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annwrites · 3 months

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preacher's daughter. part one.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: after months of being away from your daddy's church, billy & his family—minus one elusive member—return. he seems somewhat changed, somehow. he's still just as cocky and headstrong as ever, but far more a man than boy now. one thing has remained steadfast, though: him having an unwavering want for you.

— tags: church, preacher's daughter trope, corrupting bad-boy trope, the south

— tw: religion

— word count: 1,112

— a/n: mm, i think i'm excited for this new series.

"Is that Billy Hargrove?"

Your brows furrow as you look over your shoulder, clutching your well-loved Bible more tightly to your chest as you watch the young man in-question stroll through the open front doors of your daddy's church, his step-mom and sister trailing along behind him.

At least he's dressed properly for service today, if nothing else, even if no one has seen him in a pew in months now.

He dons a crisp white button-up, a pair of freshly-starched jeans, and polished biker boots.

You turn abruptly back to Kathy as soon as his piercing blue eyes meet your own, a smirk immediately sliding across his lips at the sight of you dressed in a pure white sundress—small sunflowers printed across it—and a light-yellow cardigan, dainty flats on your feet, your curled hair pulled conservatively out of your face, showing off the small pearl earrings you have pinned to your ears, your small signature cross necklace hanging from your neck, the charm resting between your soft breasts.

He thinks for just a moment about how he'd love nothing more than to have you laid out in the middle aisle, legs spread, praying to God for more than absolution as his rough hands slide up and under that dress as he explores every inch of your innocent body—corrupting you, while you sanctify him with soft touches and silent prayers from your perfect lips.

"He hasn't been to service in months," you say. "Not since his dad disappeared."

She gives you a skeptical look. "I think 'disappeared' is a bit strong of a term to use, Y/N. He probably just...ran off. Hit the road. He and Susan seemed to have been... I don't know. Struggling in their marriage for awhile, it seemed like."

Even you can recall the big blow-up they'd had in the church parking lot some time ago, before Billy had filly stepped in—Neil immediately quieting as Billy stared down at him, words spilling from his lips that you couldn't make out from across the way; the both of them clearly seething—before they all piled into Neil's car, Max crying in the backseat while Billy held her.

You tuck your dress under you, sitting with your legs crossed properly at the ankles as you rest your Bible in your lap, fingers gently gripping the gilded edges.

"Daddy offered them counseling," you whisper.

You pause then, knowing it's not polite to gossip.

You sigh, admiring the new stained-glass window that was recently installed—the shards casting various shades of turquoise, purple, white, and orange across the hardwood floor—before continuing. "I feel sorry for her: that she has to raise the both of them all alone now. But maybe not, since they've finally come back to church... I assume, at least. Either way, all she needs to do is ask for help and we'll give it. You know what the Bible says: love thy neighbor," you state with a smile.

Kathy raises a brow at your pragmatism. Always glass half-full.

"I don't know. Billy doesn't really seem like a kid anymore—much more the type to ever ask for help, or take it," she replies, watching as he rests a muscled arm along the back of the pew he seats himself heavily upon, his eyes finding their way—as always—to you, even if he's only getting to stare at the back of your head for the moment being.

She turns to face toward the front. "Looks like a man to me now."

Your head itches to turn in the other direction then, feeling a pair of eyes on you, but you refrain, continuing to look forward as well as you turn your Bible open to a random book, and you feel a bead of sweat slip down the back of your neck when you see just which one—and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him—to which you quickly slam it back shut.

You blame your sweat on the languid summer heat, which wafts into the church through the open door and windows, settling onto your body like a second skin—the slowly turning over-head fans do little to aid in cooling the space. Your nerves on the one book in the Bible's entirety which has always unsettled you more than any other. And the uncertain feeling which envelops you on any other excuse you can find, except the familiar, yet changed presence, which sits across the way, watching you with an unwavering gaze.

"And that concludes our services for today," your daddy drawls in a deep southern accent.

The soft smile on your lips quickly disappears when you hear a deep voice mutter 'finally' from somewhere behind you.

You turn your head, glancing around, and find Billy already looking at you with a raised brow, just waiting for you to speak up about his comment. Challenging you to do so.

You turn frontward again instead, refusing to respond to his rudeness, which he finds to be predictable.

Church mouse, he thinks snidely.

And after your daddy—the whole of the congregation—had graciously welcomed he and his family back with open arms after such a prolonged absence, at that, you think.

Some people are just truly ungrateful.

You stand quietly beside Kathy as she chats with Timmy, her boyfriend.

"You comin' with us?"

"Oh. I don't know... I'd have to ask daddy."

You hear someone snort from behind you. "You still have to ask him permission for everything? What, haven't put on your big-girl panties yet?"

Billy Hargrove steps around the side of you, coming to lean back against Timmy's S-10. "He still wipe your nose for you, too, sweetheart, or did you finally figure that one out all on your own?"

You glower at him.

"You comin'?" Timmy asks him.

He nods, licking his lips. "Mhm. Just need to get the two of them home first," he says, nodding toward Susan and Max, who stand across the way near his Camaro, chatting. "Then I'll be out."

Kathy looks at you. "Pretty please?"

You shift from one foot to the other, gravel crunching under your shoes, Billy crossing his arms as he watches you.

"I'll go ask," you say quietly, walking away.

Billy shakes his head, watching your dress sway around your thighs. "See preacher's daughter still has that stick up her ass. Guess some things never change," he states, going to head over to his car, Kathy calling after him "don't talk about her like that!".

He pretends not to hear her as he lowers himself into the driver's seat, revving the engine in the hope of pissing you off, before peeling out of the lot.

#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader

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middlingmay · 5 months

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Rebel!John x Pastor's son!Gale AU

“D’you think you’re a sinning man, John?”

That was the thing Gale Cleven was best at: taking any assumptions you had or expectations you made about him, tossing them in the dirt between your legs where you lay sprawled, and grinding them down into dust under his boot while you watched.

Metaphorically speaking. But it was a metaphor John had been thinking about a lot lately.

They sat parked up in his car, a town over from Daddy Cleven’s parish. John wasn’t sure what tale Gale had spun when he escaped the old man’s clutches. But he was sure that he didn’t care.

What he did care about, very much, was the way Gale looked in the fading light. Golden hair, golden skin - even the blue of his eyes absorbed the gold of the sun as it started to make its way to bed.

His shirt buttons still stood to attention, done right up to the top and his shirt was starched so it dug a little into his throat. Evidently he’d not had a chance to change into the soft cotton collars and cardigans he preferred when he didn’t have to be at attention for the Pastor.

But in a rare display of abandon, Gale had rolled up his cuffs and stretched out his arms as he lounged in the front seat of John’s beloved car, top down. One arm dangled over the end of the door, the other stretched over the back of the seat. John had never fully appreciated that particular design feature of his Buick Super Convertible Coupe; that the two front seats ran end to end, so it was a little like sitting on a couch. Not until the first time it allowed him to press his legs against the local pastor’s son in the name of ‘getting comfortable’.

The deep red leather was soft and supple and today Gale had felt some kind of way that had him knocking his knee against John’s and draping his arm across the divide so his fingertips nearly, nearly, tickled the very edges of John’s arms - right at the top, where it met the short cuff of his t-shirt.

His mom hated this shirt - said it showed more of him than was Godly. When he paired it like he did today, with tight blue denim jeans which hugged his strong waist and showed just how thick his thighs were, she tutted and swatted his behind with whatever she was holding before she ushered him outta her door until he “learned some damn sense! What kinda girl you gonna bring home to me looking like that?”

And the longer John spent with Gale, the clearer the answer was to him. Not a damn one.

Gale was staring at him and John realised he hadn’t answered the question. He’d just been staring at Gale like some love-sick dame.

John grinned, the one that revealed his teeth as it spread, and let him bite on his lip a little on the way.

Gale’s eyes flicked to it like they always did.

“Isn’t that a given?”

But Gale was good at recovering from John’s teasing, and levelled him with his own look, head cocked, like John was a child who was being deliberately obtuse.

“Is it?” he asked. “Because depsite your reputation around town, I ain’t seen you do anything immoral.”

Immoral. John latched onto the word like it was prey; a perfect opportunity to get Gale a little worked up.

“Well which are you asking? Immoral, or sinful?”

Gale’s brown furrowed, and he looked at John all suspicious like. “I don’t follow.”

John turned his body towards Gale, his own arm coming up to the back of the seat, draping over Gale’s who didn’t budget an inch.

“They’re not the same, Buck,” he said, using the nickname Gale pretended to hate.

There. He saw it. The intrigue; the temptation to bite the bait.

“Okay. How are they different?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Tell me what your seven sins are.”

Gale snorted. “You’re a Catholic, John. You know what they are.”

John didn’t laugh. “Say them.”

Noting the tone - the order - Gale sat up a little straighter. His arms dragged along the line of John’s as he did so. John felt it like static electricity.

“Pride.”

John nodded. “I got plenty of that. I’m proud of my car,” he gestured with his hand.

“You worked hard on it—”

“I’m proud of my looks. I like keeping my curls longer because I know what it looks like when someone wants to pull on ‘em. I like my legs,” he stretched them out a bit further and Gale’s first blush of the evening made its appearance. “They make me feel strong. And that makes me feel good. All those folks lookin’ at what I got.”

Gale was silent.

“What’s next?”

“Greed and gluttony.”

“Hm,” John made it a satisfied and contented sound. “Well, I’m not greedy for money, you know that. And if It was success and fame I was after, I’d have trotted to New York after my dad.”

Gale’s eyes softened at that, well aware of John’s tendency to self-sacrifice for the comfort of his mother and his sisters - something no one else knew apart from John’s best friend, Curt.

John was pleased to see it, that false sense of security, before he made his move. “At first, I told myself that everytime I saw you would be the last. I’d leave the pretty pastor’s son be, stop teasin’ and tormentin’ him and let him find some friends more like him.”

Blush number two.

“But each time we spoke, every time I got you to laugh, every time you caught me lookin’ - it just made me greedier, Gale. Just got me hungry.”

A soft breathe rushed from Gale’s lungs. His fists clenched where they rested. Perfect control.

“Sloth.”

John laughed, bright and happy. “The day you let me, I’ll spend the whole morning after showing you sloth, just you wait.”

Gale covered his mouth with the hand that had been resting on the door and snickered. John loved that he could make this boy, normally so solemn and serious with the weight of his father dragging him down, laugh so easily now. Gale shoved John back and inch and John let him, smiling like a fool.

“Alright, envy,” Gale said, finally getting into the game.

“Your buttons.”

Gale spluttered. “My what?”

John nodded at his buttoned up collar. “Your buttons. Your shirt.”

“You can’t be serious? You’re jealous of cloth?”

“Ah, ah,” John corrected him gleefully. “I’m envious.”

Gale rolled his eyes but John leaned over under the pretense of studying the button at the base of Gale’s throat, and the younger boy stilled like a deer. From here John could draw in the scent of him: soap something sweet, like chocolate.

A breath away from the lip of Gale’s shirt collar, John murmured,” They get to kiss ya in ways you ain’t let me, yet.”

Gale whipped his head round and John had to rear back lest he get smacked in the head, but he didn’t go far. He saw Gale walk that edge; the one between excitement and fear, both centred on what he really wanted.

The other thing John liked about Gale, was that he had a complete and utter inability to back down. In the fractional space between them now, Gale let the arm resting along the back of the seat drop in a ghost of an embrace as it curled around John where he sat. The other he slowly but deliberately brought to rest of John’s denim-clad knee, high though, and gripped like if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control where it went.

“Lust?” Gale whispered against his face.

And it would have been easy, so easy for John to finally bridge that distance and claim a kiss. But just like all the other times, he couldn’t help but think it had to be perfect, not easy.

Instead, he tipped forward just enough to brush his nose against Gale’s; for their eyelashes to flutter against each other, and for their stubble to catch in a delicious scrape and burn as they breathed in each other’s air.

“You have no idea,” John’s voice rumbled in the coming dusk, “the fire I got inside me for you, Gale Cleven.”

Gale’s breathe was shaky and laboured and tumbled out of him in a stutter. And then, “Don’t I?”

John dropped his head to the curve of Gale’s neck with a thud and a pained groan, and Gale chuckled, deep and syrupy now that John wasn’t stealing his breath.

But never let it be said that John Egan did not give as good as he got.

“I am a sinful man, Gale,” he spoke, just below Gale’s ear. “I don’t look at you with piety or good, clean Christian love for mankind. If you judge me based on the Good Book, you make me wanna be a very bad man.”

Gale’s hand spasmed on his leg as John felt the weight of the other man’s head rest on the back of his, just for a second.

Then John asked, “But does that make me immoral? Does that make me evil?”

Gale pulled back and looked at John with horror. He could see the refusal in Gale’s eyes that the younger man wanted to speak into the air. Of course John wasn’t evil. How could he be?

Gently, John cupped Gale’s chin between a finger and a thumb. “Does my - do my feelings for you mean I gotta burn?”

Gale closed his eyes but not before John caught the flash of hurt. Gale tilted his head down so his mouth laid in the curve of John’s palm, and in that sacred hollow he said, “I won’t let you burn, Johnny. Least not alone.”

There. As close to an admission as Gale got that John wasn’t going crazy and he wasn’t in this alone. That Gale saw John the way John saw him, and he wasn’t getting himself off every night to a damned fantasy.

With more effort than he thought he had in him, John pulled back to the driver’s seat and shook it out: all the tension, his desire, his temptation. He shook his head, rolled his shoulders, smacked his hands on the steering wheel, and when he turned to Gale he looked near pristine, but for the raw, bare look in his eyes.

“I gotta get you home,” and John said it like a vow.

A few streets away from the Pastor’s house - because even Gale didn’t make John stupid enough to tempt fate like that and Gale wouldn’t let him even if he did - Gale paused before getting out the car.

“What about wrath?”

John, who hated dropping Gale off but always appreciated the momentary but completely unobstructed view of his ass as he left the car, took a second to catch up. “Huh?”

“Wrath. You never said how you were a wrathful man. You left it out.”

And John thought back to the busted lip that started this whole thing. To subsequent red cheeks and black eyes and that one time he walked into the garage to Curt pointing viciously at the back room and finding Gale curled up on the ratty couch there under his jacket, soaked to the bone and nose red, sleeping.

He couldn’t touch Gale, now. Not around so many houses full of curtain twitchers, night time or not. But he could hold his gaze, which so many people found hard to do with the pastor’s son, and he could promise:

“I will never hurt you, Gale.”

And if he expected some heartfelt look or words at the declaration, he would have been mightily disappointed. Gale looked affronted, like John had just treated him like he was stupid.

“I know that, idjit.”

John spluttered.

“But your boys say you’re awful good a fightin’”

When he was a little younger and a lot stupider, John used to fight for the hell of it; to feel something in the wake of his father walking out his life. But now he only fought for a good reason. And Gale and his boys were very good reasons.

“I look after mine, Gale.”

And Gale bit his lip at the meaning left unsaid and wished John a goodnight, before he exited the car and walked off into the night.

John watched Gale until he turned the corner, like he always did, before he collapsed against the back of the seat and rubbed his face hard with his hands.

Gale Cleven. John was fairly sure he was going to hell for that man.

#clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #mota #masters of the air #fic #alternate universe #rebel!john #pastor's son!gale #todcl

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baka-bakeneko · 1 year

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Rojo Carnal - Miguel O'Hara x Reader [NSFW]

tags: intimacy, fantasy thoughts, grinding, spanglish terms of endearment, sexual frustration, obsession, Miguel-canon aggression, missionary sex, biting, slight aftercare

word count: 6.3k

synopsis: You and Miguel have gone on two dates. You know what that means? A third date.

a/n: barking snarling, i need this man to speak actual garbage to me because i am nothing but trash for him (don't tell Riv)

"A date," Miguel murmured into the mirror before him. He tucked his grey button-up shirt into his dark blue jeans then slicked both hands through his hair.

Your third date to be exact. This final time, Miguel had reached out to you, asked if you wanted to have drinks and dinner again. You suggested dinner and dancing.

And who was Miguel but to oblige. He thought of what you'd wear out this time. The last two times you both went out, he'd been unable to take his mind off your outfits.

On your first date out to lunch, you wore a fuzzy baby blue sweater and matching sneakers. Your light wash jeans were practically painted on and when you bent forward to grab your napkin from the patio ground, Miguel acknowledged the strip of skin revealed between your sweater and the back of your pants.

On your second date to get ice cream and see a movie, Miguel's mouth watered at the slip camisole you wore under a dark red cardigan. The high-waisted pants were tucked under your bulky white socks that complimented your white sneakers.

When you opened your mouth to take a large swipe at the side of your melting ice cream and it dripped onto your breast, Miguel bit his own tongue and kept your gaze.

He kept your eyes even as the cream trailed into your cleavage before you finally noticed and giggled, embarrassed. He'd quickly grabbed a handful of napkins and offered them to you.

Now, Miguel thought, if he saw anymore of your skin he'd pounce. The longevity was enough, the imagination of every curve you kept secret under your clothes. He'd imagined how your legs would look tangled in his sheets, how your thighs would open for him on his couch.

Miguel hissed, adjusting himself in his jeans before the mirror. He had to be good, he'd managed to not scare you off before this.

And it wasn't the sex he was most interested in; Miguel craved the intimacy of someone so close to him. Every goodnight kiss you gave was another dose to his system, hanging on your every word and movement.

His eyes devoured you when you moved so minutely, his nostrils sucking up every spare trace of your scent. Miguel was infatuated with you, and tonight would be another step to being so deeply embedded in you.

He patted his pockets, made sure he had all he needed before swinging by to pick you up. In the corner of his eye, Miguel noticed his watch slipping from under his sleeve and quickly tucked it back on his forearm then reached for the front door and left.

He sat in front of your apartment building, windows rolled down on his royal blue muscle car. A car he'd had a strong urge to wax down on a weekly basis now.

The body of the car gleamed on its edges, the racing stripe on the sides a scarlet red. As close to his suit as possible, but he'd never tell you that.

No, he wanted to keep you as far from that part of his life as possible. And he would. By any means necessary. For your protection, of course.

You were running late. Miguel prompted he'd pick you up at seven, but here it was 7:05 as you were tying on your heels and fumbling out of the front door of your apartment.

You managed to grab your keys and phone, slip them into your chain purse and shut the door firmly behind you.

Miguel leaned forward to look out of the passenger window, watching as you came down the front steps of the apartment. He climbed out of his seat and rounded the front, pulling the passenger door open as you walked up to him.

"Hello stranger," you began, pulling the strap of your purse up to your shoulder.

You held your arms out to wrap around Miguel's neck, let him envelop your waist almost twice-fold with the length of his arms. You trilled nervously as the man lifted you off of your feet, almost pitting you up to his stomach.

"Mi amor," Miguel responded gruffly, his molten brown eyes boring into you before drifting to your lips suddenly.

They were a bitten type of pink, glossy and full. You leaned in with his hold on you and caught his mouth in a full kiss, one that teased a slip of your tongue beyond his lips.

O'Hara groaned lowly into your mouth, opening his to allow you to lick the soft insides of him. He slowly let you back on your feet, his hands going for your jaw to hold you close while he made the effort to kiss you back.

Your hands drifted from his neck to the front of Miguel's chest, feeling at the hem of his button-up and acknowledging the lack of buttons all the way to his sternum.

Your fingertips teased at his chest, feeling the hard lines of his pectorals before finding his waist and bracing your hands against his front.

He was reluctant to pull away from you but did so anyways, swallowing the sweet remnants of your lip gloss as you stood, flushed, before him.

You reached to swipe at your bottom lip, acknowledging the soft tingle Miguel's suction gave to them. In your awe, Miguel took the silent moment to take in your outfit.

He was going to die tonight if he this wasn't the outfit that decorated his floor tonight, the clear stilettos that strapped around your ankles and the thigh-length, high-slit silver dress that draped over your body like a napkin.

The heavy dip between your breasts that let Miguel know there was no bra in this equation; the double slits up the sides that revealed the naked skin of your thighs which meant there were no panties to wet either.

Inside, Miguel's heart was aggressively pounding, almost aching to be let free, to run all the thoughts that he was suppressing while keeping your eye contact.

The instant thought of snapping the spaghetti straps on your shoulders with his claws and watching the dress fall away like the curtains of a Broadway opening night was at the forefront.

This was not dancing attire. This was eating-out attire, splaying your legs apart like unwrapping a present they were wrapped up to be.

Your heart raced by Miguel's intense stare on you, his molten eyes never moving from yours while his chest rose and fell in heavy billows of air.

His hands found his hips, wading them over your hands placed before his waist. "Are you ready?"

You snapped to his full attention.

Right, you remembered with blinking at him. Dinner and dancing.

There was no way you'd be able to focus on dinner when you wanted to be as close to Miguel as possible. Your stomach tightened at the thought of food in an instance like this, knowing that you'd waste anything in front of you because your mouth was watering for this man.

"Let's go dancing first," you offered, leaning into him with a grin. You hoped to sway this man to your whim, if only for tonight because your body and mind were buzzing.

Miguel stared down his nose at you, not allowing his emotion to play on his face. He blinked slowly at you, staring at your freshly-kissed lips and down the front of your dress to see even more of you without undressing you.

He cleared his throat, dramatically rolled his eyes. "Ahh, cariño mia..."

"Please?" you asked sweetly, your hands taking hold of his. You threaded your fingers between his, clasped them up and out as you pouted your lips towards him. "We can eat after, Miguel."

He turned his gaze away, looking down the road to the city lights just beyond your apartment building. When you spoke his name, every time you did, his heart immediately switched and he was suddenly at your beck and call.

He sucked on his teeth, cut back to look at you then down. "Fine. Let's go, huh?"

You bounced excitedly just before him, releasing his hands to take grip of his jaw and kiss his cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," Miguel agreed, holding your door as he took your hand and helped you into the car. "Watch your step."

You carefully stepped off the curb and into the car with a bend to sit down. Miguel kept his eyes honed on your purse then, ignoring how your legs parted in your effort to sit and how your knees immediately welded together when you were sat.

He carefully shut the door after you, leaning in to kiss you again. You caught his lips with a deep hum, allowing him to tilt your head back as his hand grazed up to brace your nape.

Miguel parted from you with a low exhale, staring deeply into you before letting you go and rounding the front of the car. You tightened your fists in your lap, tugging the hem of your dress down to think of anything else.

Miguel held his hand out for you to take after parking his car. You waded your dress down as you turned your legs out of the car and slowly stood up.

"I never said," Miguel began, shutting the door of his car firmly behind you. "but you look absolutely luminosa."

"Thank you, Miguel," you beamed, standing fully before him. "You don't look half-bad yourself."

It was too light for how you actually felt. The thought of tearing his perfectly taut shirt open and lapping at his rippling chest flashed your mind every time you stared at his bare stomach.

"Ahh," Miguel scoffed, turning away with another playful smack of his teeth. "You flatter me."

He held his bent arm out for you to take; you curled your arm through his and followed him to the front of the club. He puffed his chest proudly as he led you through the parking lot and to the front doors of the dance club.

The music bled through the windows and into the streets; the bass rattled the glasses, the tiles of the floor as the bouncer posted at the front door gave a side-eye to Miguel before waving for the two of you to enter.

As soon as you stepped past the threshold, you felt the music take its hold. The entrancing rhythm hooked deep into your hips and you began stepping lightly in the direction of the main floor.

Miguel followed closely after you, his nose wrinkling in amusement as you became a different version of yourself in the music. The song cross-faded from a light hip-hop to a bumpy reggae.

The two of you stood before the large vast of the room, the groups huddled along walls while the air was palpable with music and sweat. This was almost ravenous. The lights were turned off overhead and replaced with multicolored disco lights, red and blue LEDs hung in the corners of the room.

You parted from Miguel to get a feel of the sound as it rushed through your body, zipping over your skin like the most intoxicating touch. Then Miguel's hands were on your hips, replacing that feeling ten-fold and making you roll your eyes.

Miguel was stiff behind you, his hands placed carefully at your hips before stepping closer. You raised your hands over your head, draped your arms over Miguel's shoulders as you stepped timidly into the music.

Every step you took, your hips followed. Step, dip, sway. Step, dip, sway. Miguel's hands tracked the miniscule movements of your body under his hold, his feet carefully following your lead on the already slick dance floor.

You glanced back at him, backing yourself into Miguel until his body was singularly plastered behind yours.

Miguel swallowed hard at you pressed into him, hoping to keep his touch appropriate while his cock was threatening to slot up your skirt.

"And here I thought I'd be begging you to dance," you breathed out, the room making each exhale a deep pant.

The humidity solidified the room, making the music change close to slippery as the reggae changed into a bass-heavy samba. You leaned your head back to Miguel's shoulder, already losing your breath as your hips began shifting up and down against your date's waist.

Miguel gulped softly, staring down at you now dance-writhing on him. He acknowledged your hips shifting, slowly grinding on him as his hands became numb from the constant movement under them.

His eyes lowered to half-mast, no longer thinking of anything else but you. He was being actively seduced and whipped by you, by the soft noises that escaped your now-sticky pink lips.

"Mi amor, I have something to ask you," he began, withholding his own pants as he leaned into you.

He wanted to be all over you in this instant, feeling your dress wading up your thighs while his hands fought to keep the fabric down. Miguel wanted to be pulled into you, melted with you and mixed through this heat until you two came out a sweaty, congealed amalgamation.

"Yeah baby?" You offered, flicking your eyes up to meet Miguel's soft brown eyes, now melting and honey-kissed.

His voice caught instantly in his throat, his chest tightening at your words. How they fell from your lips so needily, so hungry.

Miguel felt his fangs sharpen instantly in his mouth, stabbing into his tongue while he pondered how to phrase the questions battering his mind.

His eyes trailed down the length of your neck to the delectable curve of your dress between your breasts and further to the short length of your skirt. He instantly wanted to curl his arms around you and stow you away from public eyes, keep you to himself and mark you just the same.

"I...I..." Miguel tried to speak, but the air began to bead into his throat.

He turned his head to the ceiling, staring at the slow turning fan in the center of the room. "Corazon, no no puedo," Miguel muttered under his breath.

Your brows knitted together as you stood upright and turned around in Miguel's hold. You leaned in and offered a tentative kiss to his neck, the thought having weighed on you since your first date.

Your mouth turned to line his throat, kissing at his skin again before tempting your tongue out to him. Miguel rolled his eyes at the sensation, your hands now placed at his chest and the nape of his neck.

He righted himself to look down at you, into your now ravenous eyes and readied himself to kiss you again. This time, he'd let you pull away, because if you didn't, then he'd envelop you whole.

Miguel rested his forehead to yours, pulling you back from kissing at his skin. You panted against his lips, your crossed eyes glaring into him.

You slowly shut your eyes as your breathing picked up, angling up on your heels to kiss him yet again. You'd devour him if he let you, you'd kiss and nibble and lick until you reduced him to your own little hard candy.

"Do you...want to get out of here?" You offered against his mouth, pulling away an inch.

Miguel shared your hot breath in his, tasting your lip gloss yet again. He nodded softly, not parting from you as his arms crossed tightly around your waist.

Of course he wanted to leave with you, but he didn't want to move away from you now.

"Un momento," he whispered against your lips, swaying you slower in the rhythm of the music.

You nodded meekly at him, following his sway. Even though you'd be with him for the rest of the night, there was something so tangible about this moment, how melded you two felt in the rising heat of the room.

When Miguel leaned in to kiss you a final time before leaving, his wrist buzzed. His eyes flashed open in an instant, a seep of crimson rage surging through his vision as he looked down at his watch on his wrist.

You were too enveloped with Miguel to notice, only realized a difference in his demeanor by the furrow of his brow and the pull away.

You opened your eyes to Miguel now staring angrily at his watch, pulling back his sleeve to glare at the screen.

"Miguel? Everything okay?" You asked, following the man as he backed off of the dance floor.

Miguel's focus broke from you, now fervently staring at the screen as a new canon event emerged and its divergence.

"No, no, no." Miguel quickly backtracked, holding his hands out to reassure you. "Everything's fine, cariño. I-I have an emergency I have to get to though. I can drop you off."

Instant cold shower on the moment. Miguel felt the ice run through his veins after uttering it. He saw the slow disappointment war on your face, the curve of your brows as you weighed the selfish thought of keeping Miguel to yourself.

"S-sure," you muttered, adjusting your purse on your shoulder.

Miguel wanted to know all that it would take to make this up to you, how much begging and bending to your whim he'd forfeit himself to just for you to let him in your apartment.

"Okay, okay. I'm so sorry," Miguel offered as he led the way out of the dance club. "Stay here, stay right here, I'll bring the car around."

You nodded softly, dragged your now aching feet out of the club to wait on the corner. And here you wasted your best dress and shoes just to be driven home before the night even started.

Miguel hit at the steering wheel as he geared his car into reverse. The ramp up of the night was now tangling in his bunched shoulders, the sweat he gained from the dance club itself now itching into him with ice.

"Lyla, maldito, what is it, what's up?" He asked impatiently, putting his foot onto the pedal and peeling out of the parking spot.

"Well hello to you too, Romeo. How's your night going?" Lyla laid her cool demeanor on thick, only riling Miguel's shoulders further.

"Lyla!" He snapped lowly, gearing the stick into first and managing the top speed to pick you up.

"Jeez, fine, bad timing. We have a split incoming and I know you want to be there." She explained through the watch.

"Yeah, not really," Miguel muttered as he pulled up to the curb before you. "Gotta go. Send me the details a-sap."

He leaned over to push your door open and watched as you climbed in carefully, tossing your now-ditched heels onto his clean floor.

Miguel sighed deeply at the sight of you, now sweated-out of your styled hair and your lips dry from kissing. He wanted to carry you upstairs to avoid you walking on your heels, letting them be the last things you wore before he bedded you.

Now though, he was disappointed with this night.

"Tesoro, I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Miguel reached a hand out to carefully caress your cheek. His thumb reached out to smush your lips together, drag your bottom lip down as a stray whimper escaped his throat.

"It's okay, baby," you offered from behind your smashed lips. "I understand your emergency."

Miguel hid a soft snarl, his fang pinching into the tip of his tongue. He wished you truly understood but for now, he'd leave you in the dark.

You managed to kiss Miguel one final time before he peeled away from the curb in front of your apartment. Your heels in hand, you adjusted your purse on your shoulder with a sigh and fished your keys out.

You walked carefully up the stairs to your apartment door, forcing your key in the lock and pushing the door open. Once inside, you dropped your heels to the floor and forced the door shut behind you.

