#i'd prefer that they never see the light of my dashboard

[mouseteeths]

Reminder: you do not have to reblog obvious bait. When someone's saying wild dumb shit in bad faith and it has no notes, the best things you can do are A. Ignore it. Block them and let their post flop. B. Make your own post. You can always talk past people rather than with them. (Added bonus that you're always the winner when you're educating instead of arguing.)

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

[starlightshadowsworld]

Sorry if I ended up spamming your notifs but I looked through your dashboard cuz of that Fukuzawa post- how he could feel the bond snapping if the people he consider his subordinates died, and... never in my life have I considered that bond could've applied to Fukuchi when the guy left---

(But then it crossed my mind as I write this that idk if it's fortunate or devastating for Fukuzawa if something life-threatening happened to Ranpo because Ranpo doesn't have an ability that bonded with All Men Are Equal.)

Anyways, I love your post about Atsushi being in the mafia as part of the exchange cuz I love seeing Mori suffer.

I always define Atsushi as "light in the darkness" because in Beast, that's how he was for Kyouka (he'll always be her light).

Sorry for rambling, I should've sent you this as a message but idk if you'd feel comfy about some random acc popping in your inbox.

First off, ramble away.

I love having discussions and stuff about the stuff I talk about.

You're good, I don't mind. If you or someone else was spamming my inbox, I'd let ya know.

I do generally prefer people message me thro the asks, especially if I don't know you.

That aside and onto ur message.

I just can't get over that line of Fukuzawa saying he'd know if Kunikida had died.

That in some way he would've felt it. And I see it as a connection, as an almost physical bond between them that would've been cut.

And the idea of his connection with Fukuchi breaking. What was possibly one of the oldest connections Fukuzawa had, dissolving over time.

Fukuzawa trying to hold onto it because he still sees him as his friend. But it's broken and there's nothing he can do to get it back.

And it being so sad because Fukuzawa is used to these bonds breaking at death, but Fukuchi was lost to him long before he died.

I didn't think about Ranpo.

I think Fukuzawa sees it as both a blessing and a curse that he can't feel if Ranpo is okay.

But it's a testament to their bond that it isn't required. They trust each other so much, that it's like a sixth sense for Fukuzawa to know what Ranpo's up too.

While also knowing that if he wasn't grey before he met Ranpo, he would've definitely gone grey after meeting him.

Agreed.

Atsushi is the beast beneath the moonlight. He is the literal light in the darkness.

The idea of Kyouka envisioning the light with Atsushi as a apart of that, is gonna make me cry I love them both.

Atsushi in the Port Mafia to me is Mori being like I'm gonna corrupt you and Atsushi's like power of friendship motherfucker.

Atsushi won't go to therapy but you bet your ass he's giving everyone in the Port Mafia therapy.

Atsushi met Mori as werid ex doctor who gave him good but advice once. I think he'd be a bit... Skeptical this man is the head of the Port Mafia.

I think he'd listen to him but would think through and use that advice while following his own morals.

Like he did before.

Which is infuriating and fascinating to Mori because clearly Atsushi gets where he's coming from... He just won't do it.

Quite a juxtaposition from everyone else in the Port Mafia follows Mori without question.

But Atsushi does not.

I love the idea of his interactions with Mori are him being mostly maliciously compliant.

Like he's not outright doing something wrong but he's still pissing him off.

Something Dazai and Kunikida would've definitely taught him.

Like Mori's going on a whole spiel and Atsushi is just colouring on the floor with Elise paying him no attention.

And Mori can't say anything because Elise is so happy so he's just silently seething.

That whole Anne's Room episode and seeing these two interact for the first time, with Atsushi not knowing Mori's identity

Is just so intresting to me. More interactions between them is something I want.

That and I'd be curious to see if there was any information to do with the Port Mafia getting the bounty for Atsushi from the Guild and Fyodor.

Because yeah it could've just been for the reward, but was there more to it than that?

Or if the Headmaster had connections to the Port Mafia.

Because however small it may be, the Headmaster still made contact with the Port Mafia to sell a gun.

He's not from the area, but somehow arranged a meeting with them.

And in my opinion died very suspiciously.

I mean I personally hc that the injections the Headmaster was giving Atsushi were obtained from Mori when he was an underground doctor.

Whether that's true or not, idk but it would be intresting if Mori knew more about Atsushi than we realise.

But yeah that's just some of my thoughts.

[gangst3rswife]

Ty for the tag!! I love these questions 🥺

---

Birdsong or crickets chirping? (I'm absolutely in LOVE with birds and their song)

Full or crescent moon? (but either way, the moon is one of my most favorite things)

Winter or summer constellations? (silly me doesn't know the difference 😅)

Daisies or buttercups? (buttercups! They're so cute and bright and yellow! Even the name is cute!)

Melody or harmony? (I lovelovelove harmony, but melody! It's, in a way, the foundation of harmony)

Hiking or biking? (honestly Ive never been hiking, but I love walking and I love nature, so! (but biking is so therapeutic and peaceful... Now I'm not sure I love both)

Woods or meadows? (I love the idea of the woods. I'd run in it and live in it if I could, but at the same time there's something spooky about it to me too. Somehow suffocating. But then again a meadow feels a little too open and wide to me. Hmmmm now I'm not sure XDD)

Restaurants or cafés? (cozy, peaceful, aesthetic, it smells good-- need I say more?)

