#thank u for sharing this i was almost certainly never gonna get around to it

[almaasi]

i was put here to vibe and so were they

@almaasi made this fun fanvid! Recommended and linked with permission. <3

[thehistoriccemetery]

hiii ... idk if you do requests exactly but if u wanted id love to hear about the companions w/ a werewolf reader ? maybe its a full moon and reader has kept it a secret until now . but instead of being in a mindless violent rampage they are just kinda ... dog brained

thank u in advance ... take ur time or dont bother if u dont wanna :)

BG3 Ladies x Werewolf!Reader

I finally got a day off yesterday and I used it to write for like 8 hours so enjoy your second day of content in a row.

A lot of people have asked for companions react to Bhaal smiting the dark urge and I’m working on it, but unfortunately I’m only on act 2 of my durge run. So that one will be a while.

In better news my Minthara folks can expect a very spicy piece at some point this week!

Shadowheart

As soon as Shadowheart sees you in your wolf form, she is terrified and runs away from you as fast as she can.

It’s only when you cautiously approach camp that her mother actually points out you’re a lycanthrope. She picks up on it pretty easily given her husband shares the same affliction.

“They don’t seem to be aggressive, though” she observes, slightly confused. She tentatively taps her legs, beckoning you to come.

When you happily pad over to her, she scratches you behind the ears and you give a satisfied smile.

She sits down on the ground and continues to pet your head.

Shadowheart is still curled up on the bed, unwilling to take part in any of this.

“Oh come on Shads, you must admit, it’s kinda cute.” Her mom says as your tongue lulls from your mouth.

The closest she gets to comfortable with you that first night is a brief game of fetch. She’ll throw the ball as long as she doesn’t have to wrestle it from your maw.

The game is over though when the ball gets too slimy for her liking.

It’ll take a little while, but perhaps it’ll grow on her eventually.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel doesn’t really know much about wolves or dogs, but she’s not particularly fond of the one that’s following her around camp.

She tries to pawn you off to Karlach, but you want her so she has very little luck with that.

When it starts to get really late, she starts to worry. Where have you gone? You’ve never been out this late.

She eventually puts two and two together and realizes you are the dog that keeps pestering her.

Once she figures it out, she just tries to treat you like your normal self, which is immensely confusing to your little dog brain.

Lae’zel gets very frustrated very quickly. It takes Halsin to calm her down and teach her how to interact with you appropriately.

Every time you do something new she looks at Halsin to tell her how to react.

You flip onto your back. “Can I just keep petting them here?” Halsin nods.

In the morning, she requires quite a hefty apology and explanation as to why you wouldn’t tell her about this.

Karlach

Karlach is almost too welcoming to stray wolf that wants to wander into camp. But it’s certainly not the oddest thing that’s come into camp.

She treats you like a normal dog at first, but after persistent whining and leading her to your bed multiple times, she finally catches on.

“You didn’t tell me you were a werewolf! That’s so cool!” She exclaims, but then her faces starts to grow concerned. “Wait, you’re not gonna flip out on anyone tonight, are you? Do I need to lock you in a cage or something?”

You whine and lay down on the floor.

“Aww, you’re not gonna hurt nobody are you, sweet puppy?” She sits on the floor next to you and rubs your shoulders.

She spends the rest of the night playing with you like she would any other dog, chasing you around camp, wrestling, and petting you.

That night she snuggles up next to you, cuddling you in her arms as you lay on your side.

You wake up just as you do any other morning, in her arms, fully humanoid again.

Minthara

Minthara is unsure what to do with this dog that keeps following her around.

You do your best to actually follow her commands to keep from pissing her off, but you’re really trying to get her to understand it’s you.

You wind up going to your tent and picking up something of yours. One of your shoes should work.

When you approach Minthara with the shoe hanging from your mouth, she grows increasingly agitated with you. “Put that down! That’s not yours!”

You whine and set the shoe down, putting your paw in the shoe to indicate it’s yours.

“Are you… a werewolf?” She asked, confused. You bark in affirmation.

She spends the night allowing you to follow her around, and, as long as you follow instructions, she’s actually quite fond of your dog form.

Most of the night she spends reading a book while occasionally throwing a ball for you to go fetch.

She doesn’t see the point of the game, but you seem to enjoying yourself and it’s only mildly inconveniencing her.

At the end of the night, you move to climb up onto her bed, but she stops you with an “absolutely not” and motions for you to lay on the floor beside her.

Jaheira

As a Druid, Jaheira can speak with you even in dog form.

Once you explain the situation to her, she rolls her eyes but smiles. She should’ve known you were a werewolf.

She doesn’t worry too much about you going fully into beast mode, as you show no signs of aggression or agitation.

But you do stink. And she tells you as much. She’s gonna give you a bath.

Your dog mind causes you to protest. You don’t want a bath. There’s no way she’s getting you in a tub.

It takes a little deception and some meat from the camp supplies to get you in the bath in under 5 minutes.

She cleans you off despite your constant whining and by the end you’re actually surprised you feel better. Less itchy.

She dries you off with a towel and you give yourself a couple good shakes.

Once you’re all clean and dried, she wild shapes into a wolf so you two can spend the night curled up around each other.

[kaiser-s-bitch]

if u don't mind, can you make a fluff fic with a plus size reader with Barou where their both cooking and doing house chores together :) only if ur comfy ofc

Hello dear anon! No, ofc that doesn’t make me uncomfortable in the slightest, BUT I don’t see how your stature would influence how he would treat you while cooking/doing chores (or in general, for that matter)?😅 Maybe he’d try to make you eat healthier or smth😭👋🏼 Sooo sorry about that, but that’s the reason I kinda ignored that part-

anyway, I hope you still enjoy!!

————————————————————————

Barou Shouei - cooking/doing chores with you || sfw

Barou Shouei was by no means a man to shy away from putting in effort — be it on the court or anywhere else.

On the contrary, this mighty king right here had his very own way of doing things, and he was certainly not going to let anyone get in the way of just that… neither a peasant, nor his queen.

If anything, he would tell you to sit still, not touch anything and just let him do the cleanup the way he always did, else you might disturb his order. This man had OCD, no doubt about it. So if he told you to not get in his way, he meant it.

In other words: most chores were practically off the table for you - at least when he was around - the best way you were able to help him was by just always cleaning up after yourself the way he taught you to. If you could manage that, you were already making (Maid-)Barou’s life so much easier.

———

"Shou, what would you like to eat tonight?" You inquired over the phone, knowing your boyfriend had just finished his training and was about to make his way back to your shared home. You knew he had given it his all again during training - he always did - so you at least wanted to help him unwind and take some of the weight off his shoulders when he got back by preparing dinner, since you were well aware that you could never talk him out of cleaning up around the house himself. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, some peace of mind, you just couldn’t argue with him on that.

"Huh? Just order some takeout or something, anything will do, I‘m just hungry. Thanks", the man’s familiar, gravelly voice rumbled through the speaker of your phone, eliciting a sigh from you in response. He was not being a big help in the process of choosing what to have for dinner, but at least now he wasn’t gonna be able to complain about whatever you would pick. You had just (basically) received a free pass from the king.

And you decided to make good use of it by whipping out a recipe you’d found online a while ago and had been planning to give a shot for ages, but never actually got around to it.

But as it was usually the case for first tries… they don’t quite go as planned.

By the time Barou arrived home, you had already turned the kitchen into a complete and utter mess, and if it had been anyone else, he would’ve taken them apart on sight, without a doubt. Since it was you, however, he merely ruptured a blood vessel or two at the sight, taking a deep breath before walking over to you and asking you what the hell you thought you were doing.

You flinched at the sound of his voice, not having heard him get back because of all the kitchen devices around you whirring and buzzing in unison.

"I’m making dinner for us, of course", you reply matter-of-factly, sporting a pout at his negative reaction despite knowing damn well that it was not about your food, but about the fact that his beloved kitchen had been forced into such a sorry state.

Barou’s gaze softened slightly at your proud attitude — of course he was aware you had meant well.

You suddenly felt his muscular arms wrap around you from behind as he leaned in to kiss your cheek with a deep sigh.

It was a sight that seemed almost too absurd to be real, it was outright unexpected from someone of his stature and with his intimidating aura — not that there would ever be any witnesses though, this side of him was undoubtedly reserved for you and you only.

You leaned into his touch with a satisfied grin, knowing how soft your boyfriend was for you. However, you also knew he would use this opportunity to glance over your shoulder in order to examine what exactly you were fabricating and just how bad of a mess you were making of his beloved kitchen.

"It doesn’t smell that bad" was the closest thing to a compliment that you were getting from him, earning him a scolding punch to his forearm, which was still snugly wrapped around your waist. He only hissed in response, letting go of you with a scoff. He proceeded to saunter through the kitchen and awkwardly lean against the counter — not before checking whether the space he would be touching was clean enough though.

"Soo, how long do you still need to finish?"