Your coagulated belly was now thickening, the thought of such a frustrating third date weighing deep in the pit of you. You groaned, turning into the bathroom to wash your face. You'd take a shower in the morning...right now, you still smelled of Miguel and that was more than you had at the end of the night.

Trudging to your kitchen, you popped open the fridge to find a beer. Beer you bought specifically for Miguel. Hiding a roll of your eyes, you popped the cap and slammed the fridge shut with your hip as you took a deep swig.

The thoughts of the night continued to play on your mind, how close Miguel was in those last few moments. The butterflies that emerged and tickled under your skin by his touch.

You hummed dreamily and plopped down on the couch, pulling your feet up and draping your legs carelessly.

"Wish Miguel could see this," you uttered to yourself lowly, admiring the way your dress laid just below your hips now.

You exhaled and arched your back to get comfortable, willfully ignoring the wet between your legs. You guessed this was the best solution of the night, only because you'd bought a new set of silk pajamas just for Miguel and there was no way you'd have been able to wear it under this.

Still, it was a cute dress though. If Miguel was privy to the idea, you'd have let him take a video of you grinding on him. You reached for your phone in your purse, clicking it on to take a few pictures of your outfit.

A few wild selfies, a few pictures where you slowly peeled your dress from your chest and finally a video of you pulling up your dress to your squeezed-together thighs.

You chewed at your pinkie nail, wondering when would be an appropriate time to send them to Miguel. If his emergency was that urgent, he would probably be busy for the rest of the night.

But you still wanted him to come over when he was done, as long as it was soon.

'When your emergency's over...I'll be waiting', you wrote as a text message to Miguel, sending the video of you flashing under your dress.

Miguel bit at his knuckles while free climbing the side of the building. He'd taken a moment to look at his phone, already in his worst mood, and was lightened by what you sent him.

He was that close. He rutted against the brick, let the fabric of his suit catch onto the rough texture and rub a little friction over his cock.

"Fu-u-uck," Miguel drew out in a low breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he softly pounded his forehead to the brick. "Quiero follarte tanto, oye."

He was going to chew off his tongue if he didn't get home to you tonight.

"Do you know..." Miguel growled, sliding his phone back into his suit pocket, "what I'm missing dealing with you right now? Hijo de puta madre eres el idiota mas inutil y pendejo!"

You finished off your beer after no response from Miguel and climbed off of the couch, tossed your bottle in the kitchen trash then went to your room to change into your red silk pajama camisole and matching shorts with black lace trim.

Climbing into bed, you plugged in your phone and sent a final text to Miguel.

'If you're trying to come over, make sure you come through the window ;P front door's locked' you teased, half hoping for an immediate response from him.

Miguel snarled from under his mask, feeling his phone vibrate on his thigh as he chased further up the building after the anomaly wrecking havoc in a town he didn't even know existed.

You looked back at the front door and wondered if you should've left the front door unlocked for him, or if you left your key under the mat for him to enter when he was done.

But he was probably really busy with his emergency. So you'd have to talk to him in the morning.

Miguel stood before the portal as it opened right before your apartment building. He'd carelessly swiped the blood from his cheek and changed back into his date night attire, catching his breath as he stared up at the building on the opposite side of the portal.

He stepped through and retrieved his phone from his pocket, finally stopping to admire the full tease you gave him in video form. He rolled his eyes dramatically, dropping his shoulder as he circled around himself.

He had to at least try, right? Miguel was going to try going up to your apartment. Except he didn't know which one was yours. This would be the night he learned that.

Miguel looked around the desolate street, hoping no one noticed him emerging from the portal and the next thing he was about to do. He approached the wall of your apartment complex, pushing his sleeves up over his elbows before producing his claws and digging them into the brick and mortar.

He pulled himself up onto the wall, clawing hungrily at the wall to climb further up. Each floor he passed, he glanced into the balcony window, hoping to find you. By the third floor, he was heaving softly, peering in to finally catch your window.

You'd fallen asleep curled halfway in your comforter, the moonlight from your window streaking over your thick thigh. The more he stared, Miguel noted the soft lace rested on your skin, the cut of your shorts giving more skin than coverage.

He groaned outwardly at the sight of you, curled up and sleeping soundly. Jumping onto the balcony, Miguel reached for the screen door and was surprised by its easy slide open.

He stopped at the foot of your bed, raking his starved eyes over your body. Miguel tore his shirt away from his body, dropping it to the floor then kicked off his shoes and grabbed his belt before dropping it behind him.

He rested a knee on the edge of your bed, acknowledged the soft creak it gave in return. You stirred softly, rolling over with a low sigh.

Miguel took that opportunity to crawl up behind you, draping his arm over your waist. He tenderly pulled you into him, slotting your ass just against the waist of his pants.

He slowly folded his arm under your pillow, bowing his head to inhale your hair through his nose. This was what he wanted, first and foremost. To hold you so close, to listen while you breathed softly and cooed in your sleep. The intimacy.

The warmth.

Miguel's eyes threatened to close at the thought, ready to drift off to sleep with you since you weren't even bothered by his presence.

Until you shifted softly in your sleep, a dormant moan escaping your lips as your thin shorts caught against Miguel's jeans and you felt his bulge pulse against your pussy.

Miguel looked down at you, feeling your sleeping form squirm into him with whatever thoughts drove your dreams. He curled his arm further, placing his large hand between your thighs as his fingers sifted slowly up; his thumb dully pressed at the seam of your shorts.

You released a tired pitch, your eyes pinching shut before waking with a soft gasp. You glanced over your shoulder and up to see Miguel curled up behind you.

Your hands reached out and felt his arm curled around you, his hand sandwiched between your thighs.

"Cariña," he soothed lowly, his voice holding a distinct edge.

Your mind, softened with sleep, began to wonder how Miguel got in. The third floor of your apartment complex was a daunting feat and you swore you didn't leave a key for him at the front door.

Still, you tilted your head back at him. Craning your neck you met his lips in a languid kiss. You hummed into his mouth, feeling his body heavy behind yours.

Miguel's touch was tentative, careful, as he raked his fingers from between your thighs and up the front of your body. His fingers stopped at the waistline of your shorts before they wiggled back down, caressing your mound before finding your clit.

Your pitched into Miguel's mouth, instantly rutting into his waist. He offered a low whimper in return, pushing back into you to let you know what he wanted.

What his body craved in this instant. The color of red looked delectable on you, he wished to suck it clean off of you. Miguel pulled away with a dry huff, dropping his lips to the meet of your neck and shoulder as his hand dipped further between your hips.

Touching your wet pussy made a growl rev in his throat. All this workup, remembering the sweat that dewed over you earlier and the number you wore out.

"I wish you'd have kept that dress on," he whispered, teasingly swirling two fingers just before your entrance. "I'd have gladly ditched dinner for that meal."

You whined against him then, burrowing your head under his in this precarious position. As Miguel's fingers teased further, you reached back to massage the hardened length tucked tightly in his pants.

"You've wanted me that soon? Before the dancing?" You asked, almost dumbfounded that this man was actually attracted to you.

"Before I even asked you out, cariña. Those jeans, joder, I was putty before you spoke my name."

Miguel's forearm pulled your further into him, hoping you two would meld into one.

"Miguel," you exhaled deeply, tilting your shoulder into his to meet his eyes. "I want you now and then and everyday after."

He stared down at your face in the milky darkness of the moon and rested his forehead to yours; his fingers slowly sank into you and your mouth fell open, your eyes shutting with a low breath of noise.

You turned onto your back, your legs instantly prying open at Miguel's fingers pressed deep into you. Your hand reached out for his wrist, keeping him there as he shifted up on his side.

"Everyday after?" Miguel asked genuinely, pecking your neck with his soft lips before traveling down to your collarbone.

You nodded, sitting up slightly as he skirted down your body with a deep inhale. "As long as you want me."

Miguel grinned darkly at your admission, pulling his fingers back before slowly pumping them regularly. Your body writhed at the sensation, the low rumbling warmth of his fingers slipping in and out of you, touching at your sensitive walls.

"Everyday and night. I won't stop until you tell me to." Miguel lined himself over your body, sliding his fingers out of you before putting them up to his mouth.

He selfishly lapped at his wet fingers, savoring your juices before reaching to peel your shorts down. You reached out to touch at his thick chest, admire his broad shoulders then further to his tapered waist.

You raised a knee to his hip as your fingers pet just under his pants then dove to take grip of his cock. You hid a gulp at feeling him, thick and thrumming, almost fighting behind his zipper.

Your hands tugged at the waist of his pants and freed his cock, allowing you to stroke him fully. Miguel bowed his head at the feeling of your hand on him, his shoulders shuddering at the languid strokes to his cock.

You leaned into his view, catching his lips hungrily while you continued to pump your hand. He was hot in your touch, the veins of him twitching under the skin.

Miguel followed your lead with your mouth, smacking and leaning back down as your hand guided his cock between your hips. You heaved eagerly in his face, feeling his tip graze your clit.

You lined his cock down between your lips and back up to your entrance as Miguel's face pinched suddenly.

"H-Hold on," he tried, only to be silenced by your lips again.

"It's okay," you cooed into his mouth, meeting his melted brown eyes. "We'll go slow."

At that, Miguel angled his hips in your lead and sank his tip into you. You dropped your head back slightly with a whimper, your free hand going to his neck to keep his eyes.

You spread your legs further, allowed Miguel to sink an inch further; your body broke into a new sweat, his cock paving its way into you.

"Cariña?" Miguel questioned gently. "Are you..."

You nodded eagerly, pressing your forehead to his again. "Keep going..."

Miguel felt the bundle of his shoulders slowly release at plunging into you. You were everything he imagined you to be, so warm and intoxicating, soft and delicious.

Not delicate, but he wouldn't move too fast with you. He wanted to savor all of this with you. He exhaled openly in your face, the scent of his breath somehow sweet.

Miguel stretched his arms out and caught your hands, raising them over your head as he flattened his stomach to yours. He stretched himself out over you, touching your skin to all of him and driving a low moan out.

He felt your pert nipples against his chest, the softness of you so malleable and inviting.

When he finally sank his full length in you, you tilted your head up to groan out. Miguel's cock filled you, molded your walls around him with soft cants of his hips to start a rhythm.

"Dios mio," Miguel muttered just against your ear, his voice now hoarse and gasping.

He felt desperate for more of you, a new sense of reverence soaring through him and into his worship of your body.

His breathing picked up softly before your face, staring down at the cross mosaic he was piecing together. Your mouth fallen open, your beautiful lips new crescents taking on the moon's glow.

Your skin was streaked in the luminous glow, blue milk making a new meal of your body. Miguel was truly spoiled in this instance, moving slowly over you and earning the luxurious symphony of noises that escaped your throat.

You felt selfish in that moment, watching Miguel draped over you as his hips moved unhurriedly in and out of you. The sweat began to accumulate between you, the slick of his skin driving new pants out of you.

"You feel..." you swallowed to coat your throat with new moisture. "amazing."

Miguel chuckled dryly, leaning in to kiss the corner of your lips. "That's what I was going to say."

You smiled blissfully just as Miguel's cock hit at your g-spot again. He'd been ringing right there for a minute, but this time it felt renewed.

"Fuck," you mewed, licking at his mouth. "Just like that."

Miguel's brows knitted together, nodding along with you. "Yeah, like that?"

You raised your knees to his waist, riding his thrusts into you. He dropped his head down to your neck, lined his tongue along your throat before finding the softest part of your neck.

He had to, there was no other way for him to show how badly he needed you. To show how utterly desperate and devoted he was to keep you.

Miguel slowly parted his lips and produced his fangs, the pearlescent spears shining in the moonlight; he prepared your skin with a deep suck, readying a light hickey before replacing his teeth over.

You cried out, your hands clenching harder at Miguel's as his teeth sank into your flesh and muscle. The surprise, combined with Miguel's lush strokes, culminated together and you tightened your knees on his waist.

You came instantly, following Miguel's pumps while he gulped at your skin. The stars seeped into your vision, Miguel's cock raking through your walls and driving out more pleasure.

Miguel whimpered just against your skin upon your walls tightening around him. He slowed his thrusts to wait out your orgasm, but found himself edging until he unclamped from your neck.

He carelessly pulled out of you, gasping at hastily avoiding cumming in you. Miguel took his hands back, one hand bracing his hair as the other held at his twitching cock. You writhed in his wake, your knees shuddering at his sides.

You stared at the man knelt before you, catching your breath while he held his cock lightly. You reached for your pajama top and peeled it off of your sweaty body, tossing it aside before draping your arms over your head.

"You can come on me," you whispered, swallowing in more air.

Miguel tilted his head at you, following your direction and using your body to finally cum. He braced a hand next to your waist, clenching hard at your sheets as he streaked hot ropes of cum over your stomach.

They were thick over your skin, the touch cooling against you. Miguel ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward to kiss you, then stood up off of the bed to grab a towel for you.

He walked to the kitchen and produced a kitchen towel for you; Miguel knelt back onto the bed and wiped his cum off of your stomach.

"I'm sorry, mi amor," Miguel frowned, leaning in to peck your forehead. "I guess I got carried away."

He stood up to walk away again but you grabbed his wrist.

"Miguel," you began, pulling him back into bed. "Stop, it's okay. Just...come back to bed."

He stared down at you, completely kissed in the wake of the moon. Miguel dropped the towel to the floor and carefully climbed back into bed beside you.

You curled into him magnetically, draping your arms around him as your legs tangled between his.

Miguel wrapped his arms around your small shoulders, his hand finding the back of your head to hold you against his chest. He tucked his chin over your head and inhaled deeply, once again lulled to sleep by your presence.

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gahhhleee, how many fucking words is that? my fingies hurt. also miguel miguel miguel miguel miguel miguel

y'all know me, i love myself a dorito shaped brown man

i dunno if i'll write more miguel, i guess we'll have to see how well this one does. anyways....

#miguel o'hara #miguel x you #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #bakeneko

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caswensworld · 3 months

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I know I already casted Roman Banks as one of my ocs but I did some recasting. Now he’s the son of Queen Elsa, who is a single mother and we love that for her!

Prince El, the son of Queen Elsa of Arendelle, is a 17-year-old rebellious teenage boy with a heart of gold. I wanted one AK to stand out dim the others and Elsa’s child seemed perfect.

El's personality is a mix of fun-loving, mischievous, and adventurous. He uses his winter magic to amuse himself others around him, often throwing snowballs and cracking jokes. Despite his lighthearted demeanor, El has a gentle heart and is generous, always willing to help those in need. However, he doesn't like to take things too seriously and prefers to keep things light and fun. El's mischievous use of his powers gets him in and out of a lot of trouble, but the important thing is he gets himself out of it.

Growing up as the son of Queen Elsa, El has always felt like an outsider in the kingdom of Arendelle. He was constantly under the scrutiny of the people and the expectations of the throne. He longs for a life of his own, away from the constraints of royalty and the pressure to one day take the throne. He's tired of being told how to live his life. This desire for independence has led him to the mysterious Isle of the Lost, a place once home to all the villains of folklore.

Despite his rebellious nature, El is passionate and courageous, always standing up for what he believes in. He is fiercely loyal to his family, especially his mother, Queen Elsa. However, their relationship is strained due to their differing views on life and the responsibilities of royalty. Despite his mother ruling with a warm heart, El and Elsa could never quite see eye to eye. El doesn't trust others easily, as he has few friends and prefers to keep to himself.

