#do i have an ounce of shame still left in me?

[sugadolly]

the dark depraved fics i read just to get off are disgusting

[aklaustaleteller]

heyy how are you! i have this idea that wont leave my head, the reader is scared of love and runs away from it and keeps pushing anyone that tries anything away, but klaus does everything to prove to her that his intentions are pure, and after he does with a little while, she find out about him being a hybrid (maybe she gets really scared) and he has to grovel his way into her life

Mendable Inside Your Ribs

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. Then suddenly, Klaus comes in her life looking like the light at the end of the tunnel – and maybe, just maybe, their monsters have more in common than they originally thought.

Warnings - Mentions of animalistic urges, monstrosity, blood, wounds and bruises but it's all in a metamorphic manner (well, except for the blood) Word Count - 3.2k

Finally, Anon, I'm posting your request! I'm so sorry I took so long, but I truly hope that you find the wait worth it once you're done reading this! I could've written this in an entirely different and simpler manner, but I was already half-way through it already written it in a poetic/metamorphic way, so I hope you guys still enjoy it for I am quite proud <3 Please do tell me if you do!

Y/n, all her life, had reached for love and then felt her white-knuckled dying grip on it slip. So many times had it happened that now she was found sat with her hair tangled, dried blood and dirt on her face and inside her nails with crooked teeth, clawing at her own skin sitting in a corner, rocking herself back and forth to comfort herself as she saw love creeping towards her with a smile so sinister that it could make shivers run down the devil’s spine. 

From her parents shaming her for wanting something so simple as love, to her romantic partners who’d always stumble a couple steps back upon realising just how hungry she was for love – how animalistic she could get just for an ounce of it. 

All of it turned her into a person as cold as a tombstone standing over a dead person’s grave, unfeeling and unmoving.

But when she would feel, it felt like her own heart was pushing her head under the water, holding her in there until she had only one more breath left in her. It made her want to snarl and to hiss, to bite and to claw at the person who made her heart leap out of her chest. 

Which would then make her turn and run the other way as fast as her feet could carry her, back to the corner where she belonged. Sometimes she would raise her head and look at the walls inside of her, reading the numbers she had madly tally-marked on them to keep track of just how many days she had kept herself chained there. And somewhere along the passing time, she’d begun defeatedly losing count.

Yet as she sat in that very corner and raised her head this time, she saw something bright. Almost like a light at the end of the tunnel. So she’d gotten forward on her hands and moved on her knees, curiosity pulling her forward until she reached the border which she’d have to cross to get to the other side. 

And that’s when she saw him standing there – Klaus Mikaelson. Smiling down upon her like she was the cutest lamb he’d ever come across, instead of falling backwards because he actually saw the love-hungry animal that she was. 

So, she had taken it upon herself to back off, and ran away from him. But horror crept over her and held her tight when she saw that he had followed her back inside, back to her corner where she resided. 

“Love,” she heard him whisper as he brought his open hands in front of him, wanting her to place her own calloused ones in them and come with him. 

But she never did, always turning away with a growl so that he’d leave. But every time she’d look his way to check if he’d finally left, she’d find him still standing there, with that same smile and those same open arms. 

“Go away, Klaus,” she said coldly, looking away so her dead eyes wouldn’t have to witness hurt flash through his starry eyes. 

He wanted nothing more than for her to see herself the way he saw her. Wanted for her to know that he was the one who’s undeserving of her love, actually. He was the animal here, not her.

But she profusely denied all of his pleas and begs, holding herself strictly uptight so that she wouldn’t fall into pieces upon him and crush him under the weight of all her grief, anger and tragedy. 

He just couldn't seem to get through to her, no matter how hard he tried. So he just decided to remain persistent, and show her how truly pure his intentions are via small acts. Like buying her gifts that he knew would matter to her, such as those small plants that never grow, or random postcards that he knew she put up on her walls, or books that he’d annotated for her to get her to take a glimpse into the way he saw her.

But sometimes, those acts got rather intimate. Like that time he brushed her hair for her for a week long when she had broken her wrist, or that night when he took her feet in his lap to massage them gently after she’d given her best performance on stage. Hell he’d even gone as far as to cook for her on especially hard nights so that he could feed her his love. 

And maybe he was just growing delusional now, but he was beginning to feel like she was taking down her walls around him brick by brick. She no longer glared at him with those ice cold eyes when he would enter into a close proximity to her, nor did she sneer at him to go away. 

Instead, he saw her eyes grow a little wider when he’d enter the same room as her, the dead stare tucking itself away for other people as some life took a dive in her eyes. And he heard a lullaby in her voice when she’d greet him back, her body turned towards him and eyes on him to give him all of her attention.

That’s how he knew that he had brought her away from that corner and back to the very border, again. And he also knew that he now had to tread carefully so that she wouldn’t go back, tumbling away from him. 

And Klaus didn’t know if the Salvatore brothers telling her all about the supernatural world, about who The Klaus Mikaelson was, was his fault or not. 

But what he did blame himself for, was for lowering his guard when he’d brought her just one step away from crossing the border and loosened his grip on her because the moment she was told about his past, not only did she go fumbling back but she also left crescent moons dug in his shoulders from when she’d been shaking him, sobbing loudly and crying out for him to tell her that all of it wasn’t true.

But Klaus couldn’t lie to her, so he’d stood frozen with tears spilling from his eyes as she ran back to her corner, tally-marking another day after so long that her eyes had taken a moment to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her again, this time, more like an evilly laughing capturer instead of holding her in it’s arms like a pitiful mother. 

Y/n awoke this morning with her eyes puffed up, it happened every time she went to sleep exhausted out of her mind. And as the flashes of last night began reeling through her mind again, her eyes grew moist and her vision grew blurry while she climbed down the stairs to go into the kitchen. 

Grabbing a glass of water she chugged it down, leaning over the sink and mumbling to herself that everything was fine, that she was fine. Her eyes remained shut but tears slipped out regardless, sniffling sounds echoing through her house as she tried not to retain any of the information that had been dumped on her. 

“He’s a …hybrid,” Stefan had said, looking at her through his lashes like he was talking to a child about how tooth fairies aren’t real.  

“And what’s that?” She asked, a feeling in her gut telling her that it was, in no way, a sweet creature. 

“He’s half vampire, and half werewolf,” Damon finished saying behind her. 

Breath was knocked out of her lungs at that. She’d always had her suspicions about some certain people surrounding her, like Stefan and Damon themselves, but never once had she felt anything remotely scary when Klaus would stand in front of her. 

Perhaps it was because of his big starry eyes, and those unruly blonde curls that he kept trimmed for some reason. Or those dimples that would shy away from her gaze and that mouth which would always stretch into a smile upon her sight. Or, those hands that held her so gingerly, and those feet that held the weight of her body as he carried her home. 

And maybe it was the fact that he’d never once told her about this himself, that hurt the worse. He had lied to her, or kept the truth from her, dare she say to defend his honour. But it felt like a punch square in the chest when she learned about the blood that stained his hands, his clothes, his face and his mouth. 

Despite that horrifying revelation, she had run straight to his home and shouted at him to come outside. And the moment he had, she was pushing and shoving at him, putting her hands on his shoulders and shaking him, crying – “tell me they are lying! Tell me that you aren’t what they say you are, that you have no blood on your hands!” 

“Tell me!” She had broken down, resting her head on his chest as she let out the sobs. 

“Tell me this wasn’t your intention!” She shook him again and Klaus had opened his mouth to agree with her, but she had fallen to her knees then, looking up at him with tears staining her cheeks and blood swirling in her eyes. 

“Please don’t take me home,” she had told him despite the hot tears streaming down her face and fog settling in her mind. “I can never go home now,” she whispered, scared. 

Home was something that was supposed to be a constant in one's life, that one returned to every single day. And there hadn’t been anything like that for her until Klaus. And now that the shelter of his frame had been uprooted and thrown away, cold rain scraped at her skin all over again as she scrambled around to find her corner to go back to. 

She didn’t want that corner to be her home but time and time again, it was proven to her that it was – whether she liked that or not. 

Taking deep breaths to gather herself, Y/n went back up to her room to get ready for the day – knowing that all she was going to do was read and write and water her dying plants and maybe bake some biscuits that she was never going to get Klaus to taste now. 

And just as she came back to make her first cup of tea, she heard a hissing sound and turned to see a paper that had been folded into half. It had been slipped in through the crack underneath the door. 

She picked it up and opened it, immediately recognising Klaus’ handwriting. 

Y/n,

I know I’ve wounded you deeply by keeping who I truly am from you. But spending so much time with you, I’d somehow mistaken myself to be just the Klaus Mikaelson that you saw. I'm the one who’s wrong at that part, forgive me for it. I never meant to lie to you, perhaps, I was waiting for the right time. But it’s never the right time, is it? I’ve learned that now. 

And while I’m sure the brothers told you enough, I’d still like to introduce myself to you all over again. This time, by laying all my defences down. I should’ve said it then and there, but something came over me and I couldn’t form words. But I hope you’d believe me when I tell you that hurting you was not my intention – it’s something far far away from what I truly do intend. 

My family is hosting a traditional ball tonight. Please save this sick lover of yours a dance. And, you need not fret for I have brought you a dress, come outside? 

Yours truly,

Klaus

A deep weight rested itself on top of Y/n’s chest as she slowly walked towards her door, and opened it. She’d been expecting to see Klaus, but instead there was a box on her porch with a silk bow resting on top of it. She sat down and brought it to her lap, opening it to reveal a blue dress, folded neatly inside the box. 

She knew she was going – there was no doubt about that. But what did gnaw at her, was the chance of what would happen when she’d get there. She wanted to accept the feeling that told her he wouldn't hurt her. And yet, a tremor coursed through her body as she sat and sipped on her tea, waiting for the evening to roll around. 

She wanted for him to unleash himself and show her who he truly is, so that she can love him for him. She didn’t want to fall in love with just his bruised upper skin – no. She wanted to get to know him, inside and out. Wanted to know what his guts found intimidating and what his soul found peaceful. 

But if he wasn’t going to show her that, then nothing could ever make her clean herself up and rid herself of all the wounds that had been inflicted upon her, so that she doesn’t bleed on him from the cut that he didn’t inflict. She had a feelling that maybe, just maybe – there monsters had more in common than they thought they had. 

There must be a reason behind the blood tainting his skin, perhaps, it was thrust upon him for all she knew! Maybe he didn’t want to be the monster that he had been turned into. 

And if that’s true, Y/n wondered if she would still want to unravel him if it turned out that he was just a monster that had no other driving force apart from some personal fun. 

So she dressed herself up for the night. Prepared to listen to him and ask him questions if he wouldn’t have answered them already in his explanation. 

Entering the mansion that she always ran far away from, Y/n took a huge breath before wandering her eyes around to search for the one and only. And It didn’t take long before their eyes locked, with him already looking at her with rather guilty eyes and a relieved smile for she had shown up. 

Walking to her, Klaus took in a shaky breath as he fixed his suite. He was nervous, hell, scared even. Honestly, terrified that tonight might be the final time he would see her and the final memory he’d have of her would be of her sprinting away from him for she couldn’t bear the sight of the ugly monster he had ended up growing into. 

“You came,” Klaus smiled, looking at her with those same starry eyes except tonight they were shining because of the sheen layer of tears glossing them up. 

“You asked me to,” she shrugged faintly, her mouth cold to sight but her eyes were big and almost smiling up at him. 

With her hand still in his’ from when he had bent down to kiss the back of it, Klaus walked her over to the vacant balcony – nothing to witness the tragedy but the sky that had itself gotten dressed in its best constellations and ornament, the moon.

Klaus wanted to believe his heart when it told him that she would listen to him and try to love him, but his head’s juxtaposition was not gentle. It prepared him for the worst, reminding him of how no one had ever loved him before, and no one would now. For all that was true, he had only gotten worse over time. 

“To hurt you, was never my intention,” he whispered, his big eyes looking into hers. 

“It is true that I am a Hybrid – a vampire and a werewolf. It is also true that I’m covered in blood from head to toe, from my bones to my skin, I am drenched in it.”

His legs were growing jittery and breathing was becoming harder to do than it should be. But his hold on her hand only tightened, tears collecting on his bottom lash line. 

“It is true that I am a monster. One with a heart that doesn’t beat and a soul that feasts upon the love it never gets,” with his free hand, Klaus wiped the tear as it slipped down the slope of his cheek. 

She only stood still in front of him, urging him with her eyes to go on. Her own breathing ragged as she began seeing him and listening to him

“But I need you to know, before you leave tonight,” his voice shook as he stole his eyes from hers for a second to gain back his courage, as all of it had been spent the moment he mentioned her inevitable departure. “That I would never hurt you, I never can, hurt you,” he assured her, searching her eyes for anything. 

“I truly am in love with you. And I will take forever to show you that if that’s what you’ll ask of me,” bringing her hand to his chest, he rested it there. “I want you to lay yourself bare in front of me so that I can show you that even your ugliest is loved by me,” he whispered.

“Say something, please,” he almost cried, his voice cracked, not having anticipated her departure to come so soon. 

“I –,” Y/n began, her voice hoarse due to not having used it for so long. “I think I can love you, Klaus,” she uttered, looking away from his eyes, fearing that he was going to deny her heart upon realising just how ugly and bruised and beaten it is.

Upon the realisation that sure, her insides are a million colours – but they are all shades of blue. 

And when the deafening silence got too much for her to bear, she turned away from him to make a run back home. 

But her hand felt to have gotten caught in something and she was pulled right back, into a hard and vulnerable chest as her mouth felt something soft press itself hardly against it. 

Klaus’ mouth. 

His mouth was on hers and one of his hands was curled against the back of her neck while the other cradled her face with force. 

Everything inside of her erupted into flames as she tilted her face to better mould it against his’, and fisted the curls on the nape of his neck, pushing him further into her while bending her back to accept the force. 

