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superblysubpar · 1 year

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We Got Love:

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve picks you up from the bar after your night out with Robin and he realizes he's overwhelmingly in love. | masterlist | Title/fic inspiration song always at the bottom - steve's music | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is - please respect this

WC Range: 5-10k

Warnings: reader consumes alcohol with descriptions of being tipsy / fluffy gooey hopelessly in love with each other kissing and flirting

A/N: A night out with @loveshotzz in Chicago had us thinking about Steve picking us up and bringing us to McDonald's and then a sweet anon sent a thought about Steve helping our tipsy selves and thus this fic was born. I hope you love it!💛

Steve was in too deep. He wasn’t supposed to fall this hard or this quickly. Sure, he’s known for giving his heart away too easily, but he knew this was different. He knew you were different. He was going to take it slow this time - he had a whole plan.

He’s never been a good planner.

You’re sweet and soft, but you’re not afraid to bite back. You’ve got an energy about you, and sometimes he feels a little like you’re the sun. He can’t help but be drawn to you, like you’ve got a gravitational pull just for him, but if he gets too close too fast he’s gonna get burned like he always does.

But Jesus Christ, you’re not making it easy for him. You’re so sweet and perfect already, but you have to be gorgeous too? Cause you’re always pretty, but tonight…wow. And your ass in those jeans. His hands form fists at his sides, planting his heels into the floor so he doesn’t just start making out with you in front of Robin. He’s going a little insane - like he feels like he needs to keep his hands on you at all times or he’ll literally stop breathing, he’ll die if he doesn’t get to kiss you and -

He’s so fucked.

Hair curled and bouncing across your shoulders as Robin and you dance and headbang to the early 2000s playlist she insisted would pump you up for your girls night out. His bathroom counter is littered with lipsticks and various tubes of things you hold up to him in the store for his opinion on. He just nods and asks ‘Do you like it?’ before you drop it into the red cart with a smile and leave a kiss on his cheek.

A laugh that has the ability to actually crawl into his chest and burrow inside of his heart leaves you as Robin gives you shit for being high maintenance. He hides a smile from his spot leaning in the doorway as you insist that the tequila shot is going to be better with the orange, “Trust me, Robs. When have I steered you wrong?”

Robin starts to list several times you’ve done just that and your face scrunches as you stick your tongue out at her. Steve watches you both lick salt from your wrists and as you make eye contact with him he clears his throat and looks down, cheeks flushing pink at the thought of your tongue like he’s thirteen again.

Yup, totally fucked.

The clink of your glasses on the counter draws his eyes up once more, your face squished in amusing pain as you suck on the orange slice, eyes fluttering open and removing it with a wide smile directed at him over Robin’s shoulder. Body wiggling and hands clapping together as the alcohol enters your body and another laugh leaves it as Robin begrudgingly admits to liking the orange.

A pink stain left on the rim of the glass and one on his cheek after you skip over to him, arms wrapping around his neck. Steve’s hands find their favorite spot on your hips, fingers slipping seamlessly into the belt loops and trying not to think about how your hips and ass are gonna look dancing out at the bar without him. How you naturally sway easily to the beat, and smile around the skinny neon straw between your teeth as someone tells a story. How in between turns at an arcade game or a round of pool you use the stick or someone’s open fist to sing along to the songs playing because your walls come down a little from just a few drinks.

You lean back to peer at him with a smile that makes his heart stutter, sure he’ll need to seek actual medical attention to get it restarted as you tap your nose to his chin. God, you’re so fucking pretty.

“You gonna be okay all by yourself tonight handsome?”

Handsome.

He can’t help but sigh a little when you call him that. Can’t help the way his hand moves to push a piece of your hair behind your ear like he’s a leading man in a rom com you’ve made him watch.

He wants to tell you the truth. That no, as a matter of fact, he will not be okay alone and he needs you to stay. And it freaks him out a little bit that he wants you to stay forever and it’s not even for sex. He wants to debate about the best candy to have with popcorn, for you to shove your cold hands under his shirt and press your nose into his neck. To banter about what to watch only for you to fall asleep five minutes into it. Words on the tip of his tongue that he doesn’t want you to leave ever. Because you’re going to go out tonight and go back to your place and he feels crazy because he wants you to just move in and that’s not in the plan. That’s not taking it slow at all, Harrington.

Raising your eyebrows at him, waiting for his response, his hands now push your hair from your shoulders gently. Swallowing harshly as his fingertips graze over the straps of your black tank top hiding under a jacket, trailing up your neck and back down relishing a little in the goosebumps that rise in their wake. A non committal hum leaves his pursed lips before he sighs, “You know, I really don't know. I think you should stay, just to be safe.”

It’s not the words that cause the feeling of a box of bouncy balls being dropped in your stomach, but the way Steve says them with that look. Tone and eyes warm like honey dripping over every inch of you, sealing your body in a sweet and sticky heaviness. Convinced you’d melt into an actual pile of goo if he let go of you, ready to shout how you’re feeling from every open window at every tallest peak in the world. Tequila and citrus mingle with the words that dance on your tongue, making it all a little harder to keep inside. You’re far too tempted to tell Robin that there’s a change of plans and you’ll have to stay curled up next to your boyfriend for the rest of your life.

You don’t say those things though, but you pretend to play along with his game - to see how much of his heart he’s willing to give away before you give all of yours to him.

“Well, safety is my middle name…”

Steve’s smile widens, lopsided and rising on the right and you want to reach out and trace over his lips and memorize the smile you’re able to pull out of him - just for you. Body filling with heat at the thought as his hands squeeze at your shoulders.

Thumbs brushing across your neck as he takes the smallest step to fully close the distance between your bodies, “Right, so really, it’s your duty to-”

“Oh god, I need another shot!” Robin smacks her head against the counter several times, “Please, for my sake, would you just kiss and say goodbye so we can go already?”

Stepping onto your toes, your nose brushes Steve’s and he sighs as your lips hover over his, “Don’t have too much fun without me, okay?”

A clink of Robin’s shot glass hitting the counter makes your lips twitch.

“Fun? Without you? Just misery with no company here.” Steve huffs and taps the tip of your shoes with his socked foot. Pouting his lips out dramatically in one last feeble attempt to get you to stay. You catch his bottom lip with yours, pressing a soft and over too quick kiss there.

Robin bangs her head on the counter again as his fingers slip into your hair, cradling the back of your head. His tongue pokes out to lick across his top lip, citrus and salt lingering on it.

Warm eyes dancing between yours as he whispers a plea, “One more?”

Desperate for a pillow to scream into, to kick your legs and giggle like the lovesick fool that you are, you just bite back a grin as he tilts your head further. Lips molding around yours, soft and lazy and making you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. Noses squished together, thumbs buzzing across your cheeks, Steve sighs into you and your foot practically pops like you’re in a black and white movie and the end credits song is going to start playing.

The tap of Robin’s foot in impatience and a loud clearing of her throat makes the smile you were biting back win as you pull away reluctantly. Unable to help yourself, one more quick peck to his top lip before you untangle your heart and hands from his.

Tugging Robin towards the door, you glance over your shoulder to find Steve with his hands running through his hair, eyes blinking open as you smile widely. A sing song lilt to your voice as you call back through the closing door, “Have fun with your misery!”

Robin’s voice echoes down the hallway, “You’re both disgusting!”

Your voice louder and exasperated, “You told me to kiss him goodbye!”

Steve’s forehead hits the now closed door as he groans, palms dragging over the wood before they form fists. He already misses you. He’s a chump. He’s in love. He’s pretty sure you’re the one.

So, so, so fucked.

He tries not to wallow, cause that would be pathetic.

He’s pathetic.

Alone in his apartment trying not to think of you, except you’re everywhere. He cleans up your pregame shenanigans, despite you insisting you’d do it earlier before leaving - he was happy to do it so you could have more time with Robin. There’s a blanket you bought for his couch, your favorite coffee mug fresh out of the dishwasher and hung on a hook. The scent of your perfume and body wash in his bathroom and a toothbrush next to his. Clothes returned to half of a drawer that was basically just entirely yours now.

Eventually, he’s tired of his own co-dependent self pitying and crawls into bed, curling into the pillow that now smells like you. Thoughts of you lull him into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning and desperate to reach out and feel your body clinging to his, legs tangled together and cheek pressed to his chest.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t love the fact he woke up at almost 2am to his phone ringing loudly, your face filling the screen. A picture he’d recently caught of you, holding a giant burrito in your hands and staring lovingly at it like it was your child.

Just the sight of it makes his chest ache and he takes maybe a second longer to answer since he’s caught up in staring at it. Clearing his throat before he answers, “Hello?”

“Oh, fuck, you sound…I…” your voice wobbles and a barely audible sigh falls into the speaker, not expecting the heavy sound of his voice. Not prepared for the deep gruff from his chest and sleep coated word to make your thighs push together like they do.

He sits up straighter and flicks on his lamp, “Hey, everything okay?”

“Ye-yeah,” you hiccup and giggle and then continue, “Yes. You just sound so sexy, I’m - well he does!” You’re shouting to Robin who he hears grumbling in the background and his bottom lip pulls in, tugged between his teeth as he fights a smile.

“Called just to tell me that, huh?” Purposely whispering so his voice sounds a little raspier, practically able to see you melting on the other side of the phone.

“Fuck…no?” His smile breaks through at the sound of your sentence ending in a question before you keep going, “I…I called because….oh! Uber! There’s like no Uber’s around and well okay there was one but we’d have to share it with these guys and…”

Steve is already pulling on sweats and the black sweatshirt you were always stealing. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he slips on the first pair of shoes he can find. Locking the front door and spinning his keys on a finger as you continue on. Somehow your story turns from Uber to Robin having a rum and coke come out of her nose because of a joke you told and how you totally crushed her at ski-ball.

He could listen to you talk about nothing and everything, just enjoying the sound of your voice and the way you light up when you tell a story. It can’t be crazy to be so in love with you already. You have to feel this way too, right?

“Anyways, I’m talking a lot and Robin is tapping her wrist.” You laugh and a snort comes out and somehow he falls even harder. “Like she’s ever worn a watch and been on time in her life - oh really? Name one time! Uh-huh, that’s what I thought, Buckley!”

“Babe,” Steve interrupts, rubbing his jaw to fight the aching smile he’s had on his face for the past few minutes. It’s a new name still, sticky in his throat and makes his heart speed up a little at the risk of saying it every time, but he loves the way you react.

“Yeah?” A little breathless, he can hear you smile through the phone. Easily able to picture the piece of hair twirling around your finger as you quietly tack on, “I like when you call me babe, Stevie.”

He breathes deeply through his nose, forehead pressing to the steering wheel. It feels like he’s drawing each word out of his brain painfully slowly because all that wants to come out is ‘I love you’ and he needs to say, “I’m in the car, where are you?”

“Oh! I’ll drop a pin! Thanks Steve I lo-” your voice cracks as it falls off before you quickly shout, “See you soon!” and then silence.

The entire drive to you is unbearably long and filled with Steve telling himself you weren’t about to say what he thinks you were.

Not that it would be a bad thing if you had said it, but he wants to be first. And he knows he feels that way about you, he just thought it was all too soon. Saying those three little words out loud has burned him before, but for some reason he knows it’s nothing like the pain he’ll feel if he says them to you and you don’t say them back.

As snowflakes hit his windshield and disappear just as quickly, he comes to a stop at a red light, the barcade just on the other side of the intersection and he smiles. You’re out on the sidewalk with Robin who appears like she’s trying not to look amused as you cabbage patch and disco to a song that must be playing. Stopping suddenly, he can tell you shout that it’s snowing and Robin must say something sarcastic back because you wave her off and start to spin a little. Head thrown back with a wide smile, tongue sticking out to catch a snowflake. He pulls up to the curb and hops out of the car.

Your head falls forward and his name leaves your lips behind the widening smile, the ‘E’ at the end trailing off and wrapping around his heart.

Steve’s hair is a mess, carmel and honey, lazily askew and you ache to card your fingers through it. Can you do that yet? Is jumping into his arms and running your hands through his hair after only a few hours away from each other too needy? Your buzzed brain and body are toeing the line of not really caring if it is. Especially with his glasses falling down the slope of his nose, hands in his sweatshirt pocket and a smile on his lips. Gray sweats sitting low on his hips and you bite back a smile at the loafers he probably quickly grabbed. Lit up in oranges and yellows from the streetlight and neon green of the bar sign flashing overhead. You could jump his bones right there against the car.

Falling into his arms with a low and content sigh, your fingers lock around his neck and toy with the ends of his hair in a sort of compromise with yourself. Nose pressing into his jaw, inhaling the familiar scent you’d missed in just a few short hours. Woodsy, maybe a little leather, and Steve and you could dare to call it home already. Swallowing the thought down, you whine a little and reveal a different thought, “Fuck, you are so handsome.”

Steve’s breath catches like you haven’t called him that before, taking in the way you blink and flutter your eyelashes, wet from snowflakes melting on your skin. Arms wrapping around your waist to keep you up right - or at least that’s his excuse.

“I’m sure you say that to all the guys,” his voice still scratchy with sleep. He clears his throat, thumb rubbing against your skin just under the hem of your shirt. He’s lost in the feeling of you relaxing into his hold completely, like there isn’t any other place you’d rather be. Realizing that he can be a little needy with you, because you are with him.

The warm pads of his fingers on the exposed skin of your sides threaten to draw all of your attention. Forgetting what you said, what he said, or why you were even there. All information gone from your brain other than the fact that his lips are right there and looking far too kissable.

Pulling slightly away so you can stare into his eyes, you grin, touching your nose to his quickly, “Only you, Goose.”

Steve risks sliding his hands up your sides more, your shirt rising ever so slightly and his fingers buzzing over your skin. You love the way his lips quirk up at the nickname and he loves the shiver that runs through you and the way your breath hits his cheek sharply as he touches his forehead to yours and whispers, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Maverick.”

Rising onto the tips of your chucks, fingers finally pushing up and finding a home in Steve’s hair and you sigh. The neon lights could dim, a pop song could start playing and script scrawling across the screen announcing they lived happily ever after could all happen and you wouldn’t even be remotely surprised. It all feels a little like a dream, this thing with you and Steve, and you really hope you don’t ever wake up from it.

Mouth hovering over his, the mint of toothpaste on his breath begging to mix with the alcohol on yours, but leave it to your mutual best friend to ruin the moment yet again.