Analog or digital clock? (analog for aesthetic, digital for speed(I'm slow at reading analog.. )

Unfailing love or living hope? (ooh... I think living hope, but it's so hard to choose wdjsjs)

Silence or conversation? (as an introvert, I can really appreciate silence, but conversation 🥺. Being able to connect with others, to hear stories, etc. So both wdjsjshsb)

Sunlight through leaves or sunlight on water? (through leaves !! The peace, the silent vibes with a glimpse of light in between the shadows 🥺)

Learning a new language or learning to play a new instrument? (I love music, but honestly I think I'd prefer learning different languages, different cultures, different ways of communication, etc.)

Picnic or tailgate party? (ooh... I have good experiences with both! And often times we mix them into one thing)

Honeybees or bumblebees? (no reason really. Tbh, bees are one of my fears so XDD)

Calling or texting? (texting unless I'm comfortable enough with you that I either 1) know we won't have awkward silences or 2) won't mind awkward silences)

Learning or teaching? (I lovelovelove learning so! And I don't have the patience to teach XD)

Familiarity or novelty? (I'm the kind of girlie who hates change 😅)

Downpour or drizzle? (downpour! And then getting to play in the rain! Or just walk! Or chill!)

----

no pressure tags!!

@bookwormgirl123 @doublere @dreas-mind @last-aid-kit @heathcliffgirl2002 @myrthena @historimaker @xilmaart @princess-of-onions @inwhichiramble @acrypticmuse @izloveshorses @hiraofficial @regencyroaster @a-sadnoodle @1sz @feral-ballad @youshouldrespect

(ik most of yall don't know me,, but hello! And hello to my mutuals as well! We may not interact much but I love seeing yall on my dashboard :>>)

This or that (joys edition)! Tag 10 people you want to get to know better!

Birdsong or crickets chirping? Full or crescent moon? Winter or summer constellations? Daisies or buttercups? Melody or harmony? Hiking or biking? Woods or meadows? Restaurants or cafés? Analog or digital clock? Unfailing love or living hope? Silence or conversation? Sunlight through leaves or sunlight on water? Learning a new language or learning to play a new instrument? Picnic or tailgate party? Honeybees or and bumblebees? Calling or texting? Learning or teaching? Familiarity or novelty? Downpour or drizzle?

Tags are no pressure and open for anyone who isn’t tagged to jump in! @mademoiseli @sliverswords @overthinking-with-katy @scribblermerlin @catkin-morgs @through-hallows @rubyjewelqueen @pepperonyscience @i-love-books-because-reasons @daisywords

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons - an AU rewritten

Cat x Steve 💜

A/N: Billy is an asshole. Cat finds love in the arms of Steve

T/W: Eating disorder, self harm, suicide attempts, mention of sexual assault

Cat's POV

Another party. Another house full of nameless faces. Another night of barely managing panic with burning alcohol.

What the queen must do for her king.

Push down the memories. Smile. Accept every drink and more. Dance, laugh. Don't freak when a stray hand touches, it's harmless fun, right?

Right.

I lost Billy early on in the night, swept away in a sea of jocks to protect his crown. I was left behind, letting the music pound through my bones as I joined the crowd of dancers. I was well and truly wasted by the time I saw Billy across the room. He was standing in the kitchen, arms crossed against his chest as he stared at me. Saw a pack of guys I barely recognized around him, talking and laughing and then...gesturing at me. I watched Billy's shoulders tense, rolling back tightly as they kept talking to him. Watched his jaw tense and his eyes darken.

The guys around him stared and I glanced away when flashes of memory came back, making panic swell. Felt myself being bumped around by chaotic dancers when I stopped moving. Just a moment, a moment of blood pounding in my ears. Of trying to gulp down breaths. My hands came up to my chest, like I could hold myself together and stop my heart from thundering out of my ribs if I just held tight enough.

A moment of panic taking over until I felt a large hand on my arm, yanking me through the crowd. I stumbled along, just trying to stay upright until I was pulled outside, being shoved down the driveway by a very angry Billy.

"Wait, Billy, slow down! You're hurting me!"

He let go of my arm with the next push forward, my hands flying up to catch myself on the hood of his car before I ended up face first in the gravel.

"Billy! What the fuck?"

"Get in the fucking car," he growled, storming around to the driver's side and slamming the door shut behind him.

I crawled into the passenger seat, tucking myself against the door as he peeled out of the driveway. He was weirdly quiet, muscles clenching in his jaw and hands flexing on the steering wheel. Beyond angry.

"B, what's wrong?"

The engine revved louder, creeping up to dangerous speeds as we whipped around corners.

"B, please. Slow down," I pleaded, reaching out to graze his arm.

He flinched, "don't."

"Don't? Billy, what's wrong?"

"Don't play fucking dumb!" He yelled, "you cheated on me!"

I stared at him, dumbfounded and whispered, "what?"

He stomped on the brake, launching me forward until my seatbelt locked, digging into skin to stop me from flying into the dashboard. Let out a loud huff of breath as he threw the car into park and then...he exploded.