“Say it again,” he breathed, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead on hers, his tears slipping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks. 

“I think,” she exhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath while her eyes remained stuck on his mouth. “I think I can love you,” she confessed again, instantly moving her lips in sync with his’ as he kissed her desperately, finally. 

“My heart – it is shabby and broken but it’s already yours,” she choked out. “And it’s only mendable inside your ribs,” her shoulders shook as she cried, now fisting the shirt of his collar to keep him close to her. 

“My love, your heart – it, it is safe with me,” he breathed with her, trying to calm his racing heart down. “And my heart will forever beat on your command,” sniffling, he tucked her hair behind her ear, gently lifting her face to seal his confession by breathing in her breath and letting her take away his’ as he pressed his mouth against hers, once again. 

[inkedells]

look at me a little more | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

A/N: first of all, SMUTTT so much smut up ahead. holy crap this is the longest thing i've ever written (pathetic, i know, blame the commitment issues) enjoy lovies!! also lmk if you want a part 2 maybe possibly!?

m!dni | requests open.

summary: dbf!neighbor!joel accidentally drenches you (virgin!reader) while washing his car and you can’t help but notice the way he eyes you up. it’s only once he’s in your bedroom, fixing your closet door as an apology, that you realize the best person to rid you of your virginity and teach you precisely how to please yourself and others had been right in front of you the whole time; it's getting joel on board with the whole idea that's the hard part.

word count: 5.5k

tags/warnings: SMUTTTT, virgin!reader, dbf!neighbor!joel faces moral conflicts (to fuck or not to fuck!?!?), porn with plot, sooo much tension, dirty talk, use of pet names, blowjobs, handjobs, cumplay, reader eats joel's cum, grinding, making out, oral sex, no!outbreak au, reader's innocent in the sense that she doesn't really know how to do a lot of things when it comes to sex but still has a ton of desires

masterlist

There was a certain shame that came with being infatuated with your dad’s best friend.

You were sitting around on the porch on a hot summer afternoon, wearing your shortest cotton shorts as you sipped the juice box brand you had loved since you were a little girl. Legs crossed, foot tapping the air, and most importantly, eyes absolutely trained on the ripple of Joel Miller’s biceps as he washed his car.

You didn’t know why you liked to stare at him so much. But you did know it was wrong. Immoral. Eyeing up someone in their forties? What was wrong with you? That was your dad’s best f—

“Hey, Mr. Miller!” You called over, shutting down every ounce of doubt in your mind.

He turned around without hesitation, and when he did, you waved. The first time you’d done that, he had to work a little harder to figure out the source of the voice, eyes searching in random directions before finally settling on you. But now, it was like he knew exactly where to look—And, well, that was all it took for you to decide you would be spending the next hour washing a car if it meant spending time with Joel.

So you settled your juice box down on the wooden floor of the porch and skipped over to his house. He must not have heard your footsteps behind him over the sound of the hose, so your simple tap on his shoulder resulted in him whipping around, hose in hand, as he consequently drenched you.

You yelped, breaking out into nervous laughter both from shock and how cold the water was. Joel fumbled to turn off the hose as he began profusely apologizing. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry—”

Then he properly saw you. From Joel’s perspective, your clothes were reduced to translucency, practically melting into your skin.

But you didn’t know that. You never fully grasped just how vulnerable you had become from his accident, so when you caught him averting his gaze as quickly as he could, you were a little confused.

“You—Uh—I,” Joel stumbled before clearing his throat, “There’s clothes. Inside. Sarah’s. You can, um, you can go and… y’know. Change into them. Walkin’ all the way back to your house doesn’t seem like a… viable… option.”

By then, a blush had already risen to your cheeks just from how delicately Joel was treating you. As if you were something he had to be careful with, like if he didn’t think long and hard about every word coming out of his mouth, there would be consequences. 

“Lead the way.”

Joel gave you a firm smile before swallowing the lump in his throat and motioning for you to follow him as he walked. Once he had the front door open, he let you go in first. Even as you carefully walked past him, you could feel his eyes staring at you.

“Up there,” Joel gestured, “Um, first door on the left. I’ll… be outside.”

As he explained, you subconsciously scanned over the planes of his body—probably a habit you picked up from the multiple weeks of watching him work. But then he was turning to leave, and you could tell he was still really tense. You didn’t know why a simple accident had him so tripped up, but you had the urge to alleviate his worry.

“Hey,” You called, arms wrapped around yourself in an effort to stave off the cold. He turned around, concerned until he saw your soft smile and relaxed a little, “On a scale of one to ten, how sick and tired are you of washing that truck?”

There was only one way to break Joel out of his nervous state; you had to make the situation lighthearted; you learned that from years of watching him hang out with your dad.

He searched your eyes for a beat, eyes completely unwavering, before muttering, “Like a fifty.”

You both breathed a laugh at that. For the briefest moment, you thought you noticed Joel’s gaze flitting to your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could do a double take, his eyes were glued to yours again.

“So then,” You started, regathering yourself and pushing away whatever your brain was conjuring up, “How do you feel about replacing one lousy chore with another?”

“What kinda chore we talkin’?”

“Well, my closet door’s all screwed up. And you know, instead of apologizing for soaking me by way of expensive concert tickets and a brand new car, like how I know you were planning on doing—”

“—Oh, of course,” Joel sarcastically remarked, playing along as you quickly noticed the worry on his face faded into a crooked grin.

“Well, I really think I can just settle for the closet door fix. Go ahead and save the brand new car for when you break my toaster.”

“Okay, okay,” Joel laughed, “I get it. Go change, then you can lead me to this broken closet door.”

-

Sarah’s clothes definitely belonged to a fourteen-year-old. Not your taste, but then again, if you were fourteen like her, you probably would’ve dressed like that too.

You couldn’t settle on a top, all of them were either too small or bore a graphic design too childish for you. You did find a pair of stretchier shorts that fit alright though, so you decided you’d just pick up one of Joel’s shirts from the pile of clean laundry you saw sitting atop the washing machine downstairs.

When you made it out the front door, the hose was away and his toolbox was resting on the ground by his feet. Joel was drying up his car with a cloth, and when he heard you hop down the steps and subsequently turned your way, you weren’t exactly expecting him to completely stumble at the sight of you in his shirt.

“Oh—You, uh, I thought you were gettin’ Sarah’s clothes?”

“I was, none of her tops fit so I grabbed one of yours from the laundry downstairs.” You absorbed Joel’s cryptic reaction and began to worry. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I really should’ve asked—”

“—No, no, it’s fine. Really. Doesn't matter.”

Joel picked up his toolbox, then the both of you began walking over to your house. It wasn’t that far away at all, probably a couple of hundred feet at most, but he opted into small talk anyway.

“Um,” Joel began, “What’d you come over for in the first place? Didn’t really get a chance to ask ‘cause of this whole… debacle.”

You giggled at his old man vocabulary. Debacle.

“I wanted to help with your car, but looks like those plans got derailed.”

He breathed a polite laugh. “Yeah, well. Guess it turned out that way.”

Before an awkward silence could fall upon the both of you, your brain settled on something to bring up.

“Hey, my dad’s having that July 4th barbecue the day after tomorrow. You’re coming right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, honey.”

Honey? Honey. Honey honey honey honey—

He cleared his throat. “Where is your dad, anyway?”

You were both standing on your porch now, Joel’s eyes raking you over as you fumbled with the front door.

“Um, I think he’s out working.”

“Great.”

Great?

Before you could ask him what he meant, Joel realized what he had said. “Wait, no, not great. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You pushed the door open. “Hey,” You brought a hand up to his chest and patted it, “You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you keep assuming all your mistakes are colossal and worthy of that much panic.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little at that—you weren’t sure if it was your hand or your words that did it.

Eventually, you both found yourselves in your bedroom. You were sitting on the edge of your bed as you watched Joel work. Kneeling on one knee with a screwdriver in hand, he fumbled with one of the closet door’s hinges as he muttered little things to himself under his breath.

“Thanks for this, Mr. Miller.”

He turned to you, nodding as he seemed to process that he was in your bedroom. Your bedroom.

“So,” Joel began, as he dug through his toolbox, “Is your boyfriend visiting too? Or, y’know, girlfriend. Three months is a long ti—”

You softly smiled. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.”

He turned to look at you again as he turned a screwdriver, this time scanning you over. “Hm, I don’t believe you. Sweet thing like you? Single?”

“Oh, stop,” You blushed, shooing him off.

Joel stood to his feet, dusting his hands off on his thighs. “All fixed. Next time you ne—”

“—I’ve never been in a relationship before. Actually.”

Joel stared at you for a moment before diverting his gaze to the ground. “I, um…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You don’t wanna know about my completely nonexistent dating history,” You lightly smacked your forehead, “Wait, it’s existent if we count the boy I dated for a week in fourth grade.”

Joel laughed, sitting down next to you on your bed. “It’s okay. I haven’t really dated anybody since Sarah’s mom, either. Long-term, anyways.”

“Yeah, well at least you’re not a virgin.”

Joel seemed to tense at that, and you immediately regretted saying it.

“Oh gosh,” You cringed, hands gripping your head, “I really just say anything, don’t I?”

Joel chuckled, head hung between his shoulders with his eyes squinted shut. You eventually laughed, too, simply because—and you realized it sounded stupid—Joel’s laughter was contagious.

“Alright, alright,” Joel beckoned, “Lemme be serious for a second. C’mere.”

You slumped down next to him, staring up at the ceiling before turning to make eye contact.

“That’s not something you have to worry about. You got time, honey, you’re in college. All that crap about late blooming isn’t real. It’s about whenever you’re ready, and whenever you find the right person to do it with.”

You smiled up at him softly. “Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel. Just Joel.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. So you stayed like that, searching his eyes for something you didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

“Joel,” You echoed, repeating his name back to him, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I, uh…” Joel trailed off, his gaze flitting down to your lips. “I…” He tried again, but it went nowhere.

You exhaled, and almost immediately, his hands cupped your face as he leaned forward and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your lips.

It was warm, and gentle, and amazing, and you didn’t know if you could ever let him stop kissing you with how delightful the scruff of his beard felt against your skin.

He did break the kiss after a few seconds, though, and it left you breathless. “Joel…”

His muscles seemed to visibly tense as he mistook your speechless state for confusion. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why—”

“—No. No, I liked it,” You smiled softly at him, “I, um, you know. Wouldn’t mind if you kissed me… again.”

With reassurance that you weren’t absolutely appalled, his limbs relaxed. He leaned forward again until he was kissing you. Slow at first, languid. But then it turned fervent and desperate, breaths being exchanged into one another's mouths as lips slotted together like fingers intertwined—so perfect, as if they were biologically designed to do so.

It wasn’t long until he had your back flat against your bed, and you felt his growing hardness dig into your hip.

“Y’know what that is, don’t you?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“You know why it’s there?”

You shrugged.

He gripped the fabric of your—no, his—shirt as his voice rumbled, “You prancin’ around in my shirt did that.”

Without a second thought, you clumsily palmed him there through the thick fabric of his jeans and reveled in the consequential shuddering moan he let out

“Joel, I don’t… I don’t think I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay, honey, I’ll teach you.”

Propping himself up with his elbow, he placed his hand atop your own and guided the movements of your open palm. Things like pressing your hand further into him so as to increase the pressure between his legs, and encouraging back-and-forth motions that had his hips rutting and his breath hitching.

Once you got the hang of it, he removed his hand from your own. You felt his hand snake down your neck, then the side of your torso. 

“I trust you,” You whispered, fingers playing with the happy trail peaking Joel’s pants, hoping to absolve him of any guilt or doubt.

But the second Joel’s fingertips grazed the waistband of your shorts, he froze. He was staring off somewhere to the right, so you followed his gaze until you found what he was so disturbed by.

A framed photo on your nightstand, one of you standing next to your dad on vacation in Maui.

You understood immediately; that picture was an astute reminder of exactly who’s daughter Joel was about to debauch.

Your hand fell away from his crotch as he leaned back on his haunches and ran his hands through his hair with worried eyes.

“Joel?” You whispered, but then he was completely backing off of you as he muttered curses under his breath. “Hey, no, come back. What’s wrong?”

It was a dumb question. You knew what was wrong. Even though you were well beyond legal, it seemed to mean little in the situation—the facts were, if he touched you, it was betrayal.

“This is…” Joel panted, standing to his feet and raking his hands through his hair, “I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Fuck. I have to go.”

And just like that, he was gone.

-

That night, your lights stayed on and you didn’t close your curtains.

You stripped yourself of Joel’s shirt first, going excruciatingly slow in case Joel happened to be watching through his neighboring window. You occasionally shot glances at his window on the off chance that the window illuminated, but you quickly realized if the two of you made eye contact that wouldn’t be good either. You’d gotten all the way down to your underwear before you spotted his light flick on from the corner of your eye.

So you did the first thing that came to mind; You turned your back to your window. Panties halfway down your legs, torso bent with your knees straightened as you slowly shed your clothing. Hoping. Hoping for him to avert his attention ever so slightly and accidentally catch you like this. Hoping he would think of it every time he talked to you.

Without ever making eye contact, you would never know if Joel actually saw anything, and he would never know you hadn’t actually “forgotten” to close your curtains.

No pressure on either of you.

You went to sleep with a hand shoved down the front of your panties as you thought of all the things you wanted Joel to do to you.

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Jesus. What time was it? You stretched until sleep left you and opened your eyes as wide as you could (not very wide at all). From what you could gather, the sun was definitely up. You, however, did not have the willpower required to read off of your phone screen 5 seconds after waking up, so you answered the phone without reading the contact.

“Hello?” You groaned, voice gruff from sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

You knew that voice anywhere. Almost immediately, you shot upright and cleared your throat as you rubbed your eyes. “Oh, hey Mr. Mill—uh, I mean, Joel,” You breathed a nervous laugh before remembering his question, “No. No, it’s okay I was like, basically awake already, um, so… what’s up? Why’d you—Why’d you call?”

