#I have no idea what the fuck it’s called and I am determined to find that damn song

[k1ttygam3r]

Hey guys for no actual reason does anybody know of any French jazz songs with upbeat tempos, a female scat singer, an acoustic guitar, and a mellow accordion solo

[freedomfireflies]

One Day*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where you still hate Harry, but turns out, you might be having his baby.

Word Count: 5.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, spanking, brief choking, slight angst (happy ending), mentions of pregnancy and babies! *Please be so gentle with yourself and only continue if you feel comfortable! 💞*

“I’m late.”

“For what?”

You huff. “I’m late,” you repeat, gesturing frantically toward your hips. “A week late. Which I know can happen, but…not really to me, so…I’m late. And I think we’re fucked.”

Harry blinks. Looks down at your stomach. Looks up at your face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You rear back. “That’s all you have to say for yourself is oh?”

He lifts his left shoulder in nonchalant shrug before flopping down onto your sofa. “I don��t know. What did you want me to say?”

“I…I don’t know,” you huff. “I kind of thought you’d…yell. Or freak out or something. Or ask me if I’m keeping it.”

“Do you want me to freak out?”

“Well…no. Not really.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

“I…I don’t know, I don’t even…I’m not even sure if I am yet or not.”

“Okay.” He nudges his glasses up before crossing his arms. “Well did you get a test?”

You glance toward the pharmacy bag still sitting on your kitchen counter. It’s been mocking you ever since you picked it up. Staring you down, sticking out its tongue. One, tiny little box that’ll determine the next chapter of your life. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I, um…got one on the way home from work.”

“Okay. Have you taken it yet?”

“Not…exactly.”

His brow raises. “Do you…need help or something?”

You scowl. “It’s peeing on a stick, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’d find a way to fuck it up.” He smirks. “Sure hope our baby gets my brains instead of yours.”

You grab the pillow beside him and give him a firm whack. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs as he winces. “Good. I wasn’t being funny.”

“Then, stop it. And stop being so calm.”

“You just said you preferred calm—”

“Well…it’s scaring me now. So what gives?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to waste a reaction on something we don’t even know is happening yet. Take the test and then I’ll freak out if you’d like.”

“You say that like someone that’s had a lot of pregnancy scares.”

He snorts. “No, I say that like someone who knows freaking out won’t exactly help you right now. So just take the goddamn test, Tinkerbell. And we’ll go from there.”

Unamused, but somehow slightly comforted, you oblige and snatch the box from the table before retreating to the bathroom.

Once the timer has been set, you slowly make your way back to him.

He’s still sitting on the sofa. Calm. Unaffected. Watching you without a care in the world. Like his whole life isn’t about to change. 

It drives you nuts.

“Five minutes,” you tell him.

He nods.

Warily, you sit in the chair to his left, staring holes through your shoes as your heart races inside your chest. You’re not sure how you got here. Not sure where you could possibly go. You aren’t ready for a baby. Not…yet. Especially not one with…him.

“Hey,” he calls, pulling your attention up. “S’the matter with you?”

Your eyes narrow. “What the hell do you think?”

Another casual shrug that makes your teeth grit. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?” You lean back. “Why on Earth would I be happy about getting stuck with your DNA for the rest of my life?”

He smiles. “I don’t know. You just seem like the type of girl to want a lot of babies.”

You scoff. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I am not.” You don’t think.

“Really? Is that why you begged me to breed you?”

“I didn’t actually mean it. That’s just what you say in a moment like that.”

His eyebrow raises.

You hesitate. “Did…did you mean it?”

“Kind of,” he admits. “I mean, yeah, maybe I didn’t mean right this second, but…I don’t hate the idea.”

“You actually want to be a father?” You snort. “Bullshit. You hate kids. I’ve seen you.”

“I don’t hate kids, I just don’t care about them when they aren’t mine.” He throws his arm over the back of the chair and smirks. “I like my nieces, though. They’re chill.”

You blink. “You…you have nieces? Wait, you have siblings?”

“Yeah. One brother. He’s got two kids and they’re cute as shit.”

“Oh.” Your head starts to pound. “See? We can’t have a baby when I don’t even know anything about you.”

He chuckles to himself before nodding his chin at you. “All right, fine. Go ahead. Ask me whatever.”

“What?”

“Ask me what you wanna know.”

You think. “Okay. How often do you see your family?”

“Often enough. They live in California, and they work a lot. But we call every couple of weeks.”

“Oh. That’s…surprisingly nice. Uh…do you have a history of disease in your family?”

He grins. “Excuse me?”

“I need to know what I’m getting myself into.” You motion at him. “Answer.”

“This isn’t an interview—”

“Answer.”

“No,” he says. “Not that I know of anyway.”

“Great. Do you plan to be a deadbeat father?”

His eyes roll. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“So, yes? You do? Oh, great—”

“No, because that’s not a fair fucking question—”

“It is a fair question. If I have to raise this baby alone, I want to know—”

“Of course you wouldn’t fucking be alone. Do you really think so little of me—”

“I don’t think about you at all. How am I supposed to know what you’ll do—”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone,” he nearly snaps. He takes a breath to calm himself before adding, “Even if it wasn’t my baby, I wouldn’t leave you alone.”

Your lashes flutter and you can feel your heart lodging in your throat. “Fine. Last question.”

He waits.

“Did you ever want kids…before? With…her?”

He doesn’t have to think for very long, but the mention of her makes him smile. “Nah. We talked about it, but we weren’t ready. We liked it being just us, you know? We had a bunch of shit we wanted to do. We were a long way from babies and a white picket fence.”

You try to blink back the tears swimming their way to your eye. You can still see that beautiful picture of her in his room. An entire future of love and life and adventures that he lost. Now…he’s stuck with you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” You swipe your knuckle along your cheek. “So, you probably still aren’t ready.”

“I didn’t say that.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Harry, come on. You aren’t ready for a baby. I’m not ready for a baby. We…we don’t know each other, we don’t like each other…we can’t do this. You know that.”

“Do I?” He leans forward. “It’s a baby, not a bomb. I think we can handle it.”

“Well, I don’t. You don’t even like me. You can’t have a baby with me.”

“Why not? People do it all the time.”

“But not us.” You give him a firm stare. “Harry, we love our jobs. We want careers, not kids. So having a baby kind of gets in the way of that. There’s…there’s diaper changes, and teething, and potty training—”

“So?”

“So. We don’t work together well. In fact, it’s a rather well-known fact that we don’t get along. We can’t possibly raise a kid. We’d ruin it.” You study him for a beat, unnerved by the nonchalance in his tone. “Why do I get the feeling you actually want this to be real?”

Another shrug and you nearly lunge at him. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees while he glances at the floor. “I’m older now. Maybe it’s time to…think about settling down.”

Your face scrunches. “Ew. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He laughs. “Look, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it, but…maybe it could be a good thing.”

You stand from your chair and pace the length of your small living room. “This is crazy. This is crazy. I can’t have a baby, I’m…I’m not ready. I’m too young, I…I don’t even know what I’d do with one. Or if I even have a maternal instinct.”

“Probably not,” Harry offers, smirking when you glare. “You won’t really know until you have one.”

“Oh, great.”

“Listen, if you feel like you aren’t ready…we can find another alternative,” he says, softening his voice. “Okay? There are plenty of other options and we’ll find one you feel comfortable with.”

A tad wary of his sympathetic answer, you eye him closely. “Yeah? And what if we disagree?”

“We won’t,” he says calmly. “Your body, your decision.”

“Right,” you snort. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I wouldn’t be the one having to carry it.” He nods as though to reassure you. “Honestly, Tink. This would be your decision, one hundred percent. It’s not mine to make. Just to support.”

The tears rush a little faster as you sniffle and step closer. “You say that now, but what if I decide something you don’t like?”

“I will like it. I promise,” he murmurs, standing up in order to move toward you. “If you want to keep it, great. If you don’t, great.”

“I…I…” You suck in a deep breath, unable to slow the wild racing in your chest. “Fuck, I can’t…I don’t know—”

“Hey, okay, easy. Easy, Princess,” he says, quickly reaching out to take you in his arms and ease you against his chest. “Relax. Okay? Just breathe. Breathe for me.”

“I…I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can. You are.” His lips press to the top of your head while his hand runs up and down your back soothingly. “I’m right here. Do you hear me? I’m right here. You’re not alone. You won’t be alone. I promise.”

You squeeze your arms together and hold on with everything you have. Right now, he feels like your only anchor in the world. The only person strong enough to carry you both through to the other side. And for the first time since you met him…you feel glad that he’s here.

The two of you stand in the middle of the room for a long while before he finally murmurs, “I think it’s been five minutes.”

Your eyes close and you grip his shirt in your first. “I’m…I’m not ready to look.”

“Okay.” You can hear the smile in his response. “Okay, we can wait.”

So, you do as the truth starts to build in your chest. Inescapable, no matter how hard you try to swallow it down.

Finally, you can’t help but whisper, “You know what scares me the most?”

“Hm?”

“…that maybe I’m hoping it’s real.”

The apartment falls silent again. He doesn’t push you to elaborate, but you can feel his heart beating just a little faster inside his chest.

“I don’t know why,” you continue. “I don’t…I really don’t think I’m ready, but…but what if I should be? What if…what if we met and we started this because…because we were supposed to do this?”

He considers this. “Like fate.”

“Yeah.” You roll your lips into your mouth. “Because I still hate you. I do. I just…I’m starting to get this picture in my head of us. Being a family. Having a big house in a good school district. Tucking them into bed at night and reading them stories. Which is…dumb.”

“No,” he mumbles. “No, it’s not dumb. I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because I meant what I said, I’d love to get you pregnant. You’d look really fucking hot.”

You chuckle. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh…okay?”

He smirks. “I never had a breeding kink until I met you.”

You lean back and swat your hand across his chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“What? I’m being serious.” He grins and those dimples pop free. God, you hope your kids have his dimples—

No. Nope. You aren’t going there.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thought. “Whatever. You’re just horny.”

“Maybe. But it’s still true.” His gentle gaze sweeps across your face. “If you wanna do this…we’ll do it. You and me. We’ll have this baby, and we’ll raise it to be really smart, and funny, and to not take shit from anybody.”

You laugh, brushing away a few more tears. “Maybe we can teach it to write code.”

“Oh, fucking obviously.”

The two of you smile before the excitement seems to fizzle and Harry’s brows pull together.

“You know I don’t actually hate you, right?” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I know that’s our thing, and I know you said it earlier, but…I don’t actually hate you. This baby wouldn’t grow up with two parents that don’t like each other.”

“Oh…I…I know.”

“Good. Because I don’t want that to be one of the reasons you think we can’t do it. I’d fucking love that baby. And I’d love you for carrying it.”

Instantly, you both seem to still. The four-letter word sounds so loud inside such a small room.

I’d love you.

He clears his throat, shifting a bit as he glances toward the kitchen. “I mean, I’d…I’d appreciate you for carrying it—”

“No, yeah, I know,” you stammer. “I know what you mean.”

“Good. Yeah.”

The two of you fall quiet again before you softly admit, “I think I’m ready to look.”

“Okay.” He squeezes your hip. “I’m right here.”

You take in a deep breath before begrudgingly pulling yourself out of his arms. You already miss his warmth and the way he felt like home and your stomach turns as you slip into the bathroom.

With trembling hands, you reach for the stick that sits on the edge of your sink. And in those three seconds, an entire lifetime flashes before your eyes. 

The good, the bad, and the everything in-between. You see a house and a dog and a big backyard. You see two little kids rolling in the grass and jumping into the pool. You hear them begging for a bedtime story and crying when they scrape their knee.

You see a dozen birthdays and holidays and visits to the zoo. You see their heartbreaks and triumphs, their successes and letdowns. You see a million goodnight kisses and cuddles on the couch. 

And then…you see Harry.

In every picture, every moment. Taking them to their first baseball game and picking them up from their first dance. Sneaking them into R-rated movies even after you explicitly said no and feeding them far too much candy and popcorn.

You see him teach your son how to tie a tie and dance with your daughter as she stands on his feet. You see him cooking breakfast in the kitchen, flour all over his face. You see him curled up in bed, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. You hear him tell you how happy he is. How glad that he found you.

It’s a beautiful life. Even if it’s not the one you imagined for yourself. And in that moment, you decide that it doesn’t matter what the test says. If that’s your future, so be it. 

As long as you get to live it with him.

“So?” Harry calls from the hall.

You swallow thickly and slowly glance down.

Negative.

Negative.

No baby. No pregnancy. No white-picket fence.

You stare at the test for at least a full minute. You aren’t sure how you feel. Relieved. Disappointed. Upset. Thankful. Confused.

“Tink?”

You turn around. “Uh…it’s negative,” you report, handing it to him. “False alarm. I guess I’m just late.”

He glances over the stick with a rather blank expression before looking at you. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. This is definitely the better outcome. I’m just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was just starting to get used to the idea.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, handing it back. “I know.”

You throw the test away. “Sorry for making you come all the way over here for that.”

“Hey, whoa—” He strides into the bathroom. “What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I’d be here.”

“I just…I wasted your time. I should have taken it before I called you—”

“Tink,” he sighs, taking your cheeks in his hands. “Stop. You can always call me for shit like this.” He looks at you, then amends, “You can always me. For anything. You know that.”

A tear slips from your eye without warning, and you suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. This is what I wanted—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know. It’s hard.”

“Yeah.” You hiccup. “But this is good, right? This is better?”

For a moment, he says nothing. He simply stares at you with a rather sympathetic expression. Or maybe it’s forlorn. Maybe he’s disappointed. Upset that you aren’t giving him what he wants.

Then, he dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “This is good,” he whispers, and you know he means it. “We would have figured it out. And you would have been a wonderful mom. But I know you. And I know you aren’t ready. Not yet.”

You close your eyes and melt into the feel of his palms against your skin. Into the way he reassures you and protects you all in the same breath. You never thought you’d feel so safe in the serenity of his touch, but here you are. Wishing for him to hold you forever.

“And when we are ready, we’ll do it on our terms,” he says. “Okay?”

Slowly, you nod. “This is good,” you repeat to yourself. “It is. Really. Things are going great at work, I’m finally secure financially, and even you and I are…kind of getting along.”

He smirks.

“This is good. This is better.” You repeat the mantra until you really believe it. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have been a very good pregnant woman anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’d be really cranky. Or needy. My ankles would get all swollen and I’d be hot all the time and nauseous and miserable. I’d probably try to kill you.”

“Oh, you’d definitely try to kill me. You try to kill me even when you aren’t pregnant.”

You gasp. “Rude.”

“What?” He chuckles again before his eyes slowly start to rake down your frame. “But I don’t know. I think it’ll be better than you think.”

You swat him again. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to picture it.”

“Why? I told you, you’d look fucking hot.”

“Yeah…no.”

However, he only nods, moving in to subtly brush his lips against yours. “You would. Be so fucking beautiful carrying our baby. With your tits all swollen and your belly getting bigger every day.”

Truthfully, the image almost makes you grimace, but there’s something about the way he says it. The way he talks about you so reverently. A soft, sultry murmur that goes straight to your cunt. Because you know he’s not just saying it to say it. He means it. Believes it. Would do anything for it.

He tilts your head back, thumb brushing along your jaw. “And I think you like it,” he exhales. “I think you like the idea of holding me inside you. Having a part of me. Knowing that I did it to you. No one else.”

You suck in a soft breath, knees going just a bit weak. “Harry…”

“What, baby?” His mouth ghosts along your neck. “Are you thinking about it? Thinking about how pretty your tummy would look with me inside it?”

He’s evil. Absolutely evil, and you clear your throat in a desperate attempt to regain control of yourself. “Do you…have a pregnancy kink I don’t know about?” 

His lips quirk up. “Apparently.”

“Mm.” Your lashes flutter and the urge to kiss him grows stronger. “You know…some women get really horny when they’re pregnant.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you could handle it.”

He scoffs. “Oh, no?”

You shake your head. “I mean, do you really think you could keep up? Going for hours and hours on end? Trying to keep me satiated with your poor, limp little dick?”

He makes another noise, and you tsk.

“I mean, you can barely satisfy me now as it is. But if I was pregnant? Pfft. Forget it.”

Instantly, he’s snatching hold of your hips and yanking you against his chest. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Princess,” he nearly growls. “I’ll bend you over right now.”

“No, I don’t think you will,” you retort. “You’ve gone soft on me. Rubbing my back, kissing my hair. You wanna take care of me and honestly? It’s a little pathetic.”

His head cocks rather deviously and your pulse begins to skip. He could split you in half if he wanted to and you both know it. 

But that’s what you need right now. You don’t want to be coddled or looked after. You wanna be fucked. Tortured and teased until you’re begging for release.

You want an escape.

And in that moment, Harry decides to give you one.

He picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom while your legs quickly work to hook to his hips for stability and your arms snake around his neck.

He ignores your squeals and teasing huffs of annoyance, instead dropping you onto your mattress with a soft thud.

You glare and push up onto your elbows. “You know, you don’t have to manhandle me—”

“Shut up.”

He surges forward, lips gliding against yours as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. And kissing is easy with him. As easy breathing, like you’ve done it all your life. You know exactly what he likes, what he wants. And you give it him.

His glasses are cold against your face, keeping him from getting as close as he’d like, and after a moment, he huffs, and rips them off before tossing them aside. And even though you adore when he wears them, you happen to adore being near him even more.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging on his curls, scratching down his neck. He has the added advantage of being on top, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from turning to putty in your hands. Clay for you to mold to your liking. 

No matter how dominant he tries to be, he’s simply a man that needs to be told what to do. Taken care of. Shown. 

And you happen to like showing him.

You feel him tug on the hem of your shirt. “Off,” he breathes between carnal nips to your throat. “I want this off, Tink.”

Happy to oblige, you push him back so you can lift yourself up before you peel the fabric from your chest. You take your time with the bra, allowing the straps to fall down your arms oh so slowly. You don’t rush to reveal yourself to him, instead letting him anticipate you. Until his heart is racing and his eyes are darkening and he’s resisting the urge to do it himself.

But once he can finally see you, he nearly groans. “Oh, good fucking girl.” 

He resumes his work. More kisses are left to the warm, tender skin, and he happily sucks bruises into each swell and curve of your breast before teasing the nipple with his tongue. His hands are greedy—ravenous. Pulling at your flesh, clawing his way along your frame. 

When he reaches your thighs, you whimper. You’ve missed the way he touches you. The way he pries your legs apart and makes a home between.

In a rush, he snaps your panties off into his fist and you toss him a punishing glare.

He smiles.

You rid each other of your remaining clothes in a frantic fashion until they’re nothing more than a dirty pile on the floor. Messy and familiar. Fated.

He drops down onto the bed back first, effortlessly swapping positions as you’re placed in a straddle over his waist.

“Good girl, let me see you,” he murmurs, running his fingers down your cheek before grabbing your jaw. “Go ahead.”

You reach down and take his hardening cock in your hand, running it along your cunt before teasing yourself with the tip. 

“Didn’t stretch you,” he mumbles, leaving a few stray kisses to your collarbone. “S’might hurt, so—”

You push him in, simultaneously sinking down in an effort to feel a more prominent burn., and you both make a rather lewd noise as the grip on your chin tightens.

“Tink,” he hisses with a punishing look of his own. “Careful—”

You drop yourself further, muscles tensing around the thickness until your thighs begin to shake.

“Hey—” He forces your eyes on his. “Enough. Be gentle, m’not gonna hurt you—”

“I want you to,” you pant. “Please. I need it. I…fuck, Har, I need it. Please…please.”

He’s still frowning but his expression softens. “Baby…not like this. Maybe we should wait until you’re feeling better—"

“No,” you whimper. Desperate. Fraught. “Harry, please, don’t stop. Don’t make me stop—”

“Hey, easy, easy.” He pulls your forehead to his. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

You try to obey. Try to suck in a strangled gasp of air but it’s useless. He’s gonna take himself from you. He’s gonna leave, and you’ll be empty, and alone, and maybe he won’t ever touch you again—

He places his palm on your chest, right over your heart. “Breathe,” he says again. Soft. Quiet. “In then out. Good girl, just like that.”

You follow the sound of his voice. Mimic his inhales and exhales until the two of you fall into a synchronized rhythm. 

“Good,” he says again, rubbing his other hand along your back. “There you go. You’re all right, I’ve got you. Yeah?”

Weakly, you nod. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I—”

“Shh.” He kisses your nose. “You’re okay, Tink. I know.”

A long moment passes before you finally feel in control of your own heart again and once you blink the fog from your eye, you see him. Delicate and strong at the same time.

He sweeps his thumb along your lip. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admit. “Really, I just…I needed to feel you. And I wanted to…move on, I guess. Think about something else. Lose myself for a bit.”

He sighs but nods his understanding. “You could have told me that.”

“I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing things with you.”

“I know,” he echoes with a small grin. “But we’ll learn, yeah?”

Your gaze grows suspicious. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he says simply. “If we’re gonna make a bunch of hot, smart babies one day, we’re gonna have to communicate.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, that won’t be for a while.”

“Fine. Just gives us more time to practice.”

Your eyes narrow. “You really have gone soft on me, haven’t you? All because you thought I was pregnant."

He laughs, fingers slipping around the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss. “I’d argue I’m actually quite hard right now.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“I can hate you and like you at the same time, right?” he teases. “Because I think that’s my sweet spot. Wanting to kill you and fuck you all at once.”

“Agreed. You’re insufferable but you’re also one of my favorite people. Which only makes you more insufferable.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “I think we earned a little civility, no?”

You nod and take his lip between your teeth. “And I think we should celebrate with an orgasm.”

