#me: oh do i even have enough published work for this? can i do it??

[daosies]

l(over)

when someone else flirts with you in front of them.

heizou, wanderer, neuvillette ♡ gn!reader

warnings: not proofread, neuvillette may be ooc, wanderer is a little crazy 😊

notes: i played heizous hangout quest and he got me 😭😭

frankly, heizou is amused.

"you're beautiful," some random stranger states, "do you happen to be free this weekend?"

you blink in confusion, glancing back and forth between the detective and the strange person. does he not see the way heizou's hand is linked with yours?

"well, someone clearly isn't a detective," heizou states, not bothering to lower the volume of his voice. when the person still doesn't quite understand what heizou means, he lifts your laced hands up to eye-level, emphasizing the fact that he's not letting go anytime soon.

"please don't interrupt," the stranger states, suddenly feigning ignorance to heizou's presence.

"oh!" heizou exclaims, unbothered. "sorry about that!" you can tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that shikanoin heizou is, in fact, not sorry. he's not sorry at all.

heizou brings the back of your hand up to his lips, staring directly at the stranger whilst doing so. still, the random man does not budge.

"what's up with this guy?" heizou mumbles, loud enough for just you to hear. you laugh, and heizou can't seem to tear his eyes away from you, his gaze belonging wholly to your existence.

when the stranger glares at him, heizou merely shrugs, a smirk fixed onto his face. the oblivious person then turns to you, a gentle smile on his face.

"might i have the honor of knowing your name? i am kenzaburou kadenokouji, and seeing you has blessed me with the inspiration to write my greatest upcoming novel: 'i was reincarnated as the raiden shogun's plane of euthymia, where i did nothing for 500 years before finally meeting the love of my life in the middle of the city?!'"

your mouth hangs agape, flabbergasted at this surreal experience.

heizou, however, is not fazed in the slightest. "is this based off of true events?"

"do not interrupt an artist's craft," kadenokouji replies, before extending a hand towards your free one.

so he knows i'm holding their hand, is all heizou thinks. without another thought, the detective pushes the writer's palm away, tugging you towards him.

"you're going to need to find inspiration from someone else! my intuition tells me that this isn't going to work out," heizou declares, his thumb coming to rub the back of your hand, as if he's trying to reassure you.

(you think that it's more for him, though. because although heizou is a self-assured, confident man, he is sometimes shrouded deeply in fear, swayed by the same emotions that make him so human, so lovely.)

(it also doesn't help that you adore novels. a majority of heizou's worries are attributed to how you devour those absurd reincarnation stories.)

"no, no... together," kadenokouji trails off, dismissing heizou with the flick of his hand. "together, we will defy fate! and with you, beautiful stranger, i will publish the greatest novel known to inazuma!"

"he's delusional," heizou mutters, but it sounds as if he's more impressed than incredulous.

"i have a boyfriend," you reply, still recovering from shock. "he's right next to me."

kadenokouji takes it the wrong way. "wow, you move pretty fast! although we just met, and i still don't know your name, i am completely fine with this sudden turn of events!"

"wow," heizou mutters to himself, almost amazed, "this guy's pretty good."

"he's like the opposite of you," you whisper, leaning closer towards heizou, "completely oblivious."

that gives heizou an idea.

"sorry pal, but they only like detectives," he declares.

"that's okay! i've been meaning to write a detective novel, you know, i am always switching things up!" kadenokouji exclaims, not taking the hint (but it's not even a hint, it's a full blown answer).

"oh, really? have you ever heard of shikanoin heizou?"

you and heizou exchange not-so-discreet glances (it's not like kadenokouji notices, anyway). heizou winks at you, as if urging you to stay quiet so he can get the spotlight in a novel that he's always been dreaming of.

"yes, yes! i love doushin shikanoin's work—in fact, i've been meaning to ask him for some information regarding his famous intuition! i plan on basing the main character of that novel off of him, really!"

"that sounds great! you know, doushin shikanoin believes that he needs the publicity, so your novel would be the perfect match!"

"is that really so? that's incredible! i must reach out to him immediately!" kadenokouji says, his attention belonging wholly to this newfound idea.

"i can relay the message to him," heizou replies, "what would you like to ask?"

"yes, thank you! please ask him if he's willing to meet me outside the tenryou commission for an hour or two for me to ask questions! and if he's willing to tell me about his intuition and how it works! my novel's main character will also have something akin to his intuition, but not exactly because i am always original and meaningful with my work—"

"alright, i will!" heizou declares proudly, "he'll hear of it by today!"

"thank you, kind sir! if i might be so bold to inquire, what is your name?" kadenokouji asks, suddenly becoming heizou's biggest fan whilst forgetting about your presence. how the tables have turned.

"shikanoin heizou," he states, the smile on his face never wavering. "my intuition tells me you're going to fall to the floor in utter shock!"

his intuition, as always, is correct. kadenokouji collapses to the floor as if he had just witnessed the most terrible thing, all the color draining from his face while his jaw hangs wide open.

"d-doushin shikanoin?!"

"that's me! also, could you include me in the novel's credits? you know, being a detective isn't always just about skill. in this day and age, we need publicity! we need a name for ourselves!"

kadenokouji faints.

"did you come from another world?" someone asks. "'cause you look otherworldly."

"that was ridiculous," wanderer mutters, "and redundant."

"is he bothering you, your highness?" the person queries, taking a step towards you. their hand reaches out for yours, as if they're trying to take you away, but wanderer is quick to intervene.

he blocks you with his figure, the vision on his chest beginning to glow vividly as a gust of wind rushes through the akademiya's library, sending papers and books flying. scholars panic as their research projects flutter all across the marble floor, and usually, that'd be enough to deter a sane man.

unfortunately for you, your admirer (the other one) is no sane man. you suppose that you attract a certain group of people.

"so you think you're a big shot 'cause you have a vision, huh?" the stranger asks, unimpressed.

"hah! you don't even know who you're talking to," wanderer replies, clenching his fists. he takes a step toward your admirer, the air around him becoming tense and unwelcoming as it begins to manifest into something grim, something violent.

you're not in the mood for a suspension right now.

"wanderer!" you exclaim, tugging at his sleeve. "let's go somewhere else. this guy's just weird."

"you go first. i have things to deal with," wanderer replies, irritated. but the way he looks at you doesn't quite match the tone in his voice, because when the wanderer's cornflower pupils fixate on you, they melt. you mold him into something quiet, something lovely, when you do so much as exist.

briefly, the wind brushes past your face, kissing you with its tender touch.

(all you have to do is exist, and that'll be more than enough for him.)

"he's not worth your time," you say, not releasing your hold on the puppet's wrist. even though wanderer could easily escape your grip, he chooses not to—instead, he basks in your touch, inching closer towards you, letting you hold the strings of his artificial limbs to move him as you please.

wanderer relinquishes himself to you. wholly. and he trusts you with his fate, with his severed strings.

"whatever."

his severed string manifests anew, wrapping around his pinky and yours, turning red—not red from blood, but rather, from love—and knotting.

you are bound to him.

and then he gives in.

(he does a lot of that when it comes to you.)

"surrendering already, huh?" the stranger asks, clearly not knowing his place. "i knew you were nothing but bark."

oh, you think, sighing, this guy's an idiot!

"does the akademiya accept anyone who applies?" wanderer asks, contemplating murder. still, he doesn't release himself from your hold.

"that's what i was thinking when i saw you. leave us alone!"

a category 5 hurricane begins to brew in the akademiya library at the word "us." scholars begin to evacuate the premises whilst the insane man stands amidst it all, still trying his best to court you despite getting blown away.

i tried my best, you tell yourself, glancing away.

you let go of wanderer's hand, and then you close your eyes.

"let me know when you're done," you mutter, voice drowned by the whistle of the winds and the screams of scholars whose projects are getting engulfed by the storm.

wanderer, of course, hears you. he can always hear you, picking out your voice from the cacophony, taking the sound and placing it deep within his empty chest, letting it resonate and replay there. instead of a heartbeat, wanderer has your voice echoing throughout his torso, fusing into his artificial ribs.

he is bound to you.

a breeze wisps past your nose. even with the whirling winds and the threat of suspension lingering around your figure, no harm ever comes your way.

you are in the eye of the hurricane.

the eye of the beholder. it melts.

neuvillette is flabbergasted.

back in fontaine, he had the luxury of comfort. everyone knew that the two of you were together, so he never had to deal with someone trying to court you, much less in front of him.

this is how he experiences culture shock. not by the customs of other nations, but rather, by the sheer audacity that some people have. especially when your hand is laced tightly with his.

"i think... i think..." the stranger trails off, his voice filled with an adoration that makes neuvillette's stomach churn. "... i'm getting lost in your eyes, beautiful."

the stranger reaches his hand out to give you a rose, a dashing grin on his face. you smile awkwardly.

"sorry, i'm taken."

"taken... by my good looks?" the stranger asks, putting a hand under his face to emphasize his features. neuvillette squeezes your hand.

"no, they are taken by me. we are partners," neuvillette explains, his tone remaining polite.

"partners in work?"

"yes, but—" neuvillette starts, but is quickly interrupted. you spare him an endearing glance, charmed by his honesty.

the tips of his pointed ears begin to blossom red. again, he squeezes your hand.

"no, we are married," you state blandly, and the stranger's gaze flickers over to your hands, searching for a ring. neuvillette doesn't like the look on the stranger's face; it's evident in the way the iudex narrows his eyes, the way he steps forward a little even though he'd usually try to avoid confrontation.

"i could get you a ring," the stranger says, clearly not getting the hint, "and you wouldn't have to lie about being married."

"there is nothing we owe to you that requires us to prove our marriage. we are married, and that is all you need to know," neuvillette declares firmly, his tone becoming harsh.

"but words alone don't mean anything," the stranger replies with a shrug.

neuvillette furrows his brows, clearly stumped by the stranger's statement. he disagrees—words don't mean everything, but they are definitely worth something.

"just back off," you suddenly chime in, tugging neuvillette closer to you. he lets you string him along to your whims, allowing his figure to inch towards yours, finding its place by your side.

"i'm not interested in you. i already have a lover."

the stranger rolls his eyes.

"ugh. i didn't even like you anyway."

neuvillette frowns. "now that is completely incorrect. just moments prior, you were—"

"just shut up!" the stranger yells, not even bothering to listen to neuvillette's explanation.

clouds begin to form.

"let's go, neuvillette," you say, rubbing the back of the iudex's hand with your thumb. "don't worry too much about that guy."

he looks at you, and the sun emerges.

"you're right. thank you, [name]."

a ring dangles from the silver chain on your neck; it's a vibrant shade of blue.

it glows.

"and you wanted to try this land's water, right?"

he lets you string him along, a gentle smile on his face.

"yes," he vows, "i do."

his hand slots perfectly into yours, and the world is engulfed by a radiant glow.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin #heizou x reader #heizou x you #shikanoin heizou #genshin heizou #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x y/n #wanderer x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer genshin

[cordeliawhohung]

I saw a reblog of the anonymous ask someone sent you about using character ai, and someone responded saying something about how it’s disgusting to even ask that, which is a liiiitle harsh, but I digress.

The issue here, is that there are more people who don’t understand what AI is doing than people who do understand.

ChatGPT, Open AI, Character AI, Gemini, etc ALL steal from published works on the internet. It cannot be prevented, no one can stop it from happening.

I’m not an artist & I don’t publish my writing, but I do genuinely care about the artists and writers who are having their work stolen and receiving absolutely zero credit.

Please, please, please, do not put someone’s work into AI.

If you want to create a character, or a storyline & use character ai, by all means, go for it. But PLEASE, don’t disrespect or disregard these artists by feeding their work into an AI. It completely diminishes all of the hard work they put into their art.

oh boy, nothing like having a post you made in fucking january suddenly gain a fuck ton of attention lmao.

while i understand where you're coming from, i think you completely missed the main point of my response to that anon.

1: i literally explained that ai steals work to that anon. i said it's a pale imitation of what a real human would write. that it takes works that people put so much effort into and regurgitates it out. i told them not to put stuff into ai. i informed them, and i wasn't rude about it either. emotional, maybe, but i wasn't being rude.

2: the main issue i had with that anon, besides the ai grossness, was the insinuation that i'm not "creating enough content" for them. "the readers can interact more with the characters" comment from them really grinds my gears. even if ai didn't steal from creators, and it wasn't a godawful abomination, them wanting me to put my ideas and works into something that they can interact with that isn't through me completely disregards the entire purpose of me having this blog in the first place. which i ALSO explained to them. why would i want to put my work into a 3rd party source and not interact with my followers when that's literally my favorite part of creating? bonding and talking about the shit i put effort into? i had every right to be upset about that, and so does every other writer.

3: i have no control how people reblog my posts. so idk why you're coming in my inbox about what someone else reblogged, really, just to tell me everything that i've already explained to that anon. i know who you're talking about too, because they're a mutual of mine, and honestly, i agree with them. it's disgusting to suggest someone should put something into a third party source so they don't have to wait for me to "churn out works" or whatever. i know people aren't well informed. which is why i informed them on that post and left it at that. i also explained why it's frustrating to receive asks like that, to hopefully prevent them from doing that again.

also, while i have whoever is reading this, i'd also like to mention that the anon who sent that ai ask sent a response back (that i didn't bother to respond to because i wasn't trying to make this a thing) somewhat apologizing and said they asked me that because other blogs on tumblr were doing it too. don't do that. don't assume that just because some people are doing x thing, that means you can suggest it to someone else. it's rude, and comparing blogs is just frustrating in itself.

anyway. i will not be making this a thing. do not come into my inbox debating the ethics of ai or whatever, as i will simply not entertain it. (:

#core responds #fuck ai everything #fuck holding writers and artists to impossible standards #people have every right to be mad about it #and if they're a little rude about it i #really don't care

[essektheylyss]

not to be an unhinged Capricorn of a writer, but I really love getting rejections. I'm taking up space as a writer! I'm getting feedback! often I get to know if I got to a second round or not, and if they actually want to see more of my work. sometimes they even suggest other markets to send the piece to that it might fit better!

I've never gotten a mean rejection—even when they're form responses, they are usually quite nice, and stress how many submissions the market or agency receives. and I understand that, but a lot of folks don't. just because you were rejected doesn't mean the reader didn't like the piece—because of how many submissions virtually every market and agency gets, there are dozens of reasons why they have to say no to things, even things they love.

and every personalized rejection I've gotten has actually made my day, because it is genuinely lovely to know that someone read my work and gave it enough thought and consideration to say something specific about it. because I get excited when anyone reads and thinks about something I've written! even if it's just one person!

like do I want the things to get accepted, yeah! cuz I like the pieces and I want other people to read them! but the disappointment of not having the thing published isn't personal, it's professional, and meanwhile I'm gaining a lot of insight into my writing just on statistics for getting a lot of rejections. I don't think that any given rejection is a reflection of me personally.

