#ALSO she said one of my coworkers was out too with the same thing

[shima-draws]

Man why couldn’t I have gotten sick THIS weekend instead. I could at least use all that time to play the Indigo Disk 😔

[polaroidcats]

one of my colleagues turns 29 this month and she keeps going on about how this is the LAST YEAR OF OUR TWENTIES and we have to make it count and i just.. don't want to hear that anymore. first of all, i don't think my life will stop or even change at all when i turn 30 next year. but also, I feel like the better half of my twenties has been stolen by depression and the pandemic and being a caregiver and like, I haven't felt young and carefree in so long I just can't relate to my coworker even though we're the same age and it makes me sad because I wish I could?

[arolesbianism]

Having a rain world oc moment. Dysfunctional family of the year award, they were so toxic that one of them found a way to kill themselves in a world where that was supposed to be physically impossible

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

 He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

Patrons get to see many of my stories a week ahead! If that interests you please check me out here (X)!

[autumnrory]

saw my high school german teacher at the wedding shower this morning (should’ve occurred to me that he would be there since i knew he would be at the wedding) and it’s much more embarrassing to have to answer a former teacher when they ask what’s going on with you and you’ve got nothing going for you so i wish i had been prepared to have to deal with that today and not two months from now but anyway we’re in a mutual follow on instagram so he’s like “all i know about is your daily outfit pictures” and i was just like “that’s all there is!”

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[ddejavvu]

Doctor's Note - Sodapop Curtis x Reader

summary: you stand soda up, accidentally

contents/warnings: soda is somewhere around 18-19, mentions of his failed relationship w sandy, distrust/miscommunication, angst -> fluff. based on my very painful experience this morning with crippling back pain

send me requests for the outsiders!

Selfishly, sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to date Sodapop before he'd met Sandy. When he was more carefree, when he wasn't glancing at any man you talked to just a second too long. He's not possessive- and even if he is, he doesn't enforce it. But you know he's wary, and you know it's her fault.

Darrel had warned Soda to stay away from girls for a while, to give himself a break. And he had. Two long years later his hiatus was broken when you'd come into the DX fiending for a coke, and when you'd asked, 'Do you know where I could find a soda 'round here?' his eyes had glimmered with opportunity, and he'd pointed proudly to his nametag.

"Right here, ma'am. No caffeine in me but I could keep 'ya up all night if you want me to."

It had been so wildly crass, so insanely audacious that you'd burst out laughing, both from the absurdity of his name and the brashness of his comment. He'd apologized for it, too, twenty minutes into your conversation that lasted an hour.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. I mean- I don't usually come on strong like that. Couldn't stop myself- prolly got it from my friend Two-Bit, he's always crackin' jokes like that. Hope you didn't think it was greasy."

"I think it was very greasy," You'd laughed, tilting your chin towards the tin of hair grease abandoned at the other end of the counter, "I thought that was the whole point."

"That's my buddy Steve's", Soda had told you, light dancing in his eyes as he readjusted his elbows on the counter to lean further towards you, "He does these real fancy swirls in his hair, and I've been able to do 'em a few times, but mainly I just slick mine back, and half the time I don't even grease it anyways because I'm just bummin' round the house so there's no need. My other friend-"

He was a natural-born talker, and you'd been just as caught up with talking yourself as you were with listening to him. It had taken the reappearance of his aforementioned coworker, Steve, for you to glance at the clock, and realize that you were 40 minutes past the time you should have been back at work from your lunch break.

You're surprised you hadn't scared Sodapop off with your swearing alone, but you'd managed to scribble your number onto his hand before you'd left. You hadn't even remembered to buy a drink, but he'd brought you one when he showed up for your first date.

Now, three weeks later, you're getting ready to show up to his house. This is a big thing: you're meeting his brothers. He's told you so much about them you feel like you know them, and he's also given you your fair share of warnings, too. Darry's too stern sometimes, and it might take a while for him to warm up to you. Ponyboy's an awkward teen, and on top of it, he'd trusted Sandy- they all had. You know you've gotta prove yourself better than her, and you're starting with some sweet perfume and a bundle of flowers for their dining table.

--

"Get your bum ass off the couch and vacuum," Soda's hands shove roughly at Ponyboy's thighs, "She's gonna be here in thirty minutes!"

"Jeez, Soda, she's not my girlfriend," Ponyboy grumbles, but he stands and heads for the closet where the vacuum lies all the same, "Don't understand why I have to be the one cleanin'."

"'Cause Darry's the one cookin'." Soda glares at him, "And I'm cleaning too. I've been cleaning for days."

"Bathroom looks good, little man." Darry voices his approval from the kitchen, "Thought I was gonna die of shock when I realized you'd scrubbed down the toilet."

Not much conversation is heard over Ponyboy's aggressive vacuuming, but Soda calls the cleaning at five minutes to your arrival time.

"Okay. Rules again?" He looks expectantly at his brothers, and Darry looks irritated that he's being grilled this time.

"No judging." Ponyboy grumbles, but he doesn't think it's fair, because Sandy had seemed so nice and sweet, and she'd run right out on Sodapop. So he feels like he has to judge, because maybe Soda's gonna get hurt again. He doesn't want that.

"No grilling." Darry continues, equally put-out by Soda's request. He wants what's best for his brother. Sodapop's two-year long relationship drought was refreshing, and he's seen the boy blossom into a wonderful man. Still, he can't help feeling some lingering resentment towards Sandy, and he knows it's not fair to attach it to you, but he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"And no arguing at the table." He glances between Darry and Pony both warily, "I mean it, this isn't the night to discuss grades or curfew or chores. Just- be nice to her. Treat her like a real guest."

"Alright, little buddy." Darry secedes, squeezing Soda's flannel-clad shoulder slightly, "Now, you gonna go wait by the door for her?"

"No! I'm not that desperate." Soda scoffs, but Darry notices the way he flops down into his eldest brother's armchair, the only seat in the house with a view of the front walkway. Ponyboy settles himself awkwardly on the couch, watching cartoons even though there's an anxious tension in his skinny shoulders.

You're set to arrive in two minutes, and Soda's practically vibrating out of his seat. There's no sign of the cute little sundress you said you'd wear today, but that's okay, because he thinks it's so considerate of you to show up punctually versus early. if you'd come fifteen minutes earlier you would have seen him near-tears over the spot of chocolate that wouldn't rub out of the wall behind the television. Ponyboy had pointed out that there's no way you would have seen it unless you'd been wedged between their tv and the wall, but Soda was not going to invite you into a messy home.

One minute goes by, and Soda's cuticles hurt from where his nails tear at them. He tries to stop himself- after all, you wouldn't want to hold his hand if his was bleeding. But his next nervous habit becomes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which isn't nearly as satisfying for his fingers.

He waits for what he's sure is more than a minute, which means you're due to flounce up the stairs in seconds. But he doesn't see you, and he knows Pony's watching him crane his neck every three seconds to look for you. So he tones it down- after all, he's got a 10-minute grace period at the DX for his shifts. If he can clock in at 8:10 and still be 'on time', you can show up a few minutes late.

"Any sign of her?" Darry pokes his head out of the kitchen, seeing the front door still shut. Soda shakes his head- then he catches a glimpse of your hair color outside the window. Upon further inspection, it's a stray cat. Ponyboy snorts at him, and Soda sinks back into the recliner.

Okay, so you've used up your grace period. But Soda gets it- you probably sang one too many love songs about him in the shower, and now you're tripping over your own feet trying to run to his house. Or the bus was late, or you missed it entirely, and you'll show up before the food goes cold.

Fifteen minutes go by, and Darry hovers over the finished meal, wondering whether he should plate it or not.

Twenty minutes go by, and Darry considers removing one plate from the table.

Thirty minutes go by, and Darry turns off the stove.

An hour goes by, and Pony retreats to his room for some homework time. Darry's meticulously cleaning the kitchen, but Sodapop thinks it's more because he doesn't know what to say than because he thinks you'll judge them for a grease stain on the wall.

When Darry's scrubbed the kitchen raw nearly an hour later, he pads softly over to Soda where he still rests in his armchair.

"Soda, I- listen, I don't think she's comin' tonight."

"I told her today." Soda's got his fingernail pinched between his teeth, his leg having long-since stopped its nervous bouncing, "I- I know I told her tonight, and she said she'd be here, but I-"

Darry's hand squeezes his shoulder again, this time tighter, and something awfully familiar resurges in Soda's chest where it's laid dormant for two years.

"C'mon, little buddy." Darry urges him up out of the chair, "Let's turn in early tonight."

--

Soda's not doing his best work despite having gotten eleven hours of sleep the night prior. He's sluggish and mopey, and Steve sticks him on the register so that no one risks a foolish mistake to their car. Soda stares at a knot in the wood grain, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and doesn't look up even when the entrance bell dings.

"Soda-" He hears a voice, one that he'd been waiting since last evening to hear, one that exacerbates that sickly feeling in his chest. He hasn't been able to shake it, and your face had blended with Sandy's in his nightmares last night.

"Soda, I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you show?" He barely has the courage to look up at you, but he does, because last time he'd groveled. He'd begged, pleaded, bargained with her to stay with him, and he wasn't going to do that this time. He was going to be the man Darry wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry." You repeat, clutching a paper in your hands, brows permanently furrowed, "It was an emergency. I was getting ready, and- and all of a sudden my back started hurtin'. Real bad, Soda, I- I had to lie down on the ground."

Soda watches, interest piqued, as you stagger towards the counter, clearly limping. Sickness is replaced with worry in his chest, and he watches as you brace yourself against the register.

"My folks didn't get home for hours. I was just laying there, I- I couldn't reach the phone, I couldn't move my legs, I was just stranded there." Your voice thickens at the memory, and you sniffle absentmindedly, "Soda, I would have called you, I just- I couldn't move. I swear. I tried, Soda, I swear I tried to get to the phone, but it was so painful. And then when my parents got home they had to carry me to the car 'n all, and the emergency room took forever, and- and we didn't get home until three in the morning, and I knew you'd be sleepin' so I didn't call, and I felt so bad because I knew you'd be waiting on me, and- and I'm so sorry, Sodapop."

All at once yours and Sandy's faces come undone in his mind, and hers is cast aside as he studies yours. There's tears, big shiny ones lining your eyes, and your chin trembles slightly. You're still clutching the paper, and when you realize he's glancing at it, you gasp.

"Oh! I- um, I got you a doctor's note. I didn't want you to think I was lyin'."

You push the page towards him on the counter, and he takes it with trembling hands.

'Patient Y/N Y/L/N admitted to emergency services at 8:49 PM Wednesday, 30th July. Diagnosed with severe lumbar muscle strain. This patient is placed off of work from 7/30/1968 through 8/05/1968.

Patient would like to add that she did not intend to stand up her date with one Sodapop Patrick Curtis on Wednesday, 30th July. Patient would like to reschedule for another night. Doctor prescribes a calm, laid-back dinner date until patient recovers.'

"Had one hell of a time trying to get him to put that in there." Your sheepish voice pipes up from where Soda's reading the last words on the page, "But I told him you were a nice boy and he said there's not many of those around here. I'm sorry, again. I'm so sorry."

Lumbar muscle strain rings a bell in Soda's head. It's something Darry's definitely mentioned before, the few times they've bullied him into seeking medical attention for all of his blue collar aches and pains. He's sure if you're hurting the way Darry does sometimes, that you weren't lying about not being able to move.

You're staring at him like you're worried he'll send you away, and the piece of paper in his hands is the only thing stopping him from doing just that. But he glances down at it again, and takes a deep breath.

"It's okay. I believe you. My brother Darry, he- he pulls muscles sometimes. Don't usually see him cry, but I do when that happens. Are you okay?'

You visibly relax at his words, but something in your back must have protested the movement, because your face pinches up again.

"Um- yeah. Mostly. It hurts when I move too much." You admit, "But I had to make it down here to see you. I'm so sorry. Were you- were you angry at me?"

He doesn't think so- he was offended, he was disappointed, but most of all, he's pretty sure he was beating up on himself more than he was beating up on you. It felt like it did the first time, and he was the common denominator in both.

"No." He answers honestly, "But- uh, I think Darry probably is."

You wince, and he doesn't blame you. But he holds the note a little tighter, "But I'll tell him what happened. Like I said, he knows what that feels like. Don't worry about it, honey. You- uh, did you want to still meet them?"

