#(i got the gig with the show i’ve wanted to work on for a long time)

[p3nnylane]

now my life is sweet like cinnamonnnnnnn

[jezebelblues]

I just started following you a while ago and I love your work so much, I was even considering restarting my blog to write!

I was wondering, can I request something about the reader being a college student? And maybe harry is taking a break from touring and writing music. He’d probably try to make jokes and distract her sometimes, but he’d also want her to teach him stuff and debrief after class. He might even get serious about her study sessions and be super quiet, but also bring her snacks here and there.

If you get to write this, thank you sm!! 😊

𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ��｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

summary: see request ^ basically that, but it’s a slight au because harry isn’t tooooo famous in this

| thank u anon <3 ur too sweet. i hope u got back into writing

cw: fem!reader, unedited. bf!harry, lhh

word count: approx 4.4k

| sorry this took so long to get to! i’ve been in a slump. i hope you don’t mind either that i made him more of an up-and-coming artist rather than the fame he has today :^) lhh just felt right for this too he’s so bf

masterlist

"you did what?" YN laughed, her fingers coated in the smooth, familiar feel of one of harry's leave-in conditioners as she worked it into his damp curls, gently coaxing through knots and tangles that told stories of long nights and late shows.

harry sat on on leg while the other hung lazily off her bed, shirtless, his skin glistening faintly under the dim dorm lights, still cool and damp from his shower. a well-worn towel hung low on his hips, clinging to him in soft folds, and he twisted the silver ring on his index finger, flashing that crooked, boyish grin that still managed to make her heart skip.

"yes—water," he said, a hint of pride in his voice as he looked up at her through dark lashes. "poured it right into the crowd. they went mental."

she chuckled, focusing on a particularly stubborn knot as his head tipped back, giving her a better angle. "do i even want to know why you did that?"

"beer," he replied simply, with a lazy shrug and a mischievous glint in his eye. he shifted, turning to face her fully, the mattress giving a soft creak under his weight as he adjusted. "they were flinging beer at me, so i figured it was fair game. bit of payback," he said with a smirk, his voice deepening in that low, conspiratorial way that she adored.

her lips tugged into a soft smile as she leaned in, her eyes tracing the ink on his skin, pausing over the small mermaid tail curling near his elbow. she felt the room go still for a beat, her fingers just barely grazing his tattooed arm. "tell me more?" she murmured, barely above a whisper.

but instead of answering, he caught her hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he brought her palm up, pressing it gently against the warm, bare skin just below his left breastbone. his expression softened, and his voice dipped, tender and a little unsteady. "was thinking–right here. your initial." his gaze searched hers, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that made her heart skip, lingering between them in a way that left her breathless.

a small, breathy laugh escaped her as she drew her hand back, fingers trailing down his chest as she settled back on the bed, her heart fluttering with that same familiar warmth that only he could draw out of her. "about the show, styles," she chided, though her cheeks had warmed at the idea. it was all she could do to keep her voice steady, even as that look in his eyes held her captive, that glimmer of something deeper, something unspoken.

with a lazy grin, he slumped back on her bed, folding his arms behind his head as if he owned every inch of this tiny dorm room. he was still her harry—the one who'd lean against her door at ungodly hours after a gig, smelling faintly of stale smoke and beer, his voice barely a murmur as he recounted the night's little victories and mishaps. but there was something else in his eyes tonight, an edge softened by the dim light, his hand inching toward hers, fingers grazing against hers.

he gave her a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated, but she could see the way his eyes lit up, the pride he tried to hide. "alright, picture this—tiny, cramped stage, lights barely working, and a crowd that's already three drinks too deep."

she chuckled, already seeing it. "sounds like your crowd."

"my exact type.” he hummed, eyes glimmering. "i was halfway through kiwi when this guy in the front row starts singing louder than me. like, absolutely shouting every word—more like repeating guess, i don’t think he knew the lyrics—didn't care if he was off-key or not."

"oh no," she gasped, theatrics, biting back a grin. "how did you handle that?"

"well, first i tried to ignore him. y'know, be professional and all." he raised his chin, like he was already picturing himself on a real stage. "but then he threw his beer in the air, and half of it hit me, so i thought, why not join him?"

she felt the words settle over her, a quiet intimacy that wrapped around them, thick and warm. she let herself lean into him, their knees brushing, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together. here, in this cocoon of her dimly lit dorm room, the outside world faded. it was just him-her’s, with his rough edges, inked skin, and soulful eyes that held a thousand unspoken promises.

"so," she murmured, her thumb tracing slow circles over his knuckles, "it was a good show then?"

a soft laugh escaped his lips, his eyes dancing as he looked at her. "good? better than good, baby." he said, a certain fire in his voice as he recalled the night. "place was packed-should've seen it. they might've only been there for the drink deals, but by the time we hit the first chorus, they were in it." he paused, a flicker of excitement lighting up his face as he leaned closer. "even had this one bloke shouting for an encore, practically begged us not t’leave."

she could see the pride, the kind that was so uniquely his—modest, but bursting at the seams, a quiet confidence that only she got to witness in moments like this. her heart swelled, and she squeezed his hand. "sounds like a big deal," she teased, her voice softening as she held his gaze. "next thing i know, you'll be playing to actual crowds, not just randoms at pubs."

"don't tease me," he chuckled, nudging her gently with his shoulder. "could happen. could be my big break, y'know? today, it's a back alley pub with sticky floors—tomorrow, a real venue." he looked at her, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter, almost vulnerable. "maybe even a place you'd be proud to be seen at."

she shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "h, i'm already proud of you." and she meant it—down to the core of her. there was a strength in his persistence, his dreams kept alive by late nights and small crowds, his music spilling into the shadows of empty bars and dim lights. it was the kind of resilience most people never understood, but it was something she loved about him, something that made him feel like home.

his hand shifted, cupping her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he searched her eyes. "how'd i get so lucky, yeah?" he murmured, almost as if to himself. he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time, the weight of the night lingering between them, the quiet promise of everything they'd built together.

she tilted her face into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as she breathed him in-the faint smell of his shampoo, mingling with the scent of rain from outside and something warm, something distinctly him. her hand found his chest, fingertips resting over the steady beat of his heart.

"can i stay tonight?" he asked softly, his voice a low murmur against the backdrop of their shared silence.

she nodded, her lips brushing over his knuckles as she squeezed his hand. "wouldn't want you anywhere else."

with that, he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like a thousand words, soft and slow, as if they had all the time in the world. harry's hand slid from her cheek down to her neck, his fingertips tracing a delicate line along her collarbone, sending a soft shiver through her. the playful glint in his eye had shifted, replaced by something deeper, a heat she felt all the way down to her toes. he inched closer, the rough rasp of his stubble brushing her jaw as his lips found the soft skin just below her ear.

"you're staring," she murmured, voice low, a smile on her lips as her fingers traced along his shoulder, her touch grazing the edge of his tattoo.

"can't help it." he whispered, his voice low and rough, leaving no question about what he wanted. his fingers trailed down her back, pulling her just a little closer as his towel slipped dangerously low on his hips, clinging to him in a way that left little to the imagination. "s'not every day i get my girl all to myself, undistracted." his fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her shirt, his thumb stroking slow, lazy circles along her hipbone, sending a faint shiver up her spine.

she felt herself melting into him, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before wandering down to rest on his chest. his skin was warm, firm beneath her touch, and she felt the steady beat of his heart thrumming under her fingertips. just for a moment, she let herself get lost in it-the way his hands roamed, slow and sure, his lips brushing her neck, her jaw, her shoulder, each kiss igniting a trail of warmth.

but as his hands started to wander lower, his towel barely hanging on, she bit back a smile and placed her hand flat on his abdomen, feeling the firm, taut muscles tense under her touch. she let her fingers linger for a moment before giving him a light flick, snapping him out of the haze that had taken over.

he kissed his teeth, head snapping up, a shocked, slightly betrayed expression crossing his face as he met her gaze. she smirked, letting her eyes trail up and down him with a playful glint before meeting his eyes, her voice light and teasing.

"don't get too excited, styles. i've got an essay to write, remember?"

he blinked, looking adorably lost for a second, then let out a groan, throwing himself back on the bed in dramatic defeat, one arm flung over his face. "an essay, bunny? now?" he peeked at her from under his arm, a playful pout tugging at his lips. "you're really gonna make me lie here in agony while you write about... what? politics? shakespeare?"

"modern lit," she corrected, grabbing her laptop from the bedside table with a grin. she settled beside him, nudging his leg with her knee as he sighed in exaggerated frustration. "i'll make it up to you," she added, her voice sweet but her expression mischievous.

"is that right?" he asked, raising a brow, his mood instantly lightening as he leaned up on one elbow to watch her type. "what kind of 'make it up' are we talking, then?"

she rolled her eyes, though her smile softened.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

“mm-hm, i know,” he chuckled, unbothered. he kept his eyes trained on her as she adjusted the computer in her lap, fingers flying across the keys as she tried to ignore his gaze.

but she could already feel his fingers tracing idle patterns along her thigh, his head resting on her shoulder as he sighed dramatically, determined to make her work for it. “fine,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder, knowing she wasn’t going to let up. “but don’t say i didn’t warn you when i’m too tortured to focus on my next gig.”

she shook her head, grinning. “i think you’ll survive.” and despite his protests, she felt him settle beside her, his hand wrapped loosely around hers as he waited, patient and easy, for the essay to be done—and for the night to be theirs again.

after a few more minutes of him sighing and shifting beside her, nudging her leg with his knee, or letting his fingers brush distractingly over her shoulder, she finally gave him a pointed look. “lovey, come on. at least put some pants on,” she said, biting back a laugh as he gazed up at her with an exaggerated look of betrayal.

“y’sure baby?” he mumbled, the corners of his mouth tugging into a cheeky grin as he adjusted the towel around his waist, letting it dip low enough to reveal the line of his hip bones. he leaned in close, his face just inches from hers. “last chance to give up on that essay.”

she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly as she tried to suppress a smile. “h. pants. now.”

he sighed dramatically, rolling off the bed and muttering under his breath as he crossed the room, as if she’d asked him to do something outrageous. “you’re cruel, you know that?” he grumbled, pulling on a pair of briefs, followed by his well-worn grey sweatpants. he shot her a mock glare as he snapped the waistband into place. “i hope that essay’s worth it,” he teased, flopping back down on the bed with another exaggerated groan.

but he couldn’t keep up the act for long. settling beside her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snug against him as he leaned over her, his gaze shifting to the screen of her laptop. she felt him press a quick kiss to the side of her head, and then he tilted his head curiously, reading the words on her screen. “alright, genius. what’re we working on?”

she grinned, knowing his curiosity was genuine—harry was the only person who ever asked about her classes, who remembered the details of her projects, who even stayed up late to help her brainstorm ideas when she got stuck. “it’s for my modern lit paper,” she said, turning the laptop slightly so he could see the opening lines. “i’m writing about identity in contemporary poetry.”

his brow furrowed, and he gave a thoughtful hum. “identity, huh?” his fingers started playing with a strand of her hair, twisting it absently as he thought. it still smelt like her lavender shampoo. “so, like–how people see themselves? or how they think they should be seen?”

she nodded, feeling a warm flutter in her chest at the way he genuinely tried to understand. “yeah, lovey, exactly. it’s about how people present different versions of themselves, depending on the world around them. how sometimes people feel like they have to hide who they really are, or adapt, to fit in.”

he was quiet for a moment, his eyes thoughtful as he took that in, a small crease forming between his brows. “guess i know a bit about that,” he murmured, almost to himself, then gave her a soft smile. “makes sense, though. we’re all trying t’figure it out, right?”

she looked at him, her heart swelling at the way he always found a way to connect with her world, to show up and care. he wasn’t just the guy who played guitar in pubs and poured water over the crowd—he was thoughtful and reflective, her safe place and her biggest support. she reached out, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead, her gaze softening.

he met her eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her type a few lines, completely relaxed against her side. “y’really like this stuff, don’t you?”

she nodded, feeling her cheeks warm. “i do. and i like that you care enough to ask.”

he grinned, his hand resting over hers on the keyboard. “wouldn’t miss it, bunny. i want to know it all. even the boring bits,” he teased, pressing another kiss to her temple. “so… what’s next? how do y’wrap this thing up?”

as she dove into her explanation, she felt him settle in closer, his head resting on her shoulder, eyes flicking back and forth between her face and the screen. and even though he’d begun the night wrapped in little more than that towel and mischief, there was something about the way he lay beside her now—calm, engaged, just there for her.

after a while, she tried to concentrate on the closing argument of her essay, but harry’s hand found a lock of her hair again, twirling it lazily around his finger, his touch warm and gentle. every so often, he’d place a quick, messy kiss on her cheek, or the side of her head, each one more dramatic than the last, until she couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, nudging him back.

“alright, enough with the distractions,” she muttered, shooting him a mock-stern look as he grinned back, clearly pleased with himself.

but he was relentless. when she referenced another poet, he piped up, a mischievous look in his eyes. “ah, yes, that guy,” he said, tone teasing as he tapped his chin as though he were deep in thought. “big fan. wrote that one poem about… feeling feelings, right?”

she rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh. “harry, i’m serious.”

“hey, i am too!” he replied, the grin on his face only widening. “poetry’s got layers, YN. all about emotions and metaphors.” he lifted an eyebrow, giving her a wink that made her want to laugh and push him off the bed all at once.

she groaned, turning back to her screen, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. despite his teasing, she knew he respected her work and thought she was smart, even if he pretended to be clueless just to get a rise out of her.

a few minutes passed, and she found herself stuck, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she struggled to find the right words to tie everything together. she could feel harry’s gaze on her, his eyes flicking between her face and the screen, and right then, her stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl.

harry’s eyebrows shot up, and a playful, knowing smirk crossed his face. “oh, is that how it is, then?” he said, nudging her gently. “i’m over here pouring my heart and soul into supporting you, and you’re starving yourself for art.”

she laughed, rolling her eyes as she tried to wave him off. “it’s fine, i just need to—”

but he was already halfway across the room, grabbing his phone with a sense of purpose, tapping away with single-minded determination. “nope, not happening. i’m ordering us food. you’re no good to me fainting on the job,” he teased, tossing her a grin as he started scrolling through options on doordash.

she watched him, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of his focused expression as he debated between a few late-night favorites. his finger paused on the screen, and he shot her a look over his shoulder. “what are we feeling? i know goodfella’s is open late.”

she hummed, folding her arms and pretending to think. “their pizza sounds good.”

“perfect. what kind?” he asked, giving her that soft, endearing look that always managed to make her heart skip.

