#Wrestling Eye Magazine

[blowflyfag]

Wrestling Eye: November 1992

Shawn Michaels: A SINGULAR SENSATION! 

By Steve Muller

Transcript Below!!!

[Shawn Seems to be enjoying his new found success.]

Shawn Michael’s classic philosophic turn from babyfaced hero to arrogant, conceited bad guy was completed when he threw his longtime partner, Marty Jannetty, head-first through the plate glass window of Brutus Beefcake’s Barber Shop. If it was not the end of an era, it was certainly the end of the beginning of one. Until that rather dramatic partnership dissolution, the Rockers tag team had been one of the most successful duos in the mat sport’s history. 

Bugun as the Midnight Rockers in Verne Gagne’s now defunct and almost forgotten American Wrestling Associate, the Rockers were among the most exciting high flying teams this side of Japan. They became AWA World Champions at a very young age and it seemed they were destined to join teams like the Bastien Brothers, The Fabulous Kangaroos, the Graham Brothers, the Midnight Express and the Road Warriors in wrestling’s mythical Tag Team Hall of Fame. 

Indeed the Rockers possessed all the important elements necessary for tag team success as well as a few extras. They worked well in the ring together and employed complimentary styles. They moved dynamically and complicated teamwork was executed smoothly. Loaded with charisma, they excelled on interviews and in involving the arena crowds in their own personal dramas.

The Rockers were major successes not only in the AWA But on the independent circuit and then in the WWF, the Land of the Super Giants, where they excelled despite their relatively average size. Unfortunately, success did not last for Rockers. Insiders now say the team was doomed to fall from its inception. The team had a fatal flaw that eventually destroyed it.  Outside the ring, Marty Jannetty and Shawn Michaels simply did not like each other/ Perhaps the mutual dislike developed  from a kind of friendly rivalry that often develops between longtime team members,  perhaps they never really liked each other only because they were so successful in the ring. But whatever the cause, the Rockers team had no future. 

The fated break-up was foreshadowed many times. Once, in a hotel in London, after a tough match, Micheals and Jannetty were stopped from punching each other into oblivion only by the quick intercession of WWF road managers. Another time, when there were no managers present, the tag duo battled each other in a parking lot behind a denver saloon, The two tag partners beat each other so badly that they had to be pulled off television for a month. 

The breakup of the team and subsequent emergence of Shawn Michaels as a major singles star was one of the best handled pieces of booking ever by the WWF brain trust. Shawn Michaels was craftily depicted as the cause of the breakup. 

 [Shawn and Sherri are quite a pair!]

During the buildup of the angle, Micahels slowly developed an arrogant, nasty persona. He repeatedly reprimanded Jannetty during matches for mistakes, mostly imagined ones, in full view of the arena crowd. Michaels utilized many tricks to steal the spotlight from his partner including refusing to tag out during easy television matches and pretending to leave the ring with Jannetty after a victory, only to return to it to enjoy the applause of the crowd alone. Shawn acted as if he were solely responsible for the team’s success. And the fans began to truly hate him. 

After the break-up took place, hardcore fans expected an exciting series of four star bouts between Jannetty and Micahels, both accomplished ring technicians and aerial move artists. 

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Marty Jannetty experienced some legal problems, and amid a cloud of rumors, left the WWF. He continued to wrestle on the independent circuit, and now that his legal problems have been resolved, there are rumors circulating that he will return to the WWF to feud with his former partner. However, at this time of this writing, the possibility of any Jannetty/Michaels matches is pure speculation. What is not speculation, however, is the amazing success Michaels has enjoyed since the break-up.

Shawn Michaels is now one of the WWF’s top singles stars and one of their top three villains. His interaction with new manager and spiritual cohort, Sensational Sherri clearly has established his new egotistical “boy-toy” persona. Additionally, his already great ring skills are increasing. Some of the matches in his continuing feud with Bret Hart for the Intercontinental Title have been cited by experts as among the WWF’s best of the year–a major accomplishment even if it is a somewhat slow year for great matches in the WWF. There are some who believe that Michaels will eventually win the I-C belt and may already have done so by the time you read this. 

[Watch out, Shawn may be coming after you!]

Additionally, in the land of comic book mutants and graveyard denizens that the WWF has become, Michaels stands out as the wrestler who has gained success the old fashioned way–he has earned it through hard work in the ring and well planned character development outside of it. Michaels is a throwback to the days in the WWF when wrestlers had real names and believable personas. It seems Michaels has stepped directly out of those halcyon days when wrestlers were called Bruno, Pedor,, Bobby and Buddy, not Undertaker, Ultimate Warrior, Bezerker, or Mountie. 

[Michaels is determined to wear gold in the near future]

Also, impressive is the transition itself, from tag to singles wrestling. Very few wrestlers have been able to make this change successfully, and even fewer have become bigger stars in singles competition than they were as part of a tag team. It seems that Michaels, together with Sensational Sherri, or the Sensational Sherri look-alike who remains unidentified but who has appeared with Michaels at arenas across America, will become a major star for a long time in the WWF. Experts have predicted that the WWF of the future. The WWF without Hulk Hogan, will be a time dominated by wrestlers ranging from Lex Luger to Sid Vicious/Justice to the Ultimate Warrior.

The experts may be wrong this time. The future WWF may well be a federation dominated by Shawn Micahels. Try it on: Shawn Micahels, World Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Champion. It does have kind of an innovative ring to it. After all, how long has it been since the WWF had a heavyweight champion with two names, a first and a last, neither of which are a nickname? Is the world really ready for this? From this writer’s standpoint, one can only hope so.

[ringthedamnbell]

Grappling With Tragedy: Mike Bellew

Grappling with Tragedy is a series of articles that deal with unfortunate, tragic incidents that have occurred throughout the history of professional wrestling.

Brian Damage Grappling with Tragedy is a series of articles that deal with unfortunate, tragic incidents that have occurred throughout the history of professional wrestling. It is unlike the ‘Wrestling with Sin’ series that deals more with the seedier side of wrestling like arrests, murders and suicides. Grappling looks more at particular tragic incidents that have in some instances altered pro…

[jichanxo]

how it started:

how it's going:

[greengoblinswifey]

Between Takes- Nicholas Chavez x Actress!Reader

summary— you and Nicholas Chavez navigate a tumultuous on-screen rivalry that evolves into a passionate off-screen romance. amidst teasing banter and sizzling tension, a rehearsal kiss blurs the lines between acting and reality.

warnings— enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, oral(f receiving), L bombs, fluff, established relationship.

You and Nicholas play rivals in a popular Netflix show. Your characters are constantly butting heads, with heated confrontations in almost every scene. The fans love the tension, and it’s one of the key dynamics of the show. Behind the scenes it’s the same, but there’s an undeniable spark between the two of you, though neither of you admits it. You’ve developed a bit of a love-hate relationship on set, filled with teasing, sharp comments, and banter that everyone assumes is just your way of staying in character though sometimes it gets overbearing.

One day, after a particularly intense scene, you find yourself doing an interview for a popular entertainment magazine. Sitting across from the interviewer, you try to maintain your composure, but the thoughts of Nicholas linger.

“So, how’s your chemistry with your co-star, Nicholas?” the interviewer asks, a teasing glint in her eye.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes slightly. “Honestly, working with him is like wrestling a bear. He’s arrogant, sometimes late, and way too confident for his own good. The edits are getting to his head.”

The interviewer laughs, and you realize you might have said a bit too much. But it’s all in good fun, right?

“And what about those heated confrontations you have on screen? Are they as fiery off-screen?”

You smirk. “Oh, absolutely. We love to argue. I think it’s half the reason the show is so popular and we’re able to make the show as real as possible.”

The interview ends, and as you step out, you see Nicholas leaning against a wall, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“So, I heard your little interview. Arrogant, huh?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You cross your arms, feigning indifference. “What can I say? It’s a talent of yours.”

“And what about that kiss scene we have to rehearse today? Think you can handle it?” His voice drops lower, a challenge hanging in the air.

You raise an eyebrow, feeling a rush of excitement. “Please. I’m not the one who needs to worry about handling it.”

As the day progresses, you can’t shake the tension in the air. During a break, Nicholas corners you in the hallway. “You know, I didn’t appreciate what you said in the interview,” he says, his voice low and serious.

You smirk. “I thought we were just having fun. Can’t handle a little friendly competition?” His gaze sharpens, and he steps closer. “It’s not just competition, is it? There’s something more.”

“Like what? A deep-seated desire to kiss my rival?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm.

But beneath the teasing, you both feel it, an electricity that has been building over time.

“You might just find out how good I am at kissing,” he says, smirking again, and your heart races at the thought.

The real shift happens during a major storyline arc where your characters have to share a kiss, something neither of you expected. As you both prepare for the rehearsal, the tension is palpable.

When it’s time to kiss, the world around you fades away. The rehearsal kiss is intense, full of the chemistry that’s been simmering beneath the surface. Your heart races as his lips touch yours, igniting something deep within. It’s a spark you’ve both tried to ignore, but now it feels undeniable.

As the kiss breaks, you both stand there for a moment, breathless. “Well, that was, unexpected,” Nicholas says, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence wavering.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would feel like that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Nicholas takes a step closer, the air thick with unspoken words. “So, does this mean we’re not just bitter ‘enemies’ anymore?”

You chuckle softly, a smile creeping onto your face. “I guess it depends on how we handle the rest of the season.”

Nicholas smirks, leaning in slightly. “I can handle a lot, trust me.”

“Oh, I bet you can,” you reply, your voice playful but laced with flirtation.

The banter continues, but the teasing has a new edge to it now, hinting at the deeper connection you've both begun to acknowledge. The lines between acting and reality blur, transforming your playful rivalry into something far more passionate.

As you navigate your way through the show, the tension between you escalates both on and off the screen. The two of you find excuses to be near each other, whether it’s rehearsing lines or grabbing coffee between takes. Each moment feels charged, filled with unsaid words and lingering glances.

One evening, after a long day on set, you find yourselves alone in your trailer. Nicholas is leaning against the door, a mischievous grin on his face.

“You know, I think the show would be much better if we had more moments like that kiss,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“What are you suggesting? We start kissing off-camera too?” you shoot back, your heart racing at the thought.

He steps closer, closing the distance. “Maybe we should. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s watching.” You feel your breath hitch as he inches closer, the teasing in his eyes replaced by something deeper.

“Okay, then. Show me what you’ve got,” you challenge, heart pounding.

Nicholas leans in, capturing your lips again, and this time it’s not just for the cameras. It’s heated, passionate, and everything you’ve both been holding back. In that moment, you both know that the rivalry has turned into something much more complicated, and exciting. As you pull away, breathless and wanting more, you can’t help but wonder what this means for both of you moving forward.