“Get a room!” Robin’s hands tap the side of the back car door, her plea echoing down the quickly emptying sidewalk.

Steve turns to glare at her, her body half out the window and a wide grin on her face. The two old friends in a staring contest and silent conversation when your stomach growls and a giggle slips out of your lips. Tugging on Steve’s shirt as you request, “Hey, can we get chicken nuggets?”

Robin snaps her fingers and points to you, “Yes! Now that’s more like it! Oh! And fries!”

“And a shake!” You jump up and down and Steve rolls his eyes at both of you, his hands still on your hips giving a light squeeze though.

He fights his amusement at your tipsy state and sighs dramatically, “Any more requests?”

“Nope!” spinning past him, he opens the car door and helps you in as Robin grumbles about her not receiving any help to get into her seat.

Steve begins to stand and your fingers tug him down by the collar, “Wait! I thought of one more thing I want.”

Snow turning to rain on the back of his neck as you lean in closer and he whispers, “Yeah? What’ll it be, honey?”

“A kiss,” smiling as your lips hover over his.

Steve’s cheeks turn pink and you’re so totally and completely in love with him it physically hurts when he whispers, “As you wish,” and presses his lips to yours.

It’s not a sweet and quick kiss like he intended, you’re a little greedy with it. Fingers clutching his sweatshirt, mouth parting over his and he can’t help but hold your cheeks and pull you in deeper.

“I’m seriously going to puke in your car Steven, and it’s not from the alcoholic beverages I’ve consumed tonight.”

Robin’s annoyed tone sends a giggle ripping through you, breaking the kiss and your hands release him and Steve takes a moment to take you in longer. Lips a little redder and glossier, eyes shimmering under fluttering eyelashes and his thumbs brush over your cheeks and he sighs, “You’re trouble, you know that?”

A grin and a kiss to his palm as your eyes look up at him innocently but your mouth forms a smirk tells him you definitely know.

He releases you reluctantly and closes the door carefully before jogging around the front of the car. Absolutely worth the flick to his ear he receives from Robin as he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting his hand rest on your thigh.

The drive to McDonald’s is not long, just down a few blocks, but it feels like years to your tipsy state. Steve’s fingers brush your thigh back and forth, setting your skin on fire despite the layer of fabric between them. Aimlessly playing with his fingers, brushing over his wrist before a song on the radio catches your attention.

Steve watches as you light up, turning the dial and proceed to belt out almost every lyric wrong, but somehow manage to try to sing along to the guitar and the drums at the same time. You end up leaning across the console, fingers playing with his hair, his ear, his jaw and it takes every ounce of his willpower to keep his eyes on the road.

“Keep your hands to yourself until I’m out of the car please, I’m begging you,” Robin moans from her totally horizontal position in the backseat, eyes glaring at you.

Your frown is amusing, like a kid told they can’t have their cookie until after they eat their vegetables and you pout. Your fingers trail back to Steve’s on your thigh as he orders for you all at the drive thru. Perking up as you tug on his sleeve. “Stevie, don’t forget-”

“Oh, can I get extra sweet and sour please?”

Your smile is brighter than the neon light from the yellow arches illuminating the car and he knows he really is a goner after you do a little dance in the seat as the fries and nuggets hit your lips. Peeking up at him as you sip your shake, wiping your lips before asking, “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, you’re just really cute.”

You duck your head down and hide your smile in your last nugget as Robin sighs around her fries. She leans forward as Steve pulls up to the curb outside of her place and wraps her arms around you from behind and squeezes, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You start to turn, “What are you talking about, I’m staying the-”

Robin kisses your temple and starts to get out, “No you’re not. Have a good night lovebirds!” She calls loudly, saluting with fries in her hand before entering her apartment building.

Snow that’s turned to rain fully and hitting the roof of the car mingles with the music playing softly and you smile at him. Voice suddenly shy and quiet as you ask, “Your place?”

Steve can't get you home fast enough. You’re all cherries and chocolate ice cream and salt - stolen kisses at every stop sign. Giggling as he tells you that you gotta stop or he’s gonna get a ticket, placating you with more fries and asking about your night.

He’s driving himself a little crazy as he finally pulls to a stop in front of his place, fingers gathering yours and pulling you out of the car and up the front steps. Steve wants to let your hands wander, to keep that smile on your face, but he can see the food turned your tipsiness to sleep and it tugs on you, making your limbs heavier and your eyelids flutter more. He knows that as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re going to be out. The responsible thing to do is to get you to bed.

As the door closes, you lean in to kiss Steve like you’ve been wanting to all night. Desperate to disappear into each other without the impatient and annoyed eyes of Robin next to you any longer. Fingers tugging at the strings of his hoodie, pulling Steve’s body against yours. Your lips attach to his with no intent of ever letting them go.

“Missed you,” a breathless pant against his lips as you continue your assault on them, hands sliding into his hair and scratching at his scalp. Smiling around his lips as he groans at the feeling, his hands landing on either side of your head to catch himself.

Pulling away despite your whine of protest, he kisses your neck, nibbling a little before pressing more kisses into your skin. Your back arches and he sighs, this is definitely going to be harder than he anticipated. Words lost in your skin between kisses up and down your neck, “Missed you too.”

Steve can’t believe the words he’s about to say, especially when you’re looking at him like that. Kiss swollen lip tucked between your teeth, skin flushed - glitter and sweat kissed, curls of your hair falling loose and framing eyes that seem to be reading his thoughts and hungry with an equal amount of want.

Steve’s eyes warm, cinnamon and moss melting and climbing over you and you want to let him take every inch, want to tell him it’s all his. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip as he swallows harshly. He pulls at it, letting it pop out in a pout that he kisses slower and sweeter than before. Steve sighs into your lips as you part further for him, fingers trailing down to his jaw to hold him closer to you.

His forehead pressed to yours, his words are a breath against your lips, “Come on, time for bed, trouble.”

Is it the alcohol or is it Steve’s lips and words that make everything feel a little off kilter? He makes you dizzy, and giddy and he’s the one who’s trouble because you weren’t supposed to fall this hard for a boy like him. He can’t possibly want a girl like you.

As your eyes flutter open, he’s pulling at your hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles and leading you down the hallway. Not stopping at the bedroom, but continuing on to the bathroom. Steve hands you your toothbrush, kissing your temple with the promise of a change of clothes. Leaving you to stare at your reflection and wonder why Steve saying ‘time for bed’ and actually meaning to go to sleep has your stomach alive with more butterflies than before.

Steve cares about you. He’s not trying to sleep with you, he doesn’t care that you woke him up or made him get you McDonald’s at two in the morning. He let you leave and he cleaned up yours and Robin’s mess. Steve cares about you.

He returns, setting you on the lip of the tub as he rummages in the medicine cabinet.

“Aha! Found em,” he mumbles, pulling makeup remover wipes down and crouching in front of you.

Instead of handing you one, Steve gently wipes at your skin whispering something about how you really didn’t need all of this stuff, you know that right? Every word and every pass of his thumb with the cloth over your skin knocks a stone loose in your resolve. A paper thin wall between your heart and his now. It aches, your heart pounds loudly in your chest, filling your ears. Palms sweating, fingertips itching, breath catching like you’re about to take a jump off of a cliff.

Mouth dry as the words that yearn to come out sit ready on your tongue. Instead, your fingers catch his chin and you kiss him. Chaste and quick, eyebrows raised at him, “Why are you so sweet to me? What d’ya like me or something Steve?”

Steve tosses the wipe covered in makeup, kissing your wrist before tugging at the same hand and pulling you up to stand. Heart hammering, denting and breaking the armor he keeps around it. He could say it. He wants to say it.

But he doesn’t.

He lifts your arms and you giggle as he pulls your shirt from you and slips one of his own over your head instead. Kissing each of your cheeks as your jeans drop to the floor and he helps you step out of them. He sighs, catching your jaw like you had just caught his. “Yeah, something like that.”

Rising onto your toes, hands on each side of his face, you whisper through a smile, “How embarrassing. You like me? Do you like really like me like me or-”

Steve presses his lips to yours, arms wrapping around your waist and you sigh, hands falling to rest flat against his chest. His lips move over yours languidly. Lazy and sweet kissing that has you melting into his body. He knows he needs to stop kissing you, that you should go to bed. But he can’t stop, like your lips have a love potion in them and he’s under your spell.

Steve lifts you, carrying you to the bedroom and your kissing becomes a little sloppy, your smile forcing you to break apart for a breath. He lays you on the bed, arms on either side of your head as he hovers over you. You giggle into his lips as he pesters you with quick kisses over your face, “What’s,” kiss, “So,” kiss, “Funny?”

He nibbles on your bottom lip and pulls away and you’re eager to chase his lips, hands looping around his neck. Laughing into his smile and kiss as you sing, “You like me so much. You want to kiss me, you want to date me, you want to -”

Steve kisses your teasing away again, this time a little more passionately - like he’s trying to say all of the words he wants to with just a kiss. Stealing your breath from you, but then again he can’t really steal something you’re willing to give.

He pulls away, cradling your jaw and relishing in the dazed look on your face. He whispers into your lips as he kisses you again, “I’m gonna go get you some water, Gracie Lou.”

Smiling to himself down the hall as you finally find your voice and shout, “I knew you liked that movie!”

Steve can’t be gone for more than a minute, but when he returns, your chest rises and falls evenly, puffs of breath leaving your slightly parted lips and your face relaxed. Water to your side of the bed, he lifts the covers and slips you under them, flicking off the lamp and sliding in next to you.

Half asleep, you roll immediately. Leg slipping and tangling between his, hand on his stomach and cheek pressed to his chest. Steve lets his fingers glide over your spine, gently rubbing back and forth until his own eyes start to flutter closed. He’s going to tell you in the morning. He’ll make breakfast and coffee and he’ll finally tell you-

“I love you.”

It’s a breath against his skin, the words making goosebumps rise on it and his stomach flip. He feels you shift, your breathing heavy and your eyes still closed as far as he can tell.

“What?” he whispers to you and you don’t respond. Raising his head to peek at you, making sure you really are asleep, daring to ask again, “Y/N, baby,” he licks his lips, fingers sweating, “What did you just say?”

Nothing but a soft snore comes from you and Steve smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He pulls you closer, practically on top of him and kisses your temple.

You love him. Arms wrapping around you tightly, he decides he’ll never tell you that you said it because he was going to be first.

Steve Harrington is in love with you too.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

Steve Tag List: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @aftermidnightwriting

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #modern!steve #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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hamliet · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel Has Better Theology Than Most Modern "Christian" Stories

As a Christian who was raised in a fundie cult and escaped to now have a far healthier and vital faith, I genuinely really like this show. The songs are bops. The characters are well crafted and interesting, and likable too. The art design is bizarre but appealing.

And, as a theology nerd who studied theology as part leaving said cult and also has since gotten papers published in theology, I'm actually fairly impressed by the show's handling of theology.

No, I'm not expecting the story to preach or even like, be explicitly Christian in a lot of ways. But it's taking a lot of the really beautiful aspects of Christian theology and re-contextualizing them in a way designed to provoke thought: by juxtaposing them with the antithesis of what you would think, by making demons heroes. In my opinion, this makes the beauty shine brighter.

Yeah, yeah, it's designed to be offensive and obscene in a lot of ways. Yet, it's never (thus far) mean-spirited. On the contrary, it seems to have a big, beating heart at its core that is perhaps best embodied by Charlie Morningstar, its protagonist and the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.

Critique of the Church, with Caveats

The story works best with an interpretation that heaven isn't actually heaven or God (who has been conspicuously absent), but instead as a critique of the church. Specifically, the evangelical American church, and specifically, white evangelicals. (Same as She-Ra's premise, actually).

God's absence therefore makes sense, because while Christians do believe God is present as a living reality among us, we also can't like, see him physically now. So, God being not even mentioned in HH makes it seem more like a mortal reality rather than an immortal one. Honestly I kinda hope God doesn't appear in the story, not only because I think it could cross some lines (which is admittedly personal), but also because I don't see that the story really needs it.

Adam in particular reminds me of every "theobro" on Twitter (I'm not calling it what you want me to, El*n). Basically a dudebro coopting his supposed salvation to flex in an often misogynistic way, who doesn't realize that he has absolutely no love in him and therefore is actually a worse human being than everyone he condemns on the regular.

(Which is kind of why I'm expecting Adam to wake up in hell next season...)

Think red hats. And Mark Driscoll. And, I have a list of pastors. Sigh. They advocate for how "simple" Christianity is, except they themselves make it ridiculously complicated and don't even examine what they suppose is "simple" if it requires them to take the planks out of their own eyes. "Shallow" is a better description of what they actually preach.

But what sends people to hell or heaven anyways?

Eschatology and Atonement Theory

Hazbin Hotel combines a lot of theories, throwing not only the idea of a physical hell (albeit mixed with Dante's idea of what hell is the Inferno, but to be fair a lot of the church has adopted that idea too) but the idea of annihilation, which HH calls "extermination."

See, in Christianity, there's a lot of debate about hell. Like, since 2000 years ago. The reason is because a lot of Bible verses seem to indicate hell, but others indicate the eventual redemption and salvation of absolutely everything in the universe, so you have Christian universalism tracing itself back just as long. But, setting aside universalism, people who do believe in hell tend to fall into one of two camps:

Physical hell, aka suffering for eternity, or annihilation: the idea that souls that aren't saved end up annihilated, or snuffed from existence. HH combines both of them, wherein everyone lives in hell but then every so often heaven "exterminates" a certain number of sinners.

And then you also have Catholic purgatory, which is also adapted in HH in that... for most Christians, physical hell doesn't offer the ability to redeem yourself. Chance over, you're dead. But, Catholic Christianity, which draws on ideas of praying for the dead, has the idea that people can improve themselves or be prayed out of it and into heaven. This seems to be somewhat similar to the idea of Charlie's hotel, in that sinners can improve, redeem themselves, and rise to heaven.

And, I mean, it's already kinda worked. Sir Pentious acted out Jesus' words: Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).

But anyways, the branch of theology that deals with the afterlife is eschatology. And Hazbin Hotel takes on a related form of theology as well, a type of theology I've only seen covered in stories once before (The House in Fata Morgana): atonement theory.

Atonement theory is something I remember well from my theology 101 class, as in I remember sitting with a friend and her turning to me and being like, "okay, so we know Jesus' death and resurrection give us eternal life, but we have no idea how or why?" To which the answer was "basically, yeah."