“surprise me,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile as he turned back to his phone, murmuring thoughtfully to himself as he made his selections.

once he’d ordered, he slid back beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders, pulling her close as he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “alright, aristotle. you’ve got about twenty minutes to wrap this up before the pizza gets here.”

she grinned, feeling a rush of renewed energy as she settled back into her laptop, his warmth beside her and the promise of food on the way. and as she typed out her final thoughts, she felt his hand come up to her hair again, his fingers working through her locks in a gentle rhythm as he leaned his chin on her shoulder, watching her with a soft smile.

“think you’re about to blow the rest of the class outta the water.” he muttered, his voice low and genuine, cutting through the playful teasing of earlier.

she paused, glancing over at him, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “you think so?”

he nodded, brushing his nose gently against her cheek. “definitely. i knew you were brilliant the first time i met you. just, you know, don’t forget me when you’re off being some lit professor with a fancy office and your own bookshelf in every bookstore.”

she laughed, shaking her head. “you’ll be playing stadiums by then, styles. i think you’ll be just fine.”

once harry met the driver outside of the dorm and made his way back up the stairwell to the second floor of her building, they sat cross-legged on the bed, the pizza box open between them, warm and smelling faintly of melted cheese and marinara. YN took a bite, savoring the comfort of it as they eased into the rhythm of their usual conversations. she told him stories about her classes—about the professor who insisted everyone call him by his first name and the girl who always argued with the readings in ways that both amused and baffled her. he listened intently, his eyes focused on her like she was the most fascinating person in the world, laughing at all the right moments, nodding as if every small detail mattered. and for harry, it did.

soon enough, the conversation shifted, and he told her stories from his recent gigs—how the second-to-last venue had practically been held together with duct tape, how he’d overheard some guy loudly claim he could “totally play guitar better than that dude.” she laughed at the way he imitated the voice, rolling his eyes in good-natured frustration. “seriously,” he groaned, grinning through a bite of pizza, “the heckling never stops, even when you’re playing to like, fifteen people.”

she nudged him with her knee, a smirk tugging at her lips. “just you wait, one day those fifteen people are going to turn into fifteen thousand, and that guy will still be standing there with his pint, going on about how he should be the one on stage.”

harry’s face softened, his gaze lingering on her. “you’re just saying that because you’re in love with me.”

“maybe,” she said with a wink, brushing a crumb off his cheek.

they fell into their easy banter, and soon enough, poetry came back up. she was telling him about one of the poets she was analyzing, the language they used and the intricate metaphors she was supposed to decipher, when harry raised a brow, an amused look crossing his face. “you’re talking like i don’t write poetry myself, you know.”

“oh, really?” she teased, leaning back with her arms folded, a skeptical look on her face. “let’s hear it, shakespeare.”

with a grin, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notes until he stopped on something, looking a bit sheepish but handing it over to her with a small smile. “here. latest masterpiece.” he joked with a shrug, though he seemed a bit nervous. “study it in your lit classes ‘n all that.”

she took his phone, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the title: adore you. her chest warmed as she started reading through the words. it wasn’t like the love poems she read for lectures, full of flowery language and convoluted metaphors. no, this was simple, but sincere—lines that felt raw, real, and vulnerable in a way that only he could make them. each line felt like a glimpse into him, into the parts of himself that he shared only with her, the quiet moments, the late nights, the laughter and gentle touches that only they knew.

when she finished, she looked up at him, unable to hide the wide smile spreading across her face. “harry, this is—you’re so cute.” she said, her voice soft with genuine awe. “forget those old poets i read about. they’ve got nothing on you.” she squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as she looked back down at the lyrics, rereading her favorite lines.

a blush crept up his cheeks, and he gave a little shrug, pretending to brush off her praise, but she could see the way his eyes shone, how much her words really meant to him. he nudged her playfully, leaning in with a grin. “you know it’s about you, yeah?”

she felt her heart flutter, her smile growing even wider as she met his gaze. “is it now?”

“obviously,” he chuckled, shaking his head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i mean, who else am i going to write about? you’re the one i can’t stop thinking about. the one who makes every line worth writing.”

she felt warmth bloom in her chest, reaching out to lace her fingers with his. “well,” she said softly, “then i think i’m the luckiest girl alive.”

he squeezed her hand, his expression softening as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers. for a moment, they stayed like that, their hands intertwined, the world outside her tiny dorm room slipping away. it was just him, his steady heartbeat under her palm, his soft gaze that held a world of promises, and the quiet knowledge that he’d put it all into words just for her.

“so, poetry and pizza,” he murmured, his lips curving into a contented smile as he leaned back, pulling her into his chest. “didn’t think my night could get any better.”

“oh, really?” she teased, settling against him, her head resting just under his chin. “not even if i let you watch me struggle through the rest of my essay?”

“thrilling stuff,” he joked, his hand trailing gentle patterns along her arm. “actually, it’s all kind of perfect, YN. you, me, pizza, some poetry… maybe the start of a terrible song i’ll write when i can’t sleep tonight.”

“a song about pizza and poetry?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“why not?” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “everyone needs a little inspiration, hm?”

she laughed, and the sound seemed to brighten the whole room, making everything feel light and carefree. “i’d listen to it.”

“i’ll dedicate it to you,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his voice softening. “after all, you’re my favorite muse.”

they sat like that for a while, the remnants of their pizza scattered around them, the warmth of his arms wrapped around her. she felt her eyes growing heavy, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soothing hum of his voice as he mumbled quiet words of nonsense, half-asleep, just for her.

“hey,” she whispered after a while, her voice soft, almost a breath. “thank you for being here. for everything.”

“always,” he murmured, his voice a low, sleepy rumble. “wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

[swanlakex]

As a irl hairstylist, I can’t get the idea of doing Hayden Christensen’s hair/makeup on set. So here you go. 😁😁😁

Being Hayden Christensen’s film stylist was a job you never thought you’d land.

The industry is so unforgiving to less-experienced, younger hairstylists. Most companies hire a crew of 3-4 ladies, and never look for more until the eldest retires. (Like the Supreme Court) It’s a long cycle, and you were ready to spend years climbing the ladder to do what you loved.

Then your first gig was practically your dream job.

Working as a stylist on George Lucas’ set of Revenge of The Sith, you had your hands full. There were dozens of wigs, hours of SFX makeup, and plenty of styles to do. But you were ecstatic. And better yet, the actors adored you. You were a breath of fresh air from the typical grouchy, 50 year old stylists that complained about their swollen feet and the “new generation”. Not you- you were funny, patient, and talkative. Making friends was definitely the best part of your job.

Natalie was so sweet, and she always talked to you about the latest book she had been nose-deep in. They were interesting, even despite being non-fiction. Plus, she had no problem being your Guinea pig for new styles and ideas you conjured up. She would sit in your chair forever, if she had the time of course. She’s a busy girl!

Ewan opened up to you when you started playing your own music in the wardrobe. Of course, you played oldies for him specifically, but he was surprised that “kids still have taste these days”. Ewan was hilarious too, and a great listener. He would ask about your day, and actually care about the answer. He’d ask questions and tease you for hitting a curb on your way to the set that day. When you finally got him out of the chair, he’d fist bump you before whipping around and marching out the room.

Hayden, however, was a bit of a different story. He wasn’t very talkative, in fact, he seemed a little shy; a strict contrast to his character. Of course, he was very polite, but he kept to himself really. You didn’t mind this, it was always comfortable silence. Plus, his peace really came in handy on those chaotic days. You didn’t really think twice about it until you called Hayden in for wardrobe, and Ewan turned to him, smiled, and poked him. “Oh, come on..” You heard Hayden say back to Ewan with a grin on his face as he headed towards you. What was that about? Weird.

You started with makeup first. It was the scene where Anakin had turned to the dark side, and his face was full-on Sith Lord. It was going to take a bit longer than it usually would. He sits in the chair, and you clip his hair back. “You excited to turn me evil today?” He says with a smile.

You turn around, mixing the foundation onto your hand. “It’s the very reason I woke up today.”

He lets out an airy chuckle, repositioning in his seat to a more relaxed demeanor.

As you pat the base layer on his face, you ask “Have you seen the contacts you’re wearing yet?”

“No I have not..” He says, opening his eyes.

You turn to the table and pick them up, opening the lid and showing him.

“Oh, that’s awesome. I’m gonna look like a lizard.”

You chuckle. “I hope you have experience with contacts, because I do not. So if you need help, we’re a little screwed.”

He waves your concern away. “Nah, it’s all good. I can put ‘em in.”

You continue his base, and as you finish, he speaks again. “Y’know, I never asked.. How long have you been doing this?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the unexpected question. But hey, you’re not complaining. Having a gorgeous man in your chair asking you questions is never a problem to you. “Well, I’ve been doing hair since.. I was a junior in high school.”

His face makes a puzzled look.

“Grade 11.” You explain, knowing he’s Canadian, so he’s probably not familiar with American grades.

“Ahh..” he says. “That’s a long time.”

“Not as long as everybody else around here..”

“But you’re still better than ‘em.” He whispers, not wanting to offend the other artists.

Your eyes widen in shock. You smile. “Why thank you, Mr. Christensen..” you say in a funny, teasing voice.

“Please,” he scoffs. “I’m not forty.”

“I’m aware.” You joke as you bend closer to him with eyeliner in your hand. “Alright, for this you have to stay very still. No sudden movements, ‘Kay?”

He just nods and stares straight ahead. “I won’t even breathe.”

You giggle and shake your head. “Might need you to breathe, Hayden.”

He whispers a small “Okay.” And stays still as you draw small cracks around his eyes. A quarter of the way through, you notice he’s been staring at you this whole time. You keep going, but he never looks away.

“Y’know..” you say softly with a smile on your face “most people close their eyes for this part..”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He closes his eyes.

A minute later, he opens one again.

You stand up from the two of you laughing, grabbing a Q-tip to clean up the edges. “You’re funny today.” You state.

“Am I not funny every day?” He interrogates.

You shrug. “Sorry. Extra funnier today.”

He gives a “Hmph.” And nods.

You finish his makeup, smiling like an idiot the whole time. Now you just have to install the extensions, have him put in the contacts, then he’s done.

“Wig time.” You sing, plucking the hair extensions from the mannequin labeled SKYWALKER.

“Do you want me to close my eyes for this one too?”

You chuckle, and shake your head no.

“Good, cause I like lookin’ at you.”

WHAT THE FUUUUUCKKKKK?? Your stomach was suddenly swarmed with butterflies. No way he’s hitting on you. No way. Either way, you could not fumble this. Act cool.

Hayden’s face was flushed, he was obviously freaking out that he said that too.

“Yeah? Well I’m quite flattered,” you respond. “..Mr. Christensen.” You tease, breaking the awkward air. He chuckles and shakes his head. You clip in his extensions, teasing and roughing them up. “In fact, there’s a get-together Natalie and I are going to later tonight. Plenty of music and people. I’d love if you came.” He looks up to you.

“Just you and Natalie? No Ewan?” You ask.

“Nah, he’s too old.” He jokes. Suddenly, you hear a shout from outside the door.

“I heard that, you little twat!” Ewan cries from the muffled door. Hayden whips around. “What- How long have you been listening??”

You hear a faint trail of giggles travel down the hall. You laugh so hard you have to put your curling iron down. Hayden sighs. Once you recover, you answer.

“I’d love to go. Can you send me the address?”

“Really? Yeah, of course.” You hand him your phone and he types in his number as you finish his hair up. He hands it back to you.

“Thanks. Alright, you can put your contacts in now. The bathroom is right there if you need a sink.” You instruct him as you hand over the contacts. He smiles, nods, and walks into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he comes out.

“Woah!” You call out. “You look..terrifying..”

He smiles darkly, and it’s kinda hot.

“Ah, don’t tell me I’ve changed your mind then.”

You shake your head. “Not in the slightest.”

He grins, hands you back the case, and thanks you as he struts out the door. “Hope to see you there!” He calls out.

“See ya!” As soon as he leaves you watch him walk onto set from a crack in the door. He strides over to Ewan and bends over to whisper something. Ewan’s face lights up and he throws a hand up for a high-five.

20 minutes later, you get a buzz from your phone.

846 York Ave.

Can’t wait. ;)

-Your favorite Sith Lord

[sorchathered]

My Forever Valentine- Bradley Bradshaw x reader

A/N- happy belated valentines my angels! This is just a little something I’ve been working on for @roosterforme, hope you all love it!

Pairing- Bradley Bradshaw x female reader

Warnings- a little angst, a little smut, language.

“Honestly I never thought we’d get here. No really, anyone who knows Bradley knows he isn’t the Casanova he likes to think he is. How you roped her into marrying your dumb ass is a miracle in my book. I love you both and I’m so glad you are taking over my job of keeping him alive; good luck girl it’s a tough gig!”

Everyone is nearly in tears from laughter as Bradley rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a chuckle. Choosing Natasha Trace to be his best (wo)man was a no-brainer until he realized she was going to get to give a speech, or as she called it “her roasting of the chicken boy”. Honestly he thought she’d be more ruthless but blessedly she had been kind because it was after all his wedding day. She wasn’t wrong though; it really was a miracle he’d managed to not only find you but also convince you he was the man you should spend the rest of your life with. He’d been full of anger for years over Mav pulling his papers, despite the fact that he’d made it in the navy and been incredibly successful in his career. You’d seen right through his carefree aloha persona, broke down his walls and finally got him to self reflect and realize that the past wasn’t who he was; he’d made it through hell despite the roadblocks and that was what he should focus on instead. He had been stubborn, trying his damndest to push you away when you pushed him to make amends and heal, but you’d stayed. You’d made him better, made his life have meaning, and now he would spend the rest of his life showing you how much you meant to him and making a beautiful life for you.

He remembered the day he met you vividly. You’d been out at the hard deck with a group of friends, it shouldn’t have been any different than any other night out but when he heard your laugh and saw your face he knew. It was like everything in his life had come into focus and he couldn’t stop himself from getting up mid conversation to cross the bar and talk to you. You’d been watching him too, the easy carefree way he seemed to move through the crowd was mesmerizing and the two of you had hit it off like a house on fire. You both fell in love hard and fast, but it hadn’t been without its struggles. Bradley’s line of work was extremely taxing, gone for weeks- sometimes months a time with little to no contact. You’d been lonely but he’d been worth every minute apart, and when he made it back to you after a particularly difficult mission a misunderstanding had nearly torn you both apart.