"Of course! Of course," You nod eagerly, bracing your weight against the counter, "Do you still... want me to meet them?"

"Of course." He echoes, finally breaking his stoicism with a grin, a shy one as he reaches for your hand over the counter, still clutching the note in his other hand, "Can't argue with the doctor's orders."

[ratcash-wasgud]

Tragicomedy

okay gang, hear me out. ik most ppl who follow me are here for bes but PLLLLSSSSS

this came to me in a dream and i feel like i would fail as prophet if i didn't deliver it

anyways, enjoy.

art major!ellie x reader vs rugby player!abby x reader.

a.n.:Okay, before we start, the reader will get a little specific (like in my other works, lmao). plus tw for homophobia.

Part 2 is done!!!

"Ellie Williams"

Ellie started at her own signature under a painting in the hall of the school. Her college had a small exhibition of the art major student's works, and she submitted a painting of a flower she saw in the nearby park, and the butterfly which is supposed to symbolize...well, you. When other people ask, it symbolizes love and freedom though, but it's wings are strangely the same colour as your eyes, and it's spots are the same as your hair.

She only chose this painting because she somehow hoped you'd come, compliment her painting, then she'll ask you out on a date to her favourite cafe, then boom! Marriage. Or that's Dina's plan, actually. Ellie knew it was stupid. You'd never like her. Why? Easy. Abby Anderson has her eyes on you as well, and who wouldn't chose the female rugby team's captain? Exactly.

Even if Abby is straight, Ellie sees the was she looks at you. You are the that cute girl who hangs around campus alone, reading a book, wearing headphones, or just casually taking pictures of flowers and bugs. Nobody could resist your cuteness, and Ellie feels like the whole thing is a personal attack towards her. She tried talking to you a couple times, and turns out you're also very friendly. She has a couple common interests with you, like comic books. Life was good for a couple days when she could just randomly bump into you (tottaly not on purpose), holding a comic you purposely talked about, then she could blow away almost two hours for you and her nerding out about said comic. But then?

Abby came in the picture. She suddenly started to appear next to you on multiple occasions, throwing her meaty arms around you, doing that stupid, cocky smirk of hers. And what do you do? You giggle at her stupid jokes.

What Ellie didn't know, on the other hand, is that Abby was nothing like how people precieved her as. Yeah, sure, she was a rugby player who was kind of a jock, but she wasn't cocky. If anything, she was more like a big puppy, who happened loved hamburgers and tackling people. It's not her fault it's fun. She also happened to like pretty girls.

Not the girls the rugby team would usually get associated with, the ones with short skirts, perfect hair or long, clack-y nails. She did like those things though, but she learned that she has a type.

A type for cute girls with a nose and eyes that wrinkle up when they smile, who paint cute shit on their nails, and the ones who still own, and name their stuffed animals. And surprise surprise, you fit that type perfectly.

Abby knew that too. That's why she got attached to your hip out of the blue. She found out about you through Mel, who was her roomate and your coworker at your partime job at this rundown diner.

But Abby knew she had to stay in her lane. She comes from a small town, full of old fashioned people, so she knows how little the chance is of you actually being into women. She never did anything risky or too touchy. Plus, she was kind of knew into this whole gay thing. She realized stuff kind of late. She has a disadvantage against all the cool gay women she say around campus, proudly wearing their pride pins, or holding hands in the halls.

She thinks if she did anything like that, she'd just get called a dyke by her teammates and her family. She never even did anything with a woman before. She knows how to do it, obviously she has internet, but still...just the thought of actually owning a strap kind of makes her nervous.

But Ellie knows what's up. She had a girlfriends before. She even owns toys just for the purpose of pleasing women. She's even out, so most people know about her lesbian intentions when she talks to a girl she finds attractive. But not withouth a price though. She did get called slurs before, and by Abby's circle too, so she has solid reasons to hate the whole friendgrounp. Even if Abby herself never said anything, she still stood there, arms crossed and eyebrows scrunched up. And now, she tries to cling to the one girl Ellie had a genuine crush on since highschool? That's not fair. It's targeted, even.

It has to a be a hatecrime or something.

"It's the library, not a gym, Anderson. You must be confused, get lost." Ellie says with a scowl as she puts her finger between the pages of a comic book she has been explaining to you.

It's the first time she had found you alone in weeks, and she just has to spawn herself into the situation. Of course.

"Oh, get fucked, Williams." Abby shoots her a glare before putting her hand on the table you two are sitting at, and looming behind you. "Sorry, I was rudely interrupted before I could...you know, say hi." She says to you with a corny smile.

Ellie can't help but roll her eyes.

"Hi to you too." You smile lightly, putting your own comic book into your lap. You're especially pretty today, Abby thinks. She wonders if it's because of someone.

"So...you know, I was wondering if you'd wanna...uhh..." Abby takes a deep breath as she rubs her arm, but doing as casually as she can. "Come with me to that cute lil' diner down the street. I actually have a cupon for free milkshakes."

Ellie purses her lips and glares.

"She works at a diner, dumbass, I don't think she wants to spend her free time in one too," She says, now the page of the comic is forgotten as she crosses her arms. "I'm sure she'd like a place like...the amusement park more. It just happens that I have tickets for the weekend." Boom. Ellie smirks internally.

"The amusement park?" You perk up, cute bambi eyes widening. You seemed to like that idea. "Yeah! We should go together." You smile and Ellie feels like a whole storm just blew a bunch of flowers into her face. It's lovely, really. Until, "Right, Abby?"

Huh? You meant...all three of you?

Abby looks just as shocked as Ellie, and does her best to act nonchalant. "Yeah, sure. But I won't carry you after you die on a rollercoaster." She snickers, shooting Ellie a siteating grin.

Both women knew they couldn't decline this stupid three-way date, since they couldn't actually invite you anywhere on their own. So, amusement park it was.

The weekend came, and to you, it was such a nice day. You didn't have friends ever since you started college, but now, you actually felt appritiated. Like you belong.

It started with you meeting Ellie at the diner, then Abby coming to pick both of you up with her truck. The day was spent with you convinving both of them for silly rides you wanted to try. The problem was, that there were usually 2 people fitting seats. You didn't want either of them to feel left out, so you made them sit together, and you sat before them. The whole day felt like a damn comedy.

"Look, churros!" You cheer as you spot a booth with one of your favourite snacks after not really eating anything that day. Ellie, almost throwing up after that last ride, grimaces at the sight, while Abby steps forward, already reaching for her wallet.

"Want me to buy you some?" She asks, standing beside you as she points at one of the flavors. Meanwhile, Ellie suddenly perks up, not wanting to get left behind. "I could get you a slushie to go along with it. Churros here are usually pretty dry." Abby rewards this attemt with a side-eye.

Then a pair of men, holding hands, also approach the booth, smiling to eachother and discussing what they should get. Abby glances their way, seeing their way of holding eachother's hands, and she reaches out slowly, her hand brushing against your's, just when a middle aged man walks by the booth, and sadly opens his mouth. "Fags nowadays. They're everywhere, damn it. There's kids here."

Abby suddenly freezes. Her hand imidiately back in her pocket, and she just stares at her wallet. She feels her feet grow roots into the ground, and suddenly she hears the same phrase in her father's voice. This is a random Saturday, the sun is shining, there are people in love, but it's still...

"Your breath is everywhere too dude. What a stench" Ellie's voice brings her back to reality, and her snaps at the auburn haired woman, fearlessly, glaring at the man.

She didn't know Williams could be...brave? Mmm, not the right word. Proud? Maybe.

Meanwhile, Ellie is fuming. This random ass dude tries to ruin her only chance she has with her crush by ruining the whole mood. She's not having that. She sees the two guys glance at her, and send a smile her way as she flips the middle aged bigot off one last time before he disappears.

She quickly jerks her face back to you, and what she sees it...Abby with tears shimmering in her eyes, and you standing befor her, cupping her face and stroking her arm. It's a horrible sight. Your soft hands don't belong on that burly surfice. Ellie feels like she's left behind.

Meanwhile Abby is panicking. It's over, you saw her cry, she must be the lamest person ever right now. She has embarrased herself before the first girl she has ever liked just because she's a coward, because even the hint of being judged that way scares her to death.

In the end, both women's worst fears somehow came true.

Ellie losing to Abby, while Abby losing to her fears. What a tragedy.

But you? To you, this day was the realest thing you have felt since college started. You have learned that the nerdy art student is fierce, and that the captain of the rugby team can cry. You are attached now, and there's no escape.

Meanwhile Ellie and Abby feel like sinking into the ground with broken hopes, they don't know that you will ask to hang out again pretty soon.

[sykoangels]

Taste

Pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

warning: petty banter and toxic angry sex

author note: Hey everyone! I wanted to share that I'm starting a new fanfiction series inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's "Short N Sweet." This series will feature different fandoms, so there's something for everyone to enjoy! I got the idea from @thinkinonsense , so be sure to show her some love too! If you're not into Sabrina Carpenter, @thinkinonsense also created a fanfic based on Ariana Grande's "Positions" album, so feel free to check that out as well!

Next part: Please Please Please

Working at the FBI can be quite challenging, especially when you have a history with one of the top profilers in the field. Dr. Spencer Reid is like a walking supercomputer, brilliant yet endearingly dorky, which happens to be your type. There's something undeniably attractive about Spencer – perhaps it's his unassuming appearance as if he's never been in the presence of a woman, or maybe it's his intellect, which could put a dictionary to shame.

Either way, that’s what attracted you to him at first, and over time you guys developed more of a romantic relationship. But through this romantic relationship came problems and slight differences. Spencer always pushed you away no matter what it was so confusing every time something was going well. You guys would go three steps back. Unfortunately, you guys weren’t deemed to be together so breaking up an inevitable. What surprised you was that Spencer moved on fairly quickly with someone who is a carbon copy of you or at least tries to be. His new girlfriend Maxine was you in a different font. Your mannerisms were the same. The way she walked was the same compared to you the way she laughed. It was freaky. It was almost like she wanted to live in your skin like she was some creepy stalker living your life like somebody's body double.

As you started to pay closer attention, you couldn't help but notice certain things. For instance, when Maxine started accompanying Spencer to FBI events as his plus one, you began to feel uneasy. At a recent retirement party for a coworker, You spotted Maxine wearing a red mini dress with her hair slicked back, and she was even wearing a pair of heels that you had left at Spencer's house and never got back. The heels were scuffed at the bottom, indicating that they weren't new. What's more, You noticed that Spencer started repeating jokes and phrases that you had previously shared with him. These incidents made you increasingly aware of what was happening.

Anytime you mentioned this to anybody else they just called you crazy especially your coworkers like Garcia and JJ. They didn’t realize it until today since we solve the case in California Rossi was taking everybody out for drinks at the local bar down the street from the office. It was a casual thing he always did, but spencer decided to invite his girlfriend as a plus one . Nobody really cared and happily let him bring his girlfriend. It wasn’t a big deal. But you knew this was the perfect opportunity to prove a point.

The dim, flickering light of the bar's coatroom cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ambiance that was equal parts intoxicating and intense. The air was thick with the rich scent of aged whiskey and supple leather, mingling with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. You were seated at the table next to JJ, delicately sipping on your perfectly crafted peach mojito, while discreetly observing the movements of Maxine and Spencer throughout the room. Your keen eyes didn't miss a single detail, and your focus was unwavering, like a detective on a critical case. JJ, sensing your intense scrutiny, playfully rolled her eyes before speaking. "You know, taking a picture would last longer, Y/N," she admitted while sipping her own drink. "Knowing Maxine, she would probably try to extract my DNA from the photo, clone me, and create a skin suit out of it."

"I can see where you're coming from," JJ said, her touch gentle as she gripped your shoulder. "He did move on pretty quickly, but you have to let it go. I doubt that she's trying to be you." As JJ's words sank in, a heavy sigh escaped from the depths of your mind. Perhaps JJ was right. Maybe you had been letting your imagination run wild. But as the night wore on, the unsettling feeling of Maxine trying to imitate you resurfaced. You could sense her eyes fixed on you, and every time you glanced in her direction, she would meet your gaze with either a forced smile or a look filled with spite. Finally, the team gathered for a toast after a challenging case. Rossi expressed his love for the team, emphasizing that each member was a valuable part of the cohesive unit. As Rossi finished up the toast, Maxine stood up and proposed her toast, looking directly at you as she spoke. "I just want to thank you guys for letting me join you today. I can see why every one of you is a valuable part of the team. Well, at least some of you. I also want to thank my fabulous boyfriend Spencer for being my rock, especially when things are hard, and for loving me unconditionally even though there are a lot of bitter people in this world. Spencer will always love me unconditionally no matter what comes his way."

