#i see taylor posted a fic

[ravensmadreads]

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.

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 8/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[lulu2992]

I don’t know what the story is or why I ended up improvising a new coloring technique as I went, but I had fun drawing this :)

[bluemoonscape]

Hey so. Based on the fact that this toxic af fandom ran a fandom favorite off the website for their transmasc character headcanons, I just needed to rant about people who gatekeep this fandom and these characters like they own them?? Newsflash, you don’t! Everyone is allowed to headcanon as they please. They’re not stating “x character is transmasc and that’s that.” They’re putting an idea out there that they like and connect to. It’s called a headcanon for a reason.

You know what? Yeah. Nonbinary Van, I love you. Bigender Nat, I love you. Transfem Misty and deeply repressed transmasc Jackie, I love you. I like those ideas and I’m not stating that’s the canon but I AM saying it’s fun to explore and there are pieces of canon that feed into it and lead me to think about this. You don’t have to agree with headcanons. You’re allowed to make your own headcanons and wholeheartedly love developing and sharing them. I hope the new Netflix fans brings a broader, more open-minded audience that’s able to appreciate writing, art, ideas, thoughts, opinions, etc. without losing their minds.

[fuckingyrs]

The sound of a body throwing itself onto one of the infirmary cots echoed through the mostly empty room, followed closely behind with a dramatic, but melodic sigh. “Can I say something mean?” 

“Probably not in front of the baby.”

Will groaned, looking up from his pile of patient reports he had been sorting for the past… year. “I hardly think eleven still counts as being a baby.”

Lee, who had been refilling first aid kits for the past two hours, contemplated this for a moment. “Maybe, but that’s besides the point. I’m six years older than you. You’ll always be a baby.”

“I’m going to say something mean. Will, cover your ears.”

“I’m not covering my ears, Taylor. Unlike you, I’m working right now and I need my hands.”

“Oh,” Taylor dragged, a taunt evident in her voice, "someone's grumpy.”

“He’s mad I put him on infirmary duty during arts and crafts.”

“Will, you aren’t good at arts and crafts.” Lee slapped her arm. “And you like working in the infirmary, you are constantly taking my shifts. It’s why I love you.”

Lee slapped her arm again. “Taylor, what the heck.”

Taylor groaned, “Fuck. Just say fuck. I’m begging you.”

“That’s besides the point. I had it with Cecil. We were going to finish our board game.” Will turned to Lee, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You knew this.”

Lee let out a long-suffering sigh and Will almost felt bad for causing a fuss, but really, Lee brought this upon himself. “Taylor, stop pawning off your shifts to Will. Will, stop letting Taylor’s pawn off her shifts to you. Also: I’m sorry about arts and crafts. The last few days have been hectic and I needed your help. I’ll make sure to not schedule you over arts and crafts next week.”

“I’m going to be home next week! Mama is picking me up, remember?”

Lee had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “Heck. I forgot. I’m sorry, Will.”

Taylor got up from her self-designated cot and walked over to Will, ruffling his hair once she was close enough. “I’ll take over the rest of your shift, buddy. You go have fun.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m already here. Arts and crafts is half-way done anyway. We wouldn’t be able to finish.”

“If you’re sure,” Taylor sighed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and Will let out a cry of protest because he could feel the lipstick stain there. He tried rubbing it away with his fingers but by the look on Lee’s face and the snickers Taylor was making behind him, he only made it worse.

Lee graciously handed Will a wipe before glaring at their sister. “Taylor, what are you even doing here?”

“I think I made that pretty obvious when I threw myself onto a bed and stated I was gonna say something mean. I came to gossip.”

“You should be at archery right now.”

“Mike was being a piss-baby. He wouldn’t let Josh and I try to hit one another. What’s the point of being in advanced archery if you can’t shoot at your brother? Moving targets!”

“So you left?”

“Yep. I found Silena and she offered to do my nails before I came by.”

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that resembled an old man at the end of his rope. Will suppressed a giggle at his brother’s anguish as Lee said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? My nails?”

“Leave Michael like that.”

“Why? He’s not in charge of me.”

“But I am. And he’s my second in command, so yes he is.”

Taylor groaned, flopping back onto her cot. “One, he’s like three weeks older than me, unfair. And two, none of that is important right now. What is important is that our father was here and didn’t say hi to any of us. Who does that?”

“Our father, apparently.”