“Right, so just to preface, I understand things are not... ideal... between us right now. But to be honest, you’re the only person available who I trust with this, and… let me just explain. I got called into work unexpectedly and Sarah’s gonna be home alone. Lately, she’s been getting into these rebellious fits, and I just don’t want to risk another situation where she sneaks out at night to meet up with her boyfriend again.”

“Sarah and rebellious fits? Really?”

“Yes, believe it or not. So do you think you could just hang around my place for, to be honest, a long while? It’s looking like I’m gonna be home really late tonight. Oh, and I can pay you.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not paying me.”

Joel exhaled appreciatively through the phone. “Okay, well I’m home right now if you wanna come by and eat some breakfast. Least I could do. I gotta leave in like thirty minutes by the way, so. Take your time but also don’t take your time?”

You smiled, hoping he could hear it in your voice. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Oh god. There it was again. You thought you might actually pass out, but you quickly turned off your racing brain enough to mutter a small “mhm” before abruptly hanging up.

Okay. Joel Miller. Your dad’s best friend, who was this close to absolving you of every ounce of innocence in your body… just asked you to watch his daughter. What could go wrong?

When you got to his house, he had left already (you definitely took too long in the shower). He did leave out a plate of food, though, along with the message, “Thanks again. Enjoy the pancakes,” scratched out on a post-it note.

And boy did it turn out to be a long day. Sarah wasn’t that much of a handful, she mostly took care of herself. The hard part was lunch.

You attempted to cook something for the two of you, but it only ended in disaster when you left the quiches in the oven for too long. Then you decided Penne a la Vodka couldn’t be that hard, and you couldn't be more wrong. A whole box of pasta was ruined because Sarah didn’t realize the pasta went in after the water boiled, not before. Eventually, you both just accepted defeat and ordered Panera Bread.

Later, Sarah popped into the living room to let you know she was going up to her room to take a nap, and you figured you’d do the same on the couch.

The last thing you read was the time on the cable box; 7:37.

-

Metal clanking. The turn of a key. The creaking of a door. The blaring siren of an alarm system.

“Jesus—Fuck. I thought I told her to turn off the alarm at 8.”

And Joel’s voice.

You jolted awake, blinking wide as you moved to sit upright on the couch. The time on the cable box was 11:50.

Soon, the alarm stopped, and not long after, Joel’s figure came into view. He was wearing a denim button-up with work pants and work boots.

“Hey,” Joel called, setting his things down next to the kitchen island.

“Hi,” You replied, “How was work?”

Joel gave you a polite smile before pulling open the refrigerator door to retrieve a beer. With his head still poked inside the fridge, he replied, “The usual.”

“Well, what was the usual li—”

“—Were you asleep?”

“Uh…" You cleared your throat in an effort to stall as you debated whether or not you would lie. "Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

Joel took a swig of his beer, staring at you from across the room for a minute before blurting out, “The usual is busy. Extremely busy and tedious. But, um, how was Sarah? Hope you weren’t asleep too long.”

“Nope,” You lied, “I Wasn’t asleep long at all. Sarah was great. We had a bit of trouble with lunch, but everything ended up fine.”

“Good. Good. Well you can head out now, thanks for taking care of her.”

No. You did not want to "head out." You rose to your feet. “Joel?”

He looked around as he swallowed his beer. “Uh, yeah?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you. About yesterday.”

He peered down at the ground, swishing around the bottle in his hand. “That’s—That’s okay, honey. I think it’s best we forget that happened.”

“What? But why?”

Joel crossed the room and sat down next to you, leaning back against the couch while you sat back down on the edge with your elbows resting on your knees.

“Come on,” He started, “Don’t act like you don’t know exactly why we’re… this… is impossible.”

“Joel, I—”

“—I’m sorry. You should get home now.”

You turned around to face him. “Joel. No one has to know.” 

“As I said, I’m sorry. I handled yesterday… terribly. There were a million different ways to go about that, and I somehow chose the worst one. But we don't work. We can't work.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, but you tried to push the feeling down.

“Hey, hey,” He lulled, the hardness of his attitude falling away as he noticed the sad shine in your eyes, “Don’t cry.” He pulled you against him, rubbing your shoulder firmly.

“Joel,” You mumbled in a small voice, sniffling against his denim shirt with a frown.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to justify what he was quickly realizing was inevitable. You were an adult, somebody else independent of your father. It was your choice who to get involved with, just like it was his. This was mutual.

He knew he would regret it later, but your innocence and desperation allured him to the point of no return.

“It’s late,” Joel began, voice gentle as he offered you one last out, “You should go home. You need sleep, you’re not thinking straight. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No,” You replied, removing yourself from his body so you could look him in the eye. “I don’t want to leave. I want you to… I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

Knowing exactly what you were talking about, he redundantly asked in a whisper, “And what’s that?”

You wiped a stray tear as you clumsily moved to straddle his lap. Almost automatically, his hands found their way to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the slivers of skin peeking between your cami tank top and the waistband of your shorts. But it seemed at some point his consciousness realized what he was doing because his hands suddenly dropped to his sides. And, well, you just wouldn’t have that, so you grabbed hold of his wrists and returned them to where they were settled on your hips before you rested your own hands on Joel’s chest.

“You remember, don’t you?” You shifted in his lap, “You said you’d teach me.”

“How to have sex.” He said it more like a confirmation rather than a question.

You blushed at his blatant use of the word. It was like every fifth thing coming out of his mouth was sending your brain spiraling. You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sex. Blowjobs, orgasms, literal sex. All of it.”

Silence for a beat. “I have one condition,” Joel warned.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“The second I suspect your dad is onto us, that’s it. It’s over. No more messing around, none of it. I can’t lose my best friend.”

You nodded. You probably shouldn’t have agreed so easily, but you didn’t actually think you and Joel would ever get caught.

“Okay, then,” Joel whispered. “Good. What do you wanna do first? Start off easy.”

You looked around the room nervously, careful not to make eye contact as you spoke. “Like. I dunno. Maybe for right now, I could just… touch you. Touch it, I mean.”

Joel nodded, and when your breathing began to grow the slightest bit uneven from nervousness, he noticed and rubbed your upper arm reassuringly. “Hey. Relax. Climb down and sit right there on the ground between my legs, and I’ll show you where to start.”

And so you did. Joel peered down at you with heavy lids as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and thus began your first lesson.

“Unbuckle my pants.”

With shaky hands, you removed his belt and undid his fly. You couldn’t explain why, but as soon as you caught sight of the bulge in his boxers, your mouth watered.

“What…” You began, “What now?”

“Whatever feels comfortable.”

With a light, feathery touch, you delicately traced a singular finger along the outline of his cock. Joel shivered at the contact, hands shooting to grip the sofa. Touching it felt different this time, more intense because you could feel every ridge and vein; you blamed it on the much thinner fabric dividing your fingers and his cock.

Your breath shuddered before speaking, “Can I take it ou—”

“—Yes, God, yes.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling downwards until his cock sprang free. It was thick, long, and wet at the tip, and you found yourself instinctively leaning further into it.

“Okay,” Joel sighed shakily, “Now just form a circle with your fingers and stroke it.”

You did as Joel said, and when your fingers finally made contact with his cock, you sighed at how velvety the skin was there. Soft and smooth, except for the trimmed hair surrounding the base. You stroked him steadily, biting your lip as you watched the wetness leaking from his tip spread down his shaft.

“Twist at the tip, honey, twist at the—Yeah, just like that. So good, you’re doing so good.” You couldn’t help but smile when Joel tilted his head back from the pleasure of it all.

With Joel still reeling from the contact of your hand, you took his momentary refusal to look down at you as an opportunity to surprise him a little.

You leaned forward and kitten-licked his tip, and it had him finally making eye contact with you as he whispered, “Oh, do that again.”

And so you did, adoring the look of pleasure strewn across Joel’s face.

Joel offered you a quick, crooked grin. “How’s it feel?” He asked, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip as your tongue played with his tip.

You pulled away for a moment to respond, “How’s what feel?”

“Licking a man’s cock.”

You let the spit that had gathered in your mouth drip down onto his length. “I have the urge to do more with it.”

“Like what?”

“Like put it all the way in my mouth.”

And so kitten licks turned into long stripes up his shift, which turned into eager suckling on his tip, which turned into forcing his cock down as far as it could go without making you gag.

Joel’s hand gripped the back of your head, but he never pushed you down. Whenever you did accidentally end up gagging, he petted your hair, mumbling encouragements as best he could through the blinding pleasure. Things like, “Yeah, honey, doing so good. That’s it. Just a little more. Mhm.” And his affectionate nature, his gentleness, his reassuring words—he was exactly how you hoped he would be like. Not to mention, the general hotness of it all had your hips canting down against nothing, in desperate search of relief.

“M’close, sweetheart. Take it—Take it out.”

“I don’t wanna,” You replied in a hoarse voice as you jacked him off.

“You’re not ready for that, honey, just take it out. Take it out.”

You reluctantly complied, removing him from the tight heat of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin as you stroked him rapidly.

“Joel, I… I think I’m wet.”

He moaned a curse at that, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths as his orgasm approached him. “Jesus f-fuckin’… Tell me more.”

“I need you to touch it for me next time. Please. Maybe you could… Maybe you could put your mouth on it like how I put my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, I’m cumming, don’t stop stroking it,” Joel moaned, hot white spurts shooting up and all over your hand as you stroked him through it.

With his breathing still labored, he panted out in a high voice, “You’re lying. You’re f-fucking lying. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“This isn’t—You’ve done this before. No way you made me cum this hard and it’s your first time.”

“Well,” You breathed a nervous laugh, “That’s flattering. But you’re my first. Trust me.”

When his orgasm fully subsided, Joel lay slumped against the sofa with his legs spread wide. You remained between them with your head resting on his thigh as you just stared at his cock. Took it all in, every curve, every vein, and inevitably, the cum that spurted itself over the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Joel chuckled, petting your hair as you smiled.

“I’m… I don’t know really. I just can’t stop looking at it.”

But then curiosity got the best of you, and you began to drag your fingers through the mess at his base. It caught Joel off-guard, his entire body stiffening as he watched you.

“What does it taste like?” You asked quietly as you examined the cum on your fingers. 

“Oh my god,” Joel groaned through his labored breathing, “I swear, if you do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll be hard again in five seconds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” You joked, bringing your finger to your mouth and licking it clean, ultimately wincing at the taste. “It’s like, bitter. And salty. And kinda sweet. But mostly bitter and salty. To be honest, it’s kinda nasty but I can see myself getting used to it.”

“Wow,” Joel sighed, “You just really know how to set the mood. Make things real romantic.”

“Oh, shut it,” You huffed, playfully swatting his thigh before getting up and plopping down next to him on the sofa as he got to work stuffing himself back into his pants despite the mess he made—that was a problem for future Joel. 

“Gonna miss you, little Joel,” You joked to his crotch.

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Joel chuckled painfully with his fists in his eyes. “I’m never letting you near ‘little Joel’ again.”

“Mm, no, because I just made you cum so hard you thought I was lying about being a virgin.”

He sighed at that. “You got me there.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

You both laughed at that; In fact, you both were laughing a lot. And at everything. In your head, you blamed it on the ecstatic high of being in each other’s presence this way.

When the mutual laughter died down, Joel looked at you for a moment, admiring you. Then, slow and hesitant as ever, he leaned in to kiss you.

“Do you taste it?” You whispered, breaking the kiss as you fought another giggle.

“Yes, actually. Wait, don’t say it please, this is actually a nice moment—”

“—Your cum!” You loud-whispered.

Another sigh. “My cum.”

You eagerly kissed him back after that, swearing off mood-breaking jokes for the rest of the night. Eventually, you even became too tired to kiss, simply letting your forehead rest against his. Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand snaked up your leg and inched under the leg of your shorts, using force to push your legs open wider.

“Need me to take care of this?” He asked into your mouth before letting his kisses travel down to your neck.

“Joel,” You breathed, breaths beginning to come out in rapid succession as your hips gyrated in response to how dangerously close Joel’s hand was to your pussy. “I… I’m tired.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do a thing,” Joel breathed, removing his hand from beneath your shorts in order to pull down the waistband. “It’s a yes or no question. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes and stared at the little bit of empty space left between you and Joel. The throbbing between your legs was bad, but it was something about the delayed gratification of saving things for later that stopped you from saying yes. “No, I… I think that’s it for tonight.”

Joel withdrew his hand, reassuringly cracking a brief smile. “Hey, uh, spend the night. It’s way too late, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but what about Sarah?” 

“I came home super late, you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

You thought about it for a second before agreeing. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thank you. But I’m taking the couch.”

“What? No—”

“—Joel. I’m taking the couch.”

He looked at you skeptically but then agreed. “If you change your mind just let me know.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Joel squeezed your leg before getting up and making his way to the stairs. “Goodnight.”

masterlist

A/N: strikethrough means i can't tag you, check your settings

taglist:

@basicoccult @myhusband2cool @fleuraimer @chunguk @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucufifluclu @pintsizedsunshine @s1eepy-bear @daddysuperduperlonglegs @worhols @evyiione @criesside @saph-cyare

@gswizzsstuff @baloobalee @gessmiller05 @trynasurvivelol @yazsos @marchai @pompii @alyssa1216 @daddy-din @msmagix4 @blooming-bubs @huffle-punk @whorrorain @iliketoeatstrawberrypocky @onlineplant @totallynotastanacc @hiddenbabynyc @thedoctorofpoop @kamcrazy123 @afterglowsb-tch13

@redplaidedandcladed @simping-soldat @martyluvsu @mingiast @teddybonkers1960 @brittmb15 @ellswilliams @laurasunsole @senaar-ika @whore4ellie @harrysbitvh123 @atremises @silkiers @bbyanarchist @pawnshopbluess222 @https-hann @cassiesolos @xanqels @jawgrinder

@daylighthrry @victoriamay1357 @jeezkiddo @its-spooky-these-days @pedro-luvr @chibimosa @sagethephantom @loathsome-gargoyle @alejaa-a @greenclues @june-julie @spenciesprincess @donttamethebeasts @alec0 @djarinsimp 

[kendyzzlewp]

i just can’t stop thinking about husband!art and how protective he is over you. jfc, he will kill anyone who even looks at your direction

just imagine

you’re getting ready for a stupid work event, adjusting your dress in front of the mirror. art sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, a frown plastered on his face as he watches.