"Oh wow, never thought I’d ever hear that from you in the kitchen", you teased with an amused smile, glancing over at him just to see his expression after your little joke. As expected, he tried his best to ignore it, yet you could see him close his eyes and pinch his nose bridge for a moment in order to collect himself.

You turned your attention back to the stove, smiling to yourself before speaking up again "I’m almost done here. You can go ahead, take them out." He knew exactly what you were referring to, wasting no time crouching down and hurriedly opening the cabinet under the sink — the sacred place where he stored his cleaning supplies.

———

He looked so serious yet so oddly at ease when he was focusing all of his attention on cleaning up the mess you had caused and even went beyond that, following his preset cleaning routine throughout the whole kitchen. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t even notice you had finished cooking by now and already started setting the table for the two of you. Once you were done, you sat down and just observed him for a minute or two, fawning over your bulky version of a housewife. Smiling fondly, you thought to yourself how despite all of his antics, you had definitely struck gold with Barou Shouei as your boyfriend.

You knew all of his cleaning routines in and out, what products he used where and how long he usually took for each step, and you knew just as well that it was never any use rushing him, so you just sat there for a bit and let him do his thing.

Others might not be able to see any difference at all, but the way he was scowling and furrowing his brows right now looked almost adorable to you — in your eyes, it was entirely different from his scowl when he was mad or annoyed. You simply couldn’t help yourself as you walked up to him when he was almost done, nearly startling him as you suddenly stepped right in front of him and squished his cheeks together with one hand, an amused smirk tugging on your lips as you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on his.

"Hah?!" Barou was taken by surprise by your random display of affection and scoffed in annoyance, yet he could not help the redness now flushing his cheeks.

"Oh my, don’t tell me… I just managed to fluster the King?" You taunted him with a devious grin, stepping in even closer to him and placing your palms on both sides of his face, making him look at you directly.

"What’s that? Why so cocky all of a sudden, little one?", he inquired with a now smug expression, leaning down until his nose was almost touching yours as he placed his large hands on your hips.

"Maybe because I’m so proud of the amazing dinner I managed to whip up for us", you chuckled, motioning over to the table.

"Tch, not without mutilating my perfectly intact kitchen in the process", he grumbled in response, glaring at you with a frown that would’ve made anyone else crumble under his gaze.

Unfazed, you shrugged and curtly replied "Collateral damage", biting your lip to hold back a laugh, to which he let go of you and turned towards the table as he clicked his tongue, gesturing dismissively.

"Crazy woman."

"You love it, neurotic man. Now sit your grumpy ass down and enjoy your meal."

"This better turn out to be a damn good meal."

[teddybeartoji]

omg no wait bc you and higu would be so cute i actually wanna hear all about it. i think he would benefit from a little silly and you certainly could fulfill that role!!! im actually obsessed..... pls share any thoughts you have 🤲

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODD!!!!!!!!!!!!! HEHEHEE HII PERCE MY LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SUCH AN ANGELLL AAAAHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR INDULGING ME ON THISSS HEHEHEHEHHE:33333

SOOO ME AND HIGUUUU😭😭😭 this is a bit silly bc it's not like a real Real selfship yet okay... i don't actually know him all that well so i don't feel like i can yk officially make it into one but you just wait........ it'll become real soon enough..............

OKOKOK SO WE ALL HAVE TO SAY A BIG THANK U TO MY FRIEND ARI @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat BC THEY KIND OF PUSHED ME INTO THAT😭😭😭 i think we were just talking about who of the new character i'd love and then they said that higu would definitely be one of the faves and well.. i am not disagreeing at all he seems so fucking funny and just an absolute sweetheart!!!!!!!!!!!!!! soooo my friend brought up the idea of me being like an intern at his law firm and............................ i folded immediately what can i say. (btw this got so long. uhm. prepare yourself?)

so imagine mickey the errand boy and higu the lawyer man:33 it all starts out super fucking slow btw (every single one of my ships is a slowburn what the fuck anyway). i am very excited to be there,, i think this sort of a job is very perfect for me aaand i think he'd find my enthusiasm very.. interesting lmao in a good way!!!! bc yk who the fuck is excited abt printing out papers and shit??!!! mee:3333

he always tells me that i can go home (cough that i can go home on time.. cough) but i refuse!!!!!!! how am i gonna leave him here all alone smhhh so i always help him finish everything he needs to get done (or at least everything i can help with yk?) aand then we go to this burger place that's just like around the corner to finally eat something and aaah idk it just feels very good with him. like very casual. the first like ten to twenty minutes are usually spent in silence just bc we're both tired and just wanna gulp down our food,, but when we're done with those.. we're talking abt the silliest stuff!!!!!!!!!! he tells me abt his cats. i know he has them ok. canon. in my head. he has two. their names are corkscrew and matilda. (????????????????)( don't ask) he tells me abt how they seems to like to tussle a lot and it makes him a bit nervous bc what if they don't get along but then they're cuddling a minute later and wheww it's all good. i love listening to him ramble btw. it's not like he does that all too often, but when he's tired he kind of spitballs a bit more and i think it's very endearing:333

and then he ofc apologizes for said ramble while tugging on his tie to loosen it up a little. he's so hot. anyway. and then he almost BEGSSS for me to talk to him too. about anything. it's very hard to feel insecure about talking too much with him bc he literally keeps telling me that he loves listening to me....................... perce what if i die

i'm making this other thing ari talked abt canon too bc oh my god their brain is huge. sooo one day. higu is late to work. and he's never late??????? had me thinking that he literally fucking dies or smth yk??? like he wouldn't answer his phone and it was just pouring outside omfg i was so fucking worried. pacing around the office, just calling him again and again and again. and then the door opens and there he is!!!!!!!!!!! COMPLETELY DRENCHEDDDDD like from head to toe, holding his coat weirdly of over his head and body idk he looked so silly (and cute). he apologized to some of the other workers before meeting my gaze and hurrying over and before i could even ask anything,, he opens his coat aND CAT!!!!!!!!!! HE HAD A FUCKING KITTEN???????? IN HIS HANDS?????????????????????????????????? HELLO???????????????????????????????? SIR????????????????????????

and then he literally just handed me the little critter asking whether i could look after it while he's working?????????????????? i was just so baffled bc wHAT. but i obviously took that task very seriously. i tried to clean up the kitty and made him like a make-shift bed from my own hoodie. and then after he got himself a cup of coffee (btw he spent almost no time on drying himself oh my god he's a bit of a loser isn't he...)(he has my heart<3) aaaaaand when he finally sat down behind his desk and looked through the glass wall...

and he just saw me holding the bundled up little kitty to my face while i just stare at it. HE WAS JUST SO CUTE OK I NEEDED TO JUST LOOK AT IT FOR SOME TIME I LOVE CATS OK!!!!!!!!!! that made him smile though. bc he loves cats too:333 btw we just send each other cat pics too. like very randomly. he's just a room away and he's sending them to me instead of just.. idk coming over to my table to show them to me in person??? he's a workaholic ok. ahgsahgshasga i love himmmm

OKOK ANYWAY THIS IS LIKE SO MUCH INFO I'M SORRY FOR THE WORDVOMIT LMAO but i really really do like him and this little thing i have going on with him... we're still in a weird little zone between coworkers and friends and ????????????? but we're both okay with that we're not pushing anything we just do whatever feels comfortable<333333333

BUT WAHHH THANK YOU AGAIN FOR INDULGING ME ON THIS PERCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM SMOOCHING YOU SO VERY HARD RN HEHEHEHHEEE!!!!!!! I HOPE UR HAVING THE BEST DAY EVER MY LOVE!!!!!!!

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

hi (again again) ! after looking thru ur answers and art, im rly interested in ur thoughts on lightning and finn !! beyond design thoughts, id love to hear ur thoughts abt any mannerisms u think theyd have (i hope this makes sense, i mean to say how like things they do in the movies would translate in their humanized designs), how old u hc them as, and anything else on ur mind !! (@dmclr)

Hihihi!!! Sorry I couldn't answer this before, I saw you sent it last night but it wasn't getting late, it was like close to midnight! But thank you so very much!! This was such fun to talk about and share!!

For Lightning, right off the bat, I headcannon that when he's starting out in his rookie era, he actually has really short hair, like, two or so inches long, and as he gets older he ends up growing it out till it ends up being around shoulder-blade length, and he also gets a bit of facial hair around C.ars 3 ish. I'd say he probably starts out somewhere in his early 20s(probably around 22 or 23 ish) and around C.ars 3 time he's probably around his mid-early 30s.

Also for his little ka-chow thingy, I can't explain it well but, I imagine he has the little lightning bolt on the shoulder of his suit and does a post sort of like this?

If that makes any sense XD😅 where he just sort of shoves his shoulder in the camera. (Though certainly not as fit)

Lightning definitely has a few cases of stimming, especially in C.ars On The Road(a mini short-series, each episode is like five minutes long. They sat 10 but half the thing is just credits, and no there's no extra credit scenes in there except for one!) And since he's almost always has cameras on him I think he'd just get super hyper when he can't openly stim.

