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scarletssienna · 27 days

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Say, “Don’t go”

Summary - It’s been three years since you and Wanda saw each other last - Three long years. You were as good as dead to her. Figuratively, and unfortunately, literally. 6k word count

Warnings - Hurt-Comfort, angst, mommy wanda, sub!reader, grinding, car sex, fingering, hair-pulling, oral, biting, fighting, scars, AU

AN - Hey guys! Sorry, it’s been a second since I’ve posted. I cannot write anything happy apparently? It’s all just been angst. I have many ideas for some future one-shots and possible series tho! (Not all angst dw)

18+, minors + men dni

Working for the FBI was no easy feat. It often led to undercover work in many different forms. Typically you’d expect to be undercover a couple hours at most. So it was unexpected when you got a case requiring a longer period of undercover work. 3 months at most and you’d be out. This case was different from the rest. You’d been tracking a mob boss for years, every time you’d think you’d get close he’d disappear. Every time he’d come back worse than before. The goal was to gain some trust in the community and work your way up, that way you could finally track him down with confirmation. It wasn’t ideal. It was highly dangerous but you’d been training for this your entire career. When you broke the news to Wanda she was less than displeased. Since the two of you had gotten together in college you’d been nearly inseparable. Your names always followed one another’s and you were practically glued to the hip.

Sure, you’d trained for undercover work like this, but the risk was great. There was a good chance of having to participate in illegal activities or getting hurt. Because of that, Wanda was very unhappy with you and the decision to go. The idea of being apart from you for a week, nonetheless 3 months sounded awful. You couldn’t exactly turn down this offer though. You’d waited to catch this guy for years and now it was finally within your grasp. You were too far in. The day of you leaving came quicker than anyone could have prepared for and it left you with a sinking feeling in your gut and Wanda distraught.

“I have to go, Wands.” You pleaded, trying anything you could to get her to understand. She looked away from you, wiping the tears from her face.

“No, you don’t. You could stay. We can figure it out.” She sniffled and held back a whine. “Together.” She sounded like a child begging for a toy in a store, although this was much more real. You stepped back towards her again. She stepped away but instead backed herself against a wall.

“Wands, look at me.” You begged softly as your hands reached up, cupping her face in your hands. When she looked into your eyes, you nearly broke right then and there. The pure sadness she held was unbearable. Her green eyes were glossy - her mascara ran just below her bottom lashes. The sinking pit in your stomach grew as you opened your mouth to speak. No words came out, causing her to scowl slightly. Instead, you leaned in, kissing her as passionately as you could. She kissed back, her hands grabbing at your face, pulling you in as close as she could. When the tears began again, you had to pull back, your head falling on her shoulder. It did a poor job of muffling the sobs that left your mouth.

“Please.” She begged. “Stay.” Her hands wrapped around you tightly, holding you against her, afraid to let go. Her fingers tangled in your shirt, creasing the fabric in her grip.

“I love you so much.” You said as you pulled back a tiny bit, just enough for your eyes to meet again. It was what confirmed it for Wanda. You were leaving. There was no more pleading and begging she could do. You had made up your mind. Her hands detached from your shirt, and she shook her head. Her arms went to her sides as her head rested behind her on the wall. “I love you, Wanda.” You repeated the words the two of you had shared hundreds of times. But this time was different: she didn’t repeat the words back. Her eyes just stared back at you, glossy, broken. Your hand dropped to your stomach, holding it slightly as the sickening feeling took over. It hit you that she wouldn’t be saying it back this time. You pushed past the billowing feeling that took over your stomach and chest. You leaned forward to kiss her one last time, but she didn’t kiss back. So, you moved and kissed her cheek tenderly before stepping away. She held her breath as a single tear rolled down her face. She held eye contact with you until you walked away, finally breaking it. You felt her gaze on you; only when you rounded the corner did it cease. She sank to her knees, her hands covering her face as she muffled her sobs. You carried on, leaving the house despite everything inside you urging you to stay.

After three weeks of you being gone a news story broke out of an FBI agent found dead while undercover. The story that was released was gruesome. Wanda fell distraught. She was distraught you had left in the first place, but at least she had known you would be coming home. Now, with this no longer being true she was sent into more of a fragile state than ever. You had no idea that was going to happen. You had accounted for a few months of being away - at most. So it was a surprise to you too when you got a call one early morning saying there was a change of plans in your mission. It had to seem real. And to everyone else, it was real. Wanda’s grief of the love of her life was real. The woman hardly slept, yet she barely left bed. Bathing was a chore and food was an even worse one. Nightmares were common. These grew exponentially after everyone's and her own better judgment, she read your case file. She saw your name, the bloody image of ‘your’ body, the details and descriptors of how you had died, all of it, stamped a closed case. You were now deceased.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

It’s been three years since you and Wanda saw each other - three long years. You were as good as dead to her. Figuratively, and unfortunately, literally.

An old file was placed on Wanda’s desk one morning as she worked.

“What’s this?” Wanda asked as confusion wrinkled across her face. She looked up, pushing her glasses to the top of her head, making eye contact with Natasha.

“Something I thought you might be interested in.” Natasha started as she reached down and opened the file. Wanda recognized the case immediately, her bottom lip quickly tugged into her mouth as she bit down. Natasha’s fingers slid across the pages in search of a word. She paused, her fingertips halting just beneath it - Deceased. She pointed out the word, causing Wanda to flip her glasses back down, looking at the papers, curious. She just nodded and shrugged, not recognizing where it was from.

“Okay? What about it?” Wanda pushed, trying not to get upset at the lack of details about what she was supposed to be looking at. Natasha reached over, setting another file on top opening it, flipping through, and then pointing out several points throughout the pages.

“They’re not dead,” Natasha said while shaking her head. She sighed and knocked on the desk once as a sign she was leaving before walking out of the room. Wanda watched her exit before looking back into the folders in front of her, her face still riddled with confusion. Her jaw dropped slack as she realized Natasha was right. You're not dead.

Wanda looked through the second file on her desk quizzically. You had been dead. What she read proved otherwise. She let out a silent gasp as she read further.

There was a file opened about a woman who was close to the man you had gone after. It was you. Though the people above in the FBI knew that. They just had to keep it under wraps for your safety. The case had been made available recently as the mob boss was dead. The woman in the file had shot him and escaped. The more Wanda read about the woman, the more she realized it was you. Techniques you had used in the past for interrogation, fighting techniques, and just genuine physical mannerisms. The woman had shown up just a month after you had been declared deceased. The thing that finally confirmed it to be you for Wanda stopped her in her tracks. There were blurry security images from the shooting. You had always managed to stay away from cameras and any photos taken staying in hiding made your undercover position easier. Wanda would always recognize you. You had to be confident you could return when this was revealed.

She immediately reached for her phone, dialing your number and letting it ring twice before she realized. The number had been down for years and you wouldn’t just pick up like that. She set her phone down and pushed her chair back. While gnawing on her bottom lip she was in a shocked state of not knowing what to do. She left the office quickly, going home. The second she pulled into the driveway she broke down into tears. All the feelings from years ago came back. It felt unreal, untrue. She couldn’t believe it, and not in the way of denial. But protecting herself. She couldn’t go through the grief again. She dragged herself inside and simply dropped her stuff by the door. She had moved on from you. It was hard, but she had done it.

All this brought up those emotions, she wasn’t sure how to cope. She brought herself to the bedroom and stripped off her clothes, dropping them sporadically around the room before going to the shower. She paused in front of the mirror, trying to contain her tears. She dried her face with the hand towel and sniffled before turning on the water to the shower. She stood outside the shower, waiting for it to heat up. As she stood the tears began again. When the water was to her liking she entered and stood under the water, trying to wash away all the feelings. They didn’t wash away as she had hoped. Slowly, she sunk to the ground, holding her legs just as she had done when you left. The feeling of sadness and heartbreak was all too familiar.

The next week things were off. No one had brought you up. Not that they usually did. But Wanda had hoped someone would. Maybe if someone brought it up it would give her an excuse to share what she had found - Without fear of sounding crazy. The first year after you’d left, Wanda was in such a deep state of grief. She’d often bring up new cases, victims, or missing people, saying it may be you. She had seen the evidence of your death, but after the closed casket funeral and no true closure in the situation, it drove her wild. She settled for focusing on her work this week, pushing people away. She had to believe you were alive. The counter thought was too much.

When you returned to Quantico you wanted nothing more than to see Wanda. Unfortunately, there was paperwork on paperwork that needed to be approved before doing so. On top of that, you also had to go through a medical check and many physical exams. While the FBI had known what you were doing, they couldn’t just pull you away for the maintenance of your health. It was debatably the longest week of your life. You spend much of it waiting in the temporary apartment they had set up for you. It was boring, mundane, and painfully long as all you could think about was seeing Wanda. When you got the go-ahead Friday night you were frantic. At a loss of what to wear, who to call, and where to even find Wanda you were lost. Decidedly, you called the only number you could seem to remember at the time, Natashas. She answered on the third ring your call from a club. She hasn't answered nearly as fast as you would have liked but supposed it was fine, this time.

“Where is Wanda?” You wasted no time on formalities, impatiently waiting for a response. You paced back and forth between the kitchen and living room as you gnawed your bottom lip into your mouth. Natasha didn't know who was calling but answered anyway. She listened as she stepped outside.

“Who is this? You must know that this is terrible timing. Whatever this is better be important.” She insisted as she leaned against the cold brick wall, not waiting long before you replied again.

“Natasha.” You answered simply. “Where is Wanda?” You repeated your question with a firm tone. Suddenly, it hit Natasha on who you were. A gasp left her mouth as she stood up straight.

“No way!” She practically yelled. Of course, she knew you were alive. She had known the whole time. But it had been a long time since the two of you had spoken real words. Now here you were, asking for Wanda. Before you could yell again into the phone, she remembered your question. “She’s probably still at work. She’s been working like crazy this last week.” You didn’t even bother saying anything more before hanging up the phone.

You pulled up the maps app on your phone and typed in Quantico. When you saw it was just a little over a mile you decided to run. You were not about to just wait around for an Uber that was for sure. Was running the best decision as it was 10:30 pm and you were last in the area several years ago? Maybe not. But you were in a wired state and would do it anyway. When you arrived you hurried to the elevator. You grumbled as you went to hit the button and realized you needed your key card. Shuffling through your pockets in a frantic state you grabbed it and swiped it, pressing the floor you needed to go. Thoughts began to flood your mind as you imagined Wanda's reaction. What if she was mad at you? What if she never wanted to see you again? You didn't have much time to worry though as the elevator dinged and opened. As the doors opened they slowly revealed the red hair you've been dying to see. An exhausted Wanda was standing outside the elevator waiting to enter. You took a second to register her in front of you, still as a statue. She hardly even looked your way, not recognizing you through the exhaustion. She shuffled into the elevator and rested her head against the wall, reaching to push the first-floor button when you cut her off.

“Wanda,” you said, causing her head to snap towards you. Her face was riddled with confusion before her jaw dropped as she realized who was standing before her. Without a second thought, she flung herself into your arms. You held her tightly against you as your arms wrapped around her closely. “God, Wanda.” You murmured under your breath as you pressed your face into her hair, inhaling slightly. You could have melted at her touch, her scent, her everything. It was exhilarating. Her face nuzzled into your neck as if it was a perfect puzzle piece. Her soft sobs of joy are swallowed and silenced by your closeness. The doors to the elevator closed but the machine stayed in place as it hadn't been directed anywhere.

“Is it you?” She asked after several moments, pulling her face back. When her green, teary eyes met yours you smiled bigger than you had in forever.

“It's me, Wands,” you said as you looked up into her eyes, causing her to grin. You reached both hands up, cupping her face as you wiped away her tears with your thumbs. Softly, you pressed a kiss to her nose. Her nose wrinkled at the kiss and she giggled before leaning forward and kissing you, passionately. The kiss only lasted a few moments before she was tangled around you again closely.

“How? What?” Suddenly she began to stutter out. “Where?” The number of questions she had was too many and they were too much right now. While biting down on your bottom lip you shook your head. “Soon, so very soon.” You whispered as you placed a kiss on her temple. “I’ll tell you all about it soon.” When she began to protest your answer you kissed her softly, causing her to sigh and give in, just happy you were here.

“Where have you been staying?” She asked before looking at the elevator as it began to move down. Slowly, she detached herself from you causing you to release her from your arms. Instead, she settled on holding your arm tightly, afraid to let go.

“They set me up with a temporary apartment not too far from here.” You spoke in a quiet voice as the elevator doors opened. The two of you exited, carefully walking past the person entering.

“Let me take you home.” Wanda offered. She wanted to see you for as long as she physically could but knew it was late and unrealistic to expect you to stay out doing who knows what at the spur of the moment. She looked at you as she stepped closer once again, not having let go of your arm. Suddenly, she began to stutter. “By home, I mean your apartment, not my, our, home I mean. Unless you want to go there? I mean I wouldn't mind at all! But also I would understand if you wanted to go back to,” You cut her rambling off with a soft kiss.