#i admit i am on the extreme end of the 'don't equate your writing to yourself' but i genuinely think that is SO important #specifically if you want to write professionally cuz like. you're gonna get rejected. #but i don't think you have to be HARDENED to that? like... i can tell based on responses which pieces are stronger than others #and which need more editing #but like. i do think you can be very emotionally invested in your writing and what you're saying and what stories you're telling #and also not take it personally when you get rejected #especially because each piece is different and individual and SMALL notably. even a whole book is NOT equivalent to You #so it isn't a full reflection on you #anyway just thinking cuz i got a rejection that genuinely made my day #like i would legit not have any way to gauge writing progress really if i was not submitting stuff #honestly i don't like telling people 'oh yeah x got rejected' cuz i always get 'aww sorry' and I'm like. i mean yeah but like oh well? #like it's not NOT disappointing to not get accepted but. cuz i would like to get stuff published not cuz i think it reflects on my worth #even like. as a writer lol. #tbh i think this is also like. a struggle with not considering how much of a thing other people see #you can write the most intensely personal story about your deepest trauma and a reader will never know. they're just reading a story. #it can be deeply affecting and still be. yanno. a story. #but also if im writing about my own shit im always abstracting it far enough that it is just like. an element of the thing. #and usually it's not even like. recognizable to me as what it originally was. it's like a transmutation. #or! it is recognizable but it's something that i didn't even recognize it as when i was writing it. #like I'm using writing as alchemy and it works so fucking great honestly #anyway I'll stop and go back to work but i had to make this post cuz i am laughing at myself for being so !!! over rejections #now. grad school rejections on the other hand. those hurt like a motherfucker lmfao #but mostly cuz 'ugh wdym i have to try again in a YEAR couldnt you just take me this time?' #whereas writing is like. cool im submitting this one piece to another three magazines as we speak.

[anaalnathrakhs]

“work meeting” this evening wish me luck i want to run away and die

#once again oh boy do i regret sorta-accepting this #because yeah it was a light at the end of the tunnel back when i had no career prospect at all #but now that i'm actually on track to actually have that damn high school diploma #and i have roughly two years of leeway and the proper infrastructure to build myself a career project #i'm... not happy about it #the boss is passing the company along because he's too overworked to do anything with it #which makes it so the formation i receive is ''to work with me you gotta be independant'' and jack shit #i'm already mostly overwhelmed by living my life as normal #i don't need a fucking company to run to add on top of that #i guess i should ask for a ''day in the life'' type of explanation but it's so difficult to get a hold of him #and he's... i don't know if it's my fault for not being assertive enough or if he's genuinely abrasive #but he's not very easy to ask questions to #cf ''you gotta be independant to work with me'' quoted abive #and i don't even WORK there holy fuck i don't!! #i'm just a convenient young person who isn't gonna retire/die in five to twenty years who can perpetuate the company or smth #like i get a small publishing house isn't a business that's running all working day long in a big warehouse that you can observe #but all the things HE does which are the thing that will be MY responsability are done half the fucking country away from me #we have a zoom meeting every three months #that's straight up not enough i am wholly unprepared for this job #can't wait to legally own the parts next tax year 🤪 #broadcasting my misery #vent

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n

#cod konig #konig modern warfare #konig x reader #konig #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #konig fic #konig cod #konig mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #x fem!reader #x female reader #cod x female reader #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod könig #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader

[abbyshands]

PALESTINE LINKS

in honor of the media blackout this week, i wanted to compile a list of links and resources regarding what’s going on in gaza. i advise all of you to give these links a look at, or to at least reblog them. the people in gaza need the bare minimum from us in that sense. &, well, if you can’t take enough time out of your day to give these links at least a look, a like, or share, then, bye !

& for all the the last of us fans out there, you need to see this. it’s genuinely a must. not to call anyone out, but i see a lot of people who have not spoken out about this at all, who, for example, keep publishing or reblogging fics etc during the blackout. i love a good fic as much as anyone else, but you can wait a week. there’s really no excuses here. if you didn’t know about the previous blackout, then now is your chance. don’t turn a blind eye to this.

at the end of this post are links specifically for those engaged in the last of us tumblr. if you aren’t going to look at the links before that, then at least look at those.

oh, & for the dumbasses who are unfollowing me for spending a week to post about a fucking genocide? fuck you, & good fucking riddance. you are not and never were welcome on my page. i don’t want you here anyways!

PALESTINE LINKS

SEVERAL ways you can help the people in gaza. some of which are fully free.

SEVERAL links regarding info around this genocide, such as places to boycott, and ways to learn more about the nature of it all.

SEVERAL ways you can help, including ways to donate, petitions you can sign, and campaigns you can join.

places you NEED to boycott. don’t buy from them, regardless of if they really fund israel or not. if they support them, that is more than enough. boycotting is a way to resist, so do it. at the end of this post are also places that are helping those who are in gaza, and families you can help escape by donating.

know that this issue did NOT begin oct. 7th. this is so much deeper than you know, and has been going on for 70+ years. click the above link to educate yourself on that front.

CLICK HERE TO HELP PALESTINE! this site has already been debunked on if it really helps the people in gaza or not, and it does. just one click is all you need. one button, once per day. you can even do it on different devices or browsers so you get more than one click in. click it daily!

CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES using this link, and this link (this will help you find ways to call or email them depending on where you live). also, urge biden and congress to do right by the people in gaza. the U.S. sends billions of dollars to israel every year, funding the genocide that’s ensuing as we watch on from the comfort our homes. do the bare minimum, & hold them accountable. please.

HERE ARE WAYS YOU CAN DONATE or find a PROTEST near you! not everyone is readily available to do these things, i know that. but looking into them could never hurt, or at least sharing it elsewhere so there is more awareness surrounding it.

LEARN OF AFRO-PALESTINIAN EXPERIENCES, & the efforts they have made over the years. i think it’s so, so crucial that we hear their voices, &, god, learning of all that they’ve been through, & all that they’ve done, is so inspiring.

here is some more info regarding BOYCOTTING. boycotting does, and has been proven to work. this post explains the subject a bit more in case it happens to confuse anybody, along w/companies and such that need to be boycotted, & why. as i said before, boycotting is a way to resist. so do it!

HERE IS A 🇵🇸 MASTERLIST including ways to educate yourself, donate, books you can read, & films you can watch. this is one of the best links i have regarding this genocide, and i highly recommend you look at it!

SOUTH AFRICA took israel to court for this genocide! read about it in the above link.

FOR THE LAST OF US FANS

do not remain in the dark about the last of us’s link to the ongoing conflict in gaza. neil druckmann, the director of the game, is a ZIONIST. he grew up in israel, and TLOU2 is rooted in israeli themes. now, no one is saying you have to quit playing the game, or dislike it, for all you dense ones out there. but i ask that you remain aware of this aspect of it, especially if you are regularly engaged in the last of us tumblr.

this is a link that i highly, highly recommend you read through. it discusses the HEAVILY ISRAELI THEMES TLOU2 displays. click the following link to learn more on TLOU2 & NEIL DRUCKMANN.

DO NOT BUY TLOU, TLOU REMASTERED, TLOU2, TLOU2 REMASTERED, OR ANY GAME FROM ND! neil druckmann has donated money to the IDF in the past. & where do you think he’s getting his money from? yeah, you got that. watch gameplays, pirate these games, or buy them secondhand. several shops sell used games. & for those of you who went and purchased the game anyway, knowing about all of this? fuck you.

if you think your $10 doesn’t matter, then think about this: okay, one person spends $10 on the game. whatever. but when 100,000 people do it? that’s a million dollars, going into the hands of a zionist, who is using YOUR money to help kill innocent men, women, and children. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

it is not just the games you need to boycott. HBO’S show also needs to be. follow this link to learn of more movies and shows you need to boycott, & the reasons why, including the last of us. let’s also not forget that dina & abby’s actresses are in support of israel, and BELLA RAMSEY, ellie’s actress, has also shown support.

boycott. the fucking. show. there are a million websites where you can pirate it, so you are not giving any of your support to it. resist.

i understand that not everyone is educated on this subject, and that not everyone knew of the previous media blackout. for the last of us fans, i understand that not everyone knew about the game or show’s israeli nature. but it is never too late to take part. it is never too late to care. i promise you that. if you purchased the game, at least donate to one of the sources above. that’s just bare minimum.

get educated, get loud, & GET PROUD! these are innocent people who are dying as you read this from your bed, couch, whatever. the least you can do is like & reblog so this reaches more people. your voice matters, big account or small.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE 🇵🇸🍉

#gaza #palestine #free palestine #free palestine 🇵🇸 #free gaza #gaza strip #israel #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #abby anderson #neil druckmann #boycott israel #the last of us remastered #the last of us 2 remastered

[visionsofmagic]

— how loud they are. ✷ mk1 edition. | part 1.

LOUD.

— nsfw content is under the cut! just a drabble. hope it is canon correct. also, wanted to make this two part because wanted to publish this before a request work, so here we are. enjoy! part 2; kung lao, syzoth, raiden, kenshi, shang tsung [so far]. [main master.]

tomas, kuai liang, bi han, johnny cage, liu kang

TOMAS. he would keep his voice to himself at the beginning of your relationship, however, over time, he will get confident and he will never hold himself back from showing how good you feel as he uses his voice, words, and sounds. he will be still shy yet he knows he should not hide how weak he is around you. he will become so loud that it’s hard to cum by just how cute he sounds. he will moan shamelessly, yet have a bit of redness on his face, worshipping you even and begging- it takes a few seconds until he’s down bad for you.

“mmmhhp! oh, yes, yes, my beloved, please - need more - ohhhh! more, mor - mhhhp! so good to have you - so gooood!”

KUAI LIANG. his loudness can change from time to time, whether he is the one who is a mess or you who is being a pathetic one by him and his cock. he will stay a bit silent when it comes to fucking you rough, yes he will still growl, and leave low moans but he will be louder when you take control, making him weak on the knees, hotness in his body is not there because of his ability, no, it will be there because of you and how easy you take shameless sounds from him.

“oh my - you have no - aggh - idea how much you make me weak, right? baby, I - ohhhh fuu - I love you so muuch - agh, will cum because of how good you’re making me feel!”

BI HAN. he stays quiet except for talking dirty, humiliating, teasing - will praise you if you do good, will accept how good you feel if it’s a lucky day because the man doesn’t want to break by anyone yet you’re so different, different than anyone else because you can really make him, the grandmaster, swear underneath his breath, sweating and can’t help but moaning lowly into your ears - growling from time to time as if he’s a beast and your his special hunt.

“fuuck! pretty baby, have no fucking idea how much pleasure I, your grandmaster, get by fucking you. aggh - fuck! feel so good to see you making a mess on my cock like this slut.”

JOHNNY CAGE. he will never stop talking, so, he would not like to keep his voice only to himself either, especially when you make him see starts, reaching the climax - the highness he has never had before you - not even seeing outworld for the first time had this effect on him, no, you’re something else and he promises that he will never hold back when it comes to you, and that includes literally worshipping you, moans, lewd voices, begs never leaving his mouth.

“shiiit baby! fuuuuuck you feel amazing! please baby give me more - need more, fuuuuck! pussy is tightening around my cock that you literally swallow it - ahaha - feel that baby? ‘s all you!”

LIU KANG. god of fire has great control over his body which allows him to stay calm and steady even in the most challenging situations. however, it all disappears in the air with a puff when he has you - exposed, giving yourself to him, and in return, making the god of fire a mess - literally, a mess who is doing all the things he never expected himself to do; moaning loudly without shame, talking so openly with the highness he feels, being on his knees and begging for you. so, he is likely to be as loud as you in bed, wanting you how you affect him in all good ways by being loud enough to make his voice echo inside your mind as he fucks you into oblivion.

“oh my y/n, my love, such beauty that I am so weak before you! please - one more, pretty girl, please, give me one more - you can do it - mhhpp! I can earn it. pretty - ohhh!”

🧡

#🧡 version two of my mk1 drabbles #mk1 #mk1 x reader #tomas vrbada #tomas x reader #smoke #kuai liang #scorpion #kuai liang x reader #bi han #sub zero #bi han x reader #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #liu kang #liu kang x reader #🍒 thanks for reading! see you in part 2 too! #mk1 smut

[9toji]

MDNI / 18+ only

you have never thought rin as a possessive and or, jealous boyfriend. it never really came to mind till now, when he stares daggers at the man who dared speak to you, he hates it honestly. the way you laugh at the man's jokes, not even funny he thought. one wrong move from the man, and he was going to take his jealousy out on you, in the best way possible.

rin's eyes twitch at the sudden movement of the man's hand, was he going to touch HIS girlfriend? he wouldn't allow it, rin quickly approached you, with a gritty smile. “hey baby, who's this?” and the man gets taken aback, “oh, sorry man. didn't know she had a boyfriend.” and rin scoffs.

“check the hand, i'm her fiance.” he proclaims, raising your hand softly. a diamond ring was wrapped around your finger, it looked expensive too (it was.) rin watched with disgust as the man scrambled away, turning his attention to you. “your friendliness is gonna kill me baby, almost laid a hand on you too. can't have that, only i can touch you.”

rin chuckles at your expression, leaning in to your neck. “i mean, he looks.. decent. but i'm your fiance, you chose a fine man to be with.. so why don't you make it worth it?” he breathes, latching his lips on to your neck, groaning at the way you're so sensitive for him.

tongue smoothing over the places he bit into, leaving hickies in his wake. his free hand cups your back, caressing it softly. while the other, worked busily to fondle your breasts. it was indecent to say the least, especially in the middle of a bar. only a few people were brave enough to look.

i mean, how could they not ignore the way you whined rin's name as he bit and caressed you. not to mention rin's excessive praising and mutters, “who do you belong to again baby? remind me who put that ring on your finger for me.” your fiance cooed, with a devilish smirk.

it took all his energy to not undress you right then and there, he was going to take you.. inside and out. in a more secluded place at least, rin didn't want to be published in newspapers for public indecency. so he opted to drag you into the restroom.

not that the sounds you two made weren't decent, maybe “famous soccer player rin itoshi caught in local bar's bathroom with fiance.” would be a good, great even headline for tomorrow's papers.