Standing tall, El has platinum blonde. His brown eyes, always sparkling with a hint of crystal blue, reflect his playful and mischievous nature. El's style is a mix of edgy and trendy, reflecting his rebellious nature. Instead of princely attire, he often wears cardigans, jackets, ripped jeans, and combat boots, everything he wears is coated with snowflakes, giving him a rugged and cool appearance. His unique style has made him stand out among the people of Arendelle, with some admiring him and others viewing him with suspicion.

In summary, Prince El is a kind-hearted, rebellious teenage boy with a unique sense of style and a passion for adventure. He uses his winter magic to bring joy to others while struggling to find his own independence and free himself from the expectations of royalty. Despite his mischievous nature, El is a loyal and courageous prince who is always there for his family.

Fun facts about El and Arendelle

-El is an only child

-Arendelle is cut off from Auradon as is Wonderland. I imagine like the Queen of Hearts, Elsa also fought against Beasts rule

-Elsa and the Beast have a history

-El will grow a strong friendship with Red, who sneaks into Arendelle

-El has four cousins (Anna and Kristoff had 4 kids)

#roman banks #frozen elsa #disney elsa #elsa of arendelle #queen elsa #disney frozen #frozen #disney descendants #descendants #descendants original characters #descendants oc #black elsa

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kaaaaaaarf · 1 year

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coming back to you

(Sirius returns from Azkaban and they lie low at Lupin's. Alternate timeline, no one dies. <3)

1 . Brockley // Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs

(instrumental)

2. Francesca // Hozier

Do you think I'd give up That this might've shook the love from me Or that I was on the brink? How could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily? [...] If someone asked me at the end I'll tell them put me back in it Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah If I could hold you for a minute Darling, I'd go through it again, ah, ah I would still be surprised I could find you, darling In any life

3. Quietly Yours // Birdy

Now I'm tracing shadows on your back Like I dreamt so many times Oh, for so long I've been waiting For so long, for a love like this And I was so sure, baby I'd lost you for a minute but [...] Can you feel it? Just the same as before Many years have gone by But I knew you'd come Quietly keeping This hope in my heart Prayed the night bring Back what I lost Many years have gone by But I never forgot I've always been yours Only yours, mm

4. I Will // Mitski

I will take good care of you Everything you feel is good If you would only let you I will wash your hair at night And dry it off with care I will see your body bare And still I will live here So stay with me Hold my hand There's no need To be brave And all the quiet nights you bear Seal them up with care No one needs to know they're there For I will hold them for you Cause' all I ever wanted is here All I ever wanted All I want is Always you It's always you

5. Bad Idea Right? // Olivia Rodrigo

Seeing you tonight It's a bad idea, right? Seeing you tonight Fuck it, it's fine [...] Yes, I know that he's my ex But can't two people reconnect? I only see him as a friend The biggest lie I ever said

6. I Wouldn't Ask You // Clairo

I wouldn't ask you to take care of me Oh, and I wouldn't ask you to take care of me [...] Ice-cold, baby, I'm ice-cold You're the only one who can make me fold [...] Feels like I've known you for so long Without you, I don't feel strong Feels like I've known you for so long Without you, I don't feel so strong, yeah So strong We could be so strong

7. And Then There's You // Bill Ryder-Jones

Tell me I'm wrong and I'm yours It's easy to change and you know I would If I only could Tell me again Why I must When everything hurts Insulting like you And then there's you [...] My mistress my mistress Take me home again

8. Die Young // Sylvan Esso

I was a firecracker, baby, with somethin' to prove Now I gotta contend with the living blues I could've missed it, I never knew Chain reaction, but you're holdin' the fuse I was gonna die young Now I gotta wait for you, honey

9. Hello Black Dog // Matt Maltese

I stand in the kitchen light Wash pans and enjoy my life Someone calls my mobile I guess it's time Hello, black dog, it's been a while I know that face, I know those eyes I changed my address and blocked you online But you've found me in the dark And kept me from the light

10. Cardigan (cabin in candlelight version) // Taylor Swift

But I knew you Dancin' in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite [...] You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleedin' [...] But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time [...] And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me

11. Let's Get Married (MTV Unplugged) // Bleachers

Sit down, breathe, and just listen Hey, baby, baby I've been gone, I've been gone, I've been so far gone lately And I know it's bad when we look out But bad, bad people don't live in our house, so I'm gonna look good for you, honey Get my myself together, spend you all of my money, yeah And I know it's hard enough to love me But I woke up in a safe house singing [...] Honey, let's get married Don't wanna walk alone So let's get married I don't wanna walk alone

12. Cinnamon Girl // Lana Del Ray

There's things I wanna say to you But I'll just let you live Like if you hold me without hurting me You'll be the first who ever did There's things I wanna talk about But better not to give But if you hold me without hurting me You'll be the first who ever did Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah Hold me, love me, touch me, honey

13. Tell Me You Don't Love Me Watching // Bill Ryder-Jones

It's your secrets that I want today And it's senseless that in your defense Cause I always get my own way in the end You see I'm nothing but an only child I get my own way every single time So how do you be anything less than all I need You can pretend you don't care But when I'm watching you know that I'm there I see you brushing your hair Or as if you didn't want me to stare Just look at the things that you're wearing And tell me you don't love me watching

14. Look Who's Inside Again // Bo Burnham

Trying to be funny and stuck in a room There isn't much more to say about it Can one be funny when stuck in a room? Being in, trying to get something out of it Try making faces Try telling jokes, making little sounds, uh [...] Well, well Look who's inside again Went out to look for a reason to hide again Well, well Buddy, you found it

15. Meet Me In The Hallway // Harry Styles

Meet me in the hallway I just left your bedroom Give me some morphine Is there any more to do? Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out

16. Coming Back To You // Sylvan Esso

I'm on the ocean I'm out to sea I know my fortune It's you and me I am the sound The one you think The one you can't find The one you need Coming back to you I'm coming back to you I'm coming back to you I'm coming back to you

17. Two // Sleeping At Last

Sweetheart, you look a little tired When did you last eat? Come in and make yourself right at home Stay as long as you need Tell me, is something wrong? If something's wrong, you can count on me You know I'll take my heart clean apart, if it helps yours beat It's okay if you can't find the words Let me take your coat And this weight off of your shoulders […] I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself […] Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you without any strings attached And what a privilege it is to love A great honor to hold you up Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you with every single thing I have Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess Or calm waters if that serves you best I will love you without any strings attached I will love you without a single string attached

18. Happiness is a Butterfly // Lana Del Rey

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst That could happen to a girl who's already hurt? I'm already hurt If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt He's already hurt

19. Premonition // Eels

I had a premonition It's all gonna be fine You can kill or be killed But the sun's gonna shine I had a premonition That we're gonna get by You and I have a love That never can die It's not the weight you carry It's how you carry it We can get through anything We can take the hit [...] Sweetheart don't ever doubt That my love is alive You and I can really live Much more than survive

20. Lost With You // Patrick Watson

Against your morning skin Well, it's shy like two young lovers walking by There's a soft, strange kind of odd Giving company to all the lonely hearts There's a hundred cigarettes on the ground And our clothes are still hanging around And it's nice to be ugly in each other's arms So we can grow over all the things we were before

21. I Forget Where We Were // Ben Howard

And that's how summer passed away The great dividing range, the green, green grass And oh, maybe it was peace at last Who knew? Hello love, my invincible friend Oh, hello love, the thistle and the burr Oh, hello love, for you I have so many words But I, I forget where we were, no

22. Hold U // Indigo De Souza

You are a good thing I've noticed, I've noticed And I want a good thing with you You are the best thing, and I've got it, I've got you And I would do anything for you And I will hold you, I will hold you, oh-oh I will hold you, I will hold you And I will hold you, I will hold you, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh It's gonna be alright

23. Gravity // Coldplay

Baby It's been a long time coming Such a long, long time And I can't stop running Such a long, long time Can you hear my heart beating Can you hear that sound? 'Cause I can't help thinking And I won't stop now And then I looked up at the sun and I could see Oh, the way that gravity pulls on you and me

24. To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe) // Hozier

A joy, hard learned in winter was the warming of the bed You'd shake for minutes there and move your legs Wrap the blanket over you and keep your head within Let your breath heat the air until you'd feel it getting thin 'Uiscefhuaraithe' The feel of coldness only water brings There are some things that no one teaches you, love That come natural as a dream you didn't know that you were in And darlin', all my dreamin' is only put to shame And darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name But it came easy, darlin' As natural as another leg around you in the bed frame

25. Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow // Freddy Mercury

So, love me like there's no tomorrow Hold me in your arms, tell me you mean it This is our last goodbye And very soon it will be over But today just love me like there's no tomorrow

26. The Beginning After The End // Stars

Oh, the blood and the treasure, and then losing it all The time that we wasted and the place where we fall Will we wake in the morning and know what it was for Up in our bedroom after the war?

#playlist #lie low at lupin's #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #Spotify #lying low at lupin's #one of these days tumblr formatting will actually be the death of me #this website is broken

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ellipsiseffervescent · 8 months

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moiraweaver fic chap 2

Chapter one

Summary: Niran and Moira learn more about one another in the bedroom. will neurodivergence cause someone to fumble a bad bitch? lets find out

WC: 1309

Tags/Warnings/Notes: eventual hurt/comfort, this chapter has lite smut, alcohol. i really tried to make nirans adhd and moiras autism a thing w them too

ao3 link

Moira pocketed the cigarette and slid the door open, holding it for their guest. Niran was flattered to step first into the eclectic bedroom. The bed was made but the sheets had been meticulously untucked. Only a sliver of city light illuminated the space; Moira had pulled the shades down almost all the way, leaving a uniform crack for the world to enter through. The temperature inside was not much warmer than outside. Niran wrapped himself tighter in his blue knitted cardigan and took a seat on the stool at the foot of the bed. He watched the lanky geneticist take the bedroom in long strides, their lengthy dark robe sweeping the floor behind them like an elegant shadow.

“I take it you’re used to the cold,” Niran said.

His words stopped Moira stopped in their tracks. Their slender body loomed over Niran; to be any closer would be to straddle him. Niran’s heart raced at the idea.

“I am happy to keep you warm, Niran.”

A tsunami of competing thoughts and emotions crashed into him at once. His bodyguards, and ultimately friends, had all warned him that Moira O’Deorain was so unempathetic and ruthless that they were beyond alien- they were evil. At the same time, he could only imagine the scoldings he’d received when he returned, condemning his risky behavior. He felt understood in their presence, unjudged- Moira was familiar with risk taking. And that didn’t even account for Niran’s instinct- something deeper than fear crept up his spine in the presence of the controversial scientist: a yearning intrigue.

He loved looking at Moira in the low light of the bedroom- it dramatized the sharp features of their face, the mysterious darkness under their mismatched eyes. The experience in their hair was sexy, their silver streaks paired well with their domineering posture. Moira was haunted by something, and that made them exquisitely dangerous. There was nothing Niran loved more than a new experience, an impossible challenge.

“I’m sure Osaka will wait for us,” Niran agreed.

Niran was surprised to find his fingers along the back of Moira’s thigh, inviting them closer. Cashmere was smooth in his hand as he raised it to Moira’s ass, squeezing gently. He bit back a gasp as their nails trailed along his jawline before wrapping around his chin. They dug into his skin ever so slightly and Niran loved the sting. Moira’s grasp was firm as they tilted his face upwards. Ruby and sapphire burned into bronze; Niran’s gaze was locked into place.

“If you wish to be fucked then you will do as I say. Untie my robe, Niran.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Moira’s grip loosened and the thumb of their short-nailed hand slipped between Niran’s lips- a reward for his good behavior. His eyes shut and he lost himself to his oral fixation, his tongue swirling around their skin. Niran let his desires wander as he made his way to the robe’s knot, helping himself to the feeling of their lithe hips along the way.

Moira pulled their hand back as the knot was undone. The robe’s descent was slow to Niran; he was drinking in every ounce of the geneticist. Moira was domineering in nothing but their black boxers. Niran ached to taste Moira’s tits, bared freely to him. Their physique may have been slender, but years of fieldwork and missions had provided a leanness to their body that was evident in the tone of what muscles they did have. Niran wanted to be wrapped in those long legs, engrossed in what lay between them. He wanted Moira to hold his head in place with those strong arms-

Fixating on those arms brought a splash of cold water on Niran. His reaction did not stem from the pure aesthetic of it- in fact, the cruel edge of Moira’s right arm could be an intimidating turn on- but because he knew how it came to be that way. He knew that Moira’s wound was self-inflicted, a result of taboo experimentation, but he was not prepared for how it had worsened from what the public had last seen.

The violet entropy was growing across Moira’s chest and up their collarbone like a life-threatening moss. The veins of Moira’s infected flesh bulged angrily to the surface, as if they were holding back the might of the artificial decay through sheer force.

“Moira! You’re withering away.”

The words escaped Niran in a hasty whisper before he could stop himself. Moira’s sexy glare recoiled; face suddenly hard to read. What was once an intense, unending gaze from Moira turned into a full avoidance of Niran’s sightline. His heart hurt with the responsibility- the wrong thing always seemed to slip from his mouth before he could stop it. He felt lonely not meeting the stare of those ruby and sapphires.

“I’ve always thrived under a deadline.”

The delivery was dry, even for Moira. Never one to wait, they picked the robe off the floor and slipped it over their shoulders, over their arm. They didn’t bother looking for the tie, allowing the garment to drape open while they walked to the other side of the bed, stopping at their nightside table.

Moira pressed a button on what had seemed to be an antique wood nightstand, revealing a virtual light screen. They made their selection in the blink of an eye and the nightstand’s surface opened down the center. Decanters of amber nectars and a matching bowl of cocktail ice emerged on a disc of hard light.

It was only the guilt that kept Niran’s mind on track. Rays from the disc bathed Moira in gold, bringing out the subtle indigo fibers of the robe that hid too much for Niran’s liking. He wanted to slip under that garment; trail his kisses along their arm, into their collarbone, then plunge below their torso. He wanted to heal Moira’s soul with his mouth. He bit the inside of his lip before attempting to explain himself.

“I’m sorry I said that so abruptly. Your artificial decay has progressed beyond what I was expecting, and I spoke without thinking. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

Glass clinked like windchimes as Moira fixed their drink, whiskey on rocks. They nodded their head in acknowledgement of Niran and closed their eyes to think. He was delightfully surprised to find himself familiar with this reaction: years of rooming with Satya had taught him patience in these moments.

Moira finished their sip, then held the cool glass against the purple of their throat. Niran fought the urge to imagine his tongue on their skin. The geneticist exhaled and folded one arm under the other.

“Little inventor,” Moira began slowly, letting their pet name for him take up the space between the two, “Would you like to go out for a meal?”

Of all the things Niran guessed Moira would say in response to his apology, an invitation to dinner was not one of them. Then again, nothing on this night had gone as he predicted when he snuck away from his hotel, and he was thankful for it.

“Um… yeah! That sounds excellent.”

Moira nodded before finishing the rest of their drink in one swig. Niran watched in comfortable silence as Moira rummaged through their suitcase. He suspected that the familiarity went both ways: Moira showed no modesty, unbothered with his clear view of their naked breasts. They slipped into a navy turtleneck, tucking it into loose matching trousers. The pale brown trench coat they topped it off with flourished around them as they opened the hotel door for Niran.