-6 months ago-

It had been a non-stop carousel of tag chasers from the minute he’d entered his beloved bar, the squad had demanded they throw him a welcome home party for the ages but you’d never thought it would be a wall to wall frat party. Women staring for a little too long, buying him drinks, at one point some girl actually tried to kiss him! Bradley had been polite as always, sending all of them packing and letting them know he was taken, but by the time he’d sat himself at the piano to sing he had gathered himself quite a fan club of single girls, and you didn’t have the patience to look at it anymore. Especially when one of those girls was his ex, she just never quite seemed to understand the word no, and forget about the notion that he had moved on; she didn’t believe for one second that anyone would turn his head from her and despite being the one that left him she just wouldn’t let an opportunity pass to get him back out of her grasp. You knew his heart, and that he had professed that you were his future, but it wasn’t enough. Not when these girls didn’t seem to get his polite hints and kept coming back for more. You knew he liked the attention and that was the worst part; he could tell you all day long that he wanted a family with you but when you took a backseat to his fan club you couldn’t help but convince yourself that he was all talk and nothing more.

“Baby, come on you know it’s not like that! I don’t want anyone but you! Just come back inside, we’ll play some pool with Phoenix and Coyote and then we can head home, just us. I don’t want you going home by yourself.” He pouted and tried to pull you close and damn it you almost let him, but the gnawing feeling of inadequacy wouldn’t let you give in.

You nearly walked away that night, but he wouldn’t have it. If he was going to lose you it wouldn’t be over some stupid girl in a bar, the two of you were meant to be and he was ready to put his heart on the line. He grabbed your hand and pulled you into his arms, you wiggled in his hold but he didn’t budge; tilting your chin up to look at him as he leaned in close to place a searing kiss to your lips. He felt your body go lax in his arms, sighing into his mouth as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips. The two of you stayed like that for a while, locked in an embrace as he kissed you breathless, you were sure this was the kind of kiss that caused women to swoon in old movies, drunk on the feeling of his body pressed to yours making you weak in the knees. When he finally pulled away from you a whine breached your throat and he chuckled as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I want you to hear me when I say this sweetheart, and really take it to heart ok? There’s nothing I want more in this world than you. Not flying, not another woman, not a single thing could matter more to me than you. You’re my first thought when I open my eyes and every night I’m honored to be the one to hold you when you finally find rest. I will always choose you, and if I’ve ever made you question that I will do anything to make it right. I want you forever. I want to have a house full of feral children that look like you that I coach softball for on the weekends, I want to take care of you when you’re sick and think you’re gross, I want to sit on our porch 50 years from now and watch the sun go down on a perfect life we’ve made, hell baby I want to pass first because I don’t know that I could go on another day if you weren’t here. That’s how much you mean to me, and if you’ll say yes I’ll love you until the day I die.”

You were fully ugly crying in his arms as he pulled a beautiful ring and slid it on your finger, nodding furiously before you pulled his face to yours.

Now in the fading sunset he watched you dancing along to the band, the quiet beach wedding had been everything you both dreamed it would be, surrounded by loved ones and Bradley can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. You were everything he’d ever dreamed up but somehow better, the figment in his mind could never come close to the real thing. His hands itched to hold you, need flooding his senses as he crossed the makeshift dance floor to sweep you into his embrace. You grinned up at him and he melted a little more inside, he peppered your face with kisses as your laughter rang out against the crashing of the waves. “I need to monopolize the bride for a little while, think you could find a way for us to escape for a bit?” He whispered in your ear and you couldn’t help but laugh until you felt him pressing against the satiny fabric of your gown. He swallowed the moan that escapes your lips, it was entirely indecent the way you two were pressed together in this public of a setting but he couldn’t bring himself to care. You were his wife, his wife. Surely he could be excused for his behavior just this once right? He turned you in his arms and began guiding you towards the beloved bar where the two of you first met. Penny was bringing out more champagne as you burst in the door, a chuckle and shake of her head as the two of you nearly collided with her. “No breaking anything in my bar, I’ll keep everyone out of your hair for a few minutes.” Bradley nodded with wide eyes as you erupted in laughter, ushering you towards the stock room with a playful slap to your ass as you tried to catch your breath between giggle fits.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He said as he placed you on top of the massive deep freeze in the corner of the stock room, mascara was smudging the corners of your eyes from the tears brought on by your glee at getting caught, eyes shining with anticipation at what was to come. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in his pants until we made it to the honeymoon suite Mr. Bradshaw” he didn’t deny it, he just couldn’t help himself with how beautiful you looked, it would be a crime to wait 2 more hours before he could fuck his wife.

“You know, you’re my wife now. Mrs. Bradshaw.” He was running his lips and mustache along your cleavage, the sensation sent a shiver up your spine, along with his declaration. “Oh god- we really are married now aren’t we?” You panted as he hiked your dress up above your thighs, running a long finger up the seam of your barely there underwear, reveling in the look on your face as you sucked in a sharp gasp. He couldn’t help but kiss you, licking into your mouth as he continued to rub circles against your covered clit. You were trembling in his hold, whining and bucking into his hand and he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Tease. Two could play that game. Sliding your palms down his shirt jacket you made quick work of unbuttoning his dress pants, slipping your hand down into his briefs to grasp his cock. He hissed into the open air, knowing you had the upper hand now.

“Thought you said you needed to fuck me Bradley? We don’t have all night, give it to me baby boy.” He couldn’t push his clothes off fast enough, sliding your underwear to the side as he slammed into you mercilessly. Sweet saccharine moans fell from your lips and he brought you to your high, your nails clawing at his back as he sucked a dark mark behind your ear. It didn’t take much more for you both to topple over the edge, a mess of sweaty limbs tangled together as you reached euphoria. Giggles and soft kisses followed as you tried to piece each others outfits back together, startling at a loud knock rapping the old wooden door.

“Ok sluts, you can make a baby another time! Everyone is looking for the happy couple and we know what y’all are getting up to! Wrap it up and come join the party!” Natasha cackles as she hears you two shuffling behind the door, hastily stepping out with tousled hair and kiss swollen lips. “Can you blame me Phoenix? She’s perfection.” Bradley says with a laugh as you all step back out into the party, a roar of cheers and whoops echoing out as you do. This was just the beginning of a lifetime of memories, and Bradley couldn’t wait to spend them all with you.

Tagging- @roosterforme @attapullman @sunsetsimpsblog @seitmai @ryebecca @mynameismckenziemae @heavenssins @tenderclio @sio-ina-bottle @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @trickphotography2 @sometimesanalice @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @saltsicklover @kissmecaitie @callsigns-haze

[hunkpossession0]

Stealing my former high school bully’s body was so easyyy. Look, now I am hot, and the best part is that I’m gay.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of his—no, my—new car, savoring the feeling of power. God, I’d waited so long for this. All those years of torment, the sneers, the shoves into lockers, the homophobic slurs... they were all a distant memory now, fading away like smoke. The only thing that mattered was this body I was now inhabiting, perfectly sculpted and oozing confidence.

I smirked at the reflection in the rearview mirror. His—my—strong jawline, the chiseled features that had made everyone swoon, and those piercing blue eyes that used to look down on me with contempt were now mine to control. And control them I would.

The plan had come to me after a particularly rough night, one too many drinks mixed with the lingering bitterness of my high school years. I’d always been obsessed with the idea of revenge, but not the kind that left scars. I wanted something deeper, more satisfying. I wanted to become him. To live the life he’d never appreciated and do it better.

It wasn’t hard to find a spell. You’d be surprised at how many dark corners of the internet are devoted to body swapping. A few emails, a payment sent in crypto, and a strange-looking amulet later, I was ready. The ritual was simple enough—though it took a lot of concentration. But the moment I slipped it around his neck while he slept, it was over in seconds. I woke up in his bed, in his skin, and he… well, I don’t know where he is now. I like to imagine he’s trapped somewhere, conscious of what’s happening but completely powerless.

The first thing I did was check myself out in the mirror—really take in everything I’d just acquired. This body wasn’t just hot; it was perfect. Years of disciplined workouts, clean eating, and who knows what else had transformed him into someone who looked like they walked straight off a magazine cover.

Actually, make that literally off a magazine cover. I found a stack of fashion magazines under his bed with his stupidly gorgeous face plastered on them. He’d somehow turned his pretty-boy looks and gym rat habits into a full-fledged modeling career. I guess that explained the ridiculous number of selfies on his phone, each one showing off a different outfit or a perfectly timed flex in front of the mirror.

So yeah, I wasn’t giving up the gym. If anything, I was leaning into it. It’s not like I had to do much to maintain this body—he’d already done the hard work, and now I was reaping the benefits. I still hit the gym daily, if only to flex for the mirrors and admire my reflection. The attention I get now is incredible, and the best part is, I can be shameless about it.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to see what Grindr was like from this side of things. Installing the app was the first thing I did once I figured out the password to his phone. The moment I uploaded a shirtless pic, the notifications started rolling in—an endless stream of thirsty messages. Guys were practically lining up for a chance with me, throwing compliments, and I have to admit, I loved every second of it.

I’d spend hours swiping through profiles, chatting up whoever caught my eye. The way people reacted to me now was night and day compared to before. No more awkward small talk, no more second-guessing myself. I could tell someone to meet me at the gym just to watch me lift, and they’d show up without hesitation.

And the best part? I’ve started getting more gigs, just from a few posts on social media showing off his—no, my—body. Modeling agencies are all about that lean muscle, those killer cheekbones, that smirk that could melt anyone on the other end of the camera. He’d never really appreciated what he had, but I’m about to take this career to the next level. I’ve already got a photoshoot lined up for some luxury brand—an easy way to rake in the cash while showing off.

His—my—Instagram is blowing up too. I’m always in the gym, flexing and posting thirst traps for the masses. The likes pour in, and the comments? They’re pure gold. People are practically worshipping me, and I’ve only just begun. This body was wasted on him, but now that it’s mine, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.

Every time I flex, every time I see a new message pop up on Grindr, it’s a reminder of just how sweet this revenge is. Not only did I take his body, but I’m living his life better than he ever could. I’m hotter, more confident, and finally free to be myself in the best possible way.

This is just the beginning.

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

This doesn’t get a title because I’m confused

Disclaimers: The only character I own is the reader insert!

Author’s Notes: I think I got possessed, I don’t even like Sam 😭 like in the slightest 😭

But pretend season 8ish Sam has season 2-3’s hair for the sake of that’s the season I’m on lol.

Icons by @gosling-girlx !! She’s a genius!

Anyway, all notes are appreciated!

Content/Content Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Minors do not interact, this is NOT for you.

This fic is extremely spicy, sort of can’t-stand-each-other sex. Reader’s AFAB & uses she/her pronouns, only physical description is of her being shorter than Sam. There’s oral (both m and f receiving) and unprotected piv which frankly only exists in the books- wrap it before you tap it!! Oh also they’re both pretty mean to each other… you’ll see.

Again, I think I got possessed when I made it-I sincerely can’t stand him- but hope you enjoy it!

**************************************************** Working with the Winchester Brothers is a gig like no other. Cas and I are more tagalongs in the operation these days, Cas demoted to resident healer and I to stay at home mom, apparently.

One accident (authors note: one possession & a year long recovery for a spinal injury retained from said possession) had apparently rendered me useless to the boys. It’s not all bad- I’m relatively close with the older one, Dean, since we’re both hoes for a good time and good movies/music. And before the accident, I was happy to kill evil sons-of-bitches with Dean any day of the week.

And of course, Castiel is a right sweetheart- showing him new human things is the sweetest experience in the whole wide world.

But you know what ruins the laughs and the nice moments? The younger brother. Sam “Little Shit” Winchester.

I don’t know how he found himself upon the moral pedestal he crafted for himself, but lord I want to remove his kneecaps and slap him with them. Little baby giraffe looking shit.

I don’t like the way he acts, plain and simple. Between the way that he treats Dean and the way that he talks so condescendingly to me- I’m about two seconds from starting a fight every time we’re in a room together for too long. He seems to feel the same way. It’s helpful in a hunt- both of us are smart enough to concentrate that anger towards our monster of the week instead of each other in the field- but now, when there’s no field to take the anger out on? Dean’s had to break up at least 3 almost-fights, and I’ve only been back on my feet for a couple months.

***

The boys looked especially pissy coming home today- they’d grumbled something about a “stupid fucking vampire bitch,” and went their separate ways, Sam to the med bay and Cas trailing Dean like a golden retriever.

Great. Looks like I’m on Douchebag Duty.

***

“What’s your problem?” Sam snaps as I tug the thread on his stitches a little too roughly.

“My problem, you dick? I’m the one that’s stitching you up right now, why don’t I just let you bleed out?” I retort, yanking on the surgical needle with the string attached to a particularly nasty cut on his upper arm. Cut’s an understatement- it’s really a bullet wound. I’m just too proud to have pity for the jackass.

“Yeah, your problem!”

I set down the needle at that, my fists clenched at my sides. “You’re a whiny little bitch who can’t sit still and shut the fuck up for two minutes! That’s my problem.”

“I think you’re a little too high and mighty there, princess,” he scowls, standing up to full height, presumably so that he can use his stature to literally look down at me.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking, Mr Morals,” I seethe, staring up at him. I snatch the needle, on my tiptoes, and hastily finish the stitching on his scar, while standing up.

“Out,” I spit as I cut the thread.

“No,” he retorts, glancing down at me through long lashes and stupidly overgrown bangs.

“What? Is five minutes away from your big head too much to ask?” my hands are on my hips. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of staring up at him, so I stare at whatever’s eye level. He’s wearing a bloodied white tank top, which is not doing much for the whole vibe we’ve got going on right now.

He bites his lower lip, still looking down through his annoyingly long lashes. And my dumb ass is attracted to it, apparently.

“Get. Out,” I say, anger laced in my words.

“No,” he says through clenched teeth. I start to turn away, as if giving up, before pulling a Dean Winchester and turning back around on my heel, punching him in the abdomen. He grunts, keeling over. “Ow!”

“You should’ve listened, you ass,” I say, looking down at him. He looks pathetic, his eyes gone wide and pretty in pain. I shouldn’t be into this, not one bit.

Keeled over, Sam is at eye level. Our gazes lock, his hazel eyes boring holes into mine, searching for something. I don’t dare waver, looking back at him with just as much intensity until he surprises me, leaning in and crashing his lips to mine. He roughly grabs my face, holding me close as he forces his tongue into my mouth, exploring. I hate how easily I give him access, I hate the way I let out a gasp against my will. By the time he pulls away I’m already leaning back in. He smirks, humoring me for one more kiss.

“How do you like me now?” he says cockily, lips plush and pink from the kisses, hazel eyes blown out by lust.

“I don’t,” I mutter, pushing him back so that he’s forced to sit on the med bay bed. His legs are spread wide, and of course I fit perfectly between them, much to my distaste. I kiss his jawline, using mostly my teeth so that it scratches as I go, especially once I start on his neck, biting and sucking dark marks everywhere I see fit. He’s into it, little breathy whimpers further fueling my unfortunate attraction to him.

“Take off your shirt,” I tell him, stepping back and smirking at how this time he leans into my touch instead of the other way around. He thoughtlessly pulls the hem of the ruined fabric over his head, throwing it to the side, exposing an obnoxiously fit physique and an anti possession tattoo. There’s little scars everywhere, and something deep down urges me to kiss every single one of them, but that can be later.