Maxine's words cut like a knife, a calculated and direct attack that made you glance over at JJ to see if she had also caught it. The look on JJ's face confirmed that she had. It was clear that Maxine's barb was aimed at you. JJ's expression silently pleaded with you not to react, but you couldn't help it. There was no way you were going to let someone who bore a resemblance to you but was less attractive talk about you like that, especially to your face. "Yeah, and knowing Reid and his eidetic memory, I know exactly who you're thinking about when he's with you, and it's definitely not you, Maxine. No matter how hard you try to wrap your head around it, you will never be the girl he thinks about. There will always be one degree of separation between all three of us, and you know why," you said bitterly before taking the last sip of your drink and getting up to retrieve your coat from the coat room.

Spencer sat there fuming but trying his hardest not to show it because he you were right unfortunately. The rest of the team awkwardly looked at each other then back at Maxine as she walked off to the bathroom to collect herself. Meanwhile, spencer was going to go look for you. He was annoyed with your behavior tonight and he needed to set some things straight with you well at least for right now.. You leaned against the cold metal of a locker ordering a uber when you heard footsteps coming from a converse sneaker scraping against the floor, making that weird squeak sound.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar area. "Why do you keep pushing Maxine? What do you want from me?" You met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a bitter smile. "What do I want? I want you to admit that she's just a poor imitation of what we had, Spencer. I want you to stop pretending that you're happy with her." Spencer let out an exasperated grunt you could see the vein in his forehead pulse he was fuming. "Stop playing games, Y/N. You left me. You walked away, and now you can't stand the thought of someone else being with me?"

You scoff in disbelief at his claims, feeling like he's trying to manipulate you. "I didn't walk away, Spencer. You pushed me out. You couldn't handle what we had, so you replaced it with a cheap knockoff." Spencer's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Before you could react, he locked the door to the storage room and placed a large step stool against it. Then, he turned back to you, staring into your eyes with a mix of yearning and regret. "Is that what you think? That I replaced you?" He said looking at you with that puppy-like gaze he always had.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Isn't it obvious? She's everything I was to you—everything we were together. But it's not real, Spencer. It'll never be real." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you almost palpable. Then, without warning, Spencer's lips crashed down onto yours, rough and desperate. The kiss was a mixture of heat and fury, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. You responded instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing. "Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, his voice raw and slightly whiny. "To see if I still want you?" You pressed yourself closer, feeling the hardness of his arousal pressing against your thigh. "No," you murmured, your voice trembling. "I wanted you to show me." Spencer a breathy groan slipped out his throat, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The cold metal of the coat rack bit into your back as he pinned you against it, the sensation both startling and exhilarating

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered, his lips grazing your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. "I can't think when you're around." You laughed softly, the sound shaky and breathless. "Good. Maybe then you'll finally understand how it felt when you shut me out." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath the anger. "I'm sorry baby I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice reeked of forgiveness and arousal. "I never meant to hurt you."

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. All you could focus on was the way his lips felt against your skin, the way his hands roamed over your body with a familiarity that made your heartache. Spencer's hand slid under your skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, arching your hips into his touch, craving more. He groaned, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he slipped a finger inside you, coaxing you open with practiced ease. "Fuck," you moaned, your head falling back against the locker as he began to move his finger in slow, deliberate strokes. "Spencer..."

"Tell me what you want, I will do it I want to make you feel good,” he demanded, his voice soft and whiny but commanding. "Tell me how much you need this." You bit your lip, resisting the urge to melt into his hands when he whines like that. "I want you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, Spencer. Please”

He obeyed getting on his knees and slowly gliding your panties off slipping them off in one swift motion. He looked up at you with his big brown chocolate puppy dog eyes with that submissive twitch in his eyes before circling your clit and kissing it. It was so obvious he missed you, especially by the way he was eating you out. “Fuck~ you missed me badly huh?” You say gripping his greasy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy.

You can feel Spencer nodding agreeing to what you were saying he started sucking on your clit before placing two fingers inside of you stretching a lot slowly something he used to do quite often when you guys had a hard day at work to at least help put a smile on your face. Your eyes roll back as his slender fingers stretch you out. You felt yourself get close to an orgasm until Spencer stopped and looked up at you his face all wet with a pleading look on his face. He motioned you to face the wall so you obeyed his request. Spencer's hands skimmed over your thighs as he positioned himself behind you. You braced yourself against the cool metal, your breath hitching as you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice desperate and hoarse.

You nodded, biting your lip as you prepared for the inevitable intrusion. Spencer gripped your hips tightly, aligning himself perfectly before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You cried out, the sensation both painful and exquisite as he filled you completely. "Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just how I remembered." He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one hitting your spot with perfect precision. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the small space, adding to the intensity of the moment.

"Harder," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Spencer, harder." He obliged, picking up the pace as he slammed into you with renewed vigor. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, the heat pooling in your core as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of climax.

"Look at me baby," Spencer commanded, his voice whiny and desperate but with a hint of urgency. "Watch me fuck your brains out, baby” You turned your head, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. The sight of his face, twisted with exertion and desire, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. He reached around to pinch your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as he continued to pound into you.

"That's it, baby" he whimpers. "Take it. Take every fucking inch. You can do it” You screamed, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge as well. Spencer shouted your name, his release flooding you as he buried himself deep inside. Panting, he pulled out slowly, leaving you trembling against the coat rack. He leaned against you, his forehead resting on the back of your neck as he caught his breath.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice raw and unsure. "We still have to deal with Maxine."

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the conflicted look in his eyes. “I don’t have to deal with anything you have to come to terms that you will never find a girl like me again Boy genius. You need figure out who you wanna be with. A botched copy or the real deal. I will see you at work tomorrow spencer and I will be expecting an answer. Just remember I leave quite the impression on men like you.

You quickly find your panties slipping them back on grabbing your coat and plants a kiss on spencer’s lips leaving a red kiss stain on his lips before walking out to catch your Uber

[romanticintheory]

Can you do something fluffy and domestic with Price. Like maybe him trying to ask civilian reader out on a date, and everything is just going against him. (He eventually does get to ask her whether or not it was how he planned it.)

john wants to ask his favorite waiter/waitress out on a date, but the universe seems to have other plans for him.

john price x gn!reader

part 2

fluff, john trying his best, domesticity

a/n: ty for the request!! you’re my first one so i hope you like it <3 also, let’s just pretend like the timeline of this fic makes sense :)

-

Oh, this poor man was hopeless from the start. He had been interested in you for a while and was finding the courage within himself to finally ask you out. He felt silly about the ache in his chest whenever he thought about what your response might be. He just wanted to do right by you was all. So, when he was finally out of his latest mission and allowed to take a break, he was determined to pop the question to you.

The plan was to stop by the flower shop and buy a simple bouquet for you, but when he found himself in front of the store it had been closed. “Family Emergency. Will be back next week.” He didn’t have a week.

Okay, so, no flowers. It was disappointing, to say the least, but he could make do. 

You were nearing the end of your shift when your coworker, Missy, tapped you on the shoulder. As you turned away from the table you were cleaning, she leaned down and whispered in your ear, “There’s that hot man here, again. He’s asking for you, dear.”

She ended her news with a knowing wink. Looking past her shoulder, you could clearly see John sitting at a table with a menu in his hands. Your cheeks flushed at Missy’s insinuation.

“Thanks,” you managed to choke out, hoping she didn’t notice how flustered you were.

“Of course. That’s the second time, just so you know,” she reminded teasingly, nudging you with her elbow encouragingly before leaving to go attend to her own tables.

Out of the three times John had been to your restaurant (including this one), he spent the last two specifically requesting your presence. Though you tried not to think much of it, you couldn’t ignore the way it made your heart flutter.

Straightening your uniform, you made your way to his table with a genuine smile—a stark contrast to the fake one you give to other customers just for the sake of work. John pretended like he wasn’t secretly watching you in the periphery of his vision and looked up at you once you found your way to him.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you beamed.

“‘S nice to see you too,” he replied, unable to keep that lovestruck smile off his face. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, “I’ve been alright. You know, just the same old. How about you, John?”

“I’m afraid it’s been the same for me. Just got off a mission.” Not once did his eyes leave yours. It was almost intimidating, the way he was so dedicated to giving you his full attention.

“Really? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” you said hopefully.

It was the perfect opportunity for him. All he had to say was, ”Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime,” and he almost pulled it off.

“Actually, I—”

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

Internally cursing himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw the contact Laswell flashing on his screen. Usually, when she called, it was something worth hearing. He looked up at you apologetically, but you just smiled and waved your hand at him to let him know it was okay.

Standing up, he answered Kate’s call and pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder. You couldn’t hear much of what the other person was saying. It was mostly just John nodding his head, saying a quick “yes” or “no,” or mentioning what you assumed were his colleagues' names.

Gathering his things, he turned to you and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, right now. I apologize for wasting your time like this.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry! It’s nice to have seen you anyway, and I’m glad you’re doing well. I don’t mind, honestly,” you reassured him, secretly disappointed at the fact that his visit was so short-lived.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “If it's not too out of line, may I ask when you get off work?”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you quickly answered, “At about ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty, all right,” he said (more so to himself than you). “Have a good rest of your shift, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, I hope all is well at work,” you nodded, watching as his eyes lingered on your for a moment before he left for the door.

The entire time he was back at work the thought of you sat in the back of his mind. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why he was there. Something about an important lead? Or maybe a new contact? Honestly, his head was in the clouds.

Even though you didn’t know he was going to ask you out, he still felt guilty for not being able to pop the question to you. As soon as he left the meeting, he was out the door. It was already ten, and it took about twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant. He silently cursed himself for the second time that day, still determined to get in his car and see if, by some miracle, he could catch you.

He had imagined himself in the exact opposite situation he was currently in. He had wanted to be out of uniform in something more presentable and approachable, being able to spend his time with you without any interruptions. Now, he was having to rush his pace with his uniform on as he attempted to make up for his first failed attempt at asking you out. He didn’t want to be the captain with you, just John Price. 

Peeking into the front door of the now-closed restaurant, he scanned the few workers left inside to see if any of them were you only to be met with disappointment. His frustrated grew ten-fold as he turned away from the door, making his way back to his car.

Just as he was about to hop in, you were exiting the side door with your uniform in hand.

“John?” you called out, stopping just a few feet away from him. You almost didn’t recognize him with the way he was dressed (not that you were complaining).

He whirled around instantly at the sound of your voice. “(Y/n),” he started. “I almost thought I missed you.” You smiled. “No, one of my coworkers needed help with something so I stayed behind just a little bit.” “How kind of you. Most would leave as soon as they were able,” he praised, shutting his car door behind him.

“She’s always been kind to me. I figured the least I could do is repay her.” You paused. “So, uh, what brings you back here so late?”

You.

“Well, I was just…” Why was he nervous? He had asked out plenty of people before (though none quite like you). For Christ’s sake, he was a disciplined soldier capable of incredible feats without breaking a single sweat. He’s faced dangerous criminals with a calm face and a stable mind, but with you, oh, it was like everything he ever learned went out the window.

You waited expectantly with bated breath.

“Well, I was actually wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime. Anywhere you like,” he finally managed. “‘Course, feel free to say no. I promise I won’t be hurt.”

He’s lying, of course, but you didn’t need to know that.

Your face lit up at his question, answering with an immediate, “Yes, I’d love to!”

Finally, finally, he could release the breath he was holding. His shoulders visibly relaxed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at your response.

“How do you feel about movie and a dinner?”

Maybe it didn't go exactly as he'd planned, but at least you said yes, right?

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[hollowdeath]

hii! I love love loveee ur harry fic. can I request a modern au where harry and fem reader are both famous actors, they get paired up to do a movie where they have to do a s3x scene, and things get pretty heated off set as well ~

hi! thank you so much for requesting, i really enjoyed writing this! i hope you like it!