He laughs again. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

You dance your kisses down his chest, enjoying the way his head drops back while he sighs at the feel of your tongue. He’s so beautiful and so good and if you’re going to lose yourself, you want to lose yourself in him.

Leaning back, brace your hands behind you on his knees, and start to bounce yourself on his cock. Over and over, faster and faster, until he’s grabbing onto your hips and giving them a firm, encouraging squeeze to help you along.

Your tits bounce right in his face, and he takes advantage of his front row seat, allowing his hands to trace and tease your nipples as you whine. He sucks them into his mouth and pulls them with his teeth. It sends chills along your spine and goosebumps along your arms and when he notices, he smirks.

 Not even a minute later, he’s pulling you down so your chest meets his. His hands land on your ass with a firm grip and he drags you along his cock. Slow and sensual until your eyes flutter shut, and you disappear into the building pleasure.

You feel his kisses on your ribcage as he begins to thrust up into you. Returning to the pace you previously set until you’re both chasing that familiar high. 

“There you go,” he praises through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah, just like that—”

“Harry,” you mewl, fingers tangling in his hair. “Shit, please—”

“I know.” He leaves another kiss to the inside of your arm before he smacks your left ass cheek. “I got you, Princess. S’okay. Keep going.”

You grind yourself over his lap, knees hugging his waist as you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. Needy. Anxious. You match each other’s rhythm and it’s a dance. An effortless fluidity that brings you closer than ever before.

Then, he sucks two fingers into your mouth, and moves them between your cheeks. He grazes them over your tighter hole, gently teasing them over the other entrance before dropping them down to where his cock is fucking into your cunt. He plays with you a bit, pushing you just a bit closer while you wail—depraved—and beg for more.

“My good girl,” he praises. He spanks you again. “Fuck—that’s it, baby.”

Your staccato whimpers are consistent now. One for every thrust and you can almost taste his desperation as he turns his head in order to kiss your cheek. The sound of skin against skin is crude and delicious. The way your body slides against his. Like butter on a hot day, melting together.

He goes faster, pulls you harder. Fingers digging into your skin so hard it almost hurts. But in the best possible way. In turn, you brace yourself with a palm on his throat. Squeezing it tight as you start to get closer. 

“Yeah,” he groans. “Shit…harder—”

You obey, pinching the sides of his neck until his eyes roll back. 

You can feel his heart racing against yours. You’re both warm. Hot. Shaking. A tangled mess of limps and depraved grinding like animals in heat.

“M’almost…m’almost there,” you whisper.

He nods, looking down your body to watch the way your ass bounces in his hands. “Go. S’okay, go. Let me feel you.”

He leaves more kisses to your side and the tender way his lips feel against your skin makes your brain go fuzzy. 

You grip his throat a bit tighter and just like that…it’s over.

The two of you cum together, the room filling with moans and gasps and promises. He settles beneath you while you ride out the rest of your high but he makes sure to keep his arm around you through every second.

Once you finally catch your breath, he hums. “God-fucking-damn.”

You grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He turns to see you. “I think I’m pregnant.”

You roll your eyes with a swat to his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet you still like me.”

��I never said that.”

“You said I’m your favorite person.”

“Yeah, well, I lied.”

“Right.” He helps you ease him out before he’s flipping you around and moving himself between your legs.   

You blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

He lifts two fingers and eases them along your swollen pussy. Collecting the white, sticky substance already leaking out before easily pushing it back in.

“Harry,” you scold. “I think we’ve had enough breeding for one day.”

He smirks. “Relax, Tink, m’not breeding you. I just…like to see it drip out.”

Your heart leaps. “…oh.”

“Yeah.” He rests his cheek against the inside of your thigh in order to watch. “S’always so fucking pretty.”

You reach down and card your fingers through his sweaty curls. Happy and content for the first time in days.

He looks up. “One day,” he promises, even though it sounds more like a question.

But somehow, in this moment, it makes everything else worth it.

You grin.

“One day.”

AAA I can’t believe we finally did it!! I’m not gonna lie them being soft with each other is gross 😭 BUT ALSO CUTE!! YAY PROGRESS!!

Thank you so much for reading and for always being so nice!! 🥹💞💞 and of course thank you for the amazing idea hehe

Also, if you see any mistakes……no you don’t 🫶

~  Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist:

@littlenatilda @prettythingsworld @heartateasee @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @monicaalexandraaa

@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

@lillefroe @kirstiea05 @ribbonknives @lunaharrygurl @harringtonhundreds

@babyyhoneyyy @swiftmendeshoran @sundresstyles @eldahae @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

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@lovrave @nuggetdean @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @babegoals @lc-fics

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[heartsofminds]

if you could see my thoughts, you would see our faces

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” or Carmy takes an impromptu smoke break and you're begging him for a drag.

A/N: just a sweet little blurb that's been sitting in my back pocket for a while. hope y'all love it as much as i loved writing it!

Smoke breaks never last forever. 

The cacophonic slam of a door, the pliable edges of a pack of American Spirits, the grooves of a lighter’s spark wheel, the mix of brisk Chicago wind smacking your face, and the heat of a silently shameful cigarette caressing it in a false sleeve of comfort – The world is silent during a smoke break. 

Until the door opens and someone asks to bum a light. Or until you get called back in because everyone and their goddamn mother in River North decides to come in to try the dinner special, yet pretend like they’re actually fucking curious to know what you think the best thing on the menu is. Or until the ignored panic in the back of your mind knocks the wind out of you when taking a particularly long drag that leaves you stifling a deep and hearty cough. 

The small moment of peace before it all still remains good. The moment of peace is fine. The moment of peace is all you can afford to get sometimes. 

A smoke break never lasts forever, but the temporary solace it provides is enough for Carmen, whose brain never seems to stop spinning no matter how fast or slow the world is turning without him. 

He’s gotten better, he thinks, about voicing his discomfort and finding ways to “cope” with his feelings of metaphysical spiraling. He’s still getting the hang of this whole “finding meaning outside of the kitchen” thing, but he figures that twenty-eight years of having your worth summed up in how well something was chopped or seasoned or sautéed or whatever the fuck is ridiculously hard to disengage from. 

His therapist would kill him if she knew that he credited a portion of the advancement of his well-being to you. He can hear Erin tell him that he can’t rely on people to make him feel better; that the only person who can determine Carmen’s worth is Carmen himself, but quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck. 

And then he remembers that not giving a fuck is him making his own decision about his life (which he was never allowed to do before, which is why he thinks he was damned to hell to pick the profession he has), and his heart swells a bit with pride. He cares about something for once that has all to do with him and the meaning of life and living and being alive and in charge, and that idea is no longer a room with a false ceiling that can cave in at any moment. 

He doesn’t give a fuck because he does give one, and he has never known that something as simple as being loved, fully and authentically, was something that would make all the difference. 

Despite not being stressed out nor having a “real” reason to smoke (except for the fact that he’s a creature of habit, and you seem to love the word “addicted” even though he disagrees), he finds himself lifting the window near the fire escape of his apartment and stepping out onto the rusted steps that are less than functional and whips out his lighter and the red cardboard package harboring his cigarettes. 

The lights are off in the apartment and the soft whistling of the heater helps him make sense of the foggy window glass. Chicago is nightmarishly cold in November, yet his body doesn’t seem to mind the teen-digited temperature that plagues the indigo-hued 1 AM sky. 

Carmy loved in living in the city (and the actual city of Chicago and not Naperville or Joliet or Downers Grove like all the other self-proclaimed “Chicagoan” jagoffs that littered the outskirts of the city for sleep, but polluted it for play). 

He liked living in New York City but he loved living in Chicago. New York was too noisy which, he knows, is so fucking ironic given the fact he lives in the heart of all things bustling and boisterous. 

But New York had the kind of noise at night that was isolating; the sounds of cars honking and the squeal of the subway telling the stories of a million different lives of a million different people that he didn’t know. 

New York City is the largest city in the United fucking States, yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have felt lonelier while he was there. New York City is the perfect city in the United fucking States to go soul-searching in, and yet a twenty-two-year-old Carmen could not have been more clueless about who he was at the time.  

And he’s still figuring out this “thing” called having an identity and finding peace, and he’ll never feel like he knows a whole lot about anything, but he does know two things for certain. 

He fucking loathes feeling lonely and he fucking despises feeling clueless. 

Chicago is noisy, but the kind of noise that sends an irritated streak of comfort down your spine; the hatred of your twin bed and its mismatched sheets in your childhood bedroom, but the comfort of knowing a refreshing and safe sleep is to follow that night. It was the kind of noise that filled living rooms on Christmas Day or the backyard on the Fourth. It was the sound of a vacuum cleaner running on an early Saturday morning during the first week of summer break and the ticking of kitchen timers and arguments and laughter and tears of all kinds. 

He was always reluctant to come back. His pride is something he holds close to his chest but wears with quiet confidence. He would rather die than it seem as if he ran away from New York back home with his tail between his legs. He would rather die than admit to himself that Chicago is where he was meant to be and where he should have always been. He would rather die than admit that through his fucked childhood and even fuck-ier adulthood (Thank you Mikey and Mom and NOMA and Chef David), the city is his safety blanket. 

Carmen hasn’t been back to the house since the incident five Christmases ago. Everyone mutually (and very silently so as to not piss his mom off even more than she always perpetually seemed to be) decided that Christmas Eve dinner is much better suited for Uncle Jimmy’s house. When Natalie called on the phone to let him know about the change of venue the following year, he had known from her tone that another Richter scale meltdown had occurred once their mother found out. 

From then on he found ways to stay away; to stay put and to put his life on hold and it was the closest thing he could get to not breathing with, you know, still actually fucking breathing. 

And it worked for a while. It worked for one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days, to be exact. 

But then Mikey died and then there was a restaurant and then there was every relative that had ever known of his existence knocking down his door and begging him to let them in; asking him if he was okay and prodding him with questions about any and everything in between his mom driving her car into the fucking house and his brother deciding croaking was better than sticking around this hell hole. 

And it’s crazy, he thinks, how him simply observing the weather and thinking about possibly smoking a cigarette before bed created this rabbit hole of what would usually be the beginning of an anxious spiral. 

Fucking Christ, I need a cigarette. 

His fingers create an unrecognizable beat on the package of cigarettes in his hand and he takes the first step out onto the fire escape. 

Carmen’s body weight bares down on a piece of the wired metal and it groans in protest. The sounds of tires passing through slush on the road create soothing white noise for his ears. The thin blue henley shirt he has on does little to shield the wind from icing his skin, but he doesn’t mind. 

He can’t chance going back inside to fetch his jacket. The coat rack near the front door lies at the end of a pattern of creaks from your apartment’s shitty floorboards. You’re not a light sleeper in any sense of the word (nor are you entirely sober right now), but he knows that he never places that one particularly decrepit plank of wood right, and the noise will jolt you out of your slumber. 

His nimble fingers swiftly pull a cigarette out of the carton. He cups it with his left and uses his right to cradle the flicker of his lighter. The orange flame disappears as fast as it had been kindled and he inhales deeply and his exhale is shallow. 

Carmen had been smoking since he was fifteen, but he never really had a reason to do it other than Mikey did, and it was a way to spend more time with him. It was their little secret; something that was his and Mike’s and something that seemed like a big deal at the time but would mean jack shit the second he turned eighteen. He never really loved the way cigarettes smelled. He could hardly stand the taste and the constant health class lectures about them being bad for your lungs freaked him out. 

But now that he knows what it feels like to have no thoughts in his head and be left alone in the solace of smoking a cigarette in the dead of night, he thinks he gets it. 

The silence is cut in half by the sound of the rickety floorboard groaning out in a warning. He doesn’t have to peek his head inside and look around to know that it’s you. You never sleep well after a night out and even though he had to carry you up the stairs, drag a damp washcloth over your face to remove your makeup, and bribe you to stand up long enough to take out your own contacts, he should have known better than to be anywhere but in bed next to you. 

Your drunkenness has started to fade and you’ve gone down on the meter from “off your ass” to “slightly tipsy.” Him picking you up from your girls’ night at one of the clubs downtown was more than two hours ago, but he figured you would’ve came and found him by now. 

You have such a fear of missing out and while it’s not Carmen’s favorite thing about you, it does warm his heart to know that you want to spend time with him or that you’re scared he’s doing something interesting without you around. He wishes your ‘fomo’ was based on some issue that he could tangibly fix and not on what he knows is your badly bruised self-esteem. It makes his chest heavy that sometimes you can’t see how great you are; that sometimes you don’t understand why he wants you around and loves you so dearly. 

He can hear your footsteps approach the window ledge and he wordlessly holds his arm out for you to grab onto. Your fingers come out from under the blanket you’ve thrown over yourself like a shawl and grasp his like a lifeline. 

Your body effortlessly molds to him; your front pressed to his back and his unoccupied arm pulling you closer like a seatbelt on your waist. The subtle pressure on your midsection comforts you and your body lodged into his helps alleviate some of the sting he’d been suffering from the cold. 

“You’re mad at me,” you speak. Your voice is small and soft; gentle just in case he really is mad at you and this isn’t something your drunk mind conjured up as you lay in bed alone. 

He sighs and turns his head to take another drag from his cigarette. He makes sure that your hair is out of target of his smoke exhale. A subtle whine leaves your throat as he steps away from you and he grins. Carmen loves when you’re like this; when you’re clingy and being near him is never enough to satiate you. 

“M’not,�� he says. You shift from one foot to the other and his eyes momentarily gaze down to make sure you put on socks before you come out here to join him.

 Even though he can’t see your face, he knows that the corners of your mouth are posed in a frown. You hate it when he doesn’t elaborate. It makes you feel shut out. He’s not helping his case of denying your accusation. You may just burst into tears if he doesn’t provide more dialogue. 

Your nasty habit of feeling like everyone is upset with you all the time is swelling. His nasty habit of smoking more cigarettes a day than he knows he needs is bulging. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another attempt at trying to be better for you. 

“Can’t ever be mad at you, baby. Not with a face like that,” he croons. The words come out of his mouth so easily; endearment dipped in honey and love warmed by sunshine. Adoration is easy when it comes to you. He’s never known a peace like this. 

“Sly dog,” you mutter. The brain fog from the four tequila lemonades you downed earlier makes you slow in finding a smartass thing to say. Carmen fights the urge to poke fun at you because he knows that you’ll take him seriously. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” your words silently praise. 

“You make it easy,” his hold on you acknowledges. 

Your face is numb from the cold and the alcohol making its way through your system. The lips pecking a kiss against your temple can barely be felt, yet you contently hum once the damp seal of them releases the affection you’ve been longing for. He never makes you work hard for his undivided attention when he readily has it. Wordlessness crafts a cradle of comfort for you both. Soulmates in ways that soulmates usually aren’t. 

Another drag from his cigarette. Another exhale of smoke. Another show of actually being better for you. 

A beat of silence passes with the whistling of the wind. 

“Can I try?” your voice is small with unacquired confirmation of what his answer will be. 

He giggles and you’re mesmerized by the way the smoke exhales with each minuscule twitch of his chest. You turn around at the feeling and press your palms to his torso. It’s impossible not to admire him. You’re always starstruck but he makes it easy to be that way when he looks so peaceful and sweet and good. 

Good for you. Good for your heart. Good for each other. 

You make a mental note to tell him that he should wear this shirt more often but know deep down that you’ll forget to do so until it comes back clean in the laundry basket in a week. You need to work on that, you think; telling him that you love him when you feel it. Moments like this don’t last forever, and you fear for the day that the ooey-gooey feelings of love in its purest forms are fleeting. You know that Carmen makes it impossible, but you can never be sure. Much like he, you’re always half expecting the ceiling to cave in. 

“Sweet baby wants to be a smoker?” he chides. He doesn’t feel bad when you flash him a pouty frown. 

“Carm!” you gripe. Your cheek presses to his pec. You hate when he does this; when he can’t give a straight answer. It isn’t something that needs an answer, but the satisfaction of having one, of being connected to him and the inner world of his mind he tries so hard to keep from everyone, would feel nice. 

Carmen’s tattooed hand snubs the cigarette out on the dish left on the ledge of the window. His fingers curl to let his knuckles brush the hair on the top of your head. You try your hardest not to melt into his touch. He’ll have a field day if you let him have the satisfaction of making you visibly weak in the knees. 

“Didn’t even say no yet, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, but you’re being mean. Just tell me “no” instead of making me suffer.” 

He quirks his eyebrow and brings a gentle hand to guide your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him.“Well, m’gonna if you don’t lose the ‘tude, baby.” 

The shift in his tone of voice and the forced eye contact sends a beam of warmth down to your stomach. He has a way of leaving little leeway for negotiation and argument. It’s abstract to his everyday life, but that was complicated, you know. When it’s you and him and him and you, there is never a need for a fight for dominance or a clarification of authority. You both understand each other on a level that is molecular. There is never any need for guessing. 

His finger flicks your lip playfully before swiping a calloused thumb gently on the plush of them. You had fought him so hard earlier when he tried to swipe the lipstick and liner you had put on earlier off with a washcloth. He finds it wild that you’re wide awake and coherent after witnessing the mild temper tantrum you had thrown about it not even two hours earlier. 

Carmen spots the gentle gleam in your eyes and his heart instantly softens. He sighs, momentarily taking his hands off of you and reaching back in his pocket for his carton of cigarettes and lighter. 

“Fine, but you gotta light it.” 

The aforementioned cigarette sits unlit between his lips, the end sticking out like an invitation and the filter hid between his teeth like a dirty secret. He half expects you to chicken out when he hands you the lighter. You always freaked out a little about the flame being so close to your fingers. Something about feeling the heat so close to your hand made you insanely nervous and he could never seem to fully understand. 

His expectations are exceeded when your thumbnail crafts friction with the spark wheel and the illuminated peach of his lighter of the month spurs to life. You don’t cup it with your hands to shield it from the wind. You let it grow and shrink as you lift it up to the unlit butt sticking out of his mouth. 

Your eyes watch in childish awe as the wrapped paper gives way and reveals the hearty smell of tobacco and a sunburst of ashes upon making contact with the manufactured heat. You had watched Carmen smoke hundreds of times, but something about seeing it now right in front of you kindles a spark of curiosity deep in your belly. 

“Can’t believe my sweet girl wants to puff on a cancer stick,” he says. You know that he’s joking, but his trying to get you to change your mind strikes a nerve deep within you. 

“You do it so why can’t I?” you huff, agitated with him seemingly withholding the cigarette you so desperately crave. 

“I do a lot of things you don’t do. Doesn’t mean you should be knockin’ yourself out to try ‘em.” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s just one. Don’t be so mean.” 

He pulls the stick from between his lips and creates a perfect “o” ring with the smoke in its wake. A dopey-eyed grin plants a home on his face and his eyes look deep into yours. 

Fucking show-off. 

“All it takes is one to get addicted,” he continues to smoke and the cigarette butt starts to diminish with each puff he takes, “You sure you wanna bite, sweetheart?” 

“One won’t hurt.”

His gaze lowers to your lips and back up to your eyes. “Don’t wanna end up like me. All sad and addicted to cigarettes.” 

“Carmen, please. I just want one,” you huff, lightly pushing his chest away. He moves slightly with your force and has to stifle a laugh. 

“They ever show you Teri the Smoker in health class?” Carmen takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pretends to examine it, faux and forced curiosity at the cylindrical tube sitting between his lithesome fingers. He’s not giving into you on purpose, you know, and he’ll give in eventually, you also know, but him trying to delay the gratification of getting what you want is starting to annoy you more than it usually would. 

“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?” 

He pops it back in his mouth and takes an obnoxiously long drag. “Nothing,” he breathes out the smoke with his statement, “Just funny that you know that and here you are, damn near hands and knees, gagging for a cigarette.” 

“Carmen.” 

He laughs and you can’t help but love the sound. 

“You know, it’s real fucked up of you to ask for a drag from my cigarette that I get with my hard-earned money,” he says and you roll your eyes, “You should know I love you too much to let you stick a cancer stick in your mouth.” 

“It’s just one!” you plead. 

“It’s never just one, sweetheart.” 

“Well, who says’m gonna get addicted like – like you and Teri the Smoker?” 

“The nicotine content on the carton. That’s who.” 

He’s not paying you any attention and it’s starting to ache your heart a little. You know that he’s distracted; that he’s just trying to prevent the ashes from getting on your blanket and from getting the smell of smoke in your hair, but him biting at your insistence a little less than he was previously sends a pang of gloominess through your chest.

“You smoke all the time, and if you get a hole in your throat because of that then you’re so mean.” 

His lips upturn in introspection.“M’mean?” 

“Very,” you answer dryly. 

“Humor me.” 

“Because then I’ll have to live the rest of my life without hearing your voice again and then I’ll be so sad.” 

He shrugs, half knowing that you’re joking but half expecting something more to come out of what you’re getting at. “Ehh, don’t think anyone at the restaurant would miss it.” 

“I would!” 

You smack at his chest again lightly and he remembers how touchy and wild you get after you’ve been drinking. It’s never bad or out of control, but you’re more affectionate than usual and less gentle than you normally are. 

“Yeah, baby? Gonna miss my voice?” 

“Mhm,” you purr, leaning up to get closer to his ear, “Gonna miss how you call me a good girl. And how you whine when I pull your hair and how you tell me that I’m the tightest and wettest little th-” 

“Jesus,” he laughs, playfully pushing the side of your face away as your teeth nibble a tiny bite on the thick of his palm, “Fuck off.” 

You like to play around, too. That’s also something he sees more of after a night out. He never indulges; knows you get too riled up and in your head when it goes somewhere he’s not comfortable with, but he loves it nonetheless. Being together has helped the other not be so scared of permanence. Moments like this confirm what he knows, and he realizes that you’re a saint and he wants to marry you. 