‘i wish you didn’t have to go’ he said, giving you the usual puppy dog eyes.

with a sad sigh you turn, walking over to him and standing in between his legs. ‘I know, but howard will kill me if i miss this one.”

at the mention of your sleazy boss he tenses, his frown turning into a scowl as you ran a hand through his short blonde locks

‘fucking hate that creep,’ he mutters, his hand softly caressing your bare legs. ‘if he tries anything, promise me you’ll call.’

with a soft smile, you nod bending down to plant a kiss on his furrowed brow. ‘I will,’ you promise.

you get to the art gallery that’s hosting the event, leaving your car in the valet and entering the building. it was already filled with newly rich influencers much to your annoyance. still you plaster on a smile.

spotting your boss from across the room, you made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. not in the mood to stand his advancements that teetered on the edge of harassment.

the night went on, your face hurt from smiling too much, the champagne in your hand already warm as you moved around the space

‘Y/N!’

you couldn’t help but physically cringe as the older man made his way over to you. the smell of whiskey and sweat making your stomach churn

‘howard,” you greet him, short and polite, looking around for a chance to escape.

but it’s too late because he’s already all up in your personal space, saying how beautiful you are and how art is a lucky man and how your dress hugs your curves but he takes it too far, pushing the boundary between inappropriate to straight up assault

his hand finds its way to the small of your back, slowly traveling down until it landed on your ass. you froze, heart racing, legs trembling and eyes opening in absolute panic. no one around you seems to notice your predicament.

“donaldson really is a lucky bastard,” he whispered into your eat, making your skin crawl.

with the smallest ounce of courage left in your body, you push him away. angry and shameful tears cascading down your cheeks in big fat globs.

“fuck you,” you hissed, running toward the nearest bathroom.

locking the door behind you, you fetch your phone from your purse, dialing with a trembling hand,

‘hey, baby. you almost home?”

art’s voice seems to bring you back down to reality, the feeling of shame settling in the pit as your stomach as you bite back sob

‘art,’ you manage to choke out, your breath coming in short burst. ‘I can’t, he…tried to…”

‘hey, hey,” he said, his concerned tone driving you over the edge. ‘what happened?’

letting out a big breath, your hands grip your hair in utter frustration. ‘Howard…he tried to, god. he grabbed my ass and he wanted…”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“where are you?” his tone was urgent now, you could hear rustling of movement and keys.

“in the bathroom,” you whispered, your breath hitching between sobs.

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his voice firm and reassuring.

minutes felt like hours as you waited for your husband to arrive. surprised you didn’t create a hole in the marble floor with the amount of pacing you were doing.

a soft knock caught you by surprise, followed by a muffled. “its me.”

a wave of relief fell upon you like a soothing balm, rushing to the door, you unlocked it, opening it. art’s mouth fell into a frown, you must’ve looked like a mess but you didn’t care. he instantly pulled you against his chest as you fell apart, his presence a anchoring reality to what happened.

“let’s go home,” he whispered, pulling back slightly and cupping your face in his hands. “and you are not working again, do you understand me?”

you nod silently, grateful for his support and you let him lead you out of the bathroom. murmurs and whispers could be heard but it wasn’t anything new. you husband was art donaldson, tennis superstar and olympic gold medalist. he was used to the stares and the commentary.

“mr. donaldson,” the familiar voice sent your heart into a panicked frenzy. “what a nice surprise.”

ugh, that disgusting piece of shit.

art froze, his expression darkening as he looked over his shoulder. he spotted your boss, sporting a smug smile on his face as he lifted his glass. the bastard.

without a word, art dropped your hand and made his way over to him. it was all a blur, but you could recall his fist connecting with howard’s jaw, you remember barely hearing the gasps of the attendees over the sound of your beating heart.

howard effectively fell to the floor, his hand cradling his jaw in surprise. art stood over to him, his fit frame casting a shadow over the now small and cowardly man.

“if you ever come near my wife again, i will fucking kill you,” he growled. “you even breath near her and you are done.”

not waiting for a response, he turned and dragged you out of there.

[blondwhxrewrites]

Stalker!Mattheo who sneaks into your dorm and steals your panties then returns it with loads of his cum,some dry and some still wet in it 🤗🤗

Stalker!Mattheo is so scummy, and I love it. He has absolutely no shame whatsoever and doesn't feel even an ounce of guilt whenever he's sneaking into your room and returning your panties soaked with his dried cum—what he would give to be able to see your reaction the next day when you find them. 

If he were able to, he would definitely watch you while you sleep. You just wake up one night to see him standing over you and he's like 🧍 and ur like 0:

If any of his friends ask about his tendencies, he would adamantly deny doing anything, but I'm not gonna lie, I'm all for the soft!dark Slytherin gang agenda, and I feel like if any of the boys found out or saw him doing anything, they wouldn't do anything and just watch the events unfold in amusement. 

Don't even get me started on how fucking smart he is. He's so sneaky about everything that you would never notice what he does behind the scenes. Everyone knows you are his, except for you, and that's intentional. He is extremely meticulous about his plans. He's got all of Hogwarts wrapped around his fingers, and unlike Tom, he doesn't play the golden boy act. He's a skilled observer, and he's got dirt on almost everyone. He's basically the puppet master of Hogwarts. He's able to blackmail anyone, and with his connections as the dark lord's son, he's able to get rid of anyone.

I feel like he would flirt with all your friends solely to gain a deeper connection with you. He'd get one of your friends to fall for him and then lead them along while also getting as much information about you from them, and then play the 'nice boy' and gently let your friend down. 

He's really good at worming his way into your life—one day he just kind of appeared, and he hasn't left since then. He's also really good at pushing your boundaries while manipulating you into thinking he isn't just completely ignoring your boundaries. It's like he conditions you into being comfortable around him, and I've said this all before and I'll continue saying this.

I'm not sure if the wizarding world possesses cameras, given their apparent lack of technological advancement, but if they did, he would likely have numerous pictures of you scattered throughout his dorm room. And I know they have those cameras that do those moving pictures, but they seem big and clunky, so I'm talking about portable cameras that he can just carry around without being noticed. 

He's always stealing from your room, and he has a little secret stash of your things under his bed that he'll pull out when he is especially needy. Yes, most of those things are your clothes that he smells on the regular while humping his bed.

HE'S DISGUSTING

He'd fuck your friend and pretend it was you. He'd even steal a pillow from your room and hump it—if you guys can't tell Mattheo is obsessed with humping your things.

[milksnake-tea]

hey all !! normally i wouldn't engage in something like this on my blog, but considering that it's happening to a friend of mine, i felt i had an obligation to speak out. sorry for clogging up the tags/interrupting your scrolling 😭

tldr: @/hxveneru has stolen the works of my good friend @lowkeyren not once, but twice and is deleting any comments calling them out.

edit: they've changed their user to @/yneri; if you've blocked them already, this doesn't really matter bc they're still blocked :) reminder to not engage with them, they're just looking for attention. block and ignore!

i know. fun stuff. proof is under the cut.

please note that i'm doing this of my own accord, and the only involvement ren has had in this post is me asking for permission to post it since, well, it's an issue mainly affecting her.

also i should say beforehand but. don't ??? send them death threats please 😭 we are better than that. i'm mainly making this to spread awareness about the issue :)

reblogs are appreciated to spread awareness.

first stolen work is ren's oneshot "drunk words, sober thoughts!" for aventurine here.

as you can see, it was posted on June 15th, a little over two months before hxveneru posted their own oneshot.

for reference. hxveneru is a new blog and all of their posts are in the month of september, proven here via their archive.

and here's the two oneshots side by side, with ren's on the left and the stolen one on the right.

notice how the oneshots are exactly word-for-word except for the title and synopsis? even the author's note is exactly the same. obviously i can't fit the whole thing here, but this should be enough.

honestly it's. i have to laugh at the audacity to just copy and paste like hello???

and here's the second work that was copied, with hxveneru's "diff scenarios w hsr men" taking from drabbles from two of ren's works.

these are the two fics that were stolen from, with their dates attached. both are posted far before september. links are here and here if you want to double check..

now let's look at the drabbles that were - once again, copy and pasted. first is blade's, again with ren on the left and the stolen one on the right (ren's is circled bc they didn't take the hcs part).

and here is the sunday drabble that was stolen.

so far, those are the only works posted on their blog. i was also informed that they had apparently stolen from @/exuvianen's post here but deleted it, but since said post is deleted, we don't have evidence for that so take it with a grain of salt.

but yeah! just wanted to let yall know out there, especially since the plagiarized works have already gained some traction and have 100+ notes on them. i've talked about them vaguely on my blog before, so if this sounds familiar, yeah this is them.

plagiarism is shitty, i shouldn't have to say that. it is not that hard to just write your own stuff. i know validation and publicity make you feel good, but stealing someone else's hard work is not the way to go. writers already have enough to deal with. just don't do it. what's the point of getting validation if it's not even your work?

again, don't send death threats, please. that's a bit far, and they likely won't even do anything since the plagiarizer has already been called out before and this was their response.

not a single ounce of remorse or shame. people have gotten way too comfortable on here.

also "who the hell is ren anyway" bestie you blocked her 😭😭 and ignored her ask to you. that's why ren can't dm her to sort it out privately btw, in case you were wondering.

anyways! that's all i have to say, thanks for sticking around this long and have a great rest of your day. hxveneru if you see this. hi ig ?? id say smth to you but i doubt you'd take it seriously so i won't <3

[deezneezz]

Leona & ADD

I got a few ppl (on twitter) wanting me to elaborate on Leona and ADD, so I figured I will share my thoughts here as well, please be nice it's just a personal hc. You don't have to agree at all!! Since it contains some personal experiences I ask of people to please be kind about it!

Anyway, Leona and ADD.

I think a lot of people usually agree on Floyd and Kalim having ADHD, but Leona actually shows a lot of lesser talked about traits of ADHD. Namely Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), sensitivity to clothing/textures (he doesn't like restrictive clothes).

He also has the more commonly talked about traits of course, executive dysfunction being a big one. And his depression definitely exacerbates these traits, when i was undiagnosed and depressed i used to sleep my entire days away. I wasn't getting anything done anyway.

Not to mention not sleeping properly, so I was desperate to find moments to sleep during the day. I've slept on floors, on toilets, in an abandoned corner in uni instead of going to class. I was just *so* tired all the time I didn't want to sit in class, I wanted to sleep.

I was lucky I passed classes without studying, cause i would've never gotten through uni otherwise. I still took longer than necessary. The moment my support system (Ruggie, anyone?) graduated and left I had no one taking care of my basic needs, and I certainly didn't.

I had a dorm mate who cooked for me, made sure I had even an ounce of self-care, and also looked at my room and said "hmm, Deniz, maybe it's time to clean up a little" and then I very reluctantly admitted that it may have gotten a little out of hand.

She would just sit in my room sometimes chilling around while I cleaned cuz that was one of the few ways I cleaned at all (this is a real thing for ADHD, called body doubling. It works). Ruggie arriving at NRC and Leona suddenly performing tons better in school is no coincidence.

Coming back to RSD.. I mean I don't really have to explain it do I.. book 2, Lilia's scathing remarks, the shame of disappointing his dorm, etc. I know a lot of ppl call book 2 an 'overreaction' but like, this is genuinely what it feels like internally when RSD triggers

book 6 too, Jamil's over-protectiveness is clearly (to the audience) smth that's mostly Jamil's own habits and trauma doing. But to Leona it's a rejection/insult to his ability to take care of himself, his skill, etc. This was genuinely smth that set me off too.

"How dare you try to explain to me smth I already know, do you think I'm stupid?" "You're not like me." The unwillingness to admit that someone may be relatable in any way because making any comparison to yourself makes you vulnerable to what you haven't achieved for yourself.

"I would ace these classes too if I wasted my time and life studying as much as they did, but I actually love myself." <- guy who was jealous and did not know he was coping and didn't study cause of executive dysfunction and concentration issues.

Leona clearly knows a lot about the things he genuinely cares about, Ancient spell language, chess, magishift, so its kind of funny to see him so low effort in classes. Though honestly i know the game also says that "Leona already knows all this stuff" so.. who knows really...

Now I'm more chill but I used to legitimately go off the handle a little cuz RSD doesn't really care about whether the shit u feel is proportional to the offence it physically hurts in your chest and you just wanna burn down the world at that exact time and... IS THAT NOT LEONA...

TLDR: give Leona therapy and meds, lol.

[lemmetreatya]

OK but the urge to be milked by Farmer!Reiner is STRONG. I would moo for that man.🐄

farmer!reiner x fem!reader

this req was all the way from jan and i only got the motivation for it now <3 so enjoy

contains: established relationship, dom!reiner, semi public sex, m!pen, squirting, self-masturbation, spitting, cumshot

farmer!reiner; who everyone loves to buy their premium beef from, but nobody wants to purchase filtered whole milk through.

not because it was bad quality or anything! — farmer!reiner’s crates of white dairy were always thick and creamy and an absolute joy to drink from! it’s just…certain tell-tale rumours had gone round that within the stables, where farmer!reiner milked his cows, were the same ones where he occasionally milked his wife.

whether they were rumours or not? well.

