#and when i get more corkboards
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Okay, i didn’t write more of Barf and Belch psychologically torturing the dragon training initiates, BUT, i did roughly outline the first four seasons of RTTE. Like, episode layout and which canon episodes are gonna be in those four seasons. Actual episode layout and all the original episodes and arcs and tying all the episodes to one another and to all the plots and arcs that happen later down the line will be done on another day, but i got the seasons roughly planned! Only problem is that RTTE got bumped up from my original nine to ten seasons, because i wanted to extend the plot i was building
#TEN SEASONS#RTTE in canon has six seasons#and then i went and added FOUR WHOLE EXTRA SEASONS#though to be fair#to me at least#I’m adding game arcs and plots from School of Dragons#and then stuff from the deep#(which may end up being a few seasons on its own instead of my intended one)#(i haven’t gotten aroudn to actually outlining that part of the show yet we’ll see what happens)#and I’m also cramming the second movie in as a season itself#soooo….of course RTTE ended up being extended#its just that the more i dive into the overall story itself and its prolonged arcs and stuff#the LONGER it gets#so im just gonna refer to RTTE as-#CURRENTLY ten seasons#instead of plain old ‘ten seasons long straight up’#because WHO KNOWS what else might happen at this point :D#httyd/the deep crossover#outlining is both fun and painful#I’ll get to properly outlining those four seasons when i get more progress on the chapter im currently working on#and when i get more corkboards
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so much of the wigmaker's job continues to stay with me but especially this bit.
like. do you think illario hearing lucanis brush off the possibility of his death again and again contributed to illario giving lucanis to zara.
because yes, of course there's jealousy. of course there is. lucanis is primed to get everything illario wants and nothing illario does seems to change that in the slightest. he can never be good enough, not when there's lucanis to measure up to.
but. not only does lucanis not actually want what's coming his way (he does not at all want to be first talon but they both know caterina DOES want this and lucanis could never tell her no), he's also throwing himself into these jobs with such disregard for his personal safety that there's a sense of inevitability that surrounds the idea of his death.
this conversation feels like... it may not have been discussed like this so clearly before, but they've at least poked around the edges in the past. thought about it. and this moment might have been a turning point, in a way -- illario coming to terms with the fact that lucanis really just will. not. stop. for ANYTHING. his cousin WILL get himself killed doing this and lucanis won’t have any regrets. he’ll leave illario to go this alone. (no one to follow after anymore.)
i wonder if he started to think -- if lucanis is going to die anyway, maybe it’d be better to have that happen sooner, rather than later.
lucanis wouldn’t be happy as first talon (+ honestly, maybe this part is a stretch, but illario seems to see that what lucanis is NOW isn’t so much ‘happy’ as it is ‘obedient and content to accept the scraps that gives him’), and he’s GOING to get himself killed doing this, anyway…
so yeah, he could wait it out. wait for lucanis to do something foolish enough that he can't just walk away from it. maybe he’ll even last long enough to be made first talon (if caterina can bear to loosen her grip from the title) and be miserable for a while. years even, maybe! before lucanis, again, does something he can’t walk away from.
or.
illario could cut through all the pointless waiting and get right to the point. go straight to where this was always going to end up. and if illario is in charge of this, maybe he can benefit from it, and salvage one good thing from this whole mess, instead of being caught up in it later down the line.
(which then might tread into the territory of anticipated grief, too – lucanis' loss will be agony, but, if illario controls when and how it happens, he can control his grief. …except he hadn’t accepted the inevitability of lucanis’ death quite as well as he’d thought and when he gets sloshed at the wake, real grief seeps through the cracks)
just... something about this conversation. both of them viewing lucanis’ death as a foregone conclusion. lucanis accepting that easily, and illario struggling with that more -- and maybe having that shape his actions. not exactly a healthy expression of grief, but since when has anything this family done been healthy?
#veilguard spoilers#this family!!!!#they're so......... augh#screwed. they're screwed.#illario dellamorte#lucanis dellamorte#dragon age#when i got tevinter nights i KNEW i was probably going to become even more fixated on lucanis bc i nabbed it after starting the game#i did NOT anticipate liking illario so much or getting so entrenched in the tragedy of their dynamic#or their FAMILY dynamic. god where to START with that.#i could get even more corkboard conspiracy and start rambling about like#illario possibly feeling slighted at how easily lucanis shrugs off his offer to get to a point where he ISN'T constantly risking his life#and in some weird way viewing that as another selfish expression of lucanis'.#lucanis gets their grandmother's good regard. gets to have the position and the power. AND gets to leave them all like its nothing#like it wouldnt kill illario to watch lucanis fall like this#he's so easy to disregard yet again
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Jimmy: Are you a painting? Y/n: What-? Jimmy: Because I want to pin you to a wall. Anya: OH GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY YOU WANTED TO HANG THEM OR SOMETHING-
#mouthwashing#shitpost#mouthwashing x reader#mouthwashing jimmy#jimmy x reader#jimmy x y/n#jimmy x you#mouthwashing incorrect quotes#// couldnt decide between anya or curly tbh#// little did anya know. that jimmy means both for making out AND to pin them like a butterfly to a corkboard#// this is what I do when I'm trying to get my jive back#// anyway I decided anya because she screams more worry to me while curly would be like “:D?”#// bro is too tolerant of jimmy
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i told myself that yakuei only had one position then i proved myself (sorta) wrong
my fave face here:
#technically... if they were boinking in outer space... a lot of these would be the same position#makes a rotate-y gesture with my fingers#what is yakumo's kabedon if not a vertical missionary#so i've half proven myself right AND wrong! i'm net neutral in outer space broskis!!!!!#zizz-asdf if ur reading these tags i'll have u know that u inspired me to Do the Research1#like. 5 garu riding eiden? no. it can't be. does yaku do one specific thing with eiden 5 times? *tries to write it down*#i can't quite... what's the word for that position...uhhhh#ah forget it i'll just draw it out#<- that was the process of creating this. collage? 😆#THE MATRIX OF YAKUEI BOINKINg POSITIONS (under construction)#when u about to be semi-normal and make a spreadsheet but ur sexcabulary is stunted so you resort to visuals instead#legit opening up every intimacy room and skipping thru sections to get as complete a picture as possible#wondering... where are yaku's feet planted in this one. (skips to 8minute mark)#ah! there they are. theyre not supporting his weight in this one *draws it*#while drawing crimson phantom room 2 my brow was furrowed and i was mentally narrating#[and this one i affectionately call.. rectal exam - professional misconduct Grounds for Termination)]#surprised they str8 up havent done classicdoggstyle yet. is it because he's a snake? garu should teach him#also surprised that there's been no Light SSR for yaku yet. come on!! Light mode on the double!#uhhh i think the only repeated positions were freestanding (choco liqueur r2 and dark nova r2)#and standing AGAINST! THE! WALL! (choco liqueur r5 {interior} and shadow lineage r5 {cave})#wait. *throws papers around* i swear they did missionary more than once. was it only ocean breeze???#i know with the intimacy rooms they gotta modify the positions into certain angles to make it...look...better#but seriously? only one missionary out of the lot of them? despite the aesthetic tweaks??? how can that ........#*tosses more papers around with increasing befuddlement* WHERE IS MY PURE 100% VANILLA BEAN ICE CREAM#sighs as all the papers lie scattered on the ground#dude... i don't know anymore..... this is beyond my scope#now that i see how evenly spread out the positions are...#i BET the devs have SOME SORTA CHART tracking yaku's positions. now THAT'S a funky office corkboard!#yakuei#nu carnival eiden
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hot take? but the Twilight fandom needs to stop citing Mormonism for everything that happens in this hell series.
the characters aren't Mormon. the plot isn't Mormon. the wardrobe isn't Mormon. this series was WRITTEN BY a Mormon woman whose religious indoctrination influenced her work. there are themes, plot points, characterizations, etc, that are related to or in line with LDS teachings. saying the book/characters are Mormon is not the same.
the more you label everything in text as Mormon, the less likely you'll be able to identify the actual religious influences
and if you think you are somehow immune to the influence of something you cannot correctly identify, think again
#red thread corkboard squad needs to come back#besties wya :(#we were really on one when we were talking about theology in a critical way#now the fandom has genuinely adopted this insane notion that everything is or can be explained by Mormonism#and honestly guys not to be a hater but regurgitating meta & crit lit theory you learned via osmosis does not mean you Get It#considering the fact that the whole reason i started fuckmeyer 1.0 was to generate more crit lit discussion on twilight#you have no idea how much it pains me to say this#bc i WANT more crit lit discussion of this saga. analyzing literature is fun as hell!!!!!#but....... seeing people hop on shitposts & headcanons to 'prove' how much they 'know' the inner mechanisms of twilight#genuinely makes me sad. like the Point of analyzing lit is not to reaffirm your intelligence or show others how smart & woke you are.......
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chapter 6; lobster dinner and with a side of anguish is OUT
bts as usual
i think i need to put 'my noodle is second to none' in the next chapter somehow. feels like a hawkeye thing to say
#mash#m*a*s*h#mash 4077#hunnihawk#bj goes to maine#yeah ig those tags work man. i dunno what im doingggg#i have cornered myself tho. now i HAVE to work on colonel potter field day or QueapMASH. my corkboard says so#btw my schedule for posting these is just whenever my brain keeps going 'what if its not good enough!!!' but isnt giving any ACTUAL ideas#just muddling around Myeh Myeh Myeh#like ok wiseguy if its not good enough YOU fix it#and then i post it and turn off ao3 and tumblr for like 5 hours#also i hope those that comment know that i reply to the previous chapter's comments when i post new shit on PURPOSE#its my way of going 'hello!! if you want more theres more now and also im getting you all at once instead of trying to keep up like a goob!#.ficposting
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Also I got some of my fav prints I own framed and my walls look so much brighter now :)
#wastepaper basket#I need some more still n might also get a corkboard for all the 1 million pretty postcards I bought when I didn't have money for prints#So there's many empty spots but that just means I get to keep an eye out for more nice art!! :3
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Just thinking bout how bartender!simon would react to to someone leaving their number with a tip for the reader. Just imagine he’s going through the tips at the end of the night and sees a ripped piece of paper with a lil note and number scrawled on it clearly meant for her👀
You must not have seen it - otherwise, you would have pranced over to the bar and gloated about yet another phone number. This one catches him off guard since you hadn't announced it.
It's alright, though. You and Ghost had worked out a system for cock-sure customers like this one. It acted as a coping mechanism for Simon, letting his frustration towards your universal attractiveness out - you thought it was just a fun way to cock block them, and assumed Simon thought the same.
At the end of your shift, you sit at the bar, Simon leaning over it and his phone between the two of you. He texts the number with a general "hi, it's me from the bar :)". He lets you send a few lines to the guy - you atart off simple, slowly sending more and more off-the-rails comments, like "What kind of car do you have? I had to sell mine so the police wouldn't trace me back to the crime." Or "I'm actually under a contract here. I owe the bartender a favor for getting rid of my ex-husband. I can't quit until I'm sixty."
After you've had your fun, and the bar begins to wind down for the night, you head home and leave the rest of the conversation in his hands. He scrolls through what you've said so far, chuckling at the strangeness in your creativity. He then sends his own series of texts. "If you treat me nice, I can show you where I hide the bodies." "Oh, I can't eat at Sevvy's anymore - I got banned after the incident." "Did you know that it's relatively easy to kill someone by breaking their nose? Well, that one guy was easy. Maybe everyone's different."