The stuff that comes along with it has been plaguing his mind as of late, but he realizes how little it matters when he sees you all happy and grateful to be around him and doing the most mundane of things. He’ll get you that ring and that house and those babies and the happiest fucking life in a heartbeat, and he’s oddly comforted by the fact that he knows you’ll let him. 

Carmen’s never been the best at not wearing his feelings on his face and you know he’s deep in thought when the banter dies and the whistling of the wind takes its place. You hope he isn’t spiraling. He tends to do that a lot. You tend to feel powerless when it happens. 

Your eyes study his face; the lightness of his irises, the spiral of curls, the slope of his nose. The tequila from earlier remains in your system, but it doesn’t change the fact that you love him so deeply. 

“You know, it’s bullshit that you’re giving me hell about putting a cigarette in my mouth.” Your voice cuts through the quiet and he starts to grin again. 

“Hey, s’only bullshit because you’re sittin’ here beggin’ and then telling me I’m gonna have a fuckin’ hole in my throat from smoking too much.” 

“I never said that it was gonna be bad, Bear. I just said I was gonna miss hearing your voice is all.” 

His free hand comes out to sit on the base of your neck. A calloused thumb draws small semi-circles on the bottom of your hairline. 

“You know, her quality of life was probably amazing,” he speaks, “Like didn’t she have kids and grandkids and friends and shit? Health class is fucked up for making her out to be the ‘throat hole lady’.” 

“You shouldn’t say that,” you grimace and he plants his lips on your forehead. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

You make him softer. If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about how insensitive it had come off. His therapist is always saying people can’t make you better, but she clearly hasn’t met you. 

“But that was kinda the whole point? You shouldn’t want to be like her?” you pause and the frown lines in your eyebrows write “pensive” on your face before you even realize it, “. . .Because she does have a hole in her throat. And her quality of life was just very. . .different?” 

Carmen nods. “They’re fucked up for that.” 

“Jesus, Carm. Do you think smoking is bad or not because you’re giving me soooo many mixed signals here,” you sigh, your forehead moving forward faster than you intended and hitting the bony composition of his collarbones. 

He hums softly; part listening to what you’re saying and part acknowledging that he wants to move on from what you had said. 

“Did you know that your life expectancy goes down by eleven minutes or some shit like that each time you smoke a cigarette?” he swiftly changes the subject. 

You pick your head up and narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, you don’t even love me enough to let me smoke one so I can be put out of my misery a whole eleven minutes earlier when you die from smoking a gazillion packs a day and leave me all lonely and wrinkly.” 

“I think you’d be hot wrinkly,” he replies matter-of-factly. 

“I think you’d be hot if you let me smoke one.”

“You’re probably not gonna like it.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

He realizes that the cigarette has pretty much burned itself out. There’s possibly one or two more drags left before he has to ash it out completely. He debates on whether he should let you have at it or silently take the last two and usher you back inside. If he chooses the former, he knows that he’ll feel bad if you don’t like it, and he worries that your realization will kickstart the unraveling of something almost perfect he’s found for himself. He can’t bear to take another loss in his life. If he chooses the latter, he knows you wouldn’t even be aware that he had smoked it entirely by himself, and that you’ll gripe and complain for the rest of the night and table the conversation for another time when he’s in a less resistive state. 

“Carm, you have to give me a puff from it,” you complain, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

He’s giving in to you. He always does. He doesn’t know why he pretends like he has free will when it comes to you. 

“C’mere,” he beckons your face closer, “And don’t use your hands. You have that blanket on and I don’t wanna have to call Chicago Fire tonight.” 

Carmen lifts his hand up to your mouth and gently laughs when you go cross-eyed to eye the filter sitting in between his pointer and middle fingers. 

“You just inhale, hold it, and then breathe back out,” he instructs. He feeds the filter to your lips before suddenly pulling it back. “Don’t choke yourself out though. That uh – that won’t be good and then you’re really not gonna like it.” 

Your neck extends to get closer to Carmen’s hand and you do what he says. You inhale, hold it, and exhale. You don’t think you’re doing it right (and he knows that you didn’t, but doesn’t say anything because he knows it’ll make you whiny) but you’re satisfied that he trusts you enough to try. 

“Took it like a champ, baby,” he cheers, “So proud!” 

He pushes the butt of the cigarette into the dish and your blanket-covered hands come up to palm his face gently. The plush of the cover feels soft against his stubble-covered cheeks, and your gazes catch each other’s. 

A moment of tranquility. A moment of peace. A moment of love. 

He so desperately wants to marry you. 

[killerpancakeburger]

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse

SUMMARY: Soap finds out that his girlfriend is a skilled mercenary. And that he likes it... a lot.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Established relationship, Badass!Reader, Smitten!Soap.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, misogynistic comments/insults, mention of: blood, death, kidnapping/hostage taking, torture, weapons, suggestive content (Soap is Horny), military inaccuracies, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: yes I am still writing the civilian fic with Ghost and Soap... but then I had this idea and thought I could finish it ""quickly"". Written on mobile so if there are mistakes feel free to tell me!!

Soap let out a yawn big enough to dislocate his jaw, staring at his captain with mild resentment.

“This couldn’t hae waited til after breakfast, sir?”

“‘Fraid It could not, John. Actually in just a few minutes you'll be barking at me to know why we haven't gotten a move on already.”

Johnny looked back at his superior with perplexity, before glancing over at his teammates around the table, hoping for a scrap of information. Ghost remained imperturbable while Gaz shrugged.

“We received this video thirty minutes ago. Addressed to a certain Sergeant MacTavish.”

His captain turned on the projector and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. It was his teammates’ turn to glance at him questioningly, and to him to shrug with ignorance.

The Scottish soldier rubbed his face in an attempt to get rid of his lasting drowsiness as the video projected on the white screen facing them was starting.

A group of armed men in balaclavas were occupying a room. The one in the front spouted the classic ransom demand in exchange for a hostage. Nothing worth being summoned at the crack of dawn for.

Then the spokesman moved aside, revealing their detainee, bound to a chair and gagged, shooting daggers at her captors, and Soap almost knocked over the table with how brutally he stood up. Carried away by white-hot fury, he slammed his hands on the table.

“Fuckin’ - what the fuck is this!? When did this happen? Where are those fucking bastards? I -”

Rage had roughened his usually smooth voice, granting it a gravelly pitch, turning his shout into a growl.

“Control yourself, Sergeant”, interrupted Price, “It's not over yet.”

On the screen, the same man as before grabbed your hair, ignoring your murderous glare, forcing you to look at the camera, and coaxed you with disdain before taking off your gag:

“Come on doll, gonna have to beg real pretty for your man to get him to rescue you.”

The second your mouth was freed, you snarled at him, baring your teeth like you were about to bite.

“I'm gonna rip your throat out with my bare hands, you f-”

“Fuck, someone muzzle that rabid bitch”, swore your agressor, your belligerence clearly having thrown a wrench in his plans.

Soap could not help the flare of pride soaring in his chest at the view of your defiance and your grit.

After receiving their orders, the team left the room to prepare themselves for the assault. 

“A friend of yours?” asked Gaz, while Ghost questioned “Ya know her?”

“That's mah girl”, admitted the Scotsman, a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away. The cat was out of the bag. For your own sake, you had been a well-kept secret, but it was blatant that it didn’t protect you.

“Been together for a year. Never meant to drag her into this, though.”

“She sounds like a bloody riot, mate.” teased Garrick.

“She doesn't seem fazed to be taken hostage. Mainly pissed.” pointed out Ghost, wary.

“She's fearless.” admitted Soap with an enamored little smile. “Doesn't mean we don’t have to get her out of this though.”

His expression shifted from fondness to cold determination.

“‘F course.”

“We've got your back.”

“Gaz? You copy?” called Ghost over coms.

The afornamed was tasked with overwatch. His response arrived, marked by hesitation.

“...  I don't think she needs our help, guys.”

“The fuck s’that supposed to mean?” grumbled the Lieutenant.

“It'd be better if you'd see for yourselves. Third window on the right, second floor.”

Ghost took out a pair of binoculars and pointed them at the given position.

“Fooking hell…”

The expletive was mumbled with a mix of surprise and… awe?

“What? What! Lemme see L.T.!” pleaded Soap.

Ghost quickly passed him the tool, eager to make him shut up. The sergeant hastened to shove them against his face. His gaze took in the sight in front of him and he let out an appreciative whistle.

“Steamin’ jesus…”

He drank in the view that was your bloody display of fierce skill and deadly efficiency. You staggered between the enemies with fluidity, making them seem like clumsy amateurs. Slicing a throat there, shooting a head here, he watched with fascination as you used a dead attacker as a human shield.

“I think I'm hard.”

“TMI,  Soap.” 

Gaz coupled his comment with a gagging noise.

“Can ye blame me! Mah lass is oot there bein’ a bonafide badass ‘n’ that's the hottest shit a've ever seen.”

“M not blaming you for being a horny bastard, I'm blaming you for not keeping it to yourself.”

“If you two are done bickering, we could go pick her up.” groaned Ghost.

Letting Garrick past, he grabbed Soap by the shoulder as he was walking by him.

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going out with a killer.”

“Nae, but it turned out to be a good thing, didn’t it? Cannae imagine how badly this would have ended with a civilian. The wounds, the trauma…”

Ghost let out one of his grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.”

Positioning themselves near that final entrance, Soap nodded in response to Ghost's hand signal, waiting for him to break the door down. They were still on their gard in case some of the assailants survived.

In the ensuing silence, your voice reached his ears through the wall he was propped against.

“Come on doll”, you taunted, imitating your captor's scornful tone from earlier, sickly sweet then venomous. “Tell me who you work for and I won't gouge out your remaining eye.”

Johnny gulped. Eavesdropping on this definitely did not help with the… situation in his pants.

The racket produced by Ghost dealing with the door had the merit to make him focus once again. 

His body moving automatically, his training taking over, Soap charged into the room, pointing his rifle at the only person left standing there. Like a reflection of himself, you were aiming your own firearm at him. Your eyebrows were frowned in concentration, your eyes glinting with cold determination. Then recognition dawned on your face, and you heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your weapon.

“It's you! You scared the shit out of me.”

Relief flooded through him at the sight of you, bruised, battered, and blood-spattered, but alive. He tossed his gun aside as you put down yours, ready to embrace you, but Ghost's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Back off, Soap.”

An order. Johnny stared at him in shock.

“What the hell, L.T.?”, he hissed in his direction.

You docilely raised your hands in the air as the masked man lined up the end of his gun's barrel with your head.

“Worst rescue party ever”, you mumbled to yourself.

“Sorry, Johnny”, grumbled Skullface, not sounding sorry in the slightest, never taking his eyes off you. “But do your usual conquests take down a dozen armed men on their own?”

Illustrating his words, he gestured with his rifle to the ground littered with corpses. The man you had started to interrogate - the only one left alive - whined in pain.

“So what's your deal? Ya a mole? Shagging Johnny for intel?”

“Ghost!” Soap gasped, offended for himself as much as for you. “M not some clueless newbie!”

You made a face at the question. You understood where he was coming from, hell you’d do the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed sharing details of your sordid past, especially with a stranger. The less people knew about it, the better.

“I used to be a mercenary for a family who did organized crime. Been clean for years though.”

“Oh yeah? They let you leave just like that?”

“The boss’ daughter had a soft spot for me.”

The lieutenant stared at you for a few more seconds, as if judging the veracity of your statements through sight alone, before lowering his weapon.

A resounding “Bonnie!” rang out. Next thing you knew, your boyfriend's muscular arms closed around you, causing you to yelp, pain running through you at the overeager contact. Soap cursed and apologized profusely.

“Bloody hell, a'm sorry, didnae mean tae hurt ye. Are ye alright? Show me where it hurts. If those bastards leid a hand on ye, I swear-”

There was something both flattering and arousing with how the more Soap lost his cool, the more pronounced his accent became, and the rougher his voice sounded. You placed a finger across his mouth to put an end to his verbal onslaught, an endeared smile on your own.

“At ease, soldier. I'm OK, just some bruised ribs and a busted eyebrow.” you summarized while pointing to the trickle of dried blood on the side of your face.

He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture that felt terribly intimate, an adoring grin adorning his lips.

“Cannae believe ye wiped out those sorry fuckers all on yer own. Fuck, that's hot.” he confessed in a subdued tone.

You threw your head back in laughter, only to wince when your sore ribs manifested themselves.

“Never heard that one before. Could get used to it, though.”

You laced your fingers behind his neck, nonchalantly leaning against him, not fighting back an impish smile. Soap's hands grabbed your hips in response. Your roguish expression must have gotten the better of his restraint, because one breath later, he was hungrily pressing his mouth against yours. You replied in kind, swiftly deciding you did not care for his colleagues’ presence, and he moaned in appreciation.

After a minute or two, you broke the kiss against your will, remembering an issue that needed to be solved. You smiled, amused by the vision that was Soap chasing your lips blindly, then pouting when you refused him.

“So you guys are gonna take care of the bodies, right…? I can deal with one or two, but this is a bit much.”

The last soldier, the one you didn’t hear from yet, a pretty man with dark skin that Soap would later introduce as Gaz, assured you that they would handle it.

Transferring your attention back to Johnny, you noticed a trace of guilt in those ocean eyes of his, as he was staring at you.

“Something wrong?”

“Ye not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” you frowned.

“It's mah fault if those bastards took ye.”

“Oh, Johnny…” you sighed wistfully, cupping his face. “I knew what the risks were when I chose to date a soldier. Plus, there will always be a chance that my past catches up to me. I was pretty fucking mad when I got a hood shoved on my head and my arms twisted behind my back before getting hauled away in the middle of the fucking night, but not at you.”

Once they gathered all the intel they needed and dragged away the only survivor, the team and you left the building. Your testimony was required for the mission report, so you accompanied them without protest, longing for the care that would be provided by their medical facility.

As you were walking to their vehicule, hand in hand with Soap, you noted how he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His cerulean eyes kept greedily roaming all over you, like you were a vision so dream-like it was making him doubt your reality, like you would vanish the second he stopped contemplating you.

“Yer one badass lass, y'know that? ‘M so proud o’ ye. Proud tae be yers.”

A/N: Ghost's "grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.” " is based on my grandma 💀

[georgiapeach30513]

Nothing You Could Do, Part 2

Summary: Steve has to find you, and be honest.

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, fingering, oral sex (M receiving), 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 7K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @saradika-graphics

You ache. Your body is on fire, and hurting in places you didn’t think possible. Your muscles tinge with the ways they were stretched, pulled, and relished. Your core throbs with a rawness of where Steve was all night long. Riding you. Moving inside of you, and fucking inot you.

All. Fucking. Night. Long.

How many showers have you had? Orgasms? How many ways were you twisted in a pretzel? And how is this hard body still so soft and warm in the most comforting of ways? You sit up groaning, and stretching out your wrought body, wondering just how you did the things you did. Eyes closing, you inhale. The heady scent of fucking Steve is all around you.

Who is this man? And can he do what he did to you again next weekend? Your body will need a few days to recover after that marathon. You could get used to this. Normally you’re sneaking out, avoiding anymore conversation with the loser laying beside you. But this man is no loser. That is a man. All man. Every inch of him.

A very delicious, filthy, thick, sexy, hot, beautiful, warm man. You’re getting ahead of yourself, but you like this one. Like him enough to not want to run off. Like him just enough to want to cook something that was prepared in the microwave. You’re saving money after all, and only one person.

“Lay back down,” Steve pulls on your arm, bringing you back to his snuggly chest. His titties are like hard pillows, but in a good way. Your hand grazes up the sizable pec, playing with his hair on his chest when he groans. “How are you feeling?”

“Like you turned me out. You know what a balloon looks like when it’s been blown up, and it slowly deflates? That’s how my pussy feels,” that is one way to put it. She’s sore, and you don’t even recognize her.

He releases a hoarse chuckle, and that very pussy of yours pings at the sound. How is that sexy? Down girl. Do not get wet. “Well, I guess it’s good that there’s no more condoms, so I’m sorry, but we cannot be fucking anymore.”

“I don’t know whether to be thankful or whine that you’re not going to fuck me again,” your mind and body are saying two different things. Even though it might be difficult, the idea of having him inside of you again makes slick rush to your core, and you curse yourself.

“I wouldn’t say never again. But,” he yawns, stretching out his body. Tightening his muscles, and you grow weak. Wetness leaks out of you.! “But the lack of condoms, and your deflated balloon pussy, we’ll have to hold off.”

“Steve!”

“That’s what you called her!”

“You were the one that was fucking me hard last night!”

Steve gasps dramatically. Clutching his invisible pearls, “You kept screaming for me to fuck you harder!”

“I lacked the ability to talk last night. So this was determined to be a lie,” he snorts, rolling his eyes as he sits up in bed. The sheet drops around his beautiful body, and his cock is already hardening. Slut. “What are you doing?”

“Spread your legs, I want to see how swollen she is.”

“Why?” Smirking that devilish smile, and his fucking damn eyebrow, and you’re already spreading your legs, and leaning back on your elbows as he centers himself between your legs. So close your sex, and you can’t have him.

“Aww, honey, you’re soaked.”

“Am not,” he swipes a thick finger through your slit and holds up the sticky mess for you to view. “You’re so hot! She can’t help it.”

“Well, she is such a pretty girl. My god, she’s still so swollen, and gaping from my cock,” more like the pounds from his pelvis. The slaps from his hands. The suck from his lips, and the bites.

“You bit my clit last night!”

“If I recall, you cried out my name, and wet my face because you came so hard from your clit being bitten,” okay. This is nice. The most filthy words are being spread between the two of you, and it still is fun. “She is a pretty little pussy.”

“You keep staring, and I’ll have to,” you cut yourself off. No, you wouldn’t say such things. You know absolutely nothing about the crazy man that says he’s a presidential candidate, and that should be enough to get you running far far away.

“If we do this again, I’d like to get tested, and then we’ll cross that bridge. I’m only protecting both of us,” you know. It was just a moment of weakness. He leans forward kissing the lips between your legs, and sighs, “Still so sweet. But she does look a bit tired.”

“Did you just say that my pussy looks tired?”

“Seems like she’s not used to such a big cock.”

“She’s not,” not by a long shot. Not even your toys were quite that large.

“That’s too bad. You should be fucked good, and often. But she needs some rest,” his voice goes up too many octaves, and he baby talks to your sensitive flesh, and then pushes your legs together. finishing the conversation with ‘her’, and looks up at you. “However, do you want to see if you can come by sucking my cock?”

“Is that a thing?” There is no way that is a thing.

“Well, you could get on your knees on the couch, and let me fuck your mouth, and if you’re an extra good girl, I’ll even finger you,” oh. Oh, that sounds really nice. Sitting up on the bed, Steve pinches your nipples, and pulls you to him. Crashing his lips into yours, and he devours you. Kissing should not be this sexy. But there is an art to kissing. There needs to be enough hardness, but still have that element of soft sweetness.

He keeps his fingers on your nipples, rolling them between his thumbs, and then pinching harder, only to let go. The ultimate tease, and menace, and your body loves every second of it. “Can we keep the curtains open?”

He sucks on your tongue as he slowly pulls off you. Releasing your muscle slowly, and those dark blue eyes stare intently on your face. “It’s early.”

He looks towards the window, and starts to draw the curtains. Acting oddly about keeping everything hidden before he gives you a small little space of light. You love this city. Love being able to see it while still sleeping. “Is that all?”

“What do you think will happen if someone gets a picture of us in that position?” Who would want a picture of the two of you?

“Oh, that’s right, Mr. President.”

“You keep talking like that, and I won’t finger you,” you hop out of the bed, sauntering over to the couch before getting on all fours, and you wiggle your ass. “I’d really like to see you with a plug in that tight little ass.”

“Oh, while not opposed to anal play of any kind, I have to know you very well.”

Placing himself directly in front of you, he places each hand on your head. Keeping his eyes on you before you open your mouth wide. Sticking out and flattening your tongue, “Neither do I. Now, suck my cock, princess,” his voice is raw. So deep and raspy from the night before as he pushes into your mouth, and you hollow out your cheeks. Receiving him all the way into the back of your throat.

Peering up at him with glossy eyes as he pets around your face. Admiring just how submissive you could be. He fucks into you gently. Lazily even. Pumping his cock into you with a need to empty himself one more time, but this time, inside of you. Your lung sting with the lack of oxygen. Burning for another inhale before he pulls himself fully out, and air races into your lungs but he drives back into you quickly.

“My god, you look absolutely gorgeous like this,” his calloused thumb caresses your cheek as he beams down to you. “So pretty,” he repeats, and you open yourself wider. There’s no way that you’ll be able to take all of him in your mouth without him going down your throat. And maybe one day you’ll advance to that, but not today.

He slaps on your naked rear, chuckling when you lurch forward. “How’s this pretty little pussy looking, hmm?” He leans over your body, forcing you to take more of him, and he grabs each ass cheek, spreading you so wide. Steve gazes at your tender flesh, so raw and sore looking from his thrusts. Only a tiny part of him feels bad about it. The other part is so proud that you took him so well. And wants to know what you sound like when you squirm if he enters you again.

“She is looking a little bit sad, and she’s still crying for me, Princess,” you hum. Preening at his words. “But you did such a good job at being my little slut,” oh the degrading praises should not make your cunt throb the way it does. “You like that, hmm? You like me owning you?”

“Mhmm,” you say, your mouth full of him.