Taylor flipped Lee off, showing off her new manicure. It was baby pink, like her lipstick, with a little sun in the center. “He gives those kids a ride, none of them his, and has the audacity to leave before saying hi? Hell, Will over here has never met him. He has time to bring a group of kids to camp, but can’t spare a lousy minute to check in on us? And I can’t say this to Michael or he’ll claim I’m “on the other side”.” Taylor sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. Will had only seen this look on her face a few times before: every time Luke was mentioned. “I’m just tired of feeling abandoned and I’m sick of feeling like it’s bad to think that.”

Lee stepped towards her, a soft, “Tay–” passing through his lips, before she sat up and shook herself out of her stupor.

“Instead of saying hi, he just causes chaos and disappears! He brings Percy back, which is never a good sign. Thalia is driving the sun chariot, and crashes it! Oh, and he brought that new weird kid that keeps bombarding everyone with questions.”

Will saw through the change of topic, and Lee clearly had to as well, but he allowed it to happen. He slapped her on the arm for the third time, “He’s not weird. He’s, like, eight. The kid is just excited. You were excited about camp once upon a time.”

Taylor turned to Will, jerking her head at Lee, “I think he’s finally lost it. When have I ever been excited by anything ever?”

Will grinned, “Yesterday, you beat Madi at Josh’s song quiz and you danced around the cabin for ten minutes.”

Taylor gasped loud and dramatic, clutching at her chest as she fell back onto her cot, chestnut hair falling all over her face in her fall. “William! How dare you accuse me of such things!”

[deerhobbs]

I need a fic where jackie is going on her first date with jeff and she makes shauna come with her because she doesn't want to be alone with him, but jackie gets really nervous and "goes to the bathroom" for the entire time. Meanwhile shauna is stuck having to fill jeff in on what jackie likes and stuff like that, and shauna says a bunch of embarrassing stuff to try and get jeff to change his mind about liking jackie. something about them being together potentially pisses her off and she can't tell why

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young Cardigan, Taylor Swift

For @sketchbookweek Day 5 - Teenagers

[cleopatraphouse]

what your favorite Parahumans ship says about you

(Obviously based on / inspired by @doubleca5t’s video series)

Taylor/Emma: You had a really hard time coming out as a lesbian.

Taylor/Sophia [ShadowSkitter]: Your favorite fanfic trope is enemies to lovers.

Taylor/Madison: You like redemption arcs, but you’re kinda lazy about it.

Taylor/Lisa [Smugbug]: “Be gay, do crimes” is not just a meme to you, it is your personal motto, it is your way of life. 

Taylor/Rachel [Wolfspider]: You are queer and neurodivergent. 

Taylor/Brian [Skrue]: Considering how uncommon this ship is you might honestly be Wildbow. 

Taylor/Alec [Jitterbug]: Your addiction to edgy boys who have trouble talking about their feelings is terminal. You have seven days left to live. 

Alec/Brian: You’re doing your best in a series with barely any viable M/M ships in the main cast. 

Alec/Brian/Lisa/Rachel/Taylor [Polysiders]: You’re super into the found family trope. You’re also super horny. 

Aisha/Taylor [Forgetabug]: “Hoe don’t do it” is your favorite meme and ideal relationship dynamic.

Aisha/Brian [Laborncest]: You have an incest kink. And low standards.

Aisha/Alec: Doing crimes is more important to you than being gay.

Amy/Victoria [Guts & Glory]: You have an amazing ability to ignore the parts of canon you don’t like. And you have an incest kink.

Amy/Taylor [Pillbug]: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of being lonely together.

Taylor/Victoria [Punch Buggy]: Your appreciation for strong female protagonists is only outweighed by your appreciation for exploring trauma.

Amy/Taylor/Victoria: You think most friendship drama could be solved with a threesome. And you have an incest kink.

Amy/Lisa: You just wanted good things for Amy. And really, you’re allowed to want that.

Lisa/Victoria: You’re just here for the hatesex.

Dean/Victoria: You had a pretty easy time of it in high school. 

Uber/Leet: One of the hottest things you can imagine is a dude saying “no homo” just as he gets balls deep in his boyfriend’s ass.

Lily/Sabah [Needlepoint]: You are a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of protecting someone.

Taylor/Dennis [Clockroach]: You like Worm, but you don’t get why it has to be so dark and morally ambiguous all the time.