A couple of weeks pass, and while your relationship deepens, it remains primarily physical with lots of kissing but no further progression. As the season approaches its finale, excitement and uncertainty linger in the air.

The end of filming party is at a lively club, filled with cast and crew celebrating the end of a successful season. Music pulses through the air, laughter and chatter surround you as you enjoy the night. You and Nicholas are together, and the playful touches become more frequent. He brushes his fingers against your arm as you talk, igniting warmth in your skin.

As the night goes on, you find yourselves in a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling between you. Suddenly, Nicholas pulls you closer, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I can’t believe we actually made it through that entire season without killing each other,” he jokes, his voice low and teasing. You lean in, a smirk on your lips. “I think I’ve managed to tolerate your presence.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression playful yet serious. “Tolerate? Is that all? Because I think we both know it’s more than that.”

In a moment of spontaneity, you lean forward, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. The atmosphere around you dims, and all you can focus on is the way his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. Gasps and laughter surround you, but you’re lost in the moment, oblivious to the eyes of the other guests.

When you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, and a mixture of surprise and excitement dances in the air.

“Looks like we’re the talk of the party,” you say, glancing around at the surprised expressions on your co-stars’ faces.

“Let them talk. I don’t care,” he replies, his eyes dark with desire.

You share a lingering look, and before you know it, the night wraps up and you’re making your way back to your hotel room together. On the way, Nicholas receives a call for a quick interview about the season’s finale.

“I just have to say a few things. You good with that?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply, your heart racing as he steps aside to take the call.

As he speaks, you catch snippets of what he’s saying.

“I just want to take a moment to say how much I admire my co-star,” he says, his tone sincere. “She’s incredibly driven, intelligent, and truly talented. I feel honored to have shared the set with someone as smart and passionate as her.”

You can’t help but smile, warmth spreading through your chest at his words. He finishes up the call, walking back toward you, a proud grin on his face.

“What did I miss?” he asks, wrapping his arm around you as you walk into the hotel.

“Just a little praise from your biggest fan,” you tease, leaning against him.

You both enter your hotel room, and the atmosphere shifts again, the earlier tension returning.

“I really appreciate what you said in that interview,” you admit, your voice softening.

Nicholas steps closer, a serious look in his eyes. “I meant every word. You’ve impressed me in ways I didn’t expect.”

Without another word, you lean in, kissing him deeply. The kiss ignites something fierce between you, and suddenly, he’s all over you, hands roaming, breath hot against your skin.

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs against your lips, his desire palpable. “I’ve been aching for you.”

Your heart races as you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, desire burning in your eyes. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Nicholas pulls you in for another kiss, his hands gripping your waist as he backs you against the wall. The kisses become frantic as you lose yourselves in the moment, and soon enough, you’re moving to the bed.

Clothes are shed in a frenzy, and as you tumble onto the soft sheets, Nicholas takes his time exploring every inch of your body. He kisses a path down your stomach, sending shivers down your spine. When he reaches your core, he takes his time, skillfully working you to the edge. “You taste so good,” he whispers, his breath warm against you.

You’re surprised at how skilled he is with his tongue and he makes sure to use it to plunge inside you, drawing the sweetest moans from your lips. Your hands grip his hair and you grind against his face, his groans against your pussy making you shiver and squirm. The world melted around you, all you could focus on was the pleasure he was making you feel,

You feel the wave of pleasure building, and as you climax, you gasp his name, feeling your body quake beneath his touch.

Afterward, you’re both a tangle of limbs, breathless and glowing. Nicholas wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you catch your breath.

Once the haze of passion begins to settle, he looks deep into your eyes. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says, sincerity etched in his features. You smile, feeling a rush of happiness. “I’d love that.”

After a passionate night together with Nicholas eating you out, you both navigate your way through the press runs filled with playful touches and stolen kisses. Finally, the season premiere arrives, and excitement buzzes in the air.

As you both prepare for the red carpet, butterflies flutter in your stomach. You glance at Nicholas, who looks stunning in a tailored suit. He catches your gaze and smirks, making your heart race.

“Ready to blow everyone’s minds?” he asks, his confidence radiating. You roll your eyes playfully. “As if I’d let you steal the spotlight.”

The two of you step onto the red carpet, and a hush falls over the crowd as cameras flash. The buzz is palpable as reporters and fans whisper, remembering the long-standing rumors that you and Nicholas didn’t get along.

You strike a pose together, your bodies instinctively leaning into one another. “You both look amazing!” a reporter shouts. “Can you tell us about your chemistry?”

Nicholas glances at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s just as fiery off-screen as it is on-screen. Isn’t that right?” You nod, smirking. “Let’s just say it’s been a wild ride, but we make it work.”

As the cameras continue to flash, Nicholas takes your hand, pulling you closer. Suddenly, he leans in and kisses you, catching everyone off guard. Gasps and cheers erupt from the crowd, and the whispers of shock turn to delight.

“What’s this? Are you two an item now?” another reporter calls out, excitement in their voice.

You break the kiss, breathless but grinning, and glance at Nicholas.

“Guess we just made it official,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You both continue down the red carpet, posing and kissing, basking in the spotlight as the rumors of your on-set rivalry dissolve into cheers of support.

During interviews, the two of you take turns praising each other, the chemistry undeniable. “She’s incredibly talented,” Nicholas says, his voice full of admiration. “I’m lucky to have her as my co-star.”

You blush at his words, feeling warmth spread through you.

“Nicholas has this incredible drive. It’s inspiring to work alongside him,” you reply, your smile wide.

Then the moment of truth arrives during a live interview when a reporter asks Nicholas how he feels about this new development in your relationship.

“I feel... I feel amazing. She makes me happy,” he says, his expression earnest. Then, almost as if he’s caught up in the moment, he blurts out, “I love her.”

Silence falls for a split second before your eyes widen in surprise. He blinks, realizing what he just said. “Uh, yeah, I love you,” he repeats, a mix of disbelief and affection in his voice.

“You do?” you ask, your heart racing. He nods, sincerity flooding his gaze. “Yeah, I really do.”

You’re momentarily taken aback, but then a smile spreads across your face, and you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss as the crowd coos and cheers.

“I love you too,” you whisper against his lips, and everyone around you erupts in “Awws!”

The premiere ends on a high note, filled with excitement and love. As you both head back to the hotel, the energy is electric.

Once inside your hotel room, the door closes behind you, and Nicholas pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are tonight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands caressing your waist.

You shiver at his touch, feeling desire surge through you. “And you’re absolutely irresistible.”

Nicholas grins, his eyes dark with hunger. “I want you, all of you.”

With urgency, you both shed your clothes, losing yourselves in the heat of the moment. As he pulls you onto the bed, he worships your body with soft kisses and sweet words.

His pumps his cock a few times before rubbing the glistening tip on your wet pussy before slowly pushing in.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his lips trailing down your neck. “You’re everything I’ve wanted.”

You moan softly, feeling the heat rise between you.

“And you’re all mine,” you reply, looking into his eyes with fierce determination.

You gasp his name as he starts to rut into you softly, his forehead on yours and you stare into each other’s eyes. He was your entire world, everything faded away as you felt his cock brush you cervix and his fingers reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit slowly.

With a shared understanding, you both fall into a rhythm of passion, bodies moving in perfect harmony. His hands explore your curves as he whispers sweet nothings, making you feel cherished and desired.

“You’re so so beautiful baby, I love you, you’re everything to me.”

The words almost bring you to tears but the constant brushing of his cock against your g spot made you focus more on the pleasure you were feeling. “Fuck I’m gonna cum baby, I need you to cum with me, cum around my cock okay?” You nodded frantically feeling the overwhelming feeling of being near your release.

As you reach your climax, everything around you fades, and all you feel is him, his voice, and the intimacy of the moment.

Afterward, you lay entwined, breathless and content. Nicholas brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze softening.

“You’re incredible. I’m so lucky to have you,” he says, kissing your forehead.

You smile, feeling a deep sense of love and belonging. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

In that moment, you both realize that you’re not just co-stars anymore; you’re partners, and this is just the beginning of your journey together.

[leclerc-hs]

can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh. 

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains. 

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity. 

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience. 

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

-

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

-

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups. 

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen. 

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

Or

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

-

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

-

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.” 

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

-

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release. 

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget. 

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit. 

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs. 

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it. 

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief. 

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air. 

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

-

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout. 

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it. 

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

-

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips. 

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed. 

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words.  What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

-

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore. 

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

[sadhours]

steve with a degradation kink 👀 jokingly calling him a pervert and he gets so flushed and embarrassed

heheh no I love this

steve harrington x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, smut, steve and reader are childhood best friends, one use of y/n, perv!steve, degradation kink, oral (f receiving), hand stuff

💖💖💖💖

you noticed your best friend reacted strangely to criticism. depending on the person. when his dad criticized him, his face went stoic and he replied to Mr. Harrington with one word answers. same kind of thing when his boss did it at work, though he wore his annoyance on his face then. when robin did it, he rolled his eyes. but when pretty girls who weren’t lesbians, at least to his knowledge, did it, his face got all flushed and his pupils would about double in size. and you found that intriguing. you’d done it plenty within the long years of your friendship but you’d never actually looked at how he responded. until one day.

a winter day. it was too cold to chill by the pool and the harrington’s were home. so you were confined to his horridly designed bedroom. god awful lamp lighting the room dimly as the sun was beginning to set. steve was propped up on the floor, back against his mattress as he tossed a baseball up and caught it. over and over. he looked as bored as you felt.

you got up from the floor and decided to go digging through his bedroom. not entirely sure what you were looking for but there had to be something entertaining in here. you start with his desk, opening drawers and scoping out the insides.

“yeah, just go through my stuff,” steve says with a shrug, voice dripping in sarcasm, “that’s totally cool.”

“oh, wah,” you mock him, “i’m bored. there’s gotta be something interesting tucked away in here.”

steve throws you an annoyed look, “yeah and that’s why i’m playing catch with myself.”

you ignore him, continuing to file through his belongings. you manage through his desk, then his dresser drawers and nightstand. it’s when you drop to the floor and peek under his bed that you find something. a box. you pull it out and steve scrambles to slam his hand on top of it.

“alright, ha ha ha, you had your fun! stop going through my stuff,” he says, eyes wide and worried.

you scoff, lips curling up with the exhale, “oh, no, that reaction tells me i just found the jackpot. what’s in the box, steven?”

