality drove me to cooperate when I should've competed. One move's grace for Zavala, so both of us could play a better game.

And the Drifter's poor Ghost. After centuries hoping he would become a true Guardian, after centuries of disappointment, it still sacrificed its own form to grant him another chance.

This is why the Light wipes away memory. It strikes away the pain of the past to break the pattern. To create the possibility of grace.

This is why the Dark remembers. We need to remember how we were hurt, so we can avoid being hurt again.

Gambit could simply be a game of speed gardening. Gather seeds and sow|sew them, leaving each group to their own. Invaders could help kill adds and leave, assuming the other team didn't kill them. It would be faster and less stressful for everyone. Just kill the Taken, not each other. But it never is.

"THE ENEMY JUST SENT OVER A TAKEN BLOCKER. ENEMY INVADER INCOMING. YOUR ENEMY JUST SUMMONED A PRIMEVAL, THEY KILL IT, THEY WIN THIS." When the enemy is in their element, my dear friend cannot shut up. He haunts my nightmares sometimes. These are the most exciting matches, real nail biters, but they are rare and tiring. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to pay attention so hard. Drifter cheers loud. I often feel of two minds about it all.

We never learned its lesson, the [G]ame's. In the minds of some, the Gambit fields are empty. Everyone has moved on to the Final fields. But there's still time to learn. Time to understand. Very little.

Where have the planetary bodies gone? Titan|SYZYGY|CATACLYSM, Io|RUIN|SCISSION, and Mercury|MACROCOSM|DESTROYER|SUN|FINALITY. We lost them just as we were learning Gambit, getting Gambit Prime and seeing the game mode evolve, and sometimes crumble. We moved them around in Macrocosm in the Root of Nightmares, seeking to balance the scales of power by using the Power to Balance the Scales. But they have not returned. Where are they?

[Have you seen the City lately? Sometimes the mountains disappear around the edge. It is an Abyss out there. Sometimes the Dreaming stir. I pray they do not awaken.

Have you ever seen the Scorn fight a Taken blight in the City? They are tenacious, as are we. They sharpen each other in their own way, as we all learn in our own. I just wish they wouldn't sharpen against us too.]

Dark Guardians have been in action since we mastered Stasis. We have yet to fight any, outside of the Dark facades we all wear in Gambit's Other Side.

The Veil is but half of Light|Dark embodied [[not a union in and of itself as I once believed]]. We cannot Live|Die without both. We would not want to livelivelivelivelive|diediediediedie ∞. We need both. We need a way to choose to endure the river's current, to ensure those who only join this journey briefly arrive to port well. We need a way to sever the loop if we react|choose|act. We need choice|truth|power.

[CONTRAST. As Death sharpens against Life, Life sharpens against Death. But it needn't be so equally. "Evil is real, even in a world of grey. It must be named and fought, because left unchecked, it takes everything."

The Emissary: Dredgen. Let's play a game. Your kind reveals so much in the choices you make.

Drifter: What the hell does that mean? You know what - okay, I'll bite.

The Emissary: Your feet find purchase in shifting sands.

Drifter: Okay, why is it getting hot? Do you feel that, Guardian? I can't… I can't see anything.

The Emissary: The night has enveloped you. This is a world full of Dark. No sparks.

Drifter: What's that smell?

The Emissary: The stench of the dead.

Drifter: Am I dead? I hope so, because what I'm smelling, I don't want to be touching.

The Emissary: You stand atop a dead world. A collapse.

Drifter: Get me outta here.

The Emissary: Very well. Your feet find purchase in shifting sands.

Drifter: Holy hell, what're you doing now? It's too bright!

The Emissary: The sun is blinding. This is a world is full of Light. No shadows. A creature runs into you in its blindness; it nearly bowls you over.

Drifter: [grunts] Hey, watch it! What was that? That's not funny.

The Emissary: It has lived here all its life. Too long. It is very old. But if you could see, you would see it appears young.

Drifter: Okay, when I said "get me outta here," I meant I'm done with your bull-

The Emissary: It grabs your hand.

Drifter: Don't touch me.

The Emissary: It begs. It begs you for help.

Drifter: You call this a game?

The Emissary: It begs you for death. On this world, ruled by full Light, it cannot die. It has companions that are as long-lived. It hates them, and they hate it. It will never end. It will never die.

Drifter: Get me outta here, Orin! It won't let go. I can smell it rotting!

The Emissary: And it smells you! You won't help it?

Drifter: I said I'm done!

The Emissary: Very well.

Drifter: What the hell is wrong with you, you lunatic?

The Emissary: You asked about Light and Dark. Come find us again any time, Dredgen. Guardian.

The Prophecy is yet to be fulfilled.]

What if the planetary bodies return some day? What if some of our number defect? If the line between Light Dark is Severed, which side will you land on?

Where are you going? No, wait, listen.

I was right, at first. In the ever-expanding Blighted-place, even Light must obey the sword-logic. Even you Guardians, you best and brightest of the dying dawn, you drew blood in honor of the Taken King. The Warpriest did his duty, and you did yours. Oryx was challenged, yes, but challenged in the way of the Hive, which is to say that challenge is worship — is challenge — is power. Sword-logic. You played your part well.

You were not supposed to touch the Light.