His fingers circle around your entrance, but never sink in their depths. He spreads around your sticky honey, and too gently rubs on your bundle of nerves. Even though you're sore, you want him. You whimper around his length, and he tsks, “I know. I know you think that you can handle it, but I’m not so sure. Maybe one finger?”

He answers by dipping one finger into your body, and he moves in and out of you at the same speed that you suck on his cock. You create a lazy little pattern. Moaning at the way that it feels almost sweet, in a very disgustingly slutty sort of way. And then he adds another finger, and his breathing hitches.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but she looks just as good stretching around my fingers. Where did you come from?” The sound in his voice makes you want to suck his soul right through his cock. It’s what he deserves for talking to you like that. He deserves to see you on your knees, ready to receive him.

You didn’t care that he is a crazy lying man. You can role play for this man. You’re the princess of Monaco, and he can be the president of the United States. You’d meet him at bars, and play all coy. You’d even wear a tiara if it meant that he was going to make you feel so — alive. Cherished. Pleasured.

The man has been treating you like an absolute whore, and it feels so fucking good. This is the treatment that women deserve on a daily basis. Men had the tools, but didn’t have the know-how. Steve knows how to make you feel lighter than air. Swimming in a sea of orgasms. Even sucking his cock while he fingers you is making arousal drip down your thighs.

Coating your legs, while Steve pants over you. Maneuvering your body, you cup his balls. Gently start to massage them, and the squeak and hitch in his voice makes you feel so powerful. You could own this man if you so chose to. And it only seemed fair since he without a doubt owned every inch of you, and every ounce of your pleasure.

You were utterly destroyed for other men, and it didn’t even have anything to do with love, it had to do with pure unadulterated pleasure. Animalistic even. No emotions are involved, but you feel it’s your duty to mate with this man. You’ve got to extend his genes, and you also know that you sound like a fucking idiot. What woman has sex with a man one night, and wants to procreate with him? Not really you, but you’d consider it.

“God, your mouth is perfect. I have never wanted — wanted to — fuck!” His words trail off as his hips start to buck into you more than you bobbing on him. He wants to come. He’s desperate to release, and can’t even think of his filthy words that you love too much. No, this man is melting into your palms from your amazing blowjob.

His movements become staggered and uneven. “You’re too good. Too fucking good,” ahh, that’s sweet. Romantic even. “Wh-wh-what — what’re you — what are,” you don’t know what he’s trying to say, don’t even care. You’ve made him breathless, and unable to speak, so you feel magical.

He fucks into you one hard deep thrust. His balls tighten ever so slightly, and you feel his warmth coat the back of your mouth. His essence starts to drip down your throat, and he stands to full height, “Get on your back, and I’ll let you come on my mouth,” you shake your head no as you sit down on the couch, “What? You didn’t come.”

“I know,” your voice is rough. Wiping around your mouth, you just smile at him. “Steve, trust me when I say that you more than supplied enough orgasms for me last night. And honestly, I don’t know if my body can handle another one.”

“It can,” his mouth tips up into a smile, and you shake your head no. “Yes, your body can take it. Let me prove it.”

“Or,” you wager with him. You’d take another one, but honestly, you’re starving. “How about you use whatever card you used to pay for this room, and get us the biggest breakfast that you can think of, and while we wait we can shower, and I can walk around with your shirt on.”

“And then…?”

“We part ways for now,” his face falls a bit with that remark. It’s not that you wanted to leave him, but you could get lost in fucking him. Forget your life, and your goals to to pleasure this man, and you didn’t want or need to do that.

He wasn’t quite ready to part ways with you, but he knew that Gail would be calling. There is always something to do, and he’d rather end things on a good positive note, and while he could actually tell you goodbye, and not have to run off to a meeting. He nods, agreeing to your terms, and sends a message to Peter. He needs a suit, and a car. And you need for him to wash your hair, and for him to treat you to an amazing breakfast.

But he wasn’t finished with you. Not by a long shot. He just hopes you’re not finished with him. Especially once you find out the truth. How you didn’t even know who he is, is still a mystery to him. But he’ll chalk it up to someone that did not get into politics, despite living in the city. It’s okay. As long as you aren’t down for just last night.

Steve twirls your earring in between his fingers. You’d lost the earring in the bed last night. At least he had an excuse to see you again. But a fake name. Of course you would use a fake name, and he honestly can’t say that he blames you. He didn’t expect any of that. He also doesn’t regret any of it. He wants to repeat it, but on a completely honest playing field.

His eyes start to close slowly, and he’s thankful that the team meeting is over. Starting to stand to leave, Gail shakes her head no, and points to his chair. He’s a grown man, but he knows that Gail’s job is not easy. Knows that she means well, even if she treats him like a child sometimes.

“I want everyone out of this room, except for you, Mr. Barnes,” her eyes stay on Steve, so he knows he’s included in staying behind. “Peter, have someone guarding the door,” his personal assistant gives a nod before Gail stands at the opposite end of the table. Her arms stretch wide over the table. Gail’s hand grips each side of the table as her vision narrows on Steve, but he remains leaning back in his chair comfortably.

“Is there something you would like to tell me, Steve?”

“This was an excellent meeting,” she clears her throat. “Umm, your pantsuit looks incredible,” she throws a Manila folder towards Steve and Bucky, and paparazzi photos billow out, and Steve pulls one up. You. There you were with your hand on his chest, while you gave him the best goodbye kiss, and he stuffs you in the car he had ordered.

“The fact that you have these photos is highly creepy.”

“The fact that you put yourself in this fucking position is idiotic,” here we go. “You are campaigning to become president. When I told you to find someone for your arm, I didn’t mean find a DC whore.”

“Woah, woah. You can change your tone immediately right now.”

“Who is she?” That is a great question, and one that Steve couldn’t fully answer despite Bucky finding your real name. “You men are insufferable. And you,” she points at Bucky. “You let him?” Bucky shrugs, smirking at her. “I guess your boy needed to get laid?”

“I guess you need to,” Bucky responds, and quickly turns to his nails. Pretending to clean something from under them.

“Steve, do you know what this means?” Not fully another than the fact that she is annoying him.

“That I’m a grown man that had consensual sex with an amazing woman that I met at a bar,” Gail’s laugh barks out of her mouth, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Finally got rid of that tension headache that has plagued me for a week.”

“What about the security video?” Bucky’s head turns towards Steve, and he starts to laugh.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks her. What is she getting at with the security video.

“You pay enough money, and the fucking hotel talks,” Steve looks towards his friend, not fully understanding. “Good thing I paid the money. You fucking idiot,” she slides over a flash drive. “I made sure it was deleted completely from their hard drive. But you were fingering this whore in the elevator?”

Bucky bellows out a laugh, holding onto his stomach, but Steve glares at his campaign manager, “That’s the second time that you’ve called her that, and I suggest you remove that word from your vocabulary when concerning her.”

“What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Gail’s hip cocks to the side. “I truly don’t know. You want to know what happened? I met this incredibly awkward and charming bartender,” Gail groans, but Steve gets louder, “She didn’t even know who I was. She just treated me like a human. And yes, I was extremely attracted to her, and by the end of the evening, I had to have her, and she was consensually in agreement. We went to a hotel, and I fucked her six times. And then she gave me the best head I’ve ever had the next morning. We showered, I fed her, and then I made sure her cute little ass got in the car safely. That’s it. Now, can you please explain what the fuck you’re going on about.”

Gail takes a slow breath, and starts to walk towards Steve, gathering up the photos taken from the morning after his night with you. “You are the most eligible bachelor in the country. I have told you that your odds for election would look better if you had someone on your arm. I explained to you that we could find you a suitable wife,” Steve snorts, gawking at her.

“Yes, Steve, suitable. Not some random bar whore.”

“You will not speak of her like that. If I hear you say that one more time, I will find another campaign manager,” the only time you were a whore is when you were on your knees, for him.

“Do you love her?”

“I don’t even know her. Do I see myself able to love her? Of course,” placing all the photos into the folder, she shoves it up against his chest.

“Then I suggest you find your Cinderella, and you turn her into your girlfriend. Have someone give her a new wardrobe. Give her a salary. Buy a damn ring, I really don’t fucking care. Make America fall in love with her, and get ahead of your sneaky link. Because while you don’t like me calling her a whore, what do you think the opposition will call her?” Steve glares at her. She isn’t entirely wrong. He knows that if you aren’t attached to him, it could be very bad for both of you.

He didn’t care about himself. But you went into this relationship blind. Not that it’s a relationship. But it was the best night of his life. And you were none the wiser for the photos, and the video. He’d been careless, and it put you at risk. “Go now,” she warns, and he stands slowly.

He keeps eye contact as he turns towards the door. “Steve, I can’t stop the photos from going to press. You understand that, right?”

Cracking his head, he nods. Motioning for Bucky to join him, “And Barnes, I expected more from you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t. Steve’s a big boy. He’s still alive, and he needed that night,” Bucky knew how badly Steve needed to let go, and be a normal man for once.

“And we all need a win,” she says with finality as she spins on her heels, and clicks out of the boardroom.

“Are we fucked, Bucky?”

“Nah, we just have to make sure the address that I have actually fits your princess. The only hope you have is that she agrees to — the terms? That sounds disgusting. A relationship. But it’ll be fully public. And I don’t think she believed at all that you were running for president.”

You didn’t. He knew deep down that you had no idea who he was. But that was the best part. There were no preconceived notions on how you should be. You even called him Mr. President, and it sounded so good coming out of your mouth. He hoped that he didn’t fuck up the chance at a relationship.

You groan as you look down at the spilt ice cream on your shirt. You wanted that last bite. Everyone knows the last bite is the best bite. It’s completely why you just don’t share the last bite with someone unless you really really like them. You look around the apartment, but know there is no one in here to judge you.

Once satisfied that there aren’t any spiders or ghosts watching, you wipe up the frozen treat off your shirt, and use your mouth to clean it off. It doesn’t taste as good as it would have if it was from the spoon, but beggars can’t be choosers, and you really wanted that last bite.

Now you’re left feeling dissatisfied, and the ice cream wasn’t even the problem. The problem was you still feel him. And the worst part of feeling him is you don’t have him here with you to fix the problem. You doubt that there are enough condoms in the world to fix the aching in your core.

You miss him.

And you don’t even have the right to miss him. You didn’t even know him. Didn’t know if Steve was his real name. Didn’t know what he actually did for work. In retrospect you didn’t know much about this man and his magic cock. And mouth.

Ahh his mouth.

It wasn’t even what he could do with his mouth. It’s the things he said. How he commanded you with so very little effort, but the best part is he delivered on his words. He made them sound delicious, and that you earned them. But! He earned it as well. It doesn’t even make sense, and you’ve tried to wrap your head around it. And you’d tried.

You have tried since the moment you left him to compare any man that you have ever been with, or could ever be with to him. It was a stupid endeavor. There isn’t another Steve. You sigh, leaning your head back on the couch, trying to figure out the best way to locate him. You had to find out. You just had to.

You must have fallen asleep. A beautiful wet sleep with Steve as the lead. And now you’re woken up with a banging on the door. Your head feels so heavy as you lift it off the back of the couch, and now you have an obnoxious crick in your neck. What did you do to deserve this? You’re in pain, and you were just getting to the good part; Steve blowing his load inside of you.

You’re obsessed, you know it, but you don’t care. It’s shameless, but only you knew how you were down bad for that man. The banging on the door continues, and you squint at your phone. You didn’t have anything delivered, so you’re not sure who could be here.

Groggily standing up you walk towards the door, and open it up without asking any questions. Because you’re a crazy person. Peeking through the crack, you’re met with glass blue eyes, and you jump back from the door, fully awake now. “Sweetheart, you should really learn to open the door better.”

Now that you’re not in the doorway, he pushes on through, and a familiar groan growls behind him, “Steve?”

“Yep,” the creepy shadow man that follows him around everywhere steps further into your space. Your home, and starts opening cabinets, and doors, and you look towards the door where Steve is standing. He shakes his head, looking as annoyed as you before stepping inside.

You’ve never been able to manifest things before, and this is not exactly how you thought you would see Steve again. “I apologize for his intrusion,” he takes another step into your apartment, and then looks at you, “May I come in?”

“May you explain to me what is going on?”

“That’s fair,” he stands there, looking at you questioning before you hold your arm out, letting him know to come in. Steve offers you a terse smile before walking in, and closing the door, and fully locking it. You get into the sitting area, and glare at his friend relaxing on the couch and his legs propped up as if this is normal.

“Can I get you some drinks or something?” The shadow man smiles, nodding his head, and Steve responds with a thank you. Your apartment is an open floor plan, and you don’t have to go far, but letting them know the embarrassing list of things that are in your fridge is terrifying.

“Um, I’ve got — uhhh — Yoo-hoos, Capri Suns, filtered water, cold brew, and Hawaiian Punch,” both men stare blinking at you a moment before the odd one smiles.

“Are you a child?”

“Bucky and I will have a Capri Sun,” so the shadow man had a name. That’s good. You get each of you a Capri Sun, and toss one to the men. “Pacific Cooler, this one is my favorite.”

“When you were eight.”

“Can we not make fun of the impeccable beverage I just offered you, and explain to me why you’re both in suits, and I’m in my disgusting sweats. I could have made more of an effort had I known,” you could have been waiting with lingerie and condoms.

Steve takes a deep breath, looking at Bucky, and then back at you, “You lied about your name,” you glance towards his friend who is looking more comfortable, while Steve is standing, and staring at you.

“Yeah, well you work at a bar in this city long enough you know not to be giving random weird men your name. They have a tendency to stalk you.”

“They won’t be doing that while I’m around,” you narrow your eyes towards Bucky, wishing that Steve would open that beautiful mouth. But instead you get the weirdo.

“Have you had someone stalk you before?” Aww, he’s concerned.

“Yeah, but stop talking about me. What the hell are you two doing here, drinking my Capri Suns?”

“You know your social media is quite blank?” Bucky scrolls through his phone, and you want to hurl it at him. “That will make this quite easy. Oooh, you know Scandal is a bit of an overrated show, but I’m glad you have the tiniest bit of knowledge with politics.”

“I really don’t like him,” you point towards Bucky. “Can you shed some light here?” you’re seriously about to get pissed off. Stupid shadow Bucky is scrolling through your social media, and judging your show of choice, while the man with a magic dong is just standing there. “Steve?”

“I don’t know where to begin. You seriously don’t follow politics at all?”

“Why?” You ask annoyed.

“What?”

“Why should I follow politics? It’s just a bunch of white old men who think they know what is best for me. They don’t. Did I offend your career? What, are you like a mayor or something?”

“Or something,” Bucky grins.

“Do we have to have him here?” You point towards Bucky, and both men nod their head. “Okay. So you’re actually in politics. I apologize for my impedance in knocking you down to just a mayor. So you’re a senator?” He shakes his head no. “Congressman?” Again, shakes his head no.

You look towards Bucky, and he smiles again, while you walk over to your beanbag, and start to sink on it. The beanbag was your safe space. It makes you feel all cocooned as bad things happen. “What are you?”

“I’m a presidential candidate,” he didn’t lie. He didn’t lie to you. Oh god, you’re going to be sick. The possible president of the United States tea bagged you. He treated you like an absolute slut, and you loved it. You pull your blankie up to your chin, and think about all the ways this man degraded you.

“To be fair, I did not lie to you.”

“Shh!” You scold, you are going into your brain. Because your body, and your mind are confusing. Your body wants to go to Steve, and let him fuck you into oblivion. Your mind is trying to wrap itself around the fact that you fucked, multiple times, the possible future president of the United States. “How likely are you to win?”

“He’s leading the polls,” you don’t like that man.

“So, um why are you here?”

Steve’s sighs, and sits on the edge of the couch closest to you, and his thick fingers caress your temple. Moving over to your nose, where he runs a finger up and down it. “My mom used to do that for me when I’d get in my head,” it’s nice, but you’re not saying another word, until he starts talking.

“Because of my position people tend to follow me,” he clears his throat, adjusting his tie with his left hand, and it stresses you out. “People with cameras.”

“Is there a sex tape of us? Oh my god! Does this mean that mom is going to see you with your thumb in my ass, while you’re fucking me from behind?” among other things.

“My god!” Bucky gives a whoop, and you look over towards him. “I’ll go wait in the hallway. Can I get another Capri Sun?”

“Are you eight?”

“Only in my head,” he gives you a wink, walking towards your fridge, and you curl back into yourself.

“You can pet my nose again,” Steve smiles, and starts to pet your nose, “So there’s a sex tape? How do we get on top of this? Are my parents going to see me crawling on the floor towards you?”

“There is no sex tape, Princess,” that’s nice. You like that name very much. “There’s pap photos of you doing the walk of shame out of the Four Seasons,” oh. My. God! There is too much to process there. “You’re covered, but there’s one of me kissing you.”

“Doing that chin tilt up thing?” He nods his head, and you very much would like to see this photo. “I don’t know if I understand.”

“Well,” he gulps. “Can I join you on that thing?”

“The Lovesac?”

“That’s what the beanbag is called?” You nod, scootching over a bit to give him room, and the big man gets into your cocoon with you. He pulls you over onto him, and you start to melt. Yes, he was amazing with his cock, but honestly, the cuddling was just as amazing. How warm and snuggly he feels. Both hard and soft.

“There’s only one way I can protect you from the public,” you’re listening. Lifting up his hand to weave your own with his. “It’s not the most ideal, and you are free to walk away. But if we put it out there that you are my girlfriend, and not just some hookup it won’t make you look like…”

“Your whore,” you whisper. Dropping his hand, while you focus more on your blankie.

“Essentially,” there’s something so reassuring about his voice. He understands why you would choose not to agree to this. But there seems to be a hope that you will.

“So I would be hired to walk by your side as your girlfriend with no strings attached?” It feels so grimy when you say it out loud. You didn’t want to be a girlfriend for hire, and you doubt that Steve would want that either.

“Is that what you would want?”

“It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice. Either I pretend to be your girlfriend, or I’m labeled as the president’s whore. I won’t be able to live in the city ever again. I’d have to go back to bum fuck Egypt in my small hometown just hoping that nobody pays attention to presidential gossip. Why — why didn’t you…I mean you did. I know that you did. And I said it over and over again, but I just thought you had a president kink. And now here you are saying it’s a high possibility that you’re going to be living in the,” an odd noise bubbles up from your throat, and you sit up.

“I think I’m going to be sick. I ate the president’s cum. I painted the president’s cum on my body. I have fantasized about fucking the president for the past few days.”

“I am still just Steve,” he reminds you, and you glance back at him. “Think of it as a job. But I am still just me. I didn’t lie to you. I didn’t fully go into the truth, and I wasn’t sure if you were doing a bit.”

“A bit?” Chuckling, you flop back on the beanbag with him. “I called myself the Princess of Monaco, and you thought I was doing a bit? What kind of weirdo do you think I am?”

“The best kind?” That was sweet. He’s sweet, and you’re not sure you’re willing to completely change your life. Could you go on the road, and campaign with him? As his significant other?

“So, let’s say that I decide to pretend to be your girlfriend,” Steve cringes. There’s something in the words that you’re saying that bothers him a bit. “Am I going to have a glow up montage?”

“What?”

“You know, like in the movies. Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman kinda thing. That was a bad example. I’m not a prostitute. Not that I care. Power to sex workers. The people work hard in that job, and it’s not just women. Men, too. But are you going to change how I look?” You can’t just walk around in your leggings and t-shirts anymore.

“Publicly,” hmm. That’s an interesting way to say it. He doesn’t care what you wear in private.

“So will I get to live at the White House with you. If you win, I mean. I don’t know if you’re superstitious, but that sounds like a terrible thing to say. But can an unmarried couple sleep there?” You gasp, “Will you be the first president that just has his live-in girlfriend there? Would we share a room?”

“Shh,” he coos, trying to get your racing brain to calm down. But how can it calm down when you’re going between excited and sick to your stomach? “You wouldn’t be just my girlfriend on the campaign.”

“Come again?”

“It’s suggested that you would be my fiancé. It sounds a bit more permanent,” that sick feeling is bubbling up in your gut again. The Capri Sun is not sitting well. This just went to a place you didn’t think it would.

“So a pretend fiancé now?”

“Can we drop pretend?” That’s what’s bothering him? The word pretend?

“Wait. Not pretend?”

“I’d prefer not. We’re being honest, and I wasn’t going to say anything, but the idea that you’re just there to look good on my arm is making me sick. We had sex. We had amazing sex, but I don’t want to just have sex with you,” what does that mean? “I would like to spend time with you. Actually date. Have you become a friend during this campaign.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile, grabbing his hand again, and start playing with his fingers. He only gets the fingers when you're in a happier place. “So we date while we’re on the campaign trail. But publicly I’m your fiancé.”

“It sounds gross, I know.”

“I wouldn’t call it gross. I’ve dated a lot of frogs. I’d call it crazy. Can I ask you a question without you thinking I’m vain? Because I’m not. But when are these photos being printed?”

He scoots down more into the Lovesac making himself more comfortable, “Sunday morning,” he could have just said tomorrow, damn. That gives you no time at all to think. No time to process this.

“So I’m going to be very selfish right now,” he turns his head to look at you. “Are we going to keep doing the sex?”

“I would very much like to keep doing the sex with you,” you start counting your inhales and exhales. Traveling the country with Steve, while you also get to the sex with him is a positive. Having everyone look at you through a magnifying glass is the negative. “And I would also very much like to watch you have your glow up montage, and not in a creepy way. Only if you want me to be creepy.”

“I want you to be creepy with me sometimes,” that sounded weird even coming from you, “But I don’t know if I can do this. This is a lot. How did you find me?”

“Bucky was creepy.”