“none of your business,” he says sternly, moving to slide it back under the bed but you stop it, fingers hooking into the lid and steve lunges forward, almost crushing the box with his body as he looks up at you panicked. “i mean it, y/n.”

“now i really gotta see what’s in here,” you go to tug it away and steve bear hugs the box. “c’mon, steve, i know every single one of your secrets. this can’t be that bad.”

“it’s personal, something’s you don’t need to know,” he insists, lips dropping into a frown.

you pull again, resulting in the pair of you wrestling for the box. the motions knock it over, spilling the contents out on the rug. to no one’s shock, it’s porn. magazines and two tapes. but kind of surprisingly, there’s panties and uh, Polaroids of Nancy. Not explicit by any means. Just photos of her smiling.

“oh, Steve,” you grab one of the photos and hold it up to inspect, “Nancy made it in the spank bank? Ya know, these aren’t even dirty, you don’t have to like, hide them.”

“Please, for the love of God,” his face is as red as a fire truck, it’s kind of… cute, seeing Steve so embarrassed. He’s usually so calm and collected. The coolest dude you know. “Stop looking.”

“Why?” you giggle, “This is by far the most interesting thing in this room.”

Then you tilt your head as you see it. Oh. That’s why. There’s Polaroid of you. In a bikini. In the backyard, lounged by the pool. Steve scrambles for it but you’re able to snatch it first.

“Oh, my god,” you gasp, examining the photo carefully. You remember the day it was taken. Just this past summer. You’d gotten a new bikini, you were excited to wear it. Red. “Like Phoebe Cates,” Steve had said and you uh, surprisingly didn’t pick up on it. That Steve looked at you like that. Looking back, it makes sense, the way he ran in to get his camera. The fact he compared you to a celebrity he’d been Gaga over.

He’s completely silent as he watches you connect the dots. Steve is attracted to you. Steve jacks off to you. You’ve made it in the spank bank. This information is intoxicating. It’s a mutual attraction. Hell, you can’t even count the amount of times you’ve laid back and flicked the bean with your best friend, Steve Harrington, in mind. The day he sprouted chest hair and his body got a little more muscular, you’d been bombarded with an overwhelming attraction to the guy. You swallow hard, then your eyes drop as Steve’s hand moves to grab a pair of underwear that was also in the box. You drop the photo and grab his wrist, eyes meeting his and the absolute panic in his eyes is… weirdly arousing to you. Then you see the pair, eyes scanning over the white cotton and faded print of cherries decorating them.

“Are those my underwear, Steve?” you ask, glancing back up at him.

“No,” he lies, won’t meet your eyes as he stares down at them in his hand.

“Did you steal my underwear, Steve?”

“Why would I do that?” he replies, looking up at you finally, trying to look nonchalant.

You swallow hard, you should be furious but you’re… you’re not. You’re turned on. This absolute creep behavior, but coming from Steve, it’s so… sweet and vulnerable. Makes you look into those big brown eyes and want to kiss his face all over. But Steve seems to like the humiliation. And it’s making your body erupt in desire.

“Because you’re a pervert,” you tell him, watching as his pupils double in size and he inhales sharply. He swallows and you see his Adam’s apple bob with the motion.

“No, I’m not,” he says, voice quiet and breathy.

“Yes, you are,” you tug the underwear from his hands and look down at them, trying to remember the last time you’d worn them. You and Steve has countless sleepovers, your parents trusted him beyond belief and his parents were rather distant. There were so many opportunities to fool around but it never happened. Which now you think is a little surprising, considering there was that attraction and you’d shared beds as hormonal teens. Can’t believe you’re discovering it now as “adults”. But maybe that’s why you feel bold enough to push him on his back, crawling over to straddle his waist and you can feel his erection hidden underneath his jeans. You hold up the panties, “You smell these while you jerk off to me?”

It’s almost as if you’re not yourself, watching this unfold from a outside perspective. You haven’t even been this confident with boyfriends before but you know Steve, and you’ve been wanting more than a friendship for quite some time. Steve jerks off to you, it’s new information that makes this almost impossible not to act on. It inflates your ego, makes your heart swell twice in size. Because the implication, he knows you better than anyone else, clearly the attraction has to be more than purely physical.

He doesn’t reply, swallows hard again and just stares up at you. His big brown eyes look hazy, aroused and you can feel that he is where your ass is sat against his crotch. He can’t deny he’s turned on. And you wiggle against him, to silently tell him you are too. Fuck, he’s your best friend. How long as he felt this way? Because you’re sure you’ve been in love with him for years. And to find out this way? Not to mention that he seems to be reacting to you calling him a pervert.

You shove the panties up against his nose, “You totally do. You sniff these and stare at the picture while you jerk off! You’re such a perv, Steve!”

He writhes against you, moaning pathetically against the cotton.

“That’s disgusting,” you laugh, playing the part and he whines this time, closes his eyes and sniffs the panties. it’s so hot, and embarrassing at the same time. You’re almost at a loss for words but he seems to like when you make fun of him. “You’re so pathetic, oh my god.”

He opens his eyes, begging you silently. You inhale sharply before continuing. “Bet they don’t even smell like me anymore. I’ve been missing these for months,” you comment, shoving them against his nose once more before standing up. Steve watches you intently, frozen on the ground. You slide the pair of panties you’re currently wearing down your thighs, kicking them off and picking them up before you straddle Steve again. You can feel how soaked they are in your palm. So you shove them against his nose, giggling as you ask, “They used to smell like this?”

Steve’s eyes widen before they roll back as he inhales your scent, no doubt feeling how wet they are.

“You like that?” you laugh cruelly, “god, steve. i didn’t know you were such a sad, pathetic pervert.”

“fuck,” he moans, rolling his hips up at you and the rough denim catches against your clit, pulls a noise from you that has your eyes widening and your dominant demeanor faltering as you grind back down on him. Steve’s eyes meet yours and Christ, he looks pretty and desperate.

“You like me telling you what a perv you are, huh?” you ask.

“yeah,” he breathes out, hands closing into fists by his sides as he rolls his hips up again.

you gasp, trying to maintain composure as his jeans run against your clit again. you wonder if steve can feel how wet you are, if you’re soaking through his denim.

“such a pathetic loser,” you mutter, rubbing your soiled panties against his face, “so desperate for your best friend. wanna taste? go ahead, pervert, taste them.”

with your permission, steve opens his mouth and licks against your underwear. you shove them against him harder and he closes his lips around a bit of them, sucking your juices from the fabric. Moans when he does it, which makes you grind down harder against him.

“bet you’ve been dreaming about the real thing,” you breathe out, “huh, Stevie? you stroke your cock and imagine licking my pussy?”

“mhm,” he replies, still sucking on the cotton. his eyes are so wide and pretty as he stares up at you.

“such a loser,” you pout, tilting your head as you watch him. “think you deserve it?”

“please,” he begs, rolls his hips again.

“desperate for my pussy, aren’t you?” you ask but it’s funny, because you’re desperate for him.

Steve keens, jerks his hips up as his hands venture towards your hips before he drops them back at his sides. Like he’s nervous to touch you. You lean down, tossing your underwear aside as you hover your lips over his. Then you whisper, “Do you wanna eat me out, Steve?”

“Please don’t be fucking with me,” he replies, all soft and wrecked.

“That a yes?” you retort, licking your lips.

He nods, the motion makes his lips graze slightly against yours and it’s difficult not to kiss him. But your core is aching, just the idea of his gorgeous mouth on your heat has you a little feral and you rut down against him before inching up.

“Can I sit on your face, Stevie?” you ask, voice coming out more wrecked than you’d intended. Sounds weird on your ears. Didn’t know you could sound so sultry.

“Please,” he begs, writhing underneath you. “Fuck, please, pretty please sit on my face.”

You’re languid with the motion, pulling your skirt up as you climb up him and into position. He’s staring at your cunt, lips parted and pupils as wide as saucers. Licks his lips and you giggle, peering down at him as you begin to speak, “Look so desperate…”

He replies by wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down on him. His mouth is warm and wet and determined. Steve elicits a moan as soon as he makes contact and it sends vibrations through your whole body. You gasp, holding your skirt up with your left hand while you push his hair off his forehead with the other. Steve is working his mouth on your cunt like he’s making out with it, tongue lashing and lips sucking all while he stares up at you and keeps moaning against your folds. You’ve had other men eat you out before but never like this. Never so determined, never seemed to be enjoying it so much.

There were rumors about Steve, you’d heard girls talk about this. You’d always feigned disgust. He was your best friend, you didn’t wanna hear about his bedroom skills. But deep down, you’d always wondered what he did differently. You haven’t ever had the urge to brag about the men you’d been with. They’d all been pretty mediocre.

The difference is Steve loves this. He’s hungry for it. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you firmly against his mouth and he’s… he’s moving his head with the motions. Groaning into you.

Your lips fall open, brows knitting together as your fingers tug at the roots of his hair. Staring down at your gorgeous best friend as he devours you. Then his hands move up, snaking under the hem of your shirt and he unclasps your bra in quick time, impressing you briefly before his hands move knead and grope at your breasts. With the grip on your thighs gone, you’re able to move your hips and they grind down on his face on their own volition. Fuck, you’re trying to keep quiet but it’s hard. His tongue flicks against your clit, flat and repetitive as his fingers swirl around your pebbled nipples. You whine, riding his face as you chase your high. The deep, tight coil in your stomach is threatening to snap at any second. You don’t think you’ve ever cum so fast in your life.

“God, you fucking pervert,” you whine, writhing against his mouth, “Feels so fucking good.”

Steve moans his appreciation, eyes rolling back slightly. He pinches your nipple and you’re a goner. Eyes squeezing shut as bright stars of light dance around behind your lids. Steve’s taking it well, sucking and licking up all that you give him. Doesn’t stop until you’re pulling off of him and rolling onto your back beside him. You’re breathing heavily and it quickly turns into pleasure fueled giggles. Then Steve’s reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers, squeezing.

“So, uh, now you know my biggest secret,” he breathes out, and you turn to see the sweetest smile on his face.

You smirk, “That you’re a sick pervert? I did know that already.”

He flushes, turning and shoving his face against your neck. You roll over to wrap your hand around his middle and squeeze him. Your mouth against his ear as you whisper, “I uh, also touch myself to you. Just like thoughts though, not uh, not pictures.”

“I get it,” he mumbles, “I’m a giant perv.”

“You are,” you giggle, “But I like it. Should’ve known it when I wore that bikini and you said it reminded you of phoebe cates.”

Steve laughs at that, “Yeah, you’re kind of oblivious.”

“Shut up, perv,” you reply, moving your hand lower and palming against his cock strained by his jeans, “Or I won’t help you get rid of this.”