"The last summer party, I wasn't there so you threw yourself at them. What? You're so needy you couldn't handle being alone for a few fucking hours so you sleep with a fucking group of guys?"

I shook my head, "no...I, that's not..."

"Quit lying to me! They told me all about it, that you asked for it! They bragged about how good you were. You refuse to sleep with me but a group of strangers is fine? Seriously? Just to fuck with my head? To get back at me? Well, good fucking job! You got me!"

"B...no..I didn't..."

"Get out," he muttered.

I quickly glanced out the window behind him, at the blackness of the night, the houses I knew were closer to his house than mine.

"B..."

"Get out of my car, you fucking whore!"

I scrambled to get out of the car, barely holding back tears until he peeled away.

I collapsed just inside the door of my house when I finally got home. Fell against the door, hugging my knees and sobbing loudly into them. Crawled to the phone, pulling it down to the floor to dial. It took a while before he finally answered.

"Hello?" His voice was low and groggy, still mostly asleep.

"Stevie?" I sobbed, "I need you."

"Five minutes," he murmured before hanging up.

I curled up on the floor, feeling like my chest was cracking open. A jagged chasm starting at my heart and spreading out, threatening to break me to pieces and swallow me down.

I didn't hear Steve's car pull into the driveway, didn't notice the front door opening. I just suddenly felt myself being scooped up, pulled forward into a warm chest and tucked under his chin. Holding me together.

Steve sat there, running his hand up and down my back as I cried into his chest. The soft material of his shirt soaking up saltwater until it clung to his skin.

"It's okay," he murmured into my hair, "I'm here. I'm always here."

-- Steve's POV

Cat and I had been inseparable for the past couple weeks since her and Billy broke up. I'd spent more nights wrapped around her then I spent by myself. I found myself having nightmares more often that not and preferred to not spend the night alone, but we would compromise with calling each other if we had to be apart.

Nightmares where I was running through a sea of people, struggling to break free of them. Where I knew Cat was in danger but I could never find her until it started raining. Cold water poured from the sky, dissolving the people I'd been pushing through until I was face to face with Cat. "Why didn't you save me?" She'd cry. The rain turned to acidic blood, burning me and staining her skin as I watched her shrinking before my eyes. Skin stretched tight over jutting bones until it burst, leaving jagged rips in her skin. "Why didn't you save me?" She'd cry again. "I'm trying!" I'd scream. But she always dissolved into ash, floating away into nothing. Then I'd jolt awake, panting and panicked, sometimes waking Cat and Rocky when I did. Cat would roll over to sleepily nuzzle her face into my bare chest and stretch her hand across my stomach to intertwine her fingers with mine while murmuring, "it's okay, I'm here, Stevie." The nights I didn't wake her, I'd wrap my arms tight around her, holding my breath as I waited to feel her chest moving and then I'd sigh into her hair and wait for sleep to take me again.

She had eventually stopped crying every night, but I could tell she was hiding how she was really feeling. Even though she would laugh and smile around me, I could still see her slowly wasting away, could see hollows become darker and angles become sharper. I could see the hurt that she had buried deep inside. I wanted nothing more than to take that away, to bring the light back to her life and keep her protected. To stop my nightmares from becoming reality.

Tonight, Cat had gone home by herself with the promise to call me later. She had said she wanted to spend some time with her mom. But it was nearing eleven o'clock and I still hadn't heard from her, usually if she was alone she would have called by nine or ten. My worry got the best of me and I decided to just drive over and check on her.

I was met with a quiet house. Too quiet. I ducked into Cat's room first and found it empty except for Rocky. I padded over to the bathroom and knocked lightly on the door.

"Cat? You in here?"

I waited in silence for a moment before pushing the door open and freezing. I felt like my heart had dropped into my stomach and kicked up into my throat at the same time. My throat was so tight I didn't think I was actually breathing, except I could hear the quick, panicky breaths I was taking.

Cat was lying in a tub full of water, only wearing a bra and underwear. I'd seen her naked before, knew that she was sick but there was still no way to be prepared. No way to prepare yourself to see the hollows between her bones, the new and old scars across her body. It broke my heart to see her, to know that I wasn't able to protect her from this. From herself.

Her head lolled against the side of the tub, just barely out of the water. I lurched forward, dropping down hard on my knees next to the tub and yanked the plug out before grabbing the sides of her face.

"Cat, hey!" I gently slapped her cheek, trying to wake her up.

I saw her eyes twitch and felt a moment of relief. I looked around for a towel and saw an empty bottle of aspirin lying on the ground next to the tub.

"Fuck," I muttered, "fuck, fuck, fuck, okay."

I knew what I had to try, had heard what to do in this situation before. So I climbed into the tub behind her, holding her cold, wet body against my chest and reached forward to turn the shower on. Warm water sprayed over us, soaking my clothes.

"Come on, Cat," I pleaded, pressing my fingers past her lips, "please, don't leave me."

I pressed harder, my fingers dipping into her throat. I tensed when her body jerked and kept pushing my fingers down her throat until she puked. Tipped her forward to direct the puke into the drain and then leaned back to let her head rest on my shoulder.

"Hey, come on, Cat. Wake up, please."