“He’s always creepy. Is he always with you?” He nods his head, “Of course he is. He’s kinda like your ninja warrior that keeps you safe.”

“Otherwise known as part of my security team, yes,” you’re going to have to learn words with him. Real words, and not just making things up.

“My words are so much more colorful than yours. Do you really think I could be a,” you retch. That doesn’t even sound right. “A First Lady?”

“Do you think I could be a president?”

“I mean maybe. I might vote for you,” he kisses the top of your head, and for the first time in this conversation, you feel oddly at peace. A small gesture. “I don’t want to spend every second with you IF I choose to do this.”

“What?”

“I mean, I can’t lose my independence. I can’t lose me. And I have never wanted to spend every waking second with someone. It’s a bit odd, ya know? I want us to do our own thing considering we’re going to be strapped together.”

“I think that’s fair, Princess,” he sits up too abruptly, leaving you wishing that he would lay back down with you. That was nice, and you want it back. “You understand that if you choose not to,” he looks away from you. Did he feel the same things that you felt that one night? It’s not love. It’s a great start to maybe finding it. And then this dumbass campaign.

“If you choose not to do this, I can’t take chances with you,” meaning he can’t sneak around and do the sex with you.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“I guess that is one way to look at it,” abort mission. You don’t like that or the look in his eyes. It hurts your heart. “I can’t risk it for me, but especially not you. Things that happen in the dark eventually get brought to light.”

“Were you going to pick some random girl to be your fiancé?” He shakes his head no, and that leaves you with the tiniest bit of relief. Tiny, but still there.

“No. I was going to become a single president. Would you still like me to continue to call you Slade or Meadow?”

“Ehh, Princess is my preferred nickname,” he leans forward to kiss your forehead. Adjusting himself to stand, “Where are you going?”

“A meeting. I’ll leave my number for you, please call me, regardless of what you decide. I’ll understand no matter what your decision is,” no matter what you decide. He’s leaving it completely in your hands. Do you want your glow up montage, or do you want to become the whore that slept with the future president?

Do you want to possibly have something real with him? Or do you want to kick yourself forever and think what might have been? Back in the cocoon. And think. Or sleep. You were woken up. Make a note to do laundry because you saw Steve again with an ice cream stain on your shirt, and fluffy socks. Think. Ponder. Wonder.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @buckysteveloki-me @peaches1958

@seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightamyeoncravings

@kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @distractingbeth @buckybarnesisdaddy

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@otterlycanadian @mima116 @mycrimsonsparrow @loverofthedilfs

[hedwig221b]

Kinda a two part question? Do you have supernatural Stiles recs? (really craving mermaid stuff but all kinds is very loved) and have you thought of writing supernatural Stiles?

and anon asked:

Do you by chance have any creature Stiles or mermaid recommendations? Thank you so much for helping us find stories to read and for writing such wonderful stories!

First of all, thank you! Secondly, to the first anon: I do have a supernatural!Stiles fic, it's called Predators and it's one of my best fics 🖤 I do plan on writing oracle!Stiles, but otherwise, no. Maybe, in the future, I am open to the idea!

So, here are the recs (including merman!Stiles 🧜🏽‍♂️)

Predators (creature!Stiles)

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles.

And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

Sui Tollech Gwanna Tach Omen by jackgyeoms (mer!Stiles)

Mermaid AU. Stiles was five when he first realised that not everybody grew a tail when they entered water.

No Oceans Left by zoemathemata (mer!Stiles)

Stiles has always been a merman. He just never knew how to tell anyone. He hasn’t shifted since his mom died.

It’s A-Boat Time! by Fae_vorite, isthatbloodonhisshirt (mer!Stiles)

He could hear the others talking outside, Scott and Isaac freaking out over something and Stiles snapping at them to shut up and help him get inside.

“Dude, how the fuck can you expect me to stay calm right now! Seriously, that’s a fucking tail!”

“We can talk about it later, just get me inside before someone fucking sees me! I don’t want to end up in a fucking aquarium!”

“Christ, you’re heavy!” Isaac grunted. “How much does this thing weigh?!”

“Shut up and walk,” Stiles snapped.

The Shells at the bottom of the Sea (mer!Stiles)

The one where Stiles is a seal merman trying to fit in with the sharks.

Mermaider by nothing_left_sacred (mer!Stiles)

“So what you’re saying is; you’re a mermaid princess.” Erica concluded.

“Yes, clearly. That is what I am saying. Thank you for putting it so concisely.” Stiles sassed, frowning at her. He wasn’t fucking Ariel; this was so far from being a Disney movie it wasn't even funny.

Or the one where a perfectly normal Beach Vacation escalates way too quickly, because this is Stiles' life.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane (fae!Stiles)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

The Last Chills of Winter by LeeHan (fae!Stiles)

“He didn’t magically charm me,” Derek shot back in his defense.

“Oh, so he just regular charmed you?” Laura said with a smirk.

“What? No,” Derek growled.

“Was he hot?”

“No! He just—“ He just had a laugh like a sun shower.

Fuck.

Faith, Trust, And Pixie Dust by Val_Brown (fae!Stiles)

Since he was a baby he had kept it a secret. Something that he shared with his mom. But when something comes after him and attacks his pack, he has to share his secret with them. He knows they won't judge him, hello, they sprout claws, fangs and some wicked sideburns. But he changes to the size of a gerbil and has wings and pretty much farts pixies dust on everything.

Using his new alliance with Peter, Stiles charges in, pixie dust flying to rescue his pack when they are captured by renegade hunters with a strange vendetta.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold by raisesomehale (creature!Stiles)

He waits until he and Allison are the only two left in the room. “This is a joke.”

Allison says, “Have you ever known my grandpa to have a sense of humor?”

“Really?” Derek’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead, as he gestures to the word that has been printed under Creature Type on the paper. “‘A Merman’? They’re a myth. No one has ever seen one, let alone caught one.”

Allison leans forward to skim through a few pages and draws out a photo that she sets back down on the paragraph he’d been reading. In it, a marble white ribcage crests the dark, prussian blue of a midnight ocean, the only part of the body visible besides a thrashing, predominantly red tail, curved jaggedly through the waves.

“This image was lifted from Deucalion’s personal channels,” Allison tells him. “His people are keeping the discovery all hush hush, which means they managed the photo, but probably haven’t captured the thing itself yet.” She gives Derek a significant look, “Gerard wants us to get our hands on it first.”

a dying breed that still believes by paxlux (wingfic)

He thinks, Mom, we can do this, we’ll fly.

Hot Pocket Ratio by ShippersList (incubus!Stiles)

At the threat of the alpha pack, all Derek wants is to keep his pack safe and alive. As the last resort, he tries summoning a demon to help with fighting the alpha pack. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.

Or, the story where the classic demon deal of "Will you pledge your firstborn to me?" takes some unexpected turns.

There’s A Beast In My Heart (He’ll Only Bow To You) by RayShippouUchiha (creature!Stiles)

“Stiles.” Derek fucking whimpers and if Stiles wasn’t already dying he’d kill himself for making Derek sound so hurt. Stiles just wants to protect him so much sometimes because no one else ever seems to realize that Derek is so goddamn fragile and Stiles hates them all a little bit for not being able to see that. Or In an effort to expel the Nogitsune Stiles is given the bite but it all goes horribly wrong.

A Most Unusual Hoard by churkey (dragon!Stiles)

Stiles turns into a dragon and no one can figure out what he's hoarding…

My Childhood Spat Back Out The Monster That You See by rightsidethru (demon!Stiles)

Appearances can be deceiving.

Caught by hunters, Derek immediately dismisses his gangly, fellow prisoner as a pressing concern.

After all, the amber-eyed teenager couldn't be more than one hundred and forty-seven pounds soaking wet. What type of threat could he possibly be?

(The answer: a large one.)

9/10ths of the Law by tsukinofaerii (demon!Stiles)

Stiles discovers the hazards of growing up a real boy when, at heart, he's not a real boy at all.

You Were Never Meant to Know by Mooneye (demon!Stiles)

“Not a fan of exorcisms, Stiles?” the figure asked as though he were enquiring about the rain.

“Not really. I could spew black bile if you’d like more authenticity,” Stiles answered.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” Scott demanded, unease growing.

Stiles is a demon, always has been, and never intended for anyone to know. Unfortunately, his secret is forcefully revealed and he has nowhere to hide.

Blodrød by Onlymystory (demon!Stiles)

A demon possessing Alpha werewolves leads a crazed pack to Beacon Hills. He's been stuck inside werewolf minds, when all he wants is a nice human meatsuit. Humans in packs are rare these days and the demon is practically salivating at the thought of possessing Stiles. It's strong, and the pack was taken off guard, unable to protect Stiles before the demon takes control.

But like the demon says…humans in packs are rare.

Blackbird by skoosiepants (shapeshifter!Stiles)

Stiles groans and drops his face into his hands. “I’m seventeen, I can kind of use mountain ash and I can explode houses when I’m mad enough. How am I gonna win any kind of magic fight?”

“We’ll work on it,” Deaton says, as infuriatingly calm as ever. “The important thing to remember, Stiles, is that when everything else is chaos, you’re the port in the storm.”

Or-

Laura Hale never died, and Stiles is magic.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | mafia | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | bad friend Scott | magical!Stiles | unrequited love

[elodieunderglass]

Hi! I was wondering if you could help me out with a word I've forgotten? I'm trying to remember the name for a concept that (I think) talks about how people better understand or process Things once they have vocabulary to describe it - I've heard it talked about in regards to the colour orange, or coercive control, etc.

long story short i've just read a paper saying ancient Greeks and Romans weren't racist bc they had no word for racism and am trying to form an argument against!

(no worries if this is unanswerable, i'm aware its a bit of a long shot but you struck me as a person who Knows Things)

That’s extremely kind and funny of you. i don’t know much but i am ok at synthesis.

I think you might be thinking of the concepts loosely called the “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis”, which describes something called “linguistic determinism.” This idea has been “disproven”, as it is just too reductionist as a concept - people are clearly perfectly capable of having experiences that are tough to describe with words. There will be plenty of papers showing how this reasoning is applied.

but it is still commonly thrown around and still considered a useful teaching framework. That’s why you’ll see it referenced online as if it is fresh, new, and applicable - people learn about it every year in college. Also, elements of the framework are probably perfectly sound. It definitely seems to be the case that language shapes brains; it just doesn’t seem to be the case that humans who don’t have specific words for them can’t experience orange, or the future.

(Many things in college are taught using teaching frameworks that may not be, technically, true; the framework is intended to give a critical structure for interpreting information. Then, when we later find evidence that disproves the hypothesis, that single piece of information doesn’t destroy our expensive college education; what we paid for is the framework. This is mostly frustrating in the sciences, when fresh crops of undergraduate students crash around on social media, grappling with their first exposure to (complex concept) and how it’s DIFFERENT to what they learned BEFORE and their teachers LIED TO EVERYBODY and they’re going to save the world from POP SCIENCE by telling the TRUTH. You’ll notice that these TOTALLY NEW INFORMATION reveals map along the semester schedule. The thing here is that getting new information, or information being different from what you were previously told, does not cancel out the fact that you are getting what you pay for - an education. Learning new facts that change our relationships to hypotheses isn’t a ✨huge betrayal ✨ , but the expected process of academia. Anyway.)

You have an interesting response here, and can start by looking at the ways that Sapir-Whorf has been disproved. There will be loads of literature on that.

However, it would be interesting to look at the argument as an unpicking of the other side’s rather weird, ritualistic superstitious belief that a behavior doesn’t exist if the creatures doing it can’t describe it. It is not on the ancient Greeks and Romans to categorise and interpret their behavior for a modern educated audience. They do not have the wherewithal to do so. They are also fucking dead. We can name the behaviors we see, and describe their impacts, however the hell we like.

Sure, the ancient Greeks used “cancer” to refer to lumpy veiny tumors. We can infer that they still had blood cancer, because their medical texts describe leukaemia and their corpses have evidence of it - they just didn’t know it was cancer. But we do, so we can call it cancer. Just because Homer said “the wine-dark sea” in a flight of girlish whimsy doesn’t mean he was unable to distinguish grape juice from saltwater, which we know, because we can observe that he was an intelligent wordsmith perfectly capable of talking about wine and oceans in other contexts. We are the people who get to stand at our point of history with our words, and name things like “this person probably died of leukaemia” and “poets say things that aren’t necessarily literal” and “this behaviour was racist” and “that’s gay” and “togas kinda slay tho” despite Ancient Greeks having different concepts of cancer, wittiness, prejudice, homosexuality, and slaying than we do today.

Now just to caveat that people do get muddled about the concept of racism. Our understanding of racism from here - this point of history, with these words, probably from the West - is heavily influenced by how we see racism around us today: white supremacy and the construct of “whiteness,” European colonial expansion, transatlantic chattel slavery, orientalism, evangelism, 20th century racial science, and so on. This is the picture of racism that really dominates our current discourse, so people often mistake it for the definition of racism. (Perhaps in a linguistic-deterministic sort of way after all.) As a result, muddled-up people often say things like “I can’t be racist because I’m not a white American who throws slurs at black American people,” while being an Indian person in the UK who votes for vile anti-immigration practices, or a Polish person with a horrible attitude about the Roma. Many people genuinely hold this very kindergarten idea of racism; if your opponent does as well, they’re probably thinking something like “Ancient Greek and Roman people didn’t have a concept of white supremacy, because whiteness hadn’t been invented yet, so how could they be racist?” And that’s unsound reasoning in a separate sense.

Racism as the practice of prejudice against an ethnicity, particularly one that is a minority, is a power differential that is perfectly observable in ancient cultures. The beliefs and behaviors will be preserved in written plays, recorded slurs, beauty standards, reactions to foreign marriages, and travel writing. The impacts will be documented in political records, trade agreements, the layouts of historical districts of ancient towns.

You don’t need permission to point out behaviours and impacts. You can point them out in any words you like. You can make up entirely new words to bully the ancient romans with. You are the one at this point of history and your words are the ones that get used.

Pretending that “words” are some kind of an intellect-obscuring magical cloud in the face of actual evidence is just a piece of sophistry (derogatory) on the part of your opponent here. It’s meant to be a distraction. You can dismiss this very flimsy shield pretty quickly and get them in the soft meat of them never reading anything about the actual material topic, while they’re still looking up dictionary definitions or whatever.

[simp-ly-writes]

Chocolate Chip Cookies

─────── · · A Smosh / Mythical Kitchen Fanfic

Pairing: Trevor Evarts x short!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are Trevor can't be trusted anywhere with one another, so during one of the few occasions you are allowed to film together- you both decide to make the most of it.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, light swearing, mutual pining, friends/lovers, play fighting, Ian/Anthnoy/Rhett/Link are all "dads". small reference to the comments section

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,477

─ · · A/N: I fully support Trevors IRL relationships, this is fully fictional and meant for entertainment purposes! Man I am craving cookies after writing this. Smosh asks are now open!

─────── · ·

"Hey guys!" you call towards the camera, smiling widely while doing your best to ignore the tall man beside you leaning into your personal space.

"Hey guys!" Trevor mocks your voice before turning around to laugh as you punch his back. The camera cuts to you both standing beside one another, hands purposefully clasped in front as to not touch one another. You both had just been told off by the crew who were growing more annoyed with you two.

Yes, you both pulled many views being on camera together and held the best chemistry of anyone in the cast besides Spencer and his... best friend. But your ability to actually work beside one another was little to none, and your bosses knew this.

"Mine and (name)'s dads have finally allowed them to come over and play in the kitchen with me here at Mythical-" Trevor begins to say before you conclude his sentence.

"Thank you Ian and Anthony and Rhett and Link!" you speak sweetly into the camera, batting your eyelashes for extra effect. "-So as I was saying before being ever so rudely interrupted," Trevor looks down at you, eyes crinkling as you send him a playful glare, leaning into his side. "-we are going up against one another to see who can make the better dish. Josh will be coming in later to blind taste test and determine the winner of todays competition, you ready?"

Trevor asks you, rubbing the side of your arm. "I'm ready to kick you ass!" you declare, breaking away from his touch to move to your side of the kitchen as he does the same. A crew member begins to count off camera as you bounce in your spot, adrenaline pumping through your ears at the sound of one you are darting off. You pray that Trevor does not have the same ideas as you but as he moves to the fridge the same time at you, spreading out his arms to block your view as you slip underneath them and stand proudly in front, reaching in for your chilling dough.

He grabs a very similar looking one, allowing you to sneak back under before moving to his own station and as you both turn to your respective cameras to announce, you are shocked to find your answer echoing. "Today, I will be making my favorite cookies, the best kind of cookies- chocolate chip..."

"Fuck off, you're not," you voice out, pointing your spatula at him with ferociousness. Trevor puts his hands up before smirking and leaning down to look you in the eyes, "Well I am," be begins childishly as you roll eyes towards the camera. "But we will just have to see who makes the better one's now."

You refuse to look back at him as you grab an ice cream scooper from one of the drawers before showing the camera, "tip here: I recommend using this guy to get the perfect serving amount to place on your baking tray. Work smarter not harder-"

"That was cringe," Trevor yells from across the kitchen, you are confused as to how he heard you over the two mixing bowls he has running in the background. "Your bandana is cringe, never had the heart to tell you before," you retort back before smiling at the camera, trying to keep your 'good-child' persona on.

"From what I remember, you said you liked it quite a bit before we starting rolling," he voices, coming around your table and stealing a bit from your dough as you grumble your protest. Smacking his hand away when he goes in for seconds, "you're making your own cookies, remember?"

"But your's taste really good," Trevor says, now emptying his stand mixers as he preps his own trays flowing with memorized precision around the kitchen. You get lost in watching him work, spilling around, towel over his shoulder as he casts you a wink. You blush, flipping him off before sending your tray into the oven. Waving the camera crew over to get a shot of the temperature and times you recommend before going to clean your station.

─────── · ·

You were doing laps around the kitchen and set, trying to find where they kept the serving plates. Growing increasingly frustrated you walked into Trevors side of the kitchen, while grabbing a bite of his leftover dough and asked, "Where do you keep the plates? I can't find them in any of the cupboards..."

"Oh, they are on the top shelf," he moves to show you towards the cabinet. "Why would you guys keep plates on the top shelf?" You question as Trevor keeps his back to you, people behind the camera snicker as your raised eyebrows find the truth in his flushed ears.

"You hid them up there on purpose!" you gasp, hand clutching the false pearls on your chest as he brings the options down for you, leaning against the counter with nonchalance. "Well any excuse for more time filming with you," he hopes to soften your reaction with his comment as you shake your head at him. Holding your lip in from making a reply as you pick your plate and follow Trevor back to the oven as he takes out both of your baked goods.

You look at the two batches side by side curiously. Taking in the added rise in Trevor as yours have spread much wider. Both look mouthwatering as you are tempted to steal one of his and by the growing small smile on his face, he is thinking the same thing.

Reaching over and taking a bite out of one another, you both wave your mouths, dropping the cookies on the counter. "Hot, hot, fuck those are hot!" A staff member comes over, rushing with your water bottles.

After burning your mouths off you both hold each other and laugh, hands gripping aprons before you both move on to plating. You crumble some extra chocolate chunks on the plate with some sea salt chunks before stepping back with a smile, hands raised.

Trevor stands in the same position, "How did you think you did?" Still feeling as completive as ever, you watch both of your plates get carried away to get some close up shots before answering, "I am hopeful to win, but yours did taste incredible. Kinda wished I used the mixture of chocolates that you did instead of the one."

He hums out, nodding along to your reply before you both stand behind Josh as he introduces the judging segment. You grip Trevors hand in waiting, shaking it excitedly as you both score highly.

"It appears you both had fun in the kitchen with one another, in all honesty I was surprised to see the place still standing knowing your history with one another," Josh begins, you imagine the music in the editing later to be getting more dramatic now as the lights in the studio dim.

"Did you really have that little faith in us?" Trevor questions back, Josh twists over the bench to look at you both, returning the mock hurtful look you send him with an equal glare. "Well, this is the first time either of you were allowed in the kitchen without a babysitter and by the mess of your aprons- we should have had another person on the call sheet but nevertheless, we are here for these cookies today. So todays winner is..."

You and Trevor lean down, preparing for the answer and Josh proudly calls out your name, "congratulations!"

You scream, jumping up and down, Trevors hand still in your own as he pulls you into a celebratory hug that you return, giggling happily into his chest as Josh does the outro for you both. The whole studio is clapping, also celebrating the last shooting for the week as you turn to find your office dads waiting. They each send you a pair of thumbs up as the cameras cut and you walk over to them.

"So does this mean me and Trevor can hang out more often?" you ask, looking up at Trevor with hopeful eyes as he nods his head, looking between all four owners. All everyone can do is sigh, exhausted by the seemingly endless energy you and Trevor have when one another are in the room, rolling off each over.

"We will have to check with both of your schedules but... its a yes from our side," Rhett sighs, looking over at Ian who nods his head in a agreement, fixing his glasses. "Yup, but maybe we can double up on some more Mythical Kitchen shoots of you both since you both are still banned from being on Smosh together after breaking that couch..."

"and that lighting panel," Anthony adds before Link steps in to conclude, "You know, I rather like their energy together..."

"-oh god."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: the smosh fics just keep flowing from my brain.

─ · · TAGLIST: @lisiliely

[justmeinadaze]

Inescapable: Letters (Steddie X You)

A/N: I give you treat my dear friends. A glimpse into inmate Steddie. I'm going to write a full story but for some reason the idea of them writing back and forth burned into my brain. Think of this as a prequel so to speak.

Enjoy!