Danny/Jack Slash [Jack Daniels]: You are desperate, DESPERATE for father figures. 

Assault/Battery: You think any joke can only be improved by slapstick.

Contessa/Number Man [Countessa]: You also ship Chell and Wheatley. 

Colin/Dragon: You’re a robofucker, obviously, but more than that you’re a transhumanist.

Ashley/Victoria [Starsong]: Your favorite fanfiction trope is useless lesbians.

Sveta/Victoria: You’re a firm believer in the inherent eroticism of shared trauma.

Erin/Rain: You have at least a passing interest in trad aesthetics, and a strong interest in FLR. 

Sveta/Weld: You like your monsters tragic and your relationships tragic-er. 

Rain/(any of the Heartbroken girls): You’re into femdom.

Jack Slash/Number Man: You toil in the yaoi mines all day and all night and have done so for at least twenty years.

[lovelytayforce]

The Amusing Novelty Of Photography - Chapter 2: Rush of Rain

Dot found herself moving before she could think her plan through. She pulled herself up and dashed upwards on what felt similar to the steepest hill she had ever hiked up! Her Ion blaster dangled and swung wildly at her side until she took it into her hand and didn’t hesitate to warm it up. “Megatron,” It was scorching, even the mist below that formed between their firepower seemed to slowly turn into a sauna between two hot-blooded machines. “I need you to trust me and move to the left.” She could almost hear his audible “What?” echo from below in her earpiece. Her brown eyes shimmered in the direct beam of the sun as she watched Starscream’s signature null ray attempt to outshine their own planet’s star above before she took a shot at Soundwave’s head. “Just trust me.” There was no moment of hesitation in those harsh few seconds as the smoke of her overworked blaster was blown to the wayside as Megatron made a feign of attack before backing away. Before the null ray could even flash their way, Soundwave’s optics met her eyes. It was strange being seen by him, noticed to the point of looking between each other’s souls. She could see even with his visor there was nothing there but unbridled rage, hurt, and something so recognizably human, that it almost pained her to keep gazing into them. Wistfulness. Her finger clicked on the trigger and she silently wondered what he witnessed within her eyes. Did he also feel as if they had connected, or was he too blinded by his pain to see who and what she was. ‘Because I saw the living being that you are…’ Dot thought. ‘Dr. Meridian was wrong…’ The shot missed his head by mere seconds, and the null ray caused a huge explosion of water and electronics in the area to spring to life only to stop in a frozen state. Dot stood up, never looking away from the blue mech as Megatron looked back up into the sky, putting the dots together for the eventual assassination attempt. “Which means you can’t use your signature move.” It was a risky but smart plan if Megatron had been alone, nullifying them all on equal terms with a two-on-one. The failure of their plan rained upon them. The sound that was usually comforting was eerie around the anger-induced smoke that spilled from Soundwave’s vents. Despite that, he kept pushing his frame to make noise even if it rattled his frame painfully as he kept staring holes into her person. Megatron for once, did not exist in his peripheral vision. It was just Dot and Soundwave. Her hands shook as she watched him, no one seemed to know what to do. It all depended on how he reacted. Through rain and smoke, Soundwave lifted his right servo, his sharp digits pointed toward her and she could see the shine of Megatron’s bright red optics reflected in the metal of them. They were in the form of a gun. Skywarp teleported in shortly and that was when Megatron moved. The sound of jet engines blasting off in the distance was loud. Soundwave made a gesture of shooting her with that servo of his and before Megatron could properly shoot at them. They disappeared. The rain stopped. And all the soldiers' guns slowly fell to the wayside to cool off for the day. Okay, cool,

And like that

We really mean it this time

I guarantee another era is upon us

~ Link for the full story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52059640/chapters/131659042

[unsteadylilactree]

A list of things that should be proof of buddie and would be if one of them wasn't a guy Part 14

Season 4

nothing in 4x07

4x08

Buck babysitting for Eddie except Buddie are more domestic than Eddie and Ana on their date. (Also they specifically framed the Eddieana date to be a misdirect and show that they were taking it glacially slow)

Chris has his priorities straight lol he doesn't want Eddie to have a gf

AND THEN CHRIS RUNS AWAY TO BUCK'S PLACE

This entire episode is just screaming that Eddie, Buck, and Chris work best as a family unit (*whispers conspiratorially* 'THE UNIVERSE IS SCREAMING AND YOU REFUSE TO LISTEN')

nothing in 4x09, 4x10, 4x11

4x12

Eddie being jealous that Buck was looking for the treasure with Taylor and not him :( ('i'll just be over here then. thinking. by myself. go team')

4x13

eddie reaching for buck

buck crawling under the truck to get him

eddie waking up just to ask if buck was okay

I've only seen buck this distraught at the well

4x14

Buck breaking down when he's telling Chris (specifically after finding out that Eddie should be okay)

Buck being the one to look after Chris (second. parent.)