It's not too long after that when his messages stop going out, and a notification generates on his screen, saying "this number has blocked you." Simon considers it a success.
In the office upstairs, all of the receipts with mobile numbers scribbled on them are pinned to the corkboard by the monitors. Price gives it a disapproving look every time he sees it, but he only becomes impressed with how quickly they begin to take up space on the board. Every Saturday afternoon, before the pub opens, you and Soap go up there and choose a victim at random. He enters the number into several spam websites, like job recruiters or the farmers almanac. Goes on something like "Roommate Finder" and replies to a bunch of postings with the number.
When Price decides to comment on it, Soap gives him a shrug. "Should ne'er have left 'is contact information in a public area."
#bartender ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riely#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost#ghost cod#ghost x reader#ghost x you#call of duty#cod#cod x reader
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I am BARELY resisting going full red-strings-corkboard on this season. And by barely resisting I mean not resisting at all here is an extremely long list of the events those pins would be marking out.
BigB getting a Task that was a different color than everyone else's. It's not just a randomly assigned Hard Task, bc Scar rerolled for a Hard Task and his was also just a white envelope. It's fundamentally different.
That task taking BigB away from socialization, and seemingly being an incredibly time-consuming and dull request. Of profound disinterest to any watchers.
The phrasing of his Task!!
Dig a big hole. All the way down. At least 3x3. Make it your base if you want.
Everyone else's are direct and formal - the only one with more than one sentence was Skizz's, with the rule clarification of "One attempt only." Bigb's Task is four short abrupt sentences. It is also the only Task to contain extraneous information, 'Make it your base if you want.' The requirements (at least 3x3) feel like an afterthought to mimic the numerical/specific demands of the other tasks.
Evo symbol on the face of the Secret Keeper statue.
The fact that there's a statue at all; the fact that there is a physical representation of what is assigning tasks that everyone must complete, when previously everything was always handled via commands and unseen RNG.
Grian talking to the statue, and (bc of his Actual Role as game organizer) acting as a mediator for the impartial decisions handed down, speaking for it.
Grian making one last bad joke and saying he doesn't know if it counted or not- depends on whether we the audience laughed.
Grian asking for task recommendations from the audience. The watchers are making the tasks. The Watchers are making the tasks.
Again I could be off-base, and I'm not usually even that smitten with bringing in Evo lore. I don't want a Big Bad really...but. It feels like something very unusual and intentional and cool is happening in this series. And I'd guess we'll know if theres something going on once we have more than one data point.
My largely unfounded suspicion is that there is another being (maybe Listeners, maybe something else) trying to reach out to the Players via decoy Tasks, and BigB was the first recipient. Get them alone, make them of disinterest to the watchers, and tell them something we don't get to know.
Because that's the really, really fucking cool part (if my wacky theory is remotely right): We're the bad guys. We're the ones giving out tasks - hell, we're the ones actively brainstorming harder and crueller tasks in Grian's comments!
If they actually made a story where the Players have to keep secrets from us I will be delighted. Bc that is the same genius bullshit that made Evo Watcher lore so fun
#secret life#slsmp#life series#grian#secret life smp#bigb#i think im starting to get the shape of the conceit#this could all be nonsense of course. i may be completely off base and nothing will happen and it's just a normal life series#but it feels like there's something Larger happening here#anyways. will keep thinking and mulling this over and collecting scraps of evidence#secret life spoilers#slsmp spoilers#spoilers#salem meta#salem tag#im so enriched. i love being wrong about stories
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The Gymnast
College! Art x Patrick x Gymnast! Reader
Summary: (as requested) "college!arttrick with gymnast!reader in which they’re basically pervs with all the stupid questions but she matches their freak and they’re totally stunned would be hot i fear."
the boys sit in on a gymastics practice and the girl they take interest in happens to take the same interest in them.
warnings: mentions of weed. threesome, reader gets fucked by art and pat, fingering, handjob. smut! smut smut smut!
“Dating outside of tennis is a better idea, I’m telling you,” Patrick said as the boys walked down the Stanford sports building halls. The plan was to go play a few indoor games on the court, but the boys being boys, stopped at the cafeteria first, and both of them, eyes bigger than their stomachs, had too many hot dogs and no longer felt much like practicing. Patrick snatched a sheet off of one of the corkboards on the wall. “Girl’s sports.”
“What am I doing with this?” Art chuckled, taking the list from Patrick.
“What are we doing with this? Finding a sport, going to watch. Something to do. Pick something that isn’t tennis, you know. See some girls doing their thing.”
Art chuckled, “You don’t think that’s a little weird?”
“Nah, games are meant to be watched, I’m sure there’s something good going on.” Patrick shrugged, trying to snatch the list back, but Art extended his arm so Patrick couldn’t reach it, grinning. “You pick then.”
“Pickleball.” Art debated.
“Too close to tennis, come on. Pick something hotter.”
“Hotter? Thought you’d like the pickleball skirts.”
“I do, but they’re just tennis skirts. Give me the list-” he took it from Art’s hand. “Rugby…Could be good, contact, girls on girls…” Art did a half-nod, thinking about it, but then he shook his head no. “Volleyball.”
“I still have flashbacks from intramurals,” Art said. “Go down to the less popular stuff.”
“Good idea…” Patrick’s finger trailed down the list. “Fuck yeah. Gymnastics?”
“Done,” Art agreed. The boys shared the same stupid look on their faces as they looked at which gym the girls gymnastics in and they jogged over like eager little boys whose parents tell them they can get whatever they want from the candy shop. “What are we expecting from this? They don’t have games.”
“Competition?” Patrick shrugged, pushing the door open.
The boys spoke in unison, to their dismay, “Practice.” And they could have turned around, and walked out pretending like they just went to the wrong place, but Patrick took a few more steps in and there was no turning back after that, unfortunately. Art groaned a little, following through, up a few stairs and past where a few other people were hanging out watching the practice. Not too far, but far enough that they could observe all the Stanford gymnasts. The boys took their seats and set their bags down. Patrick kicked his feet up. Art just leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“This was the best decision,” Patrick said a little absentmindedly as he focused in on each girl. “Holy fuck.”
“Uh huh,” Art agreed again, his gaze falling on all the girls on the mats and the beams, stretching, limbering up, doing their little cartwheels and flips
“It’s impressive,” Patrick added.
“So impressive. They’re very talented young women.” Art returned. Both of them did not let their eyes wander anywhere else. Girls doing all sorts of acrobatic bends and twists and tricks, it was mesmerizing. With the three brain cells shared between them when hot women were present, it was only a few minutes before their interests collided in specifics. On one particular girl. You.
You had your leg up above your head on the wall, stretching. You were in dark pink shorts and a black tank top, talking to your friends. Your leg was so high up over your head, that both boys were thinking the same thing. “Holyyy fuck,” Patrick said under his breath. “She’s…”
“Flexible.”
“Hot.”
Neither of them took their eyes off of you. You were laughing, engaging in conversation, your leg up on the wall like it was nothing. You shook your hair out of your bun to fix it up a little and the boys were practically drooling. Their eyes lingered on the way your body moved when you took your leg down, bending in odd ways that they both never thought they’d find hot. You spun like a dancer and you were light on your feet and you were probably the most gorgeous woman they’d ever seen. Deja vu, both boys were hard watching you bend and stretch and flip and twirl. You were flawless in every way…
You saw them in your peripheral, lowering your voice and looking to your friend Tess. “Do we know them?” You asked her, a small smile on your face. “The two boys in the stands, I feel like they’re watching me, are they?”
Tess pretended to yawn, glancing their way. “Staring. They’re staring.”
“Are they cute?”
Tess grinned a little, pretending to twist her back, looking back at them and then you, “They are. Oh my god.”
“Really?” You giggled just a little. “Oh my god. And it’s me?”
She giggled back, grabbing your hands for a second. “Here, wait, move over there,” she instructed. You did a cartwheel and back handspring and Tess watched their eyes follow you. She nodded and you both started laughing. “I have no idea who they are. The way they’re watching you, I don’t think they belong to any of these girls.”
“I love that.”
“As you should, as you should. If they end up talking to you, send one my way, mhm?”
“Of course,” you replied, scrunching your nose. It could have been weird. Two strangers watching the girls practice, but their focus was on you. And you weren’t too concerned by it. You thought of it as some form of flattery. It was a good thing you couldn’t see their faces, watching you, entirely hypnotized, their dicks fighting the fabric of their jeans over the way you bent and twisted and twirled. You asked around a little to see if any of the girls knew them and the answers were all no. They truly didn’t belong to anyone. You did sneak a glimpse or two. They were both really cute. You returned to Tess as practice was closing, “They aren’t anyone’s boyfriend. Think I should say hi?”
“The way they were looking at you? The way they still are? Please say more than ‘hi’.”
“I just might,” you said, pulling a mischievous little face. You said goodbye to the girls and as they all funneled out, you continued to do your exercises. Leg up, leg down, backbend, and flipping over from the backbend onto your feet. You stayed just an extra minute so that when you did start to get your things together, they were well aware of the lack of extra persons in the room. You grabbed your water bottle, looking up at the boys for the first time, dead on. “Hi.”
Both boys had to snap themselves out of a trance when you called up to them. It was real, you were real, you said hi. You. Both of them didn’t have a word to say for a moment. Art stood up, “Hey.” He said, a little enthusiastically. Had you caught them off-guard? You smiled, walking up the steps.
Patrick stayed seated, taking his legs off the back of the seat in front of him. “Hi.” He nodded your way.
“Aspiring gymnasts?” You teased, sitting opposite them on the chair in front of them. Patrick pressed his tongue to his cheek, looking down at his knees. Art sank back into his seat. They’d been caught. “I mean, it’s not every day we get two random guys in here and they aren’t anyone’s boyfriend.” You smiled a gorgeous smile that almost made them both hard again. You were so much prettier up close. It happened you were thinking the same thing. “Y/N.” You introduced yourself.
“Patrick,” he said.
“Art,” Art introduced himself in return. You grinned wider. “You’re amazing. I’ve never seen anyone do so many flips in a row.” He gushed. You noted him fidgeting with his hands. It was cute.
“It was impressive,” Patrick added on.
“So you hung around because I do flips and it’s impressive. I am flattered, extremely. So when do I get to sit and watch you two do impressive flips?” Art and Patrick both chuckled. You looked down at the bags by their seats, recognizing their racket bags. You laughed a little, “Or play tennis. You’re tennis guys.”
“Might be,” Patrick replied.
“We are.” Art admit.
Your eyes widened, “Oh my god, I’ve seen you guys play! You’re the fire and water guys, I didn’t even realize.” You pointed at them and they smiled to each other. Patrick mouthed ‘water’ at his best friend, grinning. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea I was in the presence of such a talented duo.”
Art leaned forward just a bit, flattered you knew who they were. Sort of. “You like tennis?”
“When we’re bored, me and my best friend Tess go watch the men’s tennis to hear the noises they make when they hit the ball.” You nodded, “The only time men can grunt and moan out loud and women can enjoy it publicly.”
Patrick chuckled a little breathily. You were perfect. Art shifted the way he was sitting, laughing to himself as well. It was hard to talk to you, they both found. You were almost too gorgeous to look at. “Haven’t heard that one.” Art said a little sheepishly. He turned to Patrick, “Do we-”
“You do,” Patrick nodded. “Loud.”
“Mhm, I think I can remember.” You grinned.