“I would love to go back to our home,” You started, causing her eyes to light up. “But not tonight.” You finished and the glimmer in her eyes faded as she quickly looked away. Feeling the sudden need to clarify, you spoke quickly. “There's still some things that need to be settled and I've been running around too much, I don’t want to disturb you.”

She agreed and you went towards her car, both of you getting in when Wanda finally pried her body away from yours. It was quickly returned when you both had gotten in, her hand reaching for your leg as she drove. Your hand rested on hers. Despite having tons to talk about you drove in silence: quiet directions were the only words shared as the radio played softly in the background as you watched out the window. She drove slowly down the road, a few under the speed limit as she wanted to soak up every moment she could with you. Her hand slowly rose your thigh as she drove, her fingertips playing softly with the inner hem of your pants. There was a sudden moment of desperation that came among the two of you. Wanda pulled into the nearest empty parking lot and parked the car. The second the car was put into park the two of you practically launched yourselves at each other, kissing one another passionately. Your hands reached for her waist as hers tangled in your hair.

Her tongue slipped across your bottom lip, eagerly seeking entrance. You obliged without a second thought, a moan immediately muffed into the kiss. Your hand snaked under her shirt, groping and grabbing at her chest through her bra. She groaned into your mouth, tugging your hair as she pulled you closer.

“Fuck.” You mumbled as you pulled back from the kiss, locking eyes with her. You hummed and tugged at her shirt. “Get over here.” You murmured as you reached down to unbuckle your seatbelt. You moved the seat back and laid it down before turning your back to the windshield and shifting towards the front of the car. There was some awkward shifting and moving as Wanda moved into the passenger's seat, settling and leaning back in the seat. She reached forward and grabbed your shirt, pulling you on top of her.

Your lips met instantly again and your hips found a slow pace of grinding onto her lap. Her hands reached down to your thighs, gripping them tightly as she slid her fingertips inward, dipping towards the insides of your thighs. With a groan, you broke the kiss and began kissing at her neck. Your hip movements came to a cease as you moved off her lap, now between her legs. You grumbled as the floor wasn’t as forgiving as you’d expected the fabric-covered metal to be. That wasn’t about to stop you though as you reached towards her pants. She helped with the buttons and zipper, before lifting her hips, allowing you to tug down her pants and panties with one quick motion. You moaned at the sight in front of you. Her delectable cunt waiting in front of you. She reached down, tangling a hand in your hair as she began to push your head to where she needed it most. You would never deprive her of what she wanted. Especially when your mouth practically watered for her.

“Come on Detka. Don’t be shy, Mommy remembers how much you love eating her pussy.” She spoke sweetly, a smile on her face as she looked down at you. Your face turned to a deep blush as she spoke. In an attempt to avoid embarrassment, you settled your head between her thighs happily. Your tongue made contact with her slowly. Your tongue moved up her clit in a fashion that made her squirm. Her grip on your hair tightened as her hips rose against your face. You moaned against her as your hands gripped her thighs. The way your tongue swirled and ground against her caused her to moan out above you. “Fuck Detka.” She pulled at your hair and she let out a loud moan. “Oh, I’ve missed your tongue.” She said as her eyes screwed shut and threw her head back. You looked up from your position, smiling at the sight above you. One of your hands slid between her legs and quickly slipped inside of her. Your tongue directed all of your attention to her clit as your fingers curled and pumped inside of her. With the addition of your fingers, she rose quickly to an orgasm. Her hands tugged at your hair as her hips lifted and she let out a loud moan as she reached her peak. When she settled you took a moment to remove your fingers and lap up what you could before looking up at her with a cheeky grin.

“Fuck you’re hot.” You said as you grinned, biting the inside of your cheek before pulling your fingers to your mouth, and licking them clean. She watched you, awestruck and tired as she caught her breath. Her grip loosened in your hair and her hands reached down to your face with a new tenderness. She lifted your chin to look at you with a smile. You smiled back up at her before biting your bottom lip. You wiped your face with your shirt in a playful manner before shifting a little. She giggled tiredly and pressed her fingertip to the tip of your nose with a smile. You dried your fingers on your pants before pulling Wanda's pants and panties up carefully. She slowly shifted her body, tiredly allowing you to help her. When her pants were back in place you crawled onto her lap, straddling her. You began to pepper soft kisses across her jaw and neck.

“I love you, Wands.” You whispered as you settled back in her lap, your head resting below her chin as her arms wrapped around you keeping you close.

“I love you too, Detka.” She said with a tired smile on her face. The slow patterns Wanda traced on your back felt hypnotizing as you never wanted to leave this moment. You had to though, so after a little while of sitting together you lifted your head. She protested with a grumble and tangled her hand in your hair, urging you to lay your head back down. Her eyes didn't open from her relaxed state.

“Wanda let me drive us home.” You said as you placed a kiss on her lips. She nodded and slowly let go of you. You reached down and adjusted the seat so it was in a safer upright position before scooting back on her lap a little and buckling her seatbelt for her. You then smiled as her tired eyes looked into yours. “Keep looking at me like that I’m gonna have to eat you out again.” you teased, causing her to grin and giggle. You climbed into the driver's seat and set the car to defog, letting it rest momentarily as you traced patterns on Wanda's leg. When the car was defogged enough you drove the two of you home.

Pulling into the driveway you parked the car in the garage before getting out. You hurried to Wanda's side before she could even open the door. You opened the door for her before reaching down and unclicking her seatbelt.

“Can I carry you?” you asked, causing her to grin a little out of surprise. She raised her eyebrows at you as she began to question.

“Is that a question of your physical capabilities or are you asking for permission?” She teased as she looked up at you tiredly. “Because you have my permission, but Detka I might be too heavy,” she started but you cut her off, carefully lifting her out of the seat, watching to make sure she didn’t bump her head. She gasped surprised as she quickly hid her face in your neck, flustered. You carried her inside before setting her on the steps. Gently, you began taking off her shoes and jacket for her, hanging them up on the hook before returning and picking her up bridal style. She laughed when you picked her up again but let it happen as she wrapped her arms around your neck tightly and kissed your jaw. You brought her to the bedroom and laid her down. She made quick work of snuggling up with the pillows in the bed.

“Don’t get too comfy Wands.” You teased as you went to the closet to find some pajamas. You bit your lip, pausing as you noticed your side of the closet had stayed nearly the same as when you had left. Slowly, you began looking through your shirts. Your fingers danced slowly over the fabric, brushing your fingertips along the patterns of one of your favorite shirts. You carefully slipped the shirt off the hanger. You glanced at the closet door, knowing Wanda’s eyes were on you before stripping your shirt off. As you reached to unclip your bra you heard her call out.

“Come here.” Wanda’s voice was husky and full of sleep. You abided anyway and picked your shirt and a shirt for her before walking towards her. You set the shirts on her bed, blushing a light shade of pink as you stood next to her. She propped herself up a little more and reached towards you, spinning you to face away from her. Her hands slid up your back slowly before stopping at your bra. She took only a moment, unclipping your bra. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as she unclipped your bra. Her hands then slid down your back, her fingertips tracing across some scars she had never seen before. You flinched at the touch at first before relaxing into it. While biting your bottom lip you let the bra fall to the ground before turning back around to face her. She smiled at your body, only looking at you with love and adoration as she took in the sight. Her eyes on you made you blush a deeper red. When she noticed you getting more flustered she directed her attention lower. Her hands slid from your sides to the loops of your pants. Moving you closer with a soft tug she undid the button before looking into your eyes as she did the zipper. You shuffled out of the pants before reaching for her. Carefully you repeated her motions. Your fingers danced around the button to her pants as you undid them, carefully helping her slide out of them. While she took off her shirt you took a moment to fold the clothes you two had discarded. You smiled as you looked back towards her again, reaching your arms around her. Your hands slid behind her back and unclasped her bra. She let the garment fall slowly as it was now your turn to admire the sight in front of you. You sat on the edge of the bed next to her, letting a small smile show as you handed her one of your t-shirts. You pulled yours on as she put hers on. As sexual as the actions may have seemed to an outside perspective they were purely done out of innocence and genuine care.

“Can I sleep next to you?” You spoke for the first time in several minutes. A downward smile tugged on Wanda’s lips as she grabbed at your shirt.

“Please do.” She said as she nodded, tapping the side next to her, your side of the bed. You smiled at her response and bit your lip as you pulled the covers back. You crawled over top of her, causing her to giggle as you plopped down next to her. You took a moment to dramatically fluff up your pillow before lying down. She waited, teasingly impatient. The second your head hit the pillow Wanda’s head was right there next to you hardly inches away. Her arms wrapped around you closely and one leg pushed between yours, essentially tangling your bodies together. The closeness felt wonderful. You brushed your nose against hers with a smile on your face. She smiled and closed her eyes, feeling content and at peace for the first time in a long time. Gently you pressed a kiss to her lips. You didn’t close your eyes just yet. You watched her instead. Watching how her eyes fluttered tiredly, her breath slowly making her chest rise and fall, her breathing getting slow as she drifted asleep. When you were sure she was asleep you finally gave in to the tiredness yourself, letting your eyes close and sleep take over you.

The next morning when you woke up Wanda was stretched out next to you but still clinging onto your shirt with one of her hands. You smiled at the sight, biting back a big grin as you watched her. Before, you were rarely awake before Wanda. She liked to get up early to get a head start on her day. Now, that had been you for the past few years. You scooted towards her, wrapping your body around her as you began to kiss her cheek and neck playfully. She stirred in her sleep and luckily remembered about the night prior before freaking out. She rolled on top of you and grinned, her eyes not yet open as she snuggled into your chest.

“Shh, I’m sleeping.” She whispered as she wrapped her body around you. You smiled and chuckled at her. You wrapped one arm around her back, sliding it under her shirt as you rubbed up and down the bare skin. Your other hand went to her hair, tangling it softly as you massaged her scalp. She hummed and leaned into your touch, slowly falling back into sleep. While kissing the top of her head you whispered.

“I’ll lay here a little while then I have some stuff to do okay Wands?” You wanted to work out and return some phone calls for work to get it out of the way. She just nodded and hugged you closer. You let her stay in that position for longer than you’d planned before slowly moving her next to you again and climbing out of bed. You kissed her head before going downstairs. You paused at the end of the stairs, taking a deep breath as you knew you were about to take on walking through your old house. Just as you were about to walk through the house suddenly you couldn’t do it. You put on your shoes before going for a run outside. You ran all around smelling the fresh air. It was like no time had passed. You ran a quick run before returning home to get a weight lift in. Before, you seldom did cardio and weights on the same day. But you had a new routine that made you the most fit you’d ever been. The home gym was in a room connected to the garage. You went there and did a routine before heading up to the bedroom to shower. Wanda was sitting on the bed, pillows propped up behind her as she scrolled on her phone.

“Wow,” Wanda muttered under her breath as she saw you walk into the room, your sweaty state extremely obvious. You laughed at her reaction and dried your face off the sweat with the small towel that had been draped across your shoulder.

“Sorry, I know I’m gross. I’m about to take a shower. Maybe you want to join me?” You asked, thinking her reaction was for you being gross but you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity of showering with her.

“No!” She said quickly, causing you to crinkle your nose at her. She realized what she said. “I mean yes! I want to shower with you! Not no! Not yet.” She said as she got out of bed and walked towards you. Your eyebrow turned upward as she walked towards you.

“Not yet?” You questioned as your hands reached out to her waist and then slid down to her hips, holding her softly.

“Not yet.” She whispered, repeating you with a small grin on her face. She leaned down and kissed your neck softly. Your hands squeezed at her hips as you pulled her body up against yours. She bit at your neck testingly causing you to yelp and flinch in surprise. She pulled her face back to look you in the eyes. “Too much?” She asked, her hands snaking across your body. Quickly, you shook your head.

“More.” You let out in only a whisper. Her grin returned and she stepped back, grabbing you by the shirt and dragging you to the bed.

#mommy wanda #wanda #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you

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anistarrose · 2 months

Text

I want to make my posts more accessible, but can't write IDs myself: a guide

[Plain text: "I want to make my posts more accessible, but can't write IDs myself: a guide." End plain text.]

While every image posted online should be accessible in an ideal world, we all know it 1) takes time to learn how to write image descriptions, and 2) is easy to run out of spoons with which to write IDs. And this says nothing of disabilities that make writing them more challenging, if not impossible — especially if you're a person who benefits from IDs yourself.

There are resources for learning how to write them (and if you already know the basics, I'd like to highlight this good advice for avoiding burnout) — but for anyone who cannot write IDs on their original posts at any current or future moment, for any reason, the there are two good options for posting on Tumblr.

1. Crowdsource IDs through the People's Accessibility Discord

[Plain text: "1. Crowdsource IDs through the People's Accessibility Discord". End plain text.]