Most of the white, American evangelical church is very "penal substitutionary atonement," but the reality is that this theory has only been popular for the past few hundred years. It's also, imo, somewhat scripturally unsound. But there are a lot of other theories, and sometimes the theories overlap. Here's a fairly decent summary. (I'm in general a believer in Christus Victor.)

So how does atonement theory tie into Hazbin Hotel? Well, essentially the scene where Charlie and Vaggie are debating with Emily, Sera, Adam, Lute, and others in heaven is them going over various atonement theories and realizing that they actually know nothing at all. How does one get to heaven? How is one saved? They don't know.

Sera criticizing Emily for asking questions was also very relatable, and I feel for Sera. She's genuinely scared but the truth will set you free, Sera. John 8:32. Anyways, the point is like... the angels are an organized religion, an evangelical church, that preaches about simplicity but mistakes shallowness for simplicity and discourages depth and discovery.

Anyways, the whole crux of theological study and atonement theories is that they should promote humility. We don't know for certain on this side of the curtain. That's okay. So what do we have to guide us?

Love. After all, God is love (1 John 4:8).

Charlie is Jesus

"Why would you endanger your immortal life for these sinners?"

Adam, the absolute worst, says the above to Charlie in the finale.

I mean... look. That's literally the premise of Christianity. That the immortal son of God comes down to earth, lives with sinners, loves us, and dies to save us. However that happens. Charlie even responds:

"They're my family!"

In other words, she loves them. Yeah, sure, they're destined for extermination, but they are going to be exterminated over her dead body.

In a lot of branches of Christianity, and even in some creeds--though I'm going to give into my pet peeves here and state that it is NOT Scriptural and relies on the faulty assumption that God is bound by time, when I think God exists outside of it--state that Jesus descended into hell after his death and took all the souls of people who were saved prior to his coming to earth to heaven. Again, I think that's small-minded at best. But, the idea that Charlie is working among them to bring them to heaven is pretty reminiscent of this idea. And I don't hate it lol.

Charlie sees worth inherent in everyone, and no matter what they've done, thinks there's a future for them. Honestly we need people like her on this earth.

Angel Dust

Angel Dust is clearly my favorite character. Bite back your shock, I know (I have a type). But his name is also a fascinating multi-layered pun.

Angel is clearly foreshadowing his endgame. Let's be real, we all know Angel is ending up as an angel. And "angeldust" is of course a name for PCP, and considering Angel's drug habits, yeah.

But, dust also has another meaning to it. See, when Adam was created in Genesis 2:7, the words in Hebrew are "apar min ha'adamah," which is translated literally as "dust of the ground." So the dust is what creates Adam, literally "ground."

In other words, I very much expect Angel Dust to end up being foiled with Adam even more so. Adam might be the first man, but Angel is the first sinner working towards redemption. And let's be real, for all Angel's flaws, he's already a better person than Adam. And if there's any hope for Adam (not that I particularly care if there is but) it'd be through realizing that he and Angel aren't actually different after all. Conversely (and not necessarily mutually exclusively), Angel might serve as a more symbolic "adam" in that he becomes the person all sinners look to for hope. Which, y'know, since "the last Adam" is also a Scriptural term for Jesus...

And so it is written, “The first man Adam became a living being.” The last Adam became a life-giving spirit. (1 Corinthians 15:45).

I fully expect Angel's arc, alongside Charlie's, to bring life and redemption for everyone around them. Maybe, maybe even the dramatic "all" of Colossians 1:20 (which means, literally, all, everything, everywhere, in the entire universe).

Closing Thoughts

But honestly, regardless of how the story ends--besides that it will presumably end happily because HH is at its core feel-good despite being profane--season one at least has got good theology. Why? Because it's digging into the questions that theology is concerned with. It's digging into the ideas of human nature, of what it means to be a good person, of what it means to redeem oneself, of affirming how precious each individual human soul is.

It doesn't offer cheap answers, and it specifically calls out the white American evangelical church for how it purports to be simple but actually just confuses people and punishes them for things they can't help, that creates more stumbling blocks than it does shine a light. And it does it in a way that is scandalous. Offensive to many religious people.

But, y'know, Jesus was pretty scandalous too.

So I really love the story so far because it emphasizes what I find so beautiful about my religion, and criticizes the parts that have also hurt me. I don't think it's remotely aiming to be a Christian allegory or anything like that, and I don't at all think anyone has to be religious to enjoy it or gain the core message of it, but I do think that it's doing a hell of a lot more good in the world message-wise than most evangelical movies of the past 30 years.

#hazbin hotel #hamliet reviews #theology #christianity #charlie morningstar #jesus #angel dust #angel hazbin hotel

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kassiekole22 · 7 months

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At First Sight

Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: On a mission to cause a great diversion, Syzoth gets distracted when he lays eyes on a gorgeous woman who sits all alone at one of her family's biggest festivals. Warnings: None... Word Count: 508 A/N: I'm sorry this turned out so short. I didn't know how far I could go with this, especially since I wrote the first fic before watching the game. So I tried to keep the reason he was there discreet so it would make sense for both my story and the canon story. But I'd be willing to do a part two where it fits in with the canon storyline, if that's what you guys want. Anyway, more Syzoth x Fem!Reader requests are coming soon. 💚 Main MasterList: 🖤 Kassie's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @bihansthot, @katiralovely, @queenkhepri, @blackbunnymayw, @simpforhotmaskedmen, @theleftkittycollection, @kiashines. (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《

As soon as my feet touched the shingles of the roof, I was on the run. I scurried across as fast as I could before stopping at the very edge and looking below to see if I had been noticed. Fortunately, everyone was too busy enjoying their time at some festival the royals had thrown. Everyone danced and mingled with each other without a single care disturbing their perfect night. For a moment, I pondered what it would be like if I was able to do that with my people — to be one with them once again — but I knew that would never happen; that was just the sad truth.

I shook myself out of my moment of reflection before turning back to my mission, since this was clearly no time to be taking my mind away from it. So I waited and watched on the rooftop, studying everything below me and trying to decide where and when it would be best to cause my diversion. Everybody was heavily distracted with dancing and talking with their friends and family so I decided that now was the best time to make my first move, but then my eyes landed upon someone different.

A young girl — dressed in a beautiful (favorite color) dress with her hair done all up — sat alone with a rather melancholy expression etched on her features. In fact, she seemed to have no desire to participate in her people's antics at all. She looked too rich to be a normal lower-class person like the others surrounding her, so I figured she was a part of the royal family. But what I didn't understand was why she seemed so down and... Alone.

It was a moment that I was grateful that one of my Zaterran abilities was brilliant sight, so I could see every detail of her — the way her eyebrows turned up due to sorrow, her pink lips forming a straight line until she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her beautiful (E/C) eyes twinkling under the lanterns' light — she truly was a sight to behold.

I watched her patterns for a moment — watched how she slowly brought her drink to her lips every minute or so and how she nervously played with the few strains of hair that fell gracefully over her shoulder. It was as if everything she did — even the most natural things known to her kind — were done in the most beautiful way. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster by the second and then when I got that burning desire to be near her and never far from her presence, I realized that she was the one. I just had to have her all to myself.

I wanted to learn more about her; I had to… Soon. But for the time being, I had to finish my mission. It was too important to let anything distract me from it, no matter how beautiful the distraction may be. Maybe once the fire is out and the smoke is cleared, I'll see the beauty once again.

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#mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mortal kombat reptile #mk reptile #reptile #reptile x reader #mortal kombat syzoth #mk syzoth #syzoth #syzoth x reader #KassieMortalKombatFanFics

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theresattrpgforthat · 8 months

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TTRPGs that are played specifically through the framework of the Discord app? I'm reviewing a work in progress game that's being set up to work like that and I wanted to know if there are others!

THEME: Discord RPGS

Hello there friend, I know you mentioned This Discord Has Ghosts In It in another ask, but I’m going to mention it anyways - along with some other awesome options that exist out there!

This Discord Has Ghosts In It, by Will Jobst.

You’ve been invited to a haunted house. That haunted house is a Discord server.

Find your greatest fear, spill your worst secrets, and get to the thrilling seance in This Discord Has Ghosts in It.

I played this game for Halloween one year and it was great! In this game there are two roles: investigators and ghosts. All of the players will hang out in a voice chat, but only investigators can speak. Meanwhile, ghosts are the only ones who can type inside the game channels - and they are allowed to add new rooms to the house, upload pictures, and alter the text.

I definitely encourage players to use Lines, Veils, and the X card for this game, as it’s a horror game and you’re often met with images, not just descriptions.

MUDSLURP, by Will Uhl.

MUDSLURP (Multi-User Discord Server Lore-Universe Role Play) is a roleplaying game about asynchronous communication, intersecting storylines, and carrying a piece of your characters with you in everyday life. Everyone involved controls at least one character and participates in a shared text chatroom integrated into a fictional setting.

MUDSLURP is also compatible with other tabletop RPGs - bring a new dimension to your story with a chatroom for all your characters! Host server events, build out the world, and learn more about each other. MUDSLURP even supports multiple tabletop campaigns sharing the same chatroom, including guidelines for avoiding & resolving canon disputes.

This is something that really intrigues me, as I run a Discord server myself and I’m always looking for options that incorporate more people and give people multiple ways to interact. Since this is compatible with other tabletop games, I’m assuming you can have real-time sessions alongside something more like a play-by-post format - although I haven’t bought the game yet so I can’t say for sure.

Tournament Arc, by SystemxEmotion.

Tournament Arc is a text-based, real-time, head-to-head, fighting roleplaying game. Most importantly, Tournament Arc is a game where you create any character you can think of (or steal from your favourite media), and fight your friends.

When you play Tournament Arc, you will create a powerful fighter and you’ll try and beat other fighters in arena combat. Fighters can be anything you can fathom, from talented martial artists to alien creatures from other dimensions, and from off-duty superheroes to ordinary people granted arcane powers by elder beings. The one thing that they all have in common is that their powers come from spirits. Spirits are strange entities that recently appeared in the world, and are as diverse as the fighters themselves.

As a text-based game, Tournament Arc depends on a third, neutral party for each battle. This third player is called the Conduit, who will judge both attacks and determine an outcome. I can see this being a great game for large groups, especially because each person gets to pick up the GM role at some point. You create move sets using different abilities that might be active or passive, and the book comes with advice on how to make the combat dynamic and interesting. If you are playing with a group that likes feeling powerful and enjoys big action scenes, this might be the game for you!

Eccentric Millionaire, by nickwedig.

Somewhere in the wilderness, an eccentric millionaire has buried $50 million worth of bearer bonds, gold, historic artifacts and art treasures.

You’re going to hunt for it, from the comfort of your own homes.

There are a lot of other people also searching for the treasure, too. Work with them for more clues, but don’t trust them. If they get the treasure first, they get millions of dollars. Second place gets nothing.

Eccentric Millionaire is an online game of logical deduction and social deception. One player acts as the host and organizer of the game. They will also play the role of the Eccentric Millionaire. The other players take on the role of treasure hunters. The game is played online, through chat systems like Discord or Slack, and via online map tools like Google Maps. Gameplay takes place over days or weeks, as the treasure hunters uncover more clues and zero in on the location of the treasure. Eventually, one player will find the treasure and win the game.

I love games that use innovative online tools, and this game's use of Google Maps is a great example. This is also great for large groups, of up to 25 people! I caution you though, the organization for a game like this definitely requires a lot of set up - you might have to customize a Discord Server before you are ready to play.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

Subway Runners, by Gem Room Games

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #online games #discord

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pinksturniolo · 30 days

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Robbers - A Chris Sturniolo One Shot (AU) Preview

Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Chris Sturniolo is a part of The Disciples, one of the most notorious Portuguese gangs in Boston. For the past year and a half, you’ve witnessed him take part in the most dangerous crimes. But what happens when one day, you're forced to participate with him? You know it’s extremely toxic and goes against all your morals. Despite that, you just can’t help the way you love him, the way you would do anything for him. Even rob a gas station.

Content Warnings: smut, raw penetration, fingering, oral receiving/giving, themes of criminal activity and violence, mentions of shooting, guns, and blood. descriptions of gunshot wounds, gun play, drugs and drug use, smoking, use of alcohol, murder, robbery, toxic relationship

a/n: I do not condone any actions in this story or promote gun violence. I do not intend in any way shape or form to offend anyone. This is one is a little dark and has a lot of mature themes as well as a gun kink, which can be uncomfortable for people. Please only read what you can handle. <3

Watch this music video before reading, just trust me: The 1975 - Robbers (Official Video) (Explicit) (youtube.com)

Bam!

The sound of the gunshot rang out, making you lose your ability to hear for the next few seconds as you watched Chris go down, clutching his stomach in pain. Blood started to spill out on his hands, staining his shirt a crimson color. The gas station clerk was as shocked as you were, standing there frozen, gun still pointed.

You don’t know how or why, but you just knew you both wouldn’t get out alive from this if you didn’t do something.

So you shot back, aiming for his shoulder. It hit him right where you intended as he doubled over immediately, screaming in pain.

You grab Chris who was still on the floor, helping him stand up. “Baby, come on. Please, we have to go now.” You plead. He grabs onto you, able to stand as you lead him out of the store.

He’s moving as fast as he possibly can, one arm around your shoulder, his other hand covering his wound. You see the van pull up on the other side of the street, your heart beating out of your chest.

You’re trying not to panic, looking up and down the street for any signs of police. There was hardly anyone out. Chris almost falls, shouting out in pain. “Fuck!” He yells and you stop him from falling.

You can barely hold him up, but you use all your strength to make it the last few steps to the van.

“I know baby, I’m so sorry. We’re almost there, Chris, just a few more feet. You can do it.” You say, and he’s shaking, still gripping onto you for dear life. You finally make it to the van, the door sliding open, Tommy helping you both in before he quickly shuts it and then hops back into the driver seat, taking off down the street.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened in there?!” he says, looking at both of you with wide eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. I need to stop him from bleeding out. I’ll tell you later.” You snap, taking off your hoodie and wrapping it around Chris’s torso. You apply pressure, glancing at him.

He’s pale, breathing rapidly and panic in his eyes as he looks at you. You grab his face with your other hand, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the house soon and get you bandaged up, okay?” You reassure him, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He nods his head, grabbing your hand tightly as he winces in pain.