Warnings: Older (Early 30s) Prisoner Steddie & Young (Early 20s) Fem college student Y/N, Everything is in letter format. Mentions of smut, some dirty talk, angst (because I'm me), both men were convicted even though they are innocent, near the end we get some glimpses of toxic behavior, Jealous Steddie <3, cliffhanger esc ending.

Word Count: 2918

"You can build a prison of stone and steel, but you merely present the prisoner with a challenge. Any truly determined man will find a way out but love, love is the perfect prison. Inescapable."-- Wilson Fisk (Daredevil)

July 1996

Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington, 

I know you don’t know me but my name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m a student here at Hawkins University. I’m supposed to be doing a project for my criminal justice class and with your permission I’d like to do it on you. 

I’m working towards getting my law degree and so many kids in my class are doing theirs on people like Bundy or Gacy. How does that help teach them? I’ve done research on your case and I feel like you both are innocent. Add in the fact that the judge wanted to make “an example” out of you two… it’s ridiculous. 

Neither of you had a prior history of violence and Mr. Harrington, your parents are prominent members of Hawkins! UGH! I just don’t get it. 

Sorry. I went off on a bit of a tangent there… I just hate how you both were treated. 

If you don’t want me to utilize your case for my class I’ll completely understand. If you don’t respond I’ll take that as a no as well. 

Thank you,

--Y/N.

################

July 1996,

Sweetheart,

You have no idea how good it made us feel to have someone reach out to us, let alone agree that we are innocent. Society forgot about us a while ago but thankfully Steve and I have each other. 

And now you we hope : ). 

We have no problem with you doing your project on our case. What do you need from us? Details I imagine but what else? Are we allowed to know more about you? We know your name is Y/N, you’re a law student, and judging by the intoxicating scent that wafted when we opened your letter you smell really fucking good. 

Please feel free to be open with us.  We’re nice guys we swear.

-Eddie

Y/N,

I hope Eddie didn’t come off too strong with his letter. I told him we need to be respectful but like he said people kind of forgot about us. It’s nice to feel appreciated. 

We have no problem with you using us on your project and you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to. I understand that talking to someone in our circumstances can be a bit scary especially for a young lady like you. 

Are you only going to be speaking with us or do you need to talk to our families to? My parents gave up on me after I was found guilty so they probably won’t be much help. Eddie’s uncle Wayne Munson is a nice guy. You can tell him we sent you and he’ll answer your questions. We also have some friends people who were around the time we were arrested who can help to. 

We look forward to hearing from you, 

-Steve

P.S. You can call us Steve and Eddie. We already feel old enough : )

####################

July 1996

Eddie & Steve, 

Thank you so much! You have no idea how important this is to me. I don’t just want to do this for my class but I’d like to use this case for my graduation project as well. But we don’t have to think about that now. I barely like to think that far ahead so I use the excuse of that is two years away. 

Eddie didn’t come on too strong : ).

I AM a law student and a sophomore at Hawkins U. I’ll be 21 in a few months so I can finally move up to being a bartender at the restaurant I work at. College is expensive but soon it will be worth it. I’m attaching a picture with the letter just so you have an image of who you’re talking to. 

Growing up I heard all about you two. Hawkins High used to have your Hellfire Club, Eddie, but they disbanded it a couple of years before I graduated. The parents said they didn’t think it was right for their kids to belong to a club created by someone such as yourself. Since Dustin Henderson wasn’t there to advocate for you guys anymore…

I don’t have to reach out or talk to anyone you don’t want me to. I know most of the people involved in your case aren’t even in Hawkins anymore. 

I’m so sorry. It must be hard having everyone you know disappear. 

My parents aren’t exactly fans of my chosen profession. My mom hates lawyers since her divorce lawyer wasn’t able to get her more alimony from my father and my dad is cop so enough said hahaha!

I’ve been with my boyfriend for a few months. He’s a film major and keeps begging me to allow him to do an interview with you two. I keep telling him no. You’re people not circus animals. 

Let’s start with you two telling me whatever makes you comfortable in regard to your case!

-Y/N

####################

December 1996,

Sweetheart,

Merry Christmas! 

Did Wayne give you the presents we bought you? My uncle said it’s important for college girls especially soon to be lawyers to have tape recorders. I’d love to hear if you liked it and if you can use it in your classes. 

It’s been a couple of days since you called. I hope everything is alright. We miss the sound of your voice…

Y/N, I know I can come off a bit forward but I hope I didn’t scare you away by talking to you the way I did during our last conversation. I can’t help it, you know? You’re just so gorgeous and you’ve been so good to us that my brain promptly goes into flirtation mode. 

Anyway, yeah, I want to hear how your Christmas went and if Derek’s family was good to you.

-Eddie

Honey, 

Merry Christmas! 

Ed forgot to mention that we did get your gifts and are incredibly thankful for the books. Since I was arrested I’ve opened my mind when it comes to reading and Munson’s fantasy books at least take me away mentally to a different world. 

He’s right by the way… you are incredibly beautiful. 

Would you be open to seeing us in person? 

Just a nice friendly visit where we can talk about your project and get to know you more. 

If not we completely understand.

-Steve

##########################

February 1997

Eddie & Steve, 

I’m sorry I haven’t come by or answered the phone. After our last visit, I just…

I love Derek but I care about you both so much. When you kissed me We have to keep this professional. Not just because of my boyfriend but because I’m studying to be a lawyer. How would it look if I fell in love started a relationship with inmates I’m working with?

Please understand.

-Y/N

#######################

February 1997

Sweetheart,

We understand but you have to also understand that we’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so kind and beautiful. You listen to what we have to say and actually care about us. I can still feel your lips against mine and nothing in my life has ever tasted as sweet. 

Can you still feel me, princess?

For the first time in almost 11 years, I actually have some hope. 

Does he make you feel like we do, honey? Your heavy breath against my mouth when I kissed you tells me no. I know we’re trapped here for the next 14 years but, baby, we can still take care of you. We just have to be a bit imaginative with certain things but….

No one has to know, baby, not even Derek. 

-Steve & Eddie

#######################

February 1997

Baby, 

Fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea how hearing you touch yourself over the phone got us going. If we could have private phones we would have stroked our cocks for you so you could hear how much you turn us on.

I can still hear your heavy pants in my ear while you fucked your fingers. 

I’m playing with myself right now at the thought of how tight that young little pussy is. Fuck… picturing those sexy hips slam against me as you ride my dick. Do you like it rough or nice and slow? Delicate, just like you, pretty girl. 

Shit. I just came so hard. 

Would you let Steve and I fill you up? Make you really ours?

I wish we could fall asleep with you between us. I’d give anything to hold you in my arms and play with your hair. 

Can’t wait to see you again, princess. 

-Eddie.

############################

April 1997

Honey, 

How did your test go for your class? I’m sorry we weren’t more helpful but I’m glad you brought your stuff to show us what you’ve been working on. It makes us so happy to see you working so hard and achieving your dreams. You deserve all the good things in this world. 

I’ve been thinking about you since we last saw you. Aren’t you glad now you wore that sexy skirt?

God, I can still smell you on my fingers. I loved feeling you cling to my arm as I thrust them into your tight little cunt. We have to work on silencing those moans a bit more : ).

I keep having dreams about your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock just looking up at me with those big, beautiful eyes while I fuck your throat. 

Do you think about us? Tell us all your fantasies, baby. 

We love you. 

-Steve

#######################

April 1997

Eddie & Steve, 

You are such bad boys, you know that? I like it though…

Sometimes when I’m writing to you, Derek will walk by and I feel naughty but giddy. I’m doing something I definitely shouldn’t be doing. When we have sex, I don’t see him anymore. 

I just see you two. 

I wish I could take care of you the way you do me. I want to feel you both inside of me, stretching me open. I want to choke on Steve’s cock and ride Eddie till I can’t walk. I want to feel you both cum inside me and make me yours. 

I love you to…so much… 

I hate to ask this after everything but Derek would like to film you guys for his project. I’ll be there to so you won’t be alone with him and I can use the footage when I start working on my graduation project later down the line. 

After everything, if you don’t want to I completely understand. 

I’ll call you both tomorrow. 

-Y/N

##########################

May 1997

Please, 

I’m so sorry! The prison said you aren’t allow visits for the next month after what happened and you aren’t taking my calls. 

I didn’t know those were the questions he was going to ask you, I swear. 

After the stupid bullshit he pulled, I broke up with him and kicked him out of our apartment. 

I know you both are innocent and I don’t feel the same way he does. 

I love you so much. 

-Y/N

################

May 1997,

Don’t break up with him. He’s right. We’re fucking criminals and—

Y/N,

Eddie is still upset but we do believe that you didn’t know he was going to blind side us. We just needed some time to compose ourselves. The questions Derek asked about those kids, Nancy, and then seeing him kissing you when we walked in just fucking… It was too much. 

Add in the fact that he made some points, you know?

By the time, we get out of here we’ll be in our late 40’s essentially starting over. It’s going to be so hard for us to get a job and other things like a house or a car. People will always look down on us for something we didn’t do but they believe we did. 

You’re going to be this badass attorney with men your age groveling at your high heeled feet to give you the world. 

We’re scared about dragging you down with us. You deserve the world, baby girl.

Just give us a bit more time, ok? During this time, I want you to think about if being with us is the life you really want. Really think about it, Y/N. 

We love you to… no matter what.

--Steve & Eddie

###########################

August 1997

Eddie & Steve, 

I’m sitting in my first class this semester and I am already exhausted. I started my new job at The Hideout and I left at like 3am. I got some good tips though so that will help with tuition. I can also send you guys anything if you need something. 

I heard your appeal was denied again. 

I’m so sorry.

With cases like yours, it’s so hard to get those pushed through and approved. 

I’m thinking about you two every minute. When I crashed, I kept wishing I had your arms around me. 

I’ll call you tonight before my shift. 

I love you!

-Y/N

########################

August 1997, 

Baby, 

Yeah, we’re kind of over it now. After so many denials, you just kind of give up trying. It was like that with my dad and his case. Then again he was just a repeat offender and I’m a murderer so.

You didn’t tell us you were working at The Hideout. I used to play my guitar there with my band when I thought I would be a rockstar. I’m not gonna be anything now.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess we’re just a bit low right now. 

I wish we could be there with you to. I want to fall asleep to your voice talking to me about everything. I could listen to you talk for hours, babe. 

Don’t overwork yourself. 

Love you,

--Eddie 

Honey, 

You never have to worry about sending us anything in here. We make enough money and then Wayne gives Eddie some to get by. 

My mom was there at our appeal. It was nice seeing her face again after all this time even though she didn’t talk to me or stick around to meet with me at the prison. 

I imagine my father didn’t know she was there. 

I agree with Munson, don’t over work yourself. 

We miss you. 

--Steve

######################

October 1997,

Y/N, 

We didn’t mean to scare you, baby, when you came to visit. We just… you were supposed to come visit us last week and you didn’t. You don’t answer when we call. 

We get worried. 

Please, sweetheart, answer the phone so we can talk. 

We love you, pretty girl. 

--Eddie

#######################

October 1997,

FUCK YOU! 

You don’t get to treat me the way you did when I took time out of my day to come to see you! Steve, you have no right shouting at me and degrading me in front of all your cell block friends. Eddie, you don’t get to grab my wrist and command that I “Lower my voice” when you both are sitting there talking down to me. 

The three of us know you weren’t worried about me but fucking jealous I’ve been brushing you off for someone else! 

I have shown you both nothing but respect and opened my heart to you from day one!

I’m sorry your both in the situation you are in. I genuinely am but I have given you no reason to think I’d ever hurt you by fucking cheating on you. 

I wouldn’t put my career and heart on the line like I have just to fucking throw it away that way. 

--Y/N

######################

October 1997

Little girl, 

I know you get off on being a bad girl but we swear to God, Y/N. You don’t get to talk to us the way you did during our visit. We understand that you have a busy life but that doesn’t give you the right to not show up or not answer the phone when you say you will. 

We may be convicts but we still have feelings. 

Telling us to “fuck off” or saying that bratty shit you said like “I’m sorry I’m busy” is not ok. 

Respect is earned. 

Let’s also not forget, Y/N, that you cheated on your boyfriend with us. It’s not farfetched for us to think you may spread your legs for more tips at the bar you work at. 

Don’t play this game with us, princess. You won’t win. 

Eddie & Steve

#########################

October 1997

Edward Munson & Steven Harrington, 

I always win and I have more self-respect than you both seem to think I do. 

We’re done. 

--Y/N

#########################

October 1997

Ed and Stev, 

I hate you sooooooo much. I fell in love wit you and did things with u I’ve never done with ANYONE! Except fucking obviously : ). I never did get to feel those “big cocks” streting tearing me open. Why is that? Oh yeah…because youre in jail!

I was willing to wait bcause I loved you. I didn’t care if you’d be 40 someting when you got out. You will NEVER find someone like me again. 

I’ll move on though. Always do.

Hey check out this cute boy I met. I took a picture of him sucking my neck. I’m not drunk enough to send a video but you can use your imagination. 

You’re good at that especially when u r imagining me cheating on you with men like him. 

Assholes…

--Y/N

######################

October 30th, 1997

Trick or treat, little girl.

See you tonight. 

--Steve & Eddie

##########

Donate to me

@nailbatanddungeon @dashingdeb16 @hardladyheart @thwippyparker @micheledawn1975 @utterlyinsanity

[quinnnfabrgay-writes]

what it means to burn

This is my (incredibly and abhorrently late) entry for the Summer Lovin Challenge! My prompt was heat wave along with this AMAZING mood board! Thank you so, so much for putting this on @pedgito (and for being so incredibly patient)

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!reader

summary: There are many different ways to burn. People warn against getting sunburned amidst the suns cruel rays. Others are told it's in the afterlife where they'll feel hells wrath and burning flames. But burning desire that fills your body, floods your system, clouds your mind... what on earth are you supposed to do with that?

wc: 4.8k

tags/warnings: not much, some good ol' pining-esque angst (and some tooth-rotting fluff for funsies), Dieter is an idiot - but that's why we love him, i know nothing of film sets so there's that too

reader description: reader is described as having breasts and there is gendered language, otherwise nothing else about reader is described, no use of y/n

a/n: yeah, so this is almost exactly 6 months late, i am SO so sorry. i feel like i've been so stuck creatively this year. BUT here it is. at first I had no idea where I wanted to go with this, but then my wife and I binged all of Bridgerton in two weeks and I have that to blame for how some of this turned out. i also tried to really lean into the heatwave aspect of it 🫣 MAJOR shoutout to @bitchesuntitled for reading this over when i was losing my mind, i am so incredibly grateful

divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Your toes dig into the sand beneath your feet, each grain tickling your nerves - a much needed distraction you welcome. A bead of sweat trickles down your forehead, your body's desperate attempt at keeping you cool as you approach your third hour in this dreadful, sweltering heat. Your fingers twitch, fighting the automatic urge to wipe it away - the last thing you need is to give the director, Jared, another reason to call “cut” for the umpteenth time. 

What was supposed to be a “quick and easy” take of the scene in which Dieter’s character has a heat-induced fever dream of your character scantily clad in an oasis, has now become a whole cluster fuck. 

Dieter was almost an hour late to set - his reasons being missed alarms, traffic, every excuse under the sun really, but that was the least of your frustrations. Once everyone was finally in place and ready to start shooting, wardrobe mishaps galore. 

They originally wanted to have you in a gauzy, deep cut dress, golden ropes tied around your waist to complement your figure. But between the combination of the heat and your sweat, the dress tape meant to keep the cloth adhered to your breasts kept slipping off your skin multiple times, resulting in multiple nip slips that had the wardrobe department ushering you back into the trailers for an emergency costume change.

But perhaps the most annoying circumstance of all has to be the sheer amount of times Jared has had the two of you film and re-film the part in the scene in which Dieter’s character finally confesses his feelings for your character- or the mirage of your character to be exact. 

Picture it: Dieter’s character is lost in the desert, he’s been walking for days and nights looking for reprieve when he stumbles upon a beautiful oasis that’s too good to be true. Because it is. It’s simply a mirage used as a catalyst for Dieter’s character to come to terms with his romantic feelings. He’s supposed to come upon the oasis to find you lounging by the pool of a waterfall, dipping your toes in the water before approaching him, lavishing him with attention. Light sultry touches from you, flirty quips back and forth before devolving into a confession of love from him, all culminating into an almost kiss. Dieter is meant to lean in, your lips almost touching before his character wakes from his fever dream with a new determination to get back home and confess his feelings to the real life version of your character.

Which wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for the director finding a new problem almost every take. 

The first few takes were issues with your wardrobe. The next few, he wanted to try different starting positions: you by the pool of the waterfall, then you lounging on a moss covered rock, finally he settled on you wading out of the pool of the waterfall, the water making your skin sparkle and glisten under the cruel sun. 

A change you gladly welcomed the first one or two times you had filmed trying the new starting point, the water helping cool you down as the heat of the sun kept beating down on everyone. But soon enough even the water wasn’t enough of a reprieve, because then Jared had an issue with yours and Dieters chemistry. 

Or lack thereof. 

He couldn’t really blame the two of you though. At this point you were tired, sweltering, hungry, and so so cranky. Dieter wasn’t faring any better, you could tell he was two takes away from throwing a temper tantrum like a petulant child, and to be honest you weren’t too far behind him. The last thing on your mind was trying to convince the cameras of any romantic inclinations. 

Although, if you were being honest with yourself, it really shouldn’t be that hard, it’s not like you would be acting at all. This isn’t the first movie or project where you’ve led opposite Dieter Bravo, and even though you’ve tried your damnedest to do the complete opposite, you have found yourself falling more and more for the handsome goofball with each passing day. 

He was one of the first of the bigger names to show you kindness in your earlier roles; even took you under his wing as it were to warn you about the creeps to stay away from, to tell you the little tips and tricks of the trade, he even offered to run lines with you for auditions from time to time. 

His party-going ways and eccentricities were enough to keep your feelings at bay for a while, but as the two of you grew closer, and you got to see more of the real Dieter, it became more and more difficult to deny that you had indeed fallen for the one and only Dieter Bravo. And you had fallen hard. 

And if that doesn’t just piss you off.

“Oh for the love of Christ- cut cut cut!”

You and Dieter both huff and groan, you drop your head into your hands as Dieter slumps his shoulders in frustration. You feel like you could scream, your anger and frustration building to the point of tears gathering in your eyes. 

“What is the matter with you two?!” Jared's voice becomes louder as his steps grow closer to the two of you. 

You're just about to let him have it (deservedly so), but luckily Dieter pipes up before you can say something that might deem you “difficult to work with.”

“I don't know Jared, it could be a number of things. This goddamn heat being at the top of the shit list.”

You bite the corner of your lip to keep yourself from laughing, reigning your expression into a slight amused smirk instead as you watch Dieter and Jared go back and forth, mentally checking yourself out of the conversation until you hear Jared let out a dramatic sigh, running his hands through his hair before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. 

“Okay, I get it. I really do. I know I've been impatient myself, this heat really is getting the best of all of us I suspect.” He drops his hand, opens his eyes, and glances back and forth between you and Dieter as he pleads his case.

“Just one more take, please? Just the speech Dieter gives, that's all we need. You two are almost there, it just doesn't feel… right yet. There's an underlying sense of animosity that I can't pinpoint, but that's what is holding you two up. Just take a couple of deep breaths and let go. Give us everything you got, okay? Really, you two are ridiculously talented, I specifically requested you two for a reason. If there's any hesitation, just let it go. And let everything else be fuel for the fire. Use your frustrations and channel them into your character's desire for each other, okay?”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You know his speech was pointed towards you, there's no way it wasn't, but he was good about making it seem like it was a pep talk for the both of you.

You nod your head, blinking quickly to clear the moisture in your eyes before any tear drops could fall. 

“Y-yeah, thanks Jared.” You reach your hand out to squeeze one of his forearms, a quiet show of appreciation.

Dieter rubs the back of his neck as he nods once in agreement, his lips pursed in thought. 

Jared gives you two an unreadable look before speaking again. “From the top then, yeah? Just one more time.” He claps his hands, swiftly turning around and back to his chair as he orders everyone else back into their places.

Dieter lets out a long, drawn out sigh before turning towards you, an eyebrow quirked and a half smile sweet enough to wash away your irritation.

He briefly looks back over to Jared before shouting “can we have a moment?”

Jared simply slumps in his chair, waving his hand exasperated in a manner signaling “go on.”

Your brows furrow; what could he possibly need to talk about that can't wait until you've at least been able to scarf down the snacks in the shared trailer, enjoying its glorious AC?

He swiftly turns towards you, stepping forward and closing the small gap between you two until you are practically toe to toe with one another.

You draw in a quick, sharp breath as he reaches both of his hands out grabbing your own. Such a simple touch, yet paired with the sheer closeness he's created, it's enough to set your skin on fire where the two of you are connected. Or maybe it's just the heat finally pulling you into an exhausted haze and warming your skin to the touch. That had to be it, there's no way this means anything.

“Mírame, por favor.”

Dieter’s voice raspy from the dry heat, yet it's still smooth as silk to your ears. You acquiesce, slowly raising your eyes to meet his gaze.

The look on his face could easily bring anyone to their knees. The molten pools of his dark brown eyes draw you in, begging you to dip your toe in. A false sense of security washes over you as you believe that little voice in the back of your head saying “it's safe, the water's fine,” as if the tide of his gaze won't pull you under at the first chance you'd let it.

You could dive in head first into the deep inky waves, letting them pull you further and further down - not once feeling panicked or afraid even as the darkness spreads around the corners of your vision, finally feeling at peace. Finally giving up your resistance, letting him finally drown and consume you…

You're shaken from this image, your mind coming back into reality, dropping back into your body when Dieter squeezes your hands in his. The deep baritone of his voice floating through your ears like a choir of angels when he utters “estrella.”