--

For Finn, I'm just gonna get this immediately out the way cause I love it so so so much but never feel like I have an appropriate excuse to bring it up or gush about it, but I think he has a little bit of a crows feet thing(the thingy where you get the wrinkles at the outer corners of your eyes) going on and I don't know why it gets to me but it does. I'm a coward but I love him so I'm a shameless coward and he's probably like 54-56 or so where he's kept himself well in shape that he can quite easily still do all the spy sort of things that he needs to do. Definitely well in shape and has some muscle on him and stuff. While on the note of that I also have the really funny headcannon that he's superr flexible.

This isn't really so much as a headcannon but just love that when he smiles it's always with his mouth open a bit and I think it's adorable I love it.

I also think he'd wear a suit all the time everywhere. Partly because it's where his weapons and all his gadgets are for doing spy things, but also that's just his style.

[wooahaes]

hii its tattoo anon again <3 i just wanted to update you i loved cheols part of uts and cheol is one of my biases and i am so in love with his part!! i found this series almost a year ago and its bittersweet now that it has ended. i am so excited to see what comes next for the poly fic and your new works in general. i also hope that u saw my last message!! also i wanted to ask because idk if i didnt realize it or missed it but did you ever reveal who gave mouse the little stuffed mouse? if im not mistaken was it jeonghan? i have been wanting to figure out who it was but idk if i got it wrong lol. have a good day!

omg hi lovely!! i 100% saw ur last message and meant to respond and then. either forgot or got busy w school stuff, im blanking on which is it which probably just means it slipped my mind :( sorry!!

im literally gonna copy it over here and answer both this ask + the previous one to make it easier so uhh long response under the readmore !! i hope that's okay :(

okie dokie ill address this ask first

hi!!! you've been following the series since like... very close to the beginning then haha which is v v sweet and ill sob rn!!

i think i mentioned jeonghan working on the lil plush mouse during cheol UtS but didn't address it further, but yes! it was going to come up during poly fic at some point where he made all of the plushies for each person as a way of like. giving ppl comfort, esp when they show up & don't join the group at first (so that they have Something there w them, im the kind of person who needs something in my arms in order to sleep haha so that's where it's mainly coming from).

and for ur last ask:

hi its me again the tattoo anon LOL. i just wanted to reply to what you said and im so glad that i made you happy with what i said and i genuinely mean it. this is a little vulnerable but ever since i started liking svt i think a major reason why i love them so much is because they are a big group of friends and i have friends, but not that many so stanning svt in general is so comforting because of the closeness of all of them but finding this fic was like. a fucking dream for me because them being such a big close knit group and it being like the found family trope is perfect and the way you write and portray them is so comforting. genuinely i meant it when i said its one of my favorite things i have stumbled upon in my life, i have shared this story with my friends and they love it too and when we watch some edits of seventeen or see something in general that reminds us of this fic we say “this is so under the sun coded” and its like an inside joke with me and my friends. you literally changed the trajectory of my life with this fic lol. when im having a hard time in my personal life i come back to this little world u created by either just thinking about it before i fall asleep or rereading it and i want to thank you for being a writer. i hope you enjoy writing what you write bc i know that i certainly enjoy it and i hope you are proud of urself. anyway i think selling subtle stickers would be so awesome and i will definitely buy them. also since i submitted my last ask i have thought about little ideas for a tattoo maybe?? like what about like a small drawing of a church and like 13 little people around it with a little sun?!? or flowers like you said OR getting little drawings of the animals each person has? i think that would be so cute. or like maybe a little sash blindfold?? anyway ur awesome i love u thank u

the first time i tried to answer this ask, my long response ended up deleted bc i switched tabs for a second to check something and then tumblr just... deleted it??? which was v frustrating, kind of makes me hate the new post editor a Lot!

but to be vulnerable as well, i think i started writing UtS at like... a difficult point in my life? not difficult as in the painful way, but difficult as in 'there's a lot going on right now and i've never felt more alone than i do now' i guess? it's like... i started writing it right before my final semester of college, and i'm an online student, so i don't get to go out and be in a classroom with other people. sometimes i call myself an introvert when i think the term 'ambivert' has always fit more--i don't detest being social, i do tend to enjoy it! but i still need alone time to make up for it since it's draining. and idk, i was lost for a while on who i am and what i want to do with my life?

and i feel like writing UtS has put me in a vulnerable position to like... question a lot more about myself as a person. i have friends, sure, but no one i go out to see in person since i'm not exactly like... in a good place for that kind of interaction (deep south bible belt, haha... makes not being straight something i struggle with sometimes). i think the important part of UtS is the acceptance they all have for one another, and it's something i personally wish to have a lot more of in my offline life. i think even if i had the idea without darl+ing, it would have ended up being a svt fic due to how close they are and how much they care for one another.

also tbh i just love the found family trope. i love the idea and process of choosing your own family in a sense and saying 'these are MY people and i love them' ig.

also u showing the fic to ur friends + the comment abt being like 'this is UtS coded' ill SOB!!! i will!!! thats literally so cute and sweet of u!!! (pls feel free to send me any of ur 'this is UtS coded' thoughts i would always love to hear them haha)

but like. this is why i write. i like being able to impact people and help them escape life and be happy for a while. its why it always means a lot to me when i get feedback on my work and see people be happy with what i write (... even if sometimes its angsty haha--moving people to feel is a huge compliment by itself!). im glad you have UtS. im glad i have it now, too.

i do enjoy writing, btw, and i loved writing uts. even with the frustration periods where i didn't touch it for a while, i genuinely enjoyed writing uts a lot. i think i owe a lot of that to people like you, who read it and show support for the series! its always easier to read something when i know there's someone who will enjoy it. i remember smiling hard when i rewrote the ending to cheol uts bc of how fucking stoked i was to share it tbh!!! also bc i messaged savv 'lol this is gonna be devastating (/pos)' at one point i think sdkfhsdf but i was genuinely excited to finish it and get it out to u guys!! i dont know who i would be if i didn't write, and despite like... all of the bad shit that's happened in my life that i've turned to writing to pull myself out of it, i don't think i'd ever give it up. i think it's too deeply a part of me to ever give up. maybe one day i'll get published lol

ill definitely put more thought into subtle stickers for UtS (and maybe some other series haha cant remember if i mentioned that last time but UtS felt like the bigger one)! might have to ask around my friend circle for tips on designing them >:3

ohh i like ur tattoo ideas :0 im not sure what would look good so i hope u consult a tattoo artist with ur ideas eventually!! the idea of the lil church w a sun + 13 ppl is rly cute? if u do the sash-blindfold thing, u could always have a lyric inside of it or something if u wanna play w that :3c pls feel free to keep me updated further!!

sorry i didnt get to this ask until now but i hope u are doing well mwah mwah have a good day ur awesome ily

[yooniesim]

not being in the sims community for a few years (computer problems, couldnt play) and then coming back only to see so many creators have their cc behind paywalls sure was a shock tbh. i dont blame ppl for having patreons for their cc in general, ive seen plenty of creators have patreons with all their cc for free; becoming a patron being just an optional way of supporting them. plus, im pretty sure patreon has unlimited space, so ig itd also be a good idea if u dont have/dont want to use sfs or other unlimited upload sites (also posting pics with the files is a plus)

some ppl tho are like, wild. ive seen ppl charging 20$ a month and only releasing like, at most 3 patron only things per month then complain abt their stuff being shared for free.... like, youre selling 3 items a month for 20$, which is the same price as the base game when it isnt on sale. plenty of ppl already dont pay for the game itself, do u think theyre gonna want to pay the same amount for 3 things??

yeah nonny I'm in the same boat, it was so shocking for me to come back to this lol. I never imagined this many people would have patreons. I think it wouldn't be a big deal if it wasn't almost everyone. But here we are lol.

I remember when patreon tiers were $1 and you got access to everything. When I first saw someone with $3+ it was the most expensive I'd seen for maxis match early access cc, and it really wasn't worth it for that creator. Now it seems like so many people are $5 minimum??? And sometimes you don't even get access to everything? The cost has increased drastically and more importantly- the quality isn't there.

I've had a few items that I downloaded when it became free and tested in game and went, "thank god I didn't pay anything for this". Lack of LODs or proper maps, high poly, holes, improper weights, etc. All of this to me is fine for purely free cc (as long as there's nothing game breaking). But to me, for paid cc, early access or exclusive, is unacceptable. And there is no way to know what you're going to get, and if there's a problem, you're out of luck. It may not be fixed, and you're certainly not getting a refund.