The People's Accessibility Discord is a community that volunteers description-writing (and transcript-writing, translation, etc) for people who can't do so themselves, or feel overwhelmed trying to do so. Invite link here (please let me know if the link breaks!)

The way it works is simple: if you're planning to make an original post — posting art, for example — and don't know how to describe it, you can share the image there first with a request for a description, and someone will likely be able to volunteer one.

The clear upside here (other than being able to get multiple people's input, which is also nice) is that you can do this before making the Tumblr post. By having the description to include in your post from the start, you can guarantee that no inaccessible version of the post will be circulated.

You can also get opinions on whether a post needs to be tagged for flashing or eyestrain — just be able to spoiler tag the image or gif you're posting, if you think it might be a concern. (Also, refer here for info on how to word those tags.)

The server is very chill and focused on helping/answering questions, but if social anxiety is too much of a barrier to joining, or you can't use Discord for whatever reason, then you can instead do the following:

2. Ask for help on Tumblr, and update the post afterwards

[Plain text: "Ask for help on Tumblr, and update the post afterwards". End description.]

Myself and a lot of other people who describe posts on this site are extra happy to provide a description if OP asks for help with one! This does leave the post inaccessible at first, so to minimize the drawbacks, the best procedure for posting an image you can't fully describe would be as follows:

Create the tumblr post with the most bare-bones description you can manage, no matter how simple (something like "ID: fanart of X character from Y. End ID" or "ID: a watercolor painting. End ID," or literally whatever you can manage)

Use a tool like Google Lens or OCR to extract text if applicable and if you have the energy, even if the text isn't a full image description (ideally also double-check the transcriptions, because they're not always perfect)

Write in the body of the post that you'd appreciate a more detailed description in the notes!

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starryevermore · 4 months

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the house of snow (1) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: your parents are convinced that you will marry the king by the end of the social season. and so, too, it seems does coriolanus snow.

word count: 2,764

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: no use of y/n, you cannot stand coryo, not proofread

Coriolanus Snow’s rise to the throne was something you never expected to come to fruition. When you were younger, you remembered your peers talking about how Snow wanted to one day rule Panem. At the time, you thought it was just another wild dream of a child. Something a child would say when an adult asks what they wish to be when they grow up. “A pirate!” one might exclaim. Or, perhaps, “A painter!” The sort of thing that a sensible parent would shrug off and not dedicate anymore thought to. The Snow family, as it turned out, was not particularly sensible.

When the Former King Ravinstill died without warning, the throne was left vacant. Everyone knew that the old man had little life left in him. Yet, despite his age, he had a tendency to power through. No one thought he would have lived as long as he did, but he had. So, the Electors had not yet begun considering his replacement. No one had been prepared enough to seek candidacy. No one, except Coriolanus Snow. A few other eligible persons put forth their names, but no one garnered support quite like the young man. From a prominent family, the son of a general, had served briefly himself, intelligent, and had the financial backing of the Plinth family? There was no version of history where Snow could lose.

Within weeks of Ravinstill’s death, Snow was crowned King.

You did not care for politics, so you knew little of his reign. But your father seemed pleased, talking often and loudly about how the young Snow would restore Panem to its former glory. You weren’t so sure of that. Though you did not interact with him often in your younger years, you remembered Snow as someone who was self-serving. Who would pretend to care if only it could further his own interests. He very well might let all of Panem burn if it meant he could gain from it. But your father was quite pleased with Snow as King and, when word began to spread that Snow would be seeking a bride this next social season, your father pushed hard for you to woo the King.

“If you wish to serve your family well, my little dove, you will convince the King to marry you,” your father told you the moment he heard the news.

You all but scoffed. “I hardly think I am the sort of woman he wishes to marry. A man like him would want someone meek, someone who would not challenge his authority. We hardly ever agreed on the schoolyard, and for that reason, he never considered me a friend. How could he ever see me as a wife?”

Your father’s eyes narrowed at you. “It is your responsibility, then, to make yourself small so that he may choose you.”

“I would rather die than sacrifice my ideals, Papa,” you said. “Why can I not vie for any other’s attention? I know Lord Plinth quite well. I’ve always enjoyed his company. It would be easy to win his heart and have our family set for life. Certainly easier than winning over the King.”

He sneered, “The only thing the Plinth family is good for is their money. I want to be respected. We would be little more than social pariahs if you wed the Plinth boy.”

“I shall not marry the King—”

Your mother stepped in before you could say something you might come to regret. She placed a hand on your arm, directing your attention to her. “Never mind that now. There is still time before the season begins for minds to be changed.”

“I shall not change my mind, Mama.”

She looked over at your father, who was the perfect picture of irate. She looked back to you. “Perhaps, but perhaps not. Let us go clear our minds, yes? We should go order new gowns at the modiste before everyone else floods her with demands.”

“You cannot distract me with fashion.”

“But you would do well to pretend that I have.”

Your efforts to convince your parents that you would not, under any circumstance whatsoever, marry Coriolanus Snow did not do anything for you. Despite your best efforts, you now stood in the palace for the King’s Ball, wearing the most beautiful powder blue gown fresh from the modiste, trying and failing to hide from your mother, so that you might delay her forcing you onto Snow. For now, though, she had been distracted by a conversation with Lady Dovecote about…whatever mothers talked about. Surely some scheme that would end with either you or Clemensia as Snow’s betrothed. You rolled your eyes at the thought.

A familiar voice said your name. When you turned, you were greeted by the sight of Sejanus Plinth, holding two glasses of lemonade. He handed one to you, remarking, “I never knew you to be one to hide from the crowd.”

“I shall hide from the crowd when my mama is convinced I shall become Queen by the end of the season.”

“Ah.” Sejanus took a drink and laughed. “Strange, isn’t it? Seeing everyone we grew up with vying for Coryo’s attention.”

Coryo? Oh, yes. That was the nickname those close to Snow would call him. You had forgotten that the two were friends. Hmm, perhaps you could use that information the next time your parents try to force a connection with Snow. Something about how getting close to his friend might make him interested in you. “That it is. It seems as though everyone has lost their minds just for a glimpse of the crown.”

Sejanus laughed again. Then he looked at you a little more seriously, and said, “If I am honest, I am surprised you are not among those fighting for Coryo’s attention.”

Your brows pinched together. “You think I am interested in climbing the social ladder? Lord Plinth, you should know me well enough that I care more for a love match than gaining a title.”

“No, no. That is not what I meant. I remember in school that you and Coryo always had a sort of connection. Truthfully, I thought one of you might have acted on it sooner when you entered society.”

“The only connection we had was that of hatred. We despised each other.”

Sejanus shook his head, his curls bouncing. “I do not think that was true for Coryo. He liked that you challenged him. He has never been the sort of person who liked people who switch their position when the tide seems to turn. He likes people who are firm in their convictions.”

You laughed. “He’s told you this?”

“Not in so many words. But you have to wonder why he always sought you out.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he is crueler than we all think.”

Sejanus moved to protest, but another beat him to it. “Or perhaps you judge without truly knowing.”

You froze. Oh, how you had hoped that you could have avoided him tonight! Damn Sejanus and his friendship with Snow. So much for him being your safe haven during these balls. You might as well have lit a beacon leading straight to you. Alas, you did not want Snow to see the hatred you had brewing for him. Even if you did not like the man, you would be a social pariah if you made such feelings known to him. So, you painted on a smile as you turned to look at Snow. “Or perhaps I made an educated guess supported by the evidence of past interactions.”

Snow snorted, turning his gaze to Sejanus. “Always so quick with a response, she is.”

Sejanus glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes. If you were a mindreader, you could imagine him gloating in his mind about how he was right, that this was a sign that Snow cared for you in some way. But you only knew it to be yet another indicator that you and Snow could never, ever, get along. “Her wit has never dulled.”

“Should we see, then, if her dance skills are still equally sharp?”

Sejanus looked at you again, a brilliant smile on his face. Oh, how you wished to wipe that look off. This was not proof of anything. This did not prove his point. “I could not think of anything better.”

Damn you, Sejanus Plinth. Damn you.

Snow held his arm out for you to take. You stared at it, not moving. “In order to dance with a lady, you must ask her. I do not recall you asking me anything.”

Snow glanced just beyond you. When you turned your head to follow his gaze, you saw your mother and Lady Dovecote watching the interaction carefully. As you looked back at Snow, he said, “Your mother would be disappointed if you did not dance with me.”

“It is amazing you became King when you are so lacking in manners.” But you knew your mother—the entirety of the ton, perhaps—would consider you insane to turn the King down so openly. So you took his arm and let him lead you onto the dance floor.

He snorted. “You are the only person who speaks so freely to me.”

“Ah, so this is one last dance before my execution? How kind. Perhaps I was wrong about your cruelty.”

“There is much you are wrong about,” Snow said. You had reached the dance floor. The crowd parted around you, allowing you and Snow to take the middle of the floor. You faced him, allowing his hand to fall to you waist. You placed one hand on his shoulder, and let him take the other in his free hand. “It would be far too much of a shame to take your life.”

“Such a kind and gentle king.”

“Only for those who deserve it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your mother miming for you to smile. You fought the urge to sneer instead. Even if you would rather do anything else than be courted by Coriolanus Snow, acting out would not do you any favors. If you had any hope in finding a love match, you had to at least be cordial to him. So you smiled as prettily as you could. But you couldn’t help yourself from saying, “Then perhaps you should go see a physician. You seem to have lost your mind.”

To your surprise, Snow laughed. The sound almost scared you. When was the last time you heard Snow laugh? An actual laugh, at that. None of his snorts of derision or half-hearted chuckles when he was trying to charm someone. Had you ever heard him laugh before? You tried to wrack your brain, but you could not recall anything. In school, he had always been so serious—focused more on using the tools available to him to climb the social ladder rather than being a kid like everyone else. Though, you supposed, Snow was a far cry from everyone else.

The music began to play, and Snow spun you around the dance floor. As you turned, you locked eyes with Sejanus. He wore a large grin on his face, seemingly sure that you and Snow were making nice. Why else would he have laughed at something you said? You wished you could yell out to Sejanus, tell him that he was dead wrong.

“What is it that people say? Something about love driving people mad?”

This time, you did roll your eyes. “Oh, come off it. You and I both know perfectly well that you do not care for me. I hardly understand why you’re even entertaining this nonsense, if for no other reason than to torture me.”

Snow considered you. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I seek a bride who will produce me an heir. There are few women here who meet my standards. A woman of good breeding, from a respectable family, and intelligent enough to keep up with me. Someone who will be a good Queen and a good mother.”

“Someone that you can control.” You scoff. “You truly must see a physician, Your Majesty, if you think that I will fall in line with whatever you ask of me.”

His lips curled into a grin. Your stomach churned. “Not yet.”

The next morning, your mother promptly reported that you had danced with Coriolanus Snow not once, not twice, but three times to your father. To say he had been pleased was something of an understatement. He was certain that Snow would soon be reaching out to discuss a proposal. It did not matter how much you tried to downplay the situation—explain that he was only dancing with you for some other reason than him wishing to marry you. Your parents minds were made up. By the end of the season, you were to be Queen of Panem.

“It’s just the nerves,” your mother dismissed as you sat in the drawing room, waiting for any suitor to call on you. “You will be more than confident once you are wed.”

You ground your teeth together. “I do not wish to marry Coriolanus Snow. I would marry anyone else. I would let you or Papa pick anyone else in the ton and I would not let out a single complaint. I cannot marry that man.”

Something just beyond you caught your mother’s attention. Your father, you supposed. “You should not say such things—” she began to say. Of course. Of course she would say that.

“Why not? It is true. I would be miserable with him. I would rather die than be his bride, bear his children. Frankly, forcing me to marry him may as well be a death sentence.”

“Dear, you do not truly mean that—”

“And you must not know me at all if you think I am not being completely, and utterly, truthful right now. Coriolanus Snow is the last man I would ever wish to marry.”

Your mother leaned in close to you, hissing, “Stop talking right now, young lady.”

A frown settled on your face. Why was she so bothered about you speaking so freely? There was no one in the room but you, her, and a maid. Perhaps she was concerned about the maid spreading gossip with other maids and that slowly enveloping the ton. It wasn’t a non-possibility, to be sure. But why was she acting so…scandalized by your words?

Unless…

You turned your head toward the entrance of the room. There should Coriolanus Snow, dressed in a dark red suit, holding a bouquet of white roses. Your mouth went dry. Oh, why does he keep showing up when you least expect it? “The butler typically announces when a guest has arrived,” you said.

You couldn’t read his face. A part of you wondered if you had offended him. You didn’t particularly care about offending him, but you also knew that such an act could have dire consequences on you marrying anyone else. “He was going to, but I wanted my arrival to be a surprise.” He took a step closer to you, holding out the roses. “I just had these freshly picked from my garden.”