“ooooh, baby. t-they gonna talk again!”

your cries are sobbish as you hold onto a wooden beam of the milking stable, one leg raised ontop of farmer!reiner’s shoulder whilst your other foot is flat on the ground to sturdy yourself.

farmer!reiner only grunts as he fucks into you sideways. the hold his hands have on your waist grips into your plump skin as his dick rams against internal ridges you didn’t think could be reached.

“let em talk. like i give a fuck.”

you can hear the annoyance in your husband’s voice but it didnt matter if you did or not, because it already translates into how harsh he fucks into you.

you let out a whine but farmer!reiner doesn’t like it; he knows its because you’re still thinking about the many rumours that had been spread about this very habit you both had, rather than it being from him pleasing you.

farmer!reiner makes a hughck, twp! sound as he spits out the farmer’s gum he had within his mouth onto the mesh floor. he then readjusts his position which results in him bending you forward into the wooden beam. finally, he’s getting the whines he wants out from you and that greatly pleases him.

“sod what they think.” he grumbles but the contrasting smirk on his face is sick.

he brings one arm round to hold onto your stomach as he presses down onto it, which he knows causes a rise out of you.

“i can fuck my wife.” plat, plat. “on my land.” plat, plat, plat. “where’ver the fuck i want.

farmer!reiners hitting all the right spots so you can only nod in numb and dumb agreeal. the feeling of your husband always left you full and you couldn’t help but let out a low and long throaty moan. it’s inevitable! that budding pressure at the base of your stomach is staring to feel so tight and you can’t deny that all of the feelings surging within you feel so bright and so fuzzy and so fuck, you were gonna—

“oouuhhh…”

unexpectedly an ooze of liquid squirts from between you and farmer!reiner as you cum onto his dick. your pelvis, slightly lifting from his wet length, posses you to rub your clit and spray your love over him — every ounce of shame is no longer your concern as you bare an obscene sight within the stables.

farmer!reiner can only groan as he uses one hand to hold you steady and the other onto the base of his length as he messily taps it against your squirting lips.

“yeah, that’s it darlin’. all over my cock, juuuuust how daddy likes it.”

your body jolts as you go through the lasting dregs of your orgasm. once the after effects wash over, you’re suddenly feeling slump and palpable.

farmer!reiner holds you upright as he can feel you coming down from your high. his eyes are beady as he looks over you to gauge your condition. but regardless, he slightly bends down to place a warm kiss to your jersey sleeve before affirming your exploit.

“god, i love ya. did so well. always do so well fa me…”

you let out a tired reply, mumbled and lazy as all you want to do is now snuggle with your husband in bed. however, farmer!reiner continues to stroke his still red and tall standing dick; the length of it shiny wet and slick from your juices.

he shivers once he feels a small gust of wind wisp over his sensitive slit but it doesn’t dwindle his need. if anything, it amplifies it.

“but…” farmer!reiner places another kiss along your arm. “imma need you ready to go again.”

“again?”

the whine is evident in your voice but farmer!reiner doesn’t pay it any mind. instead, hes reentering your spent cunt and you can only let out a desperate mewl.

“yes, again. you already know big daddys gotta cum inside that pretty cunt of yers. nothing new.”

despite your protests, your body takes no problem in remoulding itself around your husband’s cock. if anything, he slips in so easily that you cant help but comply. arching your back, you beckon upwards with a lax mouth and outstretched tongue and farmer!reiner already knows you’re on board.

spitting onto your moist muscle, farmer!reiner doesnt leave his saliva there long before hes enclosing his lips around your tongue for him to suck on — you keen as your husband nurses your mouth and moans into a dirty kiss and almost forget that hes now balls deep inside of you again.

farmer!reiner kneads his fingers into your arm that hes holding you upright by and the action is tender, but his thrusts come out erratic as he works to achieving his nut.

“mmm, you feel so warm.” farmer!reiner speaks into your skin as he lets go of your mouth to kiss along and into the crook of your neck.

you moan at the affection your husband is pouring into you because you know hes close. reaching back your hand, you hug around farmer!reiner‘s neck so that you could bury him deeper into you, encourage him to indulge and devour you.

“you always fuck me s-so good.” a wince forms onto your face as you feel your hand dig a bit too deep into the pillar stem but it doesn’t matter.

“mhm. gotta…gotta fuck you. make feel good.”

your juices from before now feel cold against your leg as the squirt starts to dry up but still, the wet squelches of your husband fucking into your cunt dribble down your thigh and you can’t help but feel so erotic.

“ahhh, im gonna come, im gonna come, im gonna co'm. im gonna…nrrgh.”

farmer!reiner only lasts a few more thrusts before hes pouring his milk into you, a muffled moan leaving his mouth as his face is still buried within the crook of your neck.

you slightly curse underneath your breath because you never really think you could be any fuller once impeached with your husband's cock, but yet here you were, letting out a half choke as you react to being completely stuffed.

"sh'i...baby"

farmer!reiner's grip is tight on your arm as he tries his best to not lead his whole body into a physical combustion. he's aware that he's carrying most your weight whilst still being buried to the hilt inside of you and therefore can't just flop down like he usually would in bed.

with haggard breathing, you weakly bat the man's chest and instantly he gets the message. farmer!reiner slowly pulls out of you with a plop but not before he's kissing the base of your neck.

"rei..." you weakly sigh, and your husbands letting out a weak chuckle.

"i know, darlin'. we gon go getchu cleaned up and then go check on the stack import, okay?"

"ohh, but i'm too worn out for dealing with hay and numbers!" you whine as you turn to lean your back against the pillar and farmer!reiner's only chuckling as he zips up his pine coloured breeches.

"i promised hoover we'd pass by today. id go on my ones but you now how his littlens get when they see me but dont see you."

yes, you do know how the hoover's kids get when they don't get to see you, but that's not really your worry right now.

with a complain-y moan you look up at your husband with wide pleading eyes because you really dont want to be doing house visits right now. but farmer!reiner, knowing how you are, can only let out an airy laugh before he leans down to deliver you a sweet kiss.

"do this one thing for me and i promise the rest of the day's yers." he mumbles against your lips.

you almost decline, but the sudden feeling of farmer!reiner's slightly cold fingers caressing against your swollen pussy lips as he gathers the leaking cum from around your folds and scoops it back into you, makes you reconsider.

with a bite of your bottom lip, you caress your cheek against his.

"mm. fine."

(not even several hours later, an anonymous account posts several pictures to your online community which clearly depict you and farmer!reiner's earlier escapades. when your husband sees them, he laughs with boisterous vim.

"well, at least they got our good angles!" he'd say, his eyes unable to look away from the content)

[sleepyjuice]

WARNINGS: 18+!!! rimming!!! female reader eating jj’s ass!!! this is definitely not for everyone but that is literally the only warning for this. if you’re not interested in this or grossed out, you don’t have to read it! i totally respect the decision either way. we don’t kink shame here. enjoy!!!!<3

alcohol was a godsend for bringing you the confidence you had tonight. you weren’t wasted, but you had enough in your system that anxiety was a thing of the past.

you and jj had a couple beers at the kegger but decided to head home early because it had been awhile since you both had any alone time together. so with the chateau all to yourselves, you headed straight for the shower and got fucked nice and good against the tiled wall.

the night was still young and you were sure you still had at least an hour or two before your friends returned, so you and jj were cuddling fully naked in his bed. you were facing each other, his arms holding you tightly while you played absently with his necklace. you came twice in the shower and jj once, but your stomach was still full of need, desire.

taking a deep breath, you slowly lowered your hand down the front of jj’s naked body, sensually rubbing at his skin as you made your way lower and lower. you stopped once you got to his soft cock to palm it, already feeling it twitch and begin to grow.

“mm, you still horny, baby? wanna go again?” he grinned, exhaling slowly and lifting his hips a bit to allow you better access to continue rubbing his now half hard cock.

you hummed in response, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you wanted to get him fully hard first. that didn’t take long though, your thumb circling his tip and rubbing along his vein had him fully hard in seconds. plus, you were still butt naked right before his eyes. that always did the trick.

“i was thinking…i wanna make you feel good.” you looked up from his dick to meet his eyes, seeing his own eyes were filled with lust once again, a grin still lingering on his lips.

“yeah? wanna suck my dick with that pretty lil mouth of yours? go right ahead.” he told you, your cheeks heating at his words. it wasn’t surprising that was what he gathered from your words. you were vague and this was also something you two had never talked about before, you had always been too anxious to bring it up.

“well, i kinda wanna put my pretty little mouth somewhere else.” you said firmly, watching him closely for his reaction.

now, jj had eaten your ass plenty of times. he was shameless about it. as a matter of fact, he called himself a proud ass eater. he was great at it too, his tongue was quite a talented organ.

“oh yeah? where’s that?”

“i wanna eat your ass, jj.”

your eyes quickly flickered away from his face down to his cock that you were still stroking, irrationally thinking that the second those words left your mouth, his cock would go soft.

“hey, look at me,” he reached down to cup your chin between his fingers, returning your gaze to his own. “i’m down. why the hell not?”

you were giddy now. his nonchalance about it was actually a huge fucking turn on and you found your thighs clenching at his words. that was jj though, he lived life to the fullest and was as open minded as they come, so you really shouldn’t have expected him to have another response. you loved that about him, truly.

“okay! fuck, yeah, let’s do it.” you giggled, sitting up, your face heating even more as he smiled back at you, not an ounce of disingenuousness evident on his face.

“aight, how you want me? and do i call you mommy?” there he goes.

“no! jj, god — shut up,” you laughed, fully sitting up now. “just lie on your stomach and put your ass up.” you instructed, watching as he playfully saluted you before getting into said position.

your pussy was leaking once again, the same arousal from earlier was still present but there was an entirely new rush of pleasure you felt just from seeing him like this. he was trimmed for the most part, only sparse hairs here and there, and you had a perfect view of his hole as well as his balls that you loved so much, plus his hard cock that was now leaking precum.

you were a bit nervous. for no reason other than that you hoped you would do it well. you had been with girls before, eating pussy was no stranger to you, but this was in a whole new ballpark.

“you look hot as fuck like this.” you told him, positioning yourself behind jj and bringing your hands to rub at his ass cheeks, your thumb slowly and gently brushing in between his cheeks.

you could see his abdomen flex in response to both your words and your touch and he glanced back at you from over his shoulder to give you a reassuring smile. it seemed like he could tell you were a little nervous. but truthfully the excitement was outweighing your nerves.

you grinned back at him before leaning your head down and planting wet kisses along his ass cheeks, bringing one hand down to pump jj’s cock, gathering the precum that had dripped down his shaft to lubricate his cock, slick sounds emitting from your hand tugging up and down on him.

you didn’t miss the little huffs that left his lips as he held himself up with his forearms, his hands clenched in fists.

without saying anything, you dipped your head, using your free hand to spread his cheeks slightly before pressing a soft kiss against his hole, followed by your tongue swirling effortlessly around the tight ring of muscles.

jj moaned shamelessly, quite literally the second your tongue touched him had instant chills shooting down his spine and you hadn’t even really gotten started yet. this was new for him, but so far the feeling of your warm mouth and wet tongue on him was feeling better than he could have envisioned it to be.

“ohhhh fuck, shit, baby— yeah.” he grunted as you flattened your tongue, intensifying the pressure against him as you lapped your tongue up and down.

your stomach was flipping in pride and pleasure, beyond pleased that he seemed to really be enjoying it so far.

“it feels good, jay?” you asked before returning your tongue back to its spot on him, swirling it wetly and gently teasing the opening with the tip of your tongue.

“fuck, oh god, it’s good, it’s good. doin’ great down there, baby, fuck.” he cursed, fighting between the physical urge to keep his head pressed down against the bed and just allow the pleasure to happen and the urge to watch you. he would turn his head back to you every few moments, but have to go back to the pillow when it was too much.

you smiled in satisfaction upon realizing how good this was really making him feel, and after a couple minutes of teasing your intrusion, you slowly pushed the tip of your tongue further into his hole and began fucking him with your tongue.

jj shuddered at the feeling, a moaning and panting mess before you. your hand was still working at his cock and the combination of that along with you tongue fucking him had him closer than he would like to admit. the two of you had done just about everything, but this was a brand new feeling for him, and a good one at that.

you continued your wet movements, sloppily and quick, spit dripping shamelessly down your chin as you fucked him. your pussy was clenching around nothing and you swore one touch against your clit would be enough to send you over the edge right now. it was all so sensual and erotic and seeing how jj’s body reacted as well as hearing the sounds that left his lips had you feeling so powerful and completely and utterly aroused to the max.

“shit, baby, ‘m close, real close. bout to cum.” he suddenly warned, but you weren’t surprised. you had felt how his dick was twitching rapidly and the way his muscles were tightening was all too familiar for you.

“cum for me, jay, you’re doing so good.” you praised before quickly returning to slip your tongue back into his hole and quickening your movements on his cock. that was all it took for him to hit his peak, groaning loudly and breathlessly as he came all over your hand, his body collapsing forward down onto the bed.

you quickly moved your hand once he finished and just in time for him to not crush it, pulling your tongue out of him and giving his hole one last lingering kiss before crawling up to lay beside him.

he turned his head to face you when he felt you lay down beside him, his cheeks flushed and a lazy smile tugging at his lips. the only way to describe how he looked was euphoric, and that’s exactly how he felt.

“you did so good, jay.” you spoke lovingly, kissing his sweaty forehead a few times, unsure if he’d want to kiss your lips after where they just were.

but jj didn’t care, of course. nothing could stop him from kissing his girl. he pulled you closer to him and connected your lips, kissing you tenderly. you hummed into the kiss and eventually pulled away because it seemed like he still needed to fully catch his breath.

“you did good, baby. i loved every second of that. that was hot as fuck.” you giggled loudly at his words, your heart full as he pulled you into his arms with a yawn. this was how you imagined you looked after he fucked you good. so it wasn’t surprising that he was seconds away from sleep now, because that was exactly how you were after he fucked you.

“yay. so we can do it again?” you asked as you relaxed into his touch, your head pressed against his chest as you listened to his previously racing heart begin to slow as he drifted off to sleep.