#rina; bllk works 🎧 #bllk; rin 𓆩♡𓆪 #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #itoshi smut #rin itoshi smut #rin itoshi drabbles #rin itoshi scenarios #blue lock rin itoshi #bllk rin #bllk x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bllk x you #blue lock

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 [𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Aventurine x dealer!fem!reader

Warnings: gambling, sexual tension.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq I'm just starting my blog on Boosty, but I'll be glad if you support me with a subscription and read the full NSFW version of this work there. Soon there will be other works that will not be published on Tumblr.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. VIVIZ — MANIAC

You have long heard from other casino employees about a certain visitor, which comes here quite often, but you have never been lucky enough to meet him until today. The girls sighed languidly, referring to him as a handsome man, preparing to serve him the best drink, for which he would pay generously, and the men working in security only irritably noted that if he visited the institution today, they would only have more work. Then you didn't pay any attention to their words until one of the bar staff squealed with delight, energetically pointing at the blond man who entered the hall.

A dazzling smile, a light gait, but a sly look hidden behind gold glasses, gliding across the tables and the employees standing behind them before playfully sparkling violet-blue eyes rest on you. Your back straightens reflexively, and your fingers wrap around the back of your hand, and you nod in greeting when several men, led by a blond man, approach your poker table. You have been working in the field of gambling for several years, so you can easily notice expensive watches, chains and rings on his hands and a long earring in the ear of an elegant man in a hat, dressed in a black jacket with a fur collar, a turquoise shirt with a small but provocative neckline on the chest and white trousers with patent leather shoes. In total, all the clothes and trinkets of this person can be compared to the cost of your life. Winning will not matter to him, as losing will not greatly affect the quality of his life, which means he simply enjoys a sense of excitement and superiority, since, according to rumors, he plays very well.

«Well…»

— Oh? I haven't seen you before, — the blond man lowers his glasses on the bridge of his nose, smiling slyly at you as soon as you raise your head.

— I'm sorry, sir, today I'm serving you, because the dealer who is more familiar to you is ill, but I assure you, this will not affect the quality of the time spent in our institution in any way, — you kindly answer with a calm expression on your face, which causes the blonde to chuckle softly.

— How official! Relax, honey, — the man leans lower, slightly tilting his head to one side, carefully watching how the expression on your face changes to a more tense one. — It's a pity that… Oh, what was her name? — the blonde pulls away, thinking for a second, trying to remember the name of your colleague, but in the end only sighs briefly, spreading his hands. — It doesn't matter. You've been brought up to date, that we're going to need a separate room, haven't you?

— Yes, sir. Please follow me.

An unpleasant person. It was clear from afar that it was better to stay as far away from him as possible. These vibes of nauseating self-confidence and narcissism definitely don't bode well, but you still humbly do your duty, pulling on a smile and letting the guests into the VIP-room. Usually this room is rented by companies of influential people whose names are so well known to everyone that such guests don't even bother to introduce themselves, because you always know who they are, but these men… You're seeing them for the first time.

Anyway, a job is a job.

— Have a seat, dear guests. Would you like to see the bar menu?

Men in suits silently take their seats, and only an energetic blonde immediately responds to the sound of your voice, standing in front of the last empty chair.

— We'll order the same as usual,— the stranger says sweetly, spreading into a frighteningly sweet smile that sends chills down my spine.

— I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know…

— Oh, how could I forget! — the blond man clasps his hands in a gesture of apology. — Whiskey on the rocks.

His theatricality is a little annoying, but that's none of your business.

— As you wish, sir.

The female silhouette peeking out from behind the slightly open door and instantly disappearing after the blonde's words only made your task easier, allowing you not to even leave the room. It seems that this man is really very popular among girls, which, in principle, isn't surprising. A pretty face, a thick purse and a sugary voice, like a demeanor, are the pillars that support the classic image of a heartthrob in the eyes of any woman. It would be fascinating if you hadn't met such people before. This place is teeming with both men and women, sometimes even reasonably believing that the whole world belongs to them. Perhaps you would have bought into his charisma too, if you were as frivolous as a bar employee rushing into a room no more than five minutes after the order was placed.

— Thank you, dear. As always, you help out, otherwise my friends seem to be out of sorts today, — the blond man chuckles melodiously, looking at the other five guests. You can almost see in their stern looks the desire to strangle this talkative flatterer, and you can't help but chuckle to yourself.

— Anything for our beloved visitor! Have a nice game, — your friend blushes, smiling shyly before leaving the room, barely restraining a satisfied squeak.

You modestly clear your throat, drawing the attention of everyone at the table to yourself.

— Well, gentlemen, shall we begin?

You leave the button* in front of the blond man sitting first on your left hand. Early* is the most unfavorable position to start the game, but he should have known about it when he sat down here, or is it just an accident?

After the preflop*, while you were deftly shuffling the deck in your hands, someone had already started emptying their glass of whiskey, someone took out a pair of fragrant chocolate cigars. The blonde just watched carefully how skillfully you dealt the cards, not missing a single movement of your fingers. For a second, you even doubted that he didn't trust the new dealer, but every time you dared to look at him, his lips stretched into an even more sugary smile, and his eyes always found yours. Is he trying to get you into the same emotions as the silly waitresses? You wonder how soon he'll lose interest in your indifferent face?

The game went on quite calmly until three people remained at the table, including a smiling blond man.

— Ace of hearts, two of spades, jack of hearts, ten of clubs, two of hearts. The bets are made, you can open, — you say in a monotone voice, glancing at the cards on the table that turn over one by one.

«Street? Not bad…» — you stop looking at the blond's cards before you hear a thud on the table. After looking at the other hands it became clear that there is nothing on the table stronger than two pairs.

— Oh, don't get mad! We've just started, — the blond man raises his hands in an innocent gesture, chuckling softly, it seems, making the man opposite even angrier.

It seems that now you understand a little what the casino guards were so unhappy about, but the more games passed, the more sad the blonde's position became. The empty glasses were hastily replaced with newly filled ones with a new portion of whiskey, and the concentration of smoke in the small room became more and more suffocating, it seems, only exposing the undisguised glee of the men at the table, allowing themselves to mock the blonde, who was catastrophically unlucky today. A flush* against a royal flush, a pair against a square* and, in the end, his hand could only boast of the highest card*. What a disappointment.

— Here, order yourself one more whiskey, — one of the departing men casually tossed a couple of chips in front of the blond man sprawled on a chair, grinning hoarsely before staggering slightly out of the room after the other four, whose loud voices disappeared into the noise of the casino outside the door.

— Sure, — the man who remained at the table smiled gently at the departing acquaintance before taking a sip from his glass.

You wanted to say something, maybe even encourage him, but it's not your way to mind your own business, so you just silently gathered the cards from the table, about to ask the guest to leave the room, when suddenly he spoke first.

— That's not what you expected, is it? — you turn to the blond man, who is resting his head on his own palm. The same strange smile is still playing on his lips, even despite how much money he left at this institution today. He's really weird.

— I don't know what you mean. I don't know how you play, so I couldn't even try to predict the outcome of the game.

— Come on. You know how I play. That girl from the bar told you about me, didn't she?

Annoy.

— Even so, I'm not used to trust rumors, — you reply indifferently, carefully putting the cards back in the box.

— In that case, now you can conclude that I'm a lousy player? Oh, that would be unfortunate, because everyone has unlucky days.

— I don't think it's about luck, — you wanted to say that someone should just drink less and make less risky bets, but you restrained yourself, maintaining professionalism.

— Ho-oh? Then what is it? — the blond man perked up even more, waiting curiously for your answer.

— It is not appropriate for me to give advice to visitors, because my earnings, among other things, depend on them.

— That's how it is! So I was wrong when I decided that you weren't like the other girls looking at my wallet?

— It turns out that it is. But I'm looking at the wallets of every potentially profitable player for me, — you shrug your shoulders. — And now, if you'll excuse me, you should leave the room, since the game is over.

— How pragmatic, you remind me of someone I know, — the blond man, as if he hadn't heard your last words, gets up from his chair, coming closer. — So you don't believe in luck, huh?

The man leans slightly forward, looking into your eyes from under the half-lowered glasses on the bridge of his nose. The expensive sweet fragrance of the perfume instantly cuts into your nostrils, and you take a small step back.

— It's absurdly to rely only on luck in poker. That's all I wanted to say.

— Hm-m … — the blond man pretends to think. — You're right. Then what about roulette?

— Even roulette has its own patterns, but if we don't go into details, of course, this game revolves exclusively around chance.

— Great! Then can we play? — the man turns towards the roulette table, which has apparently not been used for a long time, in the corner of the room.

— I'm afraid my shift is already over… — you frown, even before you finish, he interrupts you.

— Oh, I was so catastrophically unlucky today that I just want to win back at least another game, otherwise I won't be able to sleep peacefully tonight… Are you really that heartless?

— You can use the services of a croupier and play roulette in the hall.

— It would be sad, because I already liked you, — the blonde smiles, looking into your eyes again.

— If you're trying to flirt with me like that, then I'm in a hurry to upset you — it won't work, — you reply irritably, about to leave, when suddenly a weak grip on your wrist stops you.

— I'm sad to hear that, but what if I make a bet?

You turn around, batting your eyelashes in puzzlement when you meet the sharp gaze of a man's violet-blue eyes.

— You can't play roulette without betting, what's the point of all this?

— Let's say… if my bet plays out, you owe me a kiss, what do you say?

You almost boil with anger, looking at this personification of self-confidence standing in front of you.

— I'm not going to play your games, let go of my hand.

The attempt to pull back your hand was unsuccessful, on the contrary, only forcing the blond to pull you closer.

— It seems that luck isn't on my side today, so if I lose, I'll just leave.

The desire to just slap him in the face is almost impossible to ignore, but you wouldn't be working here if you weren't a gambling person too. Your lips stretch into an arrogant smile as you approach the blond man's face, slightly squinting your eyes.

— In that case, on what number* will you put it on?

The blond man's eyebrows rise, after which a ringing laugh is heard in the room.

— I knew you could entertain me! — the man lets go of your hand, but does not take a step away from you before saying softly. — I'm betting on zero.

«He's crazy!»

You almost laughed at how crazy his bet turned out to be, but it sounds like he's already agreed to leave you alone, so you just smiled, silently retreating to the corner of the dimly lit room. The table has indeed not been used for a long time, having already become covered with a layer of dust, but you take a small ball, gently rolling it in your hand before turning towards the blond man who remains standing at the poker table. He doesn't seem to care at all that he's going to lose now, and the smile doesn't leave his face for a second. It will be all the sweeter to see how the expression on his face will change when he loses.

— Your bet is accepted, — you say loudly before spinning the roulette wheel by throwing a ball at it.

The man doesn't even look at the spinning roulette wheel, instead watching your eyes follow the ball as it slides across the sectors.

12, 35, 3, 26, and finally….

— It can't be… — you whisper, eyes wide open and just looking at how the ball stopped at zero.

— Ho-oh? What's is it? Judging by your reaction, did I win? — the blond man grins, slowly removing his hat from his head and leaving the hat on the edge of the poker table.

This can't be happening. Betting on numbers is always a huge risk, because the chance that the ball will stop at the chosen one is incredibly small. Was he… really just lucky?

You purse your lips, summoning all the self-control you have to turn to the man with an indifferent expression on your face.

— That's right, congratulations on winning, sir.

— M-m… it's not just a win, you remember the conditions, right? — the blond man says playfully, slowly walking towards you, until finally he towers over you, elegantly ripping the glasses off his face.

«This jerk has probably been rehearsing this for years…»

— I didn't have to accept such bets at all, — you mutter irritably.

— I understand your disappointment, but still, you accepted it. Be kind enough to hand me my prize, — you look into the extraordinarily beautiful eyes of a man, trying your best to deny how really attractive he looks without glasses and a hat.

— Ahem… okay. But can I at least get your name? I wouldn't want to kiss a complete stranger.

— Huh? So you don't know who I am? How cute, — the blond man squints, breaking into a smile. — You can call me Aventurine. And you… — the man hooks the badge on your chest with the tip of his finger. — Y/N.

Where have all your old composure gone? They probably got lost somewhere in the midst of this madness, which for some reason you signed up for, following your own excitement. Self-confidence is just as much your enemy as Aventurine, only in this case he is elated with victory, and you are trying to collect your thoughts in order to fulfill the conditions of the game he started.

— Excuse me… — you mumble awkwardly before pressing your lips to the man's cheek, leaving as quick a kiss as possible to hastily turn away, hiding the blush that has appeared on your face.

— Hey! And what was that? — Aventurine says in disappointment, touching the place of your kiss with the tips of his black-gloved fingers.

— You asked for a kiss, but didn't specify which one, — you try to sound confident, but still mentally berate yourself for not being able to look into his eyes right now.

— Oh… — the blond man sighs heavily, pulling away and approaching the roulette table. — I'm not satisfied with such a victory. Let's do it again.

— Huh?! — you cry out indignantly, looking at the back of the impudent man rolling the ball around the zero sector. — I shouldn't be here at all, and neither should you!

— I'm betting on zero again.

You freeze, raising an eyebrow when you turn to Aventurine.

— You're going to lose.

— Maybe, — the man shrugs, turning to face you and leaning on the edge of the table. — But if the bet plays out again, you'll give me a real long kiss.

— I'm not going to waste my time on this madness. The chances of hitting zero a second time are so small that it's easier for you to just leave this room right now, since it's simply impossible to play this bet.

— Let it be so. You don't lose anything if you're so sure of my defeat, do you? Besides, didn't you say that you don't give advice to the players?

It annoys you how logical his words sound. But what's even more annoying is that you really doubt it. It's just not possible. You have to show this arrogant idiot his place.

— Okay, — and here you go back to the roulette table again. — But if you lose, you will never return to this casino again.

Aventurine's purple eyes widen before flashing a gambling spark.

— And you know how to make the game more interesting, — the man grins, picking up the ball from the table, carefully leaving it in your hand. — I agree.

This will be the craziest bet anyone has ever made in the entire existence of this casino. And it only fuels your interest too. You spin the wheel in anticipation by throwing the ball. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as if your own life is at stake. It's been a long time since you've experienced such adrenaline, no matter how absurd what's happening, because it's worth it to win…

— Ha-ha! It seems that today is really my day, — Aventurine grins as the ball slowly rolls and stops at sector zero. Again. — The money I lost in poker was worth spending all my luck on such a tempting prize.

Impossible. He just did the impossible. What were the chances? The mind is so devastated by shock that you can't even approximate the probability, just silently looking at the green sector in amazement.

— You're not… cheating, are you? — you're almost whispering, without opening your eyes from the little ball.

— What cruel accusations! How, tell me, could I cheat at roulette? — the man clicks his tongue in frustration, slowly wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling your body towards his. — If these are just assumptions without any evidence, I think it's time to start awarding the second prize.