“Oh, you wanna help?” Steve asks, the humor wavering as he rocks his hips up at your hand.

“Uh-huh,” you pull back just slightly, so you can look at his face while you unbutton his jeans. He helps you get them down his thighs, briefs following suit. You lick your palm before wrapping your fingers around his cock, glancing down and gasping. Fuck, he’s huge. Your eyes dart back up to his face and he’s smiling, all cocky. He knows it’s big. You’re sure he’s been told so a hundred times so you don’t say anything. You squeeze him while gazing into his beautiful brown eyes, you’d always loved how they sloped just slightly down. And they were so big and wide, so expressive. They are right now as you start to slowly stroke him. He blinks rapidly, licking his lips.

“Can’t believe you look at a photo of me while you jack off,” you mumble, “Seriously, Steve. It’s pretty pathetic.”

There go those expressive eyes, full of arousal— desperation. You don’t avert yours as you squeeze his base, slow and deliberate as you stroke up and swipe your thumb against his weeping tip. You raise an eyebrow, “You get this wet when you’re jerking off to me?”

He whines, bites his lip as his eyebrows furrow. Looks so sweet and needy. It’s the prettiest Steve’s ever looked.

“It’s pathetic because Stevie, you could’ve had me this whole time,” you mumble against his lips, fingers spreading his precum down his shaft and he’s really so wet, you can hear it as you stroke him up and down. Making sure to squeeze where it counts, base and head. Repeatedly. He whines against you. Bucks his hips because you’re going too slow. So you pull your hand away, “Ah-ah, you need to be a good boy for me, Steve.”

He whimpers, music to your ears, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good. Don’t stop, baby.”

The pet name warms you all over. Can’t help but grip his cock again, stroking him more deliberately this time. He whines, all high pitched and pretty against your lips. You give up the teasing, determined to get your best friend off. Curving your palm on every upstroke, whispering against his lips, “Cum for me, baby. Show me what a sick, little pervert you are.”

Steve groans, moves his hand up to cup your jaw as he bucks his hips again. But you let him. Let him fuck your fist. His mouth falls open in a silent moan as he coats your hand in his release, eyes squeezing shut. It’s so hot, you feel your own slick coating your thighs from it.

You let go of him, he rolls on his back and smiles as he sighs, eyes still closed. You clean his mess up with your skirt, a problem to deal with at another time. And for the first time in your friendship, you and Steve are absolutely speechless. Laying side by side. But he’s the one to break the silence.

“Should we like, make out now?” he asks, propping himself on his elbow as he looks down at you, “Ya know, so it’s not weird.”

“Yeah, cus that’s what would make this not weird,” you tell him but you hook a leg over his waist and straddle him, grabbing onto his face and kissing him stupid anyways.

[londondungeon2]

so many househusband jade thoughts because of the new card,, like the domestic aura of this card,,, ggggggrrrrr i’m biting him!!!!! (ʘдʘ╬)

i keep imagining everyone thinking your husband is just some boring guy, way too normal to be a living person. he doesn’t do extraordinary gifts and lives a moderate life. each new years, you send out (christmas-like) cards of you and your husband in plain old matching pajamas. something jcpenney-level, you two look like you were copy and pasted from a kohl’s magazine, utterly plain.

the only thing that is a like ‘unique’ about him is his mushroom fascination but like everyone has their hobbies??? so no one bats an eye at that single eccentricity.

but you’re the only one that really knows what he’s like behind closed doors. sure, he tending to his terrariums in the morning but he’s also telling you of how he single-handedly tore down an oligopoly with just a few pulled strings. you’re the only one that sees that boring, regular guy come home, hands splattered with blood because he just rearranged someone’s jugular. no one would ever guess he is trained in self defense until he beats all his male co-workers in arm wrestling with nothing but that polite, customer service smile on his face.

the utter quotidian routine of him packing his pipe bowl in the morning, sharing a true story about some ‘shady business’, and bidding you goodbye with a sweet kiss on the cheek.

i love a wolf in sheep’s clothing!!!!

[msbigredmachine]

You Again (Roman Reigns) - Part 1

That awkward moment when the biggest star in pro wrestling happens to be your high school bully…and he’s in your office. A 2-part series.

Pairing: Bully!Roman Reigns x OC

Word Count: 2,500

Warning: Hints of smut, stalking, bullying

FINALLY! I've fleshed out this WIP. I'm so proud of myself! Hope you like it. Enjoy!

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

Evelyn squeezed into the crowded elevator, relieved that she’d gotten in before the doors could slide shut. She combed her fingers through her wig, smoothed down her blouse and took a deep breath as another work day that came too soon was about to start. Stepping out on the fifth floor, she fixed her face like she didn’t wish she was back in Cancun sipping on some Piña Coladas at her beachfront cabana. 

The offices of Wow Magazine buzzed left and right, with employees and staff bustling about as the latest edition of the fashion Bible was published on print and digital media today. Evelyn plastered a smile on her face and accepted their glowing compliments on her outfit. Dressed in a cute off-white sweater blouse, a white pleated miniskirt with sheer Fendi ‘F’ tights and black stilettos, the ‘Editor-in-Chief’ nameplate pasted to her door reminded her every day that she couldn’t be caught dead looking a mess at any time.

“Latte for Miss Ashton?” Her assistant, Faith, entered her office ten minutes later with her usual Starbucks order. “Welcome back, boss. You look refreshed and ready to go already!” she chirped, setting the Styrofoam cup down on the mahogany desk. "How was your vacation?" 

"Way too short. I wanna go back already," she replied. "So what's on my agenda today before I change my mind and get outta here?"

Faith laughed and scrolled down her iPad. "You got a meeting at ten with Tessa on September’s feature cover. Your lunch meeting with Roger from Finance is at noon, then there’s a couple of itineraries that need your approval. I’ve already emailed them to you."

"Sounds good." Evelyn took a sip of her coffee and chatted some more with Faith before she was left alone to get settled. At five to ten, she was walking to the conference room when she caught a glimpse of a tall, powerfully built man standing at the reception area, his back only visible in profile. His well-tailored pinstripe gray Gucci suit was a perfect fit on his big frame and all the musculature underneath. A jolt of interest pinged through her for this attractive stranger, but it was quickly replaced by shock as he turned around and his dark eyes met hers.

This was no stranger at all. It was her worst nightmare!

It had been several years, but there was no mistaking that face. It was bad enough that she’d had to look at it every single day for much of her teen years. Said face also haunted her TV on Friday nights, and given how he'd made her life miserable, she couldn’t forget it if she tried.

Oh no. No, no…no!

She felt her stomach drop when his eyes widened. Fuck! He recognized her, too! She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his fiery stare as his lips formed her name.

“Evie?”

Hearing him address her by her shortened name snapped her temporary paralysis. Ducking her head, she almost stumbled in her heels as she rushed into the conference room and slammed the door shut. Flattening her back against it, she exhaled shakily, her heart racing at a million miles a minute as she struggled to process what she’d just seen.

More frightening was the sight of him walking into the conference room just a few moments later with Tessa, Wow’s Artistic Director, a cheery smile on her face as she announced,

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the cover star for September’s edition, WWE Superstar Roman Reigns!”

Focusing on the meeting was difficult. Staying professional was even tougher knowing her tormentor sat mere feet away, staring a hole through her the entire time. She wanted to throw up as Tessa gushed over the magazine’s newly-penned partnership with WWE, which came with a cover feature for its biggest star in their most popular edition of the year. This also meant that in just a few short weeks, Evelyn would have to see him again, as it was her job to oversee his photoshoot, wardrobe, and the interview itself. Even more nauseating was that Management was to hold a lavish yacht party this coming weekend celebrating the partnership with Joe as their special guest of honor. Clearly, a lot had transpired while she was away, and she didn’t like any of it one bit.

Neither Tessa nor Faith noticed her eagerness to get out of there when the meeting finally, thankfully ended. She quickly darted into the break room nearby and fought to catch her breath, hating that she was running around like a cornered rat. Luckily the room was empty, meaning no one could see her in her flustered state. She was known for her cool calm demeanor, but one asshole had just come into her world and turned it upside down. Again.

She couldn’t believe this! Why was the Lord testing her like this? 

Joe Anoa’i had single-handedly almost ruined her entire high school experience. For one, he made sure no boy came near her during her first three years. She was the constant butt of mean jokes thanks to his stupid football teammates, led by him and his twin cousins Jon and Josh Fatu. Her locker would often be spray-painted with derogatory names or overflowing with trash, and, at one horrific time, used condoms. She remembered the tears she’d cried after she had to clean up that disgusting stuff all by herself in front of everyone.

When her father was transferred out of state right before her senior year began, she had been beyond relieved. Most teenagers would have been devastated to be uprooted for their last year in high school, but Evelyn was ecstatic. She was never going to see Joe or his cronies again, and it was the chance to finally have a normal high school experience.

She could vividly recall the last time she saw him. She'd been so happy at the prospect of escape that, when he paused in the hall to watch her clean out her locker for the last time, she made full eye contact with him for once and laughed in his face.

"Sayonara, bitch," Evie cheesed, smiling smugly when a scowl darkened his irritatingly handsome face. 

"What are you doing?" he demanded, walking up to her, his expression intense.

"Gettin’ away from you and this fucking school forever. You’ll never see me again and I don’t gotta deal with your bullshit anymore," she replied coldly. Stepping past him, she almost fell over when he grabbed her arm and yanked her back, colliding their bodies together.

Joe leaned down, towering over her petite figure, and growled, "Oh sweetheart, trust me when I say you'll see me again. I’ll find you wherever you are, no matter how long it takes. That’s a promise."

Evelyn recalled his raspy last words with trepidation. That he had indeed found her, just like he’d threatened, spooked her to no end.

Behind her, the door clicked open, and the air in the room changed. Shifted. Charged with a palpable tension. Through the reflection of a nearby window, she saw Joe shut the door behind him. With her heart in her throat, she kept her back turned and did her best to ignore his approaching footsteps. But with only a few long strides, he was standing right behind her, boxing her in his much bigger body. She hated the way her skin prickled and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Blood pounded in her ears as his familiar scent reached her nose, triggering memories of when he had mercilessly tortured her in school. She stiffened at the reminder and struggled with her body's response to his closeness. Close enough now that there was very little room for her to escape even if she wanted to.

His hard chest molded against her back. His thick, muscular arms stretched across the table she leaned on from both sides, trapping her. She could feel every inch of him, every muscle attached to her like steel to a magnet. Her breath caught, torn between shoving him away and giving in to the arousal that pulsed through her body. When she felt his mouth close to her ear, a shiver coursed down her spine. 