I tried to shake her, which only resulted in a small groan. I had to force her to puke twice more before she started coughing and her eyes fluttered open.

"Oh my god," I sighed, wrapping my arms around her, "it's okay, I'm here, I've got you."

She tipped her head into my chest and started crying, clutching my shirt in her hands.

"Why...why would you...?"

"I didn't-"

"Don't...there's no way you can tell me this isn't exactly what it looks like. Why didn't you call me?"

She curled tighter against me and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back tears.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry, Stevie."

"Hey," I soothed, "we're okay, I've got you."

I leaned forward to turn the water off and pulled Cat up and out of the tub.

"Where are the towels?"

She gestured towards a closet and I got her to sit on the edge of the tub before I went to gather towels. When we were mostly dried off I picked her up and carried her to her room where I set her on the edge of her bed and kneeled down to look at her.

"Cat, where's your mom?"

"Gone, another work thing," she murmured, "said she'd be gone for a while."

"Come stay with me."

"Stevie, I'm okay...I swear, I didn't...it was an accident."

I reached forward to grab her hands in mine, "you don't have to lie to me, I want to help you. Pack a bag and come stay with me."

I was able to hold myself together until Cat was unpacking in my room and I left to empty medicine cabinets and hide the contents. It hit me then that I had just saved her life. That there had been a possibility of losing my best friend. I broke, sitting at the kitchen table. Buried my face in my hands and just let the sobs wrack my body until my throat felt hoarse.

Soon enough, small, cool hands wrapped around me and I felt Cat's face nuzzle into the crook of my neck. Felt the saltwater on her face as it dragged, soothing heated skin. I reached up with one arm, my fingers sliding through damp hair to hold her close.

I shivered when I felt her lips against my neck as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Stevie."

--

I had a new nightmare now. I was walking on a beach, surrounded by eery silence even though waves crashed angrily next to me. The moonlight cast a silver shine off the top of the water but there still wasn't enough light for me to see further than what was right in front of me. And then a flash of lightning and suddenly, I could hear everything. The roar of the water, the sand sliding under my feet, a mournful siren wailing in the distance, it was too much, too loud to think. I was running, feet sinking deep into the sand, running as fast as I could but going nowhere. Then another flash of lightning and everything settled. Crashing waves stilled, frozen in the air. The wailing didn't stop though, just became quieter and more haunting. My feet were stuck in the sand when I saw her, washed up on the beach. Cat's pale skin had started to turn blue. I struggled, trying to get to her, but the more I fought, the deeper I sunk in the sand. I tried to claw my way out, desperate to save her, but my arms were swallowed up. The sand consumed me until my head was barely above it and I couldn't move anymore. Another flash of lightning and the waves came down on her, sweeping her away. In an instant, she was gone, carried off into the dark. My screaming only stopped when sand filled my mouth.

--

The nightmares were catching up to me, keeping me up at night and exhausted all day. I'd been struggling to stay awake all day, my eyes getting heavier and heavier as the day wore on.

"What happened, Harrington? You look like shit. You know she's just another whore," Billy sneered, leaning against the lockers next to me, "not worth losing sleep over."

I rolled my eyes and huffed, "fuck off, Hargrove."

"Unless she's keeping you up a different way?" He smirked, a cruel glint in his eye, "that your thing? Get some friends together and pass her around? I hear she begs for it. You should invite me some time, I never got a chance."

I knew it was stupid, that he was bigger than me, stronger than me and could easily pummel me into the ground. But it didn't stop me from throwing the first punch. I got in a few punches before I was down on the ground, no longer fighting, just trying to protect my face.

All around us, people were yelling. Some cheering on the fight, some screaming for us to stop. Suddenly, Billy was yanked off me and held back by one of the guys on the football team. I was helped up to my feet, my head pounding as I glared at him.

"She was raped, you fucking asshole!" I spat, "those creeps drugged and raped your girlfriend and you just tossed her to the side! She needed help and you abandoned her!"

I didn't even realize that had come out of my mouth until I heard the reaction of the crowd around us. The gasps and murmuring. Billy's face dropped just before I heard.

"Steve?"

I turned to see Cat behind me, her face full of hurt and shock, eyes wide and full of tears. I knew I had fucked up, big time.

She turned and ran. Away from the school and away from me.

--

"Steve, I can't do this anymore. People won't stop talking, whispering behind my back. I don't know what's worse, the pitying looks some people give me or the accusing looks from people who still believe the lies. All I know is...I'm sorry...love you, Stevie."

Cat's voice on the answering machine sent chills down my spine. It was hollow, cold and lifeless. I knew what that voice meant, where her head was. I grabbed my keys and ran out to my car, cursing every second that ticked by.

I found her, barely conscious in a pool of blood. Choked on my sobs as I wrapped her wrists in bandages with shaking hands. Carried her to her room and helped her change into clean clothes before tucking her into bed. Saw the way her bones were even more prominent now than ever before. I stained my hands red cleaning up her blood and threw clothes and towels into the laundry machine. Scrubbed my hands raw trying to clean them before giving up and grabbing Cat something to drink and going back to her room.

I sat down on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh, "Cat, you're out of control."

"Stevie.." she breathed.