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader AU (18+)

summary: you're filming your first romance movie that features a sex scene with harry potter (early 20's), an actor you've only ever seen on the big screen. despite both of your nerves, a growing chemistry between you two leads to something more in the dressing room.

content warning: smut!!! dry humping, oral sex, penetration

word count: 8.7k (i can't write short blurbs i swear lol)

you were currently sitting in the hair and makeup chair chatting with the stylist about each other's respective careers, laughing and messing around before your official call time. you always went out of your way to talk to the crew on any set you worked, not just to be respectful, but also to make everyone comfortable around you right away.

it was a little hard to grasp from your perspective as you were only thrust into the spotlight a few years ago, but you were in enough successful movies that you were now pretty recognizable to most people. not that long ago you were just like everyone else, a fan of celebrities yourself who went to premiers and fawned over meeting them. today, those same people are technically your coworkers. it's something you're still learning to accept as your new normal.

that being the case, it was easy for people to feel a bit intimidated by you. you were well-liked, by both fans and people in the industry, and already highly-acclaimed with quite a few notable awards/nominations under your belt in just a couple years. and while you took your acting seriously, in your real life you were very different from the stoic characters you played. funny, warm, personable, always trying to lighten the mood - you were a pleasure to work with in every sense, so the intimidating preconception people had of you would quickly melt away.

"wow, jen, it must be so cool being able to work with so many celebrities all around the world," you sighed. the stylist, jenny, gives you a bewildered look in the reflection of the mirror. "well, you do that too y'know? you're one of those celebrities that people will ask me, 'oh my god, what's she like?'" she laughs at you, finishing up the final details of your hair.

you give her a half smile, feeling a blush rise on your cheeks. "okay, well, i guess…but it's not the same. i'd love to travel as much as you do. i know it's for work, but i'm sure you get to see some pretty incredible places," you gush. jenny smiles back at you.

"i do, it's nice and all, but you get to be on the big screen with some pretty handsome faces," she teases. "i mean, that movie with timothee you just did?" she practically moans. "i would do anything for that boy," she laughs.

your blush only worsens. being a young woman in the industry you're very often paired with actors around your age, almost always men, to have a romance plot line with. it seems like no matter how artistic, action-packed, or sad the movie is, they just can't let you leave without having you makeout with said actor at least a million times before getting 1 good take. after a while it becomes so routine that it loses all novelty. kissing becomes meaningless and these 'heartthrobs' just become coworkers to you.

"please, timothee's like my brother at this point," you roll your eyes, pulling out your phone to check the time. just a few more minutes before you have to leave and be on set. "and i'd much rather do his makeup than makeout with him in front of everyone again," you laugh, putting your phone back in your pocket.

"well, y'know, i was doing the potter boy's makeup just before i came in. wouldn't mind making out with him a few times, lucky duck," she teases you, starting to pack up her equipment.

harry potter. the name was familiar to you. he was an actor around your age who started getting more roles at the same time you did. you always seemed to miss each other at award shows and premiers, so you haven't been properly introduced yet, but you had been somewhat excited to work with him on this movie.

it was your first proper romance, a book adaptation that you had actually read just a few years prior on your own. you knew the director well and you were his first choice when casting the lead role. at first you were a bit hesitant to accept because you didn't even enjoy the little romance you did in your previous movies, so you weren't sure how you'd feel doing an entire film centered on it. but robert, the director, had convinced you to at least read the script, and you were hooked from there.

it was less of a romance and more of a drama, focused on the downfall of a marriage due to the wife, you, having an affair. that's where potter came in. you learned he was cast for the role of the 'side piece' only a month or so before filming began, and you weren't sure how to feel. on one hand, like jenny said, he wasn't bad looking from what you had seen in his films. however, when you previously did these types of scenes with costars, you at least knew them previously and could be friendly with them between takes. you had never met potter, not even seen him off-screen, and now you have to have an entire affair with him on camera.

that's another thing. you've only ever done heated kissing scenes before, maybe a little undressing and implied nudity, but nothing too explicit. this would be your first real 'sex scene', which just added another layer of awkwardness to the situation on top of not even knowing the basics about each other. to say you were anxious about filming those scenes would be an understatement.

"then you can take my place, cuz i'm not looking forward to it. you know i've never even met him before?" you ask as you stand up from the chair, stretching your body after sitting for over 2 hours. "just gonna introduce myself like, 'yeah, hi, i'm [y/n], nice to meet you. you ready to pretend to fuck passionately for the next 4 hours in front of the catering staff?'" you joke, putting on a voice and pretending to shake jenny's hand. she laughs at you, pulling her hand back and waving you away.

"oh hush, you're gonna do just fine. hell, you might even like it." she gives you a smirk as you just laugh her off. you exchange goodbyes with her, wishing her well and thanking her excessively for her time.

as you're walking through a maze of hallways to find your set, you run into robert. he looks like he's seen a ghost when you greeted him.

"oh…[y/n]...i've been meaning to talk to you…" he says nervously, trying to keep his tone positive. you narrow your eyes at him. you've worked with robert long enough to know when he's about to tell you something he knows will annoy you.

"robert…" you warn him, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. he sighs. "look, just walk with me." he tells you as he walks away, motioning you to follow.

as you catch up to him, he begins trying to find the best way to break the news to you. "see, well…we uh…we think it's best if, uh…maybe…" he stammers, causing you to look at him with concern. you've never seen him this nervous to tell you something. "what? just spit it out, rob." you tell him.

he sighs again, rubbing his forehead. "look, casting just isn't sure on this potter kid yet. we've shot a couple of his solo scenes already, but…" he trails off, trying to find the words again.

"but…?" you ask confused. he gives you an apologetic look. "but…we just need to see his chemistry with you first." robert says. you're just more confused, staring at him blankly. robert slows to a stop and turns to you, his hands raised in innocence.

"it's not my idea, but cast wants you and potter to shoot the sex scene today so they can decide if we're keeping him or not," he admits regretfully.

you're completely dumbfounded. there's a few moments of silence before you can even conjure up a response. "what?"

he sighs yet again, clearly stressed about the situation. "i know, trust me, i know, you weren't excited to do this scene to begin with but…think about it this way," his voice turns to the same fake positivity to try and reassure you.

"if we shoot all the lovey dovey stuff first just to find out there's no chemistry during the sex scene, then we just wasted all your time, all his time, and a lot of money…" he reasons with a strained voice. you're still giving him a death glare, arms crossed, not buying his excuses.

"robert, that doesn't even make any sense. wouldn't we build chemistry over time like any other movie? i thought i had at least a couple weeks to get to know this kid before… you know…" you trail off, blushing from both frustration and embarrassment.

"i know, i know, but cast is really pushing for this other guy, but i've wanted potter in this role as long as i've wanted you as my lead." he says desperately, his hands literally pleading with you. "please, [y/n], i know this isn't cool of me, but i'll do anything you need from me for the rest of filming. for the rest of my life!" he's joking, but there's a hint of seriousness in his voice. "just, please?"

you're still glaring at him, not happy that you're being put in this predicament. you take a second to breathe, trying to think past your anger, and see this from an outside perspective. realistically, even if you and potter did have chemistry outside of the sex scene, it didn't necessarily mean it would transfer over. by filming that first and getting it out of the way, there would be no awkward building of tension over the next few weeks knowing what's to come. and who's to say there even is any chemistry? then they'd end up having to switch him out for an entirely different actor, which could up a lot of time for paperwork and legal fees…

sighing, uncrossing your arms, you give robert a look of defeat. "fine."

robert's relieved, thanking you profusely as he continues to show you the way to the stage. he's trying to babble on about how you're going to do great, and there's nothing to be afraid of, but you can't focus on his words even a little bit because your heart is thumping so loud.

as you walk into the bustling room with robert leading the way, you can't help but search the room for potter's face. you want to at least see who you're going to be dry humping from 4 different angles.

recognizing different crew members you've worked with before, you smile and say hello to each of them as you continue analyzing each face in the room. you only kind of know what he looks like, so it might be a fruitless search, but it's the only thing that can distract you from your growing anxiety.

robert brings you to the catering table, telling you to make sure you eat and drink some water before being pulled into conversation with someone else and, eventually, leaving you behind completely. whatever, you think, he wasn't helping anyway.

grabbing for a water bottle, you drink at least half of it before feeling a tap on your shoulder. you're twisting the cap back on as you turn around.

harry potter.

you can instantly tell it's him, though he's now wearing glasses, something you don't remember seeing in his movies. he has a shy, nervous smile as he offers you his hand. "[y/f/n] [y/l/n], right? i'm harry potter," he introduces himself. "i guess we'll be filming together for the day."

you smile and shake his hand. "harry, hi, it's nice to meet you. and, yeah, i guess so…" you reply shyly, noticing that your hands are sweating, as well as his. he chuckles just a bit, reaching for a water bottle as well.

"yeah, i take it robert talked to you already?" he asks before he takes a drink. you nod, giving him an awkward smile. "he did…" you chuckle as well. "just a minute ago, actually."

harry nods in return. "yeah, he came by my room not even an hour ago to let me know." he states.

there's a few moments of awkward silence between the two of you before harry sighs and sets his water bottle down. he turns to you with his hands up just like robert.

"look, let's not be coy, yeah? this is weird as hell." harry states bluntly, a look of guilt on his face.

you let out a surprised laugh, setting your water bottle down as well. you turn to him, giving him your attention, curious to see what else he has to say.

harry briefly looks you up and down, his hands still raised. there's a hint of anxiety in his eyes before he blinks and shakes his head. "and, i'm just a big fan of yours in general, and this is really not how i wanted my first sex scene to play out, especially with you…" he emphasizes, his eyes widening at his own words.

"not that i didn't want it to happen at all, i definitely did, just, like…" he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands in frustration. you can't help but giggle at his nervous antics. you didn't know what to expect in terms of his personality, but you certainly didn't think he'd be so humble and shy. most actors you meet close to your age are either full of themselves or try too hard to be something they're not. you've made friends with plenty who aren't like that, but it's definitely more common than you expected.

with harry, however, he seemed very honest right away. he wasn't putting on a face to impress you, if anything he was failing miserably at that…but you found it really admirable. he reminded you of yourself, in a way.

after hearing you giggle at him, harry looks back at you with flushed cheeks. his brunette hair, an already messy fringe, was now even more disheveled. you continue to giggle at his expression, covering your smile as you look him up and down as well. tired converse, blue jeans, a maroon zip up, and a plain blue polo. you'd never think this kid was a famous actor based on his appearance. even his glasses looked old and bent out of shape.

but again, you found it admirable. no designer names, no flashy accessories. not that you found anything wrong with either of those things, it's just what you're used to seeing. it was refreshing, harry's simplicity.

he awkwardly chuckles with you, wringing his hands together nervously. "uh, what i'm meaning to say is…" he trails off. you interrupt his thoughts. "i know what you're saying," you reassure him. he looks back up at you. "you do?"

you laugh again. he's oddly innocent despite his age. "i do. i've never done this before, either." you admit. "oh, i know, i've seen all of your films plenty of times," harry beams, his nervousness melting away a bit. you're taken aback by his statement. "oh?" you respond.

he nods proudly. "oh yeah, i'm just a big film person in general so i'm constantly watching them at home. or on the plane. or in the dressing rooms…" he laughs. you smile warmly at him. again, something about him is so genuine to you. not afraid to be a fan.

"but, anyways, yeah, i just love your work. and i know you've worked with robert before, so i was over the moon when i heard he wanted me to work with you guys. that was one of my favorite films that year, y'know? definitely deserved more recognition than it got." harry rambles. 

blushing, you give him an incredulous look. "yeah, we have worked together before. i-i loved that film." you're clearly impressed with his knowledge of you and of cinema in general. that film wasn't even all that popular, and definitely not your most well-received work as far as the critics went. "thank you. really."

harry's smiling at you, admiring you in a way.

you blink a few times to come back to reality. "u-um, i love your work, too. i actually just went and saw your most recent one twice, before robert even told me we'd be working together." 

harry's shocked, his mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. "you…you've seen my movies?" he asks with a slight smile.

again, you can't help but giggle at him. his humility just keeps surprising you. "of course i have. you're not the only actor who enjoys films, y'know?" you tease him. he laughs, shaking his head.

"yeah, i'm…i'm just surprised, i figured you might not be familiar with me at all, really," he shrugs, still sounding in shock.