“Walking through the lobby will attract less attention than using biolight to depart from the balcony,” said Moira.

Niran was thrilled with Moira’s ribbing.

“I’m not sure I entirely agree.”

“Oh?”

“A handsome couple like us? People won’t be able to look away,” said Niran.

#moiraweaver #nonbinary moira #niran pruksamanee #moira o'deorain #lifeweaver #niran is adhd #moira is autistic

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idkwhatimdoingbutslay · 1 year

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Publicly, AO3 is down and I should be writing my next chapter for hunting prize but… I’ll do that later.

Instead, gonna randomly generate words then write snippets for them :)

And the word is…… drum roll please 🥁🥁🥁🥁

The sun. An unrelenting force that was cursed when out and cursed when hidden.

A force Vi wasn’t all that used to considering… well, come on.

And a force Caitlyn loved and a force that loved Caitlyn right back. Making her eyes shine like diamonds and her skin tan so impossibly beautifully.

“Vi, you would adore the beach! We can sunbathe and play in the water and eat all the ice cream we want without being judged. Sand texture can be a bit odd if that’s your aversion, but nothing a solid shoe can’t fix! And as much as I think you being pale as a ghost is just wonderful, your freckles are beginning to fade.”

Caitlyn stands in her bathroom, in front of the massive mirror and its warm and bright surrounding lights in a purple bikini top that Vi’s actively forcing herself not to stare at, a pair of dark blue jean shorts and a cardigan in the same colour.

Vi watches Caitlyn tie her hair up from her bed, resting her chin on her arm as Caitlyn delicately brushes her hair before running her hands through it, getting each strand ready for the purple scrunchie around her wrist.

They catch each other’s gazes in the mirror. Caitlyn smiles, but Vi looks away, not wanting to risk folding at the sight of her.

“Cupcake, I swear to you that suntanning is not a thing to me. We come from a loooong line of vampires who burn at the crisp from just one beam of that thing. My parents hardly knew what the sun was, too busy sucking blood and running from Topside’s crazy amounts of garlic.”

“You’re so ridiculous. A little blush doesn’t hurt anyone,” Caitlyn chuckles, twisting and wrapping the hair tie one last time before her ponytail sits perfectly at the top of her head. “I’ve seen you on the sun many-a-time and you turn out just fine. I could always help you apply sunscreen every other minute if that’s what is required to get you outside.”

Obviously Caitlyn wouldn’t mind running a soft cream all over Vi’s naked back, finally allowing herself to memorize every stroke of dark ink that adorns it.

And of course Caitlyn also wouldn’t mind seeing Vi in swimming trunks and a top that would undoubtedly show off the abdomen she spends so much time working on.

Because Caitlyn appreciates her friend and is willing to take care of her every need if she just asked.

“Plus, we are going to be playing volleyball and I need my favourite hitter there with me. Don’t you want to spike a ball right into Jayce’s face?”

Vi can’t help but hum. Pretty intriguing argument if you ask her.

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind that.”

As Caitlyn finishes pulling loose strands out of her updo, allowing them to frame her face before she turns around with impossibly pleasing eyes.

Vi’s strong. She always has been and she always will be.

But Caitlyn… there was just something about her.

She steps forward, crossing the room and standing high above Vi as she doesn’t move, worried her predator can sense fear; still becoming increasingly more queasy as Caitlyn stares, whispering a kind please under her breath, fully armed with the amazing offence of disastrous puppy eyes with a stern insistence hidden in that bright blue.

Vi groans, rolling her eyes as she peels herself off of Caitlyn’s bed, her victor’s growing smile taunting her for her weakness.

#ummmm procrastination is a drug sorry #caitvi fanfiction #caitvi #arcane #vi arcane #vi #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn #violyn #piltover’s finest #piltover's gayest #Vicait #slay writes #I think I might do more of these today just for funsies #these are most likely going to be corny so beware of that #um if you wanna do this too you should the shortage as people screaming and crying into the void

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plutobutartsy · 1 year

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omg stella btw i have two new ocs they’re called beatrice ardovini & atlas caron & here is their premise;

dria goes to work at a magic school in the us in her ‘season two’ after the main vsor plot. this school is run by beatrice & atlas, two very argumentative individuals who have extreme differences of opinions on the regular. dria’s aunt stella recommended her for the teaching job to the two of them, so she’s a little bit in nepo baby fashion closer to the two than the rest of the teachers. so, dria is the first to discover

that beatrice and atlas are, in fact, married

and they have two twin five year old daughters, lætitia and honorine.

they have an AMAZING marriage. like their workplace arguments are dumped at the door and then they get home and have the most insanely loving marriage and are incredible parents. then they get to school again and are fangs bared #evilface towards each other!!! their separation of work & home is truly unmatched.

but idk what i want them to look like do u have any ideas lmao beatrice is a fire mage & atlas is a dark mage :3 no prob if not my mind is just completely blank and i wanted to yell about them anyways

OMG I LOVEEE RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS LIKE THAT SQUEALING "hate each other in public, doting and affectionate in private" UHM. TOP 5 RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS EVER??

okay design ideas!!!

for beatrice you could really lean into her being a fire mage but in a way that isn't neccessarily just RED COLOUR PALLETTE!! RED RED RED!! you know

fire is dangerous so i associate angular shapes with it. this could translate into beatrice being rather thin and bony. sharp cheek bones, narrow nose, bony fingers etc. piercing gaze. thin, well defined eyebrows but!! fire is also strong obviously so i think her being really big and buff could work just as fine, since there's still a harshness to defined muscle.

now fire is also warm and nurturing and has kept humanity alive for millenia!! so there's a softness to it. this could be reflected by giving her big, soft eyes. maybe really voluminous hair. or make her muscles not quite as defined, maybe they're partly hidden under a layer of fat. so she'd still be super strong physically but her sillhouette would appear softer and combine both these aspects of fire.

uhmmm what else. fire is wild i suppose? so you could give her not only voluminous hair, but make it wild as well. tough to manage, hard to style. this could tie in with her being a (pressumably) stressed academic. you could have that wildness reflected in her style as well!! maybe have her wear punk or goth clothing? i think that would be a fun contrast to how most academic characters dress in media :3

for atlas maybe some name symbolism? i'm sure you know the greek myth. something something atlas forced to carry the sky (uranus) for all eternity to keep the earth (gaia) safe something something. so i think an earthy brown colour pallette with some light blues (sky -> air -> blue).

either like. a flowy wardrobe? clothes lightweight and long. thin scarves. long cardigans or coats or whatever. uhh long skirts and dresses maybe? or wide pants. FLOWY!! LIGHT!!

or OR

a really solid wardrobe? when i say solid i mean like. hiking gear lol. (because like. earth=rocks=mountains=hiking in my mind). secure shoes with thick soles but not heavy. maybe even boots. pants with lots of compartments. like cargo pants or sth similar. uhhh rain coat lmaooo. listen you could make atlas a walking fashion disaster i think that would be funny.

maybe you could even find a way to combine the two? or of course you could always go with more of a hippie style too? definitely ties into earth and sky

for body you could again go with somebody physically strong because that's just associate with earth (in my mind at least) but i'm not sure. for hair you could go either long and (i'm trying not to say flowy again but arrggghghgg). flowy. again, because air. lol. ORRRR idk if you have a race or ethnicity in mind yet but if you make atlas black you could have him wear it mostly natural to be reminiscient of clouds :3

yeah teehee this is what i came up with on the fly so if it sucks or doesn't make much sense! i will drop off the face of the earth directly into the sun (kidding ahahaha)

#i did NAWT proof read this and i'm eepy #anyways i love them :3c #cosmic communication #keeping up with di's blorbos

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noirapocalypto · 2 years

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Physical Traits // Paola Velasquez

Rules: BOLD what applies to your muse. STRIKEOUT what does not.

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Strong/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Curvy frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Muscular Chest.Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips.Deep V cut hips.Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands.Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight. Weight matches height.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm.191 cm to 2m.Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks. Body hair.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Violet. Green. Gold. Hazel. Heterochromia. Unnatural. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Narrow. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Under cut. Shaved. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Mohawk. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locs. Mullet. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Dyed. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows. Neat beard.

TATTOOS/ PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Covered in tattoos. One tattoo. Face tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing.Nose piercing.Septum. Nipple piercing(s) Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercing(s) Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up. Lip-balm.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Citrus. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Evergreen. Sweet. Spiced. Amber. Lavender. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Gunpowder. Gun oil.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse.Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants.Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra.Crop top. Bodysuit. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen.Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colors. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor.Light Armor. Floral shirts. Leather pants. Turtlenecks. Utility jackets. Holsters. Bulletproof vests.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Western boots. Leather boots.

#ᴏᴄ ⋆┊ᴘᴀᴏʟᴀ ᴠᴇʟᴀsǫᴜᴇᴢ #ʟᴏʀᴇ ⋆┊ᴘᴀᴏʟᴀ ᴠᴇʟᴀsǫᴜᴇᴢ

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jazzlrsposts · 3 months

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A Complete Guide to Party Wear Dresses for Girls: Trends, Tips, and Style

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Did you know Zendaya wore a bold, modern gown at the Met Gala in 2019? She donned a striking, structured Cinderella-inspired dress by Tommy Hilfiger, which lit up and created a captivating spectacle. Paired with metallic shoes and a statement necklace, Zendaya’s look was the epitome of the Modern Diva. You can take inspiration from her to create a bold and confident party look.

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Finding the perfect party wear dress for girls involves considering the latest trends, ensuring comfort, and accessorizing appropriately. Whether your girl prefers a sparkling princess gown or a chic modern dress, there’s a style out there to make her feel fabulous.

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catgirltheseus · 8 months

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Olivia’s apartment was empty, as usual. Luke wouldn’t be due to come by for another five weeks Shrugging her bag off of her shoulders–it landed half-slumped beside a pile of magazines that got slotted under the door every Tuesday at 6:30 AM–and ripping her collar loose of her throat, the dreary-eyed girl recited her steps like it was a poem:

Five steps forward.

Six steps right.

Three more left.

Bed’s in sight.

The entire flat was hers. She had no roommates, no parents, not even neighbors. The building had a strange dichotomy, not all too uncommon for inner city London. The location made the price steep but the quality was intolerable to any who could shell out the cash for it. Almost any, Olivia proved, flopping onto the bed that cut a brownie slice out of the rectangular room. A corner piece too, which Olivia was convinced were better.

The flat was hers, but all the open space felt intimidating. Like she needed to confine herself to a box that would send even the most fortuitous claustrophobics into shock. She’d made her own room into that box, glorious in its gloom. It wasn’t bland by any stretch; posters, shelves lined with figurines staring down like sentinels, banners, a pink, white, and blue flag, all adorned the walls. Only the flag held much color, everything else bordering so close to emo that Olivia had to ashamedly avert her eyes whenever she saw the unused bottle of black hair dye in her bathroom cabinet.

The window outside took the place of an entire wall and the blackout curtain that had almost smothered Olivia when she’d been carrying it up the stairs dutifully guarded against unwanted light, which was all of it. Sometimes peering over the bustling of people made small by perspective was fun, but even in spite of the reflective outer glass any stray eye wandering up had Olivia flinching. So she didn’t do it often.

She woke up. Olivia hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, nor that she’d moved to the armchair in the living room. She slid her legs over the arm and stood up, not even bothering to rub the sleep from her eyes. It never helped, so why try?

The sun had set, but it wasn’t too dark. Bright lights from the stores and streets below radiated into the sky, dashing any young London astronomer’s hopes of seeing more than darkness for the rest of time. Olivia watched the people below, hundreds of them. The odd car drove past but the crowds often spilled into the streets when they were barren of vehicles. This led to incredibly slow commutes, a single wriggling mass of people that barely moved. To avoid being seen–which she wouldn’t be, just paranoia–Olivia retreated to her kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but then she never was. It was a guessing game to keep herself alive sometimes, finding dehydration or starvation had caught her in its crooked grasp in an instant with violent hunger pains or dizziness.

She stole a Tesco sandwich from the fridge. It’d been a long time since she had bought any bread. Actually making food instead of just buying it pre-made was… it… it took a lot of effort. With school and… everything, the act of actually making food was just too much. Plus, a diet of Tesco sandwiches and fast food delivery only made her feel mildly awful. Olivia slunk back to her room, sandwich and an energy drink in hand.

The sun had come up by the time she left the room again. All night had been spent on doomscrolling and Minecraft, and now Wednesday morning reared its head like a particularly fruminous jabberwock. She made her way to the washing machine, undressed, and tossed in her clothes. There wasn’t time for her to actually wash them, so Olivia didn’t bother turning it on. Back to her room, she pulled on her spare uniform, buttoning up the shirt and cardigan and zipping up the skirt.

The whole thing was actually a bit too big for her, which made sense considering she’d stolen it. Which, though “stolen” was a strong word, was an apt way to describe how it had come into her possession. While her brother had been negotiating with the tailor, because the school was pretentious enough to require a fucking tailored uniform, she had simply taken one off the rack and folded it into her bag. Her brother was more amused than upset when she showed him on the way back. He’d be a terrible role model, were he actually ever around to be one.

The sleeve flopped over her hand which, while cute, was also against the rules and would definitely count as an infraction. Olivia rolled up her cuffs, put on her very long socks, and lifted her bag over a shoulder. She slipped one more energy drink into her bag and left. The hallways of the building were empty since very few actually lived there. Down an elevator she went and out the tucked away door next to a Waterstones.

Her commute to school was… actually quite a lot. It wasn’t far, but still required ten minutes of walking and two bus rides. London was just that annoying to navigate. Not that using it as an excuse ever worked. The headmistress would slash the tyres of every bus in England and set your house on fire and still punish your tardiness with fifteen detentions. Olivia left an hour early most days because of this. Most days, of course, because if she had slept the night before instead of in the afternoon, she wouldn’t be able to muster up the energy to leave on time.

Olivia passed through what might have looked like any random gate in the side of a brick wall to an uninformed observer, but was instead the entrance to her school. It had been a good day commute-wise, so only a few other students filed in as well. Olivia walked the long garden stretch up to St. Sina Girls’ School and crossed the threshold of the front door.

A ring of hammer and steel, and the day was over. Olivia slumped over the table of the lecture theater in a caffeine-induced haze. This was par for the course when it came to weekdays. Others filed out of the room and Olivia forced herself to stand. She shoved a notebook that hadn’t felt the touch of a pen in weeks into her bag. About a half-dozen other girls still lingered, most just talking and slowly gathering their stuff.

They couldn’t stay long. While Olivia’s day was over, the rest of the school was still alive. Classes stretched into the late afternoon, though Olivia’s ended barely past noon. Her schedule was intentionally light, smaller than it should have been. She was just that special. And her brother had a lot of money. That usually removed even the longest sticks from asses.

She glanced around to see if her one friend had left already and-

Sophia found her way to Olivia’s seat just as the latter girl had slid both arms through the straps of her bag. She moved with purpose, a freight train of dirty gold locks and honestly very little else. The uniform looked positively baggy on her skeletal frame, all the more damning when one realized it would cut pretty close on the average person. Sliding into position next to Olivia, Sophia shot her a quick smile. Closed mouth. Consistent vomiting left the teeth in pretty rough shape and Sophia already had issues with her appearance. Just the body’s way of kicking itself while it’s down.