“mm, we’re definitely doin’ that again,” he chuckled tiredly, planting one last lazy kiss to your lips as he shut his eyes. “love you, baby. my perfect girl.”

[esoteric-oracle]

//long rambles ahead!

I think what really lingers with me about MDZS is that it's not a novel with a cathartic ending at all. It's a bittersweet story that leaves you slightly hollow. Yes, it's a beautiful and epic romance. It's a piece of social commentary interwoven with a love story and murder mystery. It's a cautionary tale. But it is also very much a tragedy. It's a story about being too late, second chances, and moving on.

By the time the truth of everything JGY and JGS did comes to light, it's 13 years too late. Everything that mattered has already happened. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan are long dead. Jin Ling is still an orphan. Wen Ning is dead, and sometime in the future, his death will be permanent. Wen Qing was burned to death at the stake for no fault of her own. Nie Mingjue has already spent ten years in a no-doubt agonizing state of un-death, and Lan Xichen will have to bear the guilt of loving both Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, and by doing so, forsaking them both. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng's once-close bond is irrevocably broken, and the woman who sowed the seeds of resentment when they were still children will never face the consequences of her vitriol.

People sometimes say MXTX was too hard on the side characters, and only gave the Wangxian a happy ending, but what stuck with me after finishing the story is how… sad things are. Yes, Wangxian finally get the happy ending they've deserved for nearly 20 years - but at the same time, it's not a happy ending where the people who've wronged them get the consequences they deserve.

Wei Wuxian will spend the rest of his life haunted by guilt and loss, over what happened to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, over the loss of the Wen remnants. The rest of his years won't even be lived in the body his parents gave him.

Lan Wangji will spend the rest of his years wondering if he'd chosen to stand with Wei Wuxian when it mattered - would his son have had to grow up without his birth family?

Nie Huaisang is left wondering if his brother had been a little less trusting and had never taken Meng Yao in as a Nie deputy, would his brother have died a less wretched death? Would he have been forced to stoop to ruthless machinations and manipulations to seek some semblance of justice?

Wen Ning will have to live with the knowledge that if he'd been a little less kind, if he'd let Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng die that fateful day - his family would still be alive. The Wens would've won the war; Wen Qing might've even succeeded Wen Ruohan.

No one really gets the ending they deserve. MDZS isn't a story where good people get happy endings, and bad people get their dues. Sure, Jin Guangyao's crimes are revealed and he faces the consequences of his actions. But what about the people who stood by and made him into a monster? If anything, the side characters and antagonists who survive get better than they deserve. The real villain of MDZS - society - will never face retribution. Those cultivators who always believed in their own bigotry and righteousness over and over again, will never face justice.

Do you think those cultivators and the public will ever feel any regret for the innocent people they condemned to death in their own prejudice and blind self-righteousness? Do you think the people who gathered at Nightless City to call for Wei Wuxian's death considered for one second that he was the biggest reason they won the war? When the cultivators who sacked the Wen settlement at the Burial Mounds threw the bodies of the Wens into the blood pool, do you think that was a sign of shame?

Do you think Jiang Cheng will ever regret leading a siege on a small settlement of innocent farmers? Do you think he's haunted by condemning to death the same people whom he owes his life to?

Do you think those people like Yao-zongzhu will ever feel an ounce of remorse for so easily believing rumours and hearsay, and spreading speculation and vitriol about innocent people?

Do you think that unnamed cultivator out there will ever lose a single minute of sleep over smashing in Wen Popo's head?

In the years that follow, Wen Ning will have apologized a hundred times for lives he did not take, crimes he did not commit, because of the name he bears. People, both in-universe, and even readers, will condemn him for actions he could not help, for doing the right thing. But did Jiang Cheng ever apologize for killing his family? Did the Jins ever apologize for their horrific treatment of people in the labour camps?

People will continue to demand that Wei Wuxian apologize for causing the deaths of their friends and family. But how is Wei Wuxian meant to do that? No one ever apologized to him for taking his family away. No one ever apologized for condemning the Wen Remnants to death for crimes they took no part in. The Wens were his family too.

There's so much potential for bitterness and corruption in MDZS. Instead of saving everyone, Wei Wuxian could've stood aside and let the people who tried to kill him die. MDZS could've been a story of succumbing to hatred and grief, but it wasn't. MXTX could've gone on and on about how society wronged the protagonist, but she didn't. The narrative is one of forgiveness and moving beyond past grievances. The story chose to close the story on a positive note. I truly love that aspect of MDZS, where MXTX leaves just enough room for hope and love at the end.

A-Yuan will finally get his closure about the family he lost as a toddler. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian get their happy ending together after being separated by nearly two decades by war, miscommunication, cruelty, and death.

Wei Wuxian will never regret protecting survivors of an attempted genocide, because it was the right thing to do.

And Wen Ning will still stand in the way and take a fatal blow meant for Jin Ling, despite everything the Jins and Jiang Cheng did to the people he loved.

Because they chose love. Characters like Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning and Lan Wangji have the chance to move on and live a happier life because when they could've succumbed to hurt and fury and resentment, they chose to be kind and do the right thing. Wangxian get their happy ending because they learn to recognize the toxicity of the cultivation society's self-cannibalizing prejudice, and chose to pursue righteousness above personal benefit.

MDZS isn't a story about good people getting good things. Just look at what happened to Xiao Xingchen. There's really nothing satisfying or cathartic about everyone's fates at all. There's no promise about society facing the consequences of their mob mentality or Wangxian actually changing the world together. Even in TGCF, for all its makings of a love story, we get the promise of societal change once Jun Wu is deposed.

It has all the makings to be a tragedy or tale of vengeance of epic proportions - but instead, it's a love story. It's a story about making the best of what you've got, and staying true to yourself and your morals, even if that's sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. It's a story where everything that could go wrong went wrong, but the characters still managed to fight their way to a better ending by choosing kindness. At its core, MDZS is a testament to choosing compassion over cruelty no matter how tragic and hopeless life gets, no matter how long the journey gets. Even though the happy ending is more personal and only applies to the specific characters, even though we don't actually get the promise of their society becoming a better place - we still have the hope that Wei Wuxian's second chance brings. The hope that sometimes, no matter how cruel the world is, some people who deserve it still get their happy endings. That's what makes MDZS such a memorable work of art. That's why it stays with you.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

[aloysiavirgata]

Skinner POV on post-S5 MSR. I trust this to no hands but yours, empress.

It was in Baltimore. Kidnapping victim, some Congressman’s girlfriend dredged from the Harbor and up they all went, silent and shifty in a big Bureau Suburban.

***

He’s been touching Scully obscenely for years, Mulder has, but what’s always shocked Skinner is that Scully lets him. Her femme-fatale looks and her clear willingness to pistol whip the disrespectful have left him a bit at sea with her tolerance for Mulder’s wayward hands and gazes.

Mulder, like a half-trained Weimaraner. Mulder endlessly sprawling and sniffing and hunting and brilliant and exhausting.

Scully, like a tortoiseshell cat. Scully with half-lidded topaz eyes and eternal, quiet patience.

***

They’re dockside at the USS Constellation, Scully squinting with her hand curved along her brow. Mulder’s obnoxious black Burberry trench flapping like some kind of bespoke fruit bat. Mulder’s rich-kid arrogance.

Scully crouches over the weighted net the girl was wrapped in. There’s a clump of hair snarled in the mesh; it has been cut away to release the body. The girl floats upwards like a mermaid in a nightmare, crab-gnawed and a marbled green.

Mulder wrinkles his nose.

Scully’s hair more stylish now, Scully’s suits trimmer and her blouses more fitted. Everything about her is sleeker and shinier and more polished. She is beautiful, astonishingly beautiful, and it startles him sometimes that she should choose such a small life. That she should choose Mulder, frankly.

Mulder kneels beside her like a dark guardian angel. He skims a hand over her head nearly too fast to see. He thumbs her scrimshaw clavicles, her fine jaw.

Skinner knows, in an abstract sense, that Mulder is beautiful too; that Scully is justified. He still, in his deepest heart, does not feel that Mulder is justified.

He’d traded himself for her life that once because he was a Marine, because she is a rare creature, because he and Mulder had made her thus. Because, on more than one lonely night, he’d flashed on her white throat and bee-stung mouth behind his clenched lids.

Shamed, looks away from them, into the west.

***

He’s in love with Scully in a chivalric way. He’d lay his coat over a mud puddle for her ridiculous shoes. He’d challenge someone to a duel for her honor. But he couldn’t do what Mulder does; he couldn’t love her properly while she weeps and bleeds and dies of a thousand tiny cuts.

Couldn’t bury her daughter and keep sane.

Scully sighs, thumbs half a Subway bag from the corpse’s melting face.

***

The ME’s office at Penn and Pratt, because rank beats jurisdiction, because Skinner commandeered the decomp room when Scully asked. Scully’s regal face like the prow of that ship, Scully’s hair like Diogenes’s lantern.

Her hands like pale garden spiders moving lightly over the body, her steady voice speaking as he and Mulder watched and listened.

The girl was pregnant. Of course she was pregnant, of course she -

Mulder’s hand at Scully’s Bettie Page waist, somehow sinuous even in those boxy scrubs. Scully flinches, breathes, proceeds.

Scully dying, hypovolemic, hating him. Scully translucent as the votive candles she surely lights in her dark church, pale and flickering and full of temporary light.

Skinner looks upwards, at the cheap paneled ceiling, at the bad fluorescent light. He looks at the way Mulder’s hand is spread across her back with only support and not an ounce of possessiveness. He realizes, then, that it has never occurred to Mulder that Scully could belong to anyone else.

[barcaracing]

you’re wearing his kit | pg8

summary: pedri and y/n go public with their relationship and it doesn't take long before the media digs up her past with another barcelona player whose name happens to be on the back of her kit in one photo

pairing: pedri x reader ft. platonic!gavi

warnings: angst, a bit of fluff first

a/n: what's uppppp!! i'm back from the dead to say that i've been obsessed with pedri lately, so here's me contributing to a better society. enjoy! and to anyone who's also in the middle of exams, good luck soldier <3

*******

"This is scary." Pedri shoots you a sideways glance. You nod, not daring to take your eyes off the phone in front of you even though the screen is still black. You sit in silence for another five minutes before footsteps come banging down the stairs. They halt abruptly at the doorway, then shuffle into the living room.

"Guys?" Fer stops behind the couch.

You hum at the same time that Pedri grunts. Like a caveman. You shoot him a funny look that goes unnoticed as his eyes remain glued to the coffee table.

Fer's head pops in between the two of you. "Not to interrupt...whatever you're doing, but why are you staring at my phone? It's not even turned on."

Pedri's head snaps to his brother. "What?"

You sit up and look at him as well. "What do you mean it's not turned on?"

Fer reaches over to grab his phone, clicking the side button several times. "It's dead. I need to charge it."

Feeling like someone just poked a hole into your chest, you deflate against the back of the couch, your head falling onto Pedri's shoulder with a breathy laughter. "So we've been staring at nothing the last 20 minutes?" You ask and Fer snorts, flinging himself into the single armchair on your left to look for a charger.

"Yes," he says, plucking the cable into his phone. "You weirdos."

Pedri's shoulder shakes with laughter. He runs a hand through his hair and lets his arm fall behind your back to pull you further into his side. "This is already getting over our heads."

"You think so?" You deadpan and let out a giggle when he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

"Maybe we should just cut off all electronics for the next couple of days," Pedri mumbles into your skin and you have a feeling he's just thinking out loud. "It's only been half an hour and I'm so stressed, I thought I was going to lose all my hair."

Mortified, you look up and give his hair an experimental tug. You tug once more, but Pedri quickly wraps his hand your wrist and kisses your pulse, making you narrow your eyes at him. "Don't you dare go bald on me right after we announced to the world that we're dating. It'd look bad on me if I left you because of your shiny scalp."

Pedri moves back and raises his brows at you. "You would break up with me if I lost my hair?"

"Yes," you say without an ounce of shame. Fer lets out a snort.

"Why?" Pedri sputters. "I'd still look the same. My face wouldn't change. Honestly, I could look great bald."

You scoff although the corners of your mouth tug up. "Are you telling me you want to go bald?"

Pedri falters for a split second, but he nods. "To prove a point? Of course."

You regard him for a moment, searching his eyes for any signs that he will back down. You're not surprised to find none. He never backs down. Finally, you shrug. "Fine."

Fer perks up. "Wait, what?"

Pedri is still looking at you with absolute confidence, his gaze flickering between your eyes. A sly smirk slowly sweeps over his lips. "You sure about that, princesa?" He moves closer until you can feel his breath on your face and his voice drops. "I know how much you love holding onto it when you're—"

A pillow hits the side of his head.

"Okay!" says Fer loudly, flinging his arms around as if to swat away the rising tension. Pedri has the audacity to laugh after taking one glance at your flustered face. You smack his face with the pillow before tossing it back at his brother. He only laughs harder.

"Gross. Actually vile," Fer mumbles, glaring at the two of you before resuming to his phone. He freezes and his thumb hovers over his screen, mid-scroll.

"What's wrong?" Pedri asks, concern pushing off the laughter in his voice. "Fer?"

"I—" His brother looks up, gaze flickering to you before his fingers rapidly fly across the keyboard of his phone. Your spine straightens.

"Fer?" You can't help but sound alarmed as well. He keeps muttering to himself and the only thing you can make out are 'can't be' and 'she wouldn't.' You really need to know what's going on.

Pedri slides forward, hand settling on your knee before he kicks Fer lightly in the leg. "Hermano, what's wrong?"

You watch in high anticipation as his eyes scan the screen and it takes everything in you not to urge him to just say it. Are people saying horrible stuff online? Was it a bad idea to go public? If this is a mistake, there's no going back. You feel your heart pounding against your ribcage and Pedri notices because, of course, he does. He squeezes your leg and you send him a small smile.