“Y-yes?”

“I- um, I just–” Dieter cuts himself off with a huff, casting his eyes down and you're pretty sure you hear him mutter fuck under his breath. He slowly shakes his head, a self deprecating tone weaved into his voice. “I'm terrible at this.”

“Dieter, what're you ta–”

His head swings back up quickly. “I'm sorry.”

You jerk your head back slightly, completely caught off guard. He looks so determined, his eyes flickering back and forth between your own. He squeezes your hands again, takes a deep breath, and continues. 

“I'm- I'm sorry. For today, for the million takes, for being late. All of it.”

He pauses long enough, you go to tell him it's fine, but he shakes his head, beating you to it. “No, I'm– fuck. Look, I know why Jared feels like there's some underlying animosity.”

You shuffle slightly, dropping your gaze to his feet, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken.

“But what I'm trying to say is, I get it. You have every right to want to rip my head off right now. I know me being late really screwed up the schedule, and- and, I don't know. I just wanted you to know that I get it, and I really, truly am sorry. It was incredibly unprofessional.”

You brave looking back up at him. A pang runs through your heart at how genuine he looks. You have to bite the corner of your lip to distract yourself from the tears that want to well up, hoping you can keep them at bay.

“Thank you, Dieter. I really appreciate it.” A small, soft smile stretches your lips, meaning every word.

A small smile spreads across Dieter’s lips, mirroring your own. 

“I- um, I just couldn't sleep.”

“...huh?”

“Why I was late. I really did miss all of my alarms this morning. I was up most of the night, too nervous to sleep.”

Your brows and lips wrench up in confusion. “Nervous?”

“Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous. I mean this isn't the first romantic drama we've shot together or anything. I just really want to nail this scene. I want to be the scene partner you deserve. I really believe this could be the project that gets you nominated.”

“Oh, Dieter, th-thats's… that's getting a little ahead–”

“No, I'm serious. You deserve this. How can you become an EGOT winner without the Oscar? Huh?” He's full on grinning at you, those brown eyes sparkling with mischief. 

You huff a chuckle out, shaking your head. “Dee, please. That was just a silly childhood dream.”

“No, it’s not, and you know it.”

He dips his head slightly, trying to get you to meet his eyes. Once you do, his face softens. A small, adoring smile graces his features. 

“You deserve it more than anyone I know.” He drops one of your hands to softly cup your chin, his thumb brushing across your skin. “Mi estrella brillante.”

Your stomach drops as you try to remind yourself it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture. But Dieter apparently wasn't finished tormenting your lovesick soul. Before you have time to comprehend what's happening, he leans forward and drops his lips to your forehead, your chin still in his hand.

It had to have been only a brief few seconds, but to you that moment was frozen in time.

His devastatingly soft and pouty lips have your skin tingling, goosebumps forming along your arms, and all he has done is kiss you on the forehead, possibly one of the most innocent kisses two people could share, and yet your knees threaten to buckle as if he was worshiping your body underneath his tongue. 

God, you needed to get out of this heat.

Dieter pulls back and must notice something's amiss. His face falls slightly, his eyes searching your own as he says your name.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

Your eyes flutter as you shake your head to try and rid yourself of this spell he's put you under.

“H-huh? Oh y-yeah. I think the heat is finally getting to me.”

“Alright you two,” Jared's voice further coaxing you out of your stupor, “let's wrap this up so we can all go home, yeah?”

If logic was accessible in this moment, you could easily remind yourself that this isn't him talking to you like this. It's all for the movie, nothing more.

Unfortunately, that's not the case, all logic flew out the window the moment his lips touched your skin. You have no doubt in your mind that you're looking at Dieter like he hung the moon– which works for the scene, but were you really acting? 

It's hard to think of anything else beyond the feeling of his soft lips on your forehead, the reverent way he looked at you while cradling your chin in the palm of his hand, softly muttering, “mi estrella brillante.”

Mi estrella brillante.

You slowly flick your eyes back and forth between his, wondering if anyone has ever told him he has the most painfully beautiful eyes. So expressive, so captivating. 

Many a time you have gotten lost in studying his micro expressions - one of the many reasons you fell for him honestly. The amount of emotion this man can portray in one glance, a simple lift of his brow, a slight tilt of his head or subtle frown - it was mesmerizing. He's mesmerizing. 

His hand finds your cheek, the wide breadth of his palm practically encompassing the side of your face in its entirety. 

In an instant it all becomes too much - the pounding in your ears, the shallow breaths you're struggling to take in, the haze forming around the edges of your vision. Your gaze drops to his lips. His irresistibly tempting lips, still moving, still reciting his lines, but the words remain a mystery to your overheated state of being.

The way the velvet plush of them unwittingly beckons you closer and closer. And suddenly it all becomes so clear to you.

This fiery all consuming heat, this overwhelming longing that has been ignited and seized your entire being, has nothing to do with the hours spent in the burning sun.

This aching, this burning, it's all coming from within you.

A burning desire all for one Dieter Bravo.

In hindsight, you were probably also dehydrated, but in this moment the only thing you want to drink in, the only thing you crave, is the taste of Dieter's tongue sliding against your own, to feel his lips mold perfectly around yours. The very thought of him pulling your body against his, close enough where you wouldn't know for certain where your breath began and his ended.

It's this thought alone that has you acting like you've finally snapped and lost your damn mind, maybe you have.

Dieter’s still in the middle of his monologue when you suddenly clutch the front of his billowy shirt in your fists, a soft breathy whine slipping past your lips, your gaze locked onto your plump pillowy prize. You see his lips frown slightly, pursed as he starts forming a question, but you can't wait one second more. You shake your head, silently asking him to not speak, to not disturb whatever stars or planets that had aligned to make this moment possible. 

You gently pull on his shirt, bringing his body closer to yours as you angle your chin up, brushing your lips against his. Your eyelids flutter closed before you quietly whisper your simple request, “Stop talking and kiss me.”

Every worry, each little annoyance you encountered throughout the day all fades away to nothing the moment Dieter tenderly presses his lips to yours. His palm moves from your face, gently sweeping down the skin of your arm, goosebumps forming under his touch; an unexpected shiver shocking your system amidst the unrelenting heat.

He continues his path until his hand finds the small of your back, the pads of his fingertips stroking the skin bared from the exposed back of your costume. He gently pulls your body flush against his as he wraps his other hand around the nape of your neck, further enveloping you in his embrace. 

The warmth of his body against your own should be the very last thing you crave in this unforgiving and blistering heat, your dress starting to soak through with your sweat, yet somehow his touch is exactly what you need. His touch like a balm to your nerves; his caress the only source of reprieve you desire.

You let go of the white knuckle grip you have on his shirt, immediately tracing the edges and curves of his body as your palms chart a path towards his hair. Your fingers twisting into his curls greedily, not even caring to pay any mind to the slick of the sweat drenching his tresses.

Your heart clenches when you swipe your tongue past your lips to find his tongue peeking out as well, the both of you in sync as you deepen the kiss. You can't control the small whimper you make at the sound of Dieter softly groaning as your tongue slides against his for the first time.

His iron grip around your body tightens even further; you swear your body could melt against his from the sheer heat shared between the two of you.

The heat so all consuming it's flooded your senses, spread through your veins, and now sets your skin alight. Dieter is flint and wood, and you are the spark that sets the whole thing ablaze. 

Every pass of his tongue, every tug of his hair, each shared breath between you two only serves to feed and fan the flames; the heat of them licking at your skin, growing ever higher and higher until you and Dieter are one giant shimmering inferno.

But even roaring fires turn to ash eventually. 

“And cut!”

Jared’s voice cuts through your trance, jolting you out of Dieter’s embrace. You immediately take a step back, giving yourself space to fully assess and absorb what you’ve just done. 

Dieter’s hands hang aimlessly by his side now that you’re no longer wrapped around him, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, his lips swollen and slick from your kiss, his eyes wide and wild, glowing like the last few golden embers that refuse to be smothered into smoke.

You find the will to tear your eyes away from him and brave a glance at the crew around you. Some looks of shock come into view, some of annoyance, but nothing is as unnerving as the stoic look upon Jared’s face.

Your nerves quickly take hold, a chill running down your spine and spreading through your limbs as you slowly back further away from Dieter.

“I-I’m so sorry. I don’t- I…”

You quickly turn, gathering the skirt of your dress in your hands and move swiftly to the trailers, head hung in embarrassment.

What have you done? 

A rush of frigid air greets you as you fling open the nearest trailer door, too wrapped up in your distress to pay any mind to where it is you’re actually going.

It’s only when the door slams shut behind you that you finally take notice of your surroundings - a table littered with script pages, all strewn about with red and blue ink scrawled in the margins; a green robe haphazardly draped across the back of a chair; various bottles of water scattered across all in varying degrees of fullness, not one of them fully empty.

Dieter’s trailer. Of fucking course.

Even in a moment where you need some space to distance yourself from this school girl crush, you still can’t escape him. Whether you like it or not, you’re inherently drawn to him - even just a space that he’s inhabited has enough magnetic pull to draw you in. 

And it’s so fucking frustrating.

You’re just about to let out a much needed scream when you hear the door whip open behind you, the sound of it clicking shut only seconds later after the unwelcome guest makes their way inside.

Well, technically you’re the unwelcome guest.

You bury your face in your hands, not ready to face what’s coming next. You don’t even second guess who it was that followed you in, it was inevitable that he would come running after you - always looking after you, never once giving you a moment to breathe. The sun itself no longer the source of heat that threatens to smother you.  Even the chilling AC isn’t enough to temper the rising fury of your admittedly misplaced anger. If only he would give you just one minute to wrap your head around the situation you have placed yourself in.

The heat of Dieter’s body radiates off him in waves as you hear him shuffle closer to you, the exposed skin of your back already starting to dampen with newly formed beads of sweat. The feel of his hand coming to rest on your hip burns as if he is made of fire himself, a quiet “Estrella,” mumbled close to your ear. You drop your hands from your face in defeat, closing your eyes to muster whatever strength you have left, and push his hand off of your body. 

“Dieter, please, don’t.”

He lets his hand fall away from you, but you still feel his presence as he stays put behind you.

“I don’t understand, did I- did I do something wrong?” 

You slowly shake your head, still not ready to turn around, still not ready to confront this head on.

“It's just… it's jus-”

Fuck, it really is now or never, isn’t it?

You can tell Dieter is starting to get just as frustrated as you have been all day, a childish exasperated huff tickles your skin before the cracks in his composure start to show. In any other moment, you might have the patience and wherewithal to sympathize and agree that his day has been just as shitty as yours, but at your wits end? Well that’s no place for compassion or sensitivity, now is it.

“It's just what? Spit it out alre-”

You whip around facing him, feeling like the embodiment of a steaming kettle finally blowing its top, ready to let its contents boil and bubble over. 

“You frustrate the living daylights out of me, Dieter!”

He takes a step back, shock written all over his face, obviously not expecting this outburst of anger from you. His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms in a show of defense.

“Yeah, and? I piss a lot of people off. Where is this even coming from, I thought we were coo-”

“Oh please, we are well past you merely pissing me off. You have completely turned my world on its axis! You have single handedly complicated and confused everything I thought I knew about myself! You're so infuriating - with your stupid reservations over anything bluetooth-”

“Not stupid, the EMF waves mess with your brain-”

“-your complete and utter inability to care for or respect anyone's time but your own. Your obsession with alien probing?! What is that? If aliens are real, you really think out of everyone on this planet, that they would choose you to beam up into their ship just to what? Study you?”

“It's not an obsession! It's a reasonable and  completely rational fear and respect for aliens. And no, not study me… I'm afraid they'll impregnate me, okay?”

You stare at him blankly, silence filling the air. Dieter’s face is so… genuine. His eyebrows downturned in distress, those deep brown eyes of his widened slightly in legitimate fear. If it weren’t for the circumstances or the subject matter of your current conversation, you would almost feel bad for him, almost wanting to close the distance and caress his face, easing his worries.

But his worries were… ridiculous. 

It starts out small; a quirk in your brow, the corners of your mouth twitching as you let out an amused huff in disbelief. It tickles your insides, the sheer absurdness the turn this conversation has taken.

It quickly takes over, growing into giggles you try to contain behind your hands, but then Dieter’s face cracks - his own expression twisting in mirth as the two of you erupt into fits of laughter.

A few seconds pass as you both fight to reign it in until silence takes hold again. But this time, it's not as suffocating, it's… nice.

You softly smile at him as he returns the gesture, cautiously taking a step forward into your space, Dieter’s hands finding their home cupping your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. You can see the internal battle waging behind his eyes, no doubt trying to figure out what to say in an attempt to not set you off again.

You give him some much deserved grace, bringing your own hands up to wrap around his wrists, feeling his pulse beating rapidly below your fingertips. You take a shallow breath before attempting to apologize, but yet again Dieter beats you to the punch.

“I won't pretend to know what's running through that brilliant mind of yours, but if I've done anything to upset you…” his gaze quickly drops to your lips before flicking back up to meet your eyes, “... I'm sorry.”

“No, no you really don't meed to apologize Dieter, I… fuck.”

You snap your eyes shut, afraid to see the inevitable look of pity. You can't look him in the eyes when you say it. Brilliant my ass, more like a fucking coward.

“I'm just so embarrassed, that was so unprofessional and I know everybody is pissed that I messed up yet another take and I just… I couldn't deny it any longer. And I'm so sorry I took you by surprise like that, it was completely uncalled for and mmfph-”

Dieters lips come crashing down on your own, silencing your babbling. Your hold on his wrists tighten as you immediately match his fervor, not caring that you're already struggling to take a breath, his is the only oxygen you need at this moment. Before you can get too lost in the kiss, he breaks it off, resting his forehead against yours while you both try to regain your breath.

He nuzzles your nose before smirking, “there, now we're even.”

A surprised and delighted giggle escapes your lips, holding onto his wrists even tighter, filing away every second of this that you can before the moment is over. But Dieter was always full of surprises.

“And if you'll let me, I'd very much like to do that again. Maybe later, after dinner?”

You can’t stop the goofy grin spreading across your face as you respond.

“I think we could work something out.”

Thank you to anyone who reads this, comments and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated. I'm just happy there's someone out there who might enjoy the things I have to say ❤️

tagging some Dieter moots (no pressure to read or reblog obvi): @sp00kymulderr @perotovar @covetyou @chronically-ghosted @yopossum @whatsnewalycat @kedsandtubesocks @whocaresstillthelouvre @pedrostories @beefrobeefcal @seventeenpins @ozarkthedog @pedrit0-pascalit0

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

DUDE MY FUCK9NG CRAMPS HURT SO BAD IT WOLE ME UP AT 4 AM

Pweaseee make a fic about persih on period idc who just not lars🤮 PLEAZEEEPLEASE0LEASEE😈😁😁😁

A/n: I had this idea months ago and never wrote it idk why but I didn't, anyway here's this

Warnings: Mafia au, idk nothing really happens but if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Muttered voices slithered through the dark room, you were standing just outside debating on entering or not. You weren't to get involved in Slash's business, he wouldn't let you be anything a part of it, but you felt like you were dying, you were being stabbed at every angle and you couldn't find anything for the pain.

"Sir, it appears we have a visitor." A voice came as you stepped into the opening.

"No fucking shit, Ryan, I can see her." Slash bit, glaring at the man before turning his attention to you. "What are you doing here?" He asked, making his way over in a few long, determined strides.

"I-I just-" You tried to speak once he was right in front of you but you couldn't keep it in anymore. You held yourself tight and leaned into him, letting him grab you and keep you standing as you cried.

He realized pretty quickly what was happening and lifted you into his arms, carrying you like a princess. "I'll be back, just keep thinking." He said, turning and walking out of the room.

He carried you through the halls of the big house, up from the underground hideout to the above ground house. Slash was a guitarist in a band, you met him at a fucking pizza place, a shitty one at that, in the middle of the night, finding out he was part of some crime organization thing through you for a loop.

He refused to bring you into it, he loved you and he'd kill anyone to keep you safe, you weren't allowed downstairs unless it was an emergency and this was definitely an emergency.

He brought you up to your shared room and tucked you into bed, getting you nice and situated with a heating pad and Netflix, keeping the remote close in case you got bored and wanted something else. "Just stay here, alright?" He said, kissing your forehead. "I'll be back in a bit."

"What?" You asked, looking up at him with glassy eyes. "You can't just leave, I need you." You said, reaching for his hand. He sighed, he knew what you needed, how you got during your period.

He crawled into bed and pulled you onto his lap, letting your rest your head on his shoulder. He picked up the phone and made a quick call, telling his men he wouldn't be returning for the day but to keep planning, they were close to their goal but he spoke in code, another way he kept you from getting involved.

"I just want it gone." You mumbled, sniffling softly. "Get me hysterectomy." He chuckled at that.

"I'm not gonna stop you if that's what you want." He said, kissing your cheek as he took the remote and began flipping through different shows. "Medical professionals aren't gonna like it, though, you haven't had kids yet, so, by all means your life has been wasted." It was the sad truth, you couldn't deny it.

"Well then, when this is over you'll just have to get me pregnant." You could feel him tense up behind you, where the hell did that come from? "I'll be rid of this demon for nine months and until forever."

"A little rugrat?"

"Our rugrat." You said with a chuckle, nuzzling into him. "And you can keep him just as blind as me."

Slash let out a heavy sigh, this wasn't the first time you'd talked about this 'issue'. "Come one, love, you know why I do what I do."

"Why can't you just stop?" You asked, looking up at him curiously. "No one knows you besides your men, you could just kill them, not like anyone's looking for them now."

"I wouldn't have to kill them, jesus."

"Oh, that was too far? And, tell me again, what is it that you do?" He shot you a look.

"Don't worry about it."

"I don't worry about it I worry about you." You specified. "Every time you leave I worry it's the last time I'll see you, and what happens to me if you die? People know we're together-"

"You don't know anything." He interrupted. "Nothing will happen because you don't know anything."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I know enough." He was silent a moment.

He clicked on a movie and let the music fill the room. "I'll tell you what you need to know just not now, focus on dying."

"Oh, how sweet." He snorted and kissed your cheek. He just wanted you to sleep, if you managed to sleep you wouldn't be in pain, you wouldn't be asking hard to answer questions. In your dreams you could be happy and free.

You did fall asleep, eventually, after a few hours of movies and chocolate and noodles on noodles, split up with a few bathroom breaks. Slash didn't leave your side for a minute and when you asked him to he sang you to sleep, his voice soft and raspy as he fumbled to remember the right lyrics to Don't Cry, mostly mumbling it and filling in the parts he didn't know with his own improv.

He loved you, you just asked things he didn't or couldn't answer. He needed out, for you, and he'd get out just for you.

[tan1shere]

Changes

Ellie williams x female reader !

A/n: ahhh new series alert ⚠️! Hope you guys enjoy part 1 I'll be working on part two over the next few days MUAH

Summary: Ellies the bad girl in the school but she takes a liking to the reader, everyone's worried but the reader somehow changes her for the better

Warnings: fluff, bad girl Ellie, not really anything flirting, swearing? This is set at college/uni so they're a bit older then 19? Mighttt have smut in future chapters !

Masterlist || pt 2 ! Pt 3 !

It was frightening being the new girl. You were shy, very shy. You didn't know at all how to make friends, wandering the halls with your books clutched to yourself. It was overwhelming with how many people there were, you just wanted to get to your last class then go to your second home. The library. You had been waiting all day to finish and head straight there. You had heard good things about the schools library. It was massive, full of so many books. Old and full of memories, it was ancient.

You just sat down in a chair for your last class of the day when some girls approached you. "Oi, dork." You look up from your book seeing a tall brunette with a few blue streaks in it. You await her words, wondering what she wanted. "You new here or something? I don't recognize you." You nod. "I am yeah." She looks down at your books. "Stella." You keep your gaze on her. "Oh- im-" She gets down to your level. "I don't care. You're in my seat." You look at where you were and giggle just a bit. "What are we 16?" You fucked up. She slams her hands down on the desk making you jolt back.

"Wrong. Answer." You widen your eyes, swallowing. "S-sorry." You stutter, going to get up when a hand gets placed on your shoulder. You turn your head to a tall copper haired girl. "Leave her be Stella." She stares coldly at her. Stella just smirks. "You haven't called me back Williams." You look at the girl beside you. "Yeah cuz I don't keep in contact with egotistical sluts like you." You almost gasp, shocked by her language. "Harshhh. No need to get bitchy." The girl chuckles. "Youre one to talk. Pestering someone so innocent. Just sitting there minding her own business." Stella looks at the girl like she's crazy. "And you're so different? You bug anyone and everyone." The girl pouts. "Sad it's not you? Is that burning your ego even more?" Stella rolls her eyes. "Whatever." She spits going to leave.

"You alright?" The girl asks. You nod, putting your hair behind your ears. "Thank you." She nods also. "I'm Ellie. You're new huh?" You nod again, not use to all these people conversing with you. "Well I'll see you round new girl." You watch as she walks to the back of the class to her seat, sitting by another man and woman. She intrigued you for some reason. You had no idea what it was but, you wanted to know.

You were happy, smiling and walking briskly to the library, ready to wind down from a day of classes. You open the old wood doors, they were tall, with carvings and designs. You step inside taking in everything, the smell, the quietness. It was your new happy place. You stride in going over to each section. You were just admiring it all for now but you were determined to find this book you've been meaning to read. As you browse you suddenly come across it, your smile widens, getting on your tip toes to reach it. "Curse being so short." You mutter to yourself.