The lips open, releasing a soft sigh into the air. You feel the warmth emanating from his body, the smell that his nauseatingly expensive clothes exude, and you feel his measured breathing on the skin of your face when Aventurine bends down, almost touching his lips to yours and freezes.

— I'll make it easier for you this time, — the blond whispers, letting his warm breath caress the delicate skin of your lips.

— What do you mean?.. — the only thing you managed to say right before Aventurine's lips covered yours.

Long fingers dive into your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back, and he deepens the kiss, insistently making his way with his tongue through your lips, which are not too resisting. A soft moan dissolves in Aventurine's mouth, and your fingers desperately cling to the fabric of the shirt on the man's chest, but still you respond to the kiss, allowing your tongue to stick out a little further, slowly waltzing in tandem with his. The shock was instantly replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and a flutter in his chest. It seemed that this kiss lasted forever, so harmonious, gentle, but passionate, as if you have known each other for so long that Aventurine doesn't need much effort to make you melt in his hands, which you allow to touch your body.

Lips gasp for air as soon as Aventurine pulls away, looking at your flushed, relaxed face, which isn't touched by the former cold indifference with which you looked at him all evening.

It's a strange feeling. From the very beginning, when you saw this man, the only thought that you would never in your life become infatuated with just his presence somewhere nearby was ingrained in your head, now fighting for supremacy with the unwillingness that he would let you go. You shouldn't give in to this.

You gently press on Aventurine's chest, shuddering as soon as you feel his warm skin under your fingertips, noticing that you touched this very seductive neckline.

— Is that all? I have to go… — you say softly, trying to get out of Aventurine's hands, but he's not even going to let go of your waist or your cheek, to which his palm is still pressed.

— Really? Well, then I won't hold you back, — the blond man grins, still continuing to prevent your imaginary escape.

— Then let me go. I gave away your winnings and I don't owe you anything else.

— Yes, you did, — the man whispers, gently stroking your cheek with a thumb in a leather glove.

You look at each other without saying a word and freeze like statues. The muffled sounds of slot machines, clinking glasses and laughter come from the hall outside the door, breaking the silence that hangs between the two of you, but you can't hear anything else except your own rapid heartbeat throbbing in your ears. A strange warmth spreads in your chest, gradually sinking down, and a heavy weakness settles in your legs, which doesn't allow you to move from your place.

«What are you doing, Y/N?», — you ask yourself one last time before you swear unintelligibly under your breath, grabbing Aventurine's shirt in order to involve the man in the kiss again. Greedy, careless, but you needed it. The blonde's palm shamelessly moves to your buttocks, covered with black trousers, gently squeezing the elastic flesh, and your fingers slowly slip under the neckline in the shape of an inverted heart, caressing the heated skin of Aventurine's chest.

— W-wait… — you suddenly break off the kiss, breathing heavily and looking at the purple irises covered with long eyelashes.

— What's is it? I won't complain that the dealer is harassing me if you're worried about it, — Aventurine grins, forcing the expression on your face to change to the old irritation.

— This is wrong. I don't have to…

— I don't care about the rules, — the man tilts his head to one side, smiling playfully. — I'm betting on black.

— What? — you ask discouraged, watching the man's fingers hastily undoing the buttons of your white shirt.

— If I win, now you'll be my prize, — Aventurine winks at you before opening the cotton fabric on your chest, noticing you are wearing a black lace bra. — Tsk-tsk, how unlucky you are today. I won again.

✧ ✧ ✧

The button is a special chip marked "D", transmitted clockwise and identifying the dealer (in this case, the dealer is an employee of the casino, so the button only determines who will bet first).

The early position is the player's place at the poker table, located immediately behind the dealer.

Preflop is the initial stage of the poker game, which includes the distribution of cards and the first bets, including blinds.

A straight is a combination of a sequence of five cards.

A hand is a combination of two cards in the player's hands.

A flash combination of five cards of the same suit.

Royal flush is the strongest combination of cards from 10 to ace of the same suit.

A pair is a combination of two cards of the same value (for example, two aces).

A square is a combination of five cards of the same value (for example, four aces).

The highest card is the card of the highest value of all lying on the table.

In roulette, it is possible to bet on one color, on even and odd numbers, and so on, including you can bet on a specific number, which is quite risky due to the reduced chances that such a bet will play, but the winnings from it are multiplied by 35.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr x you

[sage-green-matcha]

NEIGHBOR - ETHAN LANDRY 🏙️

When Ethan can’t get enough of the girl next door!

MINORS DNI!

Content includes: SMUT! oral receiving !Fem, Ethan catching you! Switch Ethan kinda? A bit of praise!

A/n: wanted this to be longer but honestly had no energy to finish it :( but I rlly wanted to publish it anyways so here u go!

<3

<3

<3

You sighed at the sound of loud music playing. It was just loud enough to be heard through the wall. Even if the song that was playing was from one of your favorite artists, you just wanted to sleep. You had a big Econ test that you couldn't afford to fail.

You picked yourself up lazily, blanket wrapped around you as you slipped on your loafers. You felt the cold touch your legs, shivering as you walked next door.

You knocked a couple of times, looking up to be met with a familiar face. "Oh uh, Y/n...what are you doing here?" Ethan Landry? You knew him from your Econ class, and also Chad's best friend. You two had been partners for projects a couple times, so to say he was a stranger would be a lie. "Oh uh, hey Ethan. I was wondering if you could turn down your music a bit? I'm trying to sleep" He gulped, feeling immediate guilt for disturbing your sleep.

"Oh, yea..yea! I'm sorry" "Thanks" you smiled. You walked back to your apartment, you didn't know he was your neighbor. You had been living in the small, New York apartment complex for about 6 months. And you hadn't seen him till now. 

It was the same thing for the next couple of days, waking up at night to tell him he was being too loud or his music was making the wall shake. He always apologized, yet he never cared to change his volume before you went over to ask.

Ethan started doing it on purpose. He loved the way you looked when you had just rolled out of bed. It drove him crazy. Tired eyes with the prettiest sleepy voice. You would always wear a baggy teeshirt, no shorts underneath and just a blanket wrapped around you, bare legs.

You struggled to fall asleep, confused at the disappearance of the loud music you had been hearing for the past week. It felt strange but you shook it off, finally able to enjoy a full night's rest without any disruptions.

Or so you'd thought.

You groaned into your pillow as you heard a couple knocks on the door. It was a Friday, and you weren't expecting anyone to come over, especially not at 1 am. You dragged yourself out of bed, not caring about your slippers. You slipped out a yawn as you opened the door, this time Ethan at yours.

"Ethan...hey, what are you doing here?" You rubbed your eyes, the light from the hallway hurting them. "I got locked out of my apartment...I left my keys in class.." you frowned. "Oh no, did you call the landlord?" "He's in New Jersey?" his hands were in his sweats, small and worried frown on his face.

"Uhm, I guess you could stay with me for the night" his heart pumped out of his chest. That's exactly what he hoped you'd say. "Are you sure...? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything" You nodded. "Yea It's fine" you smiled, letting him inside. "Sorry to wake you up again" you shrugged. "Felt weird without your music anyways, I'm kinda getting used to it"

He put down his bag by the couch, watching you walk Into your bedroom to get blankets. He was more than excited. His plan had worked. He had his keys in his bag and had dressed in comfy clothes so he had no problem with having to change.

You plopped down the pile of blankets on the couch, tossing a pillow over to him. He watched as you laid out the blankets for him, placing the other pillow at the end of the couch. "Thanks" He smiled up at you. "No problem, if you want any snacks you can go in my pantry, Tara makes me stack up. And uh, there are drinks in the fridge"

"Thanks, for everything" "Stop thanking me, I'd want you to let me sleep over if I was locked out" you shrugged, turning around to go back to bed. "Night, Ethan" "Goodnight..."

But you weren't having a good night. Tossing in turning in your bed as you felt an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. Warmth gathered in your core and you rubbed your thighs against each other. You knew you couldn't do anything about it, especially not with a guest in the house.

But your pussy was hungry for touch, a pain filled you up. A pain that could only be relieved by touching yourself. You sighed with guilt as you stuck your hand into your panties, rubbing small circles against your sensitive bud. You bit your lip, holding back any small whimpers. You'd die before you'd let Ethan see you like this, yet again you probably wouldn't mind if he walked in on you.

Your movements got faster, a small sloppy moan coming from your mouth. You heard the couch creak, making you pause. "Y/n...you okay in there?" "I'm fine" you answered, melting into the mattress as you pulled out your hand. You were frustrated, almost close to your small orgasm. "You sure?" "I'm Good, Ethan" You heard his footsteps go back to where he originally was, putting your hand back into your panties.

This time you were careful not to make a noise. Only the sound of your wetness was barely heard under the sheets. Your mouth was deep into your pillow, shoving two of your fingers deep into your hole. Your walls tightened around your hand, dripping wet as you thrust your fingers into yourself.

Your mind was clouded, the feeling of your hand on your clit while the other was thrusting hard made you roll your eyes back. You were careful not to make any noise, a tie in your stomach forming. You were so so close, the possibility of getting caught turned you on even more.

What would Ethan think of you? That you're a slut? That you're gross? Or would he rip your legs open and help you out? You felt your legs shake as you pushed towards your orgasm. Frustrating and embarrassment filled you as you heard the door open. You couldn't care less though, you continued to fuck yourself as Ethan walked over.

"Y/n...what are you doing?" Ethan rubbed his eyes, staring at your position. "Oh..." he walked closer to the bed, your head still fucked out as you rubbed small circles against your clit. "You're so dirty..." a small scoff fell from his lips as he peeled the cover off of you, your hands covered in your juices.

"You're not very quiet Y/n" Every time he said your name you wanted to melt. It sounded so good rolling off his tongue. You continued to pump your fingers into yourself, biting your lip with your eyes closed as he watched. You felt so dirty, just like he said.

Your body heated up at his touch, his warm hand gripping your thigh. A whimper escaped your mouth as your movements slowed down, the tie in your stomach seconds away from snapping. "Don't stop, you can do it" his hands held onto your inner thigh, thumb gently rubbing on your skin.

"You look so pretty fucked out" his words shot straight to your core, legs shaking as you felt yourself release onto your fingers. "Wasn't that hard, was it?" Your chest raised with every breath you took, Ethan taking your cum covered fingers into his mouth.

Your breath hitched Ethan, staring into your eyes as he sucked your fingers, letting them out with a "pop" coming from his lips. You didn't think twice before you were on top of him, lips sucking with desperation as his hands ran up your shirt.

You knew this was wrong, but damn it felt so right. The way his hands perfectly grabbed your waist, lips fitting together like a puzzle. He let out a small groan as your knee slipped in between his legs. Feeling his hard boner on your skin.

You deepened the kiss, lowering yourself on top of him as you rubbed against his dick. He let out a small moan, your hands now pulling on the strings of his grey sweats.

"You're such a slut" You pulled away from the kiss, Ethan's lips on your neck. "Yet you're the one that was watching me" "And you're the one that kept going" you melted into him as he pressed down on your clit, still sensitive from earlier.

Your small, whiney sounds turned him on. Thrusting himself against your clit. "Don't be so desperate" you mumbled, your teeth sinking into his shoulder as he made friction. "I could say the same about you" he flipped the two of you over, pushing you up closer against the headboard.

He hovered over top of you, biting down on your lip as you looked up at him with eyes full of desire. You'd never looked as good as you did right there. "Can I go down on you?" You were slightly taken aback but nodded anyways. You had never had a guy ask you, you always had to ask them first. And they always insisted for something in return.

Ethan wasn't like that, he just wanted to pleasure you. Just getting to see your eyes roll back and your cum on his fingers would be enough for him.

He pampered small kisses against your jaw. They got sloppier as he moved down, marking you with his lips all the way to your waist. Ethan looked up at you with sweet eyes. He pulled down your panties, pulling apart your legs. You felt the cold air on your pussy, wetness covering your glistening core. You felt nervousness gather in your stomach, taking a deep breath.

He ran his fingers through your folds, jolting at the feel. You felt so vulnerable with him. He honestly had no idea what he was doing. He had seen it done once. Accidentally walking in on Chad and Tara one night. But besides that, absolutely clueless.

You sensed his confidence start to go down, taking small breaths. "You okay...?" "I uhm, yea...just not too sure how to do this" You just shook your head, smiling before sitting up. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to do anything" his face was soft, running your hand through his hair as he stared with his lips agape.

"No...no it's okay. I want to learn" "yea?" "Mhm," he chewed on his lip, staring back at you with doughy brown eyes. "Just do what feels right. And I'll tell you what feels good, alright?" He nodded, watching as you spread your legs open once again. He swore you were the prettiest person he'd ever seen. And to see you like this got him so flustered.

He ran his finger through your folds once again, collecting the extra cum from your hole. Your body shivered, craving more of his fingers on you. Your breath hitched as you felt his tongue flatten on your clit, biting back your lip as he stared at you.

"Keep going, good" he felt better as you praised him, doing tricks with his mouth on your pussy. His nails dug into the skin of your thighs, the pain proving you with more pleasure. Small whimpers and heavy breaths escaped from your mouth, Ethan lapping and sucking all over your core.

Your mind was cloudy, your back arching as you grabbed onto the bedsheets. "Please please please" Your hands dug into his hair, pushing his mouth closer to your pussy. His nose rubbed against your clit, his tongue deep in your hole. Your stomach pulsed, feeling hot all over your body.

"Fuck, E... I'm gonna cum" you hummed, feeling his fingers quicken on your sensitive clit. He hadn't even pushed his fingers into you and you were about to cum. The way he looked up at you made you moan, staring back through barely open eyes. Your legs wrapped tightly around his head, basically suffocating him with your thighs.

He pried your legs apart, shaking and weak as he continued to taste you. You tasted so sweet, the feeling of you on his tongue was addicting. He tried to rub himself against the bed, feeling the pain of his ignored boner get to him.

"Shit…shit" you bit back your bottom lip, body shaking as you felt cum drip from your pussy. Ethan's mouth was wide open, licking all of the cum up like your pussy was an ice cream cone. "Taste so good" You pushed his head away while he licked, too sensitive to continue.

He admired your sweaty face, watching as your chest rose with each heavy breath. "You okay...?" He asked, concerned. "Mhm," you hid your face in the pillow, Ethan coming back up to kiss you. "Was I okay?" You held back a smile, nodding at him.