And then there's the issue of the tiny mesh edits. I know for a fact there are many people, if they knew how simple the edit was, they would never pay for certain items. I am not paying anyone for 5 minutes in blender. I would honestly rather pay for a recolor than a lazy ass mesh edit. That's more time and effort than making a hair two inches shorter. You don't even have to edit the texture, just make hat chops, and sometimes not even that! I have literally made certain hairs in under an hour and I'm not even that experienced! Separated the werewolves stuff in around the same time. I made the necklaces I posted recently in a couple lazy afternoons, like ten minutes per. Of course it added up since I did so many at once, but nickel and diming per tiny mesh edit? The ratio of time and effort vs payment is ridiculous. There are so many talented creators that do amazing work that takes days, weeks, etc for free. And there are talented creators that do really awesome items for early access as well, that seem worth the money. So when I see that sort of cheap tiny edit thing... it feels like these creators are taking advantage of the consumer that may not know better. It's embarrassing.

If that $20 was for 3 things that took the creator 5 minutes each to make, wouldn't you be even more upset? And then imagine that creator has hundreds or even thousands of patrons. And doesn't contribute anything to the community other than paid content. No interaction, no gameplay, no chat, never existed before popping out of the womb with a patreon. It's insulting. Is this community just a cash cow? And people wonder why we're all so tired, even if it's following EA's rules.

[angryinternetduck]

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[blacktac]

Blacktac's dating headcanons because I read too much fanfics recently

s/o=significant other

Luna's the type of person who wouldn't open up at first approach. It would take some time to get to know them and gain their trust, so dating her is certainly quite a challange :> Therefore don't expect her to get all lovey-dovey once you announced your relationship. Also, be wary of the clinginess. It's a big turn off and might even be an ick. Personal space is a bare minimum, learn to respect it. If you wanna get touchy, you have to earn it :D As the realtionship is making progress, the distant is narrowing down

Dating Luna would include:

Late night runs to get some food or do some other shit(night owl intensifies)

Her, drawing you a little too much

Sharing her meals with u(food is gold, be thankful)

Binge-watching new shows

Cuddling with warm blankets wrapped around the two of you

This:

Her, taking you into consideration in almost every reflection that comes to her mind

"I wonder if s/o would like these..."

"What would s/o think?"

"I have to get it in case s/o needs some too"

Her, sending you all of her new memes, even these halfway done

Watching horror movies and clinging onto eachother, then claiming that the jumpscare didn't affect them at all

Flirting with eachother on daily basis, making up pickup lines(mostly cheesy ones)

"Ayo do you know what my shirt is made of? Meme material"

"Don't call me daddy dear, call me MAMMAA instead" it never gets old

Her, giving you gold-worthy advice, that she probably doesn't use herself

Her, forgetting the most of it. "Did I really say that?" It's a shit taken straight out of Men in Black

Romantisizing every little/big event like Christmas or Halloween(definitely redecorating the whole house beacuse of it)

Couple matching outfits are a big yes YES

Aggressively planing your birthday party, it has to be perfect and satisfying. What do you mean by "I don't want one"?? "Sheesh, alright then I'm still gonna make sure it'll be the day and the night ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) that you will never forget"

Gifts being extra meaningful(love language)

Her, making a spotify playlist with tunes that reminds her of you

You, dragging her to bed and begging to get some sleep or staying up late together, not caring about the headache in the morning

Late night conversations about everthing and nothing

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

"Ofc babe, I would still spend time with you. Like taking you fishing for example"

"What."

"What?"

Trying out new recipies

Dancing in the kitchen like nobody gives a shit

Her, showing you new bought games and you watching her fail miserably at any of them(still having fun tho)

Both of you competing in smash and you beating the shit outta her

Her, getting mad at you for being good

Cleaning her glasses(she forgets to do so)

Getting a dog or making a compromise by getting a cat

Couple workouts are fairly welcome(chad couple intensifies)

Her, sharing details about her game project with you and asking for your opinion

Your house being the absolute nerd cave(lighsabers hanging above the tv, "world's best boss" cup from the office, bookshelfs filled with comics)

It doesn't have one basic theme, the rooms are just filled with stuff that both of you like

"Instead of a basic toilet paper stand, can we get a banana duck I've found on Aliexpress?"

"No."

"That wasn't very cash money of you :("

Big shopping dates at the gallery:D Love is fun sure, but you know what else brings happiness? Spending money.

Her, helping you pick out outfits that would suit you

Movie or amusement park dates. Luna definitely isn't the most romantic person, they would still treat you as a friend, just with big benefits beacuse your her boo:>

Showing love might not come easly for them, but it doesn't stop her from trying to. Drving you safely home after a date, making sure you got nice winter coat for when it gets cold, making your favourite dish for dinner. These aren't the best confessions of love, but if you manage to notice them, they will make you feel loved and special

[insaneoldme]

Can you rec buddie fics? Pretty please?

OMG it's my time to shine, bitches!!!

Sorry if I went a little nuts, but this fandom has some of the best writers I've ever seen. I have 186 Buddie fics bookmarked in my AO3,

I'll link here if you are interested in taking a look cause if I put them all here it would be too long. Also, I tried to show here some fics I very rarely see recced, and a little bit o the classics. This fandom has some very underrated authors, everyone in my bookmarks is worth taking a look really.

Please take a look at the warnings before reading, enjoy!!!

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies (Rated E )

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

My Heart's Been Borrowed by ElvenSorceress (Rated E)

aka the one where Taylor gives Buck his ultimate fantasy and uncovers far more than either of them expected, forcing him to confront his long held feelings for Eddie

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by HMSLusitania (Rated E)

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) (Rated E)

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

Keep It On by R_E_R6 (Rated E)

When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by ElvenSorceress (Rated T)

Buck nearly loses everything and Eddie has to follow his heart

hungry for your love by evcndiaz (Rated G)

prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

or; breadsticks are a metaphor for love and boning

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests (Rated M)

A glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

when things fall into place by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Eddie asks Buck to move in with them during lockdown to help look after Christopher, which leads to certain unresolved feelings being resolved.

Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.

Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.

Except for how... he might not.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates (Rated E)

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.

But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back.

He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.

ripples all the way down by iriswests (Rated M)

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings (Rated M)

Evan Buckley is lost.

It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door.

Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name.

Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Hi, I’ve never made a Reddit post before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing but I need advice and can’t ask anyone in my real life. So, I [30M] have this best friend [34M]…

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

fireflies where my caution should be by littlesnowpea (Rated M)

“You never talk about your parents,” Eddie says, which is not even remotely what Buck expects Eddie to say. He frowns, tilts his head, but it isn’t a question, as evidenced by Eddie charging on. “I never asked because I figured it was your business, but the look on your face any time they’re brought up tells me you don’t get along.”

Buck swallows hard, against a lump in his throat. His parents? Eddie’s right, he never talks about them, for good reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what he’s even going to say.

Eddie takes it as the answer Buck is trying to make it out to be. He squeezes Buck’s wrist again, takes a deep breath, like he’s on a call with someone who’s panicking. Buck finds his breathing slowing to match Eddie’s, and Eddie nods as Buck gets it under control.

“There are people on the porch,” Eddie says, voice even. “Saying they want to meet their grandchild.”

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable.

And that makes Eddie frustrated.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Memorable by JessicaMDawn (Rated T)

Six times Buck got recognized by people he saved during the tsunami, and how his team realized he was a hero.

All Bets are Off by NobodyKnows_U (Not Rated)

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

fire on fire by extasiswings (Rated T)

Or: Buck and Eddie get in the habit of sharing a bed while living together during quarantine. It's platonic until it isn't.

Better Together by Randomfandombloggs09 (Not Rated)

5 times Eddie sees Buck wearing his last name and 1 time its not just his

Daddy and Pops by EdithBlake (Rated M)

When Christopher calls Buck 'Pops' things get a bit confusing. Buck and Eddie have a talk with Christopher that ends up with both of them being even more confused by how right it sounds.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (Rated E)

unknown sender: Hi!

unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run.

unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way.

sent: hey um

sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but

sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

the dream you wish will come true by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

vienna waits for you by mottainai (Not Rated)

Eddie doesn't deserve a soulmate.

Work Husband by hideeho (Rated T)

“What...what have you done with Buck?” Eddie is going to kill him for messing with his phone. No, that’s too extreme. He’s going to maim him. Just a little.

“Check under H,” Chim offers helpfully, shooting a look over to Hen with a smirk.

Why the hell would he be under—

Then he sees it.

Husband.

Bad Neighbors by firstdegreefangirl (Rated E)

Eddie's new neighbors are keeping him up all night. He calls on his best friend for a little taste of their own medicine.

Cross the Line by Sirencalls (Rated E)

Eddie laughs, short and quiet and almost to himself. “No. If you want to learn, then I’m gonna be the one to teach you.”

Buck is pretty sure his brain stops working. “What? Why?”

Eddie turns to look at him and steps closer, their chests only a few inches apart. “Because there are people out there who will take advantage of how naïve you are. They’ll hurt you, and I won’t.” Eddie’s eyes are so intense that Buck doesn’t have any choice but to believe him. “If you want someone to do this for you, to—to dominate you, it has to be me. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

pretty in pink by dykeevans (Rated E)

Buck forgets that he and Eddie made plans to hang out until Eddie shows up and Buck's in the middle of laundry day.