“No.” Art grinned, bashful. Patrick laughed.
“You too, though.” You cut into his laugh and Patrick leaned forward to defend himself, but he just ended up laughing with you and Art. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, with all the impact, tennis can be very sensual.
“Gymnastics isn’t?” Patrick said, looking you in the eyes.
You narrowed your eyes with a smirk that sent shockwaves through both of their nervous systems. “I never said it wasn’t. It’s why you were watching, after all?”
Both boys were moving to adjust themselves at this point. You just kept that smile on your face. Art pressed his cheek to his closed fist, trying not to smile too wide. “Are you free right now?”
Patrick looked over at Art, then at you again. You tilted your head, “I think so.”
“You smoke weed?” Patrick asked.
“Are you a cop?”
“So yes,” Patrick smiled.
You chuckled, looking over at Art whose nose was a little pink. “Yes. Do we need that though or are you asking me to hang out?”
“Asking you to hang out,” Art said. He twisted his ring around his finger. “If you’re up for it.”
You twisted your mouth to the side, “How is later? So I can shower ‘n get pretty?”
“Later is good,” Art nodded. Both boys straightened out at your immediate yes. Almost like they weren’t hearing you right. You were gorgeous and perfect and you said yes. To them. Without weed involved. “Where?”
You stood up, moving back over to the stairs. “Where’s your dorm?” You were inviting yourself over and both of them were in awe, much too excited. Art didn’t mind, just meant he had to run back to his dorm and get rid of all of Patrick’s chip bags. “If you don’t mind. If not, we can just meet out-”
“His dorm is fine,” Patrick chimed in, small chuckle. “310, red building. See you when?”
“Nine.” You nodded. “That’s okay with you, Art?”
His name in your voice sounded angelic. “Yeah- yes, it’s okay with me. We’ll see you at nine.”
You smirked once more, laying a finger aside your nose. “Bye.”
Both boys said goodbye to you in return, watching you turn and go down the steps, grab your things, and leave. They both had their hands tight around the arm rests of their seats in just a little bit of shock and disbelief. You were hot. You were really hot and you were perfect and funny and dirty… And they would be seeing you later. In Art’s dorm room.
“That was real,” Art breathed out. “Holy fuck.”
“Gymnastics was the way to go.”
Around eight-thirty the boys had just finished shoving all the laundry into the little cabinet in the corner. There were no more chip bags or empty cans laying around. The place looked decent. They even made the bed and cleared off the desk in the corner. Art sprayed his cologne on the doorframe and into the air of the room. Patrick finished tidying up the bathroom. Done with their cleanup, Art sat on the floor next to his bed and Patrick sat in the desk chair.
“I can’t stop thinking about her leg over her head. Fuck, imagine how good it must feel to fuck her like that.” Patrick said, staring at the wall, dazed. “What are you thinking about?”
“Just her…”
The boys stayed almost wordless, having their own individual fantasies. Until you knocked on the door. Art and Patrick were comfortable, so it made sense you would be too. Art and Patrick rushed to open the door to face you, your hair down, a different, thicker-strapped black tank top that was cut to just above the edge of your loose shorts. You had a sweater on, but it was slipped off of both of your shoulders, the fabric bunched up at your elbows. Both boys had their breath sucked away from them, like someone pressed all the air from their chest. A smile creeped up your lips. “Am I late? Early?”
“Hi.” Art said, just a little late. “No, you’re fine, come in.”
“Hey,” Patrick greeted you. You smiled his way, scrunching your nose just a bit, sitting at the head of Art’s bed. Both boys climbed onto the other end of the bed, Art with his legs crossed and Patrick with one leg up, one leg off the bed. “How are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good, you?” You returned. Art leaned into his palm, looking at Patrick.
“I’m great.” He nodded. “So, this is you showered and pretty?”
“I wouldn’t self-title,” You smirked at his callback. “So what’d you guys do all afternoon? Tennis, video games, endless cleaning and shoving laundry in places laundry doesn’t go?”
The boys looked at each other, wondering how you knew about that. Art grinned, “The last one, yeah. Mostly. Um… What about you?” He was nervous, you liked that about him.
You leaned back against his wall, looking around his room. He had various tennis rackets against his wall, a nice computer, a little fridge. It smelled good, too. “Showered, had dinner, got ready and came over here. Not very entertaining.”
Art looked at you, eyes travelling down your form. You were in his bed, it was hard to believe. “Interesting enough. So… how long have you been in gymnastics?”
“Since I was five? Or six. But competitive mostly, then acrobatics, then contortion, then dance, and then back to the basics.”
“Contortion?” Patrick questioned. His tongue pressed the inside of his cheek again. Art nudged Patrick back at the mention. “That’s where you can twist in weird ways, right?”
“Mhm, most people find it freaky, but it’s fun.”
“So you’re really good at what you do, then.” Art said. “That’s incredible, most people can’t even do one of those. I can’t even do a handstand.”
“He can do a cartwheel, though, I think that’s really important,” Patrick said, grabbing Art’s shoulder firmly. “I can’t do either one.”
You giggled at the thought, “I’d love to see that sometime, you have to show me this cartwheel. You should pull that out in a tennis game, during a rally or something. Oh! Speaking of, I did find a really interesting video. Doubles, Junior US Open. You guys are really fucking good.”
Art put his face in his hands, “Forgot that was recorded.”
Patrick just smirked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you replied. “Guess we all have our thing.” Art was staring at your thighs, his lip between his teeth, Patrick watching your lips as you spoke. “Have to say, was a quiet game though.” You joked. Both boys were stunned for a moment. You were so… honest. Too honest. It was hot, really fucking hot.
Patrick grinned, nudging Art gently. Art smiled, “We weren’t loud enough for you?”
“Hardly.” Patrick and Art laughed quietly at that. You grinned, back at them, giggling to yourself. “Tennis isn’t much fun for me to watch otherwise.”
“Could say the same about gymnastics,” Patrick rebutted.
You tilted your head, “Don’t need to be loud in gymnastics. There’s no impact, no big swings. It would be a little strange if I bent over and made a noise. I prefer having a reason to make noise when I’m bent over. A whole other story.” Both boys just blinked, a little taken aback by how blunt you were. But a gorgeous grin spread up Art’s face along with a tint of pink in his cheeks. “Like you mentioned earlier. It's not like gymnastics doesn’t have its suggestive moments. Frankly, all of it is suggestive.”
Art ran his tongue over his top teeth, listening to you. “Find it helps at all?”
“With?”
“Everything,” Patrick answered, a smirk growing on his face. Both boys had to adjust to hide just how hard they were from this conversation, remembering back to your leg over your head just earlier. Their personal fantasies flashing in the front of their minds. “You know.”
“No, I don’t think I do,” you said, leaning forward just a bit, moving to sit on your knees in front of them. Art and Patrick just laughed to themselves, nervous, caught in your web all too well. Your perfect lower lip between your teeth had the both of them almost drooling. You were so blunt but you played dumb so perfectly… “What do you mean everything?”
Patrick and Art both couldn’t form the words. Not for a moment. Even less when you chimed in again, “By myself or with someone else?” You asked. They had even fewer words. Their minds were wiped clean by your easy seduction. God, they were so cute and so fun to play with.
Art’s cheeks were a shade of pink. He was so pretty, you noted, also taking in Patrick’s bashful grin. “Everything,” Patrick restated, his mouth a little open, tongue still pressed to the inside of his cheek. Cocky, almost.
“It’s handy,” you replied. Art had to shift around again. He was so hard that it hurt. “I’m sure tennis has its pros.” You looked at their hands. “Wouldn’t be the same, but they’re your own.”
“For sure,” Art agreed. “But gymnastics… I mean you have to be…”
You scrunched your nose at him, “Flexible.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, fidgeting now with his lower lip. “Flexible. Especially with the contortion thing, that’s crazy, that must be-”
“I want to know about that one thing that can happen when you stretch a certain way,” Patrick interjected. “Is that true?”
You giggled, eyes widening. “I forgot about that!” Patrick referred to the stretch-induced orgasm that was fabled, but entirely possible. “It’s real, I’ve heard about it, but personally, no. From gymnastics or even stretching, I’ve never been able to…”
“Come,” Patrick grinned. You grinned back.
Art looked at you, “But you’ve done things related to your gymnastics? I mean, the moves you can pull are amazing, they must be… convenient.”
“I’d say so,” you said, leaning in just a little closer. You pretended like you couldn’t see the boner he was hiding under his wrist. “But Sigmund Freud once wrote about tennis saying that hitting tennis balls without competition was akin to masturbation. And that live competitive games are comparable to sex. I’m not a big fan of Freud, but where do you stand on that?”
Art’s eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips and the fact he could see the edges of your bra. “Might be comparable, but nothing close to the real thing.”
You nodded just slightly, looking to Patrick for his answer, your gaze something perfect and breathtaking. Art pressed slightly on his boner when you weren’t looking at him, something, anything for a little relief for how hard he was. Patrick locked eyes with you, “I’d ask you if you’ve ever actually played.”
“I haven’t.” You replied. “Would I find it comparable to sex? If I played against you?”
Patrick grinned, “Depends on how into the game you are.”
“I might be really into it, would it feel the same?”
“In some ways, maybe.” He nodded, looking at Art. Art looked at him, then you. The tension in the room was thick and these boys were growing more aroused by the second. “Doesn’t feel the same physically but it might if you let your mind wander.”
Art chuckled a little, “It can feel good. Winning. Even losing, sometimes. It’s all emotion, I mean, everything is. And without the tension with your opponent, it’s not really tennis, is it?”
“No, I guess not,” you paused for a beat, looking at them both. Your sultry gaze, perfect features, perfect body, and perfect lips made them more and more dazed, lost in you. Their only thoughts were how badly they wanted to fuck you. It felt a little perverted to be so attracted to someone for the way they can bend, twist, and move, but there wasn’t any harm in it. “You’re both making me reconsider my sport,” you laughed. “Sounds worth it.”
“Might be,” Art replied. “It’s nothing compared to the flexibility thing, though.” He chuckled, so fucking nervous, so fucking attracted to you, “I mean, I wish…” He rambled. Patrick wanted to laugh, but he was more focused on how you continued to lean, placing your hands on the bed in front of you.
“You wish?” You giggled, slowly moving closer. Art felt his face grow even more hot, his dick pulsing. “You wish you were flexible?” You giggled a little more, your lip settling between your teeth. Patrick let a breath slip through his parted lips as you advanced on Art. Both boys had their hearts pounding in their chests and in their dicks. Art swallowed hard.
He couldn’t say or do anything when you slowly crawled into his lap, sitting on your knees, your hands gently pushing his hair behind his ears. Art swore his heart was going to jump out of his chest and that this wasn’t real, you weren’t on his lap. Patrick repositioned himself, eager, so eager. Art looked at you with eyes wide, clouded with obsession and lust, and god, he wanted you so bad, but he let you look at him for a moment. You could feel him hard underneath you, his hands sliding up your hips and to your waist just bracingly. “I can show you, if you want?” You smiled. Art let out a sigh, he was so whipped.
There wasn’t much more room for air when you kissed him, pressing your lips to his. His mouth open, kissing you back, a little dazed, but so fucking into it. You felt his grip on your waist increase, pulling you closer. He was so cute and a great kisser. Modest, matching your pace. Shy, almost. So you picked up the pace, grabbed his face harder, kissed him harder, pressed your body against him harder and he groaned through the kiss at all the impact, feeling you flush against his body.