"You lied...you lied to me and said you were fine," I choked, trying and failing to keep myself together, "I can't keep doing this, Cat. I can't let you keep destroying yourself...I can't lose you."

"I'm sorry..I don't mean to be a problem.."

I blinked tears out of my eyes and looked over at her, "please. Please, Cat. You need help. I can help you get treatment, or we can try to get through this ourselves but you need to want help. You need to let me help you," I pleaded, "please."

"I don't think I can.."

"You can, I believe in you. I'll be here to help, I'm always here for you. I won't give up on you. Please, try...for me? Let me take care of you."

She looked down, away from me, "you don't have to, Stevie. It'll be awful work."

I shifted so I could grab the side of her face in my hand, "not to me, not if it's you...I know it won't be easy but I want to," I took a moment before blurting out, "I love you. I love you so much, Cat. Let me help you, please?"

I felt her hand on my cheek, her thumb moving to brush tears away. I clasped my other hand around hers keeping it there and leaned into her touch. Leaned into the thought that everything will be okay, that she'll be okay and just let myself have that.

--

I could see Cat coming across the parking lot towards my car, moving slowly and giving me a tired smile when she caught me staring. I'd spent the weekend with her, changing bandages and doing my best to get her to eat small bits of food throughout the day. Something to try and bring her energy up, but she had slept most of the weekend and was still drained this morning. She wore one of my sweaters over her own, for extra warmth and for the longer sleeves to hide her bandages under.

She was almost at my car when Billy stepped out in front of her. Put himself between us and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Cat, can we talk?"

She hesitated before jerking her head to nod, "okay."

"I just..I was a fucking asshole. I shouldn't have just taken their word, I should have asked you what happened."

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying to move around him.

Billy caught her wrist in his hand and I had to hold myself back when I saw her wince, her whole body tensing as she tried not to react.

"Wait, please," his grip loosened to slide up her arm as he drew closer.

My teeth were on edge, clenched together so tight I thought they'd crack. I kept Cat in my sight, ready to step in if she needed me.

"I love you," he murmured, "don't you get it? We could be together again."

She looked down for a moment, her eyes glassy when she looked past Billy's shoulder towards me. There was a moment where I thought she'd be back in his arms. I took a small step forward, waiting.

Cat stepped out of his grasp, "no, we can't."

She walked around him at the same time I continued forward to meet her halfway. I wrapped my arms around her when she buried her face in my chest and kissed the top of her head. I cast a glance toward Billy, who looked hurt and angry before storming off to his Camaro and tucked my face against Cat's hair. Breathed in her vanilla scent and felt love shining in my chest.

"I'm here, I've got you," I whispered, holding her tight.

--

"Stevie," Cat murmured, "is something going on?"

I took a deep breath and buried my face in the crook of her neck, shaking my head softly. I'm fine, I need to be fine.

She rolled in my arms so she could face me, "what is it? Talk to me."

My heart started to race as my eyes began to water. I tried to blink back the tears, I need to be fine.

"I'm fine," my voice wavered.

"Don't lie, not to me."

I blew out my breath, feeling my lip tremble when the words hit my tongue.

"What is it about me that's not good enough?"

"What?" She leaned up on her elbow, worry creasing her eyebrows.

Tears started to roll down my face, "am I doing something wrong?"

"Oh, Stevie," she soothed, her hand coming up to hold my face, "no, you're not doing anything wrong. Why would you think that?"

I held her hand tight, pressing it to my face and let my fears out, "you're not getting any better...and I just, I can't...those times I found you, I thought I'd lost you and it almost destroyed me. I don't, don't know what I'd do if you died...I couldn't bear it, not if I could have saved you. Please, tell me what you need...what can I do?"

--

"Stevie? What are you doing here?"

It was just starting to cool down as the sun began to set and I had planned a surprise date for us. The back of my car had everything I needed to take Cat on a picnic before driving out of town to the drive in theatre.

I reached out and took her hand in mine, "I planned a surprise date for us. If you want to come with me, that is."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she looked at me, "I'd love to. Do I need anything? Am I dressed okay?"

Cat was dressed in one of my sweaters, a dark blue one that hung loose over her frame and almost reached her knees, and a pair of dark leggings. Black hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked relaxed, beautiful.

"You're perfect," I murmured.

"A picnic?" Cat held her arms crossed over her waist, still nervous even though we'd been working together to help her get better, "I don't know..."

I flattened out a blanket overlooking the lake and turned back to her. Crossed to grab her hands in mine and loop them around my neck and smoothed my hands down her back.

"It's okay, I'm here," I whispered, touching my forehead to hers, "you can do this. You're so strong and so beautiful...inside and out. Trust me?"

Her fingers combed through my hair, sending chills down my spine, "yes."

I kissed her forehead softly before leading her to sit on the blanket and started pulling out the food I'd brought. I pulled out containers of fruit, cheese and crackers and a couple of drinks and set them down in front of us.

"This is only part one of our date, so I just brought a snack."