His laundry day outfit consists of a small pink crop top and grey sweatpants.

Eddie loses his damn mind. Me too, though, me too.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Rated G)

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Something Old, Something New by dumbhuman (Rated E)

“Damn, I love weddings!” Buck’s face lit up as he closed the door.

If asked later, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to explain what came over him in that moment to make him ask the question. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have wanted to explain. The exhaustion was an easy excuse, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a real one.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

one of the few things by thatnerdemryn (Rated G)

five times that Eddie tells someone else that Buck is Christopher's legal guardian plus one time he finally tells Buck.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu (Rated T)

“Why is everybody taking my relationship status so personally? Can’t I be fine with being single?” Buck said.

“Hey, you don’t have to say yes, be sad and alone if that’s what you want,” Josh replied. “But, I’m just saying. I’ve seen photos and this guy is volcanic levels of hot. Also, single dad, super cute kid. Saves lives for a living like you. I think you should give it a go.”

(the one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there)

Keeping It In The Family by Wolves_of_Innistrad (Rated T)

A young man shows up at the firehouse looking for Buck. Turns out Javier was a Bartender with Buck in Mexico. He’s back in LA, looking to reconnect and very flirty. Cue Eddie realizing Buck is not as straight as he thought.

kiss me (like your ex is in the room) by rebeccaofsbfarm (Rated E)

Eddie Diaz gets drunk and protective and signs up for a fake double date to get back at his friend's ex.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania (Rated M)

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is… missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home

All my Buddie AO3 bookmarks

As I said this fandom has some very talented people, some of my favorite Authors's Tumblrs below, I recommend all the things they wrote and their blogs are very good.

@elvensorceress, @hmslusitania, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings

For gifs:

@arrenemris, @skylessnights (very lovely AU gifsets)

@from-nova(good gifs & content)

For Podfics: @mistmarauder everything she ever read is amazing, her podfics are high quality and she has a very lovely voice and her presence calms me down lol I recommend it

I'm sorry there are a lot more people but I'm kinda in a rush haha most of the people I follow are amazing, but the ones I mentioned here are enough to get you started or entertained for a while.

Buddie fics are amazing, this pairing has spoiled me so much, everyone I met because of it is nice and so active and talented.

Sorry mutuals if I forgot someone! 

I hope I helped Anon, have fun!

(Tell me if any link is wrong please, thanks)

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines. 

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean​ so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

---

After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

[sinnergetreadymp3]

CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC CHAMERON FIC

Uhhhhh I feel like I should give this a title but I have no idea what to call so uh, nevermind !!

Anyways,I finally finished the fic I said I was writing like,a month ago lol. All my Chameron stans out there this one's for u,I rlly hope at least one person enjoys this,I rlly enjoyed writing it !! Ok sappy stuff outta the way,here it is:

As rain pounded against the window Charlie sent what was probably the thousandth crumpled ball of paper across the room.

"Jesus Charlie,is your arm not getting tired?"

Charlie smirked at that, clearly preparing to make a dirty minded joke,but a thoroughly exhausted Richard Cameron was already one step ahead.

"You know what,forget I asked, you're gross."

Getting up from the seat at his desk and ignoring an indignant retort from Charlie, Cameron thought of the rest of his friends,out for the weekend. Todd and Neil celebrating their one year anniversary, Meeks and Pitts embarking on a two day road trip,for what they still claimed to be, entirely platonic reasons (although the rest of the poets were all too aware of the almost palpable romantic tension between them). Even Knox had found something to do with himself on this miserable Friday night.

And here Cameron was,stuck in his dorm with nothing but stacks of extra homework and his obnoxious roommate to keep him company.

Speaking of that obnoxious roommate, "Oh come on Cam,you're not seriously going to bed already,it's barely eight!"

"Shut up Dalton,I'm tired."

Refusing to admit defeat, Charlie sprung from his own bed into Cameron's, attempting to wrestle the poor boy from his comfortable position.

"Charlie,get off you psycho!" Cameron managed to get out, already laughter threatening to give away just how welcome his friend's childish antics were.

After a few more minutes of "fooling around" as Charlie insisted on calling it (mostly because of how profusely it made Cameron blush),the two boys lay breathless beside each other,trying desperately to think of something else to do that would ward off impending boredom.

After a few moments of comfortable silence,Charlie suggested,looking expectantly towards the ginger, "Wanna go to the cave?"

With extreme,mind numbing boredom as motivation, it was inevitable that Cameron would say yes. It certainly helped that Charlie was gazing at him with those oh-so convincing doe eyes of his. Charlie Dalton and his stupid,gorgeous eyes. And his stupid,gorgeous smile,which Cameron was abso definitely not thinking about as he got up and grabbed his coat.

The two boys trudged through the woods,bickering lightly when Cameron complained of the cold that Charlie apparently couldnt feel at all,but always with an unusually friendly air between them. Before long they were sat together in the middle of the cave,sharing an apple that Cameron had managed to salvage from somewhere (a feat Dalton was of course impressed by),and trading stories of girls and parties galore. In Cameron's case, the stories of girls were few and the parties were from years long before even middle school,so Charlie did most of the talking.

After a while though,the boys came to discussing their friends,and the luck they all seemed to have in finding each other so easily. Charlie, ever the romantic,made no waste of his extensive vocabulary,tediously lamenting on all the opportunities of love he had missed and the everlasting loneliness he was doomed to,all because his dashing knight in shining armour would never come to find him and-

"Why dont *you* just find somebody?"

Charlie,still sprawled dramatically over a rock ,and mildly offended at the interruption,indignantly questioned "What do you mean?"

"What I said? You dont just have to wait around for somebody to come find you and fall madly in love. Why don't *you* just find somebody?"

He thought for a moment,taken aback by the ginger's harsh words,but eventually decided to humout him for a moment.

"And where exactly do you suggest I find him then, hm?"

Cameron shifted in his seat,not expecting to be taken seriously and certainly not prepared to be giving advice. Especially not *this* kind of advice. Especially not to *charlie*.

"Well,uh," he looked up to see the other boy looking at him expectantly,with that ever-present smirk on his face that, oddly enough,made Cameron feel a little more comfortable.

"Maybe,you could,I don't know, consider that the guy you're looking for has been here the whole time?"

"Wow Cam,Pittsie and Meeks' radio must've really gotten to you. All those love songs have turned you into a big softie." Charlie joked,grinning and nudging Cameron playfully.

Through a soft laugh,Cameron continued, "No I'm serious man,I think you're making this whole love thing way harder for yourself. I mean- and be honest with me, what's actually wrong with the guys at our school?"

"Other than the fact that about three quarters of them are raging heterosexuals?"

Laughing again,Cameron replied "yeah,other than that."

After about zero seconds of careful consideration,he had come to a conclusion, "Well,I guess nothing,but I dont know? Cameron, I don't see how this changes-"

"It *changes* things because clearly you don't anything about half the guys at our school. And you can't write off people you don't even know." At some point, Cameron had gotten up and started pacing around,but with the end of this triumphant speech,he finally sat down,a little closer to the other boy than he had been before.

Charlie looked across at Cameron and was suddenly met with a wave of fondness. Weird,how all it took was to sit and talk for a while before someone you thought you near hated,started to feel like your favorite person in the world. And,was he going completely crazy or Cameron at his most comfortable, without the fear of a teacher lurking nearby,without the stress of constantly trying to prove himself,was he... A little..... attractive??

All at once,Charlie made a decision,partly to try and prove himself wrong,but also because hey,if Richard Cameron was the surprise love of his life,what better time to figure it out than right now?

"So how,sir Richard Cameron,do you propose I get to know all these charming suitors?"

Cameron, completely in the dark about Dalton's recent epiphany,was still stubbornly trying to explain how much easier Charlie's love life could be,if only he would let it.

"Well,maybe by actually talking to them? Y'know,kind of like,What we're doing right now."

"So,what you're saying is,*you* could be my knight in shining armor," he said with a smirk.

"Well,that's not what-"

"No,no it's fine,as long as we're talking about this version of you. Regular Cameron is kind of a buzzkill but Cave Cam is actually a kind of.... And I can't believe I'm saying this but,in here,like this...well. You're actually a little hot."

After this, overwhelmingly romantic confession, Charlie was certain he had completely stuffed it,and sure enough,

"Gee Charlie,thanks. Really makes me wanna ride into the sunset with you." To say Cam's ego had been hit was an understatement,but before he could make a swift exit from the cave and lock himself,alone,in his dorm for the rest of the weekend,of course Dalton kept talking.

"God,I'm sorry,that was, I have no idea why I said that. I thought I was being funny but out loud- god I'm so sorry," while he had initially been mad,seeing Charlie fucking Dalton blush (and because of *him* no less) was rather funny. And sure,a little cute. So Cameron decided to hear him out.