"Need some help there, new girl?" You turn around to be faced with the copper haired girl yet again. "Oh uhm. Yeah actually." You laugh a little embarrassed. "Struggles of being short." She nods, reaching to grab it with ease. "Glad I was here to help then." She smiles giving it to you. "What're you doing in here?" You ask, not even knowing why you did, anyone could go in here. "Ouch, do I not look like the reading type?" You shake your head. "No no no I just-" She giggles. "I'm teasing you love. And I am a big reader actually." She looks at the book she gave you. "You're going to really enjoy that." You look at the book yourself. "I've been meaning to read it for so long." You admit.

"Well it's worth the read." She smiles. "So what's your name new girl?" You hug the book to your chest. "Y/n. But I- i don't mind the nickname you already give me." She smirks. "New girl? Alright then I shall call you that." It went silent. "So-" You then hear stomping, turning your head. "Ellie leave this poor girl alone." A dark haired woman comes by her. "I'm not even doing anything just casually speaking." Ellie replies. "We should get going anyway, come on." The woman begins to walk off. Ellie looks at you. "I'll see you around, again. New girl." You keep your gaze on her as she goes. Thinking about how most people view her, confused by it all.

Knocking on the door of your dorm, you had just found it. Watching as the door opens. "HI can I help you?" A girl is in sight, giving you a toothy smile. "Uhm im your new roommate." You give her a smile also. "Ahh, well come on in." She moves out the way inviting you in. "How come you didn't do this, this morning?" She genuinely asks. "I wanted to get straight into it, I decided to come back and unpack later." You look around at the cute little dorm room. "Well, all your stuff is in your room, make yourself comfy." She smiles at you, going into the kitchen. You return the smile, heading into your room. It was tiny but just the perfect fit for you. You begin to unpack setting everything out nicely and to how you like.

Once you're happy with how everything looks, you go out into the main area, seeing your roommate. "I'm Angela by the way, everyone just calls me Angie." You nod. "I'm Y/n." She nods. "Its nice to meet you. How has your first day been?" She pours herself a coffee. "Want a drink?" You shake your head. "I'm ok, thank you though. And it was good, classes were good. I got to see the library which was probably the highlight of my day." You smile, going to sit on the couch. "Its pretty cool isn't it." She smiles sipping on her coffee. "Hey, do you know someone called Ellie Williams?" She stares at you. "You don't wanna get involved with her, she's bad news." You furrow your brows. "Wait why?" You inquire. "She's a complete asshole. She will hurt you, and you're too sweet to be involved with someone as putrid as her."

You look at the couch in thought. Why was she such an asshole, she seemed really nice. "Can you tell me more?" You ask, looking at her. She strides over to the couch taking a seat next to you. "Ellie doesn't care about anyone but herself. She'd hurt you just to please herself." You ponder. "But she was nice to me-" She shakes her head. "Its all an act, don't fall for any of it ok?" You just nod. She gives you a reassuring smile. "Right well I'm going to start on some dinner, you in the mood for anything in particular?" She begins to go back into the kitchen. "I'm not fussy." "Awesome." She smiles.

Voices. You heard voices as you woke up, rubbing your eyes as you sit up. You put a brown robe on, peaking your head out the door to see. "No Williams. You're fucking creepy." You try to make out more of the conversation. "I'm not being creepy I was just wondering if she was here or if she had left already. Is that a crime?" Angie let's out a dry chuckle. "Yeah with you it is one. Leave her alone Ellie. Shes a sweet girl, she doesn't need your games." You hear the door shut. What did Ellie even want? You shake your head out of your thoughts, deciding to ignore it and get on with the day.

"New girl wait up!" You hear from behind you, fast footsteps coming closer. You turn your head. "Oh, hi." Ellie comes to a halt. "I've been looking for you all morning." You furrow your brows slightly. "Whys that?" You ask, still keeping your text books close. "I wanted to show you another book that you might be interested in." She starts to walk with you to your first class. "We can go to the library later and check it out." You nod, but suddenly think about why everyone is not fond of her when she's so nice to you. "What's it about?" "Just like the one you had yesterday but a different style and author. I think you'll like it." You nod, coming to your class. "Well I'll see you later, Ellie." She smirks. "See you, new girl."

It was on your mind all day, could you really trust this mysterious woman. You had only met her, and from what you had heard it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. You were walking down to the library as it was now the end of the day, you were planning to study a little bit in there also. Going in you spot Ellie immediately, she gives you a smile signaling to come over to her. She was sitting in one of the maroon colored chairs. "Hey." You say setting your stuff down and joining her in one of the chairs. "Have a good day?" She inquires. You nod. "Yeah it wasn't too bad. Yours?" She nods also. You look at her hands, at the book she held. "Right yes, the thing you've been waiting all day for." You sit up a bit, looking at her. "Give the one you got yesterday a read first then read this one, and let me know what you think about it."

She hands it to you, you give her a smile taking in her words. "Thank you for this." She leans back and smiles. "You're welcome angel." She looks at all your other books. "You going to study?" You nod. "Yeah just some history stuff I'm going to work on." You bring out all your supplies, stuffing the book she gave you in your shoulder bag. "Want some company?" You look at her. "Sure, company can't hurt." You smile still at one another. "I'll just be doing my own stuff." You watch as she gets out her own book, you look at it further. "Are you studying too? What subject." She looks at you. "Meh no just personal pleasure." You look more at it, it was a sketch book. "You draw?" She gets the last of her supplies. She nods at your question. "Yeah I do, guess that's another thing you didn't peg me to do huh?" You laugh a little bit. "I didn't, no. How long have you done it for?" She fully looks at you now.

"Since I was young." You look at the book again. "Can i see some of your work?" She nods, opening it up and giving it to you. You examine them, flipping the pages, she was incredible. "These are amazing." You continue to flick through, coming across some colorful ones. You admire them. "You like that one?" She noticed how you looked at it. "Its so beautiful the color, is this done with paints?" You trace your finger over it lightly. "It is yeah, you like paintings?" You look at her fully. "I actually paint myself." She sits back in the chair again. "Well what do you know. Learning new things about you every second new girl." She smirks at you intrigued. "Well, Ellie what about you." She leans forward. "What do you mean by that." You contemplate on whether or not you should ask.

"Why are you so nice to me. You don't even know me." You state. "Well, that's a good question, and I know exactly why you've asked it. Don't listen to them I may not be perfect but I'm not a monster. You interested me. No one here's, ever interested me like you have, so I took liberty into getting to know you." That's it, why do people hate her so much. Which brings you to your next question. "Why do people not like you." She let's out a tiny laugh. "You're very interested too huh. I'm not a sweet angel. I don't follow by anyone's expectations, or rules. I make some not so great choices, but I dont really care most of the time." You listen to everything. "But why me, im so ordinary." She looks at you, deeply this time. "Not to me. I see something in you, I'm drawn to it."

You look at her shoes, something you always did, it always told you about the person. She had worn out converses on. "I want to get to know you more." She grabs your hand, making you look at her. You look into her eyes as she does so. "I want to get to know you too." She smiles, letting go of your hand and sitting back in the chair. "What do you paint?" She asks, but looking at her sketch book. "Nothing special I just normally work with water colors and some paints, I just do whatever is on my mind, it may not make sense to others but I envision it and just, do." She looks up listening. "I admire that. I might have to check some of your work out sometime." You smile and nod. "Yeah I'm sure that could be arranged." You wanted to continue studying but you couldn't help but get distracted by her.

She was without a doubt beautiful she had a messy half way mullet looking haircut. Green eyes like emeralds. Light freckles coating her face, as she concentrates. Her grungy clothing, hanging baggy over her body. You were so mesmerized by this woman, so far she's made you feel so, real. "What're you drawing?" She doesn't respond right away. Still looking at her paper, but she looks up at you. Keeping silent and looking back at the paper. You look at her with confusion. "Ellie?" She continues to sketch whatever it was she was scribbling at. But once she was done she looks at you, flashing a smirk. She moves, keeping the book to her but ripping one of the pages out and handing it to you upside down. "See you tomorrow new girl. You'll have to give me a tour of your paint work, I'll hold you to it." She smiles as she goes to leave. You watch but then you look at your lap, at the drawing. It was of you. You smile to yourself, looking at every detail. You keep looking, spotting a note in the corner. 'Meet me at my dorm ####, tomorrow morning -E' you keep smiling to yourself. This was just the beginning.

[tossawary]

I'm thinking about "What if the main character did not have a secret, powerful family background and was just some random person?" AUs for different stories, because I personally find that situation more compelling most of the time and I think it introduces more interesting struggles. While thinking about a bunch of other stories, I ended up thinking about Aragorn in "Lord of the Rings".

Now, Aragorn is a special case because 1) I wouldn't really call him THE main character and the "noble" members of the Fellowship are well-contrasted by the hobbits. The hobbits may be mostly Shire gentry (except for Sam), but on the grand stage of Middle Earth, they're still unimpressive nobodies. Frodo is already our ordinary hero. 2) Aragorn's road to kingship comes with him struggling with his ancestor's failures and accepting the heavy burdens that come with being Isildur's heir. This is specifically an arc of a character struggling with their family history. I am absolutely not saying that Aragorn being royalty makes LOTR a bad story and that it would be better if he was just some random guy. I think this is a well-written character storyline that is a key feature of the overall story.

But I do think it would be really funny to write fanfiction where Aragorn wasn't Arathorn's son. (There is the issue of the heritage that makes Aragorn age slowly, but maybe you could wiggle that so that Aragorn has that kind of heritage from a different source?) Like, the line of Isildur has died out, and let's say that Aragorn's mother takes shelter in Rivendell with her son, and kid Aragorn ends up wandering around to the broken sword and picking up the handle. And either Aragorn's mother lies to Elrond about Aragorn being Arathorn's son or Elrond happens across kid Aragorn with the broken sword and thinks... "Hey, what if we just... lied about it?"

Now, this could end really badly! As I vaguely understand it, the Silmarillion (which I have not read) contains a bunch of examples where lying did not go well, so maybe this lie is how Middle Earth falls into chaos in this AU. Whoops.

But even though this breaks some plotlines, I'm a sucker for adoption storylines. I love adoption being treated as important. It's compelling to imagine Elrond and Aragorn's mother carefully explaining the situation with the sword to him, and then this child just... stubbornly deciding that he's going to become Isildur's heir. Maybe Aragorn's determination falters at some point, he gives up on the idea, and he later has to return to Elrond as an adult and persuade him that no, he means it this time, mankind isn't just about bloodlines, he's going to pick up this burden on behalf of all of humanity. I think that there's something powerful in a person deciding that no, I'm not of Isildur's blood, but I have his same potential for success and for failure, and I'm here. I'm fighting. I picked up the broken sword and that's good enough, isn't it? Who are you to say I'm not his heir? I'm HERE.

I think there's powerful magic in that too. (Also, Arathorn is dead and getting adopted as a father by some random kid. Sure. Okay. I think that's just funny.)

(Also, oh my, there is SO MUCH tragedy if Aragorn being Isildur's heir is a lie and Boromir died believing it. The GUILT. The GUILT that Aragorn would feel when Boromir says, "I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king." Like, oh man, now you HAVE TO make it true.)

Now, maybe Aragorn doesn't become King of Gondor in this AU or maybe he does. Maybe Faramir becomes king instead. Maybe it becomes well known by the end of the journey that Aragorn isn't a blood descendant of Isildur and maybe it's a secret known only to the Fellowship. I'd like to think that he still marries Arwen. I like the idea of Arwen happily and knowingly marrying some nobody lying about his heritage and Elrond internally being like, "This is kind of on me."

The most important thing here is that it would be so fucking funny if Aragorn (and Elrond and Gandalf and Galadriel) successfully lied to Sauron the Deceiver. Sauron's like, "Oh? A secret heir come out of hiding to fight against me? Sounds legit." And at some point near the end, just before some hobbits chuck a ring into a volcano behind his back, Sauron is looking at Aragorn like, "Wait a minute, what the fuck, you lying little SHIT."

(Or Sauron finds out via Pippin that Aragorn is lying and feels SO SMUG about how he's going to crush a false king, which just adds to Aragorn's whole "made you look!" distraction keeping Sauron from noticing the hobbits sneaking into Mount Doom.)

[hyuuukais]

-`♡´ - APARTMENT 143

pairing -> lee minho x fem reader

synopsis -> after a bad breakup, y/n needs to find a new place to live. although she's grateful for her best friend, up-and-coming model hwang hyunjin, for letting her stay at his, she can't keep living with him and his model roommates. so when an opening for somewhere nearby with cheap rent opens up, she jumps on it, despite knowing next to nothing about the 3 other tenants, only that one owns 3 cats. the three quickly learn of her breakup, determined to help get her back on her feet. but what happens when one of them begins to develop feelings?

warnings -> general, y/n gets told she talks too much kind of, discussion abt cheating

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER THREE -> AM I IN? (partially written! wc:546)

"...and then, after telling him how much I love him, he comes out of our shared- yes, shared- bedroom with another woman! Can you believe that? I pour my heart and soul to this man, and he just steps all over it! Them? My heart and my soul, so, yeah, I guess them. Sorry, what was the question again?"

"...what do you do for work?" The guy on the right side of the couch says, arms crossed.

You blink. "Right! I'm a graphic designer for a website."

"What website?" Beomgyu leans back, arms behind his head.

"This Just In!" You say excitedly, passionate about your work. "I'm trying to move into the journalism area as well. I'd love to be able to interview some of the people we do, but my boss didn't seem very keen to the idea yet."

"How come?" The one in the middle asks.

"He says I talk too much." A sudden wave of emotion hits you. "My boyfriend says the same."

"Ex-boyfriend."

"What?"

"Your ex-boyfriend." It's the one on the right again, eyes piercing into you; you can't hold his gaze.

"Right." You clasp your hands in your lap. "Maybe I've overshared a bit to you guys. I don't even know your names-" You point at the two.

"Han," the middle one offers. "Well, Jisung, but most people call me Han."

"Minho." You still can't look at him.

"Okay. Um, so, unless you have any other questions...?"

"Yeah, actually," Minho speaks. "What's your current living situation?"

"Oh! I'm living with my best friend, Hyunjin, and his roommates. But they're all models and it can be a bit... dramatic." You laugh nervously.

"Models?" Han sits up straight, looking at his two roommates. "What are the others like?"

"There's Felix, a literal sunshine, and Yeonjun and Wooyoung. They're usually the ones causing drama." You laugh again, this time more naturally. "Wooyoung just came back from a business trip, so I'm gonna be staying in my other best friend's, NingNing, she's amazing and I love her, apartment until she comes back. She's also a model... I'm friends with a lot of models."

"Do you mind stepping out for a second?" Han says with a smile. Your stomach drops. "I just need to discuss something with my roomies here."

"Y-yeah, okay." Quickly, you pick up your bag and head to the door, only stumbling a little bit.

Of course, you press an ear to the door once outside. If they don't want you, at least you'll know before they tell you to your face. Then maybe you won't cry at the news. The thick wooden door makes it hard to hear, only picking out bits and pieces.

"Dude, her best friend is a model-"

"Han, I swear to God-"

"She does talk a lot-"

"Like you're one to talk-"

"Okay, but with the breakup? Won't she be, like, crying all the time-"

"Hey, Min just went through a breakup too, so maybe she can help him with it-"

"Shut up-"

"Back to her best friend being a fucking model-"

A loud sigh signals you should back up, taking your phone out and pretending to be busy. The door opens, Minho in front of the other two looking more tired than before you left.

"You're in."

notes -> what is with me making idols i love into shitty exs like what is with that genuinely

taglist -> @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @puppyminnnie @tfshouldidohere @kangaracha @chlodavids @whitney190 @thisisnotjacinta @borahae-reads @brooklynie @gini143 @kayleigh-28 @skz-streamer @babyphotos0325 @scallywag1299 @venusmoonxnight @naomisosoup @fertiliezedtoesw @s00buwu @realrintaro @anothershorthuman @skzstaykatsy @ilovejeongin007 @btswestan @taeriffic @ihrtlix @raehawthorne @euphoric-univers @hyperpixie @evermourning @satsuri3su @jazziwritesthings @minhwa @wyzminho @fic-for-readers

^^^ orange means i can't tag you

[slytherinshua]

MORNING SPECTACLE(S)

genre. fluff. established relationship. warnings. JAEHEE HAS FUCKING GLASSES ON OH MY GOD. ahem morning voice too KSJDFKSDKS. not proofread. i'm so sorry this fic just shows how delusional i am for this man. pairing. jaehee x fem!reader wc. 1k. request. requested by ME. lmao jk not requested. a/n. so i was watching wish's wish right as one does and then BAM. i was dead. cause jaehee wears glasses in the morning when he wakes up KSJDUI@#&(E#RIF@ECWEF. why does this affect me so much I HAVE NO IDEA LIKE I WEAR GLASSES MYSELF EVERY DAY ALL DAY BUT JAEHEE KSDJUWF@#E#RVEFHKVJSKDJHFSK. uhm also his jawline is sharp enough to puncture the hull of an empire class fire nation battle ship leaving thousands to drown at sea because its so sharp ☝️🤓 kill me i want jaehee. also this was not supposed to be my first jaehee fic but the stardew valley au jaehee is sitting strong at 4k and still has much much more to write so have this instead for now.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t be shy around your boyfriend this morning. Sleeping over in the same bed as your boyfriend for the first time since you had started dating was definitely a step forward in your relationship, but you were determined to make the step as natural and seamless as possible. There was no need to make a big deal out of it. You had been dating for several months now; you were more than passed the flustered stage. Waking up in his arms shouldn’t affect you that much, right? 

It had been nice being able to talk in soft whispers with Daeyoung until you fell asleep snuggled against his chest. You often felt lonely in your apartment at night, so you would FaceTime him until one of you fell asleep on call. But actually falling asleep in his arms was infinitely better than just seeing him on your phone screen.

His warm breath, deep but soft voice, soothing scent, and beautiful face being the last thing you felt, heard, smelled, and saw was something your brain would never forget. For it being your first time sleeping over, it had definitely been nothing short of perfect.

But now you had a predicament. You felt more nervous to open your eyes than you had anticipated. Would he already be awake? What if he was staring at you with that lovesick expression he always wore? You were sure you would be as bright as a tomato if he was. 

You could still feel the warmth of his body, and his left arm wrapped gently around your waist. He was awfully still, so you weren’t sure if he was awake yet or not. Wanting to find out, you slowly opened your eyes, preparing yourself for a sight that would almost certainly make you fall in love all over again.

And it did.

Daeyoung had never told you that he wore glasses in the morning before putting in his contacts. In fact, you had never seen him wear glasses at all during your relationship. You always planned when to meet up, so he had time to get ready properly, including switching out his glasses for the much less noticeable vision correctors. 

You were vaguely aware that he owned a pair, but asking him to model them for you hadn’t ever been a thought on your mind. Daeyoung was already hot, so naturally, you had never thought of how much hotter he might look with glasses. Well, you knew now. The black framed glasses paired with his sleepy pout and messy bed head was probably the most adorable and attractive sight you had ever woken up to. Once he saw that you had opened your eyes, he smiled, suppressing a yawn as he mumbled out a good morning. God, his morning voice.

Yes, you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t be shy around your boyfriend this morning. And you were utterly failing at that task. Nervous butterflies were fluttering like crazy in your stomach, and your face already felt hot from just the close distance of you two.

“Did you sleep well?” Daeyoung whispered. You could feel his fingers fiddling with the hem of your T-shirt, smoothly slipping under the fabric to stroke your warm skin.

“You’re…” You started talking in a daze, not even realising what you were about to say until you saw Daeyoung raise his eyebrow.

“Hm?”

“You’re wearing glasses.” You whispered, burying your face in the pillow to hide your embarrassment. Although, you were unable to take your eyes off your boyfriend.

“Yeah…? Why’d you mention it?” He questioned sleepily. You cleared your throat, hoping he would drop the inquiry, but he seemed focused on waiting until you answered him.

“They look hot— you, you look hot.” You muttered, stumbling over your words the longer you looked at him wearing those glasses, your brain entirely short-circuiting. 

Daeyoung smiled, “Is that why you’re so shy this morning?”

“No— no, actually, I was never awake in the first place. See, I’m asleep still.” You whispered hurriedly, shutting your eyes tightly and earning a giggle from your boyfriend. You felt him brush your hair off of your forehead and press a kiss to the skin once he had access. Your breath caught in your throat. Why was everything that he normally did flustering you so much this morning?

“Y/n?” He whispered, making you open your eyes again. He gave you a lazy smile, the same hand that had brushed your hair moving to the side of your face, cupping your cheek, stroking your cheekbone.

There was something mesmerising about Daeyoung wrapped up in the blankets, glasses over his sleepy eyes, the sun just starting to shine through the window onto his face, his cute lips that you wanted to kiss so badly, imagining how soft they would feel early in the morning.

His hand shifted from your face, trailing down your arm until it reached your waist. From there, he pulled you closer to his body, trapping you there with his leg. There was nothing stopping you from kissing him now that the distance between you two was almost nonexistent. And, you were getting shier by the second under his eyes, so you were quick to press your lips to his instead.

Daeyoung gasped at your sudden action, but was quick to melt into the kiss, pulling you ever closer, heart warmed by his love for you. He made a mental note to wear glasses more often, quite liking the outcome of it despite having discovered it accidentally. 

Mornings like this were perfect, he decided. He knew the natural progression of a relationship was a delicate thing, but he was starting to wonder why he had never asked you to sleep over before this. He couldn’t even count how many mornings it would have saved him from missing your presence more than life. You felt the same way, finding the opportunity to wake up in Daeyoung’s arms too good to pass up again. 

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