“Take off yours,” he tells me.

“Why?” I ask, trying to play smart.

“Cause if I have to be shirtless you do too,” he says.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Better think of a better retort next time, Winchester,” I say as I take off the oversized concert tee I had been wearing.

“Bra too,” he orders, cocking his head to the side as he looks me over.

“Who made you the boss?” I ask, already unclasping my bra.

“I did,” he says, far too cocksure.

“We’ll see about that,” I grin, letting the lacy fabric fall to the ground as I lean in to kiss his damnable hot mouth. This time I take control, taking pride in the little noises he makes.

“I’m gonna suck your dick,” I say crudely, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Go right on ahead,” and I can tell there was meant to be spite behind those words, but it quickly fades away into sighs as I start kissing down his pecs, his abs, lightly scratching anywhere I can find with my nails. I hate how hot the heat between my thighs is, but at this point, I can’t help it, especially as I sink to my knees, nose perfectly level with his crotch.

I take his belt into my hands, grazing over the obvious tent that lies underneath it. He throws his head back at that, biting back a curse.

“What’s the matter Sammy?” I tease.

“Shut up,” he grumble, words morphing into a proper moan as I graze over the tent again.

“Uh huh,” I agree, tugging off his leather belt and yanking down the zipper of his jeans.

“Boxers? I had taken you for a ‘Tighty Whities’ girl, Sammy,” I mused, doing my best to work him up even more.

“Sto-,” he starts, immediately losing his words as I free his cock from his confines, pulling his boxers down to his knees.

You know, just cause a guy’s a big guy doesn’t always mean that everything’s proportionate. Sam’s six foot five-ish, long and lanky with lean muscle. And naturally, because everything about him is meant to spite me, his dick also fits the physical bill. My mouth waters, and the only prospect that excites my overly-horny self more than having it in my mouth is having it in my slick soaked pussy. And I will, if I have anything to say about it.

“Oh Sammy, you’re a big boy, huh,” I taunt, running a hand up and down his shaft slowly. He moans in agreement, no more fight left in him. It’s too easy.

I let go of it, ignoring the bead of pre cum leaking down as I move to kiss his thighs, grazing my teeth on them like I did on his neck. He seems to like it, legs moving in towards my mouth. Finally I move my mouth towards where he obviously wants me most, rubbing the bead over his tip with my thumb. I’m a little wary about taking the whole thing, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I start simple, kitten lips around the base, licking a long stripe up the underside before wrapping my lips around the head, and he moans, a little too loudly. I brace my hands on his thighs before taking a deep breath through my nose and forcing myself down far enough that my nose is touching neatly trimmed hair. Thankfully my gag reflex is still gone-it’s been a minute- as I hold him there for a moment, before starting to bob my head up and down, testing the waters. He whimpers and whines, and it’s pathetic, and I’m far too into it, unable to do much else than keep up my ministrations.

One of his big hands find the back of my head, fingers weaving into my hair. I don’t think he does so with intent of forcing me to move, but the idea is so hot that I lock eyes with him with my mouth on his cock.

“What? You want me to fuck your mouth?” he asks, panting. And once he says it out loud I get impossibly wetter, and I moan yes, unable to nod at all with him buried as far as he’ll go.

“Damn, you’re a slut,” he grins, and I moan in agreement before he starts moving my head slowly. Forward and back, forward and back, before I lock eyes with him and he gets the hint to take it harder, hips starting to thrust meeting my throat as his hands push. I just keep sucking, doing my best not to choke as involuntary tears leak out. But it doesn’t hurt, not at all. If anything I’m just doing all I can to not start rubbing on my own sensitive spots.

Before I know it his whimpers get louder and his whines get needier, and he grits out “I- I’m going to-“

So I release him with a pop, taking a hand and rubbing up and down his length furiously before he bursts. Once he does, with the most pathetic whimper yet, I get my mouth right back on him, taking every drop of his hot release down my throat. When he’s done I stay there, opening his mouth so he can see that there’s nothing there.

“God, you’re such a slut,” he mutters, echoing what he said before as he catches his breath and pulls me up by the hair- gently.

I shrug cockily, moving back as he stands up.

“Strip and have a seat,” he lazily demands as he puts his perfect cock away.

I roll my eyes but comply, taking off my remaining clothes so that I’m left in all my glory.

“You’re gorgeous, y’know that?” he compliments, a moment of tenderness as he crowds me against the bed so that I’ll take a seat. I blush, letting him hoist me up so that my ass is on the edge of the dinghy bed. “My turn,” he grumbles, voice low and hot against the column of my neck. He’s even rougher than I was, nipping at every square inch of skin that he meets, sucking dark marks down the side of my neck and over the tops of my breasts. I’m like a bitch in heat, responding to every touch in ways I can’t control- pornographic moans, leaning into his touch. He’s pulling on my hair to give himself more access, and I’m starting to worry that I’m soaking the bed. His mouth continues to work wonders, especially as he travels southwards, playing with my breasts.

He’s mean, outright biting the one and pinching the other, and it’s just what I need. I tangle my hands into his annoyingly long hair and tugging, not missing the way he moans into my chest.

Finally, finally, he gets down on his knees. He rests his chin on the bed, breath heavy on my heat. The sight of his head pillowed on my thighs as he looks up at me with those puppy dog, blown out eyes is enough to get me to come on the spot.

“This all f’me, princess?” he asks roughly, collecting some of the gratuitous wetness on two long, thick fingers.

“N-no,” I stammer, clutching his hair tighter. He bites back his moan in favor of a smug grin.

“N-no,” he mocks, turning to the side to bite the inside of my thigh, and I whine. “Uh huh, that’s what I thought.” His nose is eye level with my clit, and the only warning I get before he dives into my pussy is a small smirk that meets his hazel eyes.

“Fuck!”

He moans in between my thighs, setting my entire body on fire. I try to wiggle away from him, but it only takes one big, strong hand to hold my hips in place as he fucks his tongue into me, his nose rubbing on my puffy clit. It’s wet and it’s gross, but so, so hot.

He’s a little too good, knowing all the buttons to press that leave me tracking wetness all over his face, before taking two fingers and roughly pushing them into my core, giving me no time to adjust. They’re thick and long, and when he makes the come hither motion I know I’m fucked, doing everything I can not to gasp his name.

“S-s-oh my god,” I cry as he plunges his fingers all the way down to the knuckle every time, reaching deeper and deeper and rubbing on my g-spot. He’s too busy sucking on my clit to say anything, his attention overstimulating.

He adds a third finger, and that, combined with him tracing patterns on my sensitive bud, sends me straight over the edge with a an unintelligible cry.

Of course the bastard doesn’t stop, not until I’m physically shaking from the overstimulation, legs quivering, and on the brink of a second release.

He removes himself from my heat, laying his cheek on the inside of my thigh, looking up at me smugly.

“Good, huh?” he knows it was.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, voice weak.

“That’s what I’m getting to, princess. So impatient,” he taunts, standing up to full height again. Sam haphazardly wipes the slick off of his face with his forearm, not really caring how much he removes. He kicks off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks and boxers in one go, revealing that gorgeous cock again. He stands before me, looking like some kinda statue of physical perfection. I have to physically close my jaw looking at him.

“Like what you see, princess?”

I stick out my tongue and blow a raspberry.

“Real mature, sweetheart,” he rolls his eyes. “You have a condom?”

I shake my head. “Don’t need one, I’m on the pill and I have morning after. Want you to fuck me and fill me,” I tell him honestly.

“God you’re a slut and you’re freaky? I’d never have guessed,” he mused, stepping between my thighs. I assume he’s clean as well since he doesn’t really… get out much.

“Yeah, that’s cause you’re not the brightest,” I tell him, scooting as close to the edge as I can without falling.

“Uh huh,” he says sarcastically, before picking me up and slamming my shoulder into a nearby wall, yet gently resting my back against it. Gentle with my injury, wow. Wouldn’t have expected it. I gasp, surprised by the sudden motion.

“Payback for the gut punch,” he explains.

“Oh yeah? I’ll punch you again if you don’t fuck me,” I say, a mean edge to my voice.

“Mkay,” he says, obviously not swaying either way as he aligns his tip with my entrance.

“Fuck me,” I order through a gasp, unable to wait anymore.

“Careful what you wish for there, princess,” he warns, before sheathing himself in me in one go.

Look, I can get laid whenever I want, especially back when I was on duty as a hunter. I’m no stranger to sex, and I have a decently high sex drive. If I can’t get some, then I always have backup- toys and vibrators, you name it.

But Sam? His dick was big in my mouth, but in my pussy? I feel like I’ve been split in two, my mouth is dropped in an o. But it feels so, so good.

“Move,” I demand after a few moments of adjusting.

“Say my name,” he cocks his head, pushing impossibly deeper so that he’s practically touching my cervix.

“Sammy,” I say with as much sass as I can muster, my voice high from the added pressure. I know he hates the nickname, it makes him feel like a baby. Because he is one.

“Nuh uh, princess. Say my name,” the pad of his thumb flits over my clit.

“Unh- Sam!” I moan, unable to stop myself.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now ask me to fuck you. Nicely.”

“No.”

“Guess I’ll be on my way then,” he starts pulling out.

“No!” I whine.

“Ask nicely.”

“Sam, fuck me please?” I ask with as much sweetness and doe eyes as possible for me.

“You really are sweet when you’re horny,” he remarks, pulling back, before setting a brutal pace that has me raking my nails across his back and moaning his stupid name. He’s pounding into me with all of his might, sweat sheening on his brow.

It’s so hard that I can barely get any words out, and I hate it, but it just feels too good.

And of course, Sammy has enough words for the both of us.

“Fucking you dumb, huh? Got such a big attitude until I’m in you, just needed this dick,” he says, laughing meanly as I involuntarily clench at his words.

“What? You like me being mean to you? You get wet every time we fight?” a particularly hard set of thrusts accompanies each of the words in his third rhetorical question. I moan, not even sure of the answer. Probably? Maybe? Gah.

“Look at you, taking it like a good slut. You’re so tight and wet, and it’s all f’me,” his raspy voice starts slurring with lust. He brings one of his hands between us, finding my swollen clit and rutting on it, tracing patterns just as he did before with his tongue.

“S-Sam, it’s too much-,” I cry, unable to handle the overstimulation.

“Good,” he grins wickedly, before upping the ante both in thrusts and in rutting, unraveling me into a mess in his arms. I cry his name, helpless as I come down for the second time.

“So soon?” he tuts, not slowing his pace.

“Sh-shut up- ah-,” is all I can say as he gets impossibly rougher, chasing his own release.

“Gotta finish the job, princess,” he stutters, before growing more and more erratic. He’s got me on edge again as he does so, but mercifully comes before I can. I feel his hot release in me, filling me up just a little too full with his dick that he hasn’t yet pulled out.

Eventually he wordlessly puts me down, fingers plugging our mixed release in me. I can’t even complain- him keeping me full is unfortunately kinda hot.

“So…” he starts, looking down at me.

“Get out,” I interrupt.

“No,” he says, not moving.

This is going to be a long afternoon.

****************************************************

“Did you guys finally get into a bout?” Dean asks as we walk (re: stumble) out of the med bay and into the kitchen where he and Cas are sitting playing Uno, Bon Jovi playing in the background. “Oh- oh.”

Yeah, it’s pretty obvious the fight we got into. There’s no hiding it, even if we had tidied up our hair or faces- there’s scratches and bruises everywhere. Whoops.

“Are you guys in need of healing?” Cas asks innocently as Sam and I sit down a chair apart.

“No, Cas… these are, uh, special bruises. The fun kind. And they’re everywhere, apparently… damn, Sammy.” Dean comments as he surveys his brother and I. Sam coughs, and I reach over to punch him from my seat away. He grunts, and then we all go quiet.

“So… all in favor of never talking about this?” I ask after an uncomfortably long uncomfortable silence.

“Aye,” say the brothers in unison. Cas also agrees after Dean elbows him. “Fantastic.”

[therealmylesmorales]

SFW Alphabet|| Lara Croft

Kiss kiss anon, here’s what you requested 🫶🏾

No warnings, I don’t think. Just low key Dorky!Lara. Might make that my brand.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

On a scale from 1-10, Lara’s a solid 9.5; the only reason why she’s not a 10 is because she’s away a lot. I’ve decided that physical touch is one of her love languages as well, love touching/being touched by you. Especially kissing. She would even playfully pout at you if you deny her of your touch.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Lara met you through Sam. You were a friend of Sam, meeting through university and got back in contact when you moved back to England. At first, you thought Lara didn’t like you you just made her super nervous. Eventually, Lara became a good friend to you as well, especially when Sam cut contact with Lara. The friendship…then the relationship grew from there.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling is Lara’s favorite activity with you. She loves laying on top of you, completely covering your body like a blanket as you play with her hair. It’s often that Lara would nap while you did that. As for the big spoon/little spoon, Lara’s mostly the big spoon, loving the feeling of your body pressed against her.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Lara grew up with maids and chefs but spent enough time annoying around them where she picked up some tips. However, she enjoys your cooking more, claiming that your cooking is much better. She’s British y’all, give her a break.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

For kicks and gigs, let’s just say that Lara would want to break up with you. Lara’s mature, she would give you reasons on why she feels a certain way and for how long. She would want only space at first, just to see if her feelings would mellow out during that time period.

But if things don’t change, she would let you know that it’s not your fault; she’s the one that feels that way. And she would not want to stay in contact afterwards, knowing neither would heal if that’s the case.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

As soon as that “girlfriend” title was placed, Lara would be all about you. And after a year of being together, she could see you being in her life forever. But she probably wouldn’t propose then and there, just give her time to plan it first. Unless you somehow throw off her plans by proposing first, she would just give you the ring after you had your moment.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

You’re like a flower to Lara. Beautiful and fragile, and she treats you as such. The way she cares for you is unlike anything you’ve imagined. She would never let you take on more than needed, more than willing to take on the load if you’re feeling too stressed over work.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

For the plot, just pretend that you’re short. Lara’s like 5’8”, just vibe.

Lara loves giving you hugs; resting her chin on top of your head, smelling your perfume, it brings her peace. Her hugs are warm, feeling her strong arms around you would make you feel safe. She gives you hugs around the same amount as her kisses..

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Lara almost said that shit on the first date. But she somehow held herself back, not wanting to scare you off. It surprised her that you were the first one to say it, after six months of dating. And ever since, Lara will always say it to you at least twice a day.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

We saw a jealous Lara. She would try to let you handle it. She trusts you with everything in her…just not other people. So, when she sees them being pushy and not respecting you, Lara would have to step in.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Lara’s kisses are soft, tender, almost as if she’s afraid you’d break if she’s too rough. And she lingers, like she wants you to remember how she feels even when she’s not there. Her favorite place to kiss you are your lips, obviously. Another common place to kiss you is your knuckles, she’s just in love with you like that.