“So,” Sophia mused, completely aware of the answer she was about to receive, “got any plans today?”

“Go home. Lie down. Sleep.” Olivia and Sophia started walking out of the room just as the next class of students entered.

“That’s so boring! We should do something. Just the two of us, we can hang out and go-”

Olivia turned to her friend, greeted by nothing but the gloom of the school’s halls. Pools of light segmented by crossed wooden bars in the window frames spilled onto the empty floors. A glance at her phone told her it was about 11 PM. She felt… not well rested, but about as rested as she normally felt after sleeping.

Her legs casually guided her to the exit. Hopefully the night bus wouldn’t be too long. Or she could just Uber. The bus sounded nicer, though. She made a point to step over the blood forming in puddles on the ground, as well as the corpse it had once belonged to, long since absent of the Spark.

How long had it been since she’d last eaten something? She couldn’t be sure. Best to stop somewhere on the way. McDonalds would be open but… well, Olivia couldn’t claim to have more self respect than a Big Mac at 12 AM on a weekday but they were still gross. Tesco Express maybe, but then again it wouldn’t be any different to the kinds of things she had at home.

She spent the next few minutes thumbing through stores on her phone, eventually settling on a Subway and ordering in advance. Once satisfied, she looked up to find she had walked outside. So far from the lights of the main street, everything seemed much darker than it should.

Dark gray bathed everything and drowned it, traversing the admittedly small grounds of the school after nightfall feeling like swimming in uncertainty. Olivia left the empty school behind.

Her sub wasn’t very good. She was a fool for expecting much else, but still Olivia mourned what could have been. Olivia crumpled the wrapper and tossed the remains in the bin. Rising from the table adjacent to the window, she stole a glance outside. People moved about, as alive and thrumming as ever. Very few actually bore the Spark, a divine little sliver that could be picked out with some focus. She focused, not on those brimming with golden energy, but the rest. Some of them, anyway. One dropped. A second. Three hylics collapsed within the sea, all dead. It wasn’t many, maybe the proximity was a little weird but they wouldn’t be noticed at the same time in such a busy crowd.

Olivia stepped away, looting the fridge for energy drinks and sandwiches. Like so many before, they would keep her company as she locked herself in her cramped little room.

A dim reflection’s eyes met her own. The power had flickered, only for a moment but still enough that her computer had slipped into a very untimely coma. Only slightly seething with annoyance, Olivia stood, leaving the computer to its slumber. It rebooted itself as she left, but it was too little too late. Clocks flashed at her, like the needless eyes of half a dozen machines pleading to be reset. She never did. That was, and would always be, Luke’s problem to deal with. Clocks were everywhere, regardless.

Time was such a constant reminder wherever Olivia looked, at least most of the time. Right now? Well, it was exactly midnight, or so the clocks told. Perhaps the sun and moon disagreed. Perhaps every other clock in the world did too. That didn’t matter though, since in the kitchen, the microwave clock was king. Also because Olivia had left her phone in her room.

Olivia gripped a chilled can of caffeinated beverage as she checked the status of the cabling nightmare in the corner of the living room. Luke was smart in technological things, and Olivia too by necessity, but neither of them gave the stray hair of a rat’s ass about neatness in their devices so the router was utterly bound in coiling wires. It was, however, on. Which was good and also unexpected. The abominable contraption liked to skimp on work whenever it guessed it might have a chance and a power cut was often one of those chances.

With the router checked, Olivia made a start towards her room but stopped. It would take too much energy for her to return to what she was doing, and feeling the options with her thoughts, anything in there would. A search for lower energy options began and, much to her surprise, a walk was the easiest thing.

Activity rarely ceased at night in London. It dimmed, naturally. Fewer cars and less traffic, scarcely anybody riding the night buses across the city. Plenty of stores operated twenty-four hours, but their fluorescent-hued interiors felt liminal and lonely, even with the occasional employee staring at you from the other side of the room.

All the places outside London that Olivia had been to were… quiet at night. Empty, still, dark, like a forest where no living creature could step foot. Stores closed earlier, traffic lights conducted nothing and no one. Here, though? Nothing slept too deep.

Olivia crouched in the corner of a Greggs, deeply invested in a gacha game and ignoring the cashier’s weird glares. The wifi, naturally, was shit. An awkward voice called out to her and she glanced up, stowing her phone.

“Hey uh. Y- your pasty is- it’s ready.”

Olivia sidestepped the corpse in the middle of the lobby, careful not to slip on rivulets of crimson that dripped off bone spikes ripping from points around its skin. No trace the Divine Spark had graced the lifeless shell for years.

“Thanks. Have uh… have a good day. Night, I guess.” Olivia took the bag and glanced up. The employee, ironically named Greg as she could tell by his name tag, lacked any trace of a Spark. Unenlightened in every sense of the word.

His body shook, skin splitting and shredding as the bones in his body began to reshape. Needles of bone speared from him, flesh rupturing and blood pulsing like its own entity. Dropping, the only sound he made as he died was the wet thump of his body against the floor.

Olivia walked out, plastic bag in hand. Fifteen minutes until the next night bus.

“Wanna come back to mine?”

“I guess,” Olivia responded, reaching into her bag and pulling out a pasty and handing it to Sophia.

But they didn’t go to Sophia’s house. They never did, she was stocked with excuses and they never really seemed to run out. By this point ‘come back to mine’ was code for ‘wanna hang out anywhere that isn’t my house?’ Usually at the mall but since it was midnight, that meant prowling the streets. Sophia took the lead, glancing back and smiling playfully. Closed mouth.

They walked, talking about various things that interested one of them, but never the other. Despite being friends, Olivia and Sophia had little in common. Sophia barely touched the internet outside of TikTok and the obligatory Facebook account that she only used for Messenger. Sophia tried to be an extrovert, to little success. Conventionally unattractive and possessing an off-puttingly obsessive personality, most people avoided her like a plague. Unsurprisingly, this resulted in Sophia developing a host of self-esteem issues and dysmorphia and making a single digit amount of friends.

Olivia didn’t have any other friends though–at least not ones that she’d seen in person–so they would hang out whenever Olivia felt she wouldn’t faint at the notion of social interaction.

#quinnwriting #writing

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frilly2023 · 1 year

Text

Frilly Out About Chicago

Frilly got out of the swimming pool. She had red white and blue. Her loving older dad André Rieu came and changed her in the dressing room for guys. She had thick dark watery blue soft pants on which were medium thick. Her shirt was deep, hot, pink, and thick and very comfortable and soft. Her cardigans match. Her pants her jacket was down to a “little ways” below the top of her legs and was very thick and and warm and strong and comfortable and silky. She had warm tight thick boots on with rounded pointy fronts. She had a cap with silky ruffles blue also like her jacket also thick warm and firm yet soft. She had a nice drawstring, backpack with thick round straps. André Rieu put on a bracelet with a stuffed weasel, which was all white with dark bluish eyes, which shown in the night. She was there and André Rieu stood in anticipation. She was “raring and ready to go.” It was time. She in turn, stood in anticipation with respect and giddy pleasure. He answered and said “Okay it’s time” and she was 5’2” and 13 and strong and supple and he lifted her body to him lovingly, and caressed her, and “held her to him.”

They had a nice somewhat lengthy time as he strolled along, holding her from under the top area of her legs and the top area of her back mostly. When the other people were around, she hid her face in him on his shoulder area and shuddered pulsed etc. She was indeed feeling a lot of emotions and physical feeling reactions.

She babbled to him, and he made sure he rubbed her and she didn’t talk anymore. They got on a transportation method and he sat alone with her somewhere in the middle, and placed her on his lap, and held with his hand and arm across the top of her legs and the bottom of her torso of her body. Sometimes he caressed her with his other hand and arm. They used a technological gadget he owned to watch stuff, etc. She babbled, rather adamantly and softly.

She left with him and he carried her sleepily to a hotel. She had a nice bath and well dressed and over-decorated for bedtime. They ate at a table. He watched TV while she did something else there were two beds. He lay on hers and held and caressed her as she snuggled in him. He “put her to bed” and “turned in.”

Her hair was sorta, coarse, and textured, and shown like glitter and was gold, rich light mousy tan like yellow and orange, but also brown and also white. It was smooth and straight and silky and stiff and metallic and so straight it flowed over and bounced like a waterfall.

Her eyes were bright, blue and shown and watery and colorful and radiant and had great expression.

Her skin was actually flushed in some places and sorta translucent pale sorta white and milky, and a healthy golden tan! It seemed radiant lively alive, and strong and fair actually. It changed colors a lot. Her hair was different colors. Her eyes were in different light..

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

Text

summer child

summary: you're terrified of falling in love. So though your heart aches for him, you reject Steve's love and his requests to become official in hopes of pushing him away. But he's never left. Only ever squeezing your hands tenderly and telling you that he'll wait for you: no matter how long it takes.

tags: Steve x gn!reader, tw: reader has love/commitment issues and brief mention of having toxic parent(s), fluff overtones with light angst underneath, happy ending tho, best friends Eddie & Robin, oneshot

☆ word count: 4.5K+ ☆

-> a/n: based on the amazing song by the same name by Conan Gray, highly recommend listening whilst/after reading :) slight off canon, loosely follows Vecna s4 vol1 events.

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

You can't stand it when Steve stares at you like that, you think to yourself. With so much love. With so much hope. With so much... happiness.

It makes your stomach twist in discomfort, the awfully warm sensation of feeling loved totally unregisterable to you when the horrible voice in the back of your mind continues to whisper that Steve deserves much better than you.

Someone less damaged. Someone less afraid of commitment. Someone who would gladly call themselves his and bask in the sunny glory of his love. After all, he's the Steve Harrington - how many times have you heard (and thought) that you're so incredibly lucky to have the king of Hawkins High fall in love with you? Countless.

"You look positively breathtaking when you zone out like that." he teases in the present, smile lines cutting into his dimpled cheekbones. He's leaning against his arms, boyish grin marking his symmetrical face. It's a gorgeous sight, you have to admit - his upper muscles flexing underneath his white polo shirt, strong legs peeking out from his blue linen shorts, chestnut brown hair turned near blonde under the summer sun.

He's perfection, you think. Unlike you, who's chosen to sit in a rather precarious position: it's a date, technically, but you're sitting a few inches away from him with your knees drawn up to your chest. Head drawn downwards, resting on your legs, arms shielded underneath a long sleeved cardigan despite the heat.

"I look fine. Just ok, Harrington." you correct him lightly, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips, though it isn't fully realized. He shakes his head sideways at that, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

"Modesty might be a virtue but lying is a sin." is Steve's response, ever so good natured and well mannered. "You're even more stunning than the view." he adds, gesturing to the clear glass lake twinkling in front of you.

He then frowns ever so slightly, cocking his head sideways.

"If only there were more flowers here. Other than the lake and trees it's just... dirt and weeds." he trails off, before his eyes widen in alarm and he quickly looks to you with a reassuring gaze. "Not that I'm complaining. As long as I'm with you."

It's so easy for Steve to compliment you like that. Tell you that you're the center of his whole universe, the lifeline to his beating heart, the object of his innermost desire. It makes you shift awkwardly in your seat, though you internally lie and tell yourself it's because of the cool winds caressing against your exposed ankles. The cedar tree you're sitting under blows alongside the wind, causing a few stray leaves to fall onto Steve's hair.

Your first thought is that you want to carefully brush the foliage off of his head. Have your fingers tenderly caress his scalp, one hand steadying his face so you can neatly pick out the leaves from his curls.

But it feels too intimate to ask for. Too couple-y, or whatever the exact word is, that would shatter the illusion you've built up for yourself to describe whatever the fuck your relationship with Steve currently is. So you stay silent, only ever shifting to point to indicate he's got something on his head.

"Oh. Thanks." he says sheepishly, calloused hands flying upwards to fix his hair. "You're a lifesaver."

His irises fracture into a million light crystals from the reflection of the sun bouncing off of the calm lakes, eyes burning with adoration paired with that beautiful smile. It makes your body shake and mind to turn to mush, forcing you to change the topic of conversation. Fast.

"You're wrong about the flowers. There's one right there-" you point out, index finger directed towards the east side of the lake. His eyes follow where your finger ends, before a determined smile appears on his face.

"So there is. Wait for me, will you?"

Before you can even question him, he's stripping down to his boxer shorts and diving into the lake headfirst, cold droplets of water splashing onto your thighs at the impact. The giggle that escapes your lips die in your mouth when you realize what he's doing - he's swimming over to the small set of rocks on the east side of the lake to retrieve the flower.

He cradles the delicate flower - pink petals blossoming in perfect spirals - with his left arm raised in the air, keeping the specimen perfectly dry until he reaches the shore. Grinning from ear to ear, he sits back down on the picnic mat next to you, hair and clothes still dripping with water.

"Can I-" he gestures with the flower, asking for your permission to tuck it underneath your ear. You should say no. Your lips twist into an unreadable shape, the words "no thanks" already on the tip of your tongue, rejecting love being a secondhand instinct at this point.

But you find that you're unable to resist it, this singular act of affection. You blame it on the sizzling heat and the way he continues to look at you, even when you're staring at him with a cold expression in silence, the look of unadulterated affection on his end never wavering.

"Okay." is thus all you can manage.

If he's surprised at your response, he doesn't show it. No, instead he leans in close, so close you can individually drop the water droplets adorning his hairline, and tucks the stems neatly behind your ear.

"And you say you don't get prettier every time I see you."

You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly in the shoulder, making him lose his balance. He throws his head back, a loud laugh ripping through his throat, and it's impossible to stop a small smile from creeping onto your face too.

"Just shut up and watch the scenery."

---------------------------------------

The basement of the Wheeler house is quiet.

Too quiet, you think. The never ending silence does little to calm your anxieties as Max calmly sleeps on your lap, head tucked against your upper legs, one arm protectively wrapped around your waist. You have no idea how she managed to get comfortable in this position - you and her squeezed in between three meager blue cushions - but she's dealing with so much that you can't find it in your heart to push her away.

You don't even know how much sleep she's been getting lately anyways. What in between the headaches, nightmares, constant threat of being the victim of a supernatural unknown, and the stabbing grief felt by her brother's absence. Love torn away so cruelly, so tragically.

The thought of it makes you nauseous. You've seen how much it hurts people when they lose a loved one. That level of attachment and adoration, what happens when that is inevitably ripped away in a death or a divorce or a breakup. How people walk around as shells of their former selves.

You won't ever let that happen to yourself, you repeat in your head. Even if a very gorgeous and compassionate Steve Harrington is bringing you a cup of water right now, tired smile on his face as he sits on a chair right across from you.

The fireplace reflects as orange orbs in his warm brown eyes, the same eyes which fall onto observe how you lightly stroke the redheaded girl's hair. All guards down, letting yourself be sentimental and protective. His gaze feels prickly against your skin, making your movements falter underneath his persistent gaze.

"Stop staring, Harrington." you whisper, narrowing your eyes at him. He chuckles quietly at that, careful to not wake the other kids sleeping in the room - Dustin, Mike and Lucas in sleeping bags, Erica and Will crammed into another sofa, legs dangling off of the arm rest. You can hear Eddie and Robin talking amongst themselves in the swinging porch stairs outside, the only other people awake at this time of the night.

"You're so good with her, you know that?" he fawns over you, placing a warm hand on your lap. "Seriously. Max talks my ear off about you, maybe even more than I talk about you. And that's saying something."