"Can I start over? You're not saying anything so I'm gonna start over. I,uh, I really do think you're hot. Like really hot. And not just right now,all the time,like that time we were at rowing practice and I started pushing you around and we ended up on the floor and I saw like,a single sliver of skin because your sweater had ridden up,and I couldn't stop thinking about it all day,which I thought was a little weird but then-"

"Uh,I think I get it,Charlie." Now Cameron was the one blushing.

"Uh,sorry. What I meant was,that I *do* think you're hot l-"

"As you've said"

"Yeah,yeah,but it's more than that. Like,when I realized we'd basically be spending the whole weekend alone together,I was actually sorta excited for that,even though I knew I'd just be sitting by you while you did homework the whole time,I like,wanted to do that. And tonight,I haven't talked like this with anyone who isn't Neil like,ever. What I mean is,I guess,is that,I think that uh,"

Deciding to lighten the mood,Cameron tried for a little sarcasm, "Wow,Dalton, stuttering? I must be superman or something."

"I'm trying to be romantic here Carrot top," Charlie said with a grin,

"Listen,I don't really know what I'm doing here,but I think it might be kinda nice if we tried having a little romantic weekend of our own. Just to try it. If it totally sucks we can pretend it never happened and the others don't have to know about it and-"

"Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Relax," Cameron said with yet another laugh ,he didn't think he laughed like this since... Well,he couldn't even remember.

So with a radiant smile on his face,he said,"A romantic weekend of our own sounds amazing. Gotta warn you tho I'm not a great kisser."

"Well, lucky for you I am a great teacher," Charlie replied,with a somehow even bigger smile on his face than Cameron's,

"Why are you laughing,I *am* a great teacher!" Unfortunately for Charlie,his indignance only made Cameron laugh harder.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"If you shut up and stop laughing,maybe you'll get to." After this was all it took to get the ginger to sober up, the look on his face pushed Charlie to make his final,but (in his opinion) most important decision of the night.It was high time he flirt with Cameron way more often (which was *very* difficult to explain to the other poets,at least the first time).

[stargaze-issei]

Stoner Hawks being on patrol with him and maybe having a fire quirk (Dabi’s sis blue flames but you know Endevor don’t know that maybe she knows Dabi is her brother and knew that he ran away and never told her dad about it and how often she sees him but n e way she’s a hero did the whole UA thing) and being on patrol on top a building Keigo rolls a joint and moves on in readers direction like “can you spark it?🥺” maybe just smoking maybe some smut

this made me sO soft, like yes stoner hawks being the cutest 🥺 i got a little carried away with it, and somehow it ended up being 2.1k long ( ´◡‿ゝ◡`) thank u sm for requesting, i loved it.

stoner!takami with a todoroki!reader.

summary; in the request.

genre; fluff, smut.

warnings; daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, oral (receiving-giving), curse words, idk fucking(? smut in general.

word count; 2.1k

author's note; don't judge me it's my first time writing smut ):

 your phone rang in the pocket of your hero costume, the id showing a smiley keigo. despite knowing what was about to happen, you couldn't avoid your own smile. as you answered, the first thing you heard was wind on his side of the line, you sighed, he was probably calling while flying, again.

"one of this days, you're going to crash against a plane" his melodic laugh reached through the speaker. damn, how could you stay mad when he's laughing like that?

"i'm going to assume you're already at our spot, gorgeous" this time you laughed, nervously, takami hated waiting more than anything, and there you were, thirty minutes away from your meeting point. "send me your location, i'm picking you up" and just as fast, he hung up. flying with him was a better idea than running through the city by yourself, therefore, you did as he said.

a giggle escaped your mouth, he had that effect on you, despite of knowing each other for that long. it didn't matter how many times he called you pretty, gorgeous, angel, your face instantly heated up. and he loved it, it gave you a fake innocence, that he sure knew was oly a facade. in less than five minutes, his mighty figure covered the sun above you, looking like that, he could easily be confused by an angel send from heaven.

"i know i'm hot, but you're drooling a bit" takami, the endless teaser.

"let's just go" he picked you up, bridal style, gaining a few curious glares.

your relationship, if you could call it that, had always been a subject of gossip. not you nor him had either confirmed it or deny the rumors about it, truth be told, not even you knew what you were. it was more than friendship, but not as committed as an actual couple. you were used to kiss him, sleep with him, get high with him, and that was enough. there were feelings between, from both parts, but this was the best way. two heroes, in the peak of their careers, had no time for anything else. the ride to your usual vigilance spot was short, hawks flying at a dangerous speed, despite your complete trust in him, you still wondered if he could drop you.

"what took you so long?" he asked, once you were sitting in the edge of the tall building. you sighed, to keep that secret from him was exhausting, at least.

"my brother called".

an awkward silence grew, takami knew you were endeavor's oldest daughter, his pride and joy, wether you liked it or not. obviously he knew your brother had to be endeavor's lost son, touya. what you had kept to yourself was he went now by the name dabi, a faithful follower of the hero killer's ideals.

"is he okay?"

"mhm, he needed money".

keigo wasn't going to tell you this, but every time you said you brother called because he needed something, his blood boiled in his veins. ignoring the fact that he had to stay hidden, for some reason you wouldn't say, to hawks it seemed like he only reached out to you out of material need, meanwhile you were always preocuppied with his well. takami's hand found its way to yours, even wtih gloves you could feel his warmness. 

"oh, right, i-i've been saving this for us" he took a small plastic bag out of his pocket, letting you see those green herbs. by the looks, it had to be more expensive than usual. you gasped, in a really cute way, hawks thought. no words were needed, he grindered the pot before rolling a joint. his tongue appeared to seal it, looking straight into your eyes while licking it. he knew exactly what he was doing. "may you do the honors, angel face" a small blue flame igniciate in the tip of your index finger, just as he inhale for the first time.

takami, covered in a cloud of smoke, holding a blunt on his hand, adding that chilled look in his face. was certainly a sight to see.

unspokenly, he handed it over to you. with a smile on you face, you hit it for the first time. for a while, non of you talked, just enjoying each other's company, in fact, those moments with keigo were you favorite, you didn't have to worry for anything besides him. and he thought the same, there, he could stop being hawks, he could be just keigo, your long term friend, leaving all the responsabilities of being a hero in the ground. with you, he felt like flying.

by pure coincidence, he caught you looking at his profile. the moonlight made you have a different kind of glow, like a fairy, he thought. almost withouth realizing, he leaned over to you, his lips seeking yours rather desperately. his hand wondered to your hair, finding its place in the back of your neck, pulling you closer and making sure you weren't escaping. his experimented tongue made its way into your mouth, going through every place he already knew like it was the first time. he tasted like smoke. once he knew you were on the same page, he pushed you back on solid ground, laying on top of you. a moan left your lips, drowned by his own mouth, when his still dressed hips impacted against you. 

every touch was being enhanced by the effect of the pot. he pulled away, breaking the moment. he needed to look at you, your lust filled eyes, your half opened mouth. it was enough to get him hard in his pants. with a quick movement, he took out his gloves, fastly moving to take off your complicated hero costume. maybe it was because he was blown out of his mind, or he was just to eager to see your naked body, but he had a serious struggle doing it, making a soft giggle leave your throat. 

"you could help me instead of laughing at me" he whined, jokingly upset.

"and miss the hawks having troubles with a bra? i don't think so" that seemed to made him even more anxious, you knew he was done when a small "finally" was whispered.

between laughs, giggles and smirks, he got back on top of yours. he liked to feel you naked underneath him, having you to his complete disposal, and not losing a single item of his clothes. you weren't letting him enjoy the moment to much, a girl has her need, and touching his work out abs was certainly a need. you removed his shirt, smiling at his messy hair. 

he started to leave a trace of kisses from your lips to you r collarbone, licking, biting, leaving small dark marks on your skin. just at that, you became a moaning mess, there was something so dirty about takami marking your body.

"babygirl, i haven't even started" with that, you closed your eyes, giving into pleasure as his kisses got lower and lower. when he got to your breast, your nipples were already hard, expecting to feel his wet mouth any moment now. but that wasn't all that happened, almost at the same time, you felt a hand opening its way to your drenched cunt. "look at that, you're already so wet from my mouth only".

his tongue circle you nip at a killing pace, while two fingers found their way inside you without any warning. so thight, he said, his mind already thinking on how well you could take his cock. with his thumb in the perfect position, he started massaging your swollen clit. all you could do was melt in his touch. his free hand reached to the last bit of the blunt, which rested at a safe distance. he got up, leaving you kneeled in front of him.

"open your mouth, princess" despite his loving tone, he wasn't asking, so you did as you were told and watched him hit the last of the joint, keeping as much smoke as he could beofre leaning towards you. with a kiss, he shared it with you, entangling your tongues. he licked your lips, getting back up, his hand resting on the waist of his pants. "you're gonna be a good girl, aren't you, princess?" he got his hips so close to your face that your mouth watered.