Ana called Buck first when Eddie woke up?? did Eddie ask for him?

Eddie making sure Buck is okay

"you were there for him when i couldn't be. That's what matters"

"If i die you become Christopher's legal guardian" NOW WHY WOULD THAT BE HERE FOR ANY OTHER REASON THAN BUDDIE, HUH?

"But no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you"

BECAUSE, EVAN

the fact that Buck was the one to take eddie home from the hospital

in that scene, we focus on Eddie, Buck, and Chris, there's no hug with ana or anything until later.

Oh, that was a shorter season. Welp, that's all for now because I can't access season 5 in my country and there's so much in that season.

[bigassbowlingballhead]

The problem is when people don't know when to stop I just saw a blog in the tags that is depressed because taynick isn't real after the photo Taylor posted 😭

yeah... i saw that. i'm giving grace as they're a youngin. they'll learn in time how to enjoy the fiction from the reality, eventually they may even learn how to blend the fiction to reality in the best ways

[lulu2992]

Before things got better, they momentarily got worse…

(Although more violent things happen or have happened in Far Cry 5, I felt this needed a Mature Community Label, just to be safe)

Chronologically, this is the first time my Deputy Taylor’s story (you know, the one I’ll never fully write) really diverges from canon. This is also the least pleasant thing that happened between her and the Baptist.

Context and explanation under the cut:

While John is busy taking Hudson back to her “room”, Taylor manages to grab a knife in his toolbox (with her teeth) and to cut the ropes around her wrists. She considers leaving the Confession room to go look for her colleague, as we do in the game, but she quickly realizes that not only has she no idea where Hudson is, but that trying to find her way through an unknown, presumably huge bunker filled with cultists also isn’t the best idea. Instead, since the chair is still intact in this scenario, she decides to sit down, hold the ropes around her wrists to make it look like she’s still tied up, and wait for John to arrive so she can ask him where Hudson is… and maybe tie him up and steal his key, while she’s at it.

When he comes back, he seems relieved that she’s still here, and he politely (but not without a hint of irony) thanks her for her patience. She tenses when his eyes linger on the ropes for a few seconds, but he then simply smiles at her and asks if she’s ready to Confess her sins. She shrugs and replies that she doesn’t really have a choice.

“Very well,” he says. “But before we begin…”

He comes closer and leans over her, placing his hands on the ropes around her wrists.

“…did you really think that I wouldn’t notice?”

At this point, he’s not smiling anymore. Feeling suddenly cornered and in danger, Taylor pushes him over using her feet and a fight ensues, during which they mostly try to subdue (and not kill) each other. He’s a more powerful opponent than she expected him to be, partly because he’s absolutely furious that she “betrayed” him, and anger makes him stronger. At one point, he even manages to overpower her and, in pure rage, puts his hands around her neck.

A few seconds later, the Deputy’s survival instinct will cause her to deal a powerful blow to the Baptist’s left cheek, effectively knocking him out.

Taylor was wearing a t-shirt when she woke up in the bunker, but it was ripped open by John, as it is in the game, and she lost what was left of it in the fight. She even briefly used it as a “weapon” to try to make him lose his balance. That said, I want to stress that this scene isn’t supposed to look sexy, and they were too busy fighting to really pay attention to that anyway. John also lost his glasses that day, as you can see on the right of the picture.

I don’t know if you noticed the bruises on Taylor’s neck, on her knuckles, and on John’s cheek here, but if you did, that explains them.

Later in the story, when their Wrath has considerably subsided and their relationship has positively evolved, they will get to talk about this incident again so they can move forward together. Acknowledging your past helps you build a better future.

[happi-tree]

your eyes look like coming home

On their two-week journey back from Earth, the protective paladin watches over his sleeping friends. As it turns out, though, he's not the only one having trouble getting some shut-eye.