Your lips connected once again, tasting yourself in his mouth. You got why he wanted more, pushing yourself closer to him. Heavy breaths filled the room, Ethan grabbing your waist before whispering something in your ear. “I didn’t actually…leave my keys” he chewed on his lip, watching as your eyebrows furrowed. “Really? Why’d you lie?” “For this”

You rolled your eyes before kissing him again, his cheeks a light pink as you pulled back. “Fucking creep” your lips formed into a smile, teasing him. “I’m not a creep” “You are, but you know what? It’s kinda hot”

#ethan landry #fanfic #jack champion #scream #celebrities #cute #jack champion x reader #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x y/n #avatar #ethan landry x you #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x reader #jack champion oneshot #jack champion x y/n #jack champion scream #ethan landry fluff #jack champion fluff #ethan landry angst #jack champion angst #jack champion fanfic #scream 6 #scream vi #scream franchise #ethan landry drabble #scream smut #scream 6 smut #ethan landry scream #scream brainrot #scream 2023

[wynnyfryd]

💖 2024 Steddie Fic Recs 💖

@thefreakandthehair and i were talking about how so many of the fics we can name off the top of our heads are from right after the show came out because we were still actively making rec lists back then, so:

in no particular order i present to you an incomplete list of fics i love that were published or completed within the last two months

short fics (<10k)

Found God In A Tomato by @beetlesandstarss 5.7k | rated M | fluff, text fic

syrupy sweet strangers to first date fic. without spoiling anything, eddie is a flustered cutie and steve is a fuckin' menace who's lucky he's so hot

he tightened he grip by @steddieas-shegoes 1.3k | rated E | crack not treated remotely seriously

Mickala beloved your commitment to the bit makes me wanna commit myself to you 💍

Slide It In by gayhandshake 1.8k | rated E | multimedia crack

another truly impeccable work of crack fic, i laughed so hard at the first image that i made it the icon for my private discord server

what's that sound? (there's a funny man at my door) by @jewishrat420 4.8k | rated M | spicy six text fic

laughed out loud at this fic so many times i really don't know what else to tell you. as a matter of fact, i went to look at my bookmark note to see what else i had to say about it when i read it, and my note just says "fucking hilarious i laughed out loud like 6 times" 💀 did not do not will never know what else to tell you except that the phrase "the goyim of gender" just randomly pops into my brain once every four or so days now

medium fics (10-20k)

In the Kitchen or the Tulips by @teddywesworl 44k | rated E | telepathic soulmate AU

this fic said "watch me flip this trope inside out like a freshly cubed half of an avocado" and then DELIVERED. i finished this fic and then stared at the side of my husband's head for long enough that he looked over and went "wtf are you doing" lmao hush baby i am contemplating the implications

they're going to send us to prison for jerks by @greatunironic 16k | rated E | social media AU

okay firstly the premise of this fic is so specifically and delightfully unhinged; love that i'm not the only one who looks at a random tiktok account and manically whispers to myself "there's a fic in there somewhere." secondly the execution is a 10 outta 10 outta 10 outta TEN

long fics (50k+)

Sneaky Link by @morningberriesao3 152k | rated E | onlyfans au

the sex is HOT the boys are dumb as goddamn ROCKS what more do you need? oh, what's that? you do need more? sick because this fic also has: the tags "cum slut eddie munson" and "everyone is gay (because i say so)", chrissy the homophobe slayer being the cutest little spy, and jason getting his ass whooped, like, spiritually. on a spiritual level. physically unharmed but that boy's soul is missing teeth do u understand what i am saying

podfics!

it was love, love alone read by @reena-jenkins 21min | rated E

am i technically reccing my own fic on my own fic rec list? you bet your sweet ass i am, i don't even care how tacky that is reena's performance is hilarious and deserves to be listened to at least 40 more times while doing the dishes

relax (lay it back) read by @flintandfuss 1hr 10min | rated E | yogi dom steve x sub eddie

listen if i'm already being gauche then i gotta include my internet wife's belated birthday present to me, like i gotta. morally and lustfully obligated.

Schiava by @teddywesworl read by aheada_lettuce 1hr 30min | rated E | kas!eddie AU

said it once already today and i'll say it again, i cannot believe one of the best reading voices i've ever heard belongs to a person i mentally refer to as fucking lettuce LOL anyway this read is incredible and i have listened to it Times(tm)

and lastly, if you want more recs (like, 348 more specifically), you can browse my full list of public st bookmarks here

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic recs #i'm still playing catch up on tbrs from 2023 so don't have a ton of new fics to rec just yet but these are all excellent i promise <3 #steve harrington #eddie munson

[hoshifighting]

Secrets in Ink

Synopsis: Y/N is the author of a saga of adult books, but no one knows her identity, which makes her products sell more and more. Joshua Hong is a big fan of the books written by the author, but little does he know that his co-worker owns the words that make him thirsty.

Word count: 3.4k

Reader! Anonymous author, Joshua Hong! Reader

Warnings: smut, oral (f. and m. receiving), penetrative sex, a slight voyeurism, smacking, dick riding, fingering (f. receiving), begging, both switch, can have some grammatical errors, so I apologize in advance :)

The saga written by Y/N delved into the realms of passion, desire and forbidden love, creating a literary world that resonated with readers seeking an escape from the mundane. With each new release, expectations among fans reached new heights, fueled by the elusive nature of the author's identity.

Unbeknownst to bookworms, one of Y/N's most dedicated fans was Joshua Hong, a diligent worker at a publishing company in Seoul. Joshua's love for Y/N's books went beyond mere admiration; he found solace, excitement, and a connection to his own desires in the pages of tantalizing sagas.

Little did Joshua know that the woman responsible for his literary desires was none other than his own co-worker. Y/N found a job at the publishing house as a text and publishing analyst, carefully hiding her double life as a talented author. Her days were spent at the office, surrounded by colleagues who were oblivious to the fact that their easy-going co-worker was the mastermind behind the salacious stories that captivated the world.

As the popularity of Y/N's books continued to grow, Joshua's fascination with the elusive author deepened. He participated in online forums, attended autograph sessions, and even tried to discover the identity of the author, all to no avail. Y/N reveled in the irony of her situation, watching Joshua from across the office, knowing that the very person he wanted to discover was hiding in plain sight.

The tension between the secret author and her unwitting fan reached new heights when Y/N's latest release set the literary world on fire. Joshua, enraptured by the narrative, unknowingly sat mere tables away from the woman who wrote the words that fueled his fantasies.

Today was another end of the day where your work friends got together to take a break since the week was long enough. And the chosen destination was a bar that sold fried pork. Y/N was already thinking about the smell of her hair and clothes at the end of the night, while her coworkers commented on the huge success of the books published last Monday.

“They contacted the author today via e-mail, she was so nice! I can imagine the day she will appear at the company…” Eunji said dreamy to Y/N, who was already drinking her beer.

“Honestly, I never thought we would sell books like this.” Seungkwan said with a hand on his chest “It’s the best seller in years! Every day I want to kneel and thank god the the writer chosen our company, I love the fat salary in my account!” 

“Facts! And one day I will be just like Y/N” Eunji breaks Y/N out of her trance as she rests her glass on the table, choking a little on her beer. “Me? Whyyy?” “You arrive on the company at 8a.m in a whole BMW and you think we wouldn’t notice?” 

The woman smiles awkwardly and turn the pork belly on the little grill on your front “It was only thanks to my savings okay? Imagine how much that author must earn” 

“Woah to have her bank account!” 

“Imagine have a night with her! If she writes so well about it, then she must be a demon in bed” The girl by her side says and she couldn’t help but laugh sincerely. That was the part that Y/N love the most, the expectation of people about the writer’s life again.

“But honestly! Her books are so good, that's why it sells so much.” Joshua affirms. 

Y/N gives him a curious glare “Oh! So you like her books?” 

“Of course I do, the writing it’s so captivating, I could read all day long, without any problems” He rise his shoulders.

“Woah! Joshua reading those type of books? Oh! He is so romantic!” Seungkwan sulk at him punching his arm, while Joshua rolls his eyes. “Y’all should read the best seller of your company” Joshua argues.

[…]

After a long day of work, here was the part of the end of the day that Joshua was most looking forward to, as he settled into the comfort of his dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm tone across the pages, he eagerly dove into the latest release from your favourite anonymous author. The words unfolded like a well-choreographed dance, each sentence leaving him intrigued with what was to come in the narrative.

His eyes scanned the paragraphs, savoring the clever sentences and subtle nuances that made this mysterious writer truly exceptional. Anticipation rose within him, excitement akin to a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift.

The room seemed to come to life with the magic written on the thin pages, and Joshua found himself with his hand under his sweatpants during the heated dialogue and sighing at the intriguing plot twists. The anonymous writer had a way of infusing every line with an exciting energy that left him totally horny. Impatient, he takes off his own clothes from his already sweaty body. Again flipping another page of the book, masturbating his cock as he holds his bottom lip between his teeth. “Ah! Fuck” 

Joshua found himself breathing shakily, while his hand worked harder on his hard cock, the muscles of his arms moved together with his hand, and the room is already filled with the moans that leave from his mouth. It doesn’t take long for Joshua cum in his abdomen holding tight the base of his cock with your head thrown back. He laid the book on this bedside table closing his eyes groaning before going to the bathroom.

[…]

Y/N, however, was not content with mere anonymity. She longed to unravel the carefully constructed façade of her fan, Joshua. Calculating her every move, she orchestrated a plan to reveal her true identity to him in the most unexpected way.

One day, as fate would have it, Joshua was called to Y/N's apartment to fix a supposed computer glitch since she was in her home office that particular day. Y/N meticulously organized the situation, ensuring that he would discover the truth amidst her literary kingdom. When Joshua arrived at Y/N's apartment, anticipation hung in the air like a charged melody. 

The door opened, revealing Y/N standing before him, a sight of fascination. She greeted him with a inviting smile, wearing a sheer white shirt that offered a teasing glimpse of delicate lingerie underneath. Black pants clung to her waist, accentuating curves that, until then, only existed in his realm of imagination. The smell of her home, as well as her literary world, enveloped him – sweet, intoxicating, and inviting. The well-decorated space spoke volumes about the woman behind the words, a place where fantasies and realities converged perfectly.

Joshua, mesmerized by the scene before him, felt a sense of comfort in the atmosphere she had arranged. He waited patiently, his eyes taking in every nuance of the moment. Y/N, his sweet and kind co-worker, made a subtle but deliberate sign, inviting him to her office. With a tilt of her head and a shy smile, Y/N called Joshua into her office. The room, an extension of her creativity, welcomed him with warm tones and the soft glow of ambient lighting. The air was buzzing with a shared secret, and when Joshua entered the space where he barely knew the words that fueled his desires were crafted, he couldn't help but feel a shiver of anticipation.

As he delved deeper into the intricacies of her computer, the air grew thicker with expectation. As Joshua stepped into Y/N's home office, surrounded by filled with books and the subtle shelves aroma of new pages of paper, he went to work on his computer, unaware that the very secrets he sought were hidden in the files he was about to explore.

Smiling, she watched as Joshua stumbled upon a hidden folder containing the manuscripts of his beloved saga. Shock and realization danced across his face, the lines between fiction and reality blurring in a heady revelation. Y/N's secret was revealed before him, and he was caught in the tempting web she spun. The air crackled with tension as Joshua turned to Y/N, his eyes reflecting a mixture of amazement and desire. Her, the architect of the situation, revealed herself with a mischievous glow, her true identity no longer confined to the pages of her books.

In that intense moment, Y/N and Joshua found themselves at the intersection of fantasy and reality. The words that fueled Joshua's desires were no longer the creation of an elusive author, but the passionate reflections of a co-worker who skillfully orchestrated the revelation. As Y/N and Joshua stood enveloped in the charged atmosphere of her office, the unspoken tension between them reached its peak. The revelation had set the stage, and the air seemed to hum with a shared desire that transcended the boundaries of fiction. Y/N closed the distance between them. Joshua, captivated by the allure of the moment, met her halfway. Their lips touched in a kiss that held the weight of a collision of worlds where the line between fiction and reality continued to blur.

The kiss lingered, a moment suspended in time, before Y/N pulled away with a subtle smile. Without breaking eye contact, she took Joshua's hand, leading him out of the office and into her room. The journey through her creatively adorned space was a sensory experience—books whispering stories from shelves, the subtle aroma of scented candles filling the air, and the glow of ambient lighting casting a warm hue. Every step felt like a deliberate move in the narrative they were weaving together. As they reached the doorway of her main bedroom, Y/N turned to Joshua, her gaze a reflection of the desires that had long been confined to the pages of her books. With a silent invitation, she opened the door, revealing a space that mirrored the intimacy and allure of the stories she crafted. They found themselves on the threshold of a new chapter. The bed, adorned with soft sheets and plush pillows, beckoned them into a realm where the boundaries between author and reader, fantasy and reality, continued to blur.

As they entered the room, the door closed behind them, sealing the narrative of Y/N and Joshua in the privacy of her creatively curated sanctuary. The story that had unfolded from the depths of Y/N's imagination now transitioned into a shared experience, a continuation of the tantalizing saga that had brought them to this moment of connection and desire. Y/N intertwined her fingers in Joshua's brown locks, as he caressed their tongues together. 

Joshua, now acutely aware that his hot co-worker was none other than his favorite writer, felt a surge of heat coursing through him, the realization that Y/N, the woman he had worked alongside in the office, was the mastermind behind the steamy tales that had fueled his fantasies, intensified the charged atmosphere. The lines between admiration and desire, professional and personal, blurred into a landscape where the boundaries were defined by the shared heartbeat of two individuals drawn together by the allure of the unknown.

He laid her back on the wall, pressing your bodies together, she could feel his cock hard against her crotch while her hands ruined trough his layers of clothes, pulling your sweater in a single upward movement, he helps her, removing his shirt looking at her teasingly. She starts so open every single button from her transparent shirt, painfully slow. Joshua with the greatest delicacy tried to unbutton them quickly.

“Calm down Joshua I won’t run away from you…” She smiles, kissing his neck, and then licking a stripe with her hot tongue, feeling his skin shiver. “I should take time with my favourite reader, shouldn’t I?” He moans pressing his forehead on her shoulder, while he removes her belt of her silk pants. “You know what? I loved to see your name on my e-mails, giving me a whole feedback about my books… Or when you gone to the book events to get a single autograph, and to try to find out who wrote the dirty words you loved so much. You couldn't imagine that I would reveal myself like this, could you?” 

At this point, their clothes were lying on the bedroom floor, allowing Joshua to play with the thin fabric of her lace lingerie, moving their bodies to her bed. He climbed on top of her, kissing her neck, and played with his teeth, with the thin gold chain that adorned her neck. He rubs his clothed dick, on her covered pussy, eliciting groans from both of them. “Who would have thought that you, all quiet in your corner, would write all these bold books? I would never imagine that you had this naughty mind” He rubs again, making her lips open with a silent sound. 