"well, we always miss each other at shows and such, i always meant to introduce myself, but…" you trail off. "i know! tell me about it! i've wanted to meet you for ages, seriously," harry gushes. 

smirking, you cross your arms and shift your weight. "well, what do you think now that we've met?" you ask, mostly sarcastically but also curious about his response.

he clears his throat, the nervousness coming back slightly. "u-uh, well, um…" he stumbles. "quite honestly, i didn't think you could be more beautiful in person." he admits like a schoolboy with a crush.

his response gives you butterflies. he's so adorably innocent, but such a gentleman at the same time. at no point does his admiration for you feel manufactured or forced. it's like he's truly just happy to be with you in this moment.

"well…thank you, harry," you respond. "you're not so bad yourself. i really adore the glasses." you admit with a blushing smile.

harry perks up immediately. "really?" he asks, excited and shocked at the same time. "they're prescription, actually, i'm blind as a bat…but no director wants me to wear them, they say i look like a total nerd," harry laughs, but you can tell it saddens him.

"nerds are hot." you shrug. harry's stunned for a moment before chuckling, his eyes softening for you. "right."

you and harry continue to chat for a while, losing all sense of time as the crew continue to work around you. you're mostly discussing films you both enjoy, and have incredibly similar taste. you love all the same directors, and grew up watching the same stuff.

this eventually leads to talking about both of your starts in acting, which are also strikingly similar. you discuss your experience so far as a woman in hollywood and he listens intently, asking questions with genuine curiosity and concern. he tells you about his experiences with theater growing up and the connections he made throughout his time performing.

you're completely enthralled with the conversation and feel like it could go on for days without any complaint. it's not until you hear robert calling both of your names that you look at the time and realize you've been talking with harry for nearly an hour and a half, but it feels like you just started 10 minutes ago.

harry follows you towards robert who's talking to the wardrobe team. you recognize a few faces and excitedly greet them, asking how everyone's been.

"potter, [y/n], these lovely folks are gonna walk you through how this works as far as clothing, don't be afraid to ask questions," robert told you both distractedly, his head already turned away before he ran off to help someone else out on set.

you and harry are separated and put into your respective outfits for your characters, as well as specific underwear for the scene. looking in the mirror at yourself in a simple dress, you can't help but feel the nerves coming back to you as you realize you actually have to film this scene with harry soon.

harry…

when you come back, he's already in his outfit and waiting for you. he's in an earth tone suit, his glasses taken off and his tie slightly undone. you have to admit that he looks extremely handsome, and decide to tell him so with a smirk. "says the most gorgeous girl in the room," he instantly quips, but you can see the blush blooming over his cheeks.

the wardrobe team basically teaches you both how to take off your clothes in a "movie style" that looks best on screen. specific movements can obstruct certain body parts from the camera, some take less time than others depending on what you're wearing, just little things that keep you from having to constantly reshoot the scene.

after a few tries of swiftly removing your dress, and taking glances at harry as he took his button-up off, you start to get the idea and have the motion memorized. you're laughing with one of the assistants you've met previously about the task and catching up with her in general. harry comes up behind you and also recognizes her, giving her a friendly hug. you're impressed with how personable he is with her, asking about her schooling and her roommates, parts of her life you hadn't even known about. you couldn't help but be in awe of him. he really was like you in so many ways.

before you get too comfortable, the wardrobe team informs you and harry that you have to also practice taking each other's clothes off for the camera. obviously, you thought, but you were still a bit shocked at the news.

you turned to harry, who's already waiting for you with that familiar smile. you smile back nervously. "hey, it's alright. it's just me." harry reassures you. the tone of his voice is so comforting it actually helps settle your nerves a decent amount.

both of you basically learn what the other person learned, you taking off harry's suit jacket and tie as he lifts your dress in one swift motion. the first run through you're a bit nervous and end up giggling most of the time. harry also laughs with you, making the atmosphere less tense. 

"feels like a dance, oddly enough," harry says, pretending to dance with you. you laugh and agree, dancing along with him.

after a few more awkward tries, you both start to get the hang of it and feel more comfortable with each other both physically and emotionally. you're cracking jokes, helping teach the other how to unclothe themselves quicker, just having a good time that comes so naturally to both of you. it doesn't take too many tries before you can efficiently take off each other's clothes without giggling or accidentally tickling the other.

before long you're both placed on set, a mock living room that resembles the apartment of harry's character. you and harry are given a few simple, non-sexual scenes to start with. the scripts are kept close by in case either of you need a refresher, but you both seem to have your lines memorized well and go through the scenes very naturally.

you were familiar with harry's acting of course, but something about how he performed his lines with you struck a different chord. his emotions were so raw, his timing felt natural, and his eyes told a whole story on their own. at one point you got so lost in them you missed a beat, quickly correcting yourself and focusing your gaze elsewhere.

you only had to redo them one or two times before moving on to the next scenes, which included kissing. you could feel your heart start to race again before harry's hands found their way to your shoulders from behind, a soft but firm grasp that sent chills down your spine.

"remember, it's just me," harry mumbles to you, coming around the side of you with a reassuring expression. somehow he knows exactly how to ease your nerves, and does it at the perfect times.

you're moved from the couch to the 'front door' area, where robert has you and harry mimic the steps he wants you to take before the cameras start rolling. "[y/n] opens the door, harry grabs her hand and pulls her back in," he directs you two like puppets as he shows you how and where to stand. 

harry has you by the hand, your palms still sweaty as he squeezes your hand for reassurance. you smile at him, and he smiles down at you before quickly looking back at robert's actions.

"harry backs her up to the door, back, back, back 'til it closes," harry's pressed against you, chuckling under his breath as he looks down at you. you try to hold back a smile.

"kissing, kissing, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda," robert calls out despondently, flipping a page in his notebook. "harry, you take her shoulders and push her against the east wall," robert points to the wall just next to the door, and harry lightly moves you to the other wall, keeping his body close to yours.

"really sweet, yeah, but make sure it's passionate!" robert says dramatically, making both you and harry laugh.

you're instructed on the best way to take each other's clothes off for the cameras, and practice only a bit before officially having to start to scene. in the lull between the cameras being placed properly and the lighting being set, you start to nervously crack your knuckles and try to steady your breathing.

harry appears in front of you. he lightly grabs your chin with his fingers and kisses you softly on the lips. you're a bit stunned at first but can feel butterflies erupting in your stomach. you look up at harry with wide eyes, and he's chuckling again. "sorry. just thought i'd get the first one off-camera."

your mind is jumbled and you're staring at harry with, undoubtedly, a ridiculous face. you can't even remember the last time a kiss made you feel this way, or if one has ever made you feel this way before.

you suppress another smile as robert calls for places. somehow you're now less nervous about making out with him, if anything…you're excited about it. that soft, gentle kiss he gave you left you wanting more. maybe he just knew kissing you before being filmed would make it feel more natural on camera.

the scene starts, harry pulls you through the doorway, and backs you up against it until the door clicks shut. you're looking up at harry with wanting eyes, exploring his face as the camera pans to your left. once it pauses, harry pulls you in for an eager kiss.

your hand goes to his jaw, keeping it out of the way of the camera's view. you realize after a second just how comfortable you are kissing harry. not only are you comfortable, you're actually getting into it. and so is harry.

as another camera pans towards the wall beside you, harry grips your shoulders firmly and pushes you against it, reconnecting your lips with a desperation that felt completely real to you. it only fired you up more, running your hands through harry's hair and arching your body closer to him as the kiss became hungrier.

"cut," robert calls out in a casual tone, causing harry to pause and take a step away from you. you look at him for only a second before you have to look away, crossing your arms, a blush completely taking over your face.

what the fuck was that?

you've made out with plenty of guys plenty of times, but not like that. not even off-screen have you been kissed so passionately. either harry was the best kisser in the world, or you were confusing your feelings with your character's.

"that was great, guys, no issues, just gotta readjust," robert informs you as he works with a camera guy to get the angle right. "harry, can you come in again?" he asks, motioning harry towards you.

harry steps closer to you, giving you a shy smile like he didn't just change your entire life with one kiss.

you smile back at him, still blushing, mind still spinning. he may be pretty cute with his glasses on, but at least without them you can get a better look at his pretty green eyes. you wondered for a split second if his glasses would get in the way of you making out with him, but you quickly dismiss the thought as he's your costar. one that you barely met 3 hours ago.

the camera gets adjusted, and you're directed to just continue to the undressing part of the scene. you look over at harry, getting closer to him as you mumble, "do you think it'll be difficult, kissing and undressing at the same time?"

harry gives you an unsure face, looking at his tie before loosening it a bit. "might be, i'll get it started for you," he says, unbuttoning the top couple button of his shirt as well. you smile at him a bit. "just take your time, i'll help you." he says. something about the way he looks at you lets you know he means it, and you believe him.

as the scene starts, harry pulls you in for another breath-taking kiss, and the butterflies erupt in your stomach yet again. you know something's not right about this. well, actually, everything couldn't feel more right with harry's lips pressed against yours, but that's the problem. you're way too into this for it to just be acting for a movie, and it seems like harry's just as into it, if not more.

you quickly start undressing him, pulling off his suit jacket as he helps you, repeating the steps you practiced together. except now you were trying to keep the kissing going smoothly.

your fingers began fumbling with harry's shirt buttons, getting it and his tie off just in time for him to pull the skirt of your dress above your head, resuming your kiss with an eagerness that surprised you.

"cut, nice, one more time, little bit quicker guys," robert calls out. you pull away from harry breathlessly before trying to put your dress back on. harry redresses as well, and a stylist comes from the side to fix the back of his hair. he thanks them by their name and with a smile.

you and harry resume the scene again, picking up the speed just a bit as you attempt to make out and undress at the same time. the quicker you both moved, the more intense the kiss became, as if neither of you wanted to stop for even a moment to breathe.

"cut, nice, thanks guys," robert calls out, walking away to the furthest camera man.

you and harry redress, making funny comments to each other about the scene as you do. you notice your lipstick is on harry's lips, and you giggle as you tell him he should maybe wipe it off. "maybe i like this shade on me," he says sassily. you just roll your eyes and laugh at him.

as you chat a bit more, robert eventually comes up to you guys with a script in hand. "okay guys, we're gonna do this quick and try to get it in one take if we can. we wanna eliminate all the awkward for everyone, including the camera guy," he jokes, waving towards the camera man who laughs at him.

you and harry chuckle dryly, knowing what's coming next. 

a few crew people leave the room, whether robert told them to or they chose to you're not sure. it's down to just a few more people than you and harry, along with a camera. you look at each other, harry giving you a big smile before he starts undressing.

you follow suit, listening to robert's instructions. "the scene's barely 10 seconds of screen time, so we're only gonna do about 30 seconds of filming. yeah?" you both nod, setting your respective clothes to the side. you're quite a bit relieved at this news, glad that everyone else wants to get this over with as much as you do.

you're both wearing nude colored underwear, harry's briefs and your panties and strapless bra matching your skin tones enough that it could pass for nudity in the dim lighting. you feel a bit exposed, but not to the point of embarrassment, especially having harry next to you in just as little clothing as you.

"alright, now, i don't care if you're both virgins or whores, we all know what sex looks like, so i'm not gonna get too graphic here," robert jokes to lighten to mood, making you and harry laugh to yourselves as you give each other embarrassed looks.

"all i'm gonna do is tell you where to be and you guys just feel it out from there. sound good?" robert asks. "yeah," you both say at the same time. "but remember, you're a cheating bride, so put some oomph into it," robert jokes with you, walking towards the couch. you feel your cheeks heat up as harry tries not to laugh.

robert has you on the couch, laying with your head hanging off the arm as harry steadies himself above you. his arm has to be in a certain position to keep you covered for the camera, and as he repositions himself to their liking, you admire his body from your view. his chest is well built, his shoulders and collarbones creating shadows across his lovely pale skin…

you had to stop. this is just a job. he's an actor, you're an actor, you're acting together, nothing more. just be professional.

just before the camera's start rolling, harry looks down at you and gives you that same reassuring smile that makes your heart skip a beat every time. fuck. stop doing that.

"it's just me. okay? just you and me." his voice is so deep and he's so close to you, and the lighting behind him is making him glow. this moment could be a movie on its own.