A part of you wanted to smack the roses out of his hands, but you had already embarrassed your mother enough in front of Snow. You took the roses, yet couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “I cannot believe a man like you could grow something so beautiful.”

Your mother let out a loud—obviously fake—laugh. “Oh, isn’t she just funny? She always says the silliest things.”

Snow chuckled. He smiled at your mother—the sort of smile that your stomach twist into knots. Like he knew something no one else did, and he was reveling in that. “It is one of her more…charming traits.” He turned his attention back to you. “As lovely as this is, I came to ask if you would like to promenade with me in the square.”

Oh, Snow. Why was he so good at backing you into corners? You took a breath and passed the bouquet to the maid so she could put them in a vase. “That would be nothing short of a delight.”

He held out his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his bicep, your nails digging in. If he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned down so that you could only hear him whisper, “It seems like you fall in line much easier than you would like to believe.”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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bombsquad9 · 2 months

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𝐋𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 + 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝗼𝐧𝐬: 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 (PT. 1)

Characters Included: Ada Wong, Alcina Dimitrescu, Albert Wesker, Ashley Graham, Carlos Oliveira, Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Ethan Winters, and Finn Macauley.

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𝑨𝒅𝒂 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒈;

—> Ciswoman (She/Her), Bisexual w/ no preference

✞ Gift Giving: God, this woman loves to spoil her significant other. Anything she sees and think they'll like? Boom, it's bought within a second and being taken home to them as soon as possible. Did you mention something? Boom, next thing her partner knows is that the same thing is on their bed with a little note. What's the point in having someone to love if you can't shower them in things they want?

✞ Physical Touch: It may not be full blown cuddling most of the time, but small subtle touches. The kind that leave a person wanting more in seconds. Ada loves having that charm on her partner, but of course she's a sucker for some hugs from behind and kisses. It really just depends with her, but she loves it regardless.

𝑨𝒍𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝑫𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖;

—> Ciswoman (She/Her), Lesbian/Sapphic

✞ Gift Giving: Considering she is filthy rich and quite literally a lady of an entire castle, she'd like to spend some time pampering her significant other with all the things she can give them. Anything they mention wanting around her she'll find a way to acquire, even if it means a limb from one of her many maids. She'd do anything to get her partner's eyes to light up (within reason) and happily watch them as they get excited over the gifts. What can she say, she likes to spoil her baby.

✞ Quality Time: Alcina LOVES to spend time with her significant other. It doesn't matter if it's a small dinner with them, them sitting with her whilst she plays piano, etc. She loves the idea of being in the same room as her partner and having her full attention on them (and vice versa). She may be able to live a long time, but depending on the circumstances, her significant other may not be able to and she wants to have every moment with them. Don't get her started on if anything bad happens either, she just wants good memories with her special someone.

𝑨𝒍𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝑾𝒆𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒓;

—> Demiboy (He/They), Pansexual

✞ Gift Giving: Another gift giver, Wesker is not good with words, and he definitely does not like being touched. He's a powerful being, and why not show that he can do whatever by getting his significant other whatever they want?

✞ Quality Time: He's a very busy man, and if he likes his partner enough to actually be with them, then might as well spend time with them. His idea of quality time is quietly sitting in a room while both people are doing their own things. What's more ideal then spending time with your significant other and getting work done?

𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒎;

—> Demigirl (She/They), Straight

✞ Gift Giving: Ashley is the presidents daughter, so she's bound to come from a wealthy family, why not spend some of that wealth on her partner? Gifts can range from expensive jewelry to expensive dates even. Though, I feel like she'd also like making little trinkets for her special someone.

✞ Physical Touch: Ashley would be a very touchy person, always holding her partner's hand, giving them small pecks on the cheek, etc. She loves to show affection to the ones she loves, and is shameless about it. She does know there's a time and a place though, and if they want space she'll gladly give it to them (with a bit of a pout).

𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒐𝒔 𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒂;

—> Cisman (He/Him), Pansexual

✞ Physical Touch: You cannot tell me this man wouldn't be touchy, he would be all over his significant other. He would have an arm draped around their shoulders, and arm around their waist, etc. If him and them were at home he'd be laying on them in their arms. He just loves the feeling of contact, it assures him that they're real and there, which puts a smile on his face just thinking about it.

✞ Acts of Service: Carlos would do anything to make his significant other's life easier, even if it was just by a little bit. The thought of lifting a weight off of his partner's shoulders when they're exhausted or have no motivation to do something makes him happy. It makes him feel useful, he thinks of it as a way to pay them back for putting up with his smart ass all the time.

𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅;

—> Cisman (He/Him), Bisexual/Demiromantic/Demisexual

✞ Quality Time: Chris has been through a lot, and has lost a lot of people. He can't get the thoughts out of his head that something bad is going to happen to his significant other, so he wants to make every second count. It doesn't matter how, him and his someone could be in the same room, quietly doing their own things even. He just wants to have enough time with his significant other before anything can get in the way and cut that short.

✞ Words of Affirmation: Sometimes he just needs to hear from his special someone that they aren't going to leave. As I said before, he's lost a lot of people, most of them being very meaningful to him. He can't bear the thought of another person leaving, so hearing the words come out of his significant other's mouth in sincerity helps soothe his nerves, even if it's just a little bit.

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅;

—> Demigirl (She/They), Omnisexual w/ a preference for women

✞ Quality Time: Claire thinks making memories with her special someone is extremely important, and what better way to do that other than spending time together? Whether it be a little date night or just laying in each others arms and conversing, she cherishes every moment of it. She likes seeing her partner happy, it makes her happy to know she's doing something right.

✞ Words of Affirmation: Claire loves praising her significant other, whether it be something as simple as a "I'm proud of you" or an "I love you". She wants them to know she loves them, and words are definitely a good way to do that. Expect her to shower her special someone with compliments and praise as much as she can.

𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔;

—> Cisman (He/Him), Bisexual w/ a preference for women

✞ Acts of Service: Ethan would quite literally go through hell and back to make his significant other happy, so why not do simple things to make their life easier? He likes doing things for people, and he loves his partner so they're a prime target off that. He takes no protests, especially if it's something so simple he could do it in like five minutes.

✞ Physical Touch: I feel like Ethan would be the kinda guy to walk up behind his significant other while they're cooking, and give them a long hug from behind. He'd come home from work after a long day and just wanna lay down with his partner and embrace them.

𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒚;

—> Transman (He/Him), Omnisexual w/ a preference for men

✞ Acts of Service: Finny here would do anything for his significant other. Similarly to Carlos, it helps him feel useful when he makes your life easier. Since he did a lot of the C4 work for his BSAA team, he just kinda got used to doing things for people too. It's a win/win for him, he gets to keep his brain active and some of your needs get met.

✞ Gift Giving: I feel like Finn would love to give his significant other little trinkets he sees or finds, or little things that reminds him of them. He likes to see the smile on their face when he comes home with a little gift for them. It warms his heart and he can't help but smile too. He also loves to give them things with a lot of sentimental value, whether it be something related to an inside joke, or something they mentioned a while back.

><—><—><——><—><—><——><—><—><—><

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: None Currently

A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

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toomuchracket · 9 months

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keep dreaming (d word matty smut)

(pre-relationship. mentions of unprotected sex. basically, matty's in his bed and he simply cannot stop thinking about you...)

in an ideal world, matty wouldn't be doing this.

in an ideal world, he would have staved off the nerves, gotten a grip, bit the bullet, and asked you to come home with him. part of him thinks he should've - it's not as if he hasn't done it before, with girls nowhere near as beautiful and girls he didn't like half as much as you.

but that's the point, he thinks, that's why he didn't. you're too special to him for your first intimate moment to be a post-awards show shag at his house. granted, he'd fucking worship you if it was, both in bed and then out of it, for every subsequent minute of his life... but he'd far rather take you on a few dates and spoil you first, before getting you into bed.

you... bed... fuck. despite himself, matty can't stop thinking about it.

or stop from gently stroking himself to said thoughts, caving further into that little voice in his head saying "imagine what it would feel like if it was her hand instead of yours" on loop.

god, he's sick for this. but he can't help it. after all, matty knows all too well what your right hand - the hand you use to write memos to him at work, and therefore the one you would surely use on him in bed - feels like, wrapped around a part of his body. less than an hour ago, it had grasped his wrist as you tugged him to the dancefloor at the afterparty, beaming warmly enough to melt his heart and redden his cheeks.

and then it had slid down his hand and twisted to grip the tips of his fingers, and matty was a goner. he mimics the motion now on his cock with a breathy whimper of your name, and repeats it - this time, slightly more softly, slightly more like you would. shit. you would look so good wanking him off, matty thinks, the edges of your nails ever so lightly scraping against him as you move; those nails that kickstarted this specific fantasy of you giving him a handjob, after you excitedly showed him their design when you first saw him earlier, a design based on the band's newest album, described by you as "look, matty, you're all over my hands". he had smiled at the adorable gesture and kissed your palm in gratitude, but his thoughts had gone somewhere far dirtier - literally - at your words.

he's jumping the gun with thinking about his cum all over your pretty nails now, though, so matty goes back to imagining your handjob position - he thinks of you lying on your stomach in front of him, looking up that way you do when he tells you something interesting: those beautiful eyes of yours all sparkly and focused and knee weakening-ly distracting, pretty lips curved and cheeks lifted into a bashful little smile.

those lips... always so soft-looking (and feeling, matty's sure, given he's a frequent witness to your habit of religiously applying lipbalm) and definitely kissable, but even more so tonight, lined and glossy. the colour looked shockingly perfect on you, and when he first saw you earlier he'd had to shove down a memory of a makeup artist for a shoot telling him that the perfect lipstick colour is the same as one's nipples before he started spiralling. now, though, in the solitary comfort of his own bed, matty lets his brain wind itself into imagining yours, spots of that lipstick shade on your perfect tits - accentuated incredibly tonight by the black silk of your cocktail dress, it has to be said - and imagining the way they would brush against him as you moved forward to wrap your lips around him, the same way you wrapped them around one of the bottles of expensive champagne given to the band's table after they won.

fuck. matty's wrist speeds up almost involuntarily at the thought of you sucking him off, while his other hand threads itself into the bedsheets the same way he knows he'd thread it into your hair, sliding the soft waves of tonight's hairstyle away from your beautiful face. he knows you would smile around him at that, the same little sweet smile you give matty whenever he appears with a coffee for you or offers you a cig or does anything requiring a bit of thankfulness, followed by a little "thank you" and a hum of contentment when you get what you wanted or needed. it makes him swoon at the best of times - it would surely ruin him if you did it with his cock in your mouth.

matty speeds up his movement again, imagining you humming and moaning happily as you slide your mouth up and down his length, whimpering when the tip hits the back of your throat. ignoring the inkling of guilt that appears in the back of his mind as he does, matty wonders just how deep you'd be able to take him. not that he'd ever force you to do anything you couldn't or didn't want to, and not that it would matter, because he knows if you actually were to suck him off he'd have to fight not to cum immediately, but he has a sneaking suspicion that you'd try to completely deepthroat him - he knows how stubborn you are, and he's sure he's not hallucinating the way you blush whenever he thanks you for going above and beyond to help him out.

and it's not like he'd dissuade you from trying; at the thought of you, teary-eyed but turned-on, inching slowly down his length to take it all, throat closing slightly around him, lips and nose pressed against his lower stomach, moaning, he bucks his hips up again almost involuntarily with a whine, beginning to properly fuck his fist the way he would fuck your mouth if you wanted him to. would you swallow, matty wonders, take every last drop of his cum down your aching throat and clean off the tip with little kitten licks? would he let you?

or would he stop fucking your mouth as he feels the orgasm start to build, so he can fuck you until you both cum instead?

god. what a thought that is, matty gently coaxing your head up from his cock and kissing you, before rolling you onto your back and just burying himself inside you. he fucks his fist the way he would you, mixing slow, controlled thrusts in amongst shorter, sharper ones to rile you up, before setting a strong rhythm with his hips that - hopefully - would have you screaming for him. he groans your name at the thought of that, wanking desperately now - not necessarily desperate to make himself cum, but desperate to see your eyes roll back in time with his hips, your jaw drop in pleasure, those fucking tits of yours bounce with every thrust; to feel your lips on his as you kiss him like you're trying to devour him, your hot breath in his open mouth as you moan his name into it, your long, gorgeous nails digging crescents into his back, your legs quivering around his waist as you reach breaking point, and - the thing matty's most desperate for - your cunt clenching around his cock, as he circles your clit and pulls an orgasm out from within your very bones.

matty's so fucking close now, hips jerking wildly into his hand, eyes heavy and clouded with pleasure, a cacophony of moans and groans and cries of your name leaving his lips and turning to incoherent dirty talk as they meet the cold air of the bedroom. "ohhhhh, fuck, m'gonna fucking cum, baby, shit, need to fuck you, mmmmmmmph, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

there is, however, one final thing for matty to consider about his fantasies of you before he reaches his orgasm - where would he cum, if he was with you right now? he could pull out, and let you either finish him off in your hand or mouth, coating your throat or covering your pretty nails like he briefly imagined earlier. or he could finish himself over you, decorate your beautiful face, your gorgeous tits, your soft stomach and your thighs.

truthfully, he'd let you choose - he'd just be grateful for the opportunity to even get to do anything with you in bed, and you'd look perfect in any of these scenarios (and in any scenario in general, really). but if matty got to pick, and you were okay with it, he wouldn't choose any of them.

what matty would do is stay buried inside you and fill you up with his cum, thrusting through his orgasm with his head buried in your neck, feeling you milk his cock for everything he has.

it's a delicious thought, and it's what tips him over the edge; with a final groan of your name and a "fuck!", matty cums all over his own hand, whimpering and lightly stroking himself until he stops pulsing out white fluid, which flows over his hand to pool on his lower stomach, reaching the very edge of his hip tattoo. in the aftershocks of orgasm, he can't help but imagine you cleaning it off with your tongue; with his free hand, matty reaches over to grab a pillow he can groan into to calm down before he finds himself cumming to the thought of you yet again. christ. he really is into you, isn't he?

matty doesn't move for a few minutes - the orgasm was so strong and took so much out of him that he just lies on his bed silently, until his breathing regulates and he comes back down to earth a bit. when the liquid on his stomach starts to feel icky, that's when he finally moves, swinging his legs onto the floor and walking to the bathroom to shower. he cleans his body just fine, but the grossness in his brain lingers a minute longer - he really just got off to imagining fucking you, his trusted friend and colleague, like some sort of depraved teenager. jesus christ.

if only he knew you'd just grinded yourself to an orgasm on your pillow thinking of the exact same thing.