"Evie," Joe breathed. His low, husky voice uttering her name set off the butterflies in her belly and spread heat through her body. As his hands moved to her shoulders, her skin broke out into goosebumps and her nipples hardened into sharp little points, chafing almost painfully against the lace of her bra. Despite her body's involuntary reaction, she held herself rigidly, staring straight ahead, giving no indication that she could feel anything.

"I thought I was imagining things," he went on in that gruff, yet velvety tone, "But no. I'd know that face anywhere.”

“Oh look, the leader of N’Stink is here. Long time no see,” Evelyn finally spoke up, her tone cold and clipped.

“Leader of what?” he laughed. She didn't see what was so funny.

“That was my name for you and the evil twins. Jon and Josh. I remember you all,” she said.

Joe smirked. “Who knew little Evie Ashton was so creative.”

“I’m not ‘Evie’ anymore. I go by Evelyn now.” She dared to glare up at him and despised the way her knees weakened immediately. He was more gorgeous than he was twenty years ago and was still able to effortlessly awaken her body with just one look, with just his proximity. It reminded her how, as a teen, she had been so confused and embarrassed by the way she simultaneously loathed him and desired him. Unfortunately nothing about that had changed. 

"This is the other reason I knew it was you." His mouth was by her ear again. To her complete shock, he pressed himself against her, and she sucked in a breath as what felt like an impressive erection lightly prodded her backside. "All you had to do was come near me and you had me so hard I couldn’t walk straight sometimes."

Hold up!

Her eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“You have no damn idea how much I wanted you, Evie,” Joe elaborated, licking his lips as he gazed at her. “I wanted a taste of them soft lips. Your tits. Your pussy. Hell, I still do.”

Evelyn clenched her thighs together, failing to stop the rush of warmth between her legs at his unexpected words. “You’re fuckin’ lying,” she stammered. This coming from the same guy who regularly made fun of her skinny frame and horn-rimmed glasses back then. Total bullshit!

He shook his head. “I'm not. You feel that, don’t you?” He grinded against her again, nudging the back of her skirt a little higher up her thighs. She opened her mouth to tell him to get the fuck away from her, but all that came out was a whimper. She glanced down, seeing his strong, tanned hands now grasping her hips, lining up her ass directly against his crotch. Mindlessly, she pressed back against him, her body giving into the urges despite her brain’s protests. Lust coursed through her, drugging her into docility. The same thing kept happening back in high school. Even when she was furious at him, he'd affected her so strongly on a physical level that she felt almost drunk when she was around him. What was worse, he was the first and only boy who had turned her on like that without even lifting a finger. Not even Chuka, her ex-fiancé, ever set her body on fire like this, despite his numerous attempts. 

As a teenager, she would daydream during the day, and at night, laying alone in her bed, fantasize about being with Joe Anoa’i…wondered what it would feel like, imagined the heights he could take her to if they ever had sex…

Encouraged by her complacency, Joe’s lips trailed the crook of her neck, and her head tilted back reflexively. His steel length felt like it was branding her through her skirt. She panted heavily, air expelling in short bursts from her lungs as his mouth trailed ever closer, ghosting over her jawline and her cheek before finally landing on hers, sucking her bottom lip. For the life of her, she wondered why she didn’t push him away. Perhaps it was because she was starved for a man’s touch which had been missing for the past year. Or maybe because it was a kiss she’d dreamed of; a kiss that would set her ablaze and burn her from the inside out. It was the kiss she’d wanted for two decades but never got. Until now.

Evelyn could hear her inner, mentally-scarred teen scream for joy as she turned in his arms and kissed his soft lips back with a defeated moan. The energy between them had amplified tenfold, making her heart race, urging her to dive into him. Joe seemed to read her mind and, pushing her up against the table, slipped his tongue into her mouth, his hand leaving her waist to curl around her throat. It was the simplest, yet the kinkiest of touches which unleashed a tsunami between her thighs and another moan against his lips. She felt his dick pulse against her belly as the kiss became more urgent, hungrier. With a gentle nudge of his foot, he spread her legs wider apart, and her body jerked with surprise when he shoved his other hand inside her skirt, boldly cupping the mound protected by her panties.

“Just like I thought, you’re wet as fuck. Did I make you wet like this back then? Huh?” Joe goaded, his lips an inch from hers, making her feel every word he uttered. "Tell me."

Evelyn couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back, or her body grinding against his fingers as they circled around the dampness on her underwear before tugging the satin material to the side. His hand on her neck slipped lower to grab her breast, fondling it in his large palm as his lips latched onto the side of her throat. It was an attack from all fronts and Evelyn was very much losing the fight.

Until his finger dipped inside her wetness, which her brain computed as one lascivious act too many and finally snapped her back to her senses.

“Okay, stop! Stop it!” she hissed in a panic, pushing him off her. She glanced around the room, hoping no one else was there as she adjusted her clothes, and then raced out of the room as fast as her heels could carry her, desperate to get away. She slammed her office door shut and did not come out again until he left.

On her desk, the invite to the yacht party taunted her in its fancy, elaborate lettering and graphics, a craftwork that would have impressed her if it didn’t make her want to vomit and run away forever, or better yet, book another flight to Cancun never to return.

How the fuck was she going to get through the week? 

And where the fuck was her vibrator when she needed it?

END OF PART ONE

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

Thoughts?

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

🏷️: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly  @tribalhoochie @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05  @harmshake @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01  @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @shes2real @trippinsorrows @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @femdisa @harlemblipster  @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @lizzyd1ish @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @yourtribalqueen @katymae12344 @that-one-anxious-mango @yana3sworld @caramelcleopatraa @truefant4sy @thetribalqueen @bhjszsdxc @paigereeder @christinabae @justazzi @maknaehyucks @mindairy @headoftheetable @truefant4sy @mscarter213 @ariiaeltheedonn @sageispunk @xbriexx @heauxvibez

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

—forever winter

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY 

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

[hardly-an-escape]

sola fide | Buck/Tommy | 1170 words | rated T

tags: Evan Buckley character study, sick fic, mentions of religion, dirty jokes, established relationship, lgbtq identity

“Hey, uh, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you kind of a dumb question?”

“Of course.”

They’re posted up on Tommy’s couch, both with a weekend off at the same time for once. They’d planned to get out of the city, go for a long hike, maybe hit a winery somewhere. But Tommy’s been nursing a cold, so they’re taking it easy instead, and Buck likes that just as much as their adventures. So he’d made chicken noodle soup from scratch and brought over ginger ale and some of the violently red popsicles Tommy kept secretly stashed in the back of the freezer.

Buck’s quiet for another moment, gathering his thoughts.

“When did you know? That you were gay?” he says eventually.

Tommy looks up from the monster truck magazine he’s been leafing through.

“I don’t know that I can point to one particular moment,” he says, thoughtful. “On some level it was something I always knew about myself, even if I didn’t have the language to describe it yet. I guess… hitting puberty was kind of an awakening. Hearing other guys talk about girls we knew, or women in magazines, and realizing I just didn’t connect with what they were saying, like, at all. I guess there’s the fact that the first wet dream I had was about Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.” He snorts. “That was a pretty big clue.”

Buck smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He realizes he’s twisting his fingers together in his lap and untangles them, rubs self-consciously at the tops of his thighs.

Tommy tosses his magazine onto the coffee table and takes one of Buck’s hands in his own, rubbing gently at the muscle between his thumb and forefinger. “What makes you ask?” he says gently.

“I dunno. I just.” Buck sighs. “I guess I’ve been feeling weird about it lately. Not – not this,” he adds hastily, “not us, not even a little. This is seriously one of the best things that has ever happened to me – you are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Tommy, I mean that.”

Tommy gives him a sweet little smile, one of the ones that’s just for him, and squeezes his hand.

“I just mean… this feels like such a big thing t-to not know about myself. You know, how did I make it into my thirties before it ever occurred to me, oh, you like guys, you might fall in love with a guy.” His voice rises in pitch a little as he picks up speed. “It makes me feel stupid, and – and out of touch with my own self. Like, what else is really obvious about myself that I haven’t realized yet, you know? Am I actually left handed? Am I secretly an Olympic gymnast? Am I some kind of Russian sleeper agent?”

Tommy squeezes his hand again. “I don't think it's that absurd to come to an important realization about yourself in your thirties, sweetheart,” he says. “I think that's a pretty normal thing, actually.”

Buck deflates a little. “Yeah. I know. I just... I've told you about my brother. That whole situation. Not knowing why I was born, never knowing that he even existed. I think all of this –” he gestures between them “– in a way it kind of reminds me of that? Like, here you go, Buck, here’s another big hole in your life that you didn’t know was there until someone tried to fill it.”

He catches Tommy’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and untangles their hands so he can give him a shove. “I know what joke you’re about to make, dumbass. Don’t even go there.”

“Okay, I’ll ask about filling your hole later,” says Tommy, deadpan, and Buck shoves him again, and for a minute their serious conversation devolves into the kind of ridiculous, juvenile wrestling match that Buck secretly loves, that he knows Tommy knows he loves. That reminds him they’re both strong and okay and in tune with one another.

They settle, eventually, with Tommy lying back against the arm of the couch, and Buck cradled against him, grateful that Tommy’s couch is wide and deep enough for them to press together, side by side.

Buck sighs again. Can’t help it.

“I knew a guy in the army. Jake,” says Tommy out of nowhere. “Very nice guy, not one of the assholes who joined up because he thought the uniform would make his dick bigger, you know? When we were in Afghanistan, he made friends with one of our interpreters, guy named Irshad. Mostly we didn’t get close with the locals, but those two – they really hit it off. Stayed in touch after we got shipped home and everything.” He shifts Buck slightly and absently kisses his temple. “When I saw Jake again, maybe a year after we were discharged, he’d converted to Islam. He said his friendship with Irshad had opened his eyes to something. To this faith. He said he felt like that something had always been there – like on some level, he’d always had that faith – it had just taken a while for it to be revealed to him.”

“Huh,” Buck says. He thinks about this idea for a while, petting randomly over Tommy’s chest and belly with one hand while Tommy’s thumb rubs gentle, firm circles in the meat of his upper arm. He likes it, he decides. He’s not a religious person himself, but faith feels like something… important. Fundamental. Feels like a Big Thing, the way sexuality is. It does feel better, he thinks, just to know there are other people who’ve discovered one of those Big Things as a whole ass grownup. He’s not sure how to phrase it. But it does make it feel better.

“So what I hear you saying… is that realizing I like dudes and getting into your pants could be considered comparable to finding God,” is what comes out of his mouth.