What the fuck did you just get yourself into?

side note: should I actually post this, yes or no? it’s a little crazy but I feel like it’s a good concept, im not sure if anyone has written something similar. Or is it too much? lmk please. you can leave anon msg if you want.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo smut

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yenso · 8 days

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⸻ WINNER TAKES ALL ﹙GOJO SATURO﹚

（IMAGINE）﹔giving the winner a wonderful prize !

(⛔️) fluff ﹢ swearing ﹢ description of blood and minor wounds ﹢ praise !

a/n: a man having blood on him like a sacrifice will always do it for me ! have fun reading !

the once glorious achievements of mankind lie tattered and worn; chunks of buildings, glass shards, and rusted pieces of metal adorn the grounds of the desolate and unforgiving wasteland, stretching as far as the eye can see. in the aftermath of civilization's collapse, once the landscape flourished with bustling life, now it lies sterile and scarred, a testament to the folly of humanity. the ground itself is cracked and parched, baked under the unrelenting glare of a sun that beats mercilessly upon the barren earth. any sign of nature that has been stripped of its fertility by years of neglect and abuse offers little sustenance to any form of life that dares to cling to its surface.

amidst the struggle that the ruins provide to any survivor that dares to challenge, scavengers move cautiously through the wreckage in search of even a fraction of something valuable amongst the last remnants of civilization. occasionally, the silence got shattered by the loud roar of multiple guns or the pathetic wail of an unfortunate soul crying out to the void. but mostly, one rule remains surprisingly strong in these lawless lands: survive or die trying to live. and what better way to do that than to chase a few cheap thrills along the way?

in the heart of the wilderness, there lies a hidden form of escapism, an underground sanctuary—a relic of the past transformed into a haven for the weary and the desperate. here, amidst the crumbling remnants of what once was, sits a dimly lit fighting club, a garden of flickering lights, blood splattered on the ground, and muffled music, where the lost souls of the wasteland seek solace from the harsh realities of their existence. pent-up frustration gets released by punches and kicks being exchanged, and the walls are decorated with washed-out posters and graffiti that contain the stories of those who have passed through this place. the air is thick with a mixture of scents that linger in the nostrils and cling to the skin like a memory. now survival has a long row of definitions—some linked it to collaboration, and others attached it to taking out enemies and raiding locations for all they are worth. and tonight, surrounded by spectacle and onlookers who were sneaking out both violence and entertainment within the caged area where the fence links were embellished with bloodshed, one particular fighter, head garnished with snow white hair and a pair of cobalt blue eyes, came to show us that he was a part of the former team.

to gojo saturo, survival simply meant coming out on top. would it be by beating someone into a pulp with a crazed expression or pocking around one's brain—just because he has the ability to do so. much like most nights, he ends up standing tall. "ow!"

but that doesn't mean that the road was going to be easy to get there.

"relax, gojo. you've dealt with much worse in this dump, no?" you—his coach, pretty as well, to add—were currently spraying and wiping off the blood drooling from his nose with a handkerchief. your two-colored tracksuit fitted perfectly on your figure—the embroidery on the back really sews the whole outfit together. "now keep still." you let out a small chuckle as you swiftly tend to his wounds. "okay, tough guy, for your efforts today, i scrambled what i could've found and made you a present. close your eyes for me." "a present? for little old me? now what could i have possibly done to end up in your good graces, my sweet?" what a dream you are—his support, the water to his river, the flowers to his fields, the moon to his sun, the red cloth to his bull—the comparisons about how he viewed the relationship the two of you shared were endless. in such simple moments of joy, the harshness of the real world seems to dissolve on his shoulders. a shameless, love-sick expression appeared as you two passed a few defiled hallways in the direction of your office. probably the only place that had any form of privacy within the fighting club. "well," gojo pranced to the cheap couch, rubbing his hands together in mischief with that gleam of jest twirling in his eyes as he looked at you. "what kinda present did you get for me?"

now if there was one thing you were talented at, that is to let your actions do the talking. with steady confidence that seems to ooze from your body—the kind he adores. it reminded gojo of the sunrise; how the warmth of the burning ball of fire commands attention with such ease. your hands cupped his cheeks, your thumbs leaving circular motions on the flesh that slowly gained a rosy color. "you see, i often feel like i don't tell you how proud i am of you. seriously. yea, you have times in which i give you a good luck kiss or tell you 'to go out there and win' or something else as basic as that. but i want to keep it a buck with you right now. i'm so damn proud of you. your motivation, determination, and that drive in the ring that makes anyone just cheer for you. i placed your present in your locket. just felt like saying this before you go ripping your gift open like it's your birthday." at every word that left your mouth, the hotter the room seemed to be. and if there was one other thing that gojo was talented at besides fighting, that was trying to brush things off shoulders to seem unaffected. and god did he want to act as if his heart wasn't singing like a sunday's choir. it wasn't fair, y'know?

reblog to support creators !

💌﹕@honeybleed ,, @meikudan ,, @merakidoll ,, @satorena ,, @sttoru ,, @fka-leah ,, @cottonconnielvr ,, @kausstar

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo saturo #gojo x you #gojo x reader #female!reader #gn!reader #black!reader #anime x black!reader #x black!reader fluff #x black!fem!reader #sweet dishes w. yenso

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foxy-eva · 2 years

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Handle with Care

Summary: Spencer tries to be there for his wife after a traumatic experience

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Please read the CW, this story contains potentially triggering topics! Content Warnings: (16+ for heavy themes) implied/referenced SA (non-graphic), mentions of hospitals, medication and medical exams, description of minor injuries (bruises), behavior responding to trauma, issues with self-worth/self-hatred, crying, food mentions

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

There was a truth I had to learn as a young boy and couldn't shake until I met my wife – Love always brings pain with it.

My wife was the first person to show me a love that didn't come with the risk of getting hurt. She had the ability to reset my view on what it should feel like to love and be loved.

However, when I got a call from the hospital earlier today, I was reminded that I had been right all along.

Love and pain really are inseparable.

When I walked into the examination room I found my wife staring out of the window, not even acknowledging my presence.

"Hey," I whispered.

She turned her head to look at me and I forgot how to breathe for several moments. Seeing my loved ones hurting has always been so much more painful for me than any atrocities I have had to endure myself.

After years of profiling victims there was no need for anyone to tell me what had happened to her, I knew immediately. Without wanting to, I scanned her body language and counted several nicks and bruises on her skin. Her sight fell to her lap and I noticed her eyes tracing the pattern on the hospital gown.

I slowly stepped closer. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. Do you know if they are done with everything yet?"

"They took my clothes," she muttered without looking up at me, "for evidence."

"I know, love. They have to do that. I stopped at home on my way here to get you something to change into."

A knock on the door caught her attention. A nurse stepped in to hand my wife several bottles with pills, explaining to her what they were and how to take them. It was obvious that she wasn't able to listen but that was okay. I was here now. I could tell her later.

The nurse let us know that we could go home and left the room. My wife's eyes found mine, the desperation in her look letting my heart shatter. A single tear ran down her cheek while she whispered, "I don't know what to do now."

I stepped closer to her and reached out my hands but stopped myself before I could touch her. Taking a deep breath, I reached into my bag and placed her clothes right beside where she was sitting on the hospital bed.

I tried my best to sound soothing when I said, "First, you will put on clothes. Then we'll walk out of here and drive home. And then we'll take it from there. One step at a time."

She nodded and looked at her clothes, hesitating to take off her hospital gown.

"Do you need help, love?" I offered.

Her sight fell to the floor right before she mumbled, "Could you wait outside?"

Over the years I had memorized every curve and dip of her body, her skin feeling more familiar to me than my own. I saw her bare form almost every day, be it while brushing my teeth while she showered or when we were lost in each other's arms. She had never even thought twice about shedding her clothes in front of me.

Until this day.

"Yes, of course."

I closed the door behind me when I walked out of the room and waited for her to get ready. When she came out, she intuitively reached for my hand, my heart skipping a beat at the unexpected contact. She didn't let go of me until we reached my car.

We were both silent on the way home. She seemed too exhausted to talk and I was stuck with my attempt to find the right words to say. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had failed her, that I could and should have protected her from the cruelties of this world.

What was the point of saving all those people every day when I couldn't even keep the love of my life safe?

The sound of her sighing pulled me away from my thoughts. I averted the sight from the road to look at her for a moment.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more careful," she stuttered.

My lips parted but nothing came out. I focussed back on the road for a moment until I found a space to pull over. I turned my body to be able to face her but she avoided looking at me.

"Listen to me. None of this is your fault. You didn't do anything to provoke this," I explained.

We locked eyes then and I noticed hers glistening with tears. "But I still should have–"

"No!" That came out louder than I had intended. I tried to contain my anger when I told her, "This is his fault, not yours."

And I will do everything in my power that he won't lay a hand on you ever again, I thought.

She looked like she wanted to protest my statement but decided to not voice her thoughts. "I just want to go home," she said instead.

We continued the drive in silence and I attempted to swallow down the boiling anger in my chest. Letting her see my disdain for the man who hurt her was certainly not what she needed right now.

When we stepped into our apartment, she halted in the hallway as if she couldn't remember her usual steps of entering our home. I suggested that she could take a bath and she nodded, following me to the bathroom and watching each of my movements as I prepared the bathtub for her.

"I'll give you some privacy. Just let me know when you need me."

My wife nodded once more and stared at the door until I had left the room. I lingered on the other side for a while, listening to the sound of her getting into the tub and turning off the water. When I was sure that she wouldn't call out my name anytime soon, I distracted myself by ordering food and tidying up a bit.

Forty minutes passed without a sound coming from the bathroom. I stood in front of the door and timidly knocked against the wood.

"Is everything okay?" I wanted to know.

Almost inaudibly I heard her voice a broken "No."

It was the obvious answer. Of course she wasn't okay.

"What can I do?"

Silence.

I contemplated just entering the room but then I heard her pleading, "Can you come in?"

I found her cowering in the tub, her arms wrapped around her knees as if she was trying to make herself as small as possible. She didn't look at me when she whimpered, "I can't wash it off."

I stepped closer to her and crouched down beside the bathtub. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand," I confessed.

Her red rimmed eyes found mine and I saw something in her look I had only seen on rare occasions before.

Rage.

"I can't wash him off," she shouted.

"You're safe here. He can't hurt you anymore," I tried to remind her.

It didn't work.

Her whole body started shaking, broken sobs wrecking through her as she hid her face in her hands. The sound of her suffering went directly into my body and made me feel as if her pain would etch into my bones.

"Can I touch you?"

She didn't respond. She couldn't respond. I placed my palm on her shoulder, squeezing it gently in an attempt to bring her back to me. I knew that my words couldn't reach her but I tried it anyway.

"I'm so sorry this happened. I wish I could have protected you."

After a while her whimpers simmered down until she was silent. Not even her breathing was audible, making me question the amount of oxygen currently entering her body.

I tried to reassure her further, "I am here now."

When she nodded, implicitly telling me that she could hear me, I reached for her arms and helped her out of the tub. Wrapping her in a towel, I placed my arms around her still quivering body and held her tightly against my chest. She nestled her face into the fabric of my shirt and I felt her breathing slowly even out.

Time became abstract while we stood in our shared embrace. It was impossible to tell whether minutes or hours had passed when she started moving again. She silently followed her usual routine after taking baths, putting on new clothes and brushing her hair. I lingered in her presence and followed her into the living room when she was done.

"I ordered pizza when you were in the bathroom. Can I get you some?"

My wife whispered, “No,” and sat down on the couch. I found my place beside her.

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

She shook her head and asked, "How was work?"

I raised my eyebrows as I looked at her. "Do you really want me to talk about work?"

"Yes," she breathed and added, "Please."

I thought about what I could tell her about my day that wouldn't be too unsettling. "JJ accidently bumped into Morgan who then spilled his coffee all over my geological profile."

To my surprise she started giggling, the sound immediately warming my heart. A grin appeared on my face. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she snickered. "I just imagined the squeaking sound you probably made when that happened."

"Hey! I don't make squeaking sounds!" I laughed in protest.

She smirked at me and moved closer until hardly any distance could be found between our thighs. Without a warning, her hand made contact with the side of my torso, pinching my skin just enough to evoke the noise she had just mentioned.

I threw my hands in the air, implicitly pleading for her to stop. "Okay, okay! I'll take it back!"

She let go of me and curled her body into my side instead. I felt the tensions leave her as she felt almost limp against me. The exhaustion after an adrenaline rush was familiar to me and I knew very well that it can feel like no amount of sleep would ever be enough to feel alright again.

I suggested it anyway.

"Do you want to go to bed?"

Her humming sounded like agreement, so I moved with her and guided her to our bed. After placing the comforter over her body, I leaned down to kiss her but stopped in my tracks when I noticed her flinching away from me.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay."

But the truth was that nothing about this was okay.

When I stepped back into the bedroom after getting ready for the night, she had already turned off the lamp on her nightstand. Usually I would hold her inside my arms until she'd fall asleep but everything about her body language told me not to touch her.

"Good night. I love you."

I didn't get a response.

My wife got cold easily at night and I had always seen it as my responsibility to keep her warm. It was something so deeply embedded into my subconscious that there was no need for me to fully wake up to reach out for her when my body noticed the absence of her skin against mine.

It took a second too long for any drowsiness to leave me and realize that I had wrapped my arms around my wife's sleeping body, just like I did most nights. It was her screaming that fully woke me and I let go of her once I noticed her struggling. She basically jumped out of bed.

Despite the lack of light in the room, I could clearly make out the horror in her look. She was scared. She was terrified.

Terrified of me.

I got up and stepped closer to her but still kept my distance. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She stepped backwards until her shoulders met the closest wall. "Don't…" she whimpered.

She didn't need to speak the words for me to hear them nonetheless.

Don't come closer. Don't touch me. Stay back.

I didn't dare to move when I asked, "What can I do?"

"Just… give me some space," she sobbed. "Please."

I stood there in silence for a few moments, contemplating what to do next. Before I could think of anything, she said, "I'll sleep on the couch."

"No." I protested. "I'll go."

She didn't seem to have enough energy to argue with that, instead laying down on her side of the bed once more. I left the door to the bedroom open ajar to be able to hear her from my place on the couch.

Rest didn't come easy to me for the rest of the night but I somehow managed to fall asleep eventually. The sensation of my blanket being lifted woke me in the early morning hours. My wife lay down beside me on the couch, finding her home inside my embrace. She pressed her body against mine and buried her face into the crook of my neck.