“Oh fuck…” Patrick mumbled, watching like it like it wasn’t happening in front of him. It was and it was hot. Watching the way Art’s jaw moved, kissing you. His eyes trailing down your thighs, braced on either side of Art’s. The way your body moved so fluidly as you pressed against his best friend. It was a sight easy to get lost in. He watched Art’s hands slide up under your sweater and your hands momentarily left the place on your jaw to remove it. You tossed it on the floor and in doing so, you pulled away just slightly from the kiss.
Patrick, instinctively, leaned in, kissing you. You met him in the middle, your hands crawling up the back of his neck and into his hair, still straddling Art. Your waist was twisted- if it was anyone else, Art might have worried a little. Patrick’s large hands slid around your back and Art’s hands gripped your thighs gently. You were so perfect, his hands slid up and down the skin of them as you kissed Patrick. He was completely lost in you now. He’d just kissed you and it was perfect and it was real.
Patrick kissed with passion. It was hot, demanding, needed. You began to pull yourself backward, away from him, but grabbed the front of both of the boy’s shirts, pulling them with you as you kissed Patrick on your back. Art’s body on one side, Patrick’s slightly over yours, but on the other side. He kissed you like he was hungry- like he needed you. Art’s hand traveled the curve of your waist, your hip, back down to your thigh again, fingers dipping into your flesh perfectly. It was with his touch that you pulled away from Patrick and kissed Art again.
He took it, he wanted it more than anything. Like you were a drug, he kissed you like he was desperate for a high. Kissing him, Patrick moved your hair to the side, beginning to kiss down your neck and collarbone, Art’s shoulder bumping him just a bit, but not too much for it not to feel good. You hummed into Art’s mouth, feeling those warm kisses spread goosebumps down to the thigh Art’s hand was grabbing so perfectly. Your own hand slipped down between your body and Patrick’s, finding the bulge in his shorts and pressing, just slightly with an open palm. Patrick groaned, just slightly. “Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck.
You grinned into your kiss with Art. His hands carefully found the bottom of your tank top, pulling it up over your head with the arch of your back to help. It helped neither one of their painful boners to find out you didn’t have on a bra underneath. It must have been built in… Patrick’s gentle kisses slowly strayed down your chest, kissing your breast. Art’s hand grabbed the opposite one, gently squeezing as he kissed you, his hard-on pressed against your hip for friction. The sensation of both was fucking amazing, your fingers curled in Art’s hair and your other hand pressed harder against Patrick’s crotch. Both boys made a satisfying noise of the same genre, lighting a fire between your legs. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet by the second. Poor Tess didn’t stand a chance with one of them when you had both fawning, touching, kissing, and sucking over your body. Patrick took your nipple in his mouth, gently rolling your nipple between his tongue and the tip of his teeth. Your back arched due to the subject of your pleasure and as much as you liked it, you needed something real to feel… now. You broke from the kiss with Art and his lips were immediately down the opposite side of your neck. Both boys kissed over your chest, you were going to grab Patrick when their lips met in the middle.
Art and Patrick kissed hard. You watched, propping yourself up on one elbow. Patrick’s hand cupped Art’s jaw, tongue diving into his best friend’s mouth. You just grinned watching them get into it, taking matters truly into your own hands, slipping your hand down the waistband of Patrick’s shorts. With his free hand, he pulled his shorts down and you had the freedom to slowly start moving your hand up and down his cock. He groaned into Art’s mouth and you watched contented as they kissed like they were going to devour each other. They moved, sat up just the slightest bit, which gave you perfect access to Art’s leaking dick. You found your way to that too, having both hands working at the same time, eliciting noises from both as they kissed over you. You didn’t mind, how could you mind?
But it didn’t last forever, you were good with your hands, and both boys didn’t want to finish early. Patrick broke off first, diving back into kissing you, both boys pulling their dicks away to let your hands rest. They went back to their worship of your body, Patrick’s hand on your chest as you kissed messily. Art’s lips trailing down the side of your stomach, carefully out of Patrick’s way, then kissing back up. You were bold, pulling Art’s hand down to where you needed it, over the cloth of your shorts and underwear. He was happy to do whatever he could for you, gently pressing over you. He could feel how wet you were through two layers of fabric… He was immediately on taking them off. He pulled your shorts down to your knees and you kicked them the rest of the way off, busy kissing Patrick passionately.
Not too busy to feel when Art’s fingers moved your underwear aside, his thumb on your clit. The pressure of his gentle hands in this sort of mix was amplified by how much you were feeling. “Mmm- fuck,” you mumbled into Patrick’s mouth. He grinned. Art kissed your ribs gently, goosebumps once again spreading throughout your entire body once again. His fingers slowly slid over your folds, feeling how wet you were. He wanted Patrick to feel this, he couldn’t not. Art grabbed Patrick’s hand and guided it down. Both boys had their hands on your pussy now. And it was a wordless joint effort to remove your underwear.
Your chest rose and fell heavily, sharing your air with Patrick, who was still so focused on kissing you, mumbling, “You’re so wet…” Another wordless agreement between the boys took place and Patrick’s fingers began to rub circles on your clit while Art’s pointer and middle finger slipped into you with ease. Your free hand gripped Art’s curls again, his lips staying on your warm skin. You grabbed whatever you could as pleasure began to overtake your body. Both boys focused so much on making you feel good, Art’s fingers pumping in and out of you and Patrick’s focused on teasing that perfect bundle of nerves.
You felt euphoric. Their hands doing their work like it was all they knew, like it was what they did best. Their collaboration was getting you there so fast, you could hardly keep up with how fast the waves of pleasure washed in and built up. You were a bit of a moaning mess, never having been so thoroughly fingered with dual attention to detail. Patrick had the perfect pressure and Art had the perfect angle, hitting the places you needed to be touched in so well, so perfectly. “Oh my god,” you managed, “Fuck me…”
“Yeah?” Patrick grinned. Art smiled against the tit he was currently kissing. His dick was out and hard against the bed he pressed himself into, leaking pre-cum like he never had before. You moaned out and both boys knew they just had to up the pace a little. Patrick, flat-handed, rubbed your clit faster and Art fucked his fingers into you a little harder, and in seconds, he felt you tighten around him. He almost moaned himself feeling it all, hearing you. He knew he had to be inside of you.
Patrick and Art kissed over you again, letting you rest for a moment, both so fucking aroused and taken by your sounds, by your being. So completely fucked that they needed to share how they were feeling by kissing hard, mouths a little open, tongues meeting in the spaces between. Harsh breaths from their rapid movement not caught because your hands were back on their dicks again. Both of them moaned into each other and it was the hottest fucking sight. You watched as they removed each other’s shirt, Patrick’s hand sliding down to his own cock, letting that hand fall between your legs. You’d be unable to finish for another minute but it didn’t stop you from touching yourself at this perfect show. Art’s hands in Patrick’s curls and Patrick’s hand jerking himself off fast and hard at all of this.
Art is trying his best not to finish at your hand. He wants to be inside of you more than fucking anything so when you use your leg to pull him in, away from Patrick, he doesn’t stop it. He crawls over you, kissing up your neck, up to your ear, over your jaw and cheek and he kisses you on the mouth, lips warmed from Patrick’s kiss. You can hear Patrick still jerking himself off, groaning quietly. You heard the pace pick up as Art slowly lifted your leg, farther and farther back until it was above your head. “Oh fuck,” he whispered. You just grinned and it was honestly a little evil. You were in a position equal to the splits and it made you tight as he slowly pushed into you. You moaned into the room as Art filled you. He filled you so well and in this position, you could feel everything.
Patrick was groaning quietly still as he continued to jerk himself off to the sight. You were flexible and it did come in handy, “Oh my god, you feel so good, so… perfect.” Art mumbled, thrusting into you. “So perfect.”
“So flexible, fuck, I told you it’d feel good,” Patrick managed through his own pleasure. You smiled at that. They talked about fucking you, that was good to know. You watched Art’s pretty face as he focused on fucking you, the perfect pace, the perfect amount, the perfect angle. You breathlessly watched his pretty eyelashes as he looked down at where you connected, his perfect hand gripping your thigh above your head so hard. His lips just a little parted, breathing hard, so pretty. So fucking pretty,
“Harder,” you told him, using a free hand to tilt his chin up so he had to look at you. His eyes were gorgeous, all clouded up with lust and need and desperation and he fucked you harder. It was easy, it was cut and dry thrusting and it felt like you might die and go to heaven, the sensations rippling through your body. “Oh my god, it’s so good, it’s so good.” You moaned. You reached over for Patrick, excusing his hand and taking his dick back in your own hand. He didn’t stop you, letting you take over the best you could. It was more than enough, watching Art fuck you so hard, the room filled with moans and the sound of skin on skin. You could hardly breathe with the work done on you and the work you were doing, but it was perfect. You felt Art slow just a little. “You’re close?”
“Ye-mmmphhh, uh-huh,” he answered. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“You can come in me, baby,” you assured him, free hand cupping his cheek. It was hard to talk over how much you were feeling and doing. Your words, the theory of it all seemed to give him the momentum to fuck you harder, slamming into you until it got sloppy and he came undone, spilling into you. God, you were fucking perfect, Patrick thought. They’d just met you and you were thoroughly fucked already. Not fucked enough, though. Art pulled out and was met by Patrick’s hand on his oversensitive dick. He made a noise close to a whimper and there was a beat before his lips crashed back onto Patrick’s. His dick was still hard and completely coated in his own cum. You watched them kiss, your hand unable to follow Patrick’s body when it was so close to Art’s. Semen across Patrick’s lower stomach from how close they were when they kissed, up on their knees. You lowered your leg, feeling Art’s load in you seep out and onto the bed as you did.
Art leaned Patrick back onto the bed, Patrick’s hand working Art’s cock gently as they went. Your lips met Patrick’s shoulder, kissing over his bicep as the boys continued kissing. They couldn’t fuck, you knew that, they didn’t see this coming. You didn’t think they’d be so into each other, but you did not give that much of a fuck. They were best friends, it was bound to happen.
Art moved off of Patrick for you, letting you climb over him, still dripping from Art, but it was a half-second before you were sitting on Patrick’s cock. He had slipped in so easily with you all soaked. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Art leaned against the wall, still breathing hard from everything, just watching as you rolled your hips, starting to fuck him. Your core strength was up to bat with how fast you rolled your hips, your waist following. Fuck, you were so gorgeous… Was a good thing he’d stayed at your practice or he wouldn’t be about to finish a second time somehow untouched, just watching you and Patrick fuck. He never thought he’d be so into any of this, but you were taking over every thought in his brain…
Patrick groaned, “Fuck, you’re so tight… so wet, so perfect, fuck.” His moans came like breaths, heavy sighs. “Can’t compare this shit to tennis, hm-”
“I’ve yet to play,” you grinned, beginning to bounce on his cock. Patrick grabbed whatever he could, your ass, your waist, everything. Art’s mouth stayed just a little open. “Oh god-” Patrick’s dick curved perfectly into you. You’d ride him into tomorrow if he let you- and he would. You wouldn’t expect it from the one who came off more dominant, the way he seemed to melt as you fucked him into the mattress. Art was more than contented watching. Even more contented when you slipped your own hand down your front, middle finger working your clit. Both boys watched as your head tilted back. You were the most gorgeous person on the fucking planet at this very moment. A little sweaty, but so fucking gorgeous. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-” you moaned out. Art’s dick still, painfully, stood at attention. It couldn’t get enough of all of this. Patrick dug his finger into your ass so hard you were sure you’d have fingerprints as he, without warning, finished inside of you as well. You followed suit just a few seconds later, slowing your bouncing to a dull rock. Both of you with chests heaving came to a stop and you let him pull out, the semen gushing from you, leaking a little down your leg.