Title from "Everything Has Changed" by Taylor Swift (yes, that one)

*waves* Hello dndads fandom! Enjoy some post episode-23 taylor/link (taylink? swiftli?) softness bc they deserve it 💗💗💗 ft. my part-demon trait hcs for Taylor and a nonzero amount of unintentional foreshadowing!

Lincoln had always been an early riser - more out of self-imposed obligation than anything else, really - but lately, he’s been finding himself staying up later and later, unable to rest. The concept of sleep itself is like a dream he can’t quite grasp, reminiscent of the firefly-golden flickers of memories that are not his. 

Gossamer and effervescent and magical and horrible, they sear themselves into the backs of his eyelids even now, miniature sunbursts in the darkness (and all of those metaphors in English class make sense now that he’s actually seen a sun) filling his senses with too-hot-too-bright-too-much. Every time he closes his eyes, the flashes linger like so much of its static in the back of his mind, always present like the undulating black not-sky of his true homeland, always watching like the red-black eye that gazed blinkingly upon his entire childhood. 

And this is all too much for Link to deal with, and he can’t change the past no matter how it haunts him, and he can’t command its all-seeing form to turn away, so he sits quietly in the middle row of the Pussywagon and watches with bloodshot eyes as his companions slumber. 

If he’s awake, at least he can look out for his friends. 

He can look at Scary and take comfort in her even, deep breaths and her ramrod, borderline vampiric posture as she mutters in her sleep, her nightcap slightly askew atop disheveled black-magenta hair. He grimaces to himself a bit as she grumbles incoherently - Link doesn’t trust this Willy guy one bit, but after these past weeks, he’s just glad to see her sleeping peacefully. Glad that her chest rises and falls with each breath, glad that her typical sneer has faded at the corners, rounding out her face into something younger, more like the girl that used to lead the varsity soccer team.

If Link’s still conscious, he can look at Normal and breathe a quiet sigh of relief that he’s not thrashing in his sleep anymore, every cell in his body begging for its presence to get out of his head as he dreams. Even still, silent tears stream down his acne-ridden cheeks, face contorted into an anguished mask so unlike his enthusiastic smiles, and Lincoln finds himself mumbling words of comfort on instinct. He feels the now-familiar twinge of magic siphoning from between his cells and coalescing into an invisible, intangible something that smooths the furrows between Normal’s brows, eases the tension of his jaw as the boy exhales more steadily than before.

If Link can force his eyes to stay open, he can look at his father, now more childlike and more intensely violent than he has ever known him. He had fallen asleep at the wheel (and Link is eternally grateful that this cat-bus can drive itself), smartphone abandoned on his lap playing the low-volume, tinny Fortnite theme on its dim screen. He snores annoyingly loudly, and Link is hit with a pang of homesick-nostalgic-bitterness at the sound. Link gingerly reaches across to shut off the device and has to shake off the innocent, desperate part of himself that wants to cuddle up next to his dad and feel safe in his warm embrace. (That ship has long since passed, now. The only protection Link has is the safety he makes for himself.)

If Link refuses to sleep, he can look at Hermie, who has graciously taken the passenger seat next to his dad. He’s been through a lot of unnecessary trouble for their little group, and despite his initial misgivings, Link can’t help but worry for him, especially given the more recent revelations about his parentage. Hermie twitches in his sleep, hissing when the worn upholstered seat rubs too harshly on his partially-healed burns. Link’s going to have to see about healing those the rest of the way soon - maybe Normal can help with that, too, since he seems to have a soft spot for the guy. A conversation for the morning (or what amounts to it in the void), definitely. 

If Link just stays awake, he can look at Taylor, who -

“Hey,” a familiar, nasally voice calls out from the purple-tinted not-quite-darkness, accompanied by a crooked smile that looks several shades thinner than usual. 

Oh. Taylor’s still awake. 

Carefully, Link shuffles across the seat toward Taylor’s prone form. A singular eye is cracked open, glowing amber like a yellowed headlight. It’s a different hue of gold than the shades from the church, Link thinks, a soft, pretty color, and then wonders why he thinks that. Must be the lack of sleep.

“Hi,” Link says, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

“You’re trying to stay awake, aren’t ya?” 

“Someone’s been working on their perception, I see,” Link replies in lieu of a direct response, and it earns him a quiet huff of laughter. It’s such a childlike sound, like a secret shared at the sleepovers they had as much younger kids, and it makes Link ache for something that none of them can ever get back. 