I let my fingertips draw circles into her back, carefully following the same patterns like countless times before. Her breath was quivering against my skin as she attempted to find comfort in my arms.

"Sorry I pushed you away," she mumbled against my neck and added, "I love you."

"You don't have to apologize. You were scared, it's understandable." I placed a chaste kiss into her hair. "I love you more."

I felt her smile against my skin before she pressed herself into me even more. With my arms tightly wrapped around her body I secured her position inside my embrace.

The morning sun started illuminating the room but we kept lingering in this position for a few more hours. I would hold her like that for the rest of my life if she needed me to. I wasn't sure whether she had actually fallen back asleep or just silently tried to relax but I was content to have her close to me either way.

I took time off work for the next few days, trying to be there for my wife at least until she felt ready to go back to work herself. There was a newfound routine we followed, from going on long walks and cooking together to me holding her when she cried and keeping her company when she couldn’t sleep.

A couple of days after she had gotten hurt, I was waiting for her to get ready to go on a walk. When she took twice the time she usually needed to get dressed, I cautiously entered the bedroom to look for her. I found her standing in front of the mirror in just her underwear, her brows furrowed as she let her eyes wander over her body. It was the first time I had noticed her actually looking at herself in the mirror.

As I stepped closer, she looked up and locked eyes with me through my reflection. Not even a second passed and she continued the examination of her skin, her fingertips tracing over the spots she focussed at with her eyes. It took me a moment to realize that she was staring at the bruises on her skin.

There weren’t that many of them but it was still impossible to not notice her injuries. Over the course of the past few days I had noticed how the bruises had gotten darker in color, a reddish blue turning into a deep purple that almost appeared black in the dim lighting of the bedroom.

“Are you in pain?” I wanted to know.

When her eyes found mine once more, they were glistening with tears.

“No matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of him.” Her voice broke at the last syllable and I noticed how her bottom lip started trembling.

Her knees gave up on her, having me reach for her to hinder her from falling. I gently guided her to the bed instead, helping her sit down on the mattress. Tears were streaming down her face and I cupped her cheeks to wipe them away.

She couldn’t look at me when she sobbed, “It feels like my body is rotting everywhere he touched me.”

“That’s not true. Those bruises will hea–”

“I’m tainted, Spencer!” She interrupted my desperate attempt to soothe her.

Before I could disagree, she got up from her place beside me and turned her back to me. “Don’t you think I can’t see the disgust in your eyes when you look at my body?”

The shock her words evoked rushed through me like lightning. I got up and tried to get her to look at me. It didn’t work.

“That’s not how it is. That’s not what I think,” I tried to explain.

We locked eyes and she seemed to genuinely wonder, “What is it then?”

“When I look at you, I get angry at the man who hurt you but even more than that, I am disappointed in myself for not being able to protect you.” I stepped closer to her until our bodies almost made contact. “Can I touch you?”

She nodded.

I let my fingertips tenderly dance over a bruise on her arm while I cooed, “When I see his markings on you, I fantasize about having the ability to erase them with the touch of my hand. I imagine touching you everywhere he did, to rid you of the memory of him and replace it with the sensation of my skin against yours.”

My hand wandered upwards and over her shoulder. “I wish I could take it away, all this pain. I wish I could leave sparks everywhere my fingertips make contact with your skin, making it shine brighter than all of this darkness.”

She stared at me with widened eyes and tears still streaming down her face. I leaned down to kiss her cheek, the salty taste meeting my lips. “And when I taste your tears, I imagine that the ocean left saline crystals on your skin after having washed away your sorrow.”

A shy smile appeared on her face when she heard my words. And for the first time since all of this had happened I felt hopeful about one thing.

We would be okay.

Eventually.

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lahooozaherr · 4 months

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I Will Always Find You

Chapter 6

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Canon typical violence (but not descriptive), anxiety, reader is lifted once because of Rising Phoenix, angst, yearning, as always please feel welcome to let me know if I missed anything 🫶🏻

MY WORKS ARE 18+ AND NOT FOR MINORS. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

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Chapter Summary: Din locates and rescues from your captors, just in time. With the two of you finally reunited, you quickly return to the Razorcrest where Din sets coordinates for the safe location provided by your father. You feel a wild mix of emotions over it all, from relief to fatigue. When it seems you’re about to tell him something very important, you make it to the planet of your childhood friend.

A/N: I’m back!! Kinda?? I’ve been here but I haven’t been in the headspace to write this. I’ve been processing a lot of grief. I know I shouldn’t apologize or beat myself up for taking so long so I just appreciate anyone who’s still interested in my little self indulgent story. There were times I tried to work on it but then I’d remember plot holes or things I haven’t quite figured out yet, so please bear with me. This chapter isn’t TOO exciting, mainly because this next one is going to be beefy, the one I’ve been really really working up to. I hope y’all enjoy it!

Song Inspo: Hero by Alan Walker & Sasha Alex Sloan

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Present Day

Some time had passed since you were blindfolded and binders were applied to your wrists. The anxiety made sleep elusive as you’d bounce between conscious and not.

Until the noises began.

You sat up abruptly, heart hammering in your chest as you listened to sounds of clashes, blaster fire and yelling from the men who had taken you. With no ability to act, or even see, you resort to bringing your legs up to your chest and balling yourself up in anticipation.

You wondered what could possibly be happening. Were you being saved? Was there a conflict amongst the men?

The commotion begins to die out, ending with the sound of one last shot from a blaster. You can now only hear the beat of your heart and your body begins to tremble. The environment grows eerily silent.

You gasp when you start to hear the door unlock and move open. Not knowing what to expect at this point had only added to the fear you felt flood through you. In a feeble attempt, you duck your head into your knees, holding yourself as close as you can with your bound arms.

You hear a voice speak your name, a voice you’ve become very familiar with. One that has haunted your memories.

The trembling in your body starts to cease as you raise your head to the voice, Din’s voice. Relief washes over you like a tidal wave.

The bed dips next to you as he removes the cloth from your eyes. You’re met with that same, emotionless visor you had come to yearn for. Words can’t describe the emotion beginning to seep out from you as tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Din?” You finally manage to respond in whisper, a tremble from your bottom lip.

He removes the binders, a tool he’s very familiar with in his profession. He finds himself mentally cursing them for having to remove them from someone like you.

Before he can set them down, you’ve catapulted yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. A sob escapes your chest in relief, a feeling you’ve been deprived of for too long.

It catches him in surprise but doesn’t take long for him to settle into it, embracing you in return. His large, gloved hands cover your back. Relief at finding you meets him as well.

“Are you hurt?” His baritone voice rings in your ear, your rapid heartbeat skips as the fear melts into joy. When you pull back from his embrace to face him, you shake your head ‘no’. “Good.”

As the tears start to bubble over, you give him a weak smile, “you found me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to take your face in his hands, looking you in the eyes, “I will always find you.”

You lean into one of his palms, his touch feels so warm and safe.

“We have to get out of here,” he leans back to assess you, still in the simple outfit of leggings and long sleeve top you were taken in. But no shoes. They must have gotten rid of them.

“Alright, I’m going to carry you,” you nod in response, he stands from the bed and leans over to slip his arms under your back and legs. When he lifts you, it feels almost effortless from him. He’s really as strong as he looks.

With your arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, he quickly leaves the room and weaves through the halls of the building until he reaches an exit, bursting through to the outside by slamming his foot against the door.

He comes to a halt, adjusting his arm under you to reach his vambrace. You feel him press some of the controls on it.

“Alright, I need you to hold on tight, ok?”

You do as you’re told but raise an eyebrow at him, “alright bu-“

Before you can even finish your question, the Rising Phoenix on his back ignites and sends both of you into the sky. A yelp escapes you and you grip even tighter to him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You can feel his hands press into you where he’s holding you, giving you a reassuring squeeze that his grip is firm and safe on you.

When the direction feels more steady, you pry yourself from him to try and look down. Your curiosity gets the best of you although this height is….pretty scary. Underneath you is a forest, which is about as much as you can make out. You have no idea where they took you but you can see why, it seems lifeless and easy to hide out in.

Din comes to a landing in front of the Razer Crest, coming to a running stop. He shifts his hands under you to press onto his vambrace and the ramp starts to lower. When he brings you inside, he gently sets you down to sit next to some crates.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back. I’m going to get us out of here real quick.”

He leaves, climbing the ladder to the cockpit and disappears. Shortly after you feel the Razor Crest start up and lift. After some time and feeling the way he steers, you feel him kick it into hyperspace, and then silence.

You close your eyes, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath after feeling like you had been holding it in this entire time. You press your back into the wall behind you and try to finally relax. Footsteps come down the ladder and towards you, you open your eyes to find Din crouched down in front of you.

You let the silence linger between the two of you for a few minutes, taking the time to process the chaos that just happened in such a short amount of time. You realize Din has truly earned his reputation for a reason.

“Take your time,” he reassures you. “Your father sent coordinates to a safe place. It should only be 12 hours, give or take.”

Your eyes widen as you remember your father. He must have been worried sick.

“Where is he? My father?”

Din takes a long minute to respond, “I’m not sure. The call he sent to Karga’s location didn’t specify where, just that he would be going into hiding.”

The information bounces around your head for a minute before you give a silent nod in acknowledgment.

“Do you know where he could be?” Din asks.

“I don’t. I’m embarrassed to say, but we hadn’t discussed this beforehand. I’d hope it’s wherever he’s sending us.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Din stands and offers you a hand and lifts you up. “In the meantime, you should rest.”

He opens an enclosed space where his bunk is, which is really just a simple tarp material stretched across to make a cot. But that doesn’t entirely matter to you right now. You feel safe and finally able to breathe. You welcome the ability to lay somewhere that isn’t that horrible place you’d been kept in. You take note of the small hammock that hangs at the top of it.

You crawl inside and turn back to him as you settle in. Din reaches behind his neck and detaches his cape, and hands it to you.

“It’s not much, I’m sorry. I don’t….really ever think to have something like blankets around here.”

You cover yourself in the thick material, it’s warm and softer than it looks save for the burnt holes towards the bottom, “don’t be sorry, this is perfect.”

“Alright, I’ll be in the cockpit if you need me.”

He closes the bunk and you listen as you hear his boots step up the ladder and disappear once again.

You don’t really have time to miss him before fatigue really sets in as you lay down. You wrap his cape around you, cocooning yourself inside of it. The part that attaches to his neck smells like him and you can’t help but breathe it in. He smells like soap and blaster smoke, it’s oddly comforting.

—————————————————————————

You wake up suddenly, gasping for air and full of adrenaline. This isn’t your first time doing this, though. Ever since you’d been kidnapped, you had been suffering from nightmares. You don’t always remember what happens in them, but next thing you knew, you would be sitting upright from the bed trying to catch your breath.

You pull Din’s cape around your shoulders and grip tightly, holding yourself tightly in order to ground yourself. You remind yourself that you’re safe. You’re in Din’s….bunk. Bed?

After a moment of attempting to calm yourself, you’ve decided to give up on sleep for now. You find your way out of the enclosed bunk, making sure to secure his cape around you. The floor of the ship is cold on your feet. You take in your surroundings, observing the way he keeps his space. It seems it’s kept very neat and methodical, very him.

Ascending the ladder to the cockpit, the door slides open as you stand to enter. He’s in his seat, set in the middle. The only light comes from the streaks of stars and hyperspace across the overhead windows and it reflects off of his helmet.

He doesn’t immediately react to your presence in his space, you wonder if he’s asleep. You opt to sit in a passenger chair to the right of him, noticing his arms crossed and his body slightly leaned back.

“How did you sleep?” His low voice rings through the modulator, almost startling you. He swivels his captain’s chair to face you. You hold yourself tighter, keeping his cape stretched across.

“Uh, yeah, sorta. I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

You look up above to watch through the windows, “I kind of wish I had come up here. This is soothing.”

Din’s helmet tilts up to look as well, “it is. I almost prefer to sleep up here. Sometimes.”

Something in the air makes you feel like something isn’t being said. It’s hard to put your finger on it. You know there are many things you’d like to say to him, now that you feel more collected. But that same creeping fear from before seems to stop you. You don’t want to ruin this, or any moment with him.

“I need to ask you something, and it’s ok if you don’t want to answer right now. Or ever. I just-“ Din, of all people, is stumbling over his words. Something you’re not used to seeing him do at all. But the tension in the small space seems to thicken around the two of you. When he lowers his helm to face you, you aim to meet his eyes to give him a reassuring look to continue.

“Did they….do anything to you? Did they hurt you at all? Or…”

“Oh…Oh! No. Sort of?” Butterflies swirl in your stomach while you struggle to find words. “Not exactly, I think they were specifically told to not harm me. At least physically. That’s the impression I got.”

You hear the leather of Din’s glove start to rub against his arm rests, “physically?”

“Right. They didn’t hurt me like that. But I’d say it’s pretty psychologically harmful to lock someone up in a room for a week after kidnapping them.”

You hear the creak of his gloves and you watch as one of his hands fists into a ball while the other rubs against the side of the arm rest.

“I should have insisted on staying, to escort you back home,” he asserts in a low, bordering dangerous tone.

Without thought, you reach out a hand to close over his fisted one, “no, don’t do that to yourself.” His tight shoulders seem to visibly loosen up as you do so.

“Please don’t. I just-“ your voice starts to crack. Your eyes turn glassy and you turn your head, breaking the eye contact you felt you had with him.

Din takes no time reading your body language and he moves to kneel on one knee in front of you, resting both hands on your lap. Tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes and threaten to spill.

“What is it? Please tell me,” Din tries to console you, it’s almost jarring how quickly he can switch from being dangerous to soothing. His large hands engulf yours in both of his, feeling warm and secure.

You didn’t intend to go quiet, it’s just that your emotions threaten to allow everything within you to spill out. Something you’ve inadvertently trained yourself to be afraid of. Every time your mouth begins to mouth what you want to say, you feel your heart squeeze and single tears come forward.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” you finally mustered to say. “I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed?!”

“Yes. It’s ridiculous, I know. But before you’d found me, I had given up. I couldn’t fight. I didn’t think I’d ever get out of there,” you pause when you feel one of his hands cup your cheek and redirect your gaze to his, or at least his visor. Your heart jumps into your throat, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his thumb begins to stroke where it lays on your cheek. Before you can debate on what more to say, a beeping comes over the intercom of the ship.