As for her, Lara would never turn down a kiss from you, no matter where you decide to place it. However, the bridge/tip of her nose makes her giggle. I’d call that her second favorite type kiss.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Lara likes children but not enough to the point to want one of her own. She’s comfortable with just the two of you, maybe an animal or two as well. However, maybe more down the line, you would gain her attention if you mentioned having a child with her.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Those mornings where you both have nothing to do are Lara’s favorites. She’ll get to bask in the morning sun and in the attention you give her. Lara would try to keep you in bed for as long as she could until you pulled her out to get the day started.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Lara are tranquil. If you were apart for most of the day, she would lay with you, just to hear you talk; good, bad it wouldn’t matter to her, you would still have her full attention. Alternatively, if you spent the day together, there would be an hour where Lara would catch up with her own work or even read. It was her winding down time.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Lara would be shy during the first few meet up’s, so she’s unnaturally quiet. But over time, she would quickly warm up and reveal a few things about her. Just about anything would be on the table for her to talk about.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Lara is a very patient person, especially when it comes to you. It’s even rare for her to raise her voice around you. However, for those times that she’s running thin, she wouldn’t hesitate to ask you for a bit of space just to calm herself down.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

One thing we can’t do is deny how smart Lara is. She would remember something you mentioned once. One your first date. YEARS ago. Lara would have to remind you about a few things you said.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Lara’s favorite memory is when you agreed to be her girlfriend. It was your third date, when Lara finally understood that she didn’t need to be extravagant in order to impress you. She showed up at your apartment with a small gift and a bouquet, the question on the tip of her tongue but she hesitated; she wasn’t sure if her feelings were one sided and you only saw her as a good friend. Lara you fuck ass lesbian.

But that hesitation immediately washed away when you kissed her mid movie after sensing her nervousness.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Like I said in one of my first headcannons, Lara would teach you how to use a gun, and it would not be up for debate. Trinity might be gone but that doesn’t mean she’s free of enemies and she would be damned if they got to you. She would tell you about the weapons hidden around the manor just in case as well.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Lara puts effort with everything in her. She would always manage to bring you a small trinket from another country, to the point where you have an entire bookshelf filled with them. For your very first date, she rented out a museum and tried to impress you with her knowledge on a few topics. She nerded out a few times but she succeeded. And not to mention the time she took you to Hawai’i for your one year.

Moral of the story, Lara would go above and beyond for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Lara gets in her head a lot and forgets to do a lot of human necessities. When she’s locked up in her office, Lara would get obsessed over her next clue, the code she would have to crack and would accidentally ignore you. She would give you short responses or even politely decline your offers for food. Lara would feel bad about later, when she noticed you stopped coming in and would timidly apologize later that night.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Honestly…I don’t see Lara being that vain. Every other week, baby girl is covered in dirt, blood, mud and new scars. Yeah, of course she does her best but she dosen’t see the point in most days especially if she has to leave soon.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Lara wasn’t complete until she met you. She was going through the motions, life was a routine. Then you got added. You made her life more exciting, she couldn’t wait to be around you. You added something Lara didn’t know she was missing.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

No Edward Cullen type shit, but Lara loves to watch you sleep. When she wakes up before your alarm goes off, she likes to soak in those few extra minutes of your peaceful face. She would try to coax you awake with soft kisses to make your morning.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Lara doesn’t like people that are unnecessarily mean. Therefore, if your way of flirting with people is by being mean, you have no chance. Sorry, mean fems. You have a better chance with Claire than Lara.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

One thing for sure is that Lara is a heavy sleeper. When she’s out in the wild, she’s alert, waking up at every little noise so she gets little to no sleep. But at home, when she’s safe and with you? Not only will Lara sleep like a log, but be prepared to hear grown man snores coming from her after being away.

Another thing that Lara would do is keep you captive on the bed. Because, until she wakes up, Lara would not move off of you. Even if you try to move her arm from around you, she would whine and move closer to you. Luckily, Lara is an early riser.

[sturniololoco]

Hurt

C.S x fem reader

Warnings: bl00d, fluuuuuuff!

Summary: Chris gets hurt and you help him.

unedited btw

Y/N’s POV

It was around 7:00 PM and Nick and I were cooking dinner, waiting for his brothers to come back from playing basketball with their friends.

“Wait…how much salt?” Nick said, hand holding the salt shaker over the pan.

“Nononononono!” I said, panicked, while scurried over to him and took the salt out of his hand. I replaced the salt with pepper and he let out a soft “ohhhhhh”.

Not long after, Chris and Matt arrived home, sweaty but smiling. I was putting dinner on the table, when Chris walked by e and gave me a kiss. 

“That smells great mama” he whispered in my ear.

“Don’t be doing all that lovey-dovey shit over my dinner!” Matt yelled, getting a root beer from the fridge. Nick proceeded to smack him on the back of the head. 

I gigged and gave Chris a big hug around his torso, leaning on him. I heard him suck in a sharp breath. I looked up saw him wincing. 

“You okay baby?” I asked, quickly letting go of him. 

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine.” He said, giving me one last kiss before heading to the fridge to get a drink.

Only then did I notice his limp. 

-

We sat down to eat dinner, talking surprisingly calm. That was the case until Nick when on a 10 minuet tangent about birds…again. Chris stayed rather quiet though. I assumed he was hurt from basketball, but didn’t want to talk about it in front of us brothers. But that was fine. 

I’ll just ask him after dinner I thought to myself, finishing up my food and starting the dishes.

-

Once I’ve finished the dishes, I say good night to Nick and Matt who are lounging on the couch, watching a movie, and then make my way down the stairs to Chris’s room. After dinner he disappeared, I assumed to go to his room.

I open the door to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, hair wet. He just got out of the shower, I thought.

His shoulders were slouched and he was staring off at something on the carpet. I closed the door behind me and walked over to him.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” I said, going to stand between his legs. I put my hands at the nape of his neck, playing with his hair.

He didn’t respond. He only rested his forehead on my stomach and let out a shaky breath.

“Chris? You need to tell me what’s wrong bubs.” I told him. He lifted his head and looked at me, a pain filled expression on his face.

“Hurts.” Chris mumbled, slightly pouting.

“What hurts baby?” I said standing back looking him up and down to try and find any sign of what was the matter. He slowly lifts up his sweatpants

He winced as the fabric went over his knee, to show a big gash, surrounded by black, purple, and yellow bruises. It was also super swollen.

“Chris! What happened!” I asked, making my way to his bathroom for the first aid kit.

“Fell.” He said, shrugging. I can tell he’s in pain, even though he’s trying to be tough. I walk back to him holding some alcohol, cotton balls, and a big bandaid.

“Alright lemme see.” I said, kneeling in front of him with an alcohol slacked cotton ball ready. Chris extended his knee slightly and I started to dab at it with the cotton ball.

He sucked in a sharp breath and clenched his teeth, but I tried to work quickly. 

I put away my materials and helped him lay down on his stomach because that’s the only way he can fall asleep. I carefully climbed behind him so he was in between my legs, his head resting only thought like a pillow. I gently played with his hair and rubbed his back.

“I love you Chrissy.” I whispered, thinking he was already asleep. But to my surprise, he mumbled back a soft,

“I love you more Y/N” and then he was fast asleep. 

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 3/? - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE TWO

PART THREE

              Bradley isn’t sure about how booking fieldtrips work at his new school, so it takes him a few days to get the paperwork all lined up and organized so It fits in with his schedule. He’s commended for making the class more interactive in general. Apparently the school principal’s kid is in his AP History class and has been raving about him to her, so Bradley guesses he’s grateful for small blessings.

              He finally unpacks his last box and surveys his apartment, glad to have that job finally done after months of procrastinating. It’s not like he needed anything that was in the box, but Mav and Penny had helped pack and obviously thought the contents was important enough to ship across the country. Bradley isn’t going to be ungrateful for their help, but he really doesn’t know why he even owns a cherry pitter. He’s never pitted a cherry in his life.

              Once all the paperwork is done he finds he can simply book everything online, so he does that at home in the evening one night, then looks at the photo gallery and there he is, Jake, shirtless but wearing the leather apron and gloves, denim jeans, a range of photos showing him working the forge and doing a variety of things which Bradley only has a vague understanding of but look… interesting.

              Jake.

              The guy he didn’t even manage to give his name to before he’d almost fallen over in front of, before fleeing the scene like he was on fire. No no, just his face on fire from embarrassment. God he’s shocking. A hot guy and he can’t string more than a couple of sentences together. Although he’s not asking a guy out in his place of work. That’s not cool, he always hated being put on the spot like that when he was working shifts in the diner.

              It doesn’t stop him scrolling through the photos from the start and studying them more closely. Zoom in on a couple and studies them some more. God he hopes no one ever looks at his internet history and can tell how long he’s been looking at a picture.

…          …          …

              The thing is Jake doesn’t work at the village very often, but he finds himself dropping by almost daily. He has his own forge and workshop situated a short walk from his little house he started building with the payout from his first big commission. It’s located on a part of his family ranch, on a piece of land they’d gifted him. He knows he’s lucky, but he still works hard, helps out around the place when they need it, and then works on his own projects in between the commission works.

              The village is a side gig though, and he only does a day a week usually, maybe two if someone else wants time off. Most of the others are hobbyists, or retired and they use it to keep fit. So there are plenty of people to share the work around.  Except he doesn’t want to miss the hot history teacher’s visit so… he’s standing in front of Natasha, the woman in charge, the one who dresses as the Sheriff and is a fantastic shot, who does demonstrations of sharp shooting. She’s also one of the nicest people Jake knows, and he’s known her most of his life.

              “Hey Natasha, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

              “Jake, hi. Yeah, of course. What is it?”

              Jake scrunches up his face, because he’s asked for favors plenty of times, but they’ve always been related to work, or the forge, or ensuring he had a weekend off.

              “There’s a school visit coming up…”

              “You want to make sure you’re not down for it?”

              “Uh. Opposite actually. Johnson High?”

              “You want me to make sure you’re here for that visit?”

              “Yeah,” Jake says slowly, drawing the word out.

              “Mind telling me why?”

              “Do I have to?” he asks with a laugh.

              “No, of course not. I just… I’m curious is all.”

              “Uh. It’s stupid. Probably stupid.” She doesn’t say anything and Jake guesses he’s going to have to fall on his own fucking sword. “The history teacher is hot okay? I wouldn’t mind getting his number…”

              “Oh. Um. I have it. It’s on the booking sheet. They’re not coming until March.”

              “March? That’s weeks away…”

              “You could have the number off the booking sheet though?”

              “That’s kind of… creepy though. Right?”

              “A little. Yeah. Maybe.”

              “Ugh. Fine. I’ll wait. Just… thanks.”

              Of course his resolve cracks that night, he can’t wait to find out a name at least and the school website is public. That’s not that creepy right? He tells himself it isn’t as he brings up his old school website. There’s a whole page for Faculty members and there he is.

              Mr B Bradshaw.

              He wonders what the B stands for. He has a name now at least, even if it’s just a last name. The school has social media pages and he heads over to them, has been following them for years since they got sent to him in an alumni newsletter and only really uses social media to promote his own work. He scrolls back to the beginning of the school year, when they usually do posts welcoming new staff and give a little history about where they’ve come from, experience etc.

              Mr B Bradshaw, coming from California, to replace Mrs Watson for her well-deserved retirement. Over ten years' experience teaching history and geography. Also going to be the new baseball coach when the season starts. Enjoys travelling, history and baseball. Then there are some photos clearly taken from Mr Bradshaw’s previous school and yeah… Jake isn’t remembering wrong. The guy is definitely hot.

FOUR

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Alright, another double duty day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her name is Leslie. The nurse with her graying brown hair and square jaw arrives just before eight. You tell her your father’s still in bed as you show her around; you go through the meals you prepped in the fridge and where his meds are and everything else. Still you feel like you’re forgetting something.

“I’ll go get him up,” you say.

“Miss, that’s my job,” she insists.

“Oh.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got twenty years under my belt. I’m certain you can see,” she touches the silver along her hairline, “we’ll get him up and at ‘em.”

“Mm, well.. He… isn’t much of a morning person. He can be a bit grumpy,” you warn her.

“That’s for me to worry about. I earn my money, hon. You look like you’re in a hurry,” she puts a hand on her hip, “you can call me and check in, huh? I know it’s hard when you’ve been a caretaker for so long. It’s not easy handing over the reins.”

You falter. Caretaker? You never really thought of it like that. You’re his daughter. You care for him sure, but that’s just what you do. It isn’t the control, it’s feeling like you’re pawning him off on someone else. Like you’re shrugging off responsibility.

“I just… worry about him,” you say.

“That means you’re a good daughter,” she praises, “now off with you. Look at you, all dressed for work. Promise, we’ll send an update at lunch time. By then, I’ve usually got a handle on things.”

You pout and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, “thank you.”

“It’s my job, and I love it,” she assures you.

You feel a little better as you put your shoes on and say a final goodbye. You can’t help but be nervous. What if she calls you before you can even get to work? What if your dad chases her off? He can be downright nasty when he means to.

You head off with your big leather bag, your body on autopilot as your mind races a thousand miles ahead of you. Everything happened so fast. Your phone call turned into an email and a quick placement. You can’t believe how simple it all was. That’s what puts you on edge. Nothing is ever that easy.

You shudder as you step onto the bus. There’s worry behind you and before you. Certain not to be late again, you take the earlier route. It’s a different driver. The whole change throws you off.

You get to the stop well before your shift begins. You saw a cafe just before the last stop. You teeter, wondering if you have time, or even the money. Your first check cleared and you’ve doled it out almost to the cent. Just a little left for yourself.

You retrace the route to the cafe nestled beside the park and the library. The residential area borders on the more elite properties like Mr. Laufeyson. You can only dream of living in a neighbourhood like this, where you can walk without looking over your shoulder.

The cafe is mostly empty as you enter. You don’t really go to places like this. There’s been a few times you got a tea from MacDonald’s but nothing like this. You look at the menu handwritten in chalk and squint as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“What are we looking at today, miss?” The barista greets. You can’t find the teas anywhere.

“Erm, I wanted some tea, please,” you step up to the counter.

“Sure thing. What kind?” She points to the little board beside her till. Oh.

You read the options; they all sound fancy but you prefer what you know. 

“Earl grey, please,” you order.

“Of course. Would you like a fog or plain?”

“Um, I… don’t know,” you cringe.

“No worries, fog is a latte, we steam it up and all that.”

“Uh,” you rub your neck, “I guess I could try it.”