He can feel Tommy try to maintain his composure and suppress the snort that wants to escape. He does his best, abdominal muscles contracting under Buck’s hand, but the laughter wins out and explodes in a kind of barking cough that sounds, frankly, a little alarming. Buck sits them up and thumps Tommy on the back a few times, handing him the mug of honeyed tea that’s been cooling on the coffee table.

“Evan,” Tommy wheezes eventually, “I’m going to need you to never say anything like that again.”

“Sure, babe,” Buck says. “But just to be clear, does that mean you don’t want me to get on my knees for you?”

And Tommy is laughing again, and Buck feels so much better. Feels warm inside, because somehow, Tommy always knows how to make him feel better. How to take the disparate anxious puzzle pieces of him and turn the picture right side up so he knows how to solve himself.

(“Oh, my God,” Tommy gasps between coughs.

“That’s my line,” Buck says.)

read on AO3 >>>

[aquaticwolfkuri]

You HATE Me, But I Hate YOU More: ch.6

“hehe….hahaha….Hahahaha….HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!” Zim laughs, completely impressed by his new and genius EVIL plan. It was just too perfect, so evil, that only someone as great as him could have come up with it, other than Minimoose of course.

The plan? Ruin Dib’s prom night by asking Plotty to go with HIM instead of the Dib-Human. Yes, the plan is very amazing.

“NOW to attend Skool like the good and filthy human that I am!” Zim says, throwing on his disguise before heading out the door. Gir and Minimoose wishing him the best of luck.

Everyone gathered by their lockers, gossiping and conversing about all sorts of things, ranging from rumors, boys, adult magazines, games, and many more stupid human things. Zim cared not for such things, and right now, his target was the ginger haired girl.

Thankfully she wasn’t too hard to spot, so Zim ruthlessly shoved anyone that got in his way.

“Oh, Hello Zim” The girl says, giving him a smile that nearly makes him gag.

“Yes, Hello…PLOTTY.”

“Did you need something? If your looking for Dib, he’s-”

“Z-Zim is not looking for the Dib-human!!!” Zim’s face starts to feel warm, trying NOT to remember his computer’s clearly INCORRECT calculations.

Plotty looks at him, feeling a bit awkward and confused… Zim can see this and quickly changes the subject.

“I was actually looking for YOU.” Zim says.

“Me?”

“Yes. You see… because of my condition, most of the other HUMANS, tend to pick on poor Zim, even making fun of my water allergy…. Now Zim has no one to go to prom with…” Zim says in the most soap opera way possible, even going so far as to fake the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, that’s awful… Of course I’ll go to prom with you Zim” She says, smiling brightly. Delighted, Zim thanked the girl, letting her know just how HAPPY she’d made him before making his way to class, laughing maniacally… but, unfortunately, he bumps into the back of a very familiar black coat. Dib turns around, giving him a very accusing look as he narrows his eyes.

“Zim, what did you do?? What are you planning this time?” 

“Well Dib, if you must know… the Plotty-girl will be going to prom with ME!!” Zim says, laughing again, but instead of Dib wallowing in Sarrow like he had imagined, Dib instead tackles him to the ground, attempting to strangle him.

"Zim, you little piece of shit!!” Dib yelled. Zim screamed and gagged, before finally kicking Dib in the groin, and pushing him off. Dib nearly sheds a tear, but he pushes through the pain and grabs Zim by the leg before he can get up.

“Z-Zim, I hope you know how much I HATE you right now!” He punches him, and Zim pulls his hair, biting into his arm. 

“I hate you MORE Dib!” Zim retorts back. They both continue to kick and fight as the other students gather around them, watching the live wrestling match, and pulling out their phones as they capture footage of the event; even Gaz.

“Zim you-....y….y-yaaaCHOOO!” Sneezing right into the alien’s tunic, Zim screams bloody murder, and thankfully, the principal arrives just in time with the other teachers to stop the fight from escalating, sending them both to the nurse's office.

“Dib… This behavior is completely unacceptable. This is the 4th time this week. You can't keep assaulting Zim just for being different.” The principal says, tired and frustrated. Dib is such a talented student, so gifted in fact, that he’s honestly being held back by being in high Skool and not Membrane Corp… yet his behavior was just out of control.

“It's Zim’s fault! He- Cough cough!”

“LIES! The Dib-human lies!-”

“Enough. Dib, your suspended from Skool for the rest of this week.” The principal says. This was the last thing Dib wanted to hear.

“B-But Principle Morals, Prom is THIS weak! A-And my Dad is going to be pissed if he finds out!” Dib says, trying not to have a meltdown

The principle sighs. “Fine. I’ll allow you to attend prom, but for the rest of the weak, you’ll be suspended from Skool… You can go home now.” The principal says before leaving the nurse's office. Dib falls back against the small bed, and groans.

“Fuck… Dad’s going to be pissed.” Dib groans, removing his glasses before rubbing his eyes, frustrated, and this morning's headache didn’t help. He can hear Zim cackling in delight and it only makes his headache throb.

He already didn’t feel good getting up this morning, and now he had to deal with this??? He never should have gotten out of bed… or maybe he should have exposed Zim sooner. In fact, he should just rip his wig off in the class hall, and force those stupid contact lenses off his eyes; then everyone could finally see what he is! They would HAVE to BELIEVE him! And then, after enduring so much of Zim’s shit, he could finally cut open the damn alien and study his organs to his heart's content.

“That’s right Dib, suffer like the pathetic- “ Dib grabs Zim’s face and sneezes. Zim screams and squirms.

“THE GERMS!!!”

“Fuck you Zim.” Dib grabs his glasses and walks out of the room as Zim continues to scream and squirm. He should have known, he should have fucking known Zim would pull some shit like this. No matter if Dib does something nice or mean, the alien always has to double down and make his life more miserable than it already was.

Dib just can’t ever get a break, he can’t ever just have anything go right! 

“Hey… I heard from the Principale… Dad’s gonna be pissed.”

“Yeah…Cough cough!... Hey Gaz… can we trade place?”

“What? And have me be stuck with Zim? No thanks. Besides, I don’t think there’s anyone else that could capture that guy’s attention more than you.” Gaz explains, but Dib raises a brow at this.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, but Gaz just shrugs and doesn’t elaborate any further. 

“Anyway, you look terrible. Get plenty of rest once your home…”

“I will…”

Dib returns home after a miserably long walk, only to have his dad reprimand him as soon as he walks through the door, giving him the longest lecture before sending him to his room, and as punishment, he would not be given access to any of his paranormal possessions or TV shows. 

So Dib just lies in bed, letting his slowly forming fever consume him. He hated not having his things or knowing that Zim could be doing who knows what at Skool… and yet, he couldn’t help but feel relieved he wouldn’t have to bother with any of it anymore.

But you know what really pisses him off??? Is that he caught a shitty cold helping Zim out, only to get totally backstabbed! And why would Plotty go with Zim to prom anyway!? 

He just groans and rolls over in bed feeling miserable, feeling too sick to even be pissed anymore. “Cough cough cough! Ugh…. this fucking sucks…”

Later, his dad comes up to his bedroom and brings him a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some water. “Thanks dad…” Dib says, careful not to burn his tongue while eating his bowl of soup, but his dad takes a seat next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, I know being a teenager can be a difficult thing.”

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“You have so many new hormones inside you, making all sorts of chemical reactions.”

“Dad-”

“And sometimes those changes make us see people differently.”

“Dad, where are you going with this?”

“I know you must be so confused and maybe even frustrated. I know you and your little green friend used to be so close as kids, but sometimes things change when we get older.”

“We were never friends, dad.”

“Look son, I will always love you and I’m always proud of you. But bullying Zim is no way to get his attention. Just tell him how you really feel Dib. I know he’ll feel the same way” He say, patting his head before leaving the room, taking the empty soup bowl with him.

Dib nearly chokes, blushing “D-Dad, I don’t have a crush on Zim!!”

“Sure you don’t son…!” He says from downstairs, clearly humoring him.

“W-What the fuck??? Why would Dad think that???” Dib groans, falling back against his bed, coughing into his hands.

This can’t be happening… First Zim asks Plotty to Prom, then he gets suspended from Skool, and now his dad thinks he has a crush on Zim??? And why would his Dad think Zim would like him back??? Zim hates him!

But then he suddenly remembers yesterday when it rained… He thought he had seen Zim blushing… Gaz said something weird too, about him being the only one that could keep Zim’s attention… and then there's Zim’s disdain towards Plotty, like maybe he’s-....???

“No,no,no,no,no,no,no!! Zim is NOT in love with me!! I HATE Zim! And Zim would NEVER fall in love with me! ME of all people! I’m his greatest enemy! I’m a stinking disgusting human for crying out loud!!” Dib shouts, as if he was trying to reason with the universe and convince it that all of this was just some crazy misunderstanding.

“He’s an evil alien invader trying to conquer Earth! He’s loud, annoying, violent, green, and tiny! He’s proof that i’m not crazy…! He’s...the only thing that makes me feel… normal, kind of… I don’t have to hide my paranormal interests around him… UGH! What the fuck am I thinking?” Dib looks out the window, looking towards the stars for some kind of answer. He sighs and lays back down, setting his glasses aside and goes to sleep for the rest of the night.

[blowflyfag]

Wrestling Eye: November 1992

[bingusmode]

“Friendly” Suggestions

Red Medic x Reader

Warnings: Google translate German, inaccurate German culture, little spellcheck, and hints of sexism (if you squint)

A/N: instead of reader, I am using a class name instead. Vet, short for veterinarian.

Being the only woman on the team was already hard but being Medic’s second hand was even harder. If Vet did one thing, he would do another. If she stitched up one of the boys, he would correct her on her work. God forbid she healed someone on the field, without fail, Medic would throw his “Friendly Suggestions” her.

“I don’t know if I can handle any more of it” Vet took a swig of her morning tea, her other hand rubbing at her temple.

“I’m sure you’ll manage” Spy sat across the table from her, flipping through a magazine. Looking unbothered and uninterested as ever.

“I know I’m not a human doctor, but I know what I’m doing, I don’t need this constant hovering”

Spy didn’t take his eyes off the page he was reading, letting out a neutral “Hm”

Vet rolled her eyes and stood up from the table, going to the boiling tea kettle for a refill.

“Always a joy to talk to you Spy- Fuck!”

Vet dropped her cup in the sink and put down the kettle as fast as she could without spilling boiling water everywhere. Switching on cold water from the faucet to put her now burned hand under the flow.

“That's the second time you’ve burned yourself this week while pouring tea”

“Thank you Spy, I’m aware-”

“You burned youself?”