The ship exits hyperspace and comes to a standstill. Din, with a gentle last caress of your face, quickly moves back to position in his seat. The beeping comeson again as he grabs a hold of the controls and a voice comes over the intercom.

“Razorcrest, you have permission to land.”

Confusion etches into your features as you watch him, his hand is paused above a button. One you think he was about to use to speak back. But now there was no need, whoever it is already knew who he was and definitely expecting him. He withdraws his hand and gets back to his steering controls, “buckle up.”

You do as you're told, fasten your seatbelt and sit back. You feel the ship begin to descend into a planet’s atmosphere. A familiar looking planet.

—————————————————————————

“Sir, she’s nowhere to be found.”

Large boots crunch through the broken glass and debris that’s scattered across the floor. Accompanied by the few bodies of henchmen. The boots belong to a tall, intimidating figure. A scarred and hardened looking Twi’lek, with a permanent scowl and scar across his mouth to match.

He turns to the man speaking to him, one of his many lackies, and growls, “what happened here?!”

“We have reason to believe the Mandalorian found her. All of this is his doing.”

The Twi’lek glowers at him before hitting his fist against the wall. He doesn’t speak, gritting his teeth as he contemplates his next words. His next move.

His demeanor slowly shifts to something more calm and collected as he seems to gather his thoughts. A twisted smirk revealing sharpened teeth emerges.

“We’re heading out. It’s time to send a message.”

@dindjarinsmut @impala1967666 @kittenlittle24 @angel-with-a-heart @leithatnight @i-usually-main-bards-tho @dins-riduur-anthe @fatima-marisa @lalalalemonade11 @n7cje @orcasoul

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

#din djarin x fem!reader #mandalorian x fem!reader #din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #bodyguard!din x princess!reader

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davidfarland · 10 months

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David Farland’s Writing Tips—Why Scenes Go Bad

Have you ever found yourself reading a story and discovered that, “Hey, life is too short for this.” So you close the book and toss it aside.

It that happens to you, there may be dozens of reasons why the scene isn’t working for you. As a writer, you certainly don’t want readers to quit reading your books. Here are a few things to think about.

First, not all stories are written for you, and you can’t write a story that every single person on earth will connect to. A romance that works beautifully for a sixteen-year-old girl just doesn’t interest me as a sixty-year-old man. A mystery that intrigues me might seem tepid to you.

But let’s say that an author is struggling to interest me as a reader. Here are the next most-common problems that I find:

The scene is poorly imagined. Sometimes I will be reading a nice thriller or mystery or fantasy, and the author is trying to hit the right emotional beats, but just not doing it exceptionally well. I’d rate them a five out of ten. When that happens, I’ll find that they are dealing with stock characters and stock situations, or writing blah dialog that doesn’t sound like real people. In short, they aren’t exercising their imagination. Sometimes even just the language the author is using is cliché.

Remember this key: All failures in writing are due to a failure of the imagination. Each day in your world needs to be different from the day before. Each scene and character needs to be unique, different from anything else you’ve encountered. If a scene feels tepid, it’s because the writer is being lazy.

Another common problem is that the author is growing “wordy.” The author stacks adjectives in an attempt to heighten description. You can spot this if the author has fallen into a pattern where every noun (or sometimes every verb) has a modifier. She might say, “The cozy nook in Le Café Blue featured antique chairs that looked to be covered in genuine leather, and the dark walnut table was battered from years of use. Jonathan scrupulously studied the newspaper-style menus and ordered a dark lager with his deep-fried halibut and English-style chips.” Now, these details might make the story richer, but if the whole point of the conversation is to get to a new clue that Jonathan hears, then the wordiness can sometimes just be clutter. Remember, you want to bring the story to life, not bore the reader to death.

The writer got “diverted” and from the goal of the scene and the prose begins to meander. Maybe an interrogation scene suddenly devolves into a philosophical essay on the nature of reality, or gets hijacked by the author’s interest in coffee beans. Or maybe a romance scene turns into a fight, or a wonder scene transforms into horror. Particularly, this becomes a problem for “pantsers,” writers who write for pleasure and don’t have a clue where the hell they’re taking the story. It is easy to become over-enamored with your ability to morph prose from one purpose to another, rather than stick to a goal.

Here’s a clue. If you’re writing a mystery scene, the scene should be exploring the mystery, not gratifying your vanity by showing how much you know about ancient history or current affairs. It probably won’t help if your mystery scene flirts with romance or if you begin languishing in despair about the vicissitudes of life.

While diversions occasionally add something fun and give a story an extra dimension, they usually lose more readers than they will gain. So be careful with them.

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

#writing help #writing tips #writing advice

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 5 months

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Love Conquers All (Supposedly)

Chapter Five of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: It's been challenging - to say the least - coming back to Pigeon Creek. How is it possible for everything to be so different and yet it all feels exactly the same? Linley's not sure. All she knows is that she misses New York City, the glitz, the glam, the fashion, and Bradley Bradshaw. God, does she miss Bradley Bradshaw. Like a night in shining armor, it's a phone call from Bradley that reminds her what she's fighting for. It's just her luck that she'll have to fight for Bradley by fighting Jake until he signs the divorce papers, right?

Themes: angst, love, smut, attraction

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 3757

A/N: Oh, here we go! This is the chapter where we finally get to see more of Linley's relationships with the other denizens of Pigeon Forge, not just Jake and Mav! I hope you all love it!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

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New York City - Mayor’s Residence

Bradley can’t believe that his mom is still going on and on about Linley and the wedding. Linley’s only been back in Alabama for a day; they’ve been engaged for just a little bit longer than that, and Carole Bradshaw is on the warpath.He never would have agreed to meet his mom for breakfast.

“Do you even know who she is, Brad? I mean, what her family is like, where she comes from? Don’t give me that shit about how she’s told you stories. Do you have any proof that Linley Floyd is who she says she is?” Even at home, his mom always looks like she’s ready to attend a board meeting or kiss babies for a few additional polling points. But more likely, she’s expecting photographers to pop up when she least expects it for an interview with the mayor of New York. If it’s happened once, it’ll happen again. That’s one of Carole Bradshaw’s favorite mottos and it’s one she lives by.

“I love her, Mom.” Bradley can’t help trying to reason with her.

“That’s nice, sweetheart. But you have to understand, we’re not better than the people we serve, or worse. We’re just different. We serve the people to the best of our abilities, and we have to be good examples.” She’s got a frown on her face as she puts the newspaper down.

“Do you have to be so controlling?” It’s a question Bradley’s been meaning to ask for a very long time, and even if he probably shouldn’t ask it, it still slips out.

“Is it controlling if I know what’s best for you?” She takes a sip of her coffee before continuing. God she’s impossible.

“In any case, you tell Linley that I’ve put a hold on the Plaza Hotel here in New York for June. It’ll give you both a nice, long engagement to look forward to.”

Bradley waits until she’s mid-mouthful of her poached eggs and toast before he interjects, “We’re getting married in Ireland over Christmas, actually.”

She swallows hurriedly and that’s the most satisfaction Bradley’s had in a long time. That feeling doesn’t last however, because she spits out, “If you think I’m going to let some girl talk you into getting married in some foreign country…”

This is about when Bradley starts seeing red. “She’s not some girl, mom. She’s my fiancée.”

“You are just like your father. One minute you’re brilliant, controlled, and steadfast, the next minute you’re throwing it all away on some girl. You know how hard it was for your father to claw his way back into politics once he married me. Why would you make the same mistake he did?!” Bradley’s left in shock as his mom races out of the dining room like something he said just burned her. Okay, so maybe reconciling Carole Bradshaw to the fact that Bradley’s marrying a fashion designer from Hicksville, Alabama is going to take a bit longer than initially expected.

Pigeon Creek, Alabama - Main Street

A couple of hours later finds you in your dad’s beat up old truck rattling back into town. The midmorning sun is hot already as it beams down on the road. You weren’t planning on being in Pigeon Creek for so long. This errand should have taken max half an hour. How could you forget how stubborn Jake could be when he wanted to be? With Jake being a complete idiot, it’s going to take much longer than you expected to get the divorce you’ve been trying to get for the past seven years. So you’re going into town to withdraw some cash and prepare for the day. You call your lawyer while you’re on the road. You need to know how long it will take to get this divorce signed, sealed and buried away.

“I understand Mr. Fitch. Tell me, how long does a contested divorce take?” You pull into a parking spot in town.

“Eighteen months?! I don’t even have eighteen days, Mr. Fitch!” You continue talking to Mr. Fitch as you walk down the street to the bank. Of course, just then, one of the hicks in town starts cat-calling you from his truck. But the more he says, the more his voice sounds familiar. “I have to call you back, Mr. Fitch. In the meantime can you please see if there is anything you can do?”

You hang up on your lawyer with every intention of giving this hick a piece of your mind. At least, that is, until you see who it is. The sight of an old friend is enough to have you veering across the side of the road towards the truck stopped right in the middle of the dusty street.

“Bobby?! Bobby Floyd, look at you!” You wrap your arms around him and it finally, finally feels like you’re home. If there was anyone you could call your best friend other than Jake, it would be Bob.

“Look at you, Lin! You look fantastic! New York's been treating you well, huh?” You grin up at Bobby, nodding as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

“How’ve you been?” As he sets you down you see a couple of members of the town’s gossip circle looking at you and Bobby. The hug alone would be enough to have tongues a-waggin’.

“I'm good, Bobby. Though, I shouldn’t keep you too long. Wouldn’t want to make your girl back home angry.” Though you’re not sure he has a girl, looking at the slight blush on his face, and well, who are you if you don’t ask?

“You do have a girl, don’t you?”

When you prod, gently, because this is Bobby, sweet, soft-spoken Bobby, all you get is, “I can barely afford to take care of myself, forget some high-maintenance babe.”

“Weren’t you dating Cindy in high school? I thought you guys were getting really close!” You’re smiling at him as he grins unrepentantly and a little sheepishly at you.

“Naw. She’s a women's softball coach up in Nashville.” You truly can't believe that he and Cindy didn’t stay together after high-school. They were so close.

"I'm sorry about that, Bobby." You really are. Bob's got a heart of gold. If she couldn't see what a catch he is, someone somewhere is sure to. As you look at one of your closest friends you’re not surprised at all to see mischief in his eyes.

“Don't be, Lin. People grow and change and keep secrets. I mean, you have your own fair share of secrets, huh? Of course, yours we can all read about on the internet. Guess we know all about the cock in your henhouse.”

You gasp and smack his arm. “You sure do know how to make a girl blush!” You have less time than you thought if Bobby Ray already knows about Bradley, and his nickname the tabloids so lovingly bestowed after the first snaps they got of him on the beach in close-fitting swim trunks. Honestly the paparazzi need to get better at nicknames for people, because Rooster Bradshaw is far from tongue-in-cheek. Come on Joe Nobody, you really want everyone to know you think the New York Secretary of Housing has a big dick? Natasha had laughed until she cried and then immediately asked you if it was true. But you digress. You need Jake to sign those papers before all the paparazzi in the country descend on Greeneville and by extension Pigeon Creek. It’s only a matter of time and it’s your worst nightmare. You know how to talk to reporters about clothes, not scandals.

“I have to get back to the factory. Are you going to be in town for a while? I’d love to catch up.” Bobby seems none-the-wiser to your inner turmoil as he hugs you tight one more time before opening his truck door.

You smile at your friend, murmuring, “I hope not. I just need to hit the bank and talk to Jake about something and I should be out of town pretty soon.”

The minute you say the words, “hit the bank”, Bob is already recoiling in terror and you know why. You wave him away with a smile as he drives away. But that leaves you to look at the Pigeon Creek bank. It still looks the same as the last time you saw it. But you also remember why Bob recoiled in terror. Accidentally blow up a bank one time and everyone automatically assumes that you’re going to do it again. Eugene at the bank still looks terrified to see you, for one, when you walk through the doors.

“Good to see you, Miss Linley. Miss Dorothy, I’m taking my lunch.” Is all you get out of him before he’s running out of the bank like you’re going to blow it up again.

You walk up to the teller window, and are surprised to see someone you think you vaguely recognise standing there.

“Dorothy?! Is that you? You look amazing!” You’re not lying. The last time you saw Dorothy Thompson she had on braces and looked completely different.

“Hey Linley. It’s good to see you. Thanks. The last time you saw me, I was about 110 pounds heavier.” She smacks her gum as she looks you up and down. "You look great too."

“I was looking for an ATM, but I didn't see one.” You point out the front like it’ll show Dorothy the lack of an ATM outside.

“Yup. Russ hates ‘em. He thinks it’ll detract from the customer experience in the bank. Call me Dot, Lin.” She leans through the window a bit closer. “We’ve known each other for years, after all!”

You’re not sure what to say in the face of her overwhelmingly Southern Charm. Oh, Toto you’re not in New York anymore. When did backstabbing double-speak become more comfortable than well-meant small-town nosiness for you, anyways?

“So…” Her voice drops to a whisper as she murmurs, “I hear from Mickey that you and Jake had a pretty wild reunion. But then again, it’s just pillow talk, talkin’.”

“You and Mickey?” You can’t believe it. Dorothy hated Mickey when you were in school.

“Yeah, it’s been three years.” She shows you her ring, smirking, as she says, “It isn’t Tiffany’s or anything, but anyways, you can’t believe everything you hear on TV, now can you?”

Yeah, you’re definitely running out of time if the news of your engagement is already on TV.

“Um, I’d like to make a withdrawal out of my …” You fumble in your purse to pull out your wallet.

“Your joint account?” At Dorothy’s innocent suggestion, you get a wonderfully wicked idea. “You know, your joint account with Jake? From what I hear, y’all are still married.”

“Yes.” You grin at Dorothy as innocently as you possibly can. “Yes we are. From my joint account, please.”

With the frankly eye-watering amount of money you’d withdrawn from the joint account, you’re ready for war. You spend the rest of the morning going to all of the home decor stores in the greater Greenville area and buying things to make Jake’s house look like home. You finish up with a batch of groceries and let yourself into the house with as much aplomb as you can muster. Jake wanted a wife, he’s going to get a wife. It’s just icing on the cake that hopefully he’ll be so pissed off that he signs the papers and you can escape Pigeon Creek with nothing more than the accent.