In truth, I knew bringing too much food would stress Cat out, but I made sure to pack things I knew she liked to hopefully get her to have more. She smiled, grabbed a bright, red strawberry from a container and scooted over so she could lean against me. 'Don't think, just eat,' was the motto we'd come up with so she started idly talking about her day, what she was going to do for the rest of the weekend and what she wanted my help with for class. We sat there and watched the sun set over Lover's Lake, just relaxing and enjoying our time together. Cat ended up eating more than I thought she would, distracted by talking until we realized the food was gone. She turned to me and beamed, practically glowing with happiness.

"Can I kiss you?" I murmured.

Her lips were sticky sweet, a smile stretching so far I could feel it. She twisted in my lap, wrapping her legs around my waist and tangling long fingers in my hair. I held her waist with one hand and her face with the other. With a sigh, her lips parted and her tongue cautiously swept across mine. She stole the air from my lungs like she needed it to keep her afloat and I happily let her. Would let her take my last breath if she needed. I forced myself to break the kiss, to tip my forehead against hers and try to catch my breath.

"I love you," I whispered, lips brushing against hers.

"I love you," she breathed.

--

"I don't want to die anymore."

I pulled my head back to look at her. She was curled against my chest as we laid in bed, a soft glow illuminating from a lamp. I slid my hand between the light sheet and Cat's bare skin, my fingers lightly running along her side. Cat twisted her hand in mine, tracing my palm absently. I stayed quiet, pressing a kiss the back of her head.

"I haven't for a while now...not even sure I wanted to before...I just, I felt like I was drowning, y'know?"

I nuzzled into her hair, "mhm.."

"I'm so sorry, Stevie...for everything. I wish that I could take it all back," she sniffed, "I wish I could have spared you...been a person, not a problem."

I shifted, rolling to look at Cat and holding her face in my hand. Wiped a tear away from her cheek with my thumb and shook my head lightly.

"I don't...if this was us meeting for the first time, I'd do it all again. The tears, anxiety and nightmares, everything...you understand? I'd go through hell if it meant I could hold your hand. You were never a problem, you needed help. I would go through that again and again because I love you."

She pressed her face into my hand, inhaling deeply and smiling, "I love you."

--

Through therapy, Cat found that she loved working out with me. She loved finding beauty in strength, loved pushing and challenging herself to do better every day. Muscle had been building under her skin, softening once harsh angles. She was a whole new person now, proud of the muscle that helped out lift me. Liked to make a show of opening jars for me just to make herself laugh. Sometimes, I'd purposely tighten lids just to see her smile when she pried them off.

Sure, we still had bad days. Days where I jolted awake in the middle of the night and held my breath as I waited to see Cat's chest slowly rise and fall. Days where Cat would stare out absently, fingers grabbing at curves or lightly tracing scarred skin. Scars that were hidden by tattoos now, invisible to anyone who didn't know. Days where we needed some extra love. But those times never lasted and became less frequent the more we grew.

Cat raced up the last of the hill, panting when she turned to smile at me.

"I beat you!"

I jogged up the last few steps and grabbed Cat tight, lifting and spinning her around.

"Steve!" She laughed, "put me down!"

I set her down, spinning her so we could both look out over the cliff at Lover's Lake. Set my chin on her shoulder and hugged her gently.

Looked over the water, shimmering silver in the golden light of the afternoon and decided this was perfect.

I turned my face into her neck, kissing gently and murmuring, "can I keep you?"

I was hyper aware of the weight in my pocket, of my fluttering heart and of her skin against mine.

She turned her face, looking over at me as much as she could, "what?"

I used one hand to spin her around, my other hand sliding into my pocket. With the cool metal between my fingers, I dropped to my knee.

"Cat, you are...everything to me. I want to wake up next to you every day, I want to take care of you and love you for the rest of my life..."

Her breath hitched and her fingers started to tremble in mine, her eyes tearing as she looked at me, "Stevie..."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and looked up at her. At the love of my life, the one person I would lay down my own life for and asked.

@alias-b @charmed-asylum

[zombierocker17]

Forever, Harry Styles imagine. (Long)

Here it is. It took me two days to write this. And I hope everyone has got there tissues this is incredibly romantic. Please enjoy ❤️

You were at your shared home relaxing after a long hard week, it was a cold winter morning. You felt the soft cream colored crochet blanket that Anne, Harry’s mother had made for you last Christmas.  Mouse yours and Harry’s cat came to sit next to you, Harry named her mouse because when she ‘meows’ she sounds like a little mouse.  She nestled her small head into your arm, you pet her head and scratched behind her ears. Looking at your phone background of Harry you smiled. It was a picture of him sitting on the set of SNL smiling like the goofball he is.  Mouse meowed when she saw the picture, “I miss him too sweetie” you say petting her as you get up and head to the kitchen.

Harry was off working on stuff for his second album, he was very busy and often wasn’t home for weeks. He was supposed to be home in a week, you understood his busy schedule.   You turned on the kettle to make some tea, prepping things for tea. You realized you actually pulled out two mugs and spoons as you normally would when making tea for you and Harry. You wiped a small tear away putting the other mug and spoon away again. You poured the steamy water into your mug with your preferred tea, and walked back into the living room. Sitting on the couch again with Mouse finding her way back to your side purring. You sipped on your warm tea feeling it warm you up.