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #smutty asks #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

Text

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting.

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens.

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen.

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business.

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts.

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux.

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic.

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes.

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair.

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest. “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him.

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah.

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm.

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage.

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires.

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-”

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying.

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen.

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile.

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.”

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater.

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.”

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out.

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication.

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?”

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks.

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.” Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time.

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet.

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips.

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist.

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges.

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped.

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them.

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met.

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change.

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done.

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about.

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs.

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore.

With Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger. “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens.

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff.

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right.

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #thank you all for reading along on this series!#ao3 has alllll the tags if you're curious before reading #have a lovely day! xx

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sunnylands-world · 1 year

Note

something about !forced proximity! hits really hard! aaannnnnddd what if they’re not fond of each other toooo…

lots of angst..lots of guilt and then ofc fluff😘

Can't stand being away from you

Pairing: draco x female reader, husband draco x wife reader

Summary: you and draco were always meant to be in each other's space you just didn't know it yet...

Word count: 1'104

Warning: mean draco, annoying draco, fat shaming, forced proximity, chubby reader, plot twist

Universe: harry Potter

A/n: I don't how I feel about this tbh but it's got the key things in the request. Tell me what you think in the comments ♡

Trip's aren't ideal for Hogwarts but they decide to do one and of course you get partnered with draco. A part of you wanted to say there was nothing wrong with him, but there was…

He lived rent free in your mind and not in a good way. That stupid airy laugh he'd do to get his friends to laugh with him, the dumb hairstyles that never stayed the same, and his unnecessary obsession with bullying the trio; I mean you were the muggle born with old clothes you were a perfect target but he didn't bother you! not that you wanted him too or anything…

"Anything but that," Draco whined, pulling his luggage behind him. He stared with fascinati- angry as he looked you over. He could smell the lavender from your hair, see the redness from your chapstick, and worst of all he was near you and your weirdly styled clothes.

"It's only for the night, stop your whining," Snape snapped at him walking towards his room. Draco pushed the door open, eyes widening with a distasteful look on his face.

"This cannot be happening."

You blinked rapidly trying to make your mind process this. One bed, one bathroom, one tv, and well one everything. You inhaled, exhaling as you said

"it's only for one night." Not missing the loud sigh Draco let out. The hours consistented of you unpacking and looking over the map for the hotel, It wasn't long before you decided you wanted to shower but it seemed Draco had the same idea.

"Don't you dare," you warned but Draco smirked, turning towards you.

The two of you locked eyes that soon turned to thin slits then it was on…

you and draco ran for the small doorway, both of you pushing on another till the other fell. You looked like fools grunting and shoving like it was the last shower you'd ever take. He made it inside with a chuckle but as they always say, never turn your back on your enemies…

you came running for his side causing him to let out a squeal as you pushed at his firm waist. He tripped on the door lining falling onto the hotel carpet as he shot you a glare. luckily you made it inside, pushing the door shut as you slid down catching your breath.

"You clearly need it more, you smell like you roll in flower fields!" Draco called, but he wasn't sure why that didn't sound like an insult.

He rolled his eyes, still pissed that a girl had beat him at something.

She didn't beat me, this isn't a competition, I'm clearly stronger!

You emerge from the shower, waffering the room with the smell of your body wash and shampoo. Draco took in your appearance with a slight hum before facing the screen. You hadn't paid any mind to what he was watching, grabbing a book from your bag and taking a seat in a chair nearby. You didn't bother thinking about the sleeping arrangement, it was better not to yet anyway.

The procrastinator in you couldn't be bothered to fight Malfoy about it. You sighed, fixing your legs up on the table, head resting against the wall as you opened your book to the chapter your book mark held when all of a sudden the volume of the TV seemed to be easing its way up. You shut your book looking over at Draco in his PJs.

When did he change?

"Do you need the TV up that loud?" You asked as politely as you could. He shot you a smug smile, pink lips tugging at the sides mischievously.

"Yes, I hope you do understand. I'm hard of hearing. It sounds so quiet." His voice rang with fake panic matching the act on his face.

You hummed. "Funny. I don't remember you struggling to hear at school," you said smirking.

"What was that? I can't hear you, you sound so far away." he looked around like he'd lost a small child.

"But you just responded?" You stated, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry darling will have to continue this conversation when the show quiets down," he pouted.

You opened your mouth before closing it. You hated how he got under your skin and made you feel as though you needed to reply. You only hoped the night passed quickly.

And just like that the sky was dark blue. You yawned, closing your book standing as you walked towards the bed. Draco shot you a dirty look and pulled the blanket up. You stood blinking, waiting for him to move but he didn't, he just Chuckled.

"You don't exactly expect me to lay next to you do you?" He asked, sitting upwards. You look puzzled.

"Where do you think I'll be laying then?" You snapped.

"make a mat on the floor. Besides, you couldn't fit next to me anyway, you're far too big for that."

Ouch.

You sighed taming the unwanted tears trying to leave your eyes. You grabbed your sweater, bunching it into a ball. You gently laid on the floor, the wood like ice against your skin. The heater wasn't even working properly as the night grew darker. You were pretty sure your teeth were chitting loudly as goosebumps from the cold covered your skin.

Your body shivered as you tried to breathe steadily to stop the slight shaking.

You curled tightly cursing the hate that was filling your head. You tried not to cry but everything was against you like you'd lost control. The tears ran down your face like rocks on a hill that you were chasing. It was impossible. The tears dried fast staining your cheeks with the reminder.

You weren't sure if Draco was asleep or awake because it was quiet minus the occasional feet moving through the hall.

He wasn't asleep.

His mind was stuck on what he said to you. He knew it was cruel to say but he couldn't have you think he liked you because truthfully he did. so he had to make every lit insult he could to cover the chance of you realizing it. You were sadly suffering which made him suffer having to hear and cause it. He was being stubborn.

What was the harm in you knowing how he felt?! There really wasn't one, he was just afraid of what it would cause if his father and friends knew he fell for a girl who was not only muggle but also was a person in the shadows, with no popularity, no family business, just a girl with two parents scraping together what they could.

He admired it really, how you grew up with only books as company and barely had a change of clothes. It was refreshing compared to the girls he usually was around. No appreciation, no care or kindness because everything was replaceable for them, money was there and people who would give up family for their places in high class; but then there was you.

Worrying about spills and splashes on your clothes despite the smallness and holes they had, book bags on both shoulders, hair a bit messy because you couldn't afford the products in the stores that fixed it. everything about you was something that stood out and made everyone in a world of riches look poor.

You turned a bit sighing as darkness finally whisked away the nightmare.

When morning came you were in bed. A blonde haired boy snuggled into your chest, an arm around you, hand resting comfortably on the extra of your belly. He sighed dreamily before pressing a kiss to your exposed skin.

"When you're done staring at me will you lay back down completely so I can pull you closer," he groaned and you let out a Chuckle.

"Sorry, I was dreaming about the first time you and I shared a room like this," you muttered, making Draco frown in his sleep. He opened his eyes, blue oceans in your view. "I'm sorry, my love, I never meant it. I was just…"

"I know, I know you say it all the time," you run your fingers in his Bright blonde hair. "So in love you that you tried to hide it" you finished, laying back down.

"I couldn't not share a bed with you. you're so much more comfortable than the bed itself," he whispered and you smiled closing your eyes.

Draco lovers and requests

@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa, @lovelycassy

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader #draco imagine #malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco smut #draco angst #draco x female reader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfcition #severus snape

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weaselle · 3 months

Note

I am not a dog whisperer. I know each is an individual but I cannot “understand “ dog. How do you train dogs to stay in the van? Mine wants out before I have even one foot on the ground when we stop.

i've been thinking about this all day. I do want to help people with their dogs, but. Can I?

For everyone else, this is in response to my post about how all dog walkers are also dog trainers if they are doing their job right, where i mention my van full of dogs waiting until each one is leashed and invited out of the van individually.

I did also, as referenced above, say that the real trick to training dogs is to get to know the dogs individually, and that this is the reason dog trainers can't take a simple question about how to train a dog and give a simple answer.

Which is true.

And does make this a tricky ask to answer well. It's sort of like asking how do you help a kid who's having trouble understanding math. There's no one answer.

So. With that in mind, i want to talk about training in general mostly, instead of training any one dog for any one thing.

There is a nice basic thing you can do to set yourself up to be able to communicate something to your dog:

Take a treat, ask your dog to sit, move the treat toward their mouth at a quite slow but steady pace. When they bounce up out of the sit to try to get the treat, make a disapproving noise (I usually make kind of an "ach" sound) and either stop moving the treat or take it back to it's starting position.

Tell them to sit again. When they sit, start moving the treat slowly down toward them again. If they stop sitting the treat stops, if they move toward the treat it goes away. Ideally there will come a moment when they juuust start to lift their butt and you juust stop moving the treat and they think about it and sit back down and you keep moving the treat toward them.

This exercise communicates an expectation, a situation, a course of action. Like, just by my describing the exercise to you, you understand what is being communicated too, even if you might struggle to put it exactly into words

once you know they understand the concept, try to pace the treat movement so they succeed a few times. Like, you can speed it up a little to be sure you get it to them before they get too excited and come up out of their sit. You want a chance to prove to them a few times that if they stay sitting they do get the treat. Then slow it way down and make them prove they will stay in a sit until the treat gets there even if it takes a while. And hey, even though the treat stays the same, the praise gets better the longer they wait! right? good.

That's communication, baybee!

Of course, not every dog will have the right mentality for this sit/treat exercise to work, but if you understand the basics of what it is trying to communicate, it can still be your template for trying to communicate that thing to your dog. And once they understand it about one thing, it starts to be easier to tell it to them about other things.

I don't work with treats because i walk three large packs of dogs (often as many as ten at once) and the roster changes, sometimes a tues/thurs dog needs to bump to a wednesday or whatever, so the dogs aren't always super used to each other. If there's a sudden discovery of food aggression or resource guarding or just plain "i don't trust or like you" behavior that can come out around high value food items like treats, well, i can't work on any training about that without risking injury to the other dogs. I have good friends who walk dogs who work with treats and who are excellent dog trainers and that works for them in their situations, so i'm not saying it's wrong to work with treats as a dog walker, i'm just saying it's wrong for me.

So i do all my professional training without treats. And that means I have to identify what the dogs want and show them i control it and then demand specific behavior to access it.

So, lets say i'm getting a dog ready to go and this dog wants to rush out the gate at full speed as soon as it's open enough for them to squeeze through. And i don't want them to.

I identify what they really want. They really want to get through the gate. So getting through the gate is the treat. Actually, the way a dog works, getting closer to getting out the gate is a treat. I make that conditional on a behavior i want, and then i'll play out the scenario in slow motion and play hotter/colder with it until they do the thing i want. Looks like this:

I'll initiate the situation (put my hand on the latch) and then when they rush right up to the gate i'll make a disapproving noise and move my hand off the latch. I'll wait a beat (this is to give them just a moment to figure it out or make a decision, and i try to build these moments into as much of my training as possible) Then i'll use my entire body to move them back from the gate, sort of the way i'd open a door with my butt if my hands were full (this is a version of a thing called body blocking that doesn't always involve touching but is physical communication based on what you are doing with your body) I'll wait until i can get them to just stand there without me touching them before i start over and reach for the latch again.