"Since you've got that wild imagination of yours... If I were one of your characters, what would you do with me here, and now, hm?” Caught off guard by Joshua's unexpected question, she closes her eyes, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. As she imagined the scenario he proposed, a subtle bite on her lip betrayed the depth of her thoughts. When she opened her eyes, a seductive look met Joshua's gaze, and she responded to him by looking him in the eyes. "I'd tie you to this bed, and ride your cock until you begged for more. Or I'd let you fuck me on the balcony, showing all my neighbors how well you fuck your favorite author…” 

She says with so much naturalness, that now it took Joshua by surprise — he even tries to act natural, but his flushed cheeks give him away how aroused he was — she can notice that he is now sinking his fingers into the flesh of her body “You are so surprising, what do I do with you?" he sulks clicking his tongue. 

Y/N hugs her legs around Joshua's waist and grabs his neck, flipping him, so she can sit on his lap “You know what? You'd rock as a character in my next book, but before that, I wanna get a feel of you." Joshua's eyes shine with the answer given to him, but she didn't give him time to think, she was already in between his legs lowering the waistband of his black boxers, his dick jumps, and lays on his stomach. She holds his cock, licking the base, while the angry tip asked for attention. Her finger press his slit, spreading the precum that shone with the room's lighting. His body trembling with the teasing.

Joshua blinked, and when he saw it, his dick was already inside of her mouth, she bob her head on his dick, and he cover his face with both of his hands whimpering in pleasure, he laughs, brushing his hair back with his hands “Oh my God, you’re doing so good for me baby… Ah” he looks at her, holding her hair to go deeper, and she goes, even deeper than he expected, his eyes widen and he arch his back “fuck I’ll cum” he cries, looking at you almost closing his eyes.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” 

“No you won’t!” She drop his dick on his stomach again. 

Joshua gets up, looking at her with pleasing eyes “Why?” “I don’t think you are my loyal reader. Never let them cum so easy, you know that, don’t you?” “Yes, you right.” He gets up again, walking through her room and opening the curtains of her window, revealing, the lights from the city in the night. He turns off all of the lighting, and put a chair in front of the big and vertical window, while she watches him curiously. With strong arms around her, he gets her out of bed, placing her sat on the chair. “What are you doing?” he rips her lingerie from her body, and she open her mouth “Shh! Quiet” 

She opens her legs for him, giving at him a full view from her pussy, dripping already. The lighting was very low, — so people couldn’t see them properly from their windows, or from the street — but she still could see the shameless white smile on his face, before licking a teasing strip on her pussy looking at her eyes. Y/N curl her toes at the sight, the wet and hot tongue, making a mess on her pussy “Fuck, you look so good like this…” he says, and her hand holds his hair, pushing him to eat her out again, he smiles and groan sending vibrations to her clit. 

Joshua holds her legs open, feeling her tights tremble on his hands, while her pornographyc moans fulfilled the room, she was on the edge for the second time, but Joshua wouldn’t let her cum yet. “Why you’re so mean?! I’ll ride you until you cry! Ah!” she threatened angrily at Joshua's long teasing.

He stops and look at her, pushing two fingers inside of her, making her eyes roll at the back of her head “Yeah? And what else are you going to do? Will you be able to do it?” he scoffs looking at her. She’s a trembling mess, and your pussy was already dripping on the chair. 

“I-I will-“ She screams when he curls his fingers inside of her, feeling her eyes kick out the tears from the sides of her eyes.

“Aw babe can’t even speak…” he sulks at her moving his fingers fast enough so she can feel the knot on her stomach again, and he can feel her pussy tighten around his fingers, so he stops again, licking his fingers. 

She open her eyes, and give him an angry glare, she wasn’t kidding anymore. So she gets up, holding his arm, guiding him to sit on the chair angrily. He looks at her a little anxious “So quiet, out of nowhere? Hm?” She laughs at him. 

Y/N holds the base of his dick firmly making him jump, Joshua could only feel her tight, wet and warm walls hugging his dick, before his vision gets white. She slammed her hips on him, and the boy moan loud throwing his head back. Her hand hold his jaw firmly, so he looks at her. He needs to hold the urge to roll his eyes, so he can keep the eye contact with her with furrowed eyebrows. Y/N starts to roll her hips at him, masturbating her clit, so he can fells her pussy tightening even more. Shivers are sent to Joshua’s body. “So good, so good, so good…” 

Joshua takes her hand out of herself, and starts to rub her clit fast, slapping her on the ass. She groans, pulling his hair, and rolling her hips furiously, he looks at her like he was asking for mercy, both of them couldn’t stop their moans to leave their mouths. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop babe, I’m al-most t-there, I swear! Please! Please?” He asks and her mouth opens in an “O” and he nods at her as a stimulation to cum, then she screams his name, creaming his cock, riding her orgasm, looking at him, to see if he was near because her legs wouldn't last long. He kisses her messy, moaning, and he tries to kiss her until his moans stop him, the orgasm washed over him rolling his eyes, moaning loud enough that his ears rings after. 

She lays on his shoulder, and he hold her waist tight to him. Y/N looks at him with a tired smile “We should get some sleep, we have to wake up early tomorrow…”

[…]

As Joshua and Y/N strolled into the office, a shared secret lingering between them, the evidence of their night together evident in the shared smiles that adorned their faces. The knowledge of Y/N's true identity only fueled Joshua's excitement, and he couldn't help but wear a constant grin as he replayed the events of the previous night in his mind.

Seungkwan, the unsuspecting colleague, announced with enthusiasm, "Hey, did you hear? The mysterious author wants to drop a new smut next month!" Joshua's eyes met Y/N's, and she responded with a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of their intimate connection.

The office banter continued, but in that moment, amidst the hum of activity, Joshua and Y/N shared a secret that transcended the ordinary workday. The thrill of their clandestine affair and the anticipation of the upcoming literary release painted the day with an aura of shared mischief and unspoken desires.

#seventeen headcanons #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt smut #svt imagines #joshua hong #joshua smut #joshua hong smut #joshua fluff #joshua hong fluff #hong jisoo #hong jisoo fluff #hong jisoo smut #joshua x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong x you #hong jisoo x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen #hoshifighting writes

[deathbecomesthem]

You, Me, and Baby Make Three, Pt. 1

Pregnant!Reader x Partner!Eddie Munson | 3.9K

Summary: You and Eddie are at the end of your first pregnancy. Things take an unexpected turn. This story starts on day -3 to birth and will go through ~day 42 postpartum. It will be a realistic portrayal of first time parenthood.

Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, childbirth, pregnancy complications, gross body things that come along with childbirth and parenthood, financial insecurity, medical trauma, and all of the wonderful and terrible feelings that are a part of having a child. The good, the bad, and the very ugly. This story will have smut in the end. I'm only telling you this because I know that information sometimes means a person will otherwise not bother with a story. I should warn you, though - it will be an accurate portrayal of postpartum sex.

A/N: This is largely based on my own experiences as pregnant person and new parent. I'm writing and publishing this story without a whole lot of tidying of the story. It is what it is, and I'm very ok with that. Don't read this if you think it will trigger you in any way.

---

Day -3 to 0

You can almost reach it. You got down on your hands and knees in front of the large stainless steel refrigerator before you really thought about it. It was just a small thing, reaching under the behemoth cooling machine to get the errant bagel that fell off the baking tray. You’ve done it, or something close to it, hundreds of times before. Except this time, you can’t lay flat on your belly to reach under and grab at it with the tips of your fingers. You’re wondering if you’re even going to be able to get up off the tile at this moment.

“What the fuck are you doing?” An annoyed voice asks. You can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed, only relieved that someone is here to help you up. “Whatever’s down there can stay there. Don’t need you going into labor over a danish.”

“A bagel,” you answer back. You reach your hands out and let Beth, the opening barista, help you to your feet. “I didn’t think about it. I know, it’s stupid.”

“Well, I’ll leave a note at the baking station. ‘You’re super pregnant, you idiot. Stay off the floor.’”

You cock your head to the side and roll your eyes. You hate this. You hate people treating you differently. No, it’s more than that - you hate that you need to be treated differently. It’s not right. It’s just not. You are still in this body, and you can take care of it yourself. It’s not right that everyone gets to have an opinion about what you do with it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I have an appointment with the midwife this morning. I came in early, I’ll be gone for about an hour. You’ll have to hold it down til the other girls get in.” You’re hanging your flour dusted apron on the handle of the already cooling oven doors, not waiting for a response from Beth. 

“You know, you can just take the day -” Beth doesn’t get far before you cut her off.

“You know the fuck I cannot just take the day. I need every second of work I can get before this kid pops outta me.” You’re telling her while still making your way to the back door, grabbing your bag on the way.

“I can’t believe Eddie lets you work like this.” Beth gets her last jab in, earning her your middle finger before you slam the large metal door closed on your way through the door and into the parking lot. 

You consider your hip pain on the ride to your doctor. It’s been getting worse. Every part of your body is heavy, all of the time. You wish you could be done with spending 9 hours on your feet 5 days a week. Truly, would a few hundreds of dollars matter? Probably not. There isn’t enough money for what’s coming, that’s something you’re certain of. And Eddie.

Eddie. Your sweet man. Oh, he does worry, it’s all he does right now. It’s why he’s pulling 50 hours at the factory, delivering pizzas 4 nights a week, and still doing guitar lessons on Saturdays. You want to tell him that it’s too much, that you need him to be happy. You need him with you more, holding and caring for you. Except. Except that there’s a baby on the way, and what you need is as much cash as possible. This is how the world works.

Your legs feel heavier than when you left the cafe as you swing them out of your car in the parking lot of the midwife’s office. Today, your ankles feel like full balloons ready to pop. Your feet hurt, but not from standing on them - they hurt because they feel too big for your shoes. You try not to think about the last appointment, when your midwife told you to keep an eye on the swelling in your legs, and how you ignored the advice. What could you do? Tell your body to stop retaining so much water?

The empty waiting room is a blessing, you don’t even have time to waddle to one of the cold, plastic chairs that line the walls of the waiting room. No time to flip through the glossy paged parenting magazines. The nurse brings you right back. You turn your face away from the scale as it registers your weight, follow her back into one of the rooms at the far end of the office.

“Alright, get a gown on, and then open the door. I’ll come back for your blood pressure.” The nurse is making her way out before you even have a chance to respond. You undress clumsily. You can’t get used to the way your weight is distributed, every day something changes in you. Your body expands and makes space for the thing that’s growing, that’s sucking the nutrients from your blood. You’ve come to think of them, the baby, as a kind of parasite. An unkind thought that you’ve kept to yourself.

You tuck your bra and underwear beneath the maternity pants and oversized blouse, and waddle to leave the door open a crack to indicate you’re once again modest. As modest as you can be with the back of your gown open to anyone that might move behind you. The paper under your butt crinkles as you move your thighs around to try to get comfortable. The nurse is back, and you wonder if she was standing in the hallway waiting for you to be ready for her.

She pulls the cuff down from the wall, and wraps it around your arm. With a finger at your wrist, she pumps air into the cuff. And pumps. And pumps. And pumps until it starts to get painful, and you feel a vague sense of panic, as if your arm might break open at the pressure. She mercifully releases the air just as you're gearing up to tell her it’s too tight. You look at her face, feeling your own features relaxing, waiting for her to tell you the numbers that are meaningless to you. Her eyebrows are pinched together, the first sign of anything more than vague politeness and professionalism.

“Why don’t you lay back, let me get you a pillow.” She pats the paper covered table behind you, and pulls out the extension at the foot end. She pulls a pillow, covered in a similar paper to your gown and the table cover, and sets it down by your head. “Janice will be in very soon.”

You do as you’re told. You lay back. You think about the look on the nurse’s face, and start to feel small rumbles of concern surge through you. Your heavy belly sits in your eyesight, so that when the midwife comes in, you can only see her cheerful face. The prickling of panic fades when you see her. A 65 year old woman that has birthed a countless number of babies, a motherly figure you’ve come to trust, she guides you through the strange wilderness of pregnancy.

“How’s mom feeling today, hm?” She asks as she wheels over the backless stool to sit next to you. Unlike during a doctor’s visit, Janice likes to sit and talk to you before she begins her examination. She told you on your first visit with her that it lets her understand what she should be looking for. Today, though, she’s looking at your ankles, and testing the skin while she waits for your answer.

“Oh, I’m tired. My skin itches. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.” You’re listing your usual complaints, and see Janice nodding along. Normal complaints. 

“How’s baby? Have we been keeping track of movements?” Janice looks at you, her hand still feeling around your lower leg. She’ll know if you’re lying, so you don’t even try.

“I mean, I haven’t kept notes or anything, but I feel like it’s moving around all the time. Just before you came in, I swear there was a dance party going on in there.” As if to reiterate your point, a movement could be seen across the top of your belly. An elbow? A knee? 

“Good, good. That’s what I like to hear.” Her words seem a little hollow, and you know she’s holding back something. “You’re very swollen, though. I’m more worried about mom than baby right now. Have you been keeping your feet up when you can?” Janice is already on her feet, and heading to the counter to pull out a pair of vinyl gloves.

“Well. Sure, when I can. I’m still working, but after work I try to keep them up. Eddie found a recliner a couple of months ago, did I tell you that? It rocks when it’s upright, good for the baby, he said. It’s been a godsend to have that thing.” You’re just talking now, but Janice is still nodding along with your words.

“That’s good. It helps to have a supportive daddy at home.” Janice sighs, and smiles. Her lips are a thin line, and you feel your muscles brace for impact, “your BP is pretty high today, and I don’t like the look of your ankles. Your urine sample was normal, though, so we might just be looking at a bad day.”

You don’t say anything. You’re trying to remember what that means. It’s in the book, the one that Wayne bought you as soon as he found out about the baby on the way. A potential complication, oh shit, what was it called. It could be really bad, you’re remembering - low birth weight, birth complications, postpartum seizures, fetal and mother death. Shit, shit, shit, what is it called -

“Just to be safe, we need to treat this like it’s toxemia. That means partial bed rest for the next few weeks. You can come in three days from now for a BP check. We have a wonderful OB that comes in once a week, and we can squeeze you in to see him.” You can hear Janice’s words, but you lack understanding. You pick out one bit, and ask,

“Partial bed rest? I can’t work?” You ask Janice’s back. She’s rifling around in the cabinet about the sink. She finds what she’s looking for, bringing out the measuring tape so that she can see the fundal height of the baby. She gives you the same tight lipped smile as before as she works the tape around your middle.

“No, you can’t work. I’m sorry. We’ll know more when you see the doctor. For now, you’re staying with your feet up unless you’re going to the bathroom.” Her voice is soft, but firm. No room for argument. 