You lay between the boys, naked, breathing hard, lips pink from all the kissing and both boys gladly took their break next to you, trying to sort out how all of what just happened was real. And it was possibly the best sex they’d ever had. You were just as into it as they were. You laid there for a while before inevitably getting up to use the bathroom and Art’s shower.
Art and Patrick washed themselves off as well and put their shorts back on. “Fuck,” Patrick breathed, still in a state of disbelief. Completely stunned, their fantasies lived out. “Unreal.”
“She’s real, she’s in my bathroom,” Art replied, dazed. “And she’s really flexible.”
“Uh-huh,” Patrick nodded. They were interrupted, sitting up when you came out of the bathroom in your clothes again. You crawled into Art’s bed again, laying between them once more. You kissed both of them gently, nicely, and you rested your head down on the new bedsheets Art had changed them to when you were in the bathroom. Both boys, a little confused, both didn’t mind putting an arm around you.
"Loud enough?"
"More than."
#challengers#art donaldson#patrick zweig#challengers x reader#art donaldson x reader#tinytennisskirt#challengers fic#art donaldson fic#patrick zweig smut#challengers smut#patrick zweig x reader#arttrick x reader#art donaldson smut#challengers 2024
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Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II
Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader
WC - 4.3k
Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death
AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!
Much love ~ emma
“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.
“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”
You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.
“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”
He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.
He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”
“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.
Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.
“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.
“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”
She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.
You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.
“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.
“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.
Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.
“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”
You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”
As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”
When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.
He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”
Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”
For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.
“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.
If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,
“See you Monday,”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.
She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.
“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”
“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”
“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.
“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”
She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,
“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”
It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.
“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”
“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.
You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”
Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”
“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.
Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.
When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.
Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.
A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.
You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.
Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”
“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.
When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in. A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.
You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.
“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”
She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.
“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”
She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.
“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.
“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”
“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”
“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the
orchard.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.
When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”
“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”
“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”
“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.
He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.
He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?
It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.
You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.
You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”
“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”
“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.
“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.
He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.
“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”
Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.
You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.
Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.
You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.
“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”
“Do you have one?”
“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”
“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”
Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”
“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.
“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.
“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”
“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.
A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.
You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.
“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.
“Thanks baby, I see that,”
She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.
“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.
“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”
“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”
You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”
He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.
“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.
“Whichever is the most juicy!”
“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.
Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.
A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.
“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”
“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”
Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.
“Can I, mommy?”
“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”
She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.
“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.
She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.
“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”
“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.
She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.
“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”
You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.
“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.
He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”
You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”
“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”
The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.
He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.
“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.
“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”
You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”
“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”
One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.
You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”
“You do that a lot,”
“I feel it a lot.”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.
Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.
You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.
There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.
Until tonight.
Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.
It was for someone new.
divider credit to @/strangergraphics
tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#stranger things series#joe keery#steve x reader#series#steve harrington angst#stranger things#steve harrington smut#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington imagine#teacher!steve harrington#mom!reader#fluff#angst#stranger things angst#light angst#fluff fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanart#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fic recs#chalkboard hearts#stranger things fic#stranger things 5#stranger things bts#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanart
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a growing family
request(s): Reader and Coriolanus have a little fight, and Reader blurts out she's pregnant. AND corio when you tell him you’re pregnant? maybe even him going to the doctor with you?? I love ur fics <3
word count: 2.1k
content warnings: pregnancy, little angst (like a smidgen of it, you gotta squint to see it), little bit of mean coriolanus
You stared at the calendar that was pinned to the corkboard, heart hammering in your chest so bad you could hear it.
“No, no, no.” You mumbled, running a hand through your hair, getting stuck in a few tangles.
Not wanting to face your husband when he got home, you grabbed your purse and headed down the grand staircase and out of the apartment, walking over the Corso’s small grass area and up to the Snow’s apartment.
Knocking on the door, you looked at your chipped nail polish until the door flung open, Tigris appearing on the other side.
She had a wide smile on her face, but it fell as soon as she saw your expression. “What’s wrong?” She asked, pulling you into the apartment.
You looked down the hall to see if the Grandma’am was home. “You have to promise not to tell your cousin.”
Tigris’ eyes grew, and she looked you up and down. “What? Why? What are you-”
“I’m late.”
It took a moment before Tigris’ head snapped up, eyes meeting your own. “You- have you gone to a doctor yet?”
Shaking your head, you let out a tearful laugh. “Are you kidding? As soon as anyone sees me walking into an obstetrician’s office, they’ll run to the Capitol News fast as lightning. I want to tell Coriolanus myself; I don’t want him to find out from the paper.”
Tigris frowned. “How late are you?”
“A couple weeks. I lost track of time, and I was stressed so I assumed it was just late. But then I was taking a shower and the smell of my body wash made me want to throw up. And- oh my God, my boobs hurt so bad.”
Tigris laughed, sending you an apologetic look. “You’ll need to tell Coryo soon. I think he wants to go out to some of the Districts and do some press soon.”
It was true, Coriolanus had brought the idea up the other night at dinner, wanting to start gathering a following for the upcoming election now that President Ravenstill had announced he would be stepping down due to his poor health.
Nodding, you toyed with the loose hem of your jacket, tears coming to your eyes again. “I know, I’m going to. I just don’t want him to get mad. We’ve always talked about starting a family once he’s more established in the field.”
Tigris said your name softly, grabbing your hands. “I know Coryo, and I know he won’t get upset. Maybe if you keep this a secret any longer he’ll get a little disgruntled, but he won’t be mad.”
You appreciated the older Snow more than you thought you would, giving her a tight squeeze. “Thank you, Tigris.”
-----
Coriolanus closed the door to the apartment, letting out a sigh as he tried to keep his work and home life separate.
He called your name, walking into the kitchen with the bottle of wine he wanted to surprise you with.
Entering the kitchen, he frowned when he didn’t see you where you were usually humming to something on the radio, looking in the fridge or preparing dinner. As much as he offered to hire an Avox to cook and prepare meals, you declined it; stating you liked being able to make whatever you were hungry for.
“Love?” He called, setting the wine down and moving down the hall to the bedroom, worry growing in the pit of his stomach when you weren’t on the chaise with a book in your hand, as you sometimes were when he worked a little later than usual.
He heard a shuffle in the bathroom, behind the closed door.
“Sweetheart, are you alright?” He asked, opening the door slowly, stepping in when he saw you sitting against the tub, hair pulled back crudely.
“Hi, Coryo.” You threw him a smile, though it looked more like a grimace given your current situation.
Kneeling down, Coriolanus moved some of the hair that was still growing out from the bangs, frown on his face. “What’s wrong, why didn’t you send for me? Dr. Gaul would’ve let me leave. She’s got a soft spot for you, you know.”
You leaned into Coriolanus’ hand, small groan coming out of your mouth. “Didn’t want to bother you. It’ll pass in a few minutes.”
“And how are you so certain about that?” Coriolanus mused, rubbing your back as you leaned over the porcelain bowl once more.
Once you were sure you were done, you slowly rose, Coriolanus with a careful grasp on your hip to keep you upright.
“Because,” you took a swig of the water glass you had poured earlier, spitting into the sink basin. “I felt like this yesterday, too.”
Coriolanus’ hand moved to your forehead, feeling for a fever. “You don’t feel feverish. Perhaps it’s that new jam you’ve put on your toast this morning. Did you have it yesterday, too?”
Looking at him in the mirror’s reflection, you simply nodded, even though you did not. “Yeah, probably just a bad batch.”
Coriolanus helped you to the bed, hand moving along your jaw in admiration. “Why don’t you rest, I’m sure I can scrounge up some soup.”
You nodded, watching your husband’s retreating figure as he disappeared down the hall.
Once you were sure he was out of earshot, you leaned your head against the wall, one hand going to rub on your not-yet-visible bump. “You’ve gotta give me time to tell him.”
-----
It had been two days since Coriolanus found you on the bathroom floor, and he continued to believe that you simply had a small bout of food poisoning, none the wiser to the true reason you were ill only a few times.
Currently, you were sitting next to him, across from the Plinths, who insisted on weekly dinners at their apartment, only a few floors below you and Coriolanus.
An Avox went around pouring wine, pausing when you held a hand over your glass. “None for me, thank you.”
Ma Plinth looked between you and the bottle of wine. “It’s your favorite?”
Smiling, you were going to explain when Coriolanus spoke up for you, comforting hand on your thigh.
“She’s been a little ill the last few days, some food poisoning.”
Not believing it for a second, the older woman simply nodded, letting the Avox pour her another round.
“Coriolanus,” Strabo Plinth spoke up, leaning forward to talk business. “Have you given any thought about visiting the Districts? It would do you well to stop in before you officially start campaigning.”
Though only Capitol residents were eligible to vote in the upcoming election, many candidates made sure to stop into a majority of the Districts to show they aren’t afraid of the rebels, that they can control them if need be.
Coriolanus nodded, setting down his utensils. “I am, yes. Dr. Gaul and I had been talking about a good time for me to take a short leave. It looks like I’ll be able to go in few months, plenty of time before the campaigning will start.”
You mulled over the sentence for a moment, telling yourself now was as good a time as any. “If you go then, I won’t be able to go with you.”
Three sets of eyes focused on you, varying degrees of confusion swimming in all of them. “Why? It will be autumn, perfect season for photography of Panem’s future leading couple.”
Coriolanus quickly thought over any important dates in your family, none that arose during the time you two would be on the train. “It’ll only be a few weeks; we’ll be back in time for your sister’s birthday.”
You smiled at the blonde, looking at Strabo Plinth as he spoke up.
“A man can’t properly campaign without his wife there, how will the Capitol view you as a First Lady if you’re not by his side?”
“Yes, and perhaps seeing a united front will help lessen the threat of another rebellion.” Coriolanus nodded, clinking his glass of whiskey with his late classmate’s father.
Mrs. Plinth, eyes narrowing, seemed to figure out what the men did not. “Honey, why don’t we save this conversation for a better-suited time? I’m sure I can talk to Ravenstill and get him to set up a meeting time between the three of you.”
Strabo Plinth and Coriolanus both seemed content with that, shifting subjects to something you weren’t interested in.
You sent a grateful look to the woman across from you, who simply nodded in return.
-----
“I don’t understand why you don’t want to go visit the Districts with me.” Coriolanus snapped, fingers hastily undoing the tie he despised wearing.
“Coryo, I do want to go with you. It’s just that time won’t be good.” You carefully removed the numerous hairpins from their position at the nape of your neck.
The blonde man grumbled, pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. “If we go any sooner or later it’ll be a bad time for my campaigning! Too soon, the news will have moved on to something else, like- like Flickerman’s new parrot!”
You rolled your eyes, struggling to unzip the dress you wore. “Can you-”
“Go any later and it’ll impede the speeches and galas and events I need to be in the Capitol for!” Coriolanus’ voice raised, and you paused to look at him, hand still trying to grab the zipper.
“Coryo.”
Coriolanus threw a hand up, face growing red from anger. “Do you even want me to become President?! To be able to give you all you want, to never have to worry about money, food, anything?”