“Alright, plain dairy?”

“Milk, yeah,” you confirm awkwardly as you dig out your coin purse.

You wait patiently after paying. Your cheeks are on fire and you take your drink with a thank you before fleeing. Another place you don’t fit. You inhale the scent of the tea but don’t taste it as the temperature burns your hand through the cardboard.

You already regret the indulgence. You don’t know why you had the thought. The idea of being so early put you off and lingering outside like a creep didn’t sound any better. You set off back towards the Laufeyson abode and blow the steam away as it sleep through the small slotted lid

The gate code, the pathway along the side of the house, the flapping birds and buzzing bees, the smell of pollen and the rustle of leaves. You leave the spring behind you as you let yourself in the back door into the grey silence. You leave your shoes on the mat and wander down the hall.

You’re met by a shadow that appears from around the staircase, almost as if expecting you. You slide to a stop in only your socks as Mr. Laufeyson wears his usual discerning expression. You grip the cup tight as foam seeps through the slot. He looks you up and down.

“That does not belong in the library,” he taps the lid.

You stare at the cup. You should’ve thought about that. You can’t have that around the nice furniture and all those books.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, of course,” you accept.

“So…” he glares at the cup.

“Er, Mr. Laufeyson, may I have this in the kitchen? I’m early–”

“Very well,” he allows. “I need to be mindful of time today, yes.”

You nod and retreat, surprised as he follows you into the kitchen. You set your bag at your feet and rest the cup on the counter. You take off the lid to let the heat out.

“I am to be away. I’ll need a bag packed,” he instructs, “your duties will continue in my absence, yes?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you put your hand to the side of the cup.

He sighs as he glances at the tea again, “finish that then report to me. I’ve a list.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He leaves you just as abruptly. You turn to the foamy tea and frown. You’ve not even begun the day and somehow it feels like you’ve already messed up.

🧹

The suitcase awaits you at the door of Mr. Laufeyson’s room. You near and stop before the leather bag, reminded of your venture beyond that door. The disaster of your entry and frantic flight that followed. 

You try to shake it off as you grab the suitcase, the list pressing against the handle as it crinkles. You enter and peer around the space. The deja vu nearly chases you out. You cross to the bed and put the bag on top, flipping it open to begin the task.

You want this done as quickly as possible, just as Mr. Laufeyson directed. You smooth out the paper to find his long cursive in neat lines. You can admire the artistry of his hand. Your own writing would look juvenile in comparison.

In the bathroom, you gather up the noted toiletries into a pouch that matches the luggage. It feels intrusive but you try not to think. It’s simple, like an inventory. Nothing deeper than that. The rich scent wafts from the little vial of cologne as you slip it through the zipper, clinging to your fingertips even as you seal it up.

You take the little bag into the room and start on gathering the clothes. A number of shirts and slacks, socks and briefs, ties and cuff links, even shoes. There is no specification of which ones. You slide open the closet and peruse the varying dark shades, only a few crisp white shirts to break the tone, though the ties and pocket square have more diversity.

You’re overwhelmed by the selection. Your own dresser contains as many shirts and pants as you can count. Your newly bought work clothes have proven troublesome as you don’t have anywhere to store them. His own wardrobe is extravagant in both quality and quantity when compared to your own.

You take out a deep blue shirt. It’s satiny and sleek. You’re not sure it’s fit for a family visit. You can assume that’s where he’s off to, though he didn’t confirm it outright. He just handed you the list and shooed you away.

You trade it for a plainer fabric but a similar hue. You take out three as noted on the page and lay them out neatly. Next the trousers. Those will have to match the tops. You hadn’t thought of that though the list is more helpful in this manner; only two pairs, one brown and one black. 

Right, but what shade of brown? Tan or dark or somewhere in the middle. Or those ones with the light blue plaid pattern. It’s a bit warm for wool so definitely not that. No tweed either. You grab a black pair and turn back to solve the riddle of what shade of brown to choose.

As you move the hangers slowly over the rod, a scuff from the hallway interrupts your browsing. You don’t look over as you assume it’s own Mr. Laufeyson on his way to his study. You’re surprised as instead he sweeps into the room without announcement, muttering to himself as he does.

“One thing after another,” he murmurs as he tugs on his tie, tearing it loose completely to toss it towards the bed. You’re completely stunned by his entrance, “I swear…”

He nears as if you aren’t even there, his long fingers fleetly unbuttoning his shirt. You blink and back away, averting your eyes from the wet spots spattered across the evergreen linen. You clear your throat and scuttle towards the bed.

“Sorry,” you babble as you try to sidle past him. Flashbacks of that day tinge your memory once more. This time the bed does not obscure your sight.

“You will have someone tend to that damnable sink,” he demands.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you answer without looking back as you hurry to the door.

“Not this moment, you’re not done packing,” he snaps, “where are you going?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I just–” you peek at him as he unbuttons his cuffs and rips the shirt down his shoulders. You get a glimpse of his muscles chest and thick arms, “I can come back.”

“You will finish what you started,” he shakes his head as he dumps the shirt onto the bed and turns to face the closet. His back is just as finely formed. You try not to notice as you put your focus to the floor. “I only need a new shirt.”

He flicks through the hangers and pulls out a new piece, shaking it out before slipping his arms into it. You return to the bed and pick up the list. The brown slacks. He doesn’t budge as he buttons his new shirt. 

“I do intend to leave today so do not tarry,” he girds.

You flinch and near him. He does not move as you come up to the closet and grab the first pair of brown pants you see. He catches your hand, squeezing it around the hanger as he tisks.

“Not those ones,” he guides your arm as he rehooks the hang on the bar. He draws your grasp off and leads it to another pair, “these will do.”

He lets you go as your hand tingles. As his shirt remains only half-buttoned, it feels strangely intimate. You take the pants and swiftly back away. You go to the bed again and focus on fitting everything into the bag.

You sense him lingering behind you. You hear his fingers work at the buttons then the soft tuck of his shirt tails into his pants, the clink of his buckle as he adjusts his belt. You take the list again, half-pretending to read it. 

“I put thought to it,” he stands at the foot of the bed, watching you. The weight of his gaze is like the blazing heat of an open fire. It makes you want to melt. “The gazebo. I would like to have an assessment. If it proves salvageable, then let it be restored.”

You nod as you turn to find the socks noted on the list in the small drawer of the tall dresser. You count them out and spin back. He lowers himself onto the bed, bending one leg up as leans on one hand.

“Have a carpenter in and have them leave an estimate. We’ll review on my return.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you gulp.

He makes no move to leave. He remains, his gaze unwavering. Is this some test? Is it suspicion? You peek over as he pulls his arm back and tugs his cuff over the black and blue watch. Does he think you’ll secret away a silk tie or a pair of socks?

You keep on, with no other option. You have nothing to prove, you know you’re an honest person. You move the pouch into the bag as he hums thoughtfully. You keep your hands moving as you try to fit everything neatly inside. 

You look up at him, steeling yourself as you find his green eyes pinpointed on you, “Have I forgotten something, Mr. Laufeyson?”

You stop your hands, clutching tight the fabric in them. He smirks and his eyes fall down. You follow them and find yourself grasping a pair of his briefs. Your lips part and you quickly tuck them in with the rest.

“No, I think you’ve been quite thorough,” he slithers and rises from the bed, “I will be off in an hour, I expect to find my bag by the door.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

[blackenedsnow]

Trans reader x Beej? 🙏 I love reading your work, btw! 😊

ghost light

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Transgender! Reader

NOTE: Hey!! Thank you so much, this one’s got a big chunk of heart <3 I actually got some help from a trans friend to make this as real as possible. I love hearing from you all, so don’t hesitate to send more asks or thoughts <3

SUMMARY: It’s a weird thing being with Beetlejuice, but it’s also the most fun you've ever had. He makes you feel like yourself in a way no one else does – loud, strange, and totally alive.

There’s something about Beetlejuice that just feels right, in the loudest, strangest way possible. Even on the bad days, when you don’t quite feel like you fit into your own skin, he’s there with that wild grin and endless antics, making you feel like you could belong somewhere. It’s not that he really gets it – you're not even sure he really understands half of what you tell him about yourself, your past, the weirdness of figuring out who you are. But he listens, sort of, as best as Beetlejuice can.

“Wait, you mean to tell me you got a whole… thing with your body?” he says, scratching his scraggly chin with this exaggerated look on his face, like he’s really thinking hard about it. “That’s gotta be a real trip. Personally, I think you’re lucky – I don’t even have skin problems. Or organs. Or haircare needs!"

You laugh because that’s the thing with him. He has this gift of making everything feel like one big, surreal joke – but not in a dismissive way. It’s like he’s lifting the weight right off your shoulders, letting you laugh at yourself in the best possible way.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being you?” You ask, half-joking, half-curious.

He looks at you with these glowing eyes, brows wiggling in a way that’s simultaneously ridiculous and, well, somehow...charming. “Oh, honey, being me is the best gig in the Underworld! And you? You’re pretty good at being you, too, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, feeling that warmth bloom in your chest, the way he can just make everything feel like it’s already okay. And even though his teeth are gross and he’s grinning a little too wide, you believe him.

It’s like he understands the parts of you - you sometimes try to hide – the doubts, the days where you wonder if anyone will really see you the way you are. But with Beetlejuice, you feel seen in a way you never have before, like your weirdness fits perfectly with his own.

“You think I’m good at it?” You say, trying to keep your tone casual. “What’s my thing then? Just…being, I dunno, strange?”

He throws his hands up, a look of mock offense on his face. “Strange? You’re one-of-a-kind, babe. An original! If there was a pageant, I’d parade ya around like a prize! You’re the whole package!”

It’s over-the-top, ridiculous even. But it makes you laugh.

It’s not all fun and games, though. Sometimes, when you're alone, he’ll look at you in this quiet way, without the show or the wild grin. It’s rare, but it’s there – like he really, actually cares. And maybe that’s why you stick around. You think, in his own odd way, he sees you, all of you, even the messy, uncertain parts. And he loves you for it.

One night, you're lying on the creaky old bed in his little corner of the Netherworld, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. You're lying there beside him, feeling his gaze on you, intense and curious, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“So, what’s the deal with you wanting to change so much?” he asks, in this genuinely curious way, like it’s just a passing thought. Beetlejuice is hundreds of years old, you have to explain a lot to him. “I mean, you’re pretty great as you are, kid. And trust me, I’ve been around long enough to know greatness when I see it.”

You smile, looking down at your hands, feeling a little of that doubt creeping back in. “It’s…complicated. Sometimes, I just don’t feel right in my own skin, like it doesn’t really match, y’know?”

He nods, though you're not sure he fully understands. But it’s the fact that he wants to that makes it matter.

“Look,” he says, leaning over so close that you can see the glint in his eyes, “whatever skin you’re in, I think it’s damn near perfect. Got it?” He grins, flashing those nasty teeth again, but there’s a warmth to it that makes your chest ache.

He pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you let yourself relax into his embrace. You let yourself believe him – even if just for a moment – because in this strange corner of the world, you're exactly who you need to be.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.7

The scent of spices still lingers in the air, mingling with the warm, dry breeze drifting in through the open terrace doors. The table in front of me is a landscape of wine glasses and the plates that once held Dave’s mouth-watering lemongrass chicken.

I fold my napkin and leave it by my bowl, which has been scraped so thoroughly clean that it looks like I licked it. Had I been alone, I probably would have.

“That was delicious, Dave. Best I’ve had outside Tomarang.”

Dave beams with pride. “The secret is in the red curry paste, I think I finally found the perfect mix. I hope you left room for dessert though, I’ve got more coming.”

“Now you’re just spoiling me. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s the end of an era. I think dessert is justified.”

I nod solemnly. I recorded my last lines as Llama Man two days ago. Lee dropped by the studio with champagne to commemorate the occasion and I ended up with a hangover that still haunts me.

The fact that the show is over feels weird to think about. I’ve had many roles, but most of them were pretty minor and, most of all, temporary. They were just something I did for a little while, but I’ve been Llama Man for fifteen years and now, jarringly, I’m not.

Sierra interrupts my wallowing. “So, have you thought about what you’re going to do now?”

I shrug. “I don’t know yet. I still get a few gigs here and there for other voiceovers, but nothing steady.”

“What about finally going back to acting? On camera, I mean? It’s the perfect time, the show finale is going to get you some buzz, and my agent would love a chance to work with you, you know that.”

“Sierra, honey, it’s only been a couple of days, maybe it’s a bit soon to worry about what’s coming next?”

Sierra chews on her lip, clearly eager to keep going, but she doesn’t. She always says that Dave is her rock, the calm counterbalance to her temper. Some of my previous girlfriends didn’t like my closeness with Sierra, assumed that we used to date or at the very least slept together, but we never did. We would probably have strangled each other.

Julia was refreshing like that too, she never interrogated me about Sierra or seemed to feel threatened, she just took our friendship at face value.

Or maybe she simply didn’t care enough about you to get jealous.

Sierra gives me a sideways glance. “Fine, we can discuss it later, but how are you doing, really? I mean, the show ending is a big change on its own, but after everything with Julia…”

“I told you, Sierra, I’m fine. I knew the show was ending, it was announced last year. And Julia and I have been done for months, it was sad but I’m over it.”

“Are you, though? It’s just, you haven’t really been yourself since you broke up with her and-”

Dave rubs his forehead. “Honey, please, we talked about this. Let the man breathe.”

It has no effect. Even Dave isn’t enough to stop Sierra after three glasses of Soft Shadow Avornalino.

“I’m just trying to understand, though. You were happy, she seemed happy too, and the next thing I hear is that you dumped her? I don’t get it.”

“Sierra, can we not talk about this, please? I don’t want to go over it again, it’s complicated.”

“Again? You never went over it the first time! And you seemed to be doing so well, this is the longest I’ve seen any of your relationships last, so what went wrong?”

“Ten months isn’t that long, and since when do you care so much about Julia anyway? You were the one who was sceptical about her from the start!”

“I care about you, Paul! I was only sceptical because I was worried about whether she was, you know, right for you. I love you, you know I do, but you can be kind of a lot to deal with sometimes!”

A weary sigh from Dave finally makes Sierra pause.

“Sorry, Paul, that was uncalled for. I just wish you’d get a bit more, well, serious about your life, your career, everything.”

I don’t respond.

Dave clears his throat. “Honey, why don’t you and Paul go for some fresh air while I clean up in here and get dessert ready? The garden is really coming along.”

She looks at him gratefully. There’s a unspoken understanding between them that makes me feel strangely sad. I wonder if it’s something you develop when you’ve been together for as long as they have, or if the trick is to marry someone exactly because they can tell what you need without speaking. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I certainly wouldn’t know. Like Sierra just reminded me, I’ve never been with someone long enough to find out.