This is where they get focused, because the gate isn't even close to open yet, so they aren't too excited to pay attention. You need them to give you the behavior you want before you start doing the thing that makes them excited. The more excited they are the harder it is for you to communicate or intervene, and it's easier for them to just maintain a current behavior than to change an excited behavior. In this case we'll say the behavior you want is staying calmly behind you until you tell them they can come out the gate, so you make them stay calmly behind you before you even start opening the gate.

The dog wants the gate to be open. The gate opens slowly. The dog starts moving toward it, the gate starts closing. The dog goes back to what it was doing when the gate was opening, and the gate starts opening once more.

Dogs understand this situation pretty quickly.

Then, when it's open, before i tell them they can go, if they start to move toward the gate i will physically move my body to block them from getting out the open gate. If they try hard enough to make this difficult for me, i simply close the gate again.

You can't do this for all the things you want to train for, and it doesn't work for every dog, but it is pretty likely you can do some variation of this basic communication with most dogs to accomplish many situational behaviors.

Like, for example, not leaping out of your car.

Or take jumping up on people. What the dog wants is to put its face near your face. You can let that happen without them jumping by slowly crouching down to let them sniff your ear and lick your cheek or whatever (my dogs aren't allowed to lick my mouth, but they can lick my face, unless they are like the twin beagles i walk, who are disgusting poop eaters and aren't allowed to lick me at all). Anyway, if they sit calmly you continue to crouch toward them slowly, if they come out of a sit, you stand back up. If they stay calmly sitting what they want gets closer to happening, if they try to jump or anything, what they want goes away. This is the kind of communication dogs understand very fast.

And let me also say, you have to show them you are paying very close attention to them. If you want them calmly standing still and they even LEAN forward, you want to let them know you saw that, you want to acknowledge that, whether with a little noise or a look, or pausing the activity for a second, or whatever. That lean forward is communication from them, and responding to it shows you are participating fully, that you are paying attention to them. This will usually automatically make them pay more attention to you back.

and it's communication you do understand. A lot of people think it's some kind of secret dog code. True, there are a few things to know that are like dog language but MOST of it is like, if the dog sees something she wants to eat or fight, and she leans toward it, she is (literally) getting closer to trying to eat or fight it. You can tell what's going on pretty easy if you see it. Like, if every part of a dog's face (nose, eyes, ears) is pointed at a single thing with laser focus, it is highly interested in, or even having strong feelings about, that thing. Your dog is telling you this clear as day, and all you have to do is notice, there's really not that much deciphering.

That early intervention / close attention thing is huge in any training situation. I work with my dogs to not bark at other dogs, and so when i see a dog a block away, i'm already looking at my problem dogs, and when i see that they see the other dog, i say their name, not mad, just, i see you, i'm watching you. I'm aware of both you and that other dog, and i have my eye on you about it. If they stand very tense with their ears and tail hard up, that's already too much, that's already breaking the rules, and I'll let them know i disapprove. That's as rude as walking right up to someone and silently staring hard at them in their face. Imagine if some one did that to you in public?

See, a lot of times when two leashed dogs cross paths and one of them starts barking, it was actually the OTHER dog that started shit, really. And if i have an easily offended dog, i have to convince them to not go off about it. And the way i do that is, I Am In Charge of Public Interactions when the pack is with me. Other dogs other people, they are not allowed to interact with the dogs, all interactions come through me. And the same goes for my pack, they do not interact with dogs or bikers or people. That is my job. They are not allowed to. And my other job is making sure everybody in the pack maintains behavior standards. So.

Anyway, the earlier you start the dialogue, the easier it is to get them to listen. By the time they are already standing on their hind legs against the leash barking, it is far too late to communicate anything to them, they are lost in the sauce of adrenalized action.

What i think of as "getting in early" allows for a full range of communication. When i get in early i can say "Bubba, i see you" in a very lightly disapproving tone and it's usually quite effective because Bubba isn't overly excited yet and knows i am paying attention. When it's not effective, and now he's at step 2 out of 5 in the escalation toward the thing he's not allowed to do, I can give the leash a tiny tug and put just the smallest edge to my voice when I say, still pretty lightly, "don't do it Bubba." See, we're just having a conversation, neither of us is barking or growling yet. And believe me, your shout is a bark and your angry voice is a growl to them just as much as we understand a growl to be their angry voice. Give yourself as much space as possible to talk before the two of you get to that point

That said, there have been a few dogs that superman-leapt from the van a couple of times, and those are dogs i had to catch mid jump and sort of toss back in the van, and then stand blocking the van door staring full at them until i was sure they weren't getting ready to try again. You do have to control the situation.

hope that helps!

#dogs #dog training

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luvfy0dor · 3 months

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Hiii can I request teen reader who didn’t know their dad (fyodor) was a terrorist so now they avoid him like the plague with no explanation

“Beyond Terror in the Nightfall ♡” Fyodor Dostoevsky w/ Child!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; mentions of blood, murder, and terrorism, loosely proofread

Description; Fyodor decides you're old enough to learn about his job, and your reaction certainly isn't ideal

A/n; There's explanation here because I forgor that you said you wanted none so I'm so sorry 😭 I hope it's still good, I got really sad writing this for whatever reason. Also, f/n is friends name

• Fyodor would go through extreme lengths to keep his occupation to himself and out of your knowledge, so if you're finding out you're gonna find out because he wants you too.

• I think the most likely way is spotting blood on his usually pristine white outfit and being prompted to further investigate.

ೃ⁀➷

The only thing your father would ever tell you about his job was that he worked with tech and computers, which you didn't doubt because of his home-office space that he spent a solid amount of time in. It never explained the long trips away, though. It made you sad to see your father always away, but he did call you every night to remind you that he loves you no matter how far away he is, and it would turn your frown momentarily upside down.

One evening, you ate dinner at the dining table with your dad. Your conversation revolved around the usual things, school, upcoming events, your interests, etc. Fyodor had his usual soft and small smile on his face while listening to you talk. His head rested on his hands while his raven colored bangs fell in his face. Upon concluding the dinner, Fyodor took your dishes and brought them to the sink. "Ah, malyshka, could you start my laundry for me?" He calls over his shoulder. "Yeah, I'll do it right now." You respond, heading to his room to grab his laundry basket, immediately spotting his bloodied and previously completely white pants. You immediately felt worried for your father, taking the pants and bringing them back upstairs. "Papa, are you alright? What happened to your pants? Should I bleach them?" You asked with concern.

Fyodor sighed and paused his task of doing the dishes, turning to you after turning off the sink. "You should bleach them, but do not worry, it's not my blood." He says, his eyes flickering from the pants to your face. Your eyebrows furrowed and you just stared at the pants for a minute before dropping them. Fyodor sighed and watched the pants fall to the ground. "Sweetheart, you're only going to get them dirtier." He said with a chuckle, trying to lighten your mood a little bit. "Who's blood is it then?" You questioned him, your eyes wide with inquiry. He exhales and puts a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n, it's the blood of a man I've killed. You're old enough to know about my real occupation now, and I'd rather not leave you in the dark. You cannot tell anyone about this." He says, looking at you with a serious face. You felt as though you were in shock, trying to tear yourself out of your dissociation that had occured the moment you heard his words. You were successful enough to utter "No, Papa, that's not a funny joke."

You knew just as well as the next person that he wasn't joking, he was far too serious to joke with you about such a horrible thing. The disbelief made it seem that way- as a child he always taught you that violence was never the answer, so why was he partaking in it for a living? He was so smart, he could have gotten a job in ANY field he desired yet he chose to go against his own words that were spoken to his child. You could feel tears of frustration forming in your eyes and your fists balling up. "It's not a joke. Please don't cry, sweetheart." He tried to comfort you by pulling you into a hug, only to be pushed away by you. His mouth hung agape while you stormed off to your bedroom. In any other situation, he would have scolded you for pushing him away, but he understood your sudden aggression in the moment. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He proceeded to do the dishes after being snapped out of his moment by the sound of your door slamming behind your heavy and angry footsteps.

He reflected for a moment and though that maybe he shouldn't have told you at all, but then he thought about how much worse it would be to hear about his job from someone else. He knew you would feel betrayed, but your trust would be more likely to be fixed the sooner he told you. He was your father, after all.

♡

Fyodor let you sleep with your feelings for the night, walking to your bedroom door next morning. He gently knocked on the hard wood surface only to be met with silence from your side. "Y/n? It's time to wake up, you have to go to school." He spoke. When met with silence once again, he opened the door slowly. He was met with your body facing away from him. His eyebrows furrowed and he walked to the bed, gently shaking your shoulder. Your hand abruptly shoved his off of you before retracting back to it's spot curled up against your chest. "Go away. I'll get up as soon as you leave." His eyes widened as he backed up a step.

"Very well, but dont speak so harshly to me next time." He says, his annoyance and disappointment clear in his voice. You could hear his footsteps walking away, followed by the gentle click of the door. You took a deep, shaky breath. Slowly but surely, you rose from your safe haven under the blankets. The cool air immediately collided with your skin and made you shiver, but you held up and didn't retreat back beneath the covers. You tried to suppress the memories of your father's confession, not wanting to believe it as you stood up and picked out an outfit for the day. You fulfilled your morning routine and walked out to the kitchen, headphones in your ears as an attempt to discourage Fyodor from talking to you. He only frowned when he looked at you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

"Y/n, do you have any extra curriculars after school today?" He asked you. You shook your head and scavenged through the cabinets for something to eat. "My friends mom will bring me home." Fyodors eyebrows knitted together as he leaned against the counter. "Why would she do that? I can get you like I always do, that way you can tell me about your day." He says, kind of upset that you're going out of your way to be as far from him as possible. You gave a short and simple yet insufficient answer. "Because."

"Because, what?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Because I don't want to go for a car ride with a murderer! She would have brought me to school too, but she was busy!" You shout, angrily walking out of the kitchen and the house, sitting in the car in the back seat instead of your usual spot in the passenger seat. It didn't take long for Fyodor to follow, locking the door behind him while you waited in the car, scrolling through your phone. He settled into the driver's seat and looked at you in the mirror, huffing and buckling his seatbelt. "You get upset with me for my work, but you don't seem too upset about having that phone, and my job pays for that, Malyshka." He says bluntly. You take a moment to breathe instead of yelling at your father because you know that would only make it worse. "Any other job could pay for it just the same. Why do you kill people? What are you, an assassin?" You inquire while making eye contact with him from the back seat. "I'm a terrorist." He says with a sigh.

"Even worse then." You turn the volume on your phone up and listen to music to drown his voice out. You had to bite back your tears of betrayal and disappointment, small whimpers escaping from your throat every now and again. Fyodor felt a bit remorseful upon hearing that. He never had felt any sort of guilt when he killed and injured, but because you were his child, hurting your feelings was enough to make him feel penitence. He didn't show it in his face, though. He wore the same flat and neutral expression he always had.

The rest of the ride was inordinately quiet. He let you out of the car and wished you a good day at school and told you he loved you, but you didn't care to reply. You didn't turn around to watch his car drive off either. Walking into the school, you met your friend and decided to keep silent about the situation. You didn't want to be known as the kid with the terrorist dad, and you REALLY didn't want him to be persecuted. You just sucked it up and went on with your day. A few periods before dismissal, you asked your friend to sleep over instead of being brought home. Their mom agreed because it was a Friday, but said you would have to return home early in the morning because they had stuff to do. You didn't mind and went along with it, hopping into the backseat of the car with your friend.

"How was school for the two of you? Good?" Their mom asked while pulling out of the parking lot. "It was good, I turned in some late work." F/n says. "Good. And how about you, y/n?" She asks with a welcoming smile. "It was good."

The car ride back was mostly just you and your friend talking to eachother with the occasional comment from their mother. They lived pretty close to the school, only two miles away. The older woman pulled into the driveway and your friend immediately got out of the car, urging you to do the same and follow them up to their room. You did with some shared laughter and playful banter, plopping on their bed when you make it up the staircase and through the door frame. Your school bag with your phone in it gets tossed somewhere while the two of you decide on a movie to watch. Unbeknownst to you, your phone was ringing with calls from your father and hour into the movie. He was also texting you, the notifications making your screen glow in the confines of your bookbag. The device didn't cross your mind until the end of the movie, fishing it out of the bag. When you turned it on, you had a solid 10 messages from your father and five missed calls. Suddenly, your friend's mom's footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. She gently opened the door and locked eyes with you.