You were at your wit’s end, hand finally falling from your back. “I do, Coriolanus! I do want you to be the president. But if you travel to the Districts at that time I can’t go with you because I’ll be too pregnant to go with you!”
There was a silence so loud you didn’t dare breathe. “What?” Coriolanus whispered, eyes meeting yours. “Pregnant?”
Nodding, you were once again trying to unzip the dress, huffing as you gave up for good. “Yes, and I had a special dinner planned but you just had to go and ruin it.”
Coriolanus silently moved behind you, carefully unzipping the dress and letting you use his hands for balance as you stepped out of the skirt. “You didn’t have food poisoning, did you?”
Shaking your head, you felt your eyes water. “No.”
You must have looked like a fool, standing there in your undergarments, husband behind you with his dress trousers and socks still on.
“I’m sorry for yelling. I- I’m sure we can still visit the Districts before the election, just a more abbreviated tour than planned.”
You laughed, a watery, light laugh. It was music to Coriolanus’ ears. “Whatever you want, Mr. President.”
-----
Your knee was bouncing rapidly, the only telltale sign of your anxiety.
Coriolanus had gone forth and scheduled an appointment with the Capitol’s best obstetrician, going to far as to personally thank them for agreeing to see you at such an early time. He also laid out the threat that if anything were to happen to you during the pregnancy that could have been stopped, the obstetrician would never see their family again, but that wasn’t for you to worry about.
“Love, you don’t need to be nervous. I’ll be with you.” Coriolanus mumbled, hand moving from behind your chair to your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the side.
“I know, I just- this is our first child, Coryo.” You looked up at him. “I can’t help but be nervous.”
Coriolanus smiled, pressing his lips to your temple. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”
The nurse came out and escorted you two back to the exam room, instructing you to pull your shirt up as she squirted gel onto your stomach.
You and Coriolanus watched her every move, anxiety sky-rocketing as she frowned at the screen.
“What? What’s wrong?” Coriolanus asked, hand gripping your own.
“I just- let me get the doctor to confirm, give me one moment.” She didn’t look back as she left the room, leaving you and Coirolanus to soak in an anxiety-filled silence.
Only a few moments passed before the nurse returned, doctor in tow, and she also moved the wand around. “Ah, yes. You are correct.”
“What?” You asked, eyes flitting between the medical professionals and the back of the computer.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Snow. You’re having twins.”
-----
a/n: send requests here
#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow#hunger games imagine#hunger games tbosas#hunger games x reader
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how seventeen act with their bookworm s/o
requested by my dearest 🍒 anon!
masterlist
seungcheol
just. buys you everything you want. bookmarks, books, book signing tickets, bookshelves, hell he'll even build you your own library to house your books if that's what you want. he'd buy u anything you want anyway tbh, but he knows how much you love reading so his gift-giving tendencies have shifted towards the side of fully letting you indulge in your hobbies. what can he say? he likes seeing you happy.
jeonghan
sometimes he'll just sit there and watch you read bc he thinks that you're just really cute. likes to watch all the different facial expressions you make whilst you're reading through different passages, and laughs when you give horrified gasps whenever the characters make terrible choices. gets bored whilst listening to you explain the plot, but Loves when you explain the drama to him like you're teenage girls gossiping over the latest drama
joshua
doesn't know how you have the time or patience to just sit there reading words for hours, but he supports your hobby for sure. sometimes when you're feeling down, he'll take you to the nearest bookstore and buys every single book you so much as hint at having an interest in. buys you handbags that are big enough for books to fit inside so when you two go out with others, you can bring ur emotional support book for when things get too boring 🫡
junhui
goes “ooh what are u reading???” when he catches you holding a new book. you tell him the title and the genre, but as soon as you begin explaining the plot, his eyes are glazing over and he's already clocked out of the conversation. he tries his best to listen, he really does!!! but he supposes it just isn't for him :(( watches the movie adaptations w you if there is one tho and let's you rant about the deviations the directors made from the novel
hoshi
gets insanelyyyy jealous when you find a new fictional character to fixate and fawn over bc like, hello???? your boyfriend is literally right here????? why are you crying over some character that doesn't exist????? but then you argue that you put up with his tiger agenda so he can at least put up with this. doesn't like reading the books, but loves you explaining it aloud to him, hand gestures and all. he thinks it's really cute.
wonwoo
entertains all your theories about the lore and character backstories of the novels you've been reading lately. you could look like that one guy in the corkboard meme with the red string and he'll just smile indulgently and ask you to tell him more. he's bought you about 70% of all the books you own, and he's not stopping any time soon. he'll stop when you run out of books to read, probably. and by the looks of it, that's not happening any time soon.
woozi
absolutely loves all those fantasy/ dystopian kinds of books the most. at first he was like “:// no thanks i have work” when you first asked him to read some books but now he likes reading them in his free time bc he gets to discuss lore with you in the evenings. likes watching the movie adaptations if they exist, bc then you both get to either applaud the accurate adaptation or complain loudly at the horrible inaccuracies that distort the plot beyond repair
minghao
forces you to take rest breaks every now and then when you're going on a whole reading binge bc it is Not good for your eyesight okay and he worries about you >:((( brews theeee best tea of all time for u and he'll sit down next to you in bed with his own book as you both read throughout the rest of the day. those are the best kinds of days, tbh. nothing gets better than sitting next to the person you love most and doing the thing you love most too
mingyu
he's the type to watch you with soppy eyes as you're reading your book beside him in bed. raises an eyebrow at you fondly when you finally finished, the “how was it?” clear in his eyes, and he just laughs delightedly when you simply explode with all the pent-up emotions as you rant to him about the ending and all the drama and tension that went on in the lead-up to it. loves that you're so passionate about your books. thinks it's super endearing.
dokyeom
asks for book recs every. single. month. then adds them to his list before promptly forgetting about them and asks for recs again. thinks that everything you read sounds like theee most interesting thing in the world which is why he's always asking for the titles, but he's just always so busy you know?? he did somehow actually read ‘the song of achilles’ bc of your rec, however, and cried over it for 2 days straight
seungkwan
likes to have, like. a mini book club between the two of you where you both read the same book bc then he gets to fully understand your rants and also bc he actually gets kind of invested??? his favourite genres are those modern slice-of-life ones bc then he gets to trash talk with you about all the bad decisions the characters are making in their lives
vernon
you read books, he plays games. the both of you can sit together in complete silence and be utterly content, and the arrangement works for you both. (seungkwan thinks you guys are crazy for just being able to sit there with your respective hobbies and Not Talk.) he bought you a kindle for christmas which turned out to be the best present ever bc now you never go anywhere without it. you thank him for it at least 3 times a day.
chan
thinks your love of books is one of your biggest charms. he met you on the train where he made the mistake of asking what book you were reading and ended up sitting through a 25 minute explanation and missing his stop, but it was okay bc he liked hearing you talk and ended the day with your number in his phone, so he counted it as a win. definitely a win in his opinion bc now he gets to listen to your book explanations as your boyfriend <3
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#fairyhaos.works#seventeen#svt#seventeen fic#seventeen drabble#seventeen headcanons#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#scoups#seungcheol#jeonghan#joshua#hong jisoo#junhui#hoshi#wonwoo#woozi#jihoon#minghao#the8#mingyu#dokyeom#seokmin#seungkwan#hansol#vernon#dino
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teach me kisses? - OP81
summary: oscar teaches you to kiss ig. gone right.
wc: 2k
tags: fluff, tooth rotting, maybe suggestive, uhh kinda sad but not for them lmao, not proofread
⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚
It was safe to say Oscar was a little more than concerned to receive a text from you in the middle of a relatively chill day, asking for him to come over. Of course he does seeing as it's impossible to deny you, his best friend of six years. He rushed around his flat unsure of what to grab, so he settles on a multitude of items: Advil, Tylenol (for variety, you tend to get picky), a hoodie with his cologne, and another hoodie (once again, variety).
While making the drive to your flat, he stops by a corner store to grab a few more items on the rare chance you might be upset with him. The bell dings as he steps into the family-owned shop, most definitely older than him if the kind old lady behind the counter was anything to go by. It's mostly empty, the short aisles containing various items, but he knows what he wants. Settling on a nice bouquet of pink tulips alongside your favorite soda, Oscar makes his way to the counter.
The cashier smiles at his items and makes idle conversation with the young man, feeling some sort of interest within him.
"She the lucky girl, or are you a lucky man?" She asks, chuckling softly as she fixes up the flowers to look more presentable. Oscar's face tints pink, an awkward side smile pulling on his lips.
"Oh shes- well-" He stumbles for his words, suddenly seeing you in a new light he'd previously pushed down in the fear of losing you. "lucky man." Is the answer he settles on, giving a slight huff of laughter to ease his own nerves that the old woman doesn't share. She hands him the flowers and soda, patting his left hand as she does.
"My Willis and I have been together since the fifties, so listen to me when I tell you...cherish each other." A nostalgic smile lights up her face, previous youth shining through. Pictures hang on the corkboard behind her, all featuring that youth beside a young man.
"He was lost in the war, but those few years were the best of my life." She sighs softly, a shaking hand tracing along a picture of Willis. "You keep that girl close, or my umbrella and I just might have to find you." Oscar nods at her comment, taking it to heart.
"I'd never hurt her, Gods help me if I did." He mutters, placing his credit card back in his wallet, a picture of you beaming at the camera greeting him momentarily further softening his heart.
⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚
Your doorbell startles you even through you'd been pacing in front of it for the past ten minutes, debating every choice that has led you here. Trembling hands brush invisible dust off your pajamas and regret fills you for not looking more presentable. Peering through the peephole, you are greeted by Oscar rocking on his heels in the hall, your favorite flowers in hand.
The door flinging open surprises him, as does your hand tugging him inside. Within a flurry of motion the tulips are put in a vase, the soda is already half chugged, and multiple thank yous meet his ears. You're a tornado of movement and he has to catch you by the shoulders, stilling you in front of him with a worried gaze.
"Did something happen? Are you alright?" He asks, eyes scanning you and definitely not lingering.
Definitely.
"No I'm fine Osc, no need to act like a worried mother." You wave his concerns off, moving to set on your comfy sofa, soda still in hand. He settles down beside you, placing his stuffed to the brim backpack by his feet. He unzips it and a hoodie half falls out, one that he places in your lap. "Why..are you cold?" He smiles awkwardly at your question, now feeling like an idiot.
"No uhm, well I was worried so I might have...over prepared." Before he can hide his backpack you're already rifling through it, awing at each thoughtful item.
"You brought me drugs! How kind." You snicker, holding up the Advil and Tylenol. Oscars already red face only turns a darker shade and he snatches them away from you.
"I didn't bring you drugs- well technically I did- but I thought you were sick or something!" He defends, placing the bottles back in his bag. An apologetic smile forms on your face and your hand falls to his shoulder, appreciation only rising for the sweet man before you. What country did you save in a past life to warrant such blessing?
"Not sick, but I do have a bit of a request for you." Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the inside of your bottom lip chewed raw at this point. Oscar dips his head to meet your gaze, making you feel warm all over from his attentiveness. "You need to promise me that you won't laugh, okay?" Oscar nods, shifting closer to you.
"I promise I won't laugh." He murmurs, worry internally taking him over as thoughts rush through his mind. Did you take your ex back? Are you sick and lying to him? Oh God do you have a new boyfriend?? This one truly makes him sick, but he refuses to dwell on his reaction.
Inhaling deeply, exhaling through your mouth, you blurt out what you want with your eyes squeezed shut.