"yes, daddy" you knew calling him that was a trigger. he took out his fat dick outside his pants, so hard that it was starting to hurt. his hand placed on the back of your head, guiding you to your objective. 

as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, he let out a unsually deep growl. takami never lasted that long, and being under the inffluence of weed wasn't helping. he couldn't even look down at you, the sight of your angel face, looking so fucking pretty while sucking him off, he was barely controlling himself from your noises. you struggled, gagging every once in a while, but never stopped, he loved to see the tears in your eyes. when he felt close, his dick twitch in your mouth, you tasted the precum coming out of him. before doing it, he pulled your hair back, avoiding it.

"my baby, you do it so good, do you think you deserve a reward?" to those words, you couldn't help but moan. his hand held your chin, making you look straight into his eyes.  

"please, daddy, please eat me out" he felt like losing his mind hearing you begging like that, who was him to deny it. a kiss left in your lips, before kneeling down facing your wet, juicy, cunt. thanks for the meal, he thought.

his tongue worked wonders. the second he met your needy clit, you were actually watching the stars. the ability he had, going between your folds, sucking just in the right spot, fucking you with his tongue. he had you a screaming and drooling mess in a minute.

"daddy! oh god, yes! there, keep going, please! fuck me, yes!" he loved hearing you going crazy because of him, he loved being able to do as he pleased with you. he could hear your moans forever. 

he knew you too well, instantly he could tell you were close to cum, he wasn't going to let that happen, he wanted you to cum in his dick, breaking your back, leaving you so fucked up you wouldn't be able to walk afterwards. feeling him leave you on the edge was torture. 

"are you so desperate for me, little bird?" he crawled to you, placing his hips on top of yours. you weren't even thinking when he kissed you, loving the thought of you tasting yourself. you wrapped your hands around his neck, reaching his back, if there was something he liked was you scratching his back until it bleed.

with a slow, gentle hursh, he deepend inside you, admiring the image of you closing your eyes at the pain. even prepared and lubed, he was just too big for you. as he felt you adptaing, his pace got faster and harder, his hands grabbed tightly into your hips, probably leaving bruises afterwards. in less than a minute, he already had a constant pace inside you, hitting your spot with every thurst. you whimpers and his groans mixed in the air. one of his hands travelled to your neck, applying a little pressure on it while his thumb fitted in your mouth. that was the view he wanted to see for his whole life. 

"you're such a slut, baby girl, but you're my slut, right?" you sucked his thumb, your mind couldn't form coherent words and his finger didn't let you speak. "oh yes, cum with me, princess, cum for daddy" his words were like music to your ears. 

the orgasm you repressed for a while felt so close, when you finally reached it, your walls clenched around his dick even harder than before, a scream of pleasure filling the atmosphere. not long after, you felt his warm cum exploding inside you, his grab hardened and a moan left his lips. he stayed there for a while, retaking his breath.his wings served as a wall for the cold wind running. finally, he retired from you, laying at your side while hugging you with one of his arms.

you looked at him, despite not being your actuall boyfriend, he loved you as much as you loved him. though tired, the fuzzy feeling inside you didn't stop, you wondered if it was just you being still high as a rocket, or if that's what love felt like.

[riversofmars]

I have an idea for a prompt! How about 13 becomes human again for whatever reason, she meets River, and without either knowing the other still manage to get together?

Thank you for this brilliant prompt! Not gonna lie, I was thinking coffee shop AU initially but I think I’ve come up with something better! 

For River this is set post Manhattan pre Darillium while she’s teaching at Luna U, she hasn't met 13 and obviously doesn't recognise her. 13 - for whatever reason as per the prompt - is under the influence of the Chameleon Arch and human, not remembering who she is.

Hope you like it!

Rating: G

Word Count: 1800

AO3

Stuff of Legends

“What are you doing in here?“

The Doctor jumped when a voice cut through the silence at Luna University Library. It was late, very late, in fact. 2am was fast approaching and the library had been empty apart from her. She had chosen the time deliberately, she had banked on people being asleep or off partying for fresher’s week.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was…“ She looked around anxiously to see a figure approaching along the rows of shelves.

“You know this area is restricted, right?“ A woman came into view, wild curly hair, silky blouse and a keen sparkle in her eyes. There as a sort of amusement in her voice and she tilted her head as she looked her up and down. The Doctor got the sense she wouldn’t tell on her, at least not yet.

“Yeah, well, uhh… my archive request was denied so I thought…“ She didn’t really know what to say. She knew access to this section of the Library was restricted but she had come a long way for it and when her request was denied by the Academy of Time Travel, she had decided to go about it another way.

“You thought you would sneak in here instead?“ The woman concluded with a smirk.

“Well, they didn’t really give an explanation so…“ The Doctor scratched the back of her head. She was anxious about having been caught but so far, the other woman didn’t seem to mind too much. Perhaps she had snuck in here as well.

“Oh there was this incident, quite a long time ago now, a student snuck into the Academy’s archives and took an ancient vortex manipulator to have a sneak peak at her future essay papers… I mean, you can’t plagiarise yourself so they could hardly expel her but they did get a lot pickier with admitting people to their archives.“ The woman explained pleasantly.

“Well, firstly, that’s very clever of the student and secondly, very unreasonable to restrict everyone else’s access to the archives when some of us have actual research to do.“ The Doctor huffed, somewhere between admiration and annoyance. “Surely the student in question has long graduated…“

“And is a professor now. Professor River Song.“ River extended her hand to her with a smirk and the Doctor’s face fell.

“Oh, uhh… you’re a professor? You work here, I…I shouldn’t be here…“ She stammered, realising her mistake. This woman was staff! And she had caught her red handed.

“No, you shouldn’t be and yet you are.“ River observed sounding surprisingly unbothered about it which sort of made sense if she had been the student in question. The Doctor wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or worried. “What are you doing?“ River asked curiously and looked to the books the Doctor had gathered on a desk.

“Uh… just some research…“ The Doctor answered nervously.

“What are you studying?“ River picked up a book that she knew well. It was one of the more comprehensive guides on supposed Timelord meddling through time.

“Well, not technically a student…“ The Doctor admitted. She wasn’t sure what to say. This woman was thoroughly confusing. She was a professor here but also seemed to have an affinity for bending the rules. Could she trust her not to rat her out?

“So you didn’t just sneak into the Academy’s library section but into the university in general?“ River sounded impressed.

“No, I mean, I’m not a student, I’m a doctor, visiting lecturer… Luna University is meant to have the greatest collection of Timelord artefacts so…“ The Doctor felt the need to set the record straight.

“A doctor, huh? You sure you’re old enough?“ River smirked and the Doctor found herself blushing under her appraising gaze. Was she flirting with her?

“You don’t exactly strike me as a stuffy old professor either.“ She retorted before she could think better of it.

“Touché.“ River laughed lightly and looked back at the collection of books, scriptures and star charts. “Why the interests in the Timelords? Most people don’t even believe them to be real.“ She observed picking up another book to read the back of it.

“I don’t know, I just… personal interest, I guess. Something about them just intrigues me.“ The Doctor replied growing more self conscious. She felt a little silly. A lot of academics looked down on those paddling theories that the Timelords actually existed. Most people believed them to be the stuff of legends. While time travel was certainly real, the idea of almost celestial beings able to live forever seemed too fantastical to be true. While there was certainly something the legends were based on, there was no way of knowing which bits were fact and which were fiction.

“What’s your field?“ River asked curiously putting the book down.

“Astrophysics.“ The Doctor answered slowly. “Yours?“

“Archeology.“ River replied in amusement. “I’m much more likely to take an interest in this sort of thing than you, how do the Timelords relate to your research?“ It was a fair question.

“Star charts… well, that’s where I started. Everything else doesn’t really relate. I’m just… curious, they’re fascinating.“ The Doctor admitted, sticking her hands in the pockets of her coat before shrugging.

“Well, the stuff of legends always is.“ River chuckled.

“Unfortunately, I’m not likely to getting any answers here.“ The Doctor sighed feeling a little bit more comfortable now. It didn’t look like this woman would tell on her but it seemed to have been a wasted trip regardless.

“Answers to what?“ River asked and the Doctor shrugged again, with a little laugh this time:

“You know, I don’t even know… I can’t really explain it… never mind.“ She waved it off. “I can’t read it anyway, whatever this language is, I don’t understand it.“ She opened one of the books and held it out to River, pointing out the circular writing.

“It’s High Gallifreyan.“ River answered as she took the book off her. “The language of the Timelords, that’s what it’s called.“ Her eyes skimmed the page.

“You make it sound like they actually existed.“ The Doctor chuckled. “Is that your field of archeology? Mystical civilisations?“

“Perhaps.“ River winked. “Would you like some help?“ She handed the book back over with a smile.

“You can… you can read this?“ The Doctor exclaimed in shock, surprise and delight all at once.