“You look exhausted, man,” Taylor says, and both of his eyes are open now, molten-honey sclera fixated directly on Link. 

“Says you,” he retorts, taking in the bags beneath those lamplight eyes, the way Taylor’s knees press against the seat in front of them. “You don’t even have a blanket, dude, no wonder you can’t sleep. You must be freezing. Here, let me -”

“No!” Taylor says, the sudden volume making Link freeze as he holds up the edge of a thermal blanket (it’s actually Taylor’s, one of many the boy had stashed in his “go bag”) for his friend. 

“I mean, nah, man,” Taylor repeats, quieter. “I run pretty warm usually - ‘s why I gave my blanket to Scary. I actually, uh, overheat a lot? And Mom and I could never figure out wh-” and Link watches realization cross Taylor’s face in tandem with his own. 

“Oh,” Taylor says, a soft, broken syllable as he looks down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. “Oh. That tracks, I guess.”

His eyes shift upward, easy to track in the dark, and something in Link’s body language forces a half-laugh out of Taylor.

“It’s, uh, pretty cool, actually! Another power to add to my main character repertoire. Living furnace, baby! Perks of being half-demon,” Taylor cracks a grin, and it’s a bit wobbly around the edges. 

If Link was to put Taylor’s typically unshakeable confidence on a scale of, say, one to twenty, he’d probably give it a solid six. 

“Speaking of, how are you dealing with, uh, all of that?” Link offers hesitantly, briefly looking down at the way Taylor’s hands clench-unclench-clench.

“Pfft, all of what? The fact that my dad’s a kickass demon and now the government’s after me? Just a typical day in the life of a cool shounen protag like me!” Taylor jerks a thumb toward himself in emphasis, slightly-sharp teeth glinting in the purple-tinted dark. 

“If you say so,” Link says, uncertain. “It’s just, I meant to check in with you earlier, but between all of the… well…” Link makes some stupid, aborted gesture with his hands that does absolutely nothing to convey all of the mind-bending shit they’ve seen since the FBI. 

“You worry a lot, don’t you, big guy?” Taylor mutters, forcing Link to look up from fidgeting with the hem of his tattered Ho Topic shirt. 

“I mean, aren’t you worried?” Link responds. “It’s just - a few weeks ago, the biggest thing I had to worry about was getting on varsity next season, and now the fate of the world is at stake? And we could die at any moment? And I don’t even know my own dad anymore? We’re just - fuck, we’re just kids. We shouldn’t have to deal with… everything. Of course I’m worried, and I’m stressed, and I don’t know what we’re-!”

“Woah, woah, woah, dude,” Taylor says, waving his hands in a lowering sort of motion, and Link hadn’t realized how loud his voice had gotten.

“Sorry,” he squeaks, voice cracking pathetically.

“All good, my man,” Taylor reassures, and he must’ve scooted closer to Link without him noticing, because -

“Wow, you really do run warm,��� Link says, almost to himself. “You’re like a tiny space heater.”

“I - I’m not that tiny!” Taylor splutters, temperature briefly spiking even warmer. “Some of us haven’t hit our growth spurt yet, mister tall-dark-and-handsome!”

“I - wh-” Link hopes his complexion hides the heat in his cheeks, because he’d hardly call himself handsome.

Taylor just scoffs. “Unbelievable. I know being all sheltered is like, your whole thing, but you’re really pretty, dude, you gotta know that. Like, prime shoujo love interest material, here!” He sounds genuinely exasperated that he has to spell this out, and then his pupils constrict comically (kind of like a cat’s, Link notes. It’s pretty cute), and he blurts, “In like, a totally platonic no-homo kind of way, uh. Yeah. Heh.”

“Oh,” Link says, because how the hell is he supposed to respond to that?

And then, because he apparently likes shooting himself in the foot, he says “Did you know that your eyes glow in the dark? They look pretty cool.”

“I’m always c- wait, really?!” Taylor nearly falls over in his attempt to pull his phone from one of his many, many pockets, only to pull a face at whatever he sees.

“Damn, guess they don’t show up on camera that well,” he mumbles. “Lame.”