"I need you to kiss me."
Oscars heart stops briefly, then kicks back up into overdrive. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Kiss you? You? His lips on yours? Oh God.
His silence makes you nervous so you peek, and the air is punched out of your lungs as a result.
His face is red and he's stone-still, lips parted and eyes ever so slightly widened. Is it bad to say you enjoy seeing him like this?
"Okay." The words finally leave his lips in the form of a breathless whisper, tongue darting out to wet them subconsciously. Surprise smacks you in the face, never once having anticipated a yes so simply. An urge to explain fills you; to justify such a request.
"See I just- well I have a date tomorrow and it's been a long time since I've ever kissed someone, so I figured you could help me relearn." You explain, hands waving around in the air to further your point. As you speak, you don't notice the way Oscar steels back up, shutting back down. How could he ever think you'd be into him when you're so amazing? All of those emotions are forced back into an old box, edges worn out from his mind picking at it on late nights.
"Right. Yeah." He nods, swallowing the bile wanting to rise. He should be happy for you, for taking such a step after the shit-storm of your last relationship. Jealousy edges into his mind, seeping into the cracks and his ego, protectiveness shifting into possessiveness for a split second. You're his, not some random guy who can't even qualify as a man. He's always been there, not this- this idiot.
"So uh, do we just..?" You bring your legs up onto the sofa, sitting criss cross and shifting to face him. The nerves teeter on uncomfortable, but excitement balances it all out for you. His lips are so kissable, it has honestly pained you for years that you may never feel them against your own. Oscar takes the lead of course and his slender yet strong hands cup your jaw, pointer finger drawing circles just in front of your ear. You feel frozen in time, hands useless in your lap as you can't seem to draw your attention anywhere but those lips and the light stubble surrounding the area.
"..You need to close your eyes." He reminds you, his voice sounding a whole lot more gravelly, if not hoarse. Why would it be? What would cause such a-
Warmth. His lips, a delicacy you knew internally you craved, bring a warmth you'd forgotten the embrace of long ago. Oscar sharply inhales at the first contact and struggles to restrain himself, your hesitancy in the kiss the only reminder that you need slow and gentle. He abides by this and tries to stay focused while you lose any thought except the need to keep him as close as possible, right on you where he belongs.
Your eyes had fallen shut awhile ago, but who can say? Time feels meaningless when Oscars hands are trailing down to your hips, the kiss at some point having deepened into an intimacy you weren't sure even existed. He lifts you into his lap with an ease that sets you on fire, scorching a path up to your heart and burning up the oxygen in your lungs. Not that you mind. You'd happily give him your air if it'll make him stay attached like this. Oscar memorizes all of you as you do him, burning your skin with his touch and peeling away layers of lies you'd both put up for a false pretense of simple friendship.
Maybe you've fallen into wonderland because you certainly feel mad. He's tearing out your soul with how gentle yet compassionate his kisses are, soft gasps and sighs filling the otherwise quiet flat, only to mingle with birdsong outside the window. Would you let him kiss you on that balcony for everyone to see? A Juliet he'd most certainly keep. He tugs you closer, chest to chest and heart to heart, both fluttering wildly as if in a cage. Every touch he gets is full of you, any late night dream far surpassed as you give up any control to him, bending under gentle actions like putty. God and your taste, one in the same as it is for you. Closer and closer you become, the outside world ceasing to exist just like any false boundaries you'd both foolishly believed like it'd save you from the damnation of love.
"Osc.. Oscar.." You mumble breathlessly as you part, both panting for air and refusing to give the other space with the way your foreheads stay pressed together. "I lied. There's no date." The white lie is finally revealed, one you'd said out of fear for rejection.
"...Thank fuck." He mutters, laughing under his breath as his lips meet yours once more. He can barely kiss you though, not when he's smiling so widely. You giggle, so he does too and suddenly you're both laughing heavily, falling into one another.
"Be mine?" The question leaves you without consequence, your heart and head airy with love. Oscar nods into your collarbone, still placing kisses there with reverence.
"I've always been yours." He says simply.
"Me too."
⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚
"C'mon! We're gonna get soaked!" Your laugh fills up the corner store, rain hammering down on the two of you. Oscar trails in behind you, hand tightly linked with yours as a bright smile stays firm on his face.
"Thought you liked when we were-" He starts but you slap his shoulder, covering your grin with your free hand as you scoff. He grins back, leading you through the short aisles to wait out the storm and maybe get a few (a lot) of cheat snacks. Oscar grabs Snickers, you grab Hersheys. He takes a Sprite, you take a Dr. Pepper. (You'll later end up forgetting that chocolate melts and get a whole pizza instead, walking in the park while eating out of the waterlogged box.)
"That everything?" The old lady behind the counter asks as Oscar goes to pay, just barely beating you to it while ignoring your protests. He thinks for a moment and then grabs a bouquet of pink tulips, grinning like he'd just won a race. Your heart warms and you peck his cheek as thanks, his pale skin going an identical shade of pink to the petals. Maybe one day he'll realize that that's why pink tulips are your favorite.
She checks you out and waves goodbye since the rain has since cleared up, watching as you walk out swinging each other's hand. Her gaze falls to the corkboard behind her, a small smile on her lips as she traces her lost loves face.
⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚
hello I haven't written in forever and I also don't know why I gave the old lady a backstory ????
#oscar piastri x fem!reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fanfiction#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri fluff
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history // charlie walker
~~
pairing: charlie walker x reader
original prompt: you’re paired with charlie walker for a school project, it gets dirty
warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, porn WITH plot, afab!reader, slight angst (charlie thinks you hate him for like 5 whole minutes) pet names, oral (male and female), dom!reader, sub!charlie, begging, making out, fingering, whatever the fuck it’s called when you grind against sheets to make yourself c*m, overuse of the nickname ‘char’, never written for dom!reader before (bare w me), no specific reference to body type !! please let me know if i forgot anything!
word count: 3.1k
this is NOT proof read so if there are any mistakes ignore them! i believe that anyone of any shape or size and anyone of color can enjoy this. i don’t believe there is any description of physical appearance (please please correct me if i’m wrong, i don’t want to make assumptions about anything!!)
please send in more stuff for me to write because i’m in the mood to zoom 🫡
~~~
1:40 PM
you sat in history, your last period class, shaking your pencil hearing it tap, tap, tap with every move. eyes trained on the clock wishing the last twenty minutes would fly by quicker, eager to get your weekend started.
“for this project, you are all going to be in partners”
everyone shot up from their bored positions at their desks, starting conversations with friends deciding who’s working with who. you look over at your best friend, grinning.
“settle down, your partners were pre-chosen. i think we need some variety in the groups we see”
the class started to groan as the teacher stated that the partner lists were posted on the board, stating specifics on the projects and that it will be due on monday. everyone started to get up from their seats to check the list on the corkboard at the front of the room. you started to write down ideas, assuming your partner would find you.
of course it’s due monday, there goes my weekend. what’s the point of your parents going out of town if-
“uhm hey, i think we’re partners”
you look up, noticing charlie walker standing at the front of your desk, looking at the floor in front of him.
“you think or you checked the list and know?” you smirk at him, giggling to yourself.
“you got me there, i saw it on the list” he states, settling in the chair beside you.
he started rambling, talking about ideas he has for the project.
“okay charlie, here's the deal” you state bluntly, “my parents aren’t home for the weekend and i really want to get this project finished as soon as possible so i can have friends over on saturday”
he was taken back at your tone, shocked at the rude nature. he figured you didn’t like him, and wanted to get it over as soon as possible so you didn’t have to be seen with him. why else were you so angry when you had always been so sweet to everyone? weren’t you two friends?
“well we can do it after school and work on it today, i’m good at history so we should finish it really soon” he says quietly, trailing off towards the end.
“perfect” you say, grabbing your phone and handing it to the boy. “give me your number and i can text you my address”
the final bell rings and the class starts to gather their things. you sit up from your spot at the desk, collecting your books to leave. “i’ll shower when i get home and you can come over after, does three work?”
“sounds good.” he doesn’t look up from the desk as he’s still writing down notes.
“see you later, char” you say, giving him a smile he doesn’t notice.
walking back to your locker, you catch yourself thinking about him and how awkward he is, finding it indearing. you were excited to work on your project with him, you had a crush on him for a while and you hadn’t had any courage to say anything to him.
you grab your things and start the trek to your car, stopping your friend to tell her about your plans for today on your way out.
“the universe is giving you signs partnering you up with charlie, maybe it’s time to tell him about your crush.” she says, shoving her shoulder into yours as she walks.
“yeah right, he’s so infatuated with kirby i would just embarrass myself if i told him i liked him.” you state rolling your eyes. “he’d laugh in my face probably”
“he’s too sweet to do all that” your friend says stopping once you reach her car, “charlie walker is probably not the type of person to be rude about letting someone down, he’d probably say thank you and talk about a movie that’s about to come out”
she unlocks her car as you laugh at her joke, trying to ease the nerves in your stomach. you wave goodbye and turn to leave, hearing your friend shout out her window “don’t do anything i wouldn’t do”
you laugh as you walk to your car, sitting in the drivers seat and starting it before heading home.
maybe she’s right, i should just say something.
~~~
you wipe the steam off of the bathroom mirror after stepping out of the shower, skin red from the burning shower you took. you start to pat your damp skin dry before you heard a knock on your door. checking the time to see it was 2:45. fuck, he’s early.
you wrap yourself with the towel tightly before you start down the steps to answer the front door.
“hey” charlie starts, face starting to get beat red after noticing you in a towel. you notice him start to fidget with his hands.
“you’re early char” you say opening the door wider and waving him in. “you can wait in my room while i get dressed, it’s upstairs next to the bathroom”
you both start to walk up the steps and you point to the right when you get to the top. “it’s on the door on the left, get comfortable and i’ll be right there”
you hear charlie hum and grip the strap on his bag before he turns to your room. you step into the bathroom and finish getting dressed, drying your skin and putting on comfortable shorts and a crop top. you head back to your room and stand in the doorway, noticing charlie with his back to the door, looking at the pictures and vinyls hung on your walls.
“you’re not going to steal anything, are you?” you tease, sitting on the middle of your bed with your bag, pulling out your history books.
“of course not” charlie says, “just looking at all your stuff”
he takes a seat across from you, where he had preset his books and notes from class. you grab your phone and turn on some music, asking if the choice was okay and a hum of approval in response.
“so, where should we start?” you ask.
~~~
you guys worked on your project for about an hour before you heard your stomach growl. you drop your pencil and look up at charlie who was scribbling away. “are you hungry, char?” you ask
he hummed no at your question and you started to get anxious at his lack of response, he normally would talk your ear off about anything and everything. “is everything okay?”
“yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“you’re just really quiet today, i wanted to make sure everything is alright with you.”
“i just want to finish this project so i’ll get out of your hair, i know that you don’t really want me around”
his response caught you very off guard. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, shaking your head back and forth softly. “what are you talking about?”
he shrugged his shoulders, not looking up from his lap.
“char, look at me” he looked up at you, trying hard to keep eye contact. “why would you think that?”
“you said earlier you wanted to get the project over with so you could make other plans this weekend.”
you noticed him look back towards his lap and you were confused on what he was talking about
“i figured since you don’t like me, you wanted to get rid of me quicker”
your eyes softened, realizing you didn’t phrase your comment from earlier properly. you immediately felt bad, you never wanted him to think that you didn’t like him. you liked charlie, quite a bit actually. he was very smart, charismatic, and oh so sweet; you couldn’t believe he thought you hated him.
you scooted closer to him, setting his hand on his knee. he looked up towards you with a nervous expression.