"yeah," you breathe out, mesmerized by his words. just you and me. you could do that.

when the camera starts rolling, harry's hips start grinding into you slowly, his lips immediately connecting with yours. you involuntarily melt into him, your hands reaching for his shoulders as his leg starts rubbing against your panties. you let out a moan against harry's lips, and your grip on him gets tighter.

his hips become more and more rough with you, using your thigh to rub against rather than your panties themselves. it doesn't matter. you're still insanely turned on. and not just as your cheating character, but in real life, as yourself. 

as you throw your head back in pleasure, harry takes advantage and digs his head into your neck. he's softly biting at your skin as he brings a hand to one side of your face, keeping his other arm stable for the camera.

he brings you back in for a kiss, and your hands are back in his messy brunette locks. this time he moans, and his rocking hips begin to pick up speed, grinding with more force into you.

your face twists in pleasure, partially for the camera but mostly for harry. you can't believe how natural this feels for you. it's like it really is just the two of you, no camera, no pressure, just pleasure.

as robert cuts the scene, there's a tone to his voice that was different compared to his normally distracted, stressed voice. harry slowly backs up from you, an indistinguishable look on his face as he gives you space to sit up.

you sit up, and quickly walk over to grab your dress. you don't feel uncomfortable, you're just afraid that you got wet enough to soak through your panties and really don't want anyone to notice.

as you slip the dress over your head, you notice harry putting on his pants. you can't tell if you just saw him from a weird angle or if you looked too quick and were mistaken, but you could've sworn he had an erection he was stuffing in his trousers.

well, even if he did, that's normal, right? you're both young people practically dry humping each other and pretending to enjoy it, of course your bodies are going to think it's real and end up actually enjoying it…right?

that's what you tell yourself as you try your best to seem normal, fixing your hair and steadying your breathing as robert makes his way over to you.

"that was, uh…that was great. i don't think we'll have any problem keeping potter, yeah?"

with a heavy hand on your shoulder and a knowing smile, robert calls it a day for the rest of the crew still on set and says his goodbyes.

you're a bit confused by his statement, but try not to think about it too much. you turn to look at harry, but he's already gone.

you're a bit surprised. you thought for sure harry would want to maybe chat a bit after all that, but you tried not to be disappointed as you turned around and headed towards the wardrobe department to retrieve your real clothes.

after getting dressed and setting wardrobe's outfit back in their closet, you make your way out towards the hallways. your mind is still racing, but you're trying not to think too much about what just happened so you don't lose your mind.

on your way to your dressing room, you kept feeling like someone was watching you. the feeling made you walk a bit faster as you tried to remember which hallway was yours.

once finding the door, you quickly let yourself in until a hand stops the door. as you peak through the crack, you see a tie hanging over a messily buttoned-up shirt, and instantly recognized it was harry.

you open the door a bit more excited than you expected yourself to, and are completely in awe of the man in front of you. messy hair, his glasses back on, still wearing the wardrobe outfit without the suit jacket.

"harry," you greet him, smiling like an idiot. he smiles back. "[y/n], hey, um…" he takes a breath, seeming a bit nervous. "sorry i just dashed, i hate those contacts and had to put these back on," he jiggles the frames of his glasses from the the side, making you giggle. "well, i guess i can forgive you. only because i'm pro-glasses," you say with a smirk.

harry seems so nervous, he's constantly shifting his weight and his smile isn't reaching his eyes.

"well, um, i just wanted to say, y'know, thank you for trusting me today…i know it wasn't easy but you did really, really well," his smile is so sweet, and his eyes are incredibly kind. you swear he's trying to get you to swoon.

"thank you, harry, but you made it incredibly easy to trust you…" you say with a small smile. "and it went a lot better than i was expecting." you say with a laugh.

harry cracks a smile. "yeah, same here. i actually wouldn't have minded it at all minus the cameras and audience." harry tries to joke with you, but his nerves are still overpowering his voice. is he joking, or does he feel the same way you felt shooting that scene?

smirking, you lean on the doorway of your dressing room. "i don't know, part of me thinks the audience part is kinda hot…mostly terrifying and vomit-inducing, but…" you joke back with him. he tries to laugh with you but he looks a little shocked by your statement.

"but, i agree. i didn't mind it at all." you say with a tone of seduction. you try to analyze harry to understand how he's feeling, what he's thinking, and why he's so nervous to be talking to you after everything you just did. yeah, maybe you shouldn't be playfully flirting with a coworker, but he started it…

there's a few moments of silence between you exchanging nervous glances with each other. you somewhat enjoy watching harry squirm like this under your gaze, after being so calm and collected on set it's pretty funny to see him fall apart with just you and him.

"uh, look…" harry finally breaks the silence, looking at the ground before making resistant eye contact. "[y/n], i know i said i was a big fan, um…" he's sweating, and he can't stop shifting his weight.

"but, i was just wondering, since, y'know, now we work together for a bit, maybe, um…"

god. he's so cute. is he really nervous to ask you to hang out after having practically having sex on camera? you can't take it anymore. you don't care if you're working together, you need him.

you grab harry and pull him into your dressing room, closing the door and locking it before turning to him and practically forcing him into a kiss.

harry's a bit stunned, quite a bit, but he quickly begins kissing back. the performance kiss was nothing compared to this. he's somehow an even better kisser when it's just the two of you. 

this time, you're pushing harry into the wall next to the door. you smile up at him between making out. "this feels familiar." you say with a smirk. harry nervously lets out a laugh before immediately pulling you back in for the kiss.

the tension that's been built between you guys for the last 3 hours is finally being released, your hands exploring as you slowly take off the other's clothes. unlike the acting you were just doing, you're both gentle with each other and take your time to carefully take the other's clothes off. you're admiring harry's body as his shirt comes off, throwing it to the side. you're mesmerized by his neck and shoulders.

harry takes a moment to admire you, his hand on your cheek as he moves a strand of hair out of your face. your heart couldn't have been beating louder. something about these small, intimate moments with him between the heavy kissing and touching actually makes you more nervous. it was one thing to just be physically attracted to him, but the soft kiss he gave you during the break between filming and now this gentle moment between making out had your mind racing with questions but wanting nothing more than to just keep going.

"harry…" you sigh, examining his face while he looks down at you. "[y/n]...this is like a dream come true…" he whispers softly. the genuine look in his eye has your stomach twisting knots. "i never thought an on-screen kiss could feel like that…" you respond just as quietly.

his smile's real this time, no nerves, no looking away, just admiring you with the most loving smile. "don't tell robert, but, um, i wasn't acting out there. that was harry kissing [y/n]," harry tells you with a chuckle. you feel yourself smiling like an idiot and suppress your laugh. "yeah, i could tell," you say with a smirk.

harry pulls you in to kiss again, and your hands go to his chest. standing on your toes, you push your body further into his, moaning into harry's mouth as his hands find their way to your waist and hold onto you firmly.

"fuck," he practically whimpers, his hands sliding down your hips and eventually to your ass. he squeezes it roughly and causes you to gasp. "i want you." he states simply, staring you in the eyes again. "i don't care if we get in trouble, i'll take the fall. i just, fuck, i need you [y/n], please…" harry breathlessly begs you, his hands making the way under your shirt and up your back.

"we're just working on our chemistry," you respond, helping him pull off your shirt. he groans at your mutual eagerness and his lips attach to your neck and chest, leaving plenty of bite marks as you tangle your hands in harry's fringe again.

letting moans slip out of your mouth without a second thought, your body is responding to harry like it never has with anyone before. everything you've done with someone before him has felt so mild and mechanical, but harry was so naturally passionate with you. you're not sure if it's because he's always been attracted to you or if you just really, really find yourself attracted to him…

eventually harry's lips find your own again, and his hands begin to explore. he runs his fingers over your bra straps as he traces your back, sending shivers all over your skin. smiling into the kiss, he's loving the effect he has on you. harry slowly unclasped your bra and you let it fall to the floor, his hands already replacing it as he massages your tits.

your hands make their way down to his pants, pulling at the waistband only slightly before harry immediately unbuttons them for you, helping you push them before he separates the kiss and kicks off his pants entirely. you steal a glance down and see his erection. "i've had this since that first kiss, need you so bad" harry's voice rumbles.

you take your pants off as well, with harry's assistance, and he pulls at the waistband of your panties. "fuck, everything about you is so beautiful," harry admits before attaching his lips to yours sloppily. the kissing becomes needy, messy, and secondary to you groping each other roughly.

harry spins you around so you're now against the wall as he begins kissing down your body. the cold wall makes your skin shiver again, the visual of harry slowly getting to his knees in front of you making your mind spin.

he looks up at you for just a second above his glasses and your heart can barely take it, how can someone be so adorable yet so incredibly sexy and seductive at the same time?

eventually harry's mouth finds its way to your panties, softly kissing your pussy through them as you squirm under his touch. quiet whimpering and frustrated hip thrusts let harry know you need more, and he slowly pulls the fabric to the side.

you're in a complete state of ecstasy watching harry eat you out from above. his eyes are softly closed as he gets lost in licking and sucking on your clit. his hands go to your legs as he lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, getting a better angle.

you're full on moaning now, not afraid to let harry know just how good he's making you feel. you can't remember a time where someone was this eager to eat your pussy, solely giving you pleasure. you can feel yourself getting wetter against harry's lips and blush at just how desperately your body's craving him.

"harry, fuck," you whimper, your hands returning to his hair as you begin to slowly grind down onto his face. harry is completely accepting of this, moaning as you stuff his face further into you. his moans send shockwaves through your body, gasping as you feel the tension building in your body.

harry looks up at you, his eyes full of lust and barely open as he continues to make out with your pussy. you can hardly stand the erotic sight before you as he watches your body react so well to him.

"fuck, harry, keep looking at me like that and i'm gonna cum," you teasingly scold him. you can see the smile in his eyes as he backs away, his chin and lips soaking wet. your body goes cold, missing his touch, and your climax fades away.

he quickly wipes his face with his hand before standing up and going back in to kiss you. you moan as the taste and smell of you is all over him. his hands go to your weakening legs and he lifts you up without breaking a sweat. you gasp and look down, seeing he already took off his boxers as he holds you against the wall. you look back in his eyes and they're so much darker than you remember, the bright green now a haunting emerald as he searches yours.

"i need you," he growls, the complete opposite of his usually gentle nature. you can't hold back your moan, something about his desperation makes you crave him so badly. you've never felt so wanted or loved by a partner.

"need you," is all you can say before you kiss him again, tongues instantly entangled. he takes this chance to use one hand to stroke himself, your legs wrapped around his body as he continues to hold you against the wall. 

as harry's slowly pushing into you, your body envelopes him and embraces the pleasure. he's slowly thrusting up into you, his eyes completely fixated on your face as you fall into bliss. you can't get the words out, but harry feels so perfect inside of you. it's everything you've been wanting since he gave you that loving kiss on set.

harry's pace stays slow and torturous until he begins groaning and thrusting more desperately. "holy fuck, [y/n], you feel so fucking good," harry's head falls into your chest, his heavy breaths hitting your skin. the only sound you can make are your pathetic whimpers, your head thrown back against the wall.

harry starts sweating as he holds you against the wall, his legs getting weaker along with his arms. despite that, his thrusts become quicker and more hungry as his hand finds its way to your pussy. your whimpers turn into moans as harry brings you closer to your orgasm. his head lifts to look at you as you reconnect your lips, forcing your tongue in his mouth.

you can feel that knot in your stomach tightening, your hands finding harry's shoulders for something to hold onto. his exasperated breaths and gasps against your lips only turn you on even more. even at his weakest moment he's doing everything possible to make sure your pleasure and comfort comes first. 

"harry, harry, i'm gonna cum," you say between kissing, your arms wrapping around his neck. "please, baby, please," harry groans eagerly, pushing your body further into the wall and thrusting even deeper into you. you can barely wait a moment before letting yourself go, burying your head into harry's neck as you call his name. harry's breathing is completely ragged as you squeeze around his cock, loving the way your body feels against his as you begin shaking.

it's not long into your climax that harry slows down, his hips stuttering before pulling out at the last second and letting his cum drip to the floor, his head falling into your shoulder as well.

you let yourself down from harry's grasp, your legs barely able to keep you up. harry steadies you, chuckling, his reassuring hands on your arms. "okay?" he asks breathlessly. you look up at him, his face is completely drenched and flushed as he stares at you lovingly. "yeah, fine," you say with a smile, using the wall to balance yourself.

you and harry stare at each other for a bit before going in to kiss each other again. it feels so natural, like you've been kissing him your whole life. the butterflies come rushing back. even after having sex with harry you still feel so attracted to him in a nervous, crush-like way.

after getting dressed harry offers his phone to you, asking for your number. you set your contact's name to your character's in the movie, and it leaves harry blushing. he's smiling at you for just a moment before he envelopes you in a hug. warm, comforting, and completely safe, you lean into his touch and don't want to let go.

with some flirtatious remarks and a promise to meet up tomorrow for a date, harry's leaving your dressing room in a barely buttoned up shirt and messy hair. you watch him disappear down the hall before closing your door, hardly able to believe you're already so smitten with the costar you only met earlier that day.