I catch myself staring at them and quickly look away. I’m not really superstitious, but all Tartosans grow up learning about malocchio, the evil eye, it’s habitual. My grandmother always said that you’re not supposed to look at someone with envy in your heart, or you might curse them, even if you don’t mean to.

Maybe I’m cursed. If anything invites envy and jealousy, it’s fame. Maybe that’s why I keep fucking things up, why I’m never satisfied. It would almost be a relief to be cursed. At least then it wouldn’t be my own damn fault.

Dave starts clearing the table, and both Sierra and I get up as well. She looks at me apologetically, but I walk outside without waiting for her, into the neatly kept garden.

It’s the height of summer, and the chorus of cicadas fills the air, a rhythmic, comforting hum that blends seamlessly with the faint sounds of water trickling from a small fountain. It’s hard to believe we’re in the desert, the entire neighbourhood is like a carefully crafted oasis, each house more exquisite than the last, all lush gardens and towering palm trees.

I sigh, looking up at the dusky sky. Behind me, the sound of gravel crunching under Sierra’s feet mixes with the soft clinking of dishes coming from inside the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Paul. Dave did tell me not to bring it up.”

“I was planning to propose to her, you know. How’s that for getting serious?”

“What?”

“Yes! Bought the ring and everything. But luckily I came to my senses before I utterly embarrassed myself.”

For the first time in all the years I’ve known her, Sierra is speechless. She simply stares at me, wide-eyed, and I realise that I must look deranged, my face contorted by grief and fury and shame, my chest heaving.

I feel a burning sensation in my nose and her face softens. She pulls me into a hug and I let her do it, like so many times before.

“For fuck’s sake, Paul.”

I hold back, not wanting to crush her under my weight, but she pulls me closer, insistently, until I relax and lean on her.

“I’m such an idiot.”

Sierra says nothing, she just rubs my back in gentle circles and I feel my anger slowly dissipate. She finally lets me go and cups my face with her hand.

“Paul, look at me. Do you regret leaving her?”

Desperately.

“No.”

The word leaves my mouth automatically. I’ve thought about Julia every single day, but each time my finger hovers over her name in my phone, I get overwhelmed by a feeling of dread I can’t quite put into words.

Admit it, you’re just afraid that she’d reject you the way you rejected her.

“Sierra, am I just meant to be alone? Is there something wrong with me?”

She snorts. “Nope, you’re perfect, that’s your whole problem. You could have anyone, you just can’t make up your mind.”

“She’s the only one I ever wanted like this.”

She shrugs. “You have a strange way of showing it, then. But if you really don’t regret it, I guess it must have been the right call.”

There’s doubt in her voice, like she knows I’m lying.

“It’s for the better, Sierra. She doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life yet, she needs time to figure it out.”

“Maybe she could have figured it out with you.”

I hadn’t even thought of that, but I reject the idea immediately, it’s too painful. “No. It was never going to last.”

“So you keep saying. You make it sound like you expected it to fail from the start.”

“So did you.”

“True. Sorry about that.” She leans against my shoulder.

“Careful the paps don’t see you like this, we wouldn’t want the rumours to start again.”

She chuckles. “I think they gave up on us when I married Dave.”

“They could try a new angle. I’m single again, what will I do next? I might try to add some drama to the most boring, sorry, I mean stable marriage in Del Sol Valley.”

She laughs and punches me in the shoulder, surprisingly hard.

“Watch it, Romeo. I may only be a cop on screen, but I’ve learned a lot about hiding evidence.”

I put my arm around her and for a moment we just exist, listening to the cicadas until Dave calls us back in for dessert.

beginning / previous / next

[flamingo-writes]

hello >-<

so i have this idea

hobie is a punk musician right? what if he kinda like this artist (their work and all) but the artist is a anon so he got no idea who it was but he knows their art style by heart

he would go to art galleries that will feature the artist

he would even go to the extent of buying a print or two

he would also ask for a commission from the artist

but he would do all of it in incognito (he’s like an idol idoling his idol from the fake acc to ask for comms to disguises just to go to the gallery)

little did he know his fav artist/reader is also a big fan of his band

how would they meet??

(sorry if it’s to long or kinda hard to understand, thank youuu have a wonderful day)

•🍓

You have no idea how much I loved this. I kinda projected myself (like I’ve honestly been in all of my hobie fanfics, but bcs I too, am a punk and do art occasionally) my eco-punk tendencies keep showing, and I’m honestly not gonna stop anytime soon (as you can tell from the constant mention of plants in my writing). This took me forever but I’ve been hella busy 😭

I’ll perhaps do a second part of this

WC: 1.2K or something.

Art is Freedom — Hobie x GN!Reader

"Art is Freedom" was the signature of the anonymous artist Hobie desired to meet. There was something about their art that simply fascinated him. From murals made out with plants, to your standard mural with spray paint. In galleries, this same artist did installations with all sorts of recycled materials. From newspaper, cardboard, paper, sometimes even stuff like aluminium and glass. Others screen printing on recycled fabric and old shirts, and most recently digital art, with the option of buying prints.

What Hobie liked about this artist was how cold and straightforward could they be with their art to express their thoughts and feelings. With a strong commentary on environmentalism. Also very graphic art talking about feminism and domestic violence. He loved the passion put into these pieces, he gawked at the raw energy expiring from the art pieces.

However, tracking them down was particularly hard. They were good at covering up their tracks. Although Hobie knew what that was like, so he started thinking in a similar way this anonymous artist would do. Sometimes feeling guilty for wanting to uncover this artist’s identity, he wouldn’t like it if someone was waiting for him to make a mistake at covering his tracks and found out who he was. But at the same time, he genuinely wanted to meet this person, have a talk with them, sure that Spider-Man and this artist would get along very well.

One fortuitous day, at the art gallery Hobie liked to frequent, there was a new exposition. This one was a photography show. It was the first time this artist showcased pictures. The theme was punk. And most of the photos were from concerts. Spider-Man was even in most of them. Not only was this artist a fan of his band, but from the pictures, Hobie was able to get an idea of who this artist was.

The group of hardcore punks who always showed up to his concerts, art shows, or were wrecking havoc during manifestations, was for the most part the same crowd. Some faces and even names became familiar not only to him but to everyone else.

And you had a face easy to recognise. You had a reputation for always being in the middle of the mosh pit, jamming and jumping like everybody else. However, you were taking pics. Right in the middle of the mosh, you managed to take the best pictures from the stage and the crowd. How did you manage to take those pics while getting out, not only yourself but your camera intact? It was a mystery many people liked to think about.

Hobie had seen you at almost every gig. And he’d seen the magnificent work you did with the photos. However, for the two years he’s been following this anonymous artist, he’d never seen photos. However, for the three or four years you’ve been following his band, he’d seen you in the crowd and seeing your work.

And now standing in front of your exposition, he could clearly identify the peculiar style of the pictures. Those pictures clearly were taken from the depths of a mosh pit. And keeping cameras intact and photos this good of a mosh pit could only be you.

His eyes widened at the realisation. He knew you all along, and had been watching your work from afar for so long. He didn’t personally know you, but he’d seen you around so much to think you were a cool lad, the pins on your jacket were rad, and that you had good taste in music. And of course, he thought you were a talented photographer.

But now that he’d put two and two together, not only were you a magnificent photographer, but an overall artist. The respect and admiration he felt for you duplicated, as he’d thought he was admiring at two different artist while it was actually one and the same.

“Oh! Look at these!” Some people in the gallery said as they neared the pictures and paid close attention to them. “Dude, this pics are sick! Kinda like the ones you always take!”

He diverted his gaze and saw a couple of people leaning closer to take in the details, and a third person wearing a hoodie. Hands hidden in the pouch and hood over their head.

“They’re pretty good,”

Hobie raised an eyebrow as he paced around the gallery, trying to get closer, wondering if it could be you underneath that hoodie.

As he got closer, pretending to glance at the pictures, he saw you from the corner of his eyes and smirked. Your poker face was actually very good, but he could see right through it.

“You think the artist knows how meaningful their art is to others?” Hobie said in a low voice as he glanced at you.

“They better! They’re fucking awesome!” One of your friends said, clueless of what Hobie was trying to do.

“I’m sure they’ve got some idea,” You said meeting Hobie’s stare.

“Well, they sure are my favourite artist, I’ll tell you that…” He said confidently. “I’ve seen you around in gigs, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m always around in gigs…” You said shyly.

“Especially Spider-Man! You love that guy!” One of your friends said, as you felt your cheeks warming up slightly.

“Do you?” Hobie asked.

“His style is very unique. And he’s amazing. He’s been a huge inspiration for me,” reluctantly, you admitted.

“Really? That’s cool. I’m Hobie,” His smirk flashed across his face with a slight arrogant yet full of charm.

“Nice meeting you,” You introduced yourself to him, telling him your name. “I like your style…” You said, pulling one of your hands out of the pouch of your hoodie and pointed at his pins.

“Thanks,” He said, repeating your name. “So, you said Spider-Man was an inspiration…”

“I do art sometimes,” You shrugged. “I wish I could live off of it but, it’s hard,”

“The world is so unkind to artist, unless you decide to sell yourself like a whore,”

You looked at Hobie, thinking there was something strangely familiar and yet refreshing of him. He was tall, he was skinny, but definitely looked like the guy you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with. And yet, he didn’t look all that intimidating. In fact, you felt curious.

“Yeah, pretty much…” You agreed.

“Wanna go for a beer sometime?”

It was hard for you not to smirk as you looked away. Your friends now further away, having read the room and left you alone with Hobie.

“Excuse me?” You armed yourself with courage to look back at him and meet his stare, his eyes a lighter shade of brown compared to the rest of his skin. He was gorgeous, you thought.

“You seem like a pretty interesting person, I’d like to know you better and know a bit more about the art you make, if that’s okay of course…” He shrugged, nonchalantly, able to read your slightly shy and awkward demeanour.

“Do I know you?” You asked.

Hobie chuckled softly. Knowing exactly what you meant, wondering if you were able to somehow relate him to Spider-Man already.

“Yeah, I introduced myself two minutes ago,” he teased, as you chuckled and rolled your eyes playfully.

“No—I me-mean yeah…” You giggled “But…Before that?”

Hobie shrugged.

“Why you ask?”

“I don’t know…” You sighed looking at him curiously, attentively. “Something about you feels oddly familiar…”

“Perhaps,” He shrugged “who knows, there’s only one way to find out…” He winked.

You smirked.

“Later today? At the Hayfield?” You said, naming your favourite bar, agreeing to his invitation.

“Someone likes artisan beer,” Hobie pointed out with an approving nod.

“Isn’t that the best kind of beer?” This time, you shrugged nonchalantly “Besides, Hayfield supports all the local beer producers and amateurs too”

“Nice. See you then,” Hobie said. “9 works for you?”

“9 it is” You smirked, feeling your chest stirring slightly.

“Nice meeting ya” He said turning around, with a triumphant smirk.