Vet swore mentally, of course Medic would walk in, he seemed to have a sixth sense when she was doing something wrong.

“Its fine, just a little slip up, nothing serious-”

“Serious or not, you shouldn’t be using cold water. Burn cream is more effective”

“I know but-”

“Here, take this”

Medic took out a small tube of burn cream and set it down on the counter

“Now you’ll be more prepared for another accident, your first aid kits seem often understocked”

Medic smiled at her while grabbing his morning coffee.

“I’m always available if you need any tips,”

Vet could feel her eye twitching. Medic took his mug and whistles as he left the room.

“...My first aid kits are NOT understocked”

“Do they have enough burn cream?”

“I’m gonna punch you Spy”

“Not with that hand you aren’t”

Vet felt her eye twitch in annoyance, leaving the burn cream on the counter. She was not a rookie that Medic needed to guide.

It was hot. Almost unbearably so in the gravel pit. It was nothing new to Vet. She wiped sweat off her neck before wrapping Scout's injured arm up and shooting him up with a small med pack.

“You could do that a little gentler you know-“

“And you could not get shot at every match, but here we are”

Vet stood and extended her arm out to him, helping him off of the ground.

“Go get ‘em champ”

Scout adjusted his hat before bolting off, a quick thanks was shouted over his shoulder.

Vet quickly moved to her next patient. Can’t stay in the same spot for too long in battle. Engineer was up next, he was usually an easy save. She weaved in and out of the empty buildings, making her a harder target to shoot. Her journey was abruptly stopped when a hand grabbed the back of her shirt and jerked her back into the shade of an overhang. Vet had her hand on her gun instantly, trying to find her next target.

“No no! None of that! It’s just me!” She heard Medics' voice before she registered him. She had half of a mind to still pull the trigger.

“Are you out of your mind Medic? I could have sent you to respawn-“

A glove clamped over her mouth as an enemy Demoman ran past their hiding spot, not noticing the two. Once he was gone, Vet wrestled his hand away.

“Would you-“

“The UV index is at a 10 today Frau”

“What.”

Medic smiled at her before pulled out a tube of sunscreen, spreading some on his gloves

“Skin cancer is no joke, even Mercenaries need sun protection”

Without warning, he applied sunscreen to Vets cheeks. Humming as he made sure her face was covered.

Vet had absolutely no words, whatever thoughts she wanted to say failed her.

Medic tapped her cheek once he was done.

“See? Better, it’s good you have someone looking out for you”

He did a once over of his gear before getting back into the action. Eventually Vet felt her rage return in spades.

She wasn’t a child, sure Medic was overbearing, but this was too far.

“That motherfucker-“

Sunscreen be damned, Medic be damned, they had a match to win. And afterword, she would rip him a new one.

Right now, ripping Medic a new one was far from her mind. Vet clutched the enemy’s briefcase to her chest, running as fast as she could. She had one thing on her mind, and that was securing her first win. Her lungs heaved and her knee was absolutely screaming in pain. The enemy Scout caught her with a crowbar, but she kept running. Less like running and more like limping with her busted knee, but she was so close. Just a few more seconds of pain, blood, and heat. With one final sprint, Vet flung herself into Red Base. The brief case falling to the floor with her.

A crisp victory flooded the loudspeakers and soon enough her teammates surrounded her. Heavy was the first to lift her up, cheering as he did.

“Blue team is no match for our Little Doctor!”

“You did alright Miss Vet”

“Mhppppmm!”

Vet soaked in her well deserved accolades, her shattered knee taking a backseat.

Until Medic slowly walked up, his eyes trained in on her injury. He stayed silent while the rest of the team celebrated.

“Frau-“

“I did it! Oh my lanta, I did it,”

“You were foolish”

Voices died down as everyone took in Medics disapproving look.

Vet felt her spark of rage within her chest.

“I’m sorry?”

“Heavy, bring her to my lab. This needs to be treated as soon as possible. Really Frau, you need to take care of yourself”

Medic turned away briefly to clean and adjust his glasses.

Engineer tried hearding the team out of the room, sensing that this conversation was going in the wrong direction.

“How dare you.”

Medic paused, turning to face Vet. She was still in Heavy’s arms, but she had so much to say.

“I won the match and you can’t even congratulate me? Everyone on this team has come back with worse injuries and I’m the one you reprimand?”

Confusion flooded across Medics face, like he wasn’t expecting this response.

“You are not like everyone else-“

“Enough!”

Vets voice rang loud and clear.

“I am a person! You cannot talk down to me and treat me like a child. I have a degree, I pull my weight, and I’ve done plenty to prove myself. You have been singling me out since I got here!”

Heavy could see the sweat forming on Medics brow, and it wasn’t from the heat.

“Frau, I meant no harm-“

“Everyday you correct me or tell me something you think I’m doing wrong, that ends tonight. I’m done, I’ll heal myself”

Vet spat at him, feeling her hands start to shake from all the emotion and excitement.

“Heavy, take me to my room, please”

“Little Doctor-“

“Heavy, please”

Heavy glanced over at Medic before shuffling out of the room. The rest of the team quickly dispersed after that. Not wanting to be caught up in whatever drama was happening.

All that left was Medic, staring at the brief case on the floor and shame washing over him.

“I do not understand”

Medic moved his chess piece, waiting for Heavy’s next turn.

“What am I doing wrong? Have I not been clear enough?”

Heavy studied the board before making his move.

“You have been very clear my friend, but you two are not of the same world”

Medic groaned and took off his glasses, trying to rub away his oncoming headache.

“Care to elaborate?”

Heavy paused, his chess piece a few inches away from being placed on the board.

“You Germans…how do I say this…express your feelings differently”

“I express myself perfectly fine!”

Heavy held up his hand, Medic huffed before shutting his mouth.

“To her, it sounds like you are doubting her abilities, questioning her judgment. Making Vet feel like less woman and more like child”

Medic tossed up his hands.

“How else will she know I can take care of her? I give her burn salve when she gets burned, I make sure her skin is protected from the harsh sun, I showed I care more about her than a…than a dummer Aktenkoffer!”

“This may be true, but to a non German, you are undercutting her success.”

Medic leaned forward

“Am I really doing that?”

Heavy nodded, taking Medics chess piece.

“Listen to Little Doctor. She is capable of taking care of herself”

“I know she is capable, much more than that…I just want her know I can take care of her too”

Heavy patted his friend on the shoulder.

“Do not give up hope Doctor, plenty of time for you to fix mess”

“I hope so…”

Just from around the corner, Vet listened. She had only meant to grab more bandages, not eavesdrop.

This whole time, Medic was trying to flirt with her?

She felt the tips of her ears warm, some of her anger starting to ebb away.

Well, if that’s how he flirted, maybe two could play at that game.

“Scheiße!” Medic jerked his hand away from the stove.

“Scout! You cannot leave this on!”

“Wasn’t me jackass!”

Medic rolled his eyes before searching for his salve, remembering that he gave it to Vet weeks before.

“Idiot boy…”

Heavy mumbled, turning a page in his book.

Vet peaked around the doorframe, fidgeting with the burn salve Medic gave her.

“Medic?”

His attention was immediately on her, Heavy watched from behind his book.

Vet approached and held out the salve. Letting Medic take it.

“Thank you Frau,” Medic watched himself carefully, doing his best not to say anything that could make him look worse.

Vet hesitated before giving him another tube of burn salve, a different brand.

“This is my preferred brand, I think it’ll take care of you better”

Medic and Heavy both paused, wondering if they heard that right.

“Oh, well, thank you”

“You’re more than welcome to see me if you need anymore”

Vet smiled at him before going on her way.

As soon as she left the room, Medic met Heavy’s gaze.

“She - she flirted with me! The German way!”

“I don’t think you have enough salve Doctor, the burn is big”

Medic nearly tripped out of the room following Vet, calling out to her to wait for him.

Heavy let out a small sigh, going back to his book. If Medic burning his hand was enough for Vet to notice him, then Heavy would have left the stove on a long time ago.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED BY BUSINESS INSIDER MAGAZINE.

AS YOU WERE WORKING ON THOSE SEQUENCES WITH MATTHEW NEEDHAM, HOW DID YOU APPROACH GETTING HIM TO THE POINT WHERE HE WOULD MAKE THAT DECISION?

"Well, I think he wasn't given a great deal of options, and this seemed to be an option where the least amount of collateral damage would occur."

"It's survival instinct, I think, at the moment."

"And Larys has proved himself to be somebody who Aegon can trust, at least for now."

"I think Aegon would bite his hand off for that opportunity to get out of there."

"And he can't do it on his own, either."

"So Larys was his ticket out."

THERE'S A VERY MEMORABLE MOMENT IN EPISODE EIGHT WHERE AEGON BRINGS UP HIS PENIS, WHICH WAS DAMAGED IN BATTLE, AS LARYS SPEAKS TO HIM. IS THAT A DEFLECTION, OR IS HE AT ROCK BOTTOM, OR BOTH?

"I didn't see it as deflecting at all."

"I thought it was pure rock bottom, like you say."

"I think he felt like he had nothing to lose, and his dignity went out of the window very early on due to his injuries."

"And I think he's just acknowledging and coming to terms with the fact that he's changed."

"I don't think those changes are fully sunk in yet, but I think the more he speaks about them."

"It's like, when you speak about something, you breathe it into existence, don't you?"

"I think that's the first time he's acknowledged that about himself."

"And as we all know, Aegon found a lot of use for that part of his body."

"So I think he's going to have to reevaluate how he spends his spare time."

WHEN YOU WERE SIGNING ON TO 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON,' HOW MUCH DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS PHASE OF THE CHARACTER, AND HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT WHEN YOU WERE FIRST APPROACHING HIM?

"I knew that he would be a challenge to wrestle into submission, but it was a challenge that I was more than willing to take on."

"I've absolutely loved every minute of it."

"I think he's the gift that keeps on giving."

"And even though his physicality has changed now, I don't particularly think for him, in terms of how unpredictable and how volatile he is."

"I don't think that's going to change at all."

"If anything, there will be more."

"So I'm really looking forward to getting back on season three, and taking him on this next chapter of his journey and really pushing the boundaries even more with him this time."

ALICENT MAKES THE VERY DIFFICULT DECISION TO SELL AEGON OUT TO RHAENYRA IN THE FINALE. DO YOU THINK THAT'S SOMETHING THAT CROSSED HIS MIND A POSSIBILITY?

"I think there was always potential for her to betray him."

"I felt like everybody's egg timer is running out, isn't it?"

"And Alicent was very much on her final grains of sand at that point."