[navia3000]

s o l o n g , l o n d o n

Includes : Aaron Hotchner

Genre : Angst

Warnings : Mentions of break downs, drinking, mentions of depression symptoms, not proof-read

Based On : So Long, London by Taylor Swift

Part two : All My Ghosts

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

“Haley wants us to get back together.” Upon hearing those words, her heart dropped. She realized why Hotch asked her to come on this ‘date’. She thought he was finally going to ask her to make whatever they were official, but she now knew he just wanted to let her down easy.

“What?” She asked. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, her view of Hotch blurry and distorted. Though she couldn’t see very well, she could see the pity and regret written on his face.

“She wants us to try to be a family again.” She took a second to process his words.

“And, what did you say?” She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

“I said yes.” He watched the tears fall from her eyes. “I had to, for Jack. For my family. We both knew this wasn’t a sure thing, Y/N. I’m your boss, and our jobs are dangerous enough, this wasn’t going to work.” He was right. Since she started at the BAU, she developed a crush on her slightly older, and incredibly intimidating boss. She would’ve never thought he felt the same towards her, and she was constantly teased by her fellow profilers about it, until he asked her out on the way home from a case. She was elated. They went on a couple dates, and she was sure they were going great. Until now.

“And Haley gave you the out. Instead of telling me, you led me on,” she choked on her sobs. She reached for her purse, preparing herself to leave Aaron Hotchner and her heart along with him. “Go back to your family, Hotch. And don’t worry, I’ll pretend like nothing ever happened.”

And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

The team was shocked and confused when Y/N took a two-week leave of absence. She left without telling anyone or saying where she was going, she didn’t even tell Hotch, going straight to Strauss and asking for her leave, using the ‘family emergency’ excuse. They were even more surprised when she returned, acting as if she hadn’t just left without a word.

She could feel their eyes on her the minute she entered the briefing room. She sat down, chin high, eyes forward, not daring to look any of them in the eye for fear they would see through her facade.

Hotch’s eyes burnt a whole in her head. They hadn’t talked, interacted even, since that night. And while she was going to be profesional, she didn’t want him thinking he broke her heart, even if he did.

“Y/N, good to see you back.” JJ was the first to address her, the first to break the silence. She gave JJ a smile, and turned to look at the file sitting in front of her, keeping to herself throughout the briefing.

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

The team had moved the briefing onto the jet, the case being of a serial killer who was quickly devolving. The profilers all noticed their fellow coworker and friend’s strange behavior, her demeanor entirely different to the one she wore before her leave. She wouldn’t indulge conversation with the others, always directing the topic onto the case. The agents had also picked up on Hotch’s behavior; how his eyes would linger on Y/N for a little too long, and how he avoided referencing the woman.

Emily was growing even more concerned for her friend as the minutes passed, and when she saw her heading to the front of the jet for coffee, she quickly followed. “Hey,” she alerted Y/N of her presence, turning and closing the curtains to give them some privacy.

“Hi,” she gave a tight-lipped smile, moving to go back to her seat before Prentiss grabbed her arm.

“What’s going on?” She saw her friend’s face harden, her eyes moving to her feet.

“Nothing,” she knew better than to try and pretend like nothing was wrong around a bunch of profilers, but she couldn’t admit to herself that hers and Hotch’s break up was taking a toll on her. She was skinnier and paler, and was clearly struggling with something. But she couldn’t even call whatever happened between them a break up; they were only going out for a month and they hadn’t even told the rest of the team. So, sticking to her word, she would continue to act as though nothing happened.

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t believe that.” Emily dropped her grip on the girl’s shoulder, moving to fiddle with the coffee cups on the table. “Something’s going on. We all see it. You don’t have to talk about it, but, I want you to know we’re all here for you.” She saw tears pooling in the younger girl’s eyes, and her concern grew and her heart broke and all she wanted was for her to be okay. “You can talk to us. You can talk to me, or JJ, or even Hotch.” At the mention of his name, she broke. Her tears ran down her face, and sobs racked her body.

Emily hurried to hug her friend, shocked at her sudden breakdown. She heard the curtain being pulled, and turned to the sight of the team’s concerned eyes on the pair. But, she made sure to watch Hotch, noticing his own eyes becoming glossy at the sight of the crying agent.

For so long, London

Had a good run

A moment of warm sun

But I'm not the one

She sat on her couch, drowning her sorrows with a bottle of wine. Emily, JJ, and Penelope had just left her apartment after a night spent of crying and laughing, the women comforting her after she had confided in them about all that happened with Hotch.

She felt better, but not great. Her heart still hurt every time Haley and Jack came to visit Hotch during his lunch break, and she kept having to excuse herself to the bathroom whenever she was around him for too long. The team pretended not to notice the tension between her and Hotch, and they both refused to acknowledge each other unless it referenced their work or a case they worked.

Everyone knew something happened between them, and they knew their friend was not okay, so they pushed past it in hopes of nursing their friend back to happiness. She was incredibly grateful for all their friends were doing for her, but it wasn’t enough.

Nobody knew that she had just given Strauss a request for a transfer from the Bureau; none of the others knew, all but one person. The same person who’s name lit up on her phone, his calls going unanswered as she sipped on her glass of wine.

[medusa-fem]

Not all trans women are innocent bystanders to the patriarchy

My trans girlfriend from highschool used to complain that I didn't want to sleep with her because "I didn't see her as a real woman". This was a coercion tactic, used against me as a traumatized female who simply did not want to have sex often.

Another trans woman I knew adamantly defended lolicon, stating that "they aren't real kids". Of course I later found out she got off to "legal loli"

Same trans woman as before adamantly defended the movie cuties. Did not give two shits about the exploitation of young girls. Even said that bullying maps online was wrong because "pedophiles need support to not act on their urges"

I have also had a run in with a male who clearly did not even care to be a woman, simply called himself one as a sissy to get a pass to get closer to female people. Absolute fucking freak. Abusive towards a younger female coworker using sexist slurs, kept touching me when I explicitly said to stop and said I lead him on after getting kicked out of my home, even used his fake label to try to get head from a trans woman he had known for 3 days who showed no interest.

I knew a trans woman who kept dating people younger than her. Saw a freshly 18 trans girl as a 23 year old. Consistently talked about how immature she was, which makes it clear to me she knew the power dynamic.

I had a trans woman I was hanging out with get permission from the other trans woman in the room to strip down to nothing, but did not ask me if I was comfortable with it. Then asked me if I wanted to see her botched circumcision scar. (I had only met her twice prior).

I had a trans woman use love bombing to manipulate me into jumping into a relationship with her. Once I realized how manipulative and mentally unwell she was I was going to break up with her. As soon as she figured out she drove to my house drunk to "get her things". She screamed at me and kept balling up her fist like she was going to punch me while I sobbed. I texted all of my nearby friends that if I didn't text them by x time the next day to call the cops, because I thought she was going to assault me.

I know of a trans woman in the area who was a friend of a trans man for about 6 months. He described them as something close to platonic soul mates. She raped him when he was too intoxicated to speak.

I knew a trans woman who would fully strip at any given opportunity while hanging out with a group of friends. Everyone was uncomfortable.

An abusive "friend" of mine from highschool began labeling himself nonbinary to sleep with traumatized trans men and nonbinary afab people who did not want to date men. He didn't do anything but use the label. He falsely accused me of rape because I began telling people about his abuse. He made comments about trying to get a trans male partner pregnant to trap him. Last I heard of him he was trying to sleep with my trans man friend, being extremely coercive, while I had to tell him to get the fuck out of there so he wouldn't get raped.

This isn't even all of it. I know some radfems who do not associate at all with the trans community may not realize it, but this is common place for trans men and nonbinary afabs. I have faced so much at the hands of trans women who were not held accountable for their behavior because no one wanted to hurt the reputation of trans women as a whole.

The concerns about bathrooms don't strike a cord because the trans community doesn't see it happen, that is actually rare. Please use the stories of the regular victims of trans women's actions, because these are stories I hope the lgbt community can take seriously. I'm not saying trans women as a whole are "men" or "just faking it", I'm saying they need to be held accountable just like other male individuals who harm female people.

[moviecritc]

Hi! Could you do a driver!reader who is dating Max and is in ferrari and the whole Carlos thing is happening to her so in Australia she ignores team orders and goes to win the race. Charles is mad at her and in the post race interview when asked about it she is just like "Happy multi 21 day everyone" and like Max is so fucking proud his gf is in her reputation era 💅💅💅

on the edge ⋆ max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

word count: 1.7K

warnings: charles leclerc being himself (a bitch)

a/n: this is my first request it makes me very very happy!! thanks anon for your request, i hope you like this. i love max with all my heart and i love writing about him aswell.

just wanted to tell you guys that for the requests you can ask for reader and oc, even though when it's not a request it'll probably be an oc bc i love to give names to my characters <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

Y/N didn't have a seat for the upcoming Formula 1 season, and that stressed her out quite a bit. She and Charles had been teammates for three years, and she really thought Ferrari would keep her on the team, but upon learning that Lewis Hamilton was leaving Mercedes, they were the first to snatch him up and turn their backs on her.

Now she had two options: give up, pray to sign with Williams or Haas, or outperform herself this season and force her way into one of the top five teams. And for now, she had chosen the second option. P3 in the first race and in the top five in the second. She was extremely motivated for Australia.

Y/N loved the view of the fireworks from the podium, the champagne, and, above all, celebrating with Max Verstappen. Because let's not lie, it was obvious that Max would be on most of the podiums.

They kept their relationship out of the media. Being coworkers, neither of them wanted their relationship to hinder their success in Formula 1, but that didn't mean they didn't support each other every time the other achieved something.

Max had been with her throughout her Formula 1 career. They were the same age, but when Max debuted in the competition, she was still in Formula 2, battling against Albon and Russell for the title. A year before his debut, Y/N got a spot at Alpha Tauri as a reserve driver. It was in that year that Max and she started a relationship, at first quite casual and sporadic until they realized they were too obsessed with each other not to formalize it. And four years later, they were still together, sharing an attic in Monaco and competing together for the championship.

"It's going to be great for both of us, I'm sure," Y/N nodded. Before each race, they had a kind of ritual where they wished each other good luck, hugged, and kissed.

"I see a Y/Nstappen 1-2," Max assured before giving her a long kiss, resting his arms on his girlfriend's waist.

"I hope so,"

"Oh, come on. You're starting fourth, it'll be bad if you don't get on the podium," Max said. He knew her situation in Formula 1 was tense and did everything he could to make her feel good and positive. Max loved racing with her, and if she ended up off the grid next season, he would probably suffer from seasonal depression.

They kissed once more and were about to hug when someone knocked on Max's door to get them to the drivers' parade. They couldn't complete their little ritual, but neither of them gave it too much importance.

They went out to the parade where she was asked about her future in Formula 1, as they had been doing since the season started. That also annoyed her, would it always be like this from now on? Would everything be oriented towards whether she was unemployed or not? She answered with the best smile she could and ended the interview as quickly as possible.

She returned to Max, who was leaning on the fence of the truck they were being taken in for the parade. She leaned on the railing, holding it with her hands. Then Max discreetly placed his hand on hers, making her smile at the contact. Max wasn't very fond of physical contact, but if he could manage to brush against her shoulder, he would, maintaining professionalism wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"How's it going, mates?" Surprisingly, Leclerc approached them to start a conversation, first fist bumping with Max and then with Y/N, pressing his lips a little.

Their relationship as teammates was quite complicated at the moment. She was killing it in the few races that had passed, while Charles was just doing okay. Plus, although when Y/N joined the team, Charles and she had gotten along very well, that year they had been growing apart for obvious reasons.

They talked for a while about the race and expectations, especially Max and Charles, while Y/N disconnected from the situation a bit. Sometimes she was surprised that Charles and Max got along so well.

"Good luck today, Y/N," Charles said before leaving with Gasly.

Y/N blinked and looked at Max, puzzled. "What did he mean by that?"

"What do you mean?" Max frowned a little.

"He wished me luck, as if he thought I needed it," she insisted, biting her cheek.