You ended up falling asleep on the couch for a few hours, waking up to the sound of your laptop beeping at you. It was a Skype call.  ‘Sweet creature is requesting a video call’. You sat up and answered the call to see Harry in his car smiling at you.  “Hey Babe” he said adjusting the laptop on the dashboard of his car. He looked beautiful, the light on his face was pale and bright. He had his nails painted black and his favourite black sunglasses on his head. Hair tousled around the frames, light stubble on his jaw and upper lip, which you found absolutely attractive on him. He smiled at you admiring him through the screen. "Hello??? Y/n? Anyone home? " He said chuckling as you hadn't answered him yet .

You shook your head focusing on the conversation now. “Yes, I’m here sorry, got a little distracted. How are things going babe?” you say. He chuckles knowing his effect on you “Things are going amazing actually.” Harry says scratching his jaw.  Mouse hears his voice and meows, you show her Harry on the computer. “Look who misses you babes” you say, “Hi Mousey” he says using her nickname she meows. You giggle positioning the computer again so he can see you he smiles, “I miss my girls, I-“he gets cut off by his phone ringing “One sec babe” he says answering it.  He’s on the phone for about a minute before hanging up the phone. “I’m really sorry babe I have to go do something” he says with a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay , I’ll see you later this week, I’m going to probably order some pizza then watch a movie with Mousey then go to bed” you say a little upset but trying not to show it.  “Alright I love you, bye” he says ending the call. 

You hadn't seen Harry in a month, you missed him so much. You missed the way he would pull you closer to cuddle in bed, resting his head in your shoulder. You missed his scent a light mint and vanilla smell, was his favourite cologne. You would spray it on your favourite sweater which was actually Harry's but he didn't mind you wearing it. You missed the way he would make you laugh. When he's gone the house felt empty, no laughter, no romance, no Harry. You loved him so much. Thinking about him was all you did.

You sat there in that thought for about 20 minutes, until the doorbell rang.  You thought ‘did I already order the pizza?’  Pulling out your wallet you walked to the door, digging in your wallet for cash you opened the door without looking. Then you looked up and saw Harry there in a dark grey sparkly Gucci suit with a black dress shirt, the first few buttons undone showing the edges of his chest tattoos. He was a holding a bouquet of light pink and coral roses, and a large black box. Smiling at you “Surprise Y\N”.  You almost fainted seeing him, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, also wrapping your legs around his waist kissing him.  “I thought you were going to be back next week? “ You asked tearing up a bit. “Change of plans, things got done a lot faster than I thought. So I get to come home.” He says. “Oh Harry I missed you so much” You say hugging him tight. He puts you down and walks into the house, He hands you the box and sets the roses on the table.  “Go put that on we have reservations for dinner” he said pushing you upstairs to the bedroom, he walks downstairs to put the roses into some water.

You open the box, it’s a dress. A dark grey long dress, the same color as his suit.  It has a sweetheart neckline with small black gemstones across the top. You quickly styled your hair into a sweet up do with little hairs hanging out. Light amount of makeup, and some black strappy heels.  You admired yourself in the mirror, the dress hugged all of your curves before flaring out below the knee. It made you feel like a goddess.

You walked down the stairs to see Harry’s back facing you, kneeled down petting Mouse. She meows looking at you, Harry turns to see you before saying. “For the first time in my life I know the difference between pretty and beautiful” you blush and he leads you outside towards a black sparkly limo. Harry greets the driver "Hello Altman ", "Hello Mr.Styles, and hello to your lovely lady" the driver says shaking your hand. He opens the limo door helping you in. Harry joins you in the limo after telling the driver where to go.

After driving for a while the limo stops in front of a small looking building, it had slate stone walls and large windows, it looked dark inside with very little light. Altman opens the door helping you out with Harry behind you. The restaurant had the name on a sign near the doors, the sign said Buried Beneath. Harry held the door open for you as you walked in like the gentleman he is. The entry room was small you wonderd how this was a resturant . Walking to the small check in table there was a tall very thin man with thin rimmed black glasses. "Welcome to Buried Beneath, what is your code word? " the man asked. You were confused, Harry simply said "Eroda ". The man nodded typing into the tablet " Mr.Styles?" Harry nodded " Right this way" the man lead you two down a short hallway to some stairs going down. Harry helped you down the stairs until you entered an area. A short thin woman around maybe 40 years old leads you two into the dining area.

The dining area was dark with beautiful high ceilings and red lights, dark furniture and decorations. It was a bit overwhelming, Harry saw that you were a bit nervous so he put an arm around your waist comforting you. You could smell the familiar cologne on him, you relaxed as the woman brought you to your table it was in the back of the room a more private section. Harry pulled out your chair letting you sit before he did. A waiter came for your drink orders, Harry orders a bottle of their house wine for you to share. You shared a platter of seafood and salads. (Or whatever you like to eat) Everything tasted incredible, the wine was rich in flavor. Harry was telling you about what he was working on for his new album. About the word Eroda and what it meant, he told you there was a song to go with it and that it was going to be released in a few days for the fans.