—-

You hear the van pull up outside the trailer. It’s Wednesday, that means he’s home tonight, not driving around town delivering pizzas to the people of Hawkins. You hope he won’t notice the puffiness around your eyes, you cried for an hour after you stopped at the cafe to turn in your keys. You looked at the checkbook balance while you sat in your car and wondered how you’d be able to afford groceries by the end of the month. This wasn’t in the plan. 

“If you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world,” Eddie’s singing as he swings open the door, “tell her I’m sorry, tell her I need my baby!” He’s smiling and swinging his old lunch box. You can’t help but laugh at him, still dressed in his coveralls and hair pulled up in a ponytail. The hairnet and earplugs were left in the van, along with his safety glasses.

“You goon. Charlie Rich, huh? You’re edging closer to becoming Wayne’s twin every day.” 

Eddie comes over to you, and kisses your forehead, careful to not get his still grease stained hands on the chair. “Hello, beautiful. How are we doing tonight?”

“Mm, ok. I saw the midwife today.” You don’t like the way your voice sounds. You’ve thought about how to tell Eddie this news, and have decided that ripping the bandaid off is the best approach. No point in trying to soften things, especially if it ends up being serious. 

“And?” Eddie asks, looking down at you with expectation.

“And, go wash up.” You tell him, “we’ll talk over frozen pizza.”

You click the knobs on the oven to let it heat up. You decide to throw together a salad - just some iceberg, tomato, and cucumbers - as an attempt to get some vegetables into Eddie’s system. You try not to think about how you’re supposed to be keeping your feet up right now. Unless I’m going to the bathroom, you think. You shake your head and chop up a tomato. What an unreasonable expectation. 

You see the way his lips jut into a small and concerned frown, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just makes his way down the hallway to take his after work shower. You’re surprised to find that your legs feel even heavier now that you’ve spent the last several hours reclined on your chair. Eddie found the chair at an estate sale, and it’s been a godsend. It keeps you upright enough to ease your heartburn, you sleep better in the chair than your own bed these days.

Eddie’s back, smelling of Irish Spring and fabric softener, just as you’re putting the pizza into the oven. He walks up behind you as you shut the oven door, and wraps his hands around your belly. The baby, Eddie’s sure that it’s a boy, moves around as if to get its father’s attention. 

“He’s really movin’ in there.” Eddie’s rocking you back and forth, slowly. You close your eyes and lean your head back into his chest. If you could live your life between his arms, you would do it. This is your home.

“Yeah, ready to make a break for it.” You tell him. You turn the dial timer to 15 minutes, and say, “the midwife says the baby’s fully cooked now. Just putting on some extra weight. I could give birth tomorrow, and it’d be ok.”

“Oof, tomorrow? Let’s hope not.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and slaps your ass. “Go sit down, woman. I’ll bring you some lemonade.”

You do as you’re told, you waddle your way over to the lumpy couch and put your feet up. Eddie follows behind you at a much quicker pace, glass of lemonade in his hand. It’s sweating already, the ice can’t keep up with the warmth inside the trailer. You look over to the small air conditioner in the corner and wonder if it’s even worth running the thing. The space is too big, and it just adds more money to the electric bill. Eddie sits at the end of the couch, and hands you the lemonade before taking your feet and placing them on his lap.

“So. What are you not telling me?” He asks, working his thumb into the bottom of your foot. You sink lower, giving him better access to your sore feet. They’re so swollen tonight, you feel like your skin might burst.

“Don’t overreact,” you pick up your foot and point a toe at his face. He grabs it again, and sets it down on his lap. “My blood pressure was high. I’m on partial bed rest. I have to go see the OB in three days.”

Eddie hands freeze for a second, and then his thumb begins to work on your foot again while he absorbs the information you just gave to him. “What does that mean? Partial bed rest? Do they think you have - shit, what’s it called?”

“Toxemia. Yes, the midwife said maybe. But it’s ok, because we’re fully cooked,” you point two fingers at your swollen belly, reminding him that the child inside could come out at this very moment and be fine, if a little small. “We’ll know better in a couple of days. I just need to keep my feet up and keep track of any really bad headaches. But I haven’t had those. I really think it’s fine, Eddie. I just hate that I can’t work.”

“You should’ve stopped working a month ago,” he looks over to you with an expression of slight exasperation. This is not the first time this idea has come up between the two of you. “I told you, that’s why I started working at Gino’s. You do too much.”

“Stop. Do not lecture me, Eddie Munson. I’m fine. I’ll do what the midwife says, and lay on this couch, or in the bed, or in the recliner, until I can get this thing out of me.” 

“Yes, you fucking will. And no more making dinner. I’ll figure that shit out.” As if to put an exclamation on his statement, the kitchen buzzer goes off, and he’s up before you can even consider moving. “Stay.” He puts a hand out before making his way across the room and behind the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. 

—

Day 0

Eddie took the day off of work. When he told you he was coming to your appointment with you, you had put up a fight. You had argued. You had gotten unreasonably annoyed at the idea that he thought you needed him there. The pain inside your skull, a sneaking thing that had begun to keep you up at night, beat a steady rhythm at the idea of Eddie seeing you in that vulnerable position. 

It’s so unfair. The days of bed rest have done nothing but steadily increase your irritation about everything. Your situation. The too warm trailer. The fact that you can’t make yourself anything more than a sandwich to eat, or Eddie will scold you like a child when he comes home after work. He’s like a detective, looking for any clues of potential bad behavior. The worst of it all, though, is that Mrs. Reynolds has been assigned to take care of you. The elderly woman that lives in the trailer between Wayne and the Johnsons comes down every day to bring you egg salad, or tuna noodle casserole, or whatever other concoction she’s decided is appropriate for the poor pregnant girl.

You had not expected Eddie to pull 10 hour shifts, followed by extra hours at Gino’s following the news of your bed rest - but you should have seen it coming. The financial anxiety is getting to him. Where you carry the weight of your unborn child, he carries the weight of expectation. You see it written all over his face, and no amount of reassurance that you’re fine, and you’ll be back to work in no time, eases the deepening creases on his beautiful face. 

This morning, you don’t think about that. You don’t think about the fear that he’s feeling. You ignore your own fear, and allow irritation to take over. That irritation gives you a sense of control, of power over a situation in which you have no authority. Your body is not your own, and its betrayal is something you can never forgive. Today, you will go see this doctor, and he will show you exactly how out of control you really are.

—

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Seiver.” A man about your age comes strolling into the exam room. He zeroes in on Eddie sitting in the chair beside the exam table and offers his hand. You fight against an urge to scoff. “Let’s take a look. Scoot down, please.”

You scoot down, holding onto the paper blanket that covers your naked lower half. Eddie’s seen your naked body many times before, but never like this. And, this doctor, Dr. Seiver, has probably seen hundreds of naked women. You wonder if he looks at the naked body of his lover with cold medical appraisal.

You look over and see Eddie’s eyes are wide, and you can feel your skin burn with embarrassment. He must have known that his insistence at being present for this appointment meant that he would watch a doctor stick his fingers into your vagina, but maybe not. You hadn’t prepared him beforehand, too annoyed to bother.

Speculum, vinyl gloves, and lubricant on two fingers, the doctor continues to talk with no preamble, “your blood pressure is more elevated than the other day, and I’m sorry to say that your urine dip this morning showed protein. So,” he’s looking over to Eddie now while his fingers dig deeper into your vagina until they hit a wall, “we need you to leave here and go straight to Mercy to be induced today. No need to risk it, not while you and baby are in good shape.”

The pain shocks you to your core, a deep ache that you are not at all prepared for. Tears flow down your cheeks, and you let out a small sob. Eddie’s hand is on your arm, and he’s looking at your face with confusion. The doctor is unaffected, and pulls his now bloody fingers out of you and says -

“That should get you going. I manually dilated your cervix, it will make this process go a lot quicker and maybe we won’t need to load you up with too much pitocin. Just head over to Mercy, the maternity ward is on the 4th floor.” The doctor is up on his feet, peeling bloody gloves off and disposing them into the red biohazard waste bin on the wall, “there are pantyliners in the top drawer over here, you might bleed for a little while.”

And just like that, the doctor was gone, leaving you with your legs spread on the table and tears streaming down your face. You’re going to have a baby today. You turn to look at Eddie, his hand is still clenching your arm. He’s pale, the blood drained from his face completely. You would swear that the lines of his face are even deeper than they were when you got in the car this morning. You wipe your face with your free hand, and sit up.

“Ed, come on.” You’re suddenly anxious to get moving. Get on the road, and into a hospital bed. Let the professionals take over. “It’s ok. Why don’t we call Wayne on the way out. He can meet us at the hospital.”

Eddie stands up, helps you to your feet. You see him sway a little bit and wonder if it was the sight of your blood that did this to him, or if it’s the thought that this baby is actually real and he’ll be holding it in his arms in less than 24 hours.

“I, uh, are you ok? That guy was an absolute asshole,” Eddie’s helping you get your clothes back on. He helps you with your jeans, and then sits you in the chair and starts working on getting your shoes on your feet. You are overwhelmed with love for him, bent down on his knees in front of you, jaw clenched in anger and frustration at the way you’ve been treated today. 

“I’m ok. I’m glad you’re here, baby. I’m sorry I was such a bitch about you coming.” 

Arm in arm, the two of you walk through the hallways and through the front door of the medical building. You think it might be your imagination, but the child inside of you feels like he’s lower than he was when you entered. The doctor, with his cruel fingers, cracked the door, and the baby is making its way down.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tw pregnancy #pregnant!reader

[thetriumphantpanda]

i don't really wanna fight, 'cause nobody's gonna win | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary | A little slice of domesticity wasn't ever going to be enough to cover the stress of the story unfolding on your desk, but it was worth a shot right?

Chapter Warnings | Mentions of drugs and the drug trade, work frustrations, explicit smut, fingering, unprotected PiV smut, creampie, dirty talk, we ride this man like our LIFE depends on it and some ANGST (I'm sorry, it had to happen sometime.)

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | OOOOOF okay we're back with these two. Real life has been kicking my ass so I'm sorry this took so long - but we're moving into the tail end of this now so prepare yourselves for even more drama! Thank you for being so patient with me and waiting for this - I hope you enjoy it. If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

The words on the deed to the drug den in town are all forming into one - you’re not actually sure they’re in the English language anymore. You’ve been staring at the pages for what feels like a full week, even if you’d only spread them out for reading on your desk this morning. You don’t know what to do. There is, of course, the obvious option, of walking right up to their front door and asking what the hell is going on, but the more you dig, the more you think there’s something bigger going on here.

You pour over your notes, trying to make sense of it all. It was nothing to do with Tyler Johnson, but it had something to do with his family, that was for sure. There’s no way that this whole thing would have been brushed under the rug and dealt with by the police saying ‘oh well, we don’t know’ if there wasn’t something incriminating behind it all. You tried not to think about that possibly meaning your dad was implicated somewhere along the line.

Instead of sitting around and feeling useless, considering the words on the page weren’t leading you anywhere at all, you tidy up your desk, stick your head around your managers door to tell her you were heading out for the story, and you get in your car and drive.

They lead such dull lives, is all you can really think at this point. The sun is setting and it’s finally starting to cool a little. The thought process had been simple, if you weren’t going to catch them in the act on paper, you would have to catch them in the act for real - whatever that act might be.

You’d started with Tyler’s dad, following behind him as he went about mayoral business, driving from his office to some meeting in town and then back again. You’d waited an hour in the parking lot to see if he moved again, but gave up after a while. Deciding on following Tyler’s brother instead - but he’d been more of the same. You’d found him getting into his car at work once the day was done, driving to the grocery store and then going home. That was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Thinking about it, what would you even do if you did find them doing something? Tyler’s brother getting a package handed to him down a dark alley - there’s no way to get any proof, you don’t have a camera, and no-one’s going to believe you against them. The more you sit there, the more you think maybe you should have taken the story at face value, published it and moved on.

You suppose that these kinds of operations take time and patience - two things you were running seriously low on by now. You’re thinking of all the time’s Javi must have needed to do this - sitting around in a car waiting to catch someone doing something and wondered how he’d lasted so long. You weren’t made for this kind of work.

Sighing to yourself, you turn the key in the ignition and head home, trying not to let the frustration bubble over. You just had to wait. Bide your time. Surely somewhere along the line you’d catch someone doing something.

“You look stressed.”

You look at Javi through your eyelashes, taking a sip from the glass of wine in front of you on the counter. Your parents were taking their two week annual vacation - some place near the coast in Florida. You remember going when you were little, playing in the sand and swimming. They’d invited you this year but now you were older, it didn’t hold quite the same amount of charm as it used to, so you’d opted to stay at home.

The upside to not getting to lounge in the sun for two weeks was definitely this though. Javier Peña, hunched over the hob, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, cooking dinner for you. It was dangerous to think about how domestic it was, but you couldn’t deny how nice it felt. There was no-one to lie to about why you were late home from work for now, no need to rush through whatever it was that the two of you were doing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need to be sorry,” He smiles at you, picking up his beer bottle to drink from, “You want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, “It’s alright, just stuff at work.”

“In all my years of working with journalists,” He speaks, stirring the pot of sauce in front of him, “I don’t think any of them were ever as stressed as you.”

“I just care about my work.”

“So did they,” He counters, picking a strand of spaghetti from the pot to test to see if it’s cooked, “Just trying to say there isn’t a story out there worth getting this worked up over.”

“I appreciate it,” You mumble, “But can we not talk about work?”

He holds his hands up in surrender, focusing his attention on dishing up the food - spaghetti with tomato sauce. It’s simple and you know it’s probably the limit of his cooking ability outside of being able to grill meat on fire, but it’s the thought that counts. You sit at the dining table and eat together, talking about nothing really, just enough to fill the silence. Even though he cooked, he insists on clearing up and packaging the leftovers for you to eat tomorrow.

You sit and watch TV on the couch and when it gets late enough and your head starts to rest on his shoulder, Javi asks if you want to go to bed.

“I do,” You answer, “But not to sleep.”

So he slowly leads you up the stairs and into your room, softly closing the door behind him. You settle yourself under your sheets, pushing them back on the other side for him as he takes off everything he’s wearing apart from his underwear and gets into bed with you. He shuffles you around so your back in pressed to his front, his big hands wandering from your hips up to your chest, where he gently cups one of your tits in his hands over the shirt you’re wearing.

You can feel his mouth trailing kissing up your shoulder until he reaches the delicate skin behind your ear, the tickle of his facial hair there making goosebumps rise on your skin, regardless of how warm it is under your sheets.

“What do you want?” He whispers softly, snaking his free arm under your neck so the side of your face is pillowed against it.

You don’t answer, you just take hold of his wrist, dragging his hand from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. You let his hand go then, feeling his big palm cup you through the material, “Like this?” He asks, teeth nipping at your ear lobe.