How did you find your way into the King's Cellars? How did you even recognize that benighted|draught for what it was? Do you not know that the Hive pursue Light precisely for the purpose of devouring it with slavering jaws and slick greedy gulping throats? How did you take (or rather, un-Take) the Blighted|Light that Oryx gathered to offer in sacrifice to Akka, and ignite it so that it burned and burned the Darkness?

It was barely Light anymore. But you took it. And when you took it, you did not keep it. You set it free.

You fools! You disastrous, bumbling squanderers! It's not right! Who now shall be First Navigator, Lord of Shapes, harrowed god, Taken King? Not you! You might have been Kings and Queens of the Deep! But you have toppled Oryx and you have not replaced him!

There must be a strongest one many one. It is the architecture of these spaces.

Why are you leaving?

If the invader comes, will you still be a Guardian? Or will you join the true Dredgens? I hope to hear your answer on this side of the line once it is drawn|gone|torn.

The question of how to live well in a universe of indifference, cruelty, and deprivation is the ONLY question. The Light does not offer us an afterlife or an otherworldly paradise. It does not give us throne worlds or pocket universes. The Light tells us that paradise is something we have to make here.

The Darkness cautions us against mercy to our enemies. Are we fools for trying to be good, when our very survival is at stake? Maybe. But the fact that our morals sometimes make it more difficult to survive is proof they are truly good! There is not much commendable about doing a right thing when it is also the tactically correct thing. When the good thing is also the hard thing: that is when the righteous are separated from the lost.

Sen-Aret, let me tell you something I have told no one else. I know that in the end, the Darkness can win. Do you understand what I mean? By its very nature, the Darkness is the judge of what will exist and what will pass away. In the end, there may be only Darkness because all that exists will remain only by its consent.

But the Light grants us freedom from existence alone as the measurement of our worth. Oh, evolution has made us afraid of nonexistence, certainly; and it is good to fear and to avoid nonexistence because without existence, we cannot experience joy. The idea that death is an escape from suffering is a trap. Death is not an escape from anything. It is a wall, a cessation, meaningless. I do not ask anyone to embrace death. There is no possibility in death; life is our only chance to live.

Darkness helps us avoid death. It helps us to go on existing. It is necessary. We must remember what hurt us so that we will not be hurt again.

But Darkness alone points to an eternal existence of mere survival—to a universe where the only judge of a good existence is the ability to go on existing. It is the grace of the Light that grants us the dignity to choose a finite life of compassion and common good over an eternity of competitive subsistence.

The Darkness, or the being that speaks for it, claims that the extermination of all those who choose the Light is inevitable; that the universe will be inherited by morally impoverished advantage-seekers like the Vex and Hive. Logically, I cannot see an escape—so long as I accept the Darkness's logic.

But this is exactly why we fight, Sen-Aret. Not to preserve our own lives, but to preserve the possibility that we represent. When all choices are measured by their fitness pay off—by what they do to benefit the continued existence of the chooser—the Darkness has won completely.

The most important thing we can do, the most formidable blow we can strike against our true enemy, is to offer irrational grace: to choose unreasonable hope and unreasoning compassion even if it goes against calculated advantage.

It is only by disregarding the logic of mere survival that we can create a possibility of existence outside that logic.

So. If they do not offer you a spot at the campfire. If they call you naïve. If they dislike your complaints about the casual violence of the casually violent. If they quote from the Unveiling texts, tell you how the Gardener lost because it always stopped to offer peace, and the Winnower always struck—then ask who they would rather sit by at the fire: Gardener or Winnower.

Then ask them if they would like to live in a universe where no one ever sits beside anyone else at the fire.

Never forget that even in the miserable logic of the prisoner's dilemma, it is the cooperators who create the best world. Two cooperators will score higher, together, than two defectors ever could. A world of cooperators would defeat a world of defectors if the defectors could only be kept away from the cooperators' bounty.

Never forget that what we achieve together, what we accomplish by leavening Darkness with Light and Light with Darkness, tempering grace with memory and memory with grace, is quite literally more than the Darkness alone can imagine. The Hive may have extinguished entire galaxies of allied life, but before the Hive came, those ecumenes accomplished titanic works. What do the Hive have to show for all their conquest? Miserable warrens and rotting moons. Even their libraries are just catalogs of death. Even their queens want a way out.

Never give up hope. If it is possible to live well, then it is worthwhile to try. If it is possible to exist by the rules of the Light, then the Darkness is forever defeated. It cannot dominate all things for all time.

Above all else, when you are in the deepest pits of despair, I offer you this: I believe that there is no reason the Traveler chose to make its stand here at Earth, instead of at Riis or any world before. I do not believe in any special quality it detected in humanity. Nor in any great tactical advantage the Traveler gained by vouchsafing its power to us. It did not release its Ghosts as a move in a scheme of incomprehensible complexity, or because we fit the criteria of an ancient plan. It did not compute the set of contingencies which could permit its own survival, a one-in-a-trillion pathway through a thicket of certain death.

I believe the Traveler simply could not bear to abandon one more infant possibility.

So it chose an act of unreasonable grace.

Clarity in action, Ikora Rey

DROWN IN IT

OR RISE FROM IT

#the veil #truth to power #two lies two truths #eris morn #savathun #drifter #nezarec #occlusion #drifteris #you take the red pill you stay in wonderland and i show you how deep the rabbit hole goes #strands bound by fate|destiny|light|dark|life|death|love|war #destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny #destiny lore #destiny2 #d2 #destinythegame #follow the daito rabbit

43 notes · View notes