When you see the old sea-plane land on the lake with a plume of water from the kitchen window, you're ready to play the part. What part? The part that will get you a divorce in a spectacular style and with spectacular speed. Jake looks exhausted as he walks through the front door - which you'd expected. But the exhaustion soon fades into pure rage when he sees you walking out of the kitchen wearing an apron and carrying a bottle of wine.

"Hi, Jake!" Your voice is all saccharine Southern sweetness. "Welcome home, honey! How was your day? How's your mama doing?"

He chucks his leather jacket through the open bedroom door, uncaring of how it thuds heavily to the ground moments later, before glaring at you.

"Cut the shit, Linley. Where's all my stuff?"

"I just picked up after you, sugar." You cup his cheek gently, rubbing at a bit of grease on his cheek. "It's what a wife ought to do, isn't it?"

"Not a wife who doesn't live here." You just shrug before walking back into the kitchen to continue chopping up veggies for the salad you're making as the final touch to dinner. The kitchen smells fantastic, if you do say so yourself. You’d gone to all the trouble to bake up a lasagne after all, his mom’s recipe, and you know he’ll be hungry the moment he smells it.

"Can you just tell me where the hide-a-key is, Linley?" He sounds like he's at the end of his rope as he takes in all of the things you've bought for the house. You just ignore him.

"I spoke to Mrs. Garcia about her tractor. You know, I'm so happy that we can let bygones be bygones. We’re all clear, though I will say that it isn’t nice that you called the police on your wife, Jakey." You add the final bit of cucumber to the salad before setting it on the dining room table.

"It's nice to hear your accent again." Jake's looking at the ceramic fruit on the mantel like it's an alien creature. "I wasn't aware you could find and lose it so easily, though."

"I found a lot of things today." You toss the salad a bit before walking back into the kitchen where Jake is looking at the magic you've wrought in his filthy old kitchen.

"What the hell happened in here?!" He sounds shocked and it makes a wicked glee spark in your chest. "My magnets are all gone,” His voice hushes as he opens the fridge door and sticks his head in. “And what the hell happened to my fridge?! It's all chick food!"

"That's not chick food, honey! It's light beer. Fewer calories, you know? You're getting a bit of a tummy, baby." You pet his stomach a couple of times before walking back over to chop some parsley on the cutting board. You’d found a singular bottle of ketchup and six-pack of beer when you looked in it earlier. The man’s been eating takeout every day, for every meal, and he’s still got rock-hard abs. It doesn’t escape you how his stomach growls at the smell of a home-cooked dinner in the oven.

"I tried to pick out a new bed at the Sit 'n Sleep but everything was disgusting. Have you been there lately?! I guess I should just order something in from New York." You keep your eyes on the cutting board, even as you hear Jake's boots clomp back out into the living room.

"Darlin' you can buy whatever you want. It's your money, after all." Your grin is vindictive as you hear those words.

"But I thought you told me I should think of it as our money when we got married, Jake?" He freezes in the doorway, beer can still held in his hand and you can't resist stepping just a little closer.

"Are the words 'joint checking' ringing a bell, Jakey?"

His green eyes are flashing dangerously when he turns back to you.

"How much of that money did you take?" You can hear the rage in every word as you look innocently up at him.

"All of it." The words drip off of your lips like the poison off of the apple the Evil Queen gave to Snow White as a flush builds on his cheeks.

"Sunovabitch!" His roar is deeply satisfying, as is the way he crushes the empty can and chucks it away.

"Why do you have so much money anyway, Jakey? There's no way you made it all working at the tire factory. You're not doing anything illegal now, are you?" You're so close to victory you can nearly taste it. He doesn't answer your questions, his face stony as he glares at you.

"Just sign the divorce papers and I'll give it all back." You proffer the papers and pen to him.

"Fine." You're already grinning in victory when he grabs the pen. "On one condition, I don't ask you about your boyfriend and you don't ask me about my life. Deal?"

Your joy at your near victory slips away in an instant. Jake looks disappointed in you.

"Who?” You clear your throat and try again, “Who told you?" You're more than a little shocked that the news has spread so far around town already.

"Nobody told me, sweetheart. I may talk slow, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid." He snatches the pen from your hand and pulls the papers out of their envelope. “ I know how to use the internet just as well as the folks in New York. You know the cafe Mrs. Garcia runs? It has a computer in it now.”

There's an imperceptible shake to his long fingers as he glances over the papers.

"I guess it's true what they say, huh? Nobody finds their soulmate at ten years old." His words make you feel inexplicably sad. But just as soon as he says those words, a smirk is taking over his face. You should’ve known better than to fall for his bullshit.

“Actually, you know what, Linley?” Jake sets the papers and pen down before walking into the open bedroom. You pretend not to notice how the muscles in his back ripple as Jake tugs on a plaid shirt the color of his eyes.

“I forgot that I have a date tonight. And you know what? I should probably have my lawyer look over those papers. I’m just a dumb corn-fed hick, weren’t those your words, sweetheart? I should probably make sure you’re not taking me to the cleaner’s or anything.”

Your scream of frustration echoes in your ears as you follow Jake’s truck to The Hard Deck a couple of hours later. Dinner had been tense, incredibly so, considering how Jake couldn’t seem to stand looking at anything but his plate and you were busy trying to envision how easily you could wrap your hands around his throat and strangle the smug grin off of his face. It’s typical of Jake to take a date to his mama’s bar, the one place where he will never have to pay for drinks. The live band sounds just as tuneful (and loud) as always as you pull up to the gravel lot in front of the Hard Deck. Just before you get out, you pull out Bradley’s ring and put it on your finger. It makes you miss him just a little less, and fills you with enough confidence to face all the old friends you’ll no doubt find inside. Just hearing the country songs getting butchered has your blood pressure rising. What you wouldn’t give to be back in New York getting dinner and drinks with Bradley right now.

You can picture it, practically in front of your eyes. The bartenders who are always polite and know how to pour the perfect martini, the jazz band playing softly in the background, and Bradley, your Bradley, sitting in front of you in a perfectly tailored suit smiling at you. A place where all you can smell is his cologne and sweet perfumed air. It sounds like heaven and absolutely not like the Hard Deck, which stinks faintly of horses and cows and strongly of spilled beer and liquor, even from where you stand in the parking lot near your car, quite far away from the swinging doors.

When your phone rings, you don’t even hesitate to pull it out, you’re that desperate for the reminders of the life you were leading just days ago. It’s a phone number you’ve had memorized since the first week you met the man who owns it, and as you pull open the phone, you’re chanting, “I love you” until the sound of Bradley’s laughter washes over you.

“Aww, honey. Miss me that badly?” You can picture his smile even thousands of miles away.

“More than you know, baby. More than you know.” You’re filled with a sense of homesickness even as you’re smiling into the phone.

“I miss you too, honey. But, I actually called because I saw something that might make you smile. I picked up a copy of New York Magazine, and I was reading the articles. I’m going to read this quote to you, and you tell me what you think.”

“Linley Floyd is a cool breath of fresh air blowing through Fashion Week. Her designs are fresh and exciting. We’re going to be keeping our eyes on her as her star in the fashion world is on the rise!”

You giggle and jump up and down a little in excitement at hearing his words.

“Bradley! I needed to hear that almost as much as I need you here with me, right now.” His groan makes you ache to have him in your bed and in your arms.

“I can fly down whenever you’d like, honey. Just say the word and I’ll be right there.”

You blow a kiss down the phone before sighing out, “I know, baby. And while I’d love to have you here, I still haven’t had the chance to tell my dad about us. And it’s a small town. The minute you drive into town wearing one of your nice suits, everyone would know. Let me tell my dad first, alright, baby?” You can’t help your soft smile or how missing Bradley feels like something is missing in your life. “I love you, baby. Goodnight!”

Thanks to Bradley, you finally have enough confidence to walk through the doors and enter the Hard Deck. You’re getting looks, from the boys and men you’ve known practically your whole life, and it makes you wonder, just once if you should’ve taken your Dad’s offer to borrow one of his old flannels. But you shake those thoughts off. This is who you are now. Pigeon Creek can deal with it if they don’t like it. You elbow your way to the bar. If you’re here, you might as well grab a drink, right?

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @atarmychick007 @the-romanian-is-bae @lt-spork @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @praline357 @seitmai @cheyrenee @trickphotography2 @abaker74 @marrianena-library @angelbabyange @temptest13 @kmc1989 @im-an-adult-ish @chaoticassidy @inkandarsenic @lynnevanss @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @mizzzpink @emma8895eb @hookslove1592 @leahnicole1219 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @thedroneranger @roosterforme @dakotakazansky @cherrycola27 @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #sweet home alabama #a top gun au #star's sweet home alabama top gun au #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc

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seven-circlllxs · 6 months

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Laws For The Lawless {RULES}

Read these before interacting! Please know that if I feel uncomfortable with ANY interaction, I will speak ONCE with you privately, and if the behavior persists, I will block you.

1. No romantic interactions if there isn't established chemistry! I will not force ships/relationships with immediate interaction, there has to be build up and at least SOME planning between admins before initiating a relationship! To that end, romantic partnerships that form cannot be solely for writing NSFW content. Romance and sex are not interchangeable, and it makes me very uncomfortable for a writing partner to only want to write sexual content.

2. Content Warning for several triggering subjects! I can and will tag everything that is potentially triggering, but I also will not shy away from darker subject matter! This includes, but is not limited to -

Blood, gore, canon-typical violence, body horror, supernatural horror, PTSD, self-harm, disordered eating habits, description or discussion of body augmentation, death, guns/weapons, explosives, use of torture, kidnapping/hostage situations, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationships, physical/mental/sexual/domestic abuse, substance abuse, parental abuse/neglect, themes of religion/religious imagery, characters with past instances of CSA, characters with mental illnesses, fantasy racism, internalized homophobia, gaslighting, mentions/discussions of grooming, victim blaming, situations of noncon/dubcon*, nonconsensual recording, sex work/prostitution, and dehumanization.

* Note - I absolutely will NOT write out explicit noncon scenarios, but they may be alluded to or referenced.

I will try my best to not only tag these triggers but also discuss triggers before writing with you, but if any of these subjects make you uncomfortable, I’d advise you not to interact!

3. In addition to the potentially triggering topics that I feel comfortable writing with, there are a few topics that are very triggering to me, and should be avoided at all times. Use of these topics will result in an INSTANT BLOCK.

Discussion of parent death

Graphic/detailed depictions of hospital settings (unless previously discussed and deemed plot relevant BEFORE your reply is posted)

Use of inaccurate medical terms with regards to mental illnesses (especially the “scary” ones that people frequently misunderstand)

4. Don’t rush replies, please! I have anxiety and my writing spoons fluctuate all the time. Even if we are discussing the RP in DMs and plotting the story, I might not have the ability to put those story beats down into words that I’m proud to post. I write for fun, and it becomes immediately not fun if I’m being pressured into fast responses.

5. If you want to use an OC to RP, please tell me about them! Ideally, I would like an image of your character/their face claim and a written bio (any length is fine, can be a few sentences or a few paragraphs!), as well as their dynamic/relation to my character.

Note: Next-Gen characters or characters that are family to any of my characters need to be discussed before writing can begin to see if I can comfortably adapt to their existence!

6. My characters most likely will have some canon divergence. I will update my Headcanon Lists to make sure that all character information is up to date and accurate as more source content is released and (occasionally) reframed.

7. NO MINORS, PLEASE. I have nothing against minors using rp to develop their writing skills. Hell, that’s how I developed my writing skills when I was younger. However, this is an 18+ blog which will contain various types of adult content. RPing with minors in ANY context makes me uncomfortable, and I will confirm your age BEFORE starting to write with you. If I follow you and you are a minor, please tell me so that I may unfollow.

8. No IRL issues brought into RP, please! I use writing as a coping mechanism to escape from the harsher realities of the world right now. I do not want to talk real world politics, and I will not tolerate hate speech of any kind here.

9. I am not someone who has Exclusives! I'm happy to write with duplicates and if you do not want my muses interacting with doubles of yours please tell me via DMs; I will be more than happy to figure something out with you!

10. If you’ve read and accept these rules, please say Glowstick Juice in the notes or shoot me a DM!

#Whispers from Purgatory [OOC]#Ashes to Ashes [Ashy Speaks]#I Think I’m Supposed To Be Bodyguarded Right Now [Rules]

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cyndraws · 6 months

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Reblogtober day 18

IM ALIVE. JUST SEM 2 AMBUSHING ME TO BEAT ME UP IN A BACK ALLEY HSGH

Exams and assignments coming up soon so wish me luck!

Here, I present my Kirby OC, Leif!

He belongs in my Kirby anime (krbay) au. He's part of the GSA. And Meta knight is his cute younger brother

Now here is my gushing about Leif below. I think way too much about him lol

Basic Info:

Name: Leif, Blade Knight / Leaf Knight

(Blade Knight was his first choice but is a common name, so everyone just agreed to call him Leaf Knight. He argues it's a good choice bc Blade is a pun on blade and leaf blades but... well still everyone disagreed)

Age: Young adult (an estimate, Hoshians have long lifespans in my au)

Gender: Demiboy Pronouns: he/they (equally)

Elements: Leaf (main), Cutter (main), Wing (minor)

Notable talents/powers: Summoning a near endless amount of blades, runes, self-healing

~many more thoughts about him below the cut~

Description:

Physical description: Primary colour is green. Orange-yellow eyes. Their mouth tends to make triangular shapes.

He has a wing cape that has golden buttons on the collar ends. Their wing form look like they are made out of leaves.

The most accurate armour colour is his flying art, which is silver with a hint of rose-gold. He usually wears his special blade-proof gloves and sabatons (feet armour), and mask on top of his head with his family. In more formal settings (includes around the public), he wears his pauldrons (shoulder armour), and mask on. He wears his wing armour too, but optional to draw because it's hard, even for me (lol).

He keeps his mask on because he feels like it makes him less vulnerable with expression covered up. He can take it off but it makes him a little embarrassed.

Personality:

Myers Briggs: ISFP (Introvert, Observant, Feeling, Prospective/perceiving)

Introvert: Well he's an introvert. Tends to be quiet and a good listener.

Observant: Is focused on present, practical and hands-on

Feeling: Makes lots of gut decisions, especially during battle. Makes him reckless, but he's very in-tune with his instincts. They haven't led him astray yet. His number 1 priority is his family above all, and he won't hesitate to put himself in harm's way for their safety. He also can get short tempered for their sake. They're very sensitive to others' feelings and is a natural listener. In general, they're a warm and caring person, and a natural leader.