His warm gaze calms you but there's wariness pulling at his eyes, so you press a gentle kiss to his shoulder. His smile grows and he pecks your cheek before looking back over to his brother, about to speak only to be cut off by the familiar ringtone slicing through the thick tension of the room. The volume makes you jump and you move to stand up, but Pedri swiftly kisses to the top of your head, telling you that he'll get it before hauling himself over the back of the couch to answer the call.

You know that both of you turned off all notifications before you made the post on Instagram, only allowing calls from close friends and family to come through.

"Gavi?" Pedri's voice drifts from the kitchen and Fer inhales sharply. You furrow your brows. His eyes find yours and you want to ask him what’s wrong, but his face is carefully devoid of emotions. His gaze feels accusatory and it honestly freaks you out.

"Fer?" You say cautiously, fingers fiddling in your lap. "What happened?"

Before he could reply, Pedri reenters the room. His voice rises as he responds to the person on the other end. He ignores your questioning look and stops in front of his brother, jabbing out his hand impatiently. Fer immediately drops his phone into his palm and your confusion multiplies as you watch your boyfriend's eyebrows draw together, chest rising. Gavi's voice can be heard faintly through the phone that is still pressed to his ear and you only realise now that it's yours. You forgot you have the same ringtone.

"Mhm," says Pedri absently while scrolling through Fer's phone, "okay, yeah." You get the impression that he's not paying attention to whatever Pablo is saying and now you're pissed because you're pretty sure you're going to die of curiosity or old age before anyone even bothers to tell you what's going on.

"I can see it—" Pedri snaps and instantly stops himself. He closes his eyes and bites his lip, his knuckles loosening around Fer's phone. "I know it's not…can you just—" He lets out a shaky breath and you can see him forcing the tension out of his shoulders.

"Look, I really don't want to hear your voice right now. So just- It's fine. No, it's fine. I know…yeah, bye," Pedri mumbles halfheartedly before tossing your phone onto your lap without sparing you much of a glance. You look down at your lock screen of Pedri and you sharing a cone of ice cream at the beach before the screen fades into black and your reflection stares back at you.

You look up at your boyfriend whose eyes are fixed on a spot on the armchair Fer is sitting on. Slowly, you stand up and step forward, hand reaching out to find Pedri's. Your fingertips grace his and that seems to shake him out of his thoughts. He moves his hand back and finally looks at you.

"Pedri?" Your voice is soft, mostly because you're afraid that speaking any louder might push him away. He looks so fragile right now. "Please tell me what's going on."

Without a word, he hands you Fer's phone. Letting your eyes linger on him a moment longer, you shift your gaze to the bold headline taking up half of the screen.

Scandal rocks FC Barcelona as New Girlfriend of Star Player Caught in Love Triangle! Shocking Photos Show Her Wearing Another Player's Kit at Games Before Going Public with Pedri!

"What?" Your eyes widen. The phone nearly slips out of your hands as you hastily scroll through the rest of the article, searching for the photos. You didn't, you thought. You would never! The photos are at the very bottom of the page and every second is absolute torture, but once the images load, your breath stutters. "What the hell?"

"Yeah," Fer scoffs and your head snaps up so fast, your neck twinges. "What the hell, Y/N?"

You make to speak but your gaze sweeps over your boyfriend who is simmering with resentment and sadness. You want to reach out, touch him, but you can tell it's gradually bleeding into anger. He's never been mad with you before. The only times you've seen him lose his temper was on the pitch. It doesn't take much to see that he's trying his absolute best to compose himself. You take a deep breath and muster a levelled gaze at his brother. "Fer, can you please give us a moment?"

"What?” He frowns. "No. Y/N, what were you thinking—"

"Out."

Fer’s mouth snaps shut as Pedri's voice cuts through the room.

"What?"

"Get out," Pedri grits through his teeth. Fer looks between you two before shaking his head with a sigh. He plucks his phone out of your hands and casts one last look at you. Once the door on the floor above clicks shut, you step in front of Pedri.

"I can explain."

He scoffs, eyes burning into yours for a brief second. Then, he's across the room as if he can't bear the thought of you near him. It stings. He keeps shaking his head and if you were in any other situation, you would've found it amusing how similar he was to his brother.

"Can you—" You watch him pace around, your patience dwindling. He keeps moving, looking anywhere but you, and it's driving you insane. Your chest tightens as you feel him work himself up, the situation slipping further and further from your fingers. "Pedro, can you just stop for one goddamn moment and let me explain."

Huffing, he finally comes to a halt on the other side of the coffee table and meets your eye. For an odd second, you feel thankful that the flimsy piece of furniture is separating you. As if it could do anything while the predator is flashing his bloody fangs. "Fine. Go on. What's the great explanation to this? Were you two dating and you just never thought to tell me?" Pedri bites out, speaking over you like you never even opened your mouth. "It's all too well then. I've found out with the rest of the world, didn't I? You know how much I love surprises. I'm flattered, really."

The sarcasm dripping off his words burn like acid and no matter how much you're shaking your head and trying to cut him off, he's not stopping until he draws blood. You know it's to match his own wound, but it doesn't make it any less painful.

"Gavi called you. Not me, his team mate and best friend. You. That's enough of an explanation, so I guess it's just all about the details now. Were you fucking Gavi before you got bored and decided I would have to do? Enlighten me, please."

Your mind is collapsing, failing to register the blunt ends of Pedri's words piercing through your skin. Tears burn in your eyes, but you are not going to cry. You won't. Not because of this.

"Where is this coming from?" You hate how hollow your voice sounds.

Pedri blinks at you. "You're not really asking me that. Do you think I don't know about the rumours? You and Gavi? How you liked him before we got together. Why it didn't work out between you, I have no idea because Gavi liked you too, you know. We used to listen to him talk about you in the dressing room before he finally introduced you to us as just his friend. And I made sure you were nothing else to him before I asked you out because he's my best friend and I didn't want to ruin anything."

"You didn't," you say, frowning. "We were never together. I've told you this before. Pablo was never my boyfriend. Nothing ever happened.”

Pedri shakes his head. "That doesn't change the fact that you had feelings for him and probably still do. You wanted to keep us a secret for months and now I see you having no problems wearing his name on your back, showing it off to the entire world before I even got to see you in my kit. My own girlfriend. Do you know how stupid I feel?"

You're not sure how it happened but Pedri is standing before you now, eyes shining bright with so much hurt. You know he won't back down. He never does. Struggling to breath, you take a step back. Your voice is thick when you speak. "This isn't fair."

"No," Pedri says, bitterly, stepping back as well. "It isn't." He exhales and looks to the side, eyebrows still drawn together. "I think you should go."

You stare at him. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly nod. Fine. Sure. Whatever he wants. Who cares what you want. You feel so tired. Without a word, you grab your phone and head out the front door, letting it slam behind you.

Three days later, a girl slips Pedri her phone number and he tucks it into his pocket. The video goes viral and your phone doesn’t stop going off, so you turn it off completely. After all, the only person you actually wanted to talk to still hasn’t called.

A week later, Pedri is flying to Madrid to train with the national team and the only reason you know about it is the red circle glaring at you on your kitchen calendar. How did it all fall apart so fast?

************

i have no idea what happens next or if anyone’s interested in reading a second part but if u are, let me know how you’d want this to be resolved and end bc pedri said some mean stuff here and we don’t know what the reader did or didn’t do and i honestly just never plan these things lmao stay hydrated x

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 17]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.1K

The kitchen crew left a little later than usual, having to prepare for a little more extravagant dinner last minute. Yunho knew that he would have to properly thank them for what they did. Hongjoong, Yeosang, Mingi and San stayed a little later than normal too, to help clean up the place just a tad more.

"Why am I nervous?" Yunho asked himself. He couldn't seem to calm his anxious heart down so he drove back to the restaurant, hoping to distract himself with a task there.

What he didn't expect was to see the kitchen lights on and hear someone bustling around.

"(Y/n)?" Yunho blinked in surprise, pausing at the doorway. You were in your own world again, music blasting in your ears as you worked on your dish in front of you with a focussed frown on your face.

"(Y/n)." He called out a little louder this time, not wanting to surprise you like last time.

"(Y/n)." He repeated, randomly sliding a spoon your way. You looked up as the spoon came into your view.

"Oh, Yunho. What are you doing here?" You straightened up, removing one AirPod, just as confused about his presence as he was with yours. He offered a small smile in reply and a tiny wave.

"Couldn't seem to sit still. What about you? Shouldn't you be resting before dinner service?" Yunho asked. You merely shrugged in reply, returning back to what you were doing. Yunho watched on curiously, seeing you marinate meat.

"Grab a stool and sit. Unless you're planning to stand the entire way?" You spoke. Yunho went out to grab a spare foldable chair, making sure he wasn't in your way.

"Are you nervous?" Yunho suddenly asked. He watched your hands pause for a split second before continuing.

"No. Are you?" You questioned back.

"I think so." He replied honestly, letting out a small sigh. Silence hung in the air of the kitchen for a while, only the sound of you massaging the marinade into the meat was heard.

"Why?" You continued the conversation, removing your gloves and round the counter to grab the pressure cooker.

"I don't know... I... I encouraged my parents to come. They've been nothing but supportive in regard to this... But..." Yunho trailed off.

"You still haven't felt like you've succeeded and made them proud? Despite them telling you otherwise. Especially since you opened this with your late grandmother's money?" You finished. Yunho's eyes widened slightly, you were spot on. That was exactly how he felt without being able to word it.

"That's right..." He rubbed the back of his head. You had now moved to the stove, closing the pressure cooker lid and turning on the flame, setting the right pressure for the meat.

"I know it's dumb."

"No, it's not. It's completely normal to feel that way." You said, coming back to where he was.

Casting a glance over at Yunho and seeing his sad face tugged at your heart a little. You put your knife down on the board.

"Yunho, let me be real with you. At that point, you're the only one that can change the way you feel. No amount of comforting or assurance will remove that nervousness." You told him.

"Do you think you've done anything worthy of shame in opening this restaurant?" You asked.

"No, I don't. I feel like I've poured my heart and soul into opening this place into the dream that I had with my grandmother." Yunho said. All the effort from himself and his friends to put this place together, there wasn't an ounce of regret in it.

"Then? Do you feel like you've wasted your grandmother's money in this?" Yunho shook his head. If anything, he wished his grandmother could see what he's done with the place.

"But there's still things I could have done better. If only I had known from the start..." He sighed.

"Of course. There are always things to improve on. But you're learning, this is a learning process. I told you that when you opened."

Yunho remembers fondly, you helping him when he hid in the walk in, nervous and worried of what could go wrong on opening day. You gave him courage.

"There's still a lot of things you will learn and improve on in the future. It won't always be smooth sailing." You said.

"But you just have to keep going and take them head on. That's what you're good at, right?" You let out a small chuckle. Yunho's head shot up as a grin formed on his face. You were right, once again, he had to keep going. He couldn't let the negative thoughts cloud his head and affect his performance.

"Did someone tell you that? To keep going." Yunho asked curiously.

"My mother. She used to tell me that while we worked in the kitchen. Every cut, burn, fail, she told me to just keep going." You replied, picking up your knife.

"She sounds like an amazing person." Yunho said kindly. You didn't reply to that, merely letting out a hum.

"I guess I'm also nervous with the other parents coming too, I feel responsible for the 'careers' of their sons. They could be doing other things out there but they may feel 'stuck' here with me."

"I know how you feel." You said.

"You do?"

"Every kitchen I've been in, I've had Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho with me. You've seen how talented they are. They could easily have secured a position at top restaurants. And yet, they give up so many offers to be with me." You explained.

"Because you're a good leader, (y/n). In many ways, you've given them so many opportunities I'm sure are not present in those professional kitchens out there." Yunho said.

"That may be true. But they could be earning more, have a stable job position, gain accolades." You shrugged.

"How do you overcome that feeling?"

"You don't... Until today, I always tell them that they can leave if they want to, I won't be mad. But they're stubborn, they always call me ridiculous." You had a soft smile on your face as you spoke.

"However, because of that, I know I can count on them and rely on them. I couldn't ask for a better team." You said.

"I feel the same about my friends. I'm so glad I have them with me, doing this with me."

"Then take each moment you have with them. Focus on what you have now, the confidence and faith you have in them. There'll always be 'what if's and doubts. It's a part of life. Every day, I ask Seonghwa why he's still with me. And after so many years, he still hits me on the back of my head for asking." You chuckled.

"I'm sure you're the same with Mingi." You said. Yunho nodded.

"He's been with me all the way, through everything that's happened in my life. The good and the bad." Yunho reminisced the memories of him and Mingi in middle school.

"So what are you making? I saw the list with everyone else's names on their dish." Yunho asked.

"Galbi tortelloni in seolleongtang broth with egg garnish and flavoured oils." You replied, walking into the pantry.

"Wow." Was all Yunho could say in reply. You hummed, cutting open the bag of gochugaru and pouring out what you needed onto the weighing scale.

"What's all that gochugaru for?"

"One of the oils is Korean chili oil. Take gochugaru, fry it in beef tallow then drain it." You said, going to the stove.

"Bring that over, please?" You requested. Yunho jumped to his feet immediately, bringing over the metal bowl with the gochugaru inside. You added some minced ginger into the mix and heated up the beef tallow, letting it melt and get hot.

"What other kind of flavoured oil are you making?" Yunho asked as you stirred the gochugaru in the melted beef fat to heat up.

"Spring onion oil. Just makes it fancy instead of sprinkling spring onions on top to garnish." You shrugged. Yunho nodded, watching you with interest.

"Now we turn off the heat and let that steep for 15 minutes then we drain it." You said.

"What are you going to work on now?" Yunho trailed behind you, following you back to the bench.

"We're going to make pasta." You retrieved a large metal bowl to hold all the ingredients that you were going to procure. It warmed Yunho's heart at how you naturally just said 'we' instead of 'me' or 'I'.