"Did you seriously not tell your father that you were sleeping over? He's worried sick over you!" She softly says. "He's going to come get you right now, so gather your stuff and come wait down stairs." She says, waving you along with her. You could almost feel your heart in your throat with anxiety of facing him again. You reluctantly gathered your stuff and bid your friend goodbye and gave a brief explanation on the situation. You only let on that you were in an argument with your papa but never mentioned why. They frowned and walked downstairs with you, their shoulders slumped and spirits seemingly broken. "I still don't get why you wouldn't just ask him first." F/n said exasperatedly. "Don't worry about it, we'll have a sleepover at some point. I'm sorry." You say, just as upset as your friend. Only a few more words are exchanged before you see your father's car in the driveway. You sighed and made your way outside, waving to your friends family before walking to the driveway. You looked only at your feet, refusing to make eye contact with Fyodor through the windshield.

You opened the door to the back seat and tossed your stuff in, going to sit down before Fyodor stopped you. "Sit in the passenger seat, I think we should talk about this." He says calmly yet sternly. You didn't have the energy to argue back, so you did as told. You begrudgingly sat yourself in the passengers seat and looked at your hands in your lap instead of him. It was quiet until he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. "I'm aware of your disapproval of my job, but you cannot ignore my phone calls and messages when I don't know where you are. If I hadn't called f/n's mother, God knows when you would have gotten back to me." He strictly tells you, subtly distressed over your sudden rebellion. You silently collected your thoughts and then opened your mouth. "It's more excusable than killing people, papa." Your voice was soft and quiet. "Malyshka, I do it for the greater good of the world, you don't understand because you are just a teenager. You do not get to criticize my job until you've lived in the real world instead of in the comfort of your adolescence." He says, his voice rising a bit.

"Yeah, but-" you started, but he cut you off. "No, you need to put an end to this behavior right now. My job does not need to align with your personal morals." You felt your throat tighten, keeping more words from escaping your mouth. You say silently for the rest of the ride, swiftly exiting the car when he parked it in front of the house. He followed after a moment, unlocking the door for you and closing it behind him. "I understand that you're upset, but please do not avoid me like that, y/n." He pleads with you. If you looked closely, you could almost see it in his face. You sighed and relaxed your shoulders. "I'm sorry, Papa. I'm still mad at you, but I'm sorry for what I did today. That was a little uncalled for." You admitted. A small smile appeared on his face and he pulled you into a loose hug. "I love you, papa, just dont make me wash your bloody clothes ever." You demand. He hums and kisses your head affectionately. "Alright, I think that's fair." He agrees. He released you from his hold and started towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make dinner, is there anything specific you want? If we have the ingredients I'll make it for you." You contemplated your options for a moment before settling for a meal that you used to make with him when you were little. "Can we make beef stroganoff?" He hummed, content with your choice. "Yes, start getting the stuff out." Your frown finally left your face and you also entered the kitchen, happier to help your dad make dinner than to avoid him.

A/n; Hey y'all this got kinda long but ykw it's okay. I think I made the reader get over it a little too quickly, but for the purpose of happy ending it's also okay.

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alvindraperzzz · 8 months

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One thing I want to see explored more in both canon and fandom is Cassie’s relationship with Diana’s mission.

Cassie is a powerhouse. She’s a fighter. She’s aggressive, and loves kicking butt and taking down villains who deserve it. She’s been that way from her earliest appearances, and it never really changed, all the way through the end of preboot. That may be fine for most superhero characters, but it’s a constant that just doesn’t really make sense for a protege and disciple of Diana of Themyscira, who has a mission, ideals, and an approach to heroism that differs from most. I can’t think of a single plot line that explores Cassie’s relationship to Amazonian ideals, and how they (should) affect her work as a hero.

What are those ideals? What is Diana’s mission?

The specifics tend to change between eras, writers, and reboots, but Diana’s mission is to bring peace and justice to man’s world. That’s pretty vague, and broad, and Diana is canonically often distracted from it by crimefighting and superhuman threats (which, fair, hard to teach peace when some megalomaniac is tearing up a city).

“The superheroes of this planet and beyond… their mission is to avenge, to protect, to police. Mine is different. My mission is to teach, to learn, to serve. Hippolyta preached, as I and all Amazons believe, that with understanding and respect all things are bearable, believable, and possible.”

In its simplest explanation, Diana’s mission is one of peace and equality. She’s an ambassador, bringing Amazonian forms of diplomacy and social structure to man’s world, and creating reform through education, opportunity, and service.

“I am trained as a warrior, Barbara, but I am trained also to think of those skills as a last resort. There is no human conflict which cannot be served better with words than with the sword.”

Her greatest tools are not her lasso or gauntlets, but reason and compassion. Violent force is her last resort; while her use of violence varies by writer, that was a recurring trait for the best WW writers.

“We have a saying, my people. Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it.” —Wonder Woman, Vol. 3, No. 25

Diana may utilize violence when the situation calls for it, but her objective first and foremost is peace. Before violence, no matter what they do to her or what they’ve done in the past, she reaches out. She tries reaching people through conversation, treating enemies and ordinary people alike with kindness, respect, and empathy. Love without discrimination. Redemption and transformation over punishment.

Cassie adores Diana. She believes in her, and shares many traits. She absolutely believes in helping people, and that protecting another is worth her life. But she’s also inclined toward holding grudges, and often has a very black and white perspective on good guys and bad guys. She has compassion in spades, but has a difficult time putting herself in other people’s shoes. She was always gung-ho for a fight, but after Donna’s death, and the string of losses that follow, she grows increasingly angry and unforgiving in both her heroic and personal life.

I want Cassie to argue with Diana’s nonviolent principles. I want her to struggle with understanding and incorporating this pacifistic view, when violence is so ingrained into her own view of superheroes.

I want her to grapple with Diana’s teachings, and be at war with herself because a bad guy might deserve punishment in her eyes, but that isn’t always the right path to justice.

I want Cassie to act as a diplomat.

I want her to talk villains down, instead of punch first, ask questions later.

In that Titans storyline where she visits Alcatraz and sees the terrible conditions there, I want her to say, “What the fuck is this?” And force a prison reform.

I want her joining Diana on outreach efforts, advocating as Diana does for education and equality, and acting as her liaison.

Just. Stories about Cassie dealing with the teachings of her mentor and the Amazons, whether it’s enacting those teachings or coming into conflict with them.

#cassie sandsmark #diana of themyscira #she’s a brute force kinda gal and that’s great but it shouldn’t be that way every time #I know it’s probably a difficult thing to work into superhero comics #considering how much action and fight scenes play a role #But good writers managed a fine balance of Diana’s views and her handling of conflict #don’t ask me where those screenshots are from I forgot #the second one is definitely byrne’s run bc that’s his art style #I need a tag for my Cassie meta #this is my third or fourth big post on her #talking about cassie #cassandra sandsmark

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release-the-hound · 8 months

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as a havanese owner, what would you say their energy levels are like? trainability? grooming needs? looking into getting small dogs in the future and havanese are on the list of possibilities

I think part of the reason Havanese are so wonderful for so many people is that their energy levels are extremely variable. A well bred Havanese should match its energy levels to its owners for the most part. There are days where I have only taken Whim outside to potty, and spent the rest of my time sick in bed, and she has happily cuddled up next to me and slept by my side. But she has also happily galloped alongside me for a 5km run, and been eager for more. Ultimately what Havanese want more than a specific amount of activity, is to be doing activity with their person.

Of course, I always celebrate doing more with your dog. I try to give Whim at least a 20 minute walk daily. Along with minimum 5 minutes dedicated training session and a food puzzle for enrichment. Often I am able to do more than that.

(One if my favorite off-leash adventures with Whim. A 3 hour walk through unusually deep snow. So many sniffs and lots of excellent recalls!)

When my sister died, I was frequently doing less, for weeks. And she didn't devolve into a frustrated barking mess, didn't chew up my apartment, she was a little bored, but she was never miserable. She just lay in my bed, by my side, day after day, until I was ready to face the world again.

(I cannot overstate how good Whim is at cuddling. If there was an international competition for it, she'd win it every year.)

I really think for disabled people, Havanese have the ideal energy level. You can meet their base needs fairly easily, but if you are up for adventure they're always ready to come along for a ride.

(Whim travels frequently on airplanes with me, and is always complimented on her good behavior.)

Grooming needs are the sticking point for many people, unfortunately. While Havanese are genrtically capable of producing a short coat, it's against the breed standard, and so I don't know of anyone intentionally breeding for that.

For me, a non-shedding dog is worth extra grooming, but I know that's not the case for a lot of people. I have Whim shaved about every 4 to 6 months. This means that I go over her coat to comb out any mats about once a week, and I trim the fur out of her eyes on occassion. But other than that, I dont worry about grooming. I bathe her when she's stinky and trim her nails when they get long, which you need to do with every dog. I know @girlhorse keeps Enzo in a much fuller coat. If you want to keep a fuller coat, she might be willing to talk about the grooming experience.

It's also worth noting that due to their small size, combing Whim's fur is like, a 20 minute process.

(I often miss Whim's coat from when I kept her long. She was so unbelievably adorable.)

Havanese are my FAVOURITE dogs to train bar none. I'm not a professional trainer in any sense of the word, but between group classes and my job I have seen how a lot of dogs learn. @thelittlespanielthatcould and I often compare Havs to a CKCS with a little more spunk. They are very clever and very eager to work with you, but when they have an opinion they make it clear.

Whim can be entirely focused on me for an hour long lesson. But she won't do work she's not fairly compensated for. Personally, I like a dog that won't let me push them around. If it's a hot day and I haven't given Whim enough water breaks, she'll march herself over to her bowl whenever she damn well pleases. If I'm not using a high enough value treat, she will take it from my hand and spit it on the ground. I like these things because I like dogs that set their own boundaries. I want my dog to tell me when she is tired or thirsty, when I'm not rewarding enough, when she's frightened. Because I get clear feedback from her on what I'm doing wrong, I can alter my methods very quickly to keep us in sync. I like that my dog can tell me something so clearly and I can say back to her "ok, I'm listening."

Whim does very well in Rally when I can afford the classes. She loved agility. Havanese also make great trick dogs. They have amazing handler focus (once they mature). They love spending time with you, so they love training. You just have to be fair to them. I guess I'd describe them as eager to engage, but not eager to please. She wants to spend time with me, she wants to play my games, but she isn't afraid to stand her ground if she's not having fun. Training her brings me so much fucking joy. Even writing about it now has put a smile on my face.

(Whim and I had so much fun in agility. She loved the tunnels so much she used to go off course just to run them a second or third time. Until I started bringing out the big guns (cheese) and suddenly she was an angel again lol.)

Realistically, no breed is ever going to be ideal for every person on the planet. But 2 words come to mind when I think of Havanese. Fexible: they thrive in many different living situations, energy levels, and activities. And Communicative, about their needs, their desires, their fears, their pain. They make it easy for dog owners to figure out what to do. For these reasons, I think Havanese match well with a lot more people than the average dog breed.

Whim has been my best friend for more than a decade. I have never second-guessed my decision to bring her into my life. I wake up every day knowing that I am profoundly loved. In my brightest moments I picture a future of adventure unfurling before us. In my darkest, her joy reminds me how to find my own.

TL,DR: Get a Havanese.

#sorry this is long and sappy and maybe excessively pro-havanese #but the thing is they are just. so. SO GOOD.#Whim has been my heart for 12 years. I adore her.#get a Havanese. the only decision with a 0 regret rate.#(i cant prove that but i know it in my soul)#Look at her! Hiking! Skiing! Agility! Obedience! Tricks! she can do it all!!!#i love my dog so much you guys #whim the havanese #havanese #dogs #dogblr #alt text #havanese pawpaganda #anomymous #asked and answered

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lovingperfectionsblog · 2 years

Text

I'd Give It All Up

Requested: Yes

Hey, do you think you could write something where the reader is signing to Redbull and she’s Max’s girlfriend. On one race the reader is p1 but Charles cuts the reader’s rightful corner and sends her crashing into a wall, big time. She gets knocked unconscious and is not answering, the car is still running. Leclerc is apologizing through the radio big time as he gets out of the car to check up on the reader, turn off their car, get them out, etc … Max is worried but he still has to finish the race, as he’s p1 now. After the race Max cusses out a very sad and frustrated Leclerc and starts crying in the process as well because he’s so worried about the reader. The reader is fine in the end when she woke up and she thanks Leclerc for turning off her car and comforts Max and they do press together.

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Charles end up in an accident and Max has to face the fear of losing the woman he loves.

Warnings: Language, accident, mentions of death, medical bay, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3050

Authors note: Not going to lie, I absolutely got into my fears with this one. It must be unimaginable the fear when there is a bad crash. Hope everyone likes it and can’t wait to hear what you think.

_________

“Be careful out there you hear” Max gave you a stern look as you began putting your helmet on.

“When am I not careful?” you returned with a cheeky grin, earning you a knowing look, which you probably deserved considering how reckless you could be on the track, even worse so than the fiery dutchman.

Truth be told, everyone was terrified when you and Max were having a bad race, between the two of you, they weren’t sure who was worse, and when it came to you two competing against each other? Lord knows that was the worst. Although always healthy competition, it was a fierce one, made only the worse by your intimate knowledge of the other and how each drives.