His compliment causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, internal fire burning down your stomach. He's just so damn sweet like that, sweet potatoes coated in honey, dusted in maple sugar.

"Maybe that's a sign to stop talking about me so much." you tease, pointing a finger at him accusingly. It does little to waver his confidence, head only shaking sideways slightly as he leans back into his chair.

"Nice try, babe. But I won't be doing that anytime soon."

His hands reach into his jean pockets, fingers ruffling through the spare change, keys and a jumbled mess of papers. He pulls out the latter, combing through each piece of paper with curiousity. They're mostly receipts, but one slip of paper in particular catches your attention in the light - mainly due to the pink lipstick kiss tattooed on the front.

"What's that?" you question immediately, throat suddenly dry. His eyebrows furrow in confusion before he opens up the crumbled piece of paper and rolls his eyes, balling it back up in his fists.

"Nuh uh, give me that." you demand, taking the slip and reading it for yourself. In messy handwriting, some girl named Jodie has wrote her number alongside the words: call me, handsome. Heart dropping to your stomach, the sight makes you slightly queasy - a sensation for which you immediately chastise yourself for.

You have no reason to be jealous. None at all to be possessive or protective.

You and Steve aren't official, at your insistence, after all.

"I'm not gonna call her, by the way." Steve cuts in, as if sensing the troubled storms brewing in your mind. You look up in surprise at that, eyes wide.

"Why not?"

He carefully takes the paper out of your hand and tosses the piece of paper into the nearest trash can, throwing it across the room with ease.

"Because. Someone else is already holding my heart." he confesses into the dark, hands perched on his knees, voice so tender and raw. It pierces your heart, his honesty, how he's out here opening his whole heart for you when all you do is repeatedly shut him out. You swallow nervously, pausing your movements by pulling your hands back from brushing Max's hair.

"But wouldn't it be better to give your heart to someone who... who could give you theirs wholly, without any defenses?"

He shrugs at that, unbothered.

"I've told you over and over again. I'm a patient man. I can wait."

Fatigue begins to take hold of you at around four in the morning, but then the fire starts to die out and you straighten up in fear. Steve's quick to rise to his wobbly feet and begin to add wood into the fire before you can even warn him to do so. Watching the flames rise higher and higher, Steve smirks, shooting you a knowing glance.

"I know you hate the dark. Don't worry. You can sleep with ease. I'll watch over you."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping too?" is your response, eyes already closing shut on their own accord. You register his faint chuckle in the background amidst your sleepy haze.

"You're always taking care of everyone else, (Y/n). Let me take care you for once, okay?"

You feel his gentle hands guiding your head towards a comfy cushion, one that he's picked up and placed against the armrest for you to lean against. You don't protest, far too exhausted.

"Okay."

-----------------------------------------------

But despite everything - your aversion to his kisses, reluctance to commit, hatred of sweet talk and affection - when you call Steve , no matter the time of the night, he always picks up. It's a constant you're grateful for, especially on night like this, when your father drives you into Steve's arms.

The boy's already opened his window for you as you scale the large willow tree next to his house, shaking hands grasping rough wood, legs awkwardly hanging from branches as you attempt to maintain balance. You land on his rooftop with much difficulty, bruises already beginning to form on your knees no less.

"You could've come through the front, you know." is what he says when you finally reach his bedroom, climbing through his window, feet reaching carpeted floor. He's dressed down for the night, in nothing but a graphic t-shirt and boxer shorts, but his eyes are lively and wide awake. You even notice that he's messily tidied up his bed in between the ten minutes that's passed between calling him in tears and coming over to his place.

"Then you would've gotten in trouble with your parents." you comment, unimpressed. He only grins at that, immature and carefree, before beckoning you over to his bed.

"And? I'd get into trouble with my shitty parents for you any day."

You sit next to him on the bed, tossing your shoes off by the window and shuffling closer to him.

"Thanks. For letting me come over and shit." you lamely add, feeling incredibly bad for having come over with little warning beforehand. He's given you a spare set of keys months ago, fingers squeezing yours as he said "you can come over absolutely any time. My home is yours." But even so, coming over like this feels intrusive, like you're also making him carry your heavy emotional baggage.

But all these doubts and fears dissipate when he pulls you closer towards him, warm arms wrapping around your neck, holding you right against his chest. His head is resting on top of yours, fingers rubbing circles onto your back as you sob. The dam of emotions has broken at this point and you're too tired to care about keeping up a front for Steve.

"It's alright, baby. Let it all out."

You're completely unaware of how much time passes in his arms - you can't see anything through your tears and the dark little corner created by his arms wrapped around your figure. Your senses are overwhelmed by his warmth and the faint smell of his cologne, mixed in with the smell of fresh linen and mint staining the sheets. But when you do pull away, still teary eyed and messy, his hands come up to cup your cheeks gently.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." you pause, feeling guilty. "Sorry."

He shakes his head sideways, sympathetic expression on his face.

"Don't apologize. Don't ever feel like you need to say sorry. You have every right to not want to talk about it."

Leaning back into him, you breathe in his scent before shakily exhaling. The exhale shakes you to the core, hairs all standing up at its ends.

"Can I stay over tonight?"

"Course you can, love."

He lets you rummage through his closet for something to wear. Your object for affection tonight, you've decided, is an oversized green tie dye shirt that reaches your knees. His eyes crinkle with a fond smile at the sight.

"Why that one?" he questions you as you sit back down. You shrug, toying with the fabric mindlessly with one hand.

"I like the color green. Reminds me of... simpler times. Like running through sprinklers on the street as a child."

Steve's smile widens at that memory, head cocking to the side.

"Ah yes. Back when you were a tiny monster, terrorizing the neighborhood with your nerf water guns."

Rolling your eyes, you lightly hit his chest with a spare pillow.

"Please. As if you were any better as a child. I distinctly remember you getting a time out from Ms.Welbeck because you were pulling pranks during nap time."

He gasps in mock horror.

"You traitor! I can't believe you would use six year old me's escapades against me in the present."

You giggle with genuine joy at the memory.

"Sorry not sorry."

Your smile fades when it hits you that that's in the past. You'll never feel that way again, that carefree and innocent and oblivious about the world. Steve's own smile falters too, mirroring your expression as you quickly slip under the covers and announce you're ready to sleep.

"Good night." you say into the night, body facing away from Steve. You're pushing him away - you've let him in too close already, coming here after the argument with your father and then reminiscing about childhood. You're expecting an argument or a passive agressive comment out of instinct, having being raised in that kind of household, but he just presses a soft kiss onto your forehead and turns the other way. Giving you the space you want (or think you want).

"Good night. I love you." he says, tenderly.

You don't say anything back to that.

-----------------------------------------------

"So what are you two?"

Eddie's the only one unaware enough - and also daringly dumb enough - to pull you aside whilst Robin and Steve busy themselves at the Family Video counter, to ask about what's been going on with you and Steve. The solo adventures. The sweet compliments from Steve. The unexplained gifts. Paired with your insistence that you two aren't official, that he's not your boyfriend and the fact that no one's actually ever since you two kiss.

"What'd you mean?" you play dumb, flicking through the new arrivals tapes in boredom. The metalhead forces your attention on him by forcibly taking out the tapes from your hands and throwing it back down into the crate, drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips.

"Come on. You and Steve. Are you two dating?"

"No." is your automatic response.

"No?" Eddie asks and it's clear he doesn't believe you.

"No, Eddie. Dating implies that we're official. Together. Steve is not my boyfriend. We haven't even kissed."

"Do you love him?" he presses you immediately after, and the question forces you to busy yourself with a row of tapes sitting across from you, face completely neutral.

"I care for him." is your response, to which Eddie rolls his eyes dramatically, flailing his arms around like a petulant child.

"You're not answering my question!"

"Then stop asking." you retort, sly smirk on your lips. He pouts at that and it makes you laugh, the expression so wholly immature and unfitting of the grunge metalhead.

Across the other end of the store, unbeknownst to you, Robin is speaking to Steve about none other than you. Steve's leaning over the tall metal cabinet, sorting through inventory, as Robin leans against the wall and quizzes Steve about how things have been going between you and him.

"Things are good." is Steve's light and polite response. Robin frowns at that, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You said the same thing a month ago." she points out, referring to the conversation they've had by the vending machine at the gas station a month ago. "Any changes?"

"I said I love you for the first time about a week or two ago, but other than that, not much." Steve casually responds, fingers outstretching to reach something on top. Robin nearly spits out the carbondated drink she's sipping on, the fizzy liquid burning her throat as she tries to catch her breath.

"You said WHAT?"

He doesn't seem even slightly frazzled by the revelation, shoulders rolling backwards when he looks back.

"What?" he questions, nonchalantly. Robin smacks him in across the shoulder lightly, shocked betrayal on her face.

"You said I love you and you didn't think to tell me about this? Dude, this is huge! W-what did (Y/n) say?"

Steve bites his lip and shrugs.

"Nothing. We just went to sleep."

Her annoyed expression twists into one of sympathy, a sorry smile on her face.

"Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry..."

"Nah, don't worry about it." he quickly waves off his best friend's concern, tender grin on his lips. "I wasn't expecting an 'i love you' back. At least not yet. I told you from the very beginning of this whole thing, Robin. I'm willing to wait."

She just sighs at that, pity lacing her words.

"You know I love you both dearly but... it's been half a year, Steve. You two are doing all the things couples do and I know the feelings are there, reciprocated and all, but... (Y/n)'s still denying that things are official. And no 'i love you back', doesn't that worry you, six months in? I-I know that there's a lot going on behind the scenes and I'm not trying to complicate things further, I just..." she pauses, searching for the right word. "Worry."

Steve stills at that, allowing his best friend's concerned words wash over him like a gentle wave. He looks up at her, reassuring smile and brave faced.

"You worry too much, Robin. Now could you pass me that stack of tapes behind you?"

Behind his tender words is a finality to his tone so she knows better than to argue or to press onwards, so she quickly obliges without another word.

--------------------------------------------

You hate the sun. You hate bright lights. But you most definitely hate demon bats and underwater portals to the hellish mirror universe.

It's beyond all logic then, that when Steve gets dragged underwater mid-conversation after revealing that the portal to the Upside Down appears to be in the murky waters below, that you jump after him without question. No change of clothes be damned. Not to mention it being so fucking dark underneath that all you're left to rely on is your mediocre swimming skills and the red ball of light shining below.

When your lungs are able to finally suck in air once more, your surroundings are burning red. False snow - splotches of grey - fall onto your shoulder as you walk down the broken pavement mirroring your town. But your mind is on overdrive seeking only one familiar figure: Steve.

In the mere nanoseconds it's passed for you to jump in after him and then wake up in the Upside Down, terrified and wide eyed with nothing but the urge to find and protect him, it hits you in full force.

You love him.

You love your best friend.

You love Steve fucking Harrington.

You love the man who's been giving you his jackets, tucking flowers behind your ear, letting you sleep in his bed, watching over you as you sleep, keeping you company in between work shifts....

And you might lose him.

It terrifies you. This kind of terror, this level of terror, is brand new. Nothing compared to the gut wrenching horrors you felt thinking about calling Steve your boyfriend or whatever other friviolous, petty bullshit you convinced yourself of prior to this.

The sound of flapping wings accompanied by pained grunts alerts you to his presence nearby and you're glad you managed to swim downstream with a metal bat in hand. It's a terrible sight, the demon bats tearing at his flesh and lower abdomen, and you swing with all your might to kill those creatures in one fell swoop. After a few minutes of struggling and shouting, you manage to drive away the hoarde of bats, others lying as carcasses around Steve's body.

"Steve, oh my god-"

Your weapon is long forgotten onto the floor, it dropping from your hand automatically as you lean down and cup his face in your hands, gently sitting him up. He hisses at that, the bloody wounds far too tender and fresh at the sudden movement. You don't hesitate to rip off your jacket and to tie it around his abdomen, anything to cover and stop the bleeding.

"D-do you think you can stand?"

He nods, though it's pained and forced. Placing one of his arms over your shoulder, you help him stand up inch by inch, a groan escaping his lips when the action is completed.

"Can you stand alone?" you question, voice wobbling. He blinks a few times before gently stepping aside, ducking under your arm, to see if he can manage it. He nods and you let out a short sigh of relief.

"Good."

A beat of silence passes before your expression twists into hot fury, your hands pushing him away in an instant. He blinks at you, surprised.

"I told you not to fucking be a hero, Harrington." you spit. "And you didn't fucking listen to me."

"I know you're angry and I totally under-" he starts, trying to calm you down, but it only angers you further.

"You don't understand SHIT, Steve! Jesus fucking christ, do you know the level of horror and panic I felt in the brief few minutes it took for you to be dragged down into this shithole and for me to then have to dive after you?" you ramble, voice rising in volume. "I get that you have a saviour complex and you want to be a good guy who saves the day but one day your luck is going to fucking run out. And it-"

Your voice finally breaks at that, tears springing to your eyes. You should be the one comforting him, after all the horrors he's been put through in a short amount of time, but Steve quickly wraps you up in his arms as you begin to crack at the seams.

"It could've been tonight. You could've died tonight." you admit into the air, shaky breaths breaking up your sentences. "I can't stand it, Steve. How I feel about you, it... it consumes me. I can't run away from it. Even if I keep you at arm's length, even if I don't let you call yourself my boyfriend, even if I refuse to call our dates as dates... I still feel so strongly about you. I-"

His breath hitches in his throat in anticipation, heart thrumming when you look up at him with teary eyes.

"I love you." you weakly whisper, hands falling to your sides. "And it fucking terrifies me. If I love you, that means if I were to lose you, it'd destroy me. I don't want to be destroyed." you ramble, shaky fingers grasping at the lapels of his jacket.

"But by rejecting love, you've been destroying yourself." Steve adds quietly, smoothing over your hair. "You deserve to be loved and to love, without any walls up or trauma swallowing you whole."

He pauses, eyes swimming with worry as he searches for the right words to console you.

"And yes, love is scary, but that's why it's a two-way street, a partnership. You love me and I'll love you. Forever."

He swallows again, lips licked in anticipation as his eyes narrow in on your lips.

"Can I, uh-"

You nod fervently, not even having to hear the rest of his sentence. When his lips finally meet yours, everything clicks into place. Everything seems to make sense, the chaotic world of destruction fading into the background as you're simply overwhelmed by one thing and one thing only. Steve's slightly cold and chapped lips meshing against yours, tasting of iron copper blood and salty tears, his fingers tenderly cupping the back of your neck.

"Am I your boyfriend now?" he teases when you two finally pull away, face mere inches from yours.

"Yes, Steve. I think you've waited long enough for it to be official. Way too long, really." you tease, poking him in the side. His smile only widens at that, so bright it's blinding.

"I'd have waited even longer for you. Anything for you."

a/n: sksksk so idk what it is about this fic but writing this was so therapeutic and poetic for me. idk if i'm the only one with fear of love issues bc it's like never talked about in mainstream media/fics but i love this song and i loved the concept of a patient, loving Steve with a partner with love/trauma issues.

this isn't the type of fluff bomb or sexy smut fic that'll garner thousands of notes but idk. i really wanted to write it. i hope you enjoyed it, dear reader, and maybe it was a bit therapeutic to you too. idk.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #steve harrington #1k

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searidings · 4 years

Note

Lena definitely just lets Jess walk into her office without knocking and that has definitely led to her walking in on Lena in Supergirl’s arms

Jessica Hoang’s job pays well.