“Nice meeting you too…”

~~~~~~~~~

don’t forget to leave a comment if you like this and reboots always help your local and favourite writers get more traction 🙆🏻‍♀️

[pleasantangelpaper]

Video Killed The Radio Star (Stu Macher x Reader)

WOOOO I love the scream boys, I really do. So, here is the first part of my Stu Macher x reader!!! Let me know below if you want to be on the tag list for any future parts!

Pairing: Stu Macher x Female! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of a bad relationship with a sibling, slight allusions to sex, but not really

Word Count: 1.3k

The video store: a world of fun and amusement, a place where horror junkies get their fix and young lovers find some background noise. It is also my personal hell. Ever since I got this job at Blockbuster video, I have experienced nothing but boring work shifts. The whole gig is so routine. Checking out horror movies, rom-coms, and pornos all day gets to be a blur, and there’s only so many times that you can try to mop the stickiness off of the floor before you start to lose your mind. The store I work at is a quaint one. It’s small in size, but it has a rather large number of customers. Most of the customers are regulars, the ones who show up every Friday afternoon to get their fix for the week, but sometimes I meet a straggler who got bored enough to finally use their vhs. Today was not one of those days. 

As I stocked the romance shelf with the newest chick-flicks and romantic comedies, I heard a strange sound, like a movie had fallen off of one of the shelves. I raised an eyebrow in curiosity as I looked around. No one seemed to be in the store. It was 9:30 PM on a Wednesday. Only thirty minutes until closing, and someone was in the store? A thought popped into my head, “Randy… I know you’re here… come out, what are you doing?” I questioned the open room with a tone of annoyance. Randy Meeks was my co-worker, and I guess he could be a friend. He was funny, but sometimes he just was downright weird. Not a word of response was sent back my way. “Randy, really, it’s not funny,”. Suddenly I felt arms grab my face and cover my eyes. “It’s not Randy,” a familiar voice sang. “STU!” I yelled the man’s name angrily, “You can’t sneak up on people like that, it's terrifying!”. He lowered his arms in defense, “Hey, it was just a joke, it’s not like I’m gonna hurt you or something,” he stated. I let out a sigh, “What do you need, Stu, I gotta get home, we have school tomorrow,”. “Ah-ah, the store doesn’t close for another thirty minutes,” the man tutted. I groaned, Stu is a great friend, but he can be annoying when he wants to. “Of course you would know that,”. I began to look back at the shelf I was stocking, unloading the last of the box of new rentals onto the cold metal, and making sure they were in alphabetical order, though I knew that wouldn’t last long. I knew exactly where Stu would be headed, as it was the same row that almost every teen in Woodsboro frequented: the horror section. 

“Do you have Halloween: the Curse of Michael Myers yet?” Stu questioned, flipping through the titles meticulously. The man scanned each movie with a sense of precision. There was always something he was looking for. I didn’t know exactly what his favorite horror genre was, because it seemed to me that he liked them all, and yet, he still scanned every movie’s cover as if he were picking a job to apply to. “Actually, Stu, we may or may not have just gotten our first copy, and I may or may not have rented it out already…” I started with a sense of anxiety, fearing that Stu would be upset by the fact that I had already rented the movie. I don’t know why I felt that I had to forfeit my rental, but something about Stu always made me give in. “But, you can gladly have it, uh just, uh, let me check it back in, so that you can check it out,” I started hastily walking to my bag, but not before my arm was caught by Stu. “You don’t have to do that,” his voice sounded concerned as he pulled me back by my arm. “We could just watch it together,” he said. I blushed in embarrassment as the man still had my arm in a strong grip, and because I could watch a movie with Stu Macher… alone. I’ve never been one to succumb to crushes, but… okay yeah… that’s a lie… I’m like totally infatuated with Stu Macher, but can you blame me. We’ve been friends since elementary school. Billy Loomis, Stu, and I have always been a tight-knit group. Of course, we’ve strayed apart a bit now that I have friends that are girls, but we’re still relatively close, and something about him just always pulls me in, and the cologne he wears is just divine, and his eyes, oh his- “Y/N, Y/N… you alive in there,” “ OH Uh sorry I zoned out for a bit there,” I internally screamed as my cheeks turned blood red. “So what do you say?” the taller asked as he looked at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Oh uh yeah! Of course! We could watch it tomorrow if you’d like, whose house?” I internally begged him to say he could watch it tomorrow. We hadn’t watched a movie alone together… ever. We usually always end up hanging out with Billy, and occasionally, the rest of the gang, but this could be different. “How about I pick you up and we swing by the store to get some snacks, and then we watch it at mine. My parents are gone, so we can take over the living room,” he smirked a little which made me blush a bit more. I brushed any thoughts of romance out of my head, he’s just saying that we don’t have to worry about noise…right…? I nodded my head, “Okay, Stu,” I said with a smile. “You wanna ride home, babe?” Stu asked genuinely. Even though he called almost everyone babe, my heart still did a flutter. “Well if you’re offering…” I trailed off. “Let me close everything up and get my stuff,” I yelled as I was already halfway across the store from him as I went to close down the register.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder as I braced myself to experience the chilly Autumn air. Stu opened the door for me as we walked to his car. His car was nice, but rather banged up. He’s quite the chaotic driver. I fastened my seatbelt and sat back staring through the windshield at the town streets as Stu drove. We made light conversation and talked about everything and anything. We brought up stories of past movie nights, and joked about the stupid things we’ve done at parties. As we finally pulled up to my house, I noticed a car parked in the driveway. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. “What’s wrong?” Stu faced me now, his previous happy look changing to one of concern. “My sister’s home,” I stated simply. Stu knew all about my sister and everything she had done to me. He instantly put the car back in drive and started to drive away from my house. “Stu, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked, confused. “You’re not going back there with her, I won’t let you,” he said with a grave face. I huffed and sit back in my seat, “So you’re just going to kidnap me instead,” I half-giggled. “Yep, you’re staying at mine, and you’ve got no way out of this,” he proudly exclaimed. “Oh yeah? What if I tuck and roll?”. Stu took that as a personal challenge as he began driving faster, his tires making a loud screeching sound. “STU STU STOP DOING THAT!” I screamed as the man laughed proudly at the fear he made me exhibit. “It’s just a joke babe, chill out,” He giggled. We continued driving until we finally reached the Macher residence.

[zukkacore]

Crossposted to ao3

The morning after Frosty Fair Festival, Jace summons Porter to the principal’s office.

“I’ve been VP for five minutes, and I find out that one of the fucking Bad Kids is taking three simultaneous years of artificer class? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You can’t pin that on me, Stardiamond.” Porter’s laugh is easygoing, and he’s only half paying attention as he watches the smoke trail from the cigarette he’s waving around. “I tried to dissuade him. He put himself through that.”

“But you won’t sign his MCAT. Do you want his annoying little truant friend to hate you?”

Porter laughs. “Miss Faeth isn’t a truant, I’ve been taking attendance for her in barbarian classes nearly every day."

He takes a long drag. “Of course you have.”

“Miss Faeth hates me no matter what I do. If she hasn’t caught on to what’s going on by now, I think you can breathe. Besides, I like a challenge. Something you could stand to learn.”

He tries to take another drag, but his hands are shaking, he’s so mad. There’s a clenching in his chest where the shatterstar is placed, then a pain that radiates outward. He winces. “Be it from me to question your teaching methods, but. Do you know what the Bad Kids did to the last vice principal?”

“Hey. I brought you back once. I can do it again.”

“I—” He doesn’t want to talk about that right now. He’s not ready to talk about it. “Tell me, does getting chewed out by a devil because one of his best bloodrush players is swamped sound like a good time to you? Jawbone recommended I look into xanax, that’s how wired I’ve been. And that was before I got ‘promoted’.”

“I’m sure you could get your hands on some if you attended one of his orgies.”

“Go to hell.”

“Likewise.”

They glare back and forth. Jace is used to getting into tiffs with Porter, but this—this is real.

 When he opens his mouth, his voice is quiet. “I don’t see why you can’t just sign the kid’s fucking MCAT.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the whole impassioned speech,” says Porter, “It’s nice to see you actually riled up about something once in your silver-spoon life, maybe finally you’ll start giving a fuck.”

“I’m not riled up,” says Jace, but he’s working to keep his voice steady.

He’s used to the assumptions about his life, and he’d much rather keep up appearances than let a soul know about his estranged parents or the mind that’s trying to kill him. That’s the thing about sorcery—when your power is innate, you can never stop being grateful. If things are fucked, they could always, always be worse. He has to be unassuming. He likes being unassuming, because a gift is not a threat. And if his student’s can see that this scary thing they can’t help doesn’t have to rule their life, then, yeah, he’s ok with being a little bit of a joke.

At least, he was ok with it, before Porter Cliffbreaker broke him and shoved a shatterstar into his gaping chest wound and gave him a choice: rage or oblivion? He made his choice. He can’t back out now. So doesn’t Porter see he’s trying to look out for him? “I just think it would make things so much easier—”

“For who? You? Pardon me for treading on your cushy little gig.”

“Oh, we’re way past that.” Eight months past, to be exact. His mind is drifting back fondly to bleeding out in the Mountain’s of Chaos. He’s grateful that it’s so early in the morning, that no one is around to cast Detect Thoughts.

“Thistlespring could use a little tough love. That’s just the way I teach, now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna have to deal with it. He’s an orc, Stardiamond—barbarism is in his blood. He just needs to apply himself. I mean, you’ve seen the kid play bloodrush, he’s a beast.”

He grimaces. Something about the way Porter is speaking, he can’t place it, but he feels sick to his stomach.

“Right,” says Porter, clearly misjudging the expression on his face. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show a little school spirit.”

Jace laughs sharply.

“Well. He’s a beast you’re gonna find yourself on the wrong side of if you don’t watch yourself. You know how The Bad Kids are—they worm their way into everything, and the goblin that Kipperlily hates, he’s the worst of all. You know, he ate—Forget it. I just. I don’t want you getting—” He stops just short of saying it. As much as Porter has personally fucked him over, he’s in it too deep. Despite everything, Jace cares about him. He’s just so tired of trying to make things work. “If… this plan is so important to you, you have to be a little more tactful and a little less—you.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself, Stardiamond?” Porter flashes an infuriating grin.

“I didn’t say that. I just said… Be careful.”

“I appreciate the feedback and the personal concern, veep, but trust me when I say you’re letting your personal feelings get in the way with this one.”

His face is burning up, and he’s certain he’s a humiliating shade of red. Jace doesn’t even have to say anything. Porter knows what a low blow that is.

“Yeah, well,” mutters Jace. “Multiclassing is not for everyone.”

“Right.”

Jace is a good sorcerer. So good that it’s hard to articulate to his students what to him is second nature. He’s not the kind of teacher who does lesson plans precisely because he was never the kind of student who needed to study. It’s eerie how much Porter in these moments reminds him of his own teacher—the kind of teacher who praises his natural gifts all day and was absolutely resistant to him looking into other classes because he viewed it as a waste, as noncommittal, as proof of his lack of dedication. 

Jace never got his MCAT signed. And he was… not prepared for the sheer volume of work required for even early level wizardry. He wanted it; he wanted to be the kind of dedicated person who could put in the work. Maybe his teacher had been right, maybe he wasn’t very bright, and maybe he hadn’t been cut out to be a wizard, but it did feel a little like he was thrown in the deep end and told to swim just to prove a point. He’s always been a slave to his impulses. And in the end, he ran back to sorcery where they welcomed him back with open arms because it felt good to be good at something.

He can feel the thrum of the shatterstar in his chest, anger coupled with shame. He hates himself for being Jace Stardiamond. He’s always taken the path of least resistance. 

He’s not even sure he could call himself a good sorcerer anymore. He’s never been the kind of wizardly person who innately finds the joy of learning and discovery. He’s never found it all that rewarding. But sorcery does require a kind of self-knowledge, a certainty of oneself that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Whoever he is right now is a stranger, buried under several feet of bitterness and self-loathing.

“What’s it to you? You don’t even give a fuck about your own students, have you gotten a soft heart about little Thistlespring all of a sudden?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Thistlespring! Don’t you get it?”

“Look, if he confronts me on it, I’ll sign the damn MCAT. Happy? I was only resistant at first because—well, I mean, have you heard that ridiculous song he sings? The kid’s not very bright.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ll get it done if it means that much to you. C’mere.”

Porter takes Jace by the hands, pulling him in so that he can wrap his arms around Jace’s waist.

“We’re at school—” says Jace, but his protests are half-hearted. He turns his head, and he can feel Porter’s lips press up against his cheek.

“Listen to me.” Porter takes his face in his hands. “I have everything under control. The Bad Kids are nothing, Jace. Trust me. They’re twig gremlins. Maybe I got a little overinvested. I can’t help it, I need recruits, and the kid’s a natural. But that’s not everything. He’s too… Too timid. Afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Embracing his power.”

“Are… Are we still, um—” Porter’s gaze on him is so intense, Jace forgets what he’s saying. But that drive that he sees in Porter, that deep need to push, to optimize, to always be the best—it’s always been a source of deep frustration for Jace. But he can’t deny those are the same traits that make Porter so easy to admire. Maybe it’s just a wish, but he swears he can see the same admiration mirrored in Porter’s expression.

He can feel himself being reeled back in. His life is currently a living hell, but something in him has always felt compelled to be worthy of Porter’s admiration.   

He wishes he could be the kind of person Porter wants him to be. He worries that there is no ascendant version of him, that this really is all his potential, plain and simple. But he’ll try. For Porter, he wants to be great.

They can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Time for school.

Porter is quick to change gears. He coughs, clearing his throat as Jace is quick to step away. “Tell you what—I’ll get that straightened away, Stardiamond. I’ll sign the papers. Things were a little rocky at first, but you know what? He earned it, after the damn display of frosty fair. He’ll make a great… adventurer.” He’s watching. “You know. When the time comes.”

Jace sighs, but it does nothing to help release the tension in his chest. Yeah. Frosty fair. He has to make the announcement about that soon. He can feel a headache coming on just thinking about it.

Porter kisses him, but Jace is quick to brush him away and toward the door. “You need to go.”

Porter grins, and Jace can feel his heart skipping like he’s some teen adventurer with a schoolyard crush. “Tell me some things aren’t worth a little risk.”

“Well, I have to give a speech,” says Jace, following Porter out of the office. Jawbone waves at them, and Jace nods as he shuts the door behind them.

“Hey. You’re gonna knock it out of the park, alright?” He gives Jace a punch in the shoulder, and it’s so awkward that Jace would be charmed by it in any other circumstance. Like they’re amicable co-workers and not the bad guys. Like they’re not intertwined, Porter’s rage making a comfy little home in his ribcage. “We’re all looking to you, now, Stardiamond. It’s a heavy burden, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust more to handle the responsibility.”

Jace doesn’t bother to check his insight. If Porter says it, he’s ready to believe it.

[strniohoeee]

Chris with a rockstar girl who sings and plays electric guitar 😏 like she’s very confident and can make him weak in the knees!!… also I love all your stories and writings 🫶🏻❤️

Her

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris is madly in love with his rockstar girlfriend, and can’t stop obsessing over her🎸

Warning⚠️: None, it’s pretty short sadly. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be smutty. I felt like not really but IDK🥹I still hope you enjoy tho!

Song for the imagine: Feel Good Inc.- Gorillaz

Chris POV

She was hot….so fucking hot. She was mysterious and dark, mean but nice. She was my wildest dreams in living flesh. She could make me crumble just by the way she looked at me. She was so powerful, and she was all mine.

I wasn’t too sure how I got her, I was the total opposite of her. I was foolish, dumb and oftentimes seen as immature. She liked all this about me, and I wasn’t too sure why when she was the textbook definition of Divine Feminity.

I would say we were the black cat and golden retriever stereotypical couple. I just followed her around with hella heart eyes as she ran everything. Confidence oozing out of her pores. Most people didn’t think we were dating, but she always put it out there.

“Who’s he?” Some random band guy would ask

“That’s my boyfriend and his names Chris” she would respond with a blunt expression

Most times they would scurry away at her demeanor. She was very confident and powerful, but she was the sweetest most loving girl I’ve ever spoken to. She had my heart melting constantly.

She was a singer and played the electric guitar. She was part of a band that was pretty popular in our area. Always playing gigs, and I tagged along. Cheering her on from the front row, or from backstage. I loved my baby

Her voice when she sang….sent chills down my spine. For someone who was soft spoken with me she sure knew how to make her voice hoarse and raspy as she sang. Sending chills throughout my whole body.

The way her fingers worked quickly against the guitar, and how her head went back as she held a note. I was ready to drop to my knees for her.

Her dark red lips…so plump staining the microphone as she sang every song. The way her long hair flowed as she moved around. Her tattooed arms shining bright against the lights reflecting down on her. The way her veins would stand out in her neck as she would hit one specific note in one specific song. It was my favorite song, and she was my favorite singer.

I would find my jaw slack, my pupils blown and my knees weak. She was so fucking beautiful.

The way she ran her hands through her hair sent shock waves through my brain. How could I possibly be dating someone as talented and gorgeous as her.

I was beyond head over heels for this girl, and I couldn’t figure out how to control myself.

I was at one specific show right now standing on the sidelines watching her.

She was currently doing a cover of DONTTRUSTME by 3OH!3. The way her voice flowed through my brain, I swear I was being hypnotized. How does one cover a song, and make it sound so fucking sexy.

After her set she went backstage, and I met her there

“Amazing show baby” I said walking in

“My loveeeee thank you” she said smiling bright and opening her arms for a hug

“I swore I was hypnotized” I said kissing her

“I try” she said winking at me

Fuck she was making me weak in the knees just by winking at me.

“So beautiful and sexy and dark” I said to her biting my lip

“Ouu you might want to watch how you speak, or I’ll act out” she said looking at me shyly

“Maybe you should” I said looking her her through half lidded eyes

“I have another set in five minutes baby” she said pouting

“Noo” I said pulling her in for another kiss

“I know baby, but later on tonight” she said winking

“Mmm yes watching you for another hour will work me up some more” I said rubbing my hands down her sides, snaking my arms around her back and giving her ass a squeeze

“Behave now” she said looking up at me

“I am…I promise” I said looking down at her

“Let me finish this set, and I’ll make all your wishes come true” she said running her hand down my chest

“Sounds amazing” I said winking at her

She got ready for her next set, and I sat there watching her in a trance. God this was the woman for me.

The End

I hope you guys enjoyed this one I’m sorry it was short. I wasn’t too sure how to make it super long. I’m not really experienced as far as like a rockstar girlfriend😭😭

-J💅🏽