It seems like you didn't even notice it, just including him in without him having to offer his help as if it was second nature. He would never want to point it out and make you feel self conscious. And risk you stopping that habit, he liked that it was a sign you trusted him enough to rely on him comfortably.

"Eggs, oil, salt, tipo 00 flour." You placed the bowl of ingredients down on the bench.

"What po?" He tilted his head.

"Tipo 00 flour. It means that it is milled a lot finer than regular flour. It's made from softer types of wheat, giving it more protein and less gluten." You explained.

"Cool." He watched you accurately measure out the ingredients so the proportions will be right.

"Learning for to make fresh pasta or noodles in general has been one of the biggest game changers for me in culinary." You told him.

"Is all pasta made like this?" Yunho bent down next to you.

"Not really. Some use semolina or semola flour, which is hard durum wheat. It gives a tough texture, I use it if I want the pasta to keep it's shape like macaroni. But since I want to shape this pasta, I do it this way to get a softer dough that easier to work with."

"Wait, you're going to put galbi in the pasta?" Yunho's eyes widened. You nodded your head.

"That's why I have galbi jjim cooking in the pressure cooker. I'm going put chunks of meat inside. I also have seolleongtang cooking for as long as I have to make a rich broth." You pointed.

"Does cooking it in the pressure cooker make it taste better?" He knew his mother and grandmother used to use one too.

"Not exactly. I just don't have time to let it slow cook to soften. So using a pressure cooker speeds it up."

"I can't wait to taste the dish, (y/n)." Yunho grinned excitedly. You couldn't help but throw your head back in laughter. He was acting like the customer, not the owner.

"This is for the diners tonight." You shook your head.

"Well, I've got to eat too. Plus, you can't cook galbi jjim and not let me have some when you know it is my favourite. That's just being cruel." He pouted. Once again, you didn't know what came over you as you reached out to pat Yunho's head. It didn't help that his seated position made his height more reachable.

"I'm sorry! That really just keeps happening." You retracted your hand as realisation hit you. Yunho smiled softly, boldly reaching out to grab your wrist. He placed it on top of his head.

"I told you before. Don't apologise. I'm fine with it." He laughed. Yunho felt your hand just sit there for a bit.

But then, you moved. Your fingers gently carded through his hair as you stroked his head.

"Luckily I haven't started touching the flour yet." You commented.

"I'll be fine with that too." He said kindly. It was weird to describe, you've never really initiated physical contact with those outside your circle. But feeling Yunho lean into your touch made you soften.

"You're too kind, Yunho." You chuckled, pulling away and going to wash your hands so you could handle food again.

"I liked it so it wasn't me sacrificing anything." Yunho confessed shyly, his ears red.

You went back to work with Yunho accompanying you. You filtered out the chili oil and made the pasta dough, setting it aside to rest. Yunho had helped you with the hand kneading of the dough, even if it did take him a while to get the technique right.

"Here, try it. It's not done but we're getting there." You handed him a small bowl of the seolleongtang after having skimmed the impurities away from the top.

"Smells good." He leaned in to take a whiff. Yunho brought the bowl to his lips and took a sip.

"It's amazing. It's so good." He said, tasting the rich broth on his tongue. Yet, it wasn't too heavy or greasy.

"Hang on, taste it like this." You drizzled some chili oil and the green onion oil over the top. You looked at Yunho expectantly as he took another sip of the broth, now with the add ons.

"Now, tell me what you taste." You encouraged.

"The chili oil coats your tongue first, adding heat to cut the richness of the broth. Then you taste the green onion oil, it gives a fresh after taste."

"That's the intention." You smiled, happy with his answer. Yunho slowly drank the rest of the broth, wanting to savour the taste. His eyes still followed you as you moved around the kitchen to prepare. You made the egg garnish that will go on top of the dish, setting it aside for later.

"Take a break, (y/n). You've been on your feet for so long, take a seat." Yunho said, bringing his now empty bowl to sink to wash.

"Once I'm done with this." You replied. You rolled up the sheets of egg yolk and sliced it with your knife, doing the same with the sheets of egg white, to form noodle like strands.

"Yunho?" You turned around and saw that he wasn't there anymore. Leaving the kitchen, you found him outside.

"I made you a hot chocolate." Yunho blinked with the cup in his hand, about to bring it in to you.

"Not coffee?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Seonghwa hyung told us not to feed you too much caffeine..." He revealed with a wince. You rolled your eyes, mentally cursing Seonghwa for coming between you and your coffee.

"Thanks." You mumbled to show your unhappiness but gratefulness nonetheless. Yunho laughed at how grumpy you were when he told you what Seonghwa did. It was like you were trying not to throw a tantrum in front of him.

You sat at one of the side tables together, enjoying a short break and your drinks. Yunho sat opposite you, drinking his iced chocolate in solidarity with you.

"You can have coffee, you know?" You raised an eyebrow.

"It's okay. I don't mind this and I wouldn't want to tempt you to drink coffee." Yunho smiled. Gosh, he was too nice for his own good.

Your phone rang and you held the device, seeing Wooyoung calling you. Looking up at Yunho, he blinked back in confusion. You answered the call, sliding the phone to him.

"Yah! Where are you?!"

"Umm... Hi, Wooyoung." Yunho replied hesitantly while you looked out the window innocently, not wanting to be a part of this.

"... Yunho? Is that you? Why are you answering (y/n)'s phone? Where is she?"

"Hi. Yes, it is me. (y/n) handed the phone to me after answering so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say... We're both currently at the restaurant actually." Yunho spoke, a little worried with how Wooyoung was yelling but you seemed unaffected by it. Almost like you were used to this.

"Wait, wait. You're both at the restaurant? Did you even leave at all? I know (y/n) did because we dropped her home."

"Oh, I did. Don't worry. I just came in early and bumped into (y/n), who was already here. Do you... want to talk to her?" Yunho asked. You shook your head, mouthing 'no'.

"It's fine, she's probably hiding so she doesn't get in trouble. We're here to pick her up but I came upstairs to find her apartment empty."

"I see." Yunho looked at you with wide eyes and panic. You were stifling your laugh with your fist.

"Yah, (y/l/n) (y/n), I know you're listening now. Don't think you can use Yunho as a shield. You're gonna get it from us, especially Seonghwa hyung. Thanks, Yunho. We'll be there in a bit."

"Alright. See you." Yunho said and Wooyoung hung up. You let out a sigh. The boys wouldn't have let you come in early to prepare if they knew, worrying about you and wanting you to get enough rest. So you snuck here.

"Okay, Yunho. So you gotta protect me when the 3 come in here." You put your hands together.

"I'm sorry, (y/n). But all 3 of them scare me in some way." Yunho said.

"That's betrayal right there. Aren't golden retrievers supposed to be loyal and protective?" You asked jokingly, making Yunho shoot you a flat look.

"Why didn't you tell them you were coming here early to prep? They must have been worried." Yunho asked.

"Well, if I told them, they wouldn't let me come. Some times, I just want to cook. It's my own form of relaxation and doing it alone grounds me, brings me peace." You said.

"But they see it as me overworking." You scoffed. Any distraction away from your parents would suffice for you.

"They're just being good friends that are concerned about you." Yunho said. He knew how they felt because he would be concerned about you too. His words reminded you of Seonghwa's words this morning, him telling you how genuinely worried Yunho was about you when you called in 'sick'.

"Thank you for being a good friend and worrying about me, Yunho. But I'm okay, don't worry." You smiled softly, grateful that he openly cared for you even if you were new friends.

"I'm glad to hear that." He returned the affectionate smile. You looked out the window, leaning on your hand.

"If I had known you wanted to cook alone to get some peace, I would have come outside a lot earlier. I hope I didn't bother you." He said.

"You know what, I did get peace. I think I liked having you there with me in the kitchen." You confessed. If Yunho was shocked by your words, he didn't show it.

"Really? I wasn't too distracting?"

"Not at all. I thought I wanted to be alone. But you being there made me realise how much I didn't want to be alone. And when you left the kitchen first, I just hated the idea of being left on my own."

~

Series masterlist

[swifty-fox]

yo you post your fics on AO3? if so please share your user babe

omg yes I do! you can check my swiftywrites tag but

Masters of the Air:

Kingdom for a Kiss - 104k Long-form Postwar exploration of Clegan's relationship and their trauma. Explicit.

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.”

understanding in a plane crash: WIP (5 parter, three parts up) Prequel fic to Kfak, as told from John Brady's perspective as a POW

“The thing you can't quite put your finger on about DeMarco,” He says, “is that you want him to fuck you til you cry. Sorry to spoil the game for you.”

Brady stares at him and stares at him, alone in the Base’s Chapel and rosary halfway finished. He thinks he might throw up, or maybe strangle Curt Biddick and then throw up.

“Lock it up, Johnny, they’re gonna see you bleeding it all over soon.”

press your tired hands against my lips darling: Finished. 3K word re-write of the Bucks final conversation in the cockpit. Loose prequel to KfaK but with some minor inaccuracies Mostly SFW

Gale takes John's hand, brings the scarred knuckles to his mouth and holds it there, turns their hands over til he can place his lips to the pulse point at John’s wrist. It’s not a kiss, there’s no press or pursing of lips, but tender nevertheless, intimate in a way that makes Gale shudder. Cautious of whether John will even allow this.  

“I ain’t prayed in a long time,” Gale says whisper-soft. He feels John’s pulse skip a beat, “but I prayed every day you were safe and alive and coming back to me. Every morning, and every night.”  He lets himself cry again, tears hidden against the scarred skin of John's hand. 

Little Beast: Ongoing. Porn with a bit of Plot modern au of Burnout John and Priest Gale. total of 30k of them fucking and arguing. Three Parts so far. NSFW to the max

“It’s such a shame you’re cooped up in here like Rapunzel there Buck.” John drawls lazily. He makes a show of looking around “Is Mother Gothel nearby?” 

Buck has to fight back against another smile, wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the encouragement “Father Huglin is away at a conference today.”

“All alone without a chaperone.” 

The Old Guard:

in another life maybe you and i would be walking down an aisle in white: Finished Joe/Nicky (18K) Art Professor Joe & Art Conservator Nicky reconnect after ten years. This one is uh. Sad. Mind the tags. It's an incredibly personal piece to me and probably one of my favorites .NSFW

Dear Joe, you have always been the brave one and I wished every moment for even a drop of that. Perhaps that is why I claimed you as mine, out of a desperate need to have even an ounce of what made you, you. I desired you but I would not, could not ever let you in. I loved you and kept you and hurt you, keelhauled you against the impenetrable ship that was my heart and when the ragged pieces were left behind I still asked of you your silence.  

It is no wonder our love was left in bloody tatters on that lawn. 

Make me a Saint: Finished (8k) Nicky and Nile mete out some justice to a corrupt priest. NSFW for violence. Mind the tags. As of right now, my most popular fic

“ I was a priest before your bible was even written old man ” Nickys voice thunders in the tiny room, crackling over the walls like fire. Even Nile flinches at the sudden volume. He takes another step forwards, bracketing Father Marcus’ arthritic twisted feet with his own.

His voice does not shake.

“I preached the word of God before your language was even invented . I have known the church for longer than you can comprehend. I have seen great men and evil men take up the word of the Lord and I have seen them all rendered dust. I have seen you and I have judged you, Father Marcus. The Church may practice restraint but I do not. The diocese may have turned a blind eye I but I do not. The courts may have found you innocent but I do not . 

Calcification of a God: Finished (4K) Nicky has a lil Menty B and then Joe gives him a bath. Mostly SFW if I recall correctly

“I think,” Nicky says “If I were God, it was you I modeled humanity after. I think if I were God I would have left my throne in heaven to walk beside you and I would have been richer for it”

Yusuf chuckles “Death makes you sentimental my darling.”

Wolfstar:

Oh Captain, My Captain!: Finished, 1.6k Drabble of Wolfstar cuddling and reciting poetry. SFW

He cups the back of Remus’s head, presses him further into the safety of his body with a hand on his mismatched, misaligned rib cage and rocks them slightly. Remus grunts slightly. Sirius hides the teeth of his smile against the follow of his own neck and allows the curtain of his hair to cover them both for a moment. He listens to the two of them breath, always slightly out of sync, out of rhythm. Remus quick and labored, Sirius racing to catch up only to find himself charging ahead only to drop back behind when he tries to slow down. 

“ If I vibrate with vibrations other than yours, must you conclude that my flesh is insensitive ” That doesn’t fit quite right, so he tries another, brow furrowed and fingers tracing the knobs of Remus’ spine like the knots on a tree, with reverence and a little hint of greed. 

[chronically-ghosted]

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera. 

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right. 

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?” 

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face. 

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.” 

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?” 

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now. 

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate. 

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer. 

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again. 

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.” 

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.” 

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten. 

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down. 

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.” 

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?” 

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen. 

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly. 

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes. 

“You better go help your sister, Orion!” 

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck. 

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time. 

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket. 

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.” 

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face. 

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face. 

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?” 

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.” 

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.” 

Oh, you are going to kill him. 

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg. 

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face. 

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck. 

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek. 

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes. 

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?” 

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match. 

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee. 

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face. 

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter. 

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much. 

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs. 

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away. 

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal. 

Goddamn it. 

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?” 

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?” 

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?” 

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?” 

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”  

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb. 

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears. 

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?” 

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking. 

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder. 

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,” 

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back. 

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?” 

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?” 

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.” 

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch. 

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves. 

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife. 

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.” 

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.” 

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,” 

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.” 

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling. 

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.” 

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,” 

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.” 

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts. 

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.” 

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises. 

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.” 

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen. 

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.” 

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.” 

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can. 

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white. 

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.  

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.” 

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.” 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones. 

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way. 

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again. 

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly. 

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now. 

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again. 

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.” 

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks. 

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.