Like, really well. Like, buy-your-mother-a-new-Valentino-purse-every-Christmas well. Surprise-your-boyfriend-with-a-trip-to-the-Bahamas well. Rub-your-success-in-your-high-school-nemeses’-face-at-the-reunion-but-like-in-a-classy-way well.

And it’s not that it’s exactly unreasonable. Being Lena Luthor’s assistant is no cake walk. Jess has been shot at. She’s been almost blown up on more than one occasion. She’s worked all the hours god sends and then some. Hell, she’s got the chief detective of NCPD’s major crimes unit on speed dial.

She has, at various times and with varying degrees of success, played the roles of bodyguard, nutritionist, nurse, therapist, and drinking buddy. She’s seen Lena in every shade and hue of human emotion; coaxed her through crisis after crisis with warm words and a kind smile and never once let her miss a meeting.

So, Jess doesn’t really mind accepting the generous salary. Has even made peace with the borderline obscene bonuses Lena likes to toss her way around Christmas, or her birthday, or any time Jess introduces her to a new kale recipe.

She’s not arrogant, but she’s not prone to under-selling herself either. She knows Lena values her, knows she’s integral to keeping L-Corp’s CEO afloat and thus, to the running of the whole operation. And more than that, she knows her own worth. Takes pride in the work she does.

So she’ll take the paycheck, and the late nights and the missed meals and all the other things that come part and parcel with employment in National City’s most conspicuous company.

And if those other things come to include a front row ticket to the tragicomedy of her boss’ relationship with a certain blonde reporter, so be it. She’s not about to quit, after all. Once she’d gotten a taste of sleeping on Egyptian cotton bed sheets, there was no going back.

It started with the unrestricted office access.

Actually, it started when Lena allergic-to-the-press Luthor first asked her to put in a call to the biggest news outlet in town to request a private meeting with one of their junior reporters, but Jess lets that one slide.

(She’s got her own hunk of a man to go home to every night, yet even she’s not immune to Miss Danvers’ button down and slacks combo, to her earnest blue eyes and eager charm. Lena can’t be blamed for falling under that spell, nor for the hypnotic allure of the muscles straining beneath those demure cardigans. She’s only human, after all.)

But adding Kara Danvers to the list of people to be waved straight into her boss’ office with no checks – or rather, creating said list, which to this day consists of precisely one name – was what really sealed the deal. It was portentous in every sense of the word, a harbinger of what was to come.

Since that fateful day, Jess has seen more of Lena and Kara’s relationship than she’s sure any of the three of them would ideally prefer.

At first, it was the interviews. They’d been fishy enough in themselves; sure, Lena Luthor is objectively interesting. But three separate articles in the span of two weeks? No one’s that interesting.

After the interviews, it was the lunch dates. The first time she’d interrupted one of those she’d almost fallen over her own feet in shock. The sight of Lena Luthor – the same Lena Luthor that Jess had, on more than one occasion, needed to actively bribe into ingesting anything other than espresso and scotch in a fourteen hour workday – licking burger grease off her fingers and happy as a clam, had thrown her off for the whole rest of the day.

(Lena had long since instructed Jess to just stick her head into her office without knocking if she needed her. “Things can go to hell far too quickly around here to waste time with buzzers and intercoms,” she’d said with a self-deprecating smile.

If only Jess had known then what she knows now, she might have put up more of a fight on that front.)

The lunch dates had gotten longer, and more frequent, and decidedly more intimate. A year after the reporter’s first appearance at L-Corp it had become commonplace for Jess to walk into her boss’ office to find the two of them slanted close together on the couch, Lena’s heels discarded, her stockinged feet tucked beneath the blonde’s thigh.

Then, Kara started showing up at 7pm to drag Lena away from her desk at a reasonable hour. Started dropping by on her way to Catco before work too, fumbling coffees and pastries in her blushing grip.

(She always brought a latte for Jess along with Lena’s regular order. Of all the developments, that was certainly one of the most welcome.)

She got to know Kara, as the years went on. Was pleased to discover that she truly was as delightful as she seemed. And it was nice to finally have an ally in her ongoing battle to regulate her boss’ shockingly unhealthy work habits. She and Kara could tag-team their efforts, trading off caffeine duty and playing bad cop to get Lena to leave the office before midnight. It meant that Jess had finally, occasionally, gotten a day off.

It didn’t escape her notice that Kara was always there on the bad days. She showed up like clockwork after every ruthless smear campaign against L-Corp, every stock market plummet, every assassination attempt. She would enter the office to find Lena crying and she would leave with the dark haired woman tucked securely against her side, if not smiling then at least calm. At least hopeful.

And Kara was there on the good days, too. The mergers and the product launches and the prototype successes; she celebrated every one of Lena’s triumphs as if they were her own. And Lena, Lena lit up when Kara was around. Bloomed like a rare flower beneath the megawatt glare of Kara’s sunshine devotion.

Her boss never said so in so many words, nor did Jess ever walk in on anything directly incriminating. But it was clear to anyone with eyes exactly what was happening between the two women, exactly where it would lead.

And then one day, Kara wasn’t there anymore.

The effect was as obvious as it was immediate.

Lena started coming in early and staying late, if she left the office at all. She barely ate. Her face was pale and drawn, and Jess would often enter her office to find her boss’ eyes red-rimmed.

It became glaringly, painfully obvious that without Kara dropping by at all hours of the day and night, no one was coming to visit Lena.

Her boss became closed-off and withdrawn, more so even than when Jess had first started at L-Corp. Gone were their weekly gossip sessions about the crotchety old men Lena couldn’t yet oust from the company’s board. Gone was her boss’ openness about her own life or her interest in Jess’, her frequent requests for photos of her cats or updates on the master’s in computer science she was studying for in the evenings evaporating into thin air.

Lena did not want to talk about it. Jess was informed of this emphatically and repeatedly whenever she would tentatively reach out, and slowly she stopped trying.

The closest they ever came to acknowledging the elephant in the room was the night of L-Corp’s annual fundraiser at the Luthor Children’s Hospital. Once the gala was over, Jess had run back to the office to drop off the donation paperwork in the company safe only to notice a faint light beneath Lena’s office door.

She’d entered to find Lena hunched on the floor of her private bathroom, heels kicked off and hair falling out of its intricate updo, mascara streaking her cheeks as she sobbed into her hands. Jess hadn’t hesitated for even a second before sinking down beside her.

Wrapping a secure arm around her boss’ shoulders and smoothing the flyaway hairs from her flushed face, she’d tried her best to convey the support and reassurance that Lena had so consistently shown to her. But the young woman had brushed off her platitudes even as the tears had continued to fall.

“It’s not okay,” she’d hiccupped against Jess’ shoulder, the scotch evident on her breath. “She’s gone. I won’t ever get her back.”

And that’s all she would say on the matter. Eventually, the tears had dried up and the exhaustion had set in and Jess had chaperoned her all the way back to her apartment and into bed.

Lena had shown up for work the next day in a pair of oversize aviators, clinging to her triple shot extra-large americano like a lifeline. She’d dropped a latte on Jess’ desk with a rueful smile, and that had been that. They never talked about it again.

That whole dark period only cemented the strong protective streak Jess had been cultivating over her boss ever since the very first attempt on her life.

It’s just that Lena is strong, and smart as hell and unfailingly kind and utterly undeserving of the punishment the world keeps foisting on her for her family’s sins. And worse, she’s not prepared to fight back. She just accepts it, internalises the hatred and the burden and the blame and Jess cannot, will not watch it happen. So sue her if she’s a little hyper-vigilant, a little possessive.

And so when Kara Danvers had shown up again one unassuming Tuesday, Jess intercepted her trajectory at Lena’s office door with narrowed eyes and a suspicious glare.

It must have been effective – she’d learned from stone cold boardroom killer Lena Luthor, after all – because the reporter shrank back a little beneath the force of her stare. Kara cleared her throat nervously and Jess had been a split second from launching into a what are your intentions with my girl speech ripped straight from a bad 1980s teen movie when the door opened behind her and Lena appeared.

“It’s fine, Jess,” her boss murmured and she had, reluctantly, stepped aside to let the blonde pass. Not before fixing Kara Danvers with one last pointed glare, though. If Lena wasn’t going to protect herself then Jess would just have to do it for her.

But there was no shouting, no screaming, no audible arguments. And when the blonde left a half hour later and Jess stuck her head through the office door to very unsubtly check on Lena’s wellbeing, there was no trace of red-rimmed eyes or tear stains. Lena simply offered up a small smile, a soft smile and once again, that appeared to be that.

Slowly, Kara Danvers became a regular fixture in L-Corp again, alongside the fancy espresso machines in every break room and the ever-present whiff of soldered metal.

Jess remained wary, a fact which did not seem to go unnoticed by the reporter. In fact, Kara redoubled her efforts to win her over, including new pastries and other sweet treats with the lattes she still regularly delivered.

“I can’t be bought, you know,” Jess had said once, taking the offered apricot Danish anyway. Her loyalty wasn’t up for auction, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t capitalise on the spoils of a bidding war.

Kara had only smiled sadly. “I know. I’m glad.” At Jess’ inquisitive stare she’d just shaken her head, reaching up to adjust her glasses. “I’m glad she has you.”

Jess had hmphed rather ungracefully, licking a stray flake of pastry from the end of her finger. She may have broken her boss’ heart, but no one could deny that Kara Danvers had great taste in desserts.

“I’m not looking for her forgiveness. Or yours,” Kara had continued, so surprising that Jess had inhaled a healthy gulp of latte directly into her lung. The reporter had waited until she’d finished spluttering before she continued. “I don’t deserve it. But for what it’s worth, she has me, too. Again, I mean. For as long as she wants me.”

Jess had narrowed her eyes, searching for any trace of insincerity in that earnest, handsome face. Finding none, her feelings toward the reporter had at last settled somewhere in the ballpark of grudging respect.

And there they’ve remained. She still watches the blonde carefully, still keeps a wary eye out for any sign that things may crumble into dust again. But Kara is true to her word. She shows up, she keeps showing up, and she sticks around.

And slowly, achingly slowly, the light comes back to Lena’s eyes.

It’s just another regular unassuming Tuesday when everything shifts again.

Kara Danvers hasn’t yet shown up for lunch and her boss’ conference call was scheduled to have ended a half hour ago, and this stack of expense reports desperately needs Lena’s signature so Jess doesn’t bother knocking as she shoulders open the office door.

A lesser assistant might have shrieked. They’d definitely have dropped the gargantuan stack of reports all over the floor. But Jessica Hoang was trained by Lena Luthor herself. She’s got dignity and composure for days.

Even so, it takes every ounce of poise she can muster not to let out so much as a squeak at the sight of her boss hovering a solid five feet above the floor of her office, enveloped tightly in the arms of a fully kitted and caped Supergirl.

It’s an unavoidably intimate embrace. Lena’s stockinged feet perch lightly on the toes of the hero’s red boots, her arms wrapped snug around the Kryptonian’s neck. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re just gazing into one another’s eyes, Supergirl’s arms slung low around Lena’s waist as she drifts them in lazy mid-air circles.

For one horrible, stomach-churning moment Jess is faced with the mind-boggling possibility that her boss is, for all intents and purposes, cheating on her reporter gal pal with the city’s superpowered sweetheart.

But equanimity isn’t the only talent she’s picked up from Lena. Her problem solving skills aren’t bad either, or so her boyfriend is fond of grumbling when she steals the Sunday crossword out from under his nose.

Jess uses the split second before they react to her presence to appraise the scene with a critical eye.

At this proximity, there’s something decidedly familiar about those blue eyes and flowing golden locks. But the real clincher doesn’t end up coming from Supergirl at all. It’s the softness in her boss’ expression, the gentle slant of her features and the unguarded love in her eyes in the brief moment before she registers the interruption that really seals the deal.

Jess has, after all, seen Lena in every shade and hue of human emotion. The list of people her boss would look at like that, much like the list of people with unrestricted access to her office, consists of precisely one name.

Two heads snap towards her in perfect tandem, two jaws hitting the floor in quick succession. Lena gasps and shoves herself away from Supergirl like the woman has suddenly become radioactive, apparently forgetting that she’s not currently abiding by the laws of terrestrial gravity and almost plummeting five feet to the ground.

She’s saved by the hero’s lightning fast reflexes, strong arms snapping out to catch her around the waist and pulling their bodies snugly back together into an embrace somehow even more intimate than the original.

Jess smirks. Lena’s cheeks are redder than she’s ever seen them as Supergirl floats them both gently back to the ground. “This isn’t— we were just— she’s not—” Lena tries half-heartedly as the superhero shuffles her feet at her side, blushing like a chastised schoolgirl.

Jess bites the inside of her cheek, calling upon every last shred of her professionalism to keep from laughing. “Your two o’clock is here,” she says gently, gracing her boss with a genuine smile. Jess may be proud of her own bullish protectiveness in front of others, but she’s a simple girl at heart. If Lena’s happy, she’s happy.

Both women are still staring at her slack-jawed. It appears no response is forthcoming any time soon.

Jess decides to put them out of their misery. “Just buzz when you want me to send him in, Miss Luthor. Miss Danvers,” she nods in acknowledgment as she ducks quickly back out of the room. Not quick enough, though, to miss the choked sounds of shock from behind her, nor the heated stage-whisper of how does she know, Lena? that follows her out of the door.

Jess shakes her head. And she doesn’t even have superhearing.

Lena Luthor has many strengths but subtlety, apparently, is not one of them.

That’s the conclusion Jess has no choice but to land on as she stares down at her phone. The extra 10k that has materialised in her bank account without warning or explanation could hardly be more obvious if it had come with the payee reference hush money right there in black and white.

Well. If Jess hadn’t been sure before, she certainly is now.

She shakes her head fondly. As if she would ever sell out her boss on anything, much less on what is very clearly a matter of the heart.

After all these years working together, she knows Lena trusts her. But she can also picture clear as day the scene that must have transpired in the office behind her just moments ago. Lena and Kara, panicking about being discovered. Lena falling back into her Luthor conditioning, deciding to clean up the mess by throwing money at it. The instant regret as she realises she’s just confirmed that there is in fact something to be covered up.

For a certified genius, her boss sure can be dense.

Jess chuckles. Taps out of her banking app and pulls up her messages. Your super secret’s safe with me she types, grinning. I’ve never told a soul that you were drunk as a skunk at the annual board meeting three years ago, and that was without a single dollar in bribes. Why would this be any different?

Hitting send, she swears she actually hears the sigh of relief her boss lets out despite the three inches of solid oak door separating them. She shakes her head again, biting her lip.

I’m happy for you, Lena she sends, warm affection swelling in her chest. Smiles when her screen lights up a moment later with a single red heart.

She locks her phone and squares her shoulders. Skims a critical eye over the weekly schedule she already knows by heart. Ushers in Lena’s two o’clock at her boss’ signal and settles back at her desk. Pulls up a new browser tab and searches up the cost of last-minute flights to the Maldives.

Just because Lena’s hush money was unnecessary, that doesn’t mean it can’t be put to good use.

#not me writing an entire one shot from the pov of a character who's had 12 seconds screen time max #alternate title: jess the secretary finds out kara danvers is supergirl #and honestly she's over it #supercorp #minific #lena luthor #kara danvers #jess the secretary #also on ao3 if that's your jam!#dings dot txt

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