"It was about time that she probably jumped ship and saved herself."

"She's a very, very intelligent woman, and she is a survivor."

"It's just testament, isn't it?"

"How much of a survivor she is that she'll throw her own kids under the bus."

"But yeah, maybe if they meet again at some point down the line, they can have a conversation and she can apologize."

"But I don't know if that's going to happen."

"I think that's probably a different show, isn't it?"

I SPOKE WITH EWAN EARLIER, AND HE SAID THAT AEMOND AND ALICENT WOULD GO HAVE PIÑA COLADAS ON THE BEACH IN DORNE AFTER ALL THIS IS OVER.

"Oh, I'm going to the south of France, not Dorne."

HOW DID YOU AND EWAN APPROACH THOSE CHANGES, PARTICULARLY AFTER ROOK'S REST?

"These two have been at each other's throats for their entire life, and it now feels like everything's come to a head, and Aemond's finally plucked up the balls to do something about it."

"I think it's now a sibling rivalry on a different level."

"There's absolutely no element of Aegon that trusts Aemond at all now."

"I think that Aemond has his eyes on the prize and will stop at nothing to get it."

"Aegon has to come back and fight fire with fire, so may the best man win."

DURING A CONVERSATION THAT AEGON ISN'T PRIVY TO, HELAENA PROPHECIES THAT HE'LL RULE AGAIN ONE DAY. DO YOU THINK HE'S GUIDED BY ANY TRUE BELIEF THAT HE'LL RETURN TO THE THRONE, OR BE BELOVED BY THE PEOPLE?

"I think what Aegon has is something that is far more present rather than looking too far into the future."

"He's a survivalist, and he feels so betrayed on so many levels, by so many people, that there's more of a steely stubbornness to him now, and he's taking it day by day."

"And I think that's where his strength lies, that we just take it one day at a time."

"He's got this inferno of fiery revenge burning inside him, his bitterness that keeps him awake at night."

"I think he's going to use that to fuel him, and not get too caught up with the whole end-game scenario."

IS THERE A PARTICULAR CHOICE THAT YOU'RE REALLY PROUD OF THIS SEASON, OR SOMETHING THAT YOU'VE BEEN DYING TO GET ASKED ABOUT?

"Fabien Frankel and his ability to look unbelievably heroic on a horse."

"Honestly."

"I mean, love the boy to bits anyway, but seeing him mount a horse and gallop off with all that armor, my god — if I had ovaries,"

"Jesus Christ."

FABIEN IS AMAZING. CRISTON, MAYBE LESS SO.

"But I'm not seeing — because I'm seeing Fabien on a horse."

I'm only watching it because my mates are in it, and I'm a fan of the show, so I'm like, 'Well, I'm watching my mate jump on a horse there. That's absolutely class.'

"And he's so good at it!"

"I know he says he's riding on the back of a trailer or whatever, but my God, I think that's even harder to make it look like a proper horse."

"Fabien deserves more airtime."

DID YOU EVER FEEL LIKE THAT WHEN YOU WERE GETTING ON MECHANICAL DRAGONBACK?

"Yeah."

"Well, less so, because it's mechanical."

"I'd love to ride a real horse in the show."

"Maybe that's something I put toward the showrunners for next time."

"Please, can I ride a horse?"

[dancingtotuyo]

Home | Part 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Frankie returns to you and your daughter.

Tags: Frankie Morales, Triple Frontier, Canon compliant, Frankie’s baby & his lady, fluff, angst, Dad!Frankie

Warnings: breaking & entering, gun, briefest illusion to drug use, illusions to death, some brief angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: this is my first attempt writing Frankie. This idea came out of nowhere and I love it. Thank you to @wannab-urs for beta reading, adding commas, and the sweet comments! 🫶

Words: 938

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since he left. He told you a week. It’s verging on three. You stare at his side of the bed. You’ve had to wash the sheets since he left, but you’ve left his pillowcase. You bury your face in it, seeking the traces of him. Frankie’s scent is beginning to fade.

Tears threaten to form in your eyes. You fight with them. You can’t cry. He’s coming home. He has to come home. You can’t do this without him. You curl around the pillow. You need to sleep, but you can’t. Every time you close your eyes, you see Frankie dead in a ravine, on a mountaintop, or in an alley somewhere.

Layla stirs in her crib, drawing your eye. You’re quiet as her eyes blink open. Her tiny fists curl beside her ears. You expect her wails to fill the room, echoing how you feel inside, but to your awe, she stays quiet.

The full moon streams through the bedroom window, shining off of your daughter’s dark eyes. They remind you so much of her father’s. She stares back at you. Your little girl. Your perfect little girl, so much like her daddy with her big brown eyes and soft curls. His little Layla Grace.

He has to come back. He can’t leave you. He can’t leave her.

Layla blinks. Each interval grows slower until her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evens out. She has a soft snore. Just one more thing she picked up from her daddy. You’re not sure she has any of your DNA and you love it.

You’re tempted to scoop her up and lay her in the bed beside you, but that’s Frankie’s spot. You can’t give it up, even to your daughter. You have to make sure he has his spot when returns home.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as Frankie’s comforting scent fills your nostrils.

You’re startled awake by the rattling of the storm door Frankie was supposed to fix months ago. Your heart rate skyrockets as you shoot up feeling dazed. The red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:09 am. The storm door rattles again, and then the backdoor squeaks open.

Your bare feet hit the hardwood. Layla is sound asleep. You open the nightstand drawer, quickly punching the gun-safe code. The metal is cool under your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve held the gun, but the mechanics come back like riding a bike. You check the chamber and load the magazine.

The backdoor slams shut. You spare a glance at your daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind you. You use your bare feet to your advantage, avoiding all the creaky floorboards in your old home.

Something hits the wall in the kitchen making you jump. You catch a dark figure, presumably male, wrestling through your cabinets. It doesn’t make sense, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t allow for critical thinking.

You click the safety off, entering the kitchen. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

His hands fly out, resting against the cabinet door. He lets out a tired sigh, something familiar in it.

“When I bought you that gun, I didn’t think you’d pull it on me, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens at the familiar timbre. The gun almost falls from your hands as you drop your stance. “Frankie?”

He turns around, eyes shining even in the dark. “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”

He eases forward, taking the deadly weapon from your shaking hands and disarming it. Placing the gun on the counter, he takes your hands into his, pulling you closer until his arms tighten around you. He holds onto you for dear life, both of you shaking.

Tears you’ve been holding in for weeks fall, soaking through Frankie’s jacket. His chest shakes, his tears mingling with yours.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats it over and over like an oath to you and an assurance to himself.

“Please don’t go again. Don't ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He kisses your salty cheeks, your forehead, and finally your lips.

You feel like home. You are his home. His hand runs through your hair, keeping him anchored to reality. He’s here and no longer in the jungle of South America.

You pull him back to the bedroom, both of you in a daze. You’re still in disbelief he’s here and whole. You fall into bed. Frankie pulls off his clothes, hat landing on the dresser where it belongs. You catch his movements stiff from the exhaustion of traveling, but he’s smiling at you the whole time, drinking you in like water in the desert.

Layla's small cries emanate from the crib pulling Frankie’s attention. Immediately, he’s at her side, cooing soft Spanish to her as he picks her up with the familiarity only a parent has. Goosebumps travel over your exposed skin. Layla quiets immediately, looking up at her daddy with wide eyes.

He moves over to the bed sitting next to you. His Spanish continues to spill in a comforting cadence. You caress Layla’s brown curls, head resting on Frankie’s shoulder. It’s all the perfect moment of peace and rest.

It won’t last long. Layla will remember she’s hungry soon enough. Frankie may sleep tonight, but the nightmares will come. There will be tears and grief and fights, but Frankie, Your Frankie, is here, and he’s intact, at least physically, and your daughter will grow up to know her father. That is what matters. The rest will wait.

[urdgealesisbaby]

Hii :)

Can I request a scenario with Mika, Ferid, Crowley and Guren where their s/o is suicidal and how they feel about it?

(sorry if it is too disturbing)

Thanks in advance <3

Hello! Sure thing! It isn't disturbing,I wanna write what makes you comfortable and that's just it!

So thank you for the request!

WARNING! SUICIDAL THEMES!

How Mikaela Hyakuya,Ferid Bathory,Crowley Eusford and Guren Ichinose react to their suicidal s/o

Mikaela Hyakuya

As Mika returns home from a mission, he notices the exhaustion etched into his s/o's features.

They try to smile, but it doesn't quite reach their eyes.

Concern gnaws at Mika's heart as he sits them down, gently probing to uncover the root of their distress.

When they finally confess their thoughts of self-harm, Mika's world shatters. He feels a surge of panic, grappling with the weight of their pain.

Despite his own fears, Mika vows to be their rock, staying by their side through the darkest of nights.

He spends sleepless hours researching therapy options and support groups, determined to find a way to bring light back into their life.

Ferid Bathory(may be too OC but bear with me)

Ferid lounges languidly on his couch, idly flipping through a magazine as his s/o sits across from him, lost in their own thoughts.

Their sudden silence piques Ferid's curiosity, prompting him to inquire about their well-being. When they confess their struggles with suicidal thoughts, Ferid's facade cracks.

Beneath his suave exterior lies a maelstrom of emotions - guilt, fear, and a strange sense of vulnerability.

He pulls them into a tight embrace, promising to do whatever it takes to help them find peace. Deep down,

Ferid wrestles with his own demons, haunted by memories of loved ones lost to despair.

Crowley Eusford

Crowley's sharp gaze softens as he watches his s/o from across the room, sensing the weight of their invisible burden.

When they finally open up about their struggles, Crowley's heart clenches with a mixture of sorrow and frustration.

He feels a surge of protectiveness wash over him, vowing to shield them from the darkness threatening to consume them.

Crowley throws himself into action, scouring every corner of the city for resources and support networks.

He may not always show it, but his love for his s/o burns fiercely, driving him to fight tooth and nail for their happiness.

Guren Ichinose

Guren returns home late, his mind still reeling from the day's battles. He finds his s/o sitting alone in the dimly lit living room, their expression distant and hollow.

Guren's instincts kick into overdrive as he approaches them, his usual stoicism crumbling in the face of their pain.

When they confess their struggles with suicidal thoughts, Guren's world grinds to a halt.

He feels a surge of helplessness clawing at his chest, but he refuses to let it consume him. Guren pulls them into a tight embrace, silently promising to be their anchor in the storm.

Though he may stumble along the way, Guren is determined to walk alongside them, guiding them towards a brighter tomorrow.

Thanks for requesting and if you liked these,make sure to request again!:)