“You take the fun out of everything Verstappen” you joked, as you climbed into your car.

“Not what you were saying last night” he barked out a laugh after as your crew shot both of you warning looks, hoping neither of you would take it further than it had already gone.

“Listen, can you hear me?” Horners voice filtered through into your ear, knowing he was probably going to give the same speech he does each race, Max getting the significantly worse version of it. For once, you were thankful you were treated slightly differently.

“Loud and clear boss” the smile never leaving your face, excitement bubbling up for the Monaco race, knowing how difficult it is, but loving it all the more for the skill you were required to have.

“Let’s keep this clean yeah, I need both those cars to cross the line with minimal damages, and ideally with a podium from both of you okay? Horner attempted a stern voice with you, and you could only imagine the flowery language Max had gotten in his speech.

“Of course sir, but you better tell Max that, you know he’s worse than me” you joked with your boss, definitely knowing you were probably a bit more reckless than your better half.

“Fat chance he’s worse than you” you were almost sure you heard a chuckle in his voice, “good luck, see you at the finish line” and with that, he had disappeared from your ear, and you were getting into race mode.

_____

“I cannot believe it, we have redbulls Y/n in P1 one, closely followed by Monaco’s home boy, Charles Leclerc, chasing the title for his home race, and both are quickly being caught up by Y/n’s own boyfriend, Max Verstappen, ladies and gentlemen, I know I speak for most viewers when I say I hope we see a redbull fight here today, because nothing provides greater entertainment than when these two lovebirds go at it on the track.”

“Oh no! It looks like the Ferrari tried to take the line! Y/n is into the wall! Charles and Y/n look like they are out of the race! That leaves Verstappen as P1, but this is definitely going to require a safety car and red flag!”

“Has she even moved in that car yet? It doesn’t look like it, that car is definitely still running”

“Is that Charles running over to her car? Wasn’t she able to turn her own car off?”

“Here come’s emergency services, hopefully all will be okay, we still have yet to see Y/n move and Charles is looking for a bit too frantic. Let’s hope she’s going to be alright”

_____

“Don’t stop driving Max, safety car is coming out” GP spoke into Max’s ear.

“Jesus, I told her to be careful” Max sighed as he began slowing down, having briefly witnessed the crash and not fully understating how bad it actually was. “What has she said happened, besides the swearing?” Max half chuckled, assuming you were using fairly colourful language by now.

“I’ll let you know as soon as we get word from her” GP was careful in the words he chooses, knowing how protective max was over you.

“What do you mean when you get word from her? Hasn’t she said anything yet?” Suddenly Max felt sick.

“Max, stay behind the safety car, it’s a red flag, you’ll be in the pits now” GP couldn’t have Max doing something stupid, costing them a penalty and truthfully, he couldn’t have him getting in the way of the ambulance that could potentially help you.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment the safety car slowly lead all the drivers back around, passing the accident between yourself and Charles. First Max saw Charles sitting on the back of the ambulance, shaking his head, refusing to take his eyes off of your car as the paramedics looked him over, and then Max saw you. He caught a glimpse between the curtains they put up to block the view of the cameras, of the paramedics gently lifting you out of the car, your head having to be supported by someone, and as he watched your arm drop limply, he had to fight every single instinct in him not to stop his car and rush over to you.

Next thing he knew he was shrieking, loud enough GP and Horner flinched as the noise in their ears, “IS SHE FUCKING OKAY?” Max was screaming into the headset.

“Is she alive?” the whisper was almost inaudible. Max wasn’t even sure he was prepared for the answer. He wouldn’t be able to survive.

Not if you didn’t.

_____

“Charles, are you okay?” Charles body was aching, and he felt stupid, he knew what he did was risky, but he had to try and take the gap didn’t he?

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little sore, sorry guys, that one was on me” Charles reassured his team as he began climbing out of his now wrecked car, glancing over towards you.

“Hey, do we know if Y/n is okay?” he was running over towards your car before he had even finished the sentence, noticing how you had yet to turn your car off.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” Charles was shouting to no one, “she isn’t moving” Charles suddenly was praying. He didn’t know what to do. You were his friend. Oh my god. You were his friend, and he was stupid.

And he might have just killed you.

“SHE ISN’T FUCKING MOVING”. Tears. Charles couldn’t see. He needed to focus. He shouldn’t touch you. He shouldn’t touch you. He could do more damage. The fucking tears keep getting in the way, “WHT THE FUCK DO I DO?” he lifted your visor, and your eyes were closed.

He was going to be sick.

“Charles, do nothing, paramedics are on their way” his race engineer tried to advise him, tried to get through to the frantic driver, suddenly all too aware of how young Charles truly was and the incredibly guilt he may have to carry for the rest of his life, because they advised him to take the gap.

Next minute he felt someone grabbing him, pulling him away from the accident, “Mr Leclerc, please stand back”

“She isn’t waking up!” Charles was screaming at the paramedics, suddenly everyone around him working significantly faster, curtains suddenly being placed around him, he was being hauled over to the ambulance and bodies were surrounding your limp one.

_____

“What have the medics said?” all Max could focus on was you. It was if it was tunnel vision and all he could focus on was you. P1 one be damned, Racing be damned if it meant he would never have to lose you.

“No news on Y/n yet, but Charles is okay and back in his garage-“ Horner began and truthfully Max couldn’t be arsed what Horner had to say from that point on and he began moving in the direction of the Ferrari Garages, Horner and GP attempting to stop him, Max shrugging them off without any effort, only one goal in mind.

“Charles!” Max shouted the second he had found his rival, in sport and subsequentially in life from this point on.

“Max, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry” Next second Charles was sobbing, but Max couldn’t find it in himself to care, you could be dead, and it would be all Charles fault and if you were, then so was Max.

“She could be fucking dead” it felt like acid in his mouth saying it, “SHE COULD BE FUCKING DEAD” next minute he felt Charles racing suit wrapped between his fingers and he was centimetres away from his face, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT! YOU COULD HAVE FUCKING KILLED HER! FOR FUCKING WHAT!” his mouth was dry. He was going to be sick.

Tears.

Charles face was suddenly blurry.

Just the tears.

Anger? Fear? No, from them both.

Charles tried to speak, tried to get anything out, the lump in his throat preventing anything other than “I’m sorry” and sobs from coming out.

He knew that whatever Max did to him now was deserved, he wouldn’t be much different if someone had even looked at the love of his life with any sort of malice, let alone potentially killed them, and if you didn’t walk away from this crash, he might just beg Max to do something to him anyway.

A penance for his sins.

Suddenly Max and Charles were all too aware of the silence in the pits. Everyone having stopped to watch them. Not wanting to intervene, knowing the gravity of the situation.

That was until Max felt a hand on his shoulder, the other hand of Daniel, slowly prying his hands of Charles, slowly, not to aggravate Max any further, knowing the absolute fear that must be gripping him.

“Mate,” Max met Daniels eyes, albeit he was blurry, the tears still hadn’t stopped, “let go Max” Daniel was gentle, he could only imagine what Max was going through and truthfully, he tried not to imagine it, but if he was imagining even a fraction of what Max was feeling, then he needed to get Max away from Charles now.

“I’ll kill him Daniel, I swear” he spoke as if Charles wasn’t there, the man in question not being able to meet anyone’s eyes, watching his own tears drip onto the floor.

“Let’s go Max” finally Max had let go, Daniel had wrapped his arm around Max’s shoulders, pulling him away from Charles and the prying eyes of the cameras.

“Max, back in your car, she’s okay, race is going to start again soon.” Horner sternly told him. Wanting to be sympathetic but knowing he couldn’t distract max any more than he already was, he still had a race to win and if one of his cars was knocked out, then he needed to make sure the other got maximum points.

Max wanted to argue, he didn’t know how they were continuing this race, he didn’t think he could, but if you were okay, he was winning it for you.

_____

“I’ll take the fine, collect the trophy for me” Max shouted towards Horner getting out of his car and sprinting towards the medical bay, leaving no room for Horner to argue.

GP had informed him during the race that you had woken up in the medical bay and they were happy with the tests they had run, and Max felt the slightest bit of relief, knowing he would only feel it completely once he saw you were safe.

And then there you were, sitting up and smiling in the shitty little medical bed.

Max knew in that moment that he was screwed. He knew that he would give up absolutely every single thing for you, all you had to do was ask. You might not even have to ask; he might just do it anyway. Runway with you. Take all his money and just run away with you. Take you away and keep you safe from absolutely everything.

Then you looked at him and smiled that gorgeous smile of yours and he was moving over to the side of your bed, hands on either side of your face and forehead gently pressed against your own.

Max was sure this was the first time he had ever felt grounded in his entire life, and he was never letting you go again.

He was definitely running away with you.

“I love you” he whispered out, and then it was like he couldn’t stop, repeating how he loved you again and again, desperately needing you to know just how much, kissing you in between each reiteration of it, slipping into his native Dutch at someone, his brain going onto auto pilot, being able to think about nothing else other you in his hands right now and how he refused to let you go.

Oh, and about running away.

It was only after a moment that he had realized that you were reassuring him that you were right here, and you loved him too, your voice the only thing being about to get through to him finally.

You both stayed like that for the better part of five minutes, thankful that you were walking away from something that could have easily killed you. Eventually Max sat down next to you, as you cuddled up next to him, soaking each other up as much as you could.

“Is Charles okay” you finally asked, just as concerned for him, not sure how he had faired from the crash.

“For all intents and purposes, dead to us” you could feel Max tense up at the thought of Charles right now.

“Max, that’s not fair” you tried to reason with him, realistically knowing that while you were still sitting in the medical bay there was very little chance of doing that.

“He could have killed you Y/n” Max was not prepared to let this one go. There was no way he could ever forgive Charles for what he did to you.

“It’s the job Max and you know it. Every time either of us get into that car, we know we might not be getting out” Max knew it was the truth, but today it became real. Today he genuinely nearly lived his greatest fear.

“Speaking of, I think we should quit, run away together” Max decided to float the idea by you, it becoming more of a reality as the seconds passed by.

“Like you’d ever give up driving” you laughed, not believing Max would give up racing for anything, not even his own safety.

“For you, I’d give up everything” Max had never spoken more truthfully than he was now.

____

“Y/n, it’s good to see you at the press conference” one of the journalists directed towards you, genuinely thankful to see that you were okay, everyone was, no one ever wanting to see something bad happen out on track.

“Thank you, it’s good to be walking away from a crash like that” you smiled towards Max as you felt him squeeze your hand.

He had refused to let you go since he had gotten to the medical bay, helping you get dressed, helping you walk towards the conference room, even pulling your chair closer to his so he could hold your hand, the entire time trying to convince you to skip media, there was no way they were going to fine you for missing after that, but you wanted to show everyone that you were okay.

“If you don’t mind talking about it, would you mind if we asked what happened” Charles dropped his head, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“An occupational hazard, Charles and I were racing, he saw a gap, he tried to take it, as one does, and I tried to defend it, it just accumulated in a bit of a crash” you threw Charles a reassuring smile, wanting him to know you didn’t blame him, that you understood.

“And Charles-“ God he wasn’t ready for this “- what was going through your mind as you were rushing over to switch off her car?” He couldn’t answer this he was going to be sick.

“You turned off her car?” Max was leaning forwards, directing the question towards Charles, unaware that Charles had tried to help you.

“Of course, I noticed it was still running, got it turned off, thought her arm was trapped or something, only after did I realised she hadn’t moved yet” that same fear suddenly engulfed Charles again, “and then I thought I’d killed her” he was trying really hard to keep the tears away again, it was a fear and guilt unlike any other.

“It’s going to take a lot more than a little bump on the track to kill me” you tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to think back to what happened, knowing you’re probably going to have to see a therapist for this one, all of you are, “but seriously, Charles did what he could to help and at no point did anyone want this to happen. No one goes out there to hurt anyone else and we’re a family, we’re going to help where we can” you really wanted them to drop this topic, squeezing Max’s hand twice, secretly letting him know you wanted out of this topic.

“Exactly, and despite my own emotional outburst earlier, I know Charles is a good man and wouldn’t intentionally hurt Y/n, and honestly, mate, thank you for helping her where you could” Max directed that last bit towards Charles, Charles nodding in return, both as an apology and as a way to accept Max’s own, “Racing is a dangerous sport, and it is something we have to accept when we get out onto the track”.

“But with that being said though, it’s probably a good idea to let everyone know that Y/n and I will officially be retiring and running away” every other driver turned to you shocked, no one expecting this, the entire press conference descending into chaos.

“No, no, no” you tried to calm everyone down through your own laughs, smacking Max on the shoulder, shocked that he had thought this kind of joke was a good idea, knowing what it would do to everyone, “Please, no, calm down, we aren’t retiring” no one was listening, “Max, look what you’ve done” both of you laughing your heads off before Max pulled you closer to whisper in your ear,

“I told you, for you, I’d give up everything”

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