Prospecting/perceiving: Spur of the moment, seizes opportunities, flexible

He's generally a little quiet, but combined with his caring personality makes him a trusted and charming person. He's a great leader, and gives off calm powerful and reliable brother/senior vibes. He's modest and underestimates himself despite his great capabilities. He's the definition of unreliable narrator haha.

They're a very curious person and is always trying new things. They've become somewhat of a jack of all trades because of this.

However, they can get very heated and short tempered, especially in regards to thier family. They get very embarrassed afterwards.

And during battle, it's like they become a different person. They get blood thirsty and wipe through the battlefield with their dual blades, heedless of injuries (they have an ability to self-heal). They don't talk much, but when they do, it give off power. He's very sharp and has top-notch instincts on the battlefield. His recklessness goes up to max though and he's not afraid to get dirty and on the frontlines, which worries his family to no end.

Other

Family: Kibble Blade, Sir Kibble (two are coparenting), Meta Knight (younger brother)

Story: Maybe another day, but for now this is set when Meta Knight is still in training in the GSA and Leif has made his name as a highly respected soldier

#leif #asdfghj words am i right?#look i could talk about him all day feel free to send me asks #kirby oc #krbay #kirby #krbay oc #krbay au #kirby au #repostober #repostober2023 #cyn draws #my art #my oc

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jessequinones · 4 months

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Writing Lesson: It’s okay to make mistakes.

I know as a writer I make mistakes, in fact, I’m certain if you go through this text you’ll find grammar and punctuation errors and that's ok. This text isn’t a book or a peer review essay. It’s a conversation from me to you about mistakes in writing.

When I was young, learning how to write, I created this.

***

2010, Wildcats: Civil War

“What are you saying?” A black tom said to a brown tom with anger in his voice.

Before he was finish Shadow walk away wan Deathclan was about to leave but what Whiteheart said next made Shadow froze in his tracks. “I know I can beat you.”

“Is that so?” Shadow said as he was turning around and was slowly walking back toward Whiteheart.

“That is correct.”

“Well then….let’s have a little battle right here and now then.”

Whiteheart could not say no, or back down now. He walks right it in this battle.

***

Yeah...it’s not good but the point is, even though I was a terrible writer, I never stole my writings. All of my terrible stories were original and that’s what I want to talk to you about today.

The word plagiarism has been going around the internet for the last few days and I noticed when people who plagiarised other’s works get caught they tend to say they don’t feel comfortable with their own writings and thought it was a good idea to steal. Assuming they’re genuine, let me say it’s okay if your writing isn’t good, that’s how we learn.

You write a bad sentence or a paragraph which doesn’t make sense, and someone will point it out. You’ll learn over time not to make the same mistakes and grow as a writer. Just copying from someone else won’t help you learn because you’re no longer making mistakes, you’re just copying.

I always hated the saying you gotta keep practising your craft to get better because there were a few times when I thought I couldn’t improve. I kept practicing but I kept making the same mistakes and didn’t know how to get better. For those types of situations, I find it best to ask someone whose more experience how to overcome your hurdle and let me be the first to say there are plenty of people in your craft who’ll be willing to help.

As for writing, here’s a trick I did to help me create stories. For practice, I took a book, like the Warrior series for an example, and copied their words. Before you say that’s plagiarism, first things first, I never published the stories I was copying, and secondly, I was figuring out how the Erin Hunters were creating their stories.

When artists learn how to draw for the first time, they copy someone else’s art style and maybe even do trace works until they become confident in their ability to create their own. I was still trying to learn what my writing style was, and I wanted to figure out how someone else created theirs. Over time I started to get an understanding of how sentence structure was made. I understood foreshadowing, and I understood when and where to add descriptions. I would start looking at lines in the books after I wrote them and be like...I could improve this. I started to see things I didn’t think were necessary for the story and after a while, I told myself I was ready to write my own Warriors fanfic.

Learning from someone else, being inspired by another. These are all things that’ll help you grow as a writer but you still got to do the work yourself. You can’t say you created something original if 90% of it was stolen, you’re only hurting yourself.

If you’re a new writer and have questions, even if you think they’re very basic, please feel free to ask me. I’m not the best writer. In fact, I don’t really know how to create informative writing, which is why I’m practising now, but I do know a few things and am always willing to help someone if I have the time and don’t forget. Keep trying and keep writing, your writing is better than you give it credit for.

#writing #writeblr #books #writers of tumblr #writing community #warriors #erin hunter warriors #writing lessons #authors community

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visbiscuit · 2 years

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Valley of Desires ( steve rogers, +18 )

Vis’ Dump → Masterlist

I am NOT responsible for your media consumption. This blog is intended for a mature audience as are the stories on it. So if you are not at least 18, I suggest you read something else. If you recognize any name or characters, that means that I have no copyright on them, but their action in this work of fiction are mine as is the plot. This is a no-profit written work and I don’t condone republishing it or copying it. Please, if you want to support me, reblog/like or comment. Thank you :)

pairing: Steve Rogers x Intern!FemReader ( no description of ethnicity or body type ) … word count: 2k … warnings: steve's pov but written in third person, it might be implied that the reader has at least middle-sized breasts but it's not explicit, smut smut smut smut smut, i love steve rogers. kind of voyeur? but kinda. tony is in this too. this one shot probably could have been written in 2012 because steve works in stark industries and everyone loves each other.

you're welcome to reblog, comment and like!

Strange to say, but Steve Rogers was sure of few things about him. On the surface, maybe because of his physical appearance or because of that look that, somehow, always managed to communicate something, nobody would have said that the former captain was constantly in a state of confusion.

He knew he liked sunsets, especially the winter ones because he could never find anyone on the beach to watch them and he never felt compelled to try to make conversation. He loved riding his vintage motorcycle through the streets of New York early in the morning to get to the office he was assigned by Stark. Shamefully, he loved not wearing a helmet on that same bike: for years he'd lived with something to cover his head and face, and since his riding wasn't bad at all (and his body could definitely take a beating or two), he'd allowed himself this break from the rule. Several times he had been stopped for that same reason, but as soon as the cops on duty realized they were about to fine one of the Avengers, they blushed and apologized for minutes with a veil of embarrassment in their eyes. Being an Avenger, a former Avenger, had some advantages.

But of all these things he wasn't sure. He knew that one day his preferences might change and so what was he really sure of?

Well, Steve Rogers, aka Captain America (or Nomad, depending on who you talked to), was sure of three things in his life.

Number one: he liked to give orders. Now he didn't have the ability to save a person's life by coordinating his team, but back in the day, when the blue and red uniform was still second skin, there was nothing better than having a cup of coffee in the morning and commanding his teammates. He derived a perverse pleasure, especially from having Tony do whatever the millionaire deemed unnecessary during a mission. And he took even greater pleasure when that very thing turned out to be indispensable in the end. He enjoyed immensely when Natasha, a free spirit from the first second he laid eyes on her, had no idea what to do and asked Steve for a plan. Was it narcissistic behavior? Maybe. Or he just liked to be in control of something since in his personal life he was lucky if he could keep the flames under the water pot at bay.

Number two, he was an extremely kind and understanding person to the interns at Stark Industries. Over the course of his three and a half years at the company of, now, a close friend and colleague of his, more than twenty interns had come through his door and gotten up to all sorts of mischief. First, there was Martha Morris (or double M as they called her in the office - not him, mind you -: Mad and Messy), a thirty-five-year-old weirdo who had returned to school after years of trying to get a degree and needed the hours in the company to achieve her goals. She wore sky-high heels and she was super tall, outgrowing Steve by a few inches when barefoot. On the first day, she had banged her forehead on the doorframe of his office and the hot coffee she had brought him to introduce himself had landed completely on the Captain who was standing and talking on the phone with some financiers. He had felt even his insides burn, but he still smiled at her and said he didn't have to worry. She had finished her experience a week later.

Then there was Ashley. Ashley was an intelligent guy, a genius. Just a little introverted and with the lowest voice Steve had ever heard. Whenever they had a meeting and he was present, everyone prayed he didn't have to talk because even a hearing aid wouldn't be able to pick up his decibels. One day he had brought the wrong report for Steve to sign and even his sobs were inaudible when he realized his mistake. Watching him had become torture; he felt too guilty for him.

Number three (and perhaps most important): for him there was no question, Steve liked boobs. Small, medium, large. Whether they fit perfectly in his hands or overflowed. He didn't care. He liked them in every flavor. With big nipples, tiny nipples, light and dark nipples. He liked heavy breasts and light breasts. He didn't understand what other men found in the butt. He certainly didn't hate it, but what could be better than diving into the valley of desire and being able to hear his beloved's heartbeat? Nothing, that's the right answer. When he'd been unfrozen, after spending his entire life in the 20', 30' and 40' where everything seemed to be a source of scandal, seeing how everything had changed had been a shock. And a blessing. The genius who had invented bikinis was to be made a saint. Now he could live as he wanted, with women, with men, all at once. He was free at last.

That said, Steve had no idea how he had found himself thrusting into Y/N's pussy with force and vigor. It had all happened in a matter of minutes, she had shown up at the door with a shirt even more open than the previous day to bring him some papers to sign, and then Steve had grabbed her by the hips and thrown her on his desk. When he'd entered her, he'd looked up at the ceiling and prayed to God that it wasn't all a dream. He felt the walls of her pussy pulsing around his member and her fluid flowing down his groin. Her legs were fully spread and her breasts still constricted by her bra were begging to be released. They were begging. The breasts were speaking to him, worshipping him like a deity. Who was he to refuse that proposal? No one.

So, he had sat down in his chair, taking Y/N with him and, continuing to thrust into her, he had opened her bra with one hand. The sight of her bare breasts forced him to stop because if he continued he would come in three seconds and he wanted to spoil that girl.

He heard a faint whimper escape her lips. 'Steve, oh Steve. Please.’ She rubbed herself against him, trying to resume her earlier rhythm. He humored her for a few moments, resting his back completely on the chair and enjoying the sight of a goddess on top of him seducing him with her enviable body. Every so often, he would penetrate her without warning, causing her to lose her balance and lean on him even more than she was.

She moved sinuously back and forth, left and right, her boobs following her every single movement and if Steve hadn't done something, he would have drooled. So, he smiled at her. A smile he had never reserved for anyone and then he wrapped his mouth around her left nipple. Steve moaned. Y/N began to tremble, her thighs couldn't hold the rhythm they had before and if Steve's hands hadn't been there to support her she would have fallen. She couldn't stop the shaking of her legs and only a powerful slap on her ass brought her back to her senses. She had just cum.

Steve, however, had only just begun. As if it were the last minutes of his life, the former Captain America had taken to sucking, biting, squeezing, licking and pulling on the young woman's left nipple. With each suck, the man felt a wave of energy sweep over him and, not caring about the young woman's blissful state of contentment that she would be happy if they were done there, he had taken to thrusting even harder than before into her pussy. She had cried out and gripped his hair between her tapered fingers and Steve found himself thinking that he had made a good decision to come to work on a Sunday since the rest of the office was off. With one hand around her hips and the other groping her other breast, Steve had the perfect anchor to sink even deeper into Y/N's sweet body.

He caught his breath and looked into her eyes. Her face was beaded with sweat and her lips were swollen. Her breathing was labored but she continued to follow his every thrust and hold him as tight as she could. Steve allowed himself to be lulled by the feeling of her around him and then treated the other nipple as he had treated the first. This time, he slapped her breast and squeezed it with such force that it left its mark on her, but this only increased the libido between the two of them.

While Steve was busy sucking on whatever her breasts gave him and Y/N was shaking like hell, the phone in the office rang.

It stopped as suddenly as it had started. When the man felt the woman try to get up and the heat of her pussy leave him, he wrapped his arm around her side and forced her to sit on him again. They both moaned and she looked up at him with surprised eyes.

'Don't even try, honey. Now be a good girl and be quiet' he began thrusting into her once more and closed his eyes as he regained the feeling he had before. Steve was in heaven and he wasn't going to leave her alone to return to hell. She was breathing heavily and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying to do his bidding. Then, Steve reached out and answered the call. 'Steve Rogers' office'

'Capiscle, it's Tony. Tell you what, has Y/N been to see you yet? I sent her to get you to sign that senate thing about twenty minutes ago, but she's yet to return' Steve winked at her and brought his thumb to caress her clit. Unexpectedly, Y/N let a moan escape. The man was quick to cover her mouth, continuing, however, his little game. 'What was that?

'Nothing Tony, I just rubbed the chair. Anyway, yes, Y/N has already come once, but I think she'll come again' he silently kissed her breasts. 'She forgot a document here’

On the other end of the phone, she heard Tony's footsteps through the office. 'Ah alright, she's a good girl, eh?'

'She's a really good girl. The best one so far' her eyes lifted upwards and she began to tremble once more, escaping his touch. Steve, just like a hunter stalking his prey, caught her every time and plunged her even deeper into the abyss of pleasure. 'Ah, that's it, she’s coming again. I must leave you'

'Yeah, yeah, see you later' the call ended.

Steve uncovered her mouth and once again took a nipple in his mouth. Y/N moaned so loud her throat hurt and she couldn't stay still in one place. Steve's constant thrusts were torturing her and that fiery mouth on her breasts was burning her soul. She came just like that, suddenly she felt all her barriers collapse and, like a faucet left running, she soaked Steve's cock and groin with her orgasm.

'Very good, yes, that's it,' he encouraged her.

When she opened her eyes after the intense orgasm, she almost couldn't move anymore, but she knew she had to thank the former Captain somehow. So, she stood up, still with trembling legs, and let him out of her. His cock was purple and left a trail on her abs. She knelt down and without giving him any time to think, she took her breasts in her hands and wrapped them around him. Steve pounded a fist on the desk at that sight and his breathing became ten times heavier.

'Oh shit, baby, shit, shit' he thrust between her tits, each thrust ending with her mouth wrapping around his tip. Her orgasm acting as a lubricant. 'I'm going to, I'm- argh, I'm going to cum' he warned her. With his mind completely clouded, he still knew how to be a gentleman.

'Cum Steve, cum for me. Cum on me.' He granted her wish and smeared her with his cum. She was the most beautiful picture he had ever seen.

Steve really did treat the interns well.

#steve rogers smut #smut #steve smut #tony stark #steve rogers #chris evans smut #smutty smut #chris smut #captain americ #captain america smut #steve rogers x fem reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader smut

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