“The white parts are like, this warm, pretty coppery-amber color,” Link tells him, only half-aware of what he’s saying. “Like honey. Or apple juice. And it’s kinda faint, but they glow like Christmas lights, or like, candles or something. They suit you,” he says, voice low, and he realizes that he’s much closer to Taylor’s face than he had been thirty seconds ago. “Uh. I mean. They look cool. Yeah.”

Open mouth, insert foot. At least he hadn’t said that Taylor’s eyes remind him of home or something ridiculous like that. Jesus Christ. 

“Didn’t know we had another poet in the bus with us,” Taylor says after a moment of stunned silence. “Not gonna lie, that was kinda fruity, dude,” he teases, nudging an elbow to his ribs.

Link’s stomach briefly drops, and then he remembers the pink-purple-blue striped pin on the jacket Taylor always wears, and Link lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“Says the guy who called me handsome,” he deflects.

“Hey, I said no homo! What’s your excuse?”

“I’m wearing socks,” Link counters.

And Taylor laughs, sudden and sharp and incandescent for the briefest of moments before he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

It’s stupidly contagious, and Link bites down on his grinning lips to suppress any sound, his shoulders shaking with the effort. 

He really likes Taylor’s laugh, Link realizes. He should get that sound to happen more often.

Eventually, Taylor pulls his hand away from his mouth, and Link is greeted with a smile - a real, genuine smile, not one of those fake smirks he uses like a shield, but something open and unguarded, matching the warmth in those shining eyes. 

The temperature spikes again from beside him, and Link’s eyes dart away from curling lips and flashing teeth in concern. “You alright, man?”

“Yup!” Taylor chirps, wobbly and high-pitched. Link decides not to comment on the voice crack. His eyes dart around a bit, and then he asks, “Uh, got enough blanket there, man?”

“Wha- oh,” Link says, looking down at the way that his feet and the majority of his shins peek out from the borrowed rectangle of fabric. “Most blankets don’t really uh… account for taller people. ‘M used to it.”

“Tch. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Taylor murmurs.

“Seriously, dude, it’s fi-” suddenly, it feels like Link’s holding the sun again, except this warmth doesn’t burn him and it’s also person-sized. Because Taylor is pressed up bodily against him, a line of soothing heat from shoulder to knee. 

“Uh.” 

Taylor leans away the slightest of millimeters, and Link has to stop himself from leaning with him. 

“Oh, I totally should’ve asked if you were okay with that, man, I just thought that since-”

“You’re fine, Taylor,” Link says, and he finds that he truly means it. “Just surprised me, is all.”

“Really?” Taylor asks. “Not too weird or like, awkward for you?”

“I mean, we’re both wearing socks, aren’t we?” Link jokes. “It feels pretty nice, actually.”

“Well c’mon, then, get some of this hot half-demon bod!” Taylor says, winking as he pulls one of Link’s arms across his shoulders. 

“Mmkay,” Link mutters, the comforting supernatural heat already beginning to lull him to sleep. He turns onto his side, curling subconsciously around Taylor’s warmth, and if he was any less exhausted he might’ve realized that he was practically spooning his smaller friend. As it is, though, he pulls Taylor closer to his chest and rests his chin atop greasy black hair with a quiet “Thanks.”

And as the warmth spreads through his body, his dreams are colored with a blessedly warmer shade of gold.

[pulsedmaggot]

crawling around like a peasant beggar. slipknot writers who dont mind futzing around gender stuff: do yall have any trans(either way)/gnc corey fic recs or headcanons. i poked around like one fic myself but id like to see what the general Vibes are w this specific take... thinking of making a fic myself so i wanna compare ideas! either reply to this post or send an ask xo

[ladysomething]

Outside characters are going to see the collar???!!!! For some reason my brain had assumed that it was more of a threat lol, not something Max was actually going to force him to wear outside in front of other people. Omgg, I cannot wait to see what happens next and I cannot wait to see more Max POV to figure out what he’s thinking ahh

oops I've said too much 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

guess you'll just have to wait and see how it happens 🤭🤭🤭🤭

[claratyler]

what exactly is the problem if you’re reading a fanfic and realize the title comes from a taylor swift song why would that possibly bother you she has no bearing on the actual fanfic whatsoever. why do you hate her so much that an irrelevant mention in passing fills you with that much rage? genuine question because I’m confused here

ok im feeling exasperated here so bear with me. but what is so difficult to understand about the concept of not liking a thing and then having to see that thing everywhere and then feeling annoyed about it