“No,” You shake your head, “Under.”

That big hand drags up just a little, fingers finding the waistband again, dipping below this time. He tuts into your ear when he finds you bare, having not bothered with underwear when you’d changed out of your work clothes.

His hand is warm against your skin as it envelops you again, fingers dipping ever so slightly between the folds of your pussy to find you already wet, it doesn’t take much at all when he’s around.

Fingers dragging through the slick, up to circle your clit, he speaks again, “Like this?” He asks, feather-light touches of his fingers making you gasp.

“Y-yeah,” You choke out, “Just like that.”

So that’s what he does - let’s you rest your head against his arm, lazily rolling his finger across that bundle of nerves like he has all the time in the world for making you feel good. It’s slow, the only punctuation to his fingers are the moans he lets out into your ear whenever he pushes his hips against the plush of your ass, his bulge prominent against the clothes that are separating you.

“I want you to come for me,” He whispers gently a little while later, teeth biting gently into the skin of your shoulder, “Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

You nod your head, unable to speak through the short, sharp gasps that the friction between your legs is drawing out from you. He speeds up a little, lets his finger add more pressure there. He lets you roll your hips, chasing at the high that is just there, coiling in your tummy. Your body starts to shake, thighs clamping down on his hands as he brings you over the edge.

“Fuck yeah,” He rasps into your ear, “So fucking pretty when you come for me, mi querida.”

Through the haze of pleasure, you can feel him rolling you over, pressing your back into the sheets. He’s settling between your thighs, pulling your shorts off altogether, but you don’t want it like this, so you press a palm to his warm chest to stop him.

“I want…” You trail off, “I think I want to be on top.”

You watch his eyebrows raise a little but he doesn’t protest, because of course he doesn’t, he simply lies himself back down on his side of the bed and waits for you. You let yourself straddle his thighs, marvelling just a little at the bulge of his underwear, before you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband to drag them just far enough down his thighs to let his cock spring free, resting on his lower stomach.

Shuffling up his thighs a little, you lower yourself, letting your soaked folds drag across his length whilst your mouth moves up to suckle at the skin of his neck. You can feel his hands on the globes of your ass, helping to drag you up and down his cock.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks as you moan when the head of his cock brushes against your still-sensitive clit.

You don’t have any words, so you press yourself up, palms against his chest as you lift your hips just enough for him to reach between you, base of his cock fisted in his hand, to nudge at the weeping hole of your cunt. He holds it there for you as you slowly start to sink down onto him, moaning with your head thrown back at the stretch of taking him inside. When you reach the bottom, feeling him sucked right into the depths of you, you stay still, rolling your hips a little, feeling him so deep inside you.

Javi brings his hands to your hips, looking up at you as he guides your movements, slow forwards movements matched with even slower movements backwards, until the two of you are panting together.

You push yourself back, letting your arms fall behind you onto his knees, which have come up to rest against your backside, slowly starting to lift off him until he’s almost all the way out of the tight heat of your cunt, then you slide back down onto him, finding a rhythm of bouncing up and down on his cock.

Javi moves one of his hands from your hips, letting the flat palm run up your stomach, through the valley of your tits to lightly grip at the base of your neck. He doesn’t add any pressure, just holds his hand there, but you can feel the effect it has on you, pussy clenching around his length as you continue to bounce up and down on him.

“Look so fucking pretty like this,” He manages to choke out between moans, “Like you were made to be right here bouncing on my cock.”

“I-I think I’m g-gonna come again.” You hiss, feeling that familiar tightening in your tummy.

“Yeah?” He goads, but not unkindly, “You gonna come around my cock for me?”

To help you get there, Javi starts to thrust up into you, hand still at the base of your neck, hitting into your perfectly on your downward motion to fill you right to your depths, making your orgasm hit you head on. You feel yourself tighten around him, body collapsing forward to rest against his chest as he fucks you through the aftershocks of your climax, gripping onto your ass to keep you spread so he can find his own high, thrusting a handful of times before he’s stilling inside you, spilling himself inside with moans right into your ear.

He slips out of you as he softens, shifting you so you’re led down, both catching your breath.

“Sorry, I should have asked about that.” He mumbles, and it takes you a minute to realise he’s talking about coming inside you.

“It’s okay,” You say, turning your head to smile at him, “Although it does mean I have to go to the bathroom now.”

You drag yourself up onto all fours onto your bed, dragging yourself to the door to cover yourself in your robe before you leave Javi in your room to head to the bathroom.

He doesn’t know why he does it. In hindsight, it was out of order, but when you close the door behind you, he can’t help himself. He stands up, pulls his underwear back up and puts the rest of his clothes back on. Then he sits down on your edge of the bed and gingerly opens the top drawer of your bedside table.

There’s nothing much of note in there, a few lip balms and an old notebook, but that’s it. He opens the bottom one next, which is much more full, mainly with notebooks and sheets of paper. He knows he shouldn’t, but he reaches in and picks the first up, flicking it open to a random page somewhere in the middle, running his thumb across a loose sheet of paper before his eyes circle in on what the paper actually is.

It’s a newspaper article, reporting on Escobar’s death. When Javi looks underneath the paper there are notes written in your handwriting, detailing parts of the story that are interesting. He flicks to another page, another article about Escobar dying, with more of your handwritten notes. He can feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to take hold of his throat.

He puts that notebook on the bed, reaches in and picks another up, flicking through to find more of the same - articles about the entire Escobar case, more handwritten notes - some written in red ink that only ever say his name with a question mark, like you’re asking yourself if he was responsible for the ill-reported heroics. Javi is too caught up in flicking through that he forgets about your return, letting you catch him red-handed when you come back through the door.

“What are you doing?” You ask, making him look up.

Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked to find him with your notebooks in his lap.

“What’s all this?” He asks, instead of answering your question.

You surge forward, grabbing the notebook from his lap, slapping it shut, picking up the other one and then shoving them back in the drawer, “Did you go through my things?” He can tell from your tone that you’re worked up.

“Why do you have all of that?” Javi asks, standing up from the bed to take some steps away from you.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Well then tell me what it is.” He’s getting more annoyed as the moments go past.

“It was for my degree,” You say, shifting from foot-to-foot, “I don’t understand what the problem is?”

“The problem is, it’s all fucking lies!” He runs a hand over his face, more annoyed at himself for shouting at you than anything else, “It’s all fucking lies and you believe it.”

He watches as your face drops, he can see the glassing over of your eyes, “I-” You try to speak, “I’m sorry?” It’s more of an offering, like you don’t know what else to do.

“All of that shit?” He asks, pointing to the now closed drawer, “Fucking propaganda for this country to seem like it had control, when all it fucking did was make everything worse.”

“Javi, please,” You beg now, taking a step towards him with your hands open in surrender, “Why don’t you sit down and take a breath?”

He can feel himself shaking his head, stepping backwards until he can feel the handle of your door, twisting it to open. He thinks he’s saying sorry, telling you that he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he has to get out of there and away from you, almost running from the house and into his truck.

It’s not until he’s halfway to home that he can feel that panic take over, pulling over on the side of the road, knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. He takes some deep breaths, trying to understand why his brain has gone from 0-100 so quickly, and all he can think of is that you’re just like everyone else in this damn town, thinking that he was a hero, that he’d played his part properly, correctly, in bringing that bastard down. I’d the wondering about what you’d think of him if you knew what he’d really done, the amount of blood actually on his hands, the fact he wasn’t here there when Murphy shot the bastard.

It’s that feeling of inadequacy that haunt him in bed that night, led against the pillows, other side cold and empty when all he wishes is that he’d stayed, let you curl into him so that he could get at least a few hours of rest. Even though he never stays the night, always leaving you with a press of lips to your head, the small hours of the morning where you’re sleeping against him are the most peaceful he thinks he’s ever had.

So, staring at his ceiling, red numbers from his clock staring him down as the hours pass, all he can think about it what the fuck he’s going to do, how he’s going to explain that this has nothing to do with you and what it had to do with your degree, and everything to do with the way he thinks if you knew exactly what had happened, outside of what the American press has told you, you’d probably hate him.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfic #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #narcos #narcos fic #narcos smut #Pedro pascal #javier peña Pedro pascal #Javi peña #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #Pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #TTWOHS #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic

[dduane]

Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

#writing #writing advice #fanfic #rejection

[dakotalun]

"Answer it" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Chrissy couldn't have called at a worse time.

warnings: oral (f. receiving), praise kink, pet names (good girl, baby, pretty girl), dom!eddie, fingering, threatened orgasm denial, cunnilingus, degradation (whore, slut)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: First time publishing my smut scenes somewhere. Little scared.

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

“Fuck baby,” He kisses that spot that gets you arching your back off the bed, moans falling from your lips. He dives back into your pussy at a relentless speed, licking and sucking your clit. You’re so caught up in his movements that you almost don’t notice your phone ringing. You look over to see who could be calling you at this time, which is the worst time for someone to call by the way. You notice the caller ID as Chrissy, your best friend. God out of all the times she could be calling, it had to be right now, while I’m getting eaten out. 

Eddie lifts his head up, stopping all movements on you, “Answer it.” 

“What?,” You’re not sure you heard him right because he couldn’t possibly want you to answer the phone right now. He is laying between you, making you moan so loud that the entire trailer park could probably hear, “You can’t be serious, right?”

“Hundred percent serious, now answer it.” His voice is stern and dark, you look at him wide eyed meeting his eyes. You try and plead with him but it doesn’t work. And by the time you go to answer the phone, the call drops.

“Call her back.”

“But-”

“Right. Now,” He lifts himself up so he’s kneeling between your legs, still holding your thighs open.

“But, can’t I just call her later, y’know after,” You emphasize the last word to hopefully make him see how desperate you are right now. 

“No, call her back right now. And the entire time I’ll be right here,” He strokes one finger over your folds, “pleasing you like the slut you are,” He plants a kiss to your inner thigh, making your eyes roll back because he is so close yet so far from where you need him, “And if you so much as stutter or moan, or even whimper, you won’t be coming tonight,” His big, brown eyes are piercing yours, a silent warning.

“Fine,” You groan and open the phone and hit the call button next to Chrissy’s name. The phone rings a few times before she picks up.

“Hey Y/N, are you busy?” You look down at him, trying one more time to plead with him silently, he just winks and go back to what he was doing.

You have to bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to leave your lips. Taking a deep breath before answering, “Uh, no, just chillin’. What’s up?”

“Oh good, I needed to talk to you about this party that Henderson is hosting, the after hours pool party?”

What she says seems to peak Eddie’s interest and he looks up at you, not stopping his movements. You stare back at him before just rolling your eyes and focusing on Chrissy again, “Oh yeah, what about it?”

She clears her throat, “Well I was wondering if maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, you can absolutely say no by the way, but, if you could-”

You cut her off before she can finish because you know where this is going, “Yes I’ll try and set you up with Steve, I’m sure Dustin would be down to help as well,” Your voice falters just a little bit in the middle as he licks that sweet spot on you.

“Really?! Oh thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou! You have no idea how happy that makes me!” Chrissy squeals on the other end, causing you to move the phone away from your ear.

“Yea I’m glad I could help, is that-” At that moment Eddie slams a finger into you, midsentence. You feel like he’s trying to make you blow your cover. You do your best to muffle the gasp that comes from inside, “all you called for?” You try and not sound like you wanna get off with her but god do you. You love her but she’s really ruining this.

“Yea but now I need help figuring out an outfit, I feel like everything I own isn’t cute enough, I mean do you think I should wear the black bottoms with the wrap top or the binder top? Or should I wear my one piece, because I mean wearing a bikini around him will be nerve racking. OH or I could wear my blue bikini, but wait aren’t you wearing your blue one? I don’t want to be all matchy matchy with you. Not that I wouldn’t want to! It’s just do I really want Steve to see me that way, what if he thinks we’re dating. I mean I know you’re with Eddie and all-” At the mention of his name he speeds up his attacks on your clit and adds another finger. It takes every ounce of you not to moan right into the phone, the way he’s moving right now is making it hard to function.

“Y/N?” Chrissy calls from the other end.

“Hm?” “I asked if you think I should wear the black bikini or the one piece. Are you okay? You seem distracted.” Shit she’s gonna catch us.

“Oh yeah I’m fine,” He picks up the pace again, making you bite down on your hand, “Just thinking. So what about this, you and I go shopping for new swimsuits tomorrow, that way you can wear something new and really impress Harrington? I’m sure he’d love to know that he’s the first to see you in it,” You try to get every word out as fast as possible before another moan surfaces. The way he’s teasing and just rutting his fingers into you is making your head spin. 

“That’s a good idea. Okay so what time do you wanna meet up?”

“I don’t know, how about noon. That way we can,” You clear your throat to try from moaning, “get lunch too. Sound good?” She takes a minute before she responds.

“Uh yea that should work. Call me when you’re on your way?”

“Yup. See you tomorrow.”

“Great. Love you.”

“Love you too,” You hang the phone up as quick as humanly possible and let out the moan that you had been holding in the entire time.

“Shit baby,” He lifts his head from between your legs, keeping the pace of his fingers, “you kept getting tighter the more she kept you on the phone. Does the thought of getting caught really turn you on that much?”

You couldn’t control the walls of your pussy clenching at the thought. Getting caught while he’s fucking you senseless is like, fuuuck.

“Oh you do? I felt the way you clench around me. You like the thought of someone finding out how much of a whore you are,” He just tuts and goes back to abusing your clit with his mouth. 

The feeling of his sucking and licking your clit while also finger fucking you is becoming too much and you begin to feel the knot in your stomach tightening. 

“Shit Eds, I’m gonna cum,” You whine as he keeps up his movements.

“Then cum for me. I want you so cum all over my face,” He pulls his fingers out of you and replaces them with his mouth, ready to lick up all that spills out when you finally topple over the edge. His fingers go to your clit, rubbing tight circles causing you to wrap your hands in his hair and pull. This earns a groan from him as he continues to lick you.

“Come on pretty girl. Cum for me, make my face wet with your cum. I want to taste all of you.”

The vibration of his groan and his words are enough to make you fall over that edge. He laps at you, taking as much of you as he possibly can, still fucking you through your orgasm. You slowly start to come down from your high, releasing your death grip on his hair and relaxing them by your side. Your body is rendered motionless, you can barely move a muscle.

“Good girl. You did so well for me, you didn’t mess up once. And god you tasted so good, I could sit between these thighs for hours,” He strokes your thighs as he comes up to lay beside you. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him. You snuggle in close to him, happy to just be with him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” He kisses your temple, “Now what was that I heard about a pool party?”

#eddie stranger things #dustin #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #steve harrington #steve x chrissy