“i don’t hate you, i’m so sorry that i made you think i did. i was just upset earlier that we were given a weekend project the same week my parents were out of town” you gave his leg a little squeeze
“oh” he replied, holding eye contact with you. “now i feel stupid”
“don’t feel stupid, it was all my fault. i’ll hang out with you all weekend just to prove to you i like you.” you paused, wanting to say something more. you took your hand off his knee and put it in your lap, looking at the ground, you took in a deep breath.
“actually char,” you start to trail off, feeling the nerves all the way down to your toes. “i really like you”
“what?” you felt the bed move, charlie shifting in his seat
“i don’t expect you to feel the same, i know you have a crush on kirby, robbie told me a while ago, i just felt like i needed to tell you before i lost the courage to”
charlie didn’t say anything, he felt so dumbfounded by your sudden release. he didn’t know what to say, he liked you to, he just never knew how to express it. he liked how kind you were to everyone and how you always loved to listen about everything he has to say.
you got up from your seat quick, anxiety crashing at his silence. “i’m so sorry, just forget i said anything. i’m going to grab a water” you state, heading towards the door
“wait” you heard him get up from the bed and head towards you, “do you mean it?”
you make eye contact, “of course i mean it, i wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true char”
he stood directly in front of you, “i like you too”
neither of you said anything after that, all that could be heard was both of your breaths and the quiet sound of radiohead coming from your phone. he looked between your eyes and your lips.
“do you want to kiss me charlie?”
“yes” he says softly
you felt his lips on yours, pecking slightly. he was so nervous, you knew you had to lead
“do you want to make out with me?”
“please” he nodded quick, looking back to your lips.
you lean forward to kiss him, hands moving up to the back of his neck. you could feel his hands on your hips, barely making contact. you slightly pull away, catching your breath.
“please touch me char”
you felt him grab your waist, pulling you back to his lips. you rake your fingers through his hair, pulling at the root slightly. he whimpered at the feeling, gripping your sides harder.
you started to walk the both of you slowly toward the bed, not breaking away from the kiss. you settled into his lap, feeling his hands glued in place.
“you can touch me anywhere” you say breathless, pulling away
“i’ve never done this before” he admits shamefully
“we can do whatever you feel comfortable with.” you reply, playing with his hair.
you felt one of charlie’s hands leave your hip, slowly heading towards your chest. he let out a breath when he felt you weren’t wearing a bra. he was gentle with his touch, as though he was scared to break you. your hand found his and pressed harder, encouraging his movements.
he started to kneed his hands, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your nipple. you let out a soft moan, pushing your lips back to his. you started to grind your hips back and forth, earning a breathy sound from his mouth. he opened his eyes to look up at you and you took the opportunity to bite the bottom of his lip, moving immediately to his neck, rubbing his cock with your hands.
“is this okay baby?”
“fuck- yes please”
you start biting and kissing the skin below his ear, moving your hands to start unbuttoning his shirt. he shrugs it off his shoulders and you start to make your way down to kneel on the floor, kissing and sucking his skin on your way. you look up at him as you fumble with his zipper, batting your eyelashes at him. he sits up slowly to help pull his pants down, taking his underwear with him. he sets his hands on either side of his legs, slightly gripping the sheets with nerves.
you take his dick in your hands, shocked at the size, before spitting on it. you rub your hands up and down earning a moan from charlie.
“fuck- please i-” he trailed off when you kissed the head, tasting salt on your lips.
“please what baby?” still stroking his cock
“i need more, i want more please”
you lick a long strip from his balls to the tip before putting him in your mouth. slowing going up and down using your hands to help with what you can’t fit. you grab charlie’s hand, moving it from his side to the top of your head. he laces his fingers in your hair, slightly pushing and pulling with your movements.
“i think i’m going to cum”
you pull off, stroking him quick with your hands, “are you going to cum in my mouth char? be a good boy and cum in my mouth for me”
he nodded, eyes shut tight as his head leaned back. “say it charlie, tell me”
he opened his eyes, locked with yours. wiping a tear from your face, so fucking pretty.
“i’m gonna cum for you like a good boy fuck-”
you went right back to work, taking him deeper and blinking the tears from your eyes. you wanted to see charlie cum so bad, you felt your hands move down inside your shorts. rubbing your clit over your panties.
“fuck, i’m cumming, please let me cum. wanna be good for you”
you moaned around his dick and felt charlie grip your hair harder. his dick started to twitch and you felt your mouth get hot, cum filling your throat and mouth. you pulled off slowly, swallowing as you went, keeping your mouth open to pump the rest of his cum on your tounge.
charlie was a rambling, moaning mess. whispering how good it felt and how good you were. he saw you give his dick one last kiss and come back up to meet him face to face.
“thank you”
you gave him a quick kiss, giggling. “you don’t have to say thank you”
he wanted to say it a hundred times over, he couldn’t believe that he just got head for the first time. “can i…” he trailed off
“can you do what char?” you sounded so innocent, like you didn’t just finish choking and gagging on his dick.
“can i do you now?”
you got close to him, kissing up his neck. “you want to eat me out baby?”
“yes, please. please let me make you feel good”
you nodded and stood up from your seat next to him, pushing your notes to the bottom half of the bed. you slipped your top off and pushed your pants down your legs, getting comfortable by your pillows. “come here char”
charlie was quick to move above you, taking your lips to his, touching anywhere his hands could move.
“i might need some help” he sighs sheepishly.
“start by moving all the way down” you say as you give him a quick kiss for encouragement. “do whatever you think is right, i’ll tell you if i don’t like it”
he nodded and moved to your neck, kissing and licking, keeping his hands roaming. you felt him reach your nipples, his hot breath close before sticking his touch out to lick one. he saw your lips open to let out a quiet gasp of air and started to suck, earning a moan in response. he moved his hand, pinching and pulling at the left while he kept his mouth at the right, then switching.
“just like that pretty boy” you said as you move your hand to play with his hair.
he was blushing at the pet name, feeling his cock getting hard against your hip. he started to move down, kissing anywhere and everywhere he could, scared you’ll change your mind. he makes it past your stomach and to your thighs, gently pulling them apart.
he lets out a subtle groan, “so pretty” he mumbles. “can i touch you?” he says rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.
“of course” you sigh, anxiously waiting for his touch
he slowly brings his hands to your pussy, collecting your wetness on his fingers and spreading it around. he finds your clit and starts to rub in small, slow circles, watching you raise your hips slightly.
“right there baby” you say closing your eyes.
he brings his mouth to your pussy, licking a long strip from your hole to your clit. “you taste so good” he says lowly, almost to himself. he continues to play with your clit and eat you out. trying different rhythms and motions based on your movements and sounds.
“char, please put a finger in. i’m so close”
charlie is quick to push in and up, finding that sweet spot. you grab his hair, pulling at the root.
“fuck yes, right there”
he can’t help it, all the mumbling and moaning makes him start to grind into the bed, intoxicated by you. he can feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your silk green sheats.
he slowly slides in a second finger, curling them upwards, taking your clit between his lips and sucking softly.
“i’m gonna cum” you felt your body start to feel fuzzy, stomach pulling at the feeling. “fuck charlie, i’m cumming”
you felt yourself tighten against his fingers, grinding down on his tongue, which was eager to lap up your release. you heard him whimper, seeing his hips stutter against the bed.
he pulls his head up from your pussy, making sure to not look at you in the face. “i’m so sorry”
you look at him confused, leaning forward to see the wet spot on your sheets. you smirk at him, grabbing his hand and licking your juices off his fingers.
“don’t be sorry, this was amazing,” you lean forward to kiss him “and knowing you came from eating me out is kinda hot”
you giggle as you lean back, still catching your breath. charlie moves beside you softly rubbing your hand. “so what do we do now?”
you look up at him, “well” you start lacing your fingers with his “for now, we lay here until we fall asleep. then tomorrow morning we’ll wake up and shower and maybe finish where we left off”
charlie grins from ear to ear, “oh yeah?”
“i mean, if that’s alright with you” you mumble
“being with you is alright for me” he says, kissing your forehead.
#charlie walker#scream 4#charlie walker x reader#charlie walker smut#rory culkin#rory culkin smut#rory culkin x reader#nev writes
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Ok so I've been on a bit of a Yandere batfam binge tbh. One thing I saw was someone saying that there should be a yandere batfam that's too interested in Reader's life, as opposed to the multitude of neglected Readers.
I would like to build on that and say, a Spoiled!Reader. Maybe around grade school age for some of the story, the rest being them as an adult realizing that their family's "interest" in every aspect of their life was nowhere near healthy. Or it could be a crack fic where Reader is guarded like the president of the world.
For example, as a child, they applied themselves to everything, wanting to be as smart as their older siblings, and followed Alfred around all the time when they found out that he was a spy in his early days.
Every award was put on a shelf, every drawing was fridge worthy, to the point where they got a corkboard to put all their drawings, and whenever they wanted something, they got it. Bullies never got more than a week of fun before an injury befell their parents or some other misfortune. Bruce was almost constantly seen with them.
Timeskip to maybe their 20s, they're trying to hold down a long term relationship after so many ended up with their partners becoming distant before either they broke things off or Reader left them. Every batchild is using their own connections to try and keep possible suitors away.
Reader laments their lack of freedom and privacy to their friends, leading to the common "Tells people about a funny memory. Why are they looking at me like that"
Apparently, while it's normal for a brother to offer if their younger sibling has noone to take to the dance, saying that they should go instead of a proper date is not. Family members should not be dressing you like a doll past age 6 (The girls + Alfred + Dick all love putting outfits together for reader, saying that they're just made to be dressed up.).
Your parents shouldn't be physically intimidating and scaring off every partner, and definitely shouldn't be saying that you shouldn't look for a partner as long as you have them. Your family shouldn't "joke" about how friends are fine since "they're seldom as permanent as family".
Reader slowly realizes that they need to get out, fast. But instead of it being a struggle for the Batfam to find them because they know next to nothing, it's a fight to do something they couldn't predict because they've all been watching them like hawks since they set foot inside the manor.
Most, if not all of their friends outside of the group that convinced them to run are friends with at least one family member, so 60-90% of their social net has been gutted. They can't use their legal name while they live in Gotham, but they need a job to get the money to leave.
I think Damien being the biggest yandere would be really funny, especially if you read it like Lance Crown is with his sister. Bro has multiple lockets with photos of them throughout the years in them, as well as a photo for every single birthday he was present for.
In Damien's eyes, Reader's primary title is "Damien's Little Sibling" and is willing to deal with the shared titles that must come with that (Dick's Little Sibling, Bruce's Child, Alfred's Ward, etc). If you want to have the honor of bestowing Another Title upon Reader, Damien has to give the go ahead first. He will never give the go ahead.
Jason would also be super protective, since he was around when they were still learning to talk and walk. He comes into the living room and Alfred's got Reader on a blanket with some toys and upon seeing him, Reader wobbles to their feet and stumbles over to him, squealing in delight and almost falling over before grabbing onto his leg and smiling up at him.
It was at that moment, the Reader fan club was truly established. Bruce would be the leader since he was the dad, but Damien was second in command and manages the collections of information/photos.
AN: I have no clue about the lore/timeline the Batfamily has. If something mentioned couldn't have happened during a certain point of time, then I'm sorry lol.
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