"Everyone needs some luck, Y/N," Max said, knowing how nervous she could get when something didn't fit in her head.

"He didn't say anything to you," Y/N argued, crossing her arms.

"I mean…" Max tilted his head a little, eliciting a little smile from Y/N. "Don't dwell on it too much, you'll do great."

She loved that, how Max was able to lift her spirits in any situation, getting a little smile out of her. She loved him for that.

The parade ended, and they each went to their garage, fist bumping as a farewell because anything else would cause a stir in the media. In the Ferrari garage, her engineer commented on the strategies that focused on supporting and defending Charles even if he started two positions below her.

She gave Charles a short glance before going to the cars and taking their respective positions. It’s light and away we go. Y/N was so focused on passing Lando Norris that she didn't realize her boyfriend was no longer in first place, actually, he wasn't there anymore. She asked the engineers what had happened; Max had had some problems with the brakes and had retired from the race. "Don't fuck with me," she said, not fully believing it. "Is Max okay?"

"We don't know, focus on the race," her engineer emphasized.

"When you know, tell me, please," Y/N added, without receiving a response. There had been no accident, no red flag, so he was probably fine. But if there was smoke and sparks, there was always a chance that something had happened to him in the pits.

Y/N took a couple of breaths and refocused on the race. She looked on the bright side; she was third and had a chance to win. A few laps later, she managed to overtake Lando Norris. She pitted, and in the last third of the race, she was in first place. Behind her was Charles, so she thought they would change the strategy, and he would be the one defending the position.

"Y/N, let Charles pass," her engineer said, taking her by surprise.

"What?" Y/N practically shouted. "But I'm in first,"

"They're team orders, let him pass,"

"He's slow! He's over half a second behind me, letting him pass will make me slow down!" She couldn't believe this was happening.

"Y/N."

"If he can overtake me, let him, but I'm not letting him pass. I'm winning this fucking race."

And so it was. Y/N crossed the finish line first, and when she got out of the car, Max was there to greet her with a hug. He tried to make her not notice that there were hardly any people from her team there, but Y/N realized it, and her gaze darkened a little. Still, Charles came second, and when he parked his car, several Ferrari mechanics went to congratulate him.

Max watched Y/N, worried that she would take it badly. But then he saw her exchange a triumphant

look with Charles, who, upon seeing her, turned serious. And if that wasn't enough, she blew a kiss to Charles and then went with Max, who put an arm around her shoulders.

"That was incredible," Max said.

"The race or Charles's face?" she questioned, with an ironic smile.

"Both. I thought you'd be sad because there was no one to greet you,"

"You were there,"

"From your team, I mean," Max explained.

"You and I are a team, Maxie. Have you never thought about that?" She looked at him with a smile. "You're right, we are,"

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked. "I got quite worried when you DNF’d."

"I'm okay, no serious damage,"

"And emotionally?"

"I'm fine. Proud of you, above all," Max nodded. "Now go celebrate your podium, I'll be watching you from below,"

They gave each other a brief kiss on the cheek, not caring too much about the cameras; she had just won the race, she deserved at least a kiss from her boyfriend. She received her prize with a smile and celebrated the podium with Charles and Lando, more with Lando than with Charles. The McLaren driver had congratulated her countless times that day, but Charles barely spoke to her.

"Are you okay, mate?" Y/N asked, knowing what was coming.

"You didn't follow team orders," Charles said directly.

"Oh, right. That," she shrugged, raising her eyebrows. "You came second, Charles. It's not that bad,"

"Damn, but if they tell you to let me pass, you let me pass. What does it matter to you?" he raised his voice a little.

"What does it matter to you? You have your golden seat at Ferrari. Some of us have to work really hard to have a seat, crazy, right?" Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile and turned around, leaving Charles with a word on his lips.

Y/N reached the interview area, where Lando and Oscar were doing their respective interviews.

"Y/N! You won the race by disobeying team orders, does it feel the same as winning a race fair and square?" a man asked.

"Fair and square? I was fast enough to cross the line first, the rest weren't. I think that's how a race is supposed to be won," she argued. She smiled widely; she saw Max was also around, waiting for his turn for interviews.

"Don't you have any remorse?" he questioned.

"Not one,"

She ended the interview after that; she didn't feel like explaining. As she turned around, she found Max with an almost mischievous smile. They fist bumped, and he went to do the interview. "Max, can we ask you about the win of your girlfriend?"

"About Y/N,"

"Yes, about Y/N," he nodded.

"I'm extremely proud of her, it's her second victory, and even though I had to retire, I'm glad she won this race,"

"Even given the circumstances of the victory?" the reporter questioned.

"With the circumstances of the victory," Max assured with a broad smile.

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: You continue sending dexter treats as he tries (and fails) to find out your identity.

Part 3

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Dexter never could’ve imagined things in his life getting any worse than they already had, but life was cruel so of course it did. Rita had ended things with him after finding out about the overnight trip he took with Lila, just as he thought maybe there was a better future for him with Lila she went absolutely psycho and nearly got him killed by the same man who killed his mother, Lundy and his team were far too close to catching him than he was comfortable with, and Dexter still had no clue who this secret admirer who knew too much was that had continued to send him baked goods and notes. Despite all that the admirer that knew too much was likely the only thing that hadn’t been stressing him out as of late, surprisingly that is. Unlike everyone else they weren’t prying into his life or trying to control him, as far as he knew at least, rather it seemed they were simply interested in learning more and forming a friendship of sorts. One of mutual understanding as in one of their notes he had come to learn they also had unique after-hour hobbies, and from what they were letting on they had a code similar to his own. All of this only made Dexter even more curious about who this admirer was, unconsciously he craved to be understood by someone after what happened with his brother. It was all too perfect, especially if this admirer followed similar rules as he did maybe he would have a true friend that could understand him entirely. Dexter hadn’t realized it yet but he grew obsessed with the idea and spent each day eagerly waiting for another note and baked good, he had to admit that whoever this admirer was they were a damn good baker. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention, especially with the thrill of it being from someone like-minded. Even though it made his heart race when he received a note revealing they knew he was the Bay Harbor Butcher, Dexter nearly collapsed when he read it but it gave him an odd thrill that someone had so easily found him out and despite that continued to admire him from afar. Not to mention they flirted with him as well, Dexter would give anything to find out who this was but for now, he had hit a wall and could only wait for them to reveal themselves.

Admittedly, Dexter was a bit hesitant about this new love interest but considering how easy things were with them compared to the complex mess he had to deal with when it came to Lila and Rita. It wasn’t hard for him to warm up to the idea. Things with Rita were awkward and she kept pushing him away despite his explanations, and Lila had proven to be outright psychotic her actions only growing more and more outrageous. He needed someone mentally stable and less emotionally demanding, but also someone who understands him like this admirer. Something neither Lila nor Rita could do for him. Speaking of the devil, as Dexter starts to leave the department he frowns upon hearing Lila’s voice. He turns to see her surrounded by his coworkers laughing happily, if she couldn’t get through to him apparently she would go through to his friends.

“Ahah! Looks who’s come out of his cave?”

“Lila, what are you doing here?”

“She came to see me, bro.” Angel butted in with a proud grin on his face.

“Angel mentioned that he needed a decorator and well, a slot just opened up so I gave him a call.”

“I’ve always wanted a decorator,” Angel said with a grin his eyes glued onto Lila, Dexter pulled him off to the side away from the group, trying to warn him.

“Angel come here… she’s not really a decorator.”

“It’s not really my apartment that I want decorated.” Before Dexter could continue Lila came up behind them wrapping her arms over their shoulders.

“So hey, the boys here have persuaded me to go for a drink.”

“Or ten,” Angel playfully added and Dexter just stared back at him.

“Oh god, should I be worried?”

“Yes, you should,” Dexter said flatly as his eyes met Lilas but she only grinned and rubbed his nose with hers.

“Then maybe you should come with us, because who knows what secrets will come pouring out of me once the drinks start flowing.” She said as she entered the elevator but at the same time, an officer from another department stepped out, her brows furrowing slightly when she saw Dexter.

“Dexter Morgan? This is for you, and you better not break her heart got it?” The officer said narrowing her eyes as she handed him a cute mini drawstring bag of cookies with a note inside the bag rather than in one of the cookies, which was new.

No matter how complex the dessert they’d always managed to place it inside the goodie so maybe this note was something different. Dexter tucked the cookies into his pocket as he entered the elevator, which was when he realized Lila saw all of that. Dexter didn’t like the fact she had, because with the unstable behavior she was already showing who knows how she would react to more competition. Dexter glanced over at her and he could see the anger in her eyes and knew that this wasn’t going to end well.

★ ✮ ★

I was in the lobby just chatting with Jackie before she left work for the day, our idle small talk was just a cover so that I could maybe catch a glimpse of Dexter. To my surprise, he seemed less on guard about my notes, and I had a few guesses as to why. Primarily I assumed he finally realized I wasn’t a threat and had grown impartial to my notes, which meant it wasn’t fun for me anymore. It’s a tiny bit of a shame but I guess it is time to bring our game to an end, certainly glad I did something different with my note today. I had given him a note with a time, date, and place. We’d both had enough of the games and it was about time that we finally met.

Speaking of Dexter I watch as he and his team from homicide exit the elevator with a certain ‘skanky vampire’, according to Debra at least. The whole group was magnetized towards her, except Dexter who kept a very noticeable distance between them, pretty privilege is real but I guess there’s more to that pretty face from how he’s acting. Again our eyes met briefly for a moment and I just politely smiled and returned to my conversation, no need to raise any suspicion from him just yet. I watch out the corner of my eye as they leave the building, and of course, Jackie has to butt in.

“So how long are you going to do this secret admirer act, tits up and ask him out already!”

“Well you’re in luck I just did, I gave him some cookies and a note asking him to meet me somewhere.”

“Hooray! Oh my god please call me afterward and tell me all about it, don’t you dare leave out a single detail!” She said with an eager grin clapping her hands.

“I promise will, anyways I should probably get back to work. Drive home safely okay?”

She nodded and waved me off and we parted ways, I headed back into our office as I had been called in to do overtime. The system had been semi-frequently going haywire and they needed all computers working for whatever case they had begun to crack, though from the FBI agents lingering in the building much later than usual it wasn’t hard to guess which department had a breakthrough. I headed down to where the servers were to check on them, it was a short walk and I said a few goodbyes as others turned in for the night. Once I got to the room everything seemed to be in place but I double-checked anyway, and unfortunately for me, it seemed like a critter or two had gotten inside and had been nibbling away at the wires. I wrapped some electrical tape over the exposed parts of the wires as a temporary fix until I could call for pest control, but this meant I would have to replace some of the wires and disconnect some departments from the system. It wasn’t urgent though, the wires were still working as needed and as long as they didn’t chew through any wires things should be fine.

After handling the mess downstairs I started on a few miscellaneous tasks around the building, there wasn’t much for me to do which is why I hated being called in for overtime just in case something happened. I sighed as I spun around in my desk chair bored out of my mind, I had done literally everything I could at this hour. I even filed the paperwork for all the requests I’ve completed, even though doing so had made me drowsier than I already was. I decided to get some coffee to wake myself up, I stood and left the office and decided to head up to homicide. The FBI had been staying late so it was likely that they would have some fresh coffee I could ‘borrow’. I rode the elevator up to the next floor and casually walked into the department which was currently a ghost town minus the few agents and deputy chief conversing in the debriefing room, I just walked past them into the kitchen where thankfully there was a little bit of coffee left in the pot. I made myself a cup and leaned against the counter drinking it quietly, I hate when the station was like this. The silence always made me uncomfortable as it left me alone with my thoughts for too long, I could overthink and criticize all my actions up until this very moment with no distractions. I hated dwelling on them and always having someone I could chat with or have a conversation to eavesdrop on so that I could escape all the thoughts floating around in my head.

A welcome distraction came from Dexter Morgan and what appeared to be his FBI escorts, I watched as they brought him into the debriefing room. Thankfully the curtains were open and I could peek inside, they had Dexter sit down and were talking to him. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but it was likely about whatever was on the table in front of him, I decided to get out of there while they were still talking. I’d hate to get in trouble for snooping where I shouldn’t be, besides I think it’s almost time for me to go home anyway. As I walked out of the kitchen and passed the debriefing room I took one last glance inside, the thing they were talking about was some storage box with slides of blood inside.

“So those are your trophies….”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