After the meal was finished Harry paid the bill with a very generous tip, he also purchased 3 bottles of the red wine. He really enjoyed it. You left the restaurant Harry helped you into to limo again. It was dark out now with thousands of stars in the sky, it gave you butterflies in your stomach. You returned home and Harry led you to he bathroom helping you out of your dress placing it on the dresser along with your shoes. He started to run a bath with candles burning and bubble bath. You stood naked in front of him, he admired your figure tracing your collarbones tracing up to your jaw. Lifting your chin to kiss him, it was a long passionate kiss.

Harry then stripped naked and climbed into the large steamy bath with You laying on his chest. You traced your fingers under the water against his lower abdomen vines tattoos. He chuckles " I adore you Y/N" he says "what?" You say as Harry grabs a small remote. He pushes on of the buttons at the small stereo speaker you had in the bathroom. A soft pop beat comes out a song you've never heard before.

Harry starts singing :

Walk in your rainbow paradise

Strawberry lipstick state of mind

I get so lost inside your eyes

Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

Honey

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Oh honey

I'd walk through fire for you

Just let me adore you

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

You look as his lips as he sings, like an angel the words effortlessly pour out of mouth. Every now and again he would gently give your side's a squeeze. He truly loved you through and through, and you knew it. When he finished singing, he wiped a small tear from your face. "What do you think?" He asks blushing. You got up so you were now straddling him " Harry that was beautiful, the fans will love It, I love you Harry " your about to kiss him when he stops you. He reaches out of the bath into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small ring box and places it on the ledge of the bath.

" Y/N , we've been together for 4 years and I've loved every minute of it. Your incredibly important to me. Your beauty is undeniable, your personality is flawless. Every time I look at you my heart beats faster. I can't explain your love, it's better than words. And if you love me as much as I love you I hope you will say yes." He opens the box to show a decent sized diamond engagement ring. " Y/N would your marry Me?" He asks holding the box in front of you "Yes I will Harry!" You say as he pulls you in for an even more passionate kiss than before.

You spend the evening cuddled on the couch with Mouse in your lap, underneath the cream crochet blanket. Harry by your side from now till forever.

This was fun. Let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️-Briana

[midoriyasbones]

so about #takebackklance, i'm a little unclear about what you mean when you say "proshaladin." like, does it refer to being pro- shaladin shippers (e.g. i completely respect people who ship shaladin) or being pro-shaladin itself (e.g. i recognize that these ships could be "cute" and/or multiship them alongside klance to some degree). because i'm deeply in the camp that shaladin makes me uncomf - i blacklist it and ik i'd never ship it (1/2)

but i'm tired of hate against the shippers, even if i dislike the ships. so it feels like i'm "proshaladinshippers" but "antishaladin." i guess what i'm asking is where you stand, and what "proshaladin" really means in #takebackklance's context. thx!! :)            

hey friend!! okay, so from what i’ve gathered you are another member of ship and let ship. you dont ship shaladin and don’t nessecarily like it, but you don’t really see any reason to stop others from shipping it, and there is NOTHING wrong with that. you don’t have to like shaladin or even want to see it to be a pro shipper. i really wish we had more people like you in the fandom who recognize that you find the ship uncomfortable and create your own shaladin free niche without involving any hate towards the shippers.

you can be pro ship and not like shaladin. you can be pro ship and blacklist the tags. you can be pro ship and prefer not to interact with shaladins. as long as you don’t actively try to stop people from shipping it or make hateful statements towards shippers, you’re a pro shipper if you choose to identify as one. like you said, pro shippers are being pro for the SHIPPERS being able to ship in peace. you don’t have to agree to find the ship appealing or cute if you don’t want to.

as far as #takebackklance goes, it’s for pro shippers who also ship klance. pro shipper in this case just means that you don’t harass other people over shipping shaladin. you let it go, as it should be just let go. you don’t have to interact with shaladins if that makes you uncomfortable, and you certainly don’t have to view any content that makes you uncomfortable after all that’s what the blacklist is for. hell, you don’t even have to make a stance of supporting it, just being neutral is honestly a god send. i love neutraladins, you light up my life (and dashboard).

i’m not sure how in depth i’ve really gone as it comes to my stance on the discourse on this blog, but since you’ll asked i’ll get into it.

i’m a pro shipper, not a shaladin (though i’ve been called an honorary one before), and in fact my only ship is klance. when i was a newly minted pro, i thought i shipped shaladin, but the more i saw of it the more i realized it just wasn’t for me. i dont nessecarily find shaladin ships appealing personally to me, though i acknowledge how it could be appealing to other people, especially since i sometimes see pieces of fan content and think ‘wow, shiro is around the same age my abuser was!’ but that’s something im still working through with my therapist as seeing all twenty something aged men as my abuser is uh, not in the slightest conducive to my healing as a survivor.*

(*disclaimer: that’s not to say that to heal as a survivor i’ll have to ship shaladin, hell no, that’s just saying that i have a problem with not seeing my abuser in large men around the age of 25. it’s a trauma thing, not a ship thing.)

tldr; being pro ship means you are pro shippers, as in you are for shippers being able to ship in peace. you don’t have to ship those ships or even be comfortable around them to be a pro shipper.

to take part in #takebackklance all you have to do is fit that definition. you do not have to ship shaladin or even want to be around it. you just have to acknowledge that other people should be allowed to ship their ships in peace.

feel free to ask any questions should you need any further clarification!

-ori