“Don’t tell anyone.“ River chuckled and looked around to check no-one had heard her.

“How?!“ The Doctor didn’t know what to say. “How do you know how to read this? It’s not like you can just take language classes in this, can you?“ She was in awe.

“My husband taught me.“ River revealed with a sly sort of smile.

“Your husband?“ The Doctor’s face fell, she didn’t even know why she felt disappointed but she did. She had only just met this woman.

“Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?“ River had picked up on it right away and the Doctor blushed scarlet.

“What? No, I mean…“ She stuttered. “Uhm, your husband… does that mean, are you telling me you’re married to a… Timelord?“ The Doctor tried to deflect.

“If you presume that to be his one defining feature, I suppose so.“ River shrugged.

“So they are real? Timelords are actually…“ The Doctor didn’t know what to say.

“He is also the last Timelord. Or was… I’m not actually sure where he is these days, we haven’t seen each other in a while.“ River sighed with another shrug.

“But you just said he’s your husband.“ The Doctor frowned, she wasn’t making a whole lot of sense.

“He’s not the type to allow himself to be held too tightly.“ River smiled though the Doctor was sure there was a sadness behind her eyes. “We… things are complicated, when you’re married to a time traveller. For all I know I might never see him again.“

“And you’re just fine with that?“ The Doctor asked softly.

“Like you say, if he’s really a Timelord, he’s the stuff of legends. An ageless god. You don’t expect the sunset to admire you back.“ River retorted returning her attention to the books on the table, she ran her fingers over one of the ancient star charts absentmindedly.

“That sounds painful.“ The Doctor mused sharing in her sadness.

“Makes you appreciate the shared times all the more.“ River grinned as her wistfulness passed and the Doctor smiled and nodded, she understood. “To be honest, I don’t like being tied down either so we suit each other very well.“ River smirked gaining her swagger back.

“I see.“ The Doctor chuckled.

“That means if you would like to get a drink sometime, or if you would like some help translating these, I’m available.“ River elaborated when her initial statement didn’t have the desired effect of flustering the blonde. She looked up from the star charts to the Doctor waiting for the penny to drop. Her explanation did the trick as the Doctor went red in the face again.

“Really? I mean… you’re not… he’s not gonna…“ She stammered.

“Every time could be the last time, every Christmas could be last Christmas, that’s the thing about time, something you learn as a time traveller, you have to learn to live in the present.“ River winked and reached out and ran her fingers along the yellow braces the Doctor was wearing. “You do remind me a lot of him, you know, I don’t know… probably just my imagination. Or the fact that I’m really very attracted to you.“ She smirked.

“You’re uhh… very forward…“ The Doctor swallowed nervously.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.“ River’s confidence faltered for a moment, genuine concern came over her. “If I misread the situations, I…“

“No, no, it’s fine, I mean… I’d like a drink. With you.“ The Doctor burst out quickly, she didn’t want her to change her mind. “I’d like to go for a drink with you and spend some time together…“

“Good. I mean, great!“ River grinned, relieved. “There is this nice little bar across campus… You don’t need these books, I can tell you everything you could possibly want to know.“

“Lead the way, Professor.“ The Doctor nodded, a grin spreading across her face.

“I don’t think you ever told me your name, what do I call you, Doctor?“ River asked mirroring her expression.

“Maybe just that. I know it probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but I never really… felt comfortable with my name… Jane Smith… just doesn’t mean anything to me. Most people just call me Doctor.“ The Doctor shrugged with an apologetic smile. She wasn’t sure if River would understand but she thought it best to be honest.

“Is that so…“ River gave her a smile, her expression incredibly hard to read. “It’s a funny old universe, isn’t it.“ She held out her hand to the Doctor. “You never know what the future holds, you just live it.“

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

U N P L A N N E D, part seven

By the end of the night at Jeff and Glenne’s, Lexi was nowhere to be found. You didn’t really mind--you didn’t feel as out of place as you’d expected and Harry had been more than happy to bring you around to different friends or familiar faces to say hello. 

A girl with dark brown hair who sang backup on his album listened excitedly as he brought her up to speed on the new plan for release. The album, originally due out in August or September was now being pushed to December. It was strategic really. 

Late summer buzz when the baby announcement came out. Winter album release, promo before and after to tide his fans over until a spring time tour, giving him the perfect span of three or four stationary months in L.A. that aligned with your maternity leave.

Genius, really. It was all thanks to Jeff and his team.

So you smiled at the girl with the dark hair and pretended you didn’t notice the fact that she kept stealing glances down at your belly, as small as it still was. 

This was the risky stage, really, when people got it wrong and asked about someone’s due date, only to be mortified when someone gave the dreaded response, I’m not pregnant. You’d seen it happen to someone else once, a woman in the checkout line at the grocery store. The cashier put her foot in her mouth and you vowed to never ask someone about their due date unless they mentioned it first. 

So you cut Laura some slack. 

“We’ll tour it next spring and summer, so you’ll have to come,” he said to his friend, a smile on his face when he lifted up his sunglasses. The sun had already sunk beneath the horizon, his cheeks were tinged pink from the hot day.

“I’ll bring your youngest audience member ever,” you revealed, letting a hand rub over your belly as you offered a smile in her direction.

“Oh, that’s so sweet! When are you due?”

“January, middle of the month. So--I might need some noise canceling headphones.”

“Hey--I make good music,” Harry pretended to take offense. 

“I didn’t say you don’t--”

“Is it yours?” Laura asked, her eyes pulling up to Harry’s face for a second, wide with shock.

Harry looked down at you, down at the bump. You could tell he was frozen, unsure of what he should say and how he should say it. 

“No--God no,” you said quickly. “It’s our friend, Peter.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile. “Yeah--Peter, he’s a good friend. He’s a great guy, a dream, really. Gonna be a great father.”

“He’s okay,” you made a face at Harry. “A lot to learn, probably never changed a diaper in his life.”

“He has too,” Harry defended quickly. “At least five or six.”

“Well he’ll be changing probably five or six a day.”

“That’s fine, he’ll be fine with that. He’s extremely committed to that baby.”

“Yeah, well,” you stifled a laugh. “We’ll see.”

Laura laughed, a skeptical look disappeared from her face when Glenne came up and offered dessert, effectively breaking up the conversation. Harry draped an arm over your shoulder for a split second when most people had started to make their way to the other side of the pool. 

“Just so you know, I’m gonna make you call her and explain that lie once we come out with it.”

“Deal,” you said. “I’ll tell her you had sex with your friend Peter’s girlfriend and we didn’t know who’s it was until it was born..”

“Jesus,” he laughed. “Can’t tell if you’re the funniest person I’ve met or the meanest.”

“I like to think I’m a mix of both.”

**

It was probably a good thing that you didn’t see Harry for another week after that. The onesie and the party at Jeff and Glenne’s and a completely new project at work had you feeling incredibly overwhelmed, left with only enough energy to drive home, take off your bra, and sit on the couch. 

Most nights Lexi was home. There were a few evenings when she’d meet Glenne and Jeff or stay late on set. She’d come home with leftovers or funny stories, and you’d fall asleep before 10pm. 

But you figured it was a good thing, the distance and space. The last two times you’d seen him, you left with a glow. The infatuation kind, not the pregnancy kind. That type of shit was asking for trouble. 

So you ignored the urge to call or text him. Most days he’d ask how you were feeling, what you were up to. You’d take your time to respond, give short answers and tell him you were too busy to see him. It wasn’t necessarily true, but you were tired. Too tired to drive all the way to his house in the hills and then all the way home. Especially when being around him required the self-control and restraint that it suddenly did.

You answered when he called, talked on the phone for an hour at a time some days. You told yourself it was nothing. It was normal it was normal it was normal. 

On the Wednesday of week twelve, you were scheduled to meet with the same crew: Jeff, Harry, Dave, Emma, Lola, and John. This time, the topic was a bit more hopeful. Some type of strategy meeting to talk about what type of information to release and what to keep private. 

When you woke up and started rifling through your closet, you came to a grim realization. Things weren’t fitting the same. Buttoned shirts now felt tight around the tummy, pants felt a bit snug in the waist. 

It happened overnight, really. You’d heard about the pop--when your belly finally protrudes outward and when you actually start to look pregnant, not just bloated. You didn’t know when it would come, but you certainly weren’t prepared for it to already be here.

Lexi was already gone, otherwise you’d storm into her room and make her promise you didn’t look funny. You weren’t about to FaceTime Glenne--only in fear that Jeff would be around and think you were being ridiculous. You also figured keeping your distance from him wasn’t a bad idea. 

So you settled on a dress, a casual one, and you didn’t even realize that someone might notice until you walked into work. 

Aarav didn’t even seem to look at you twice--he was too busy in his office dealing with a last minute request from Levi. Simone was busy too, and when you met up with them for lunch, you kept your tray and plate in front of you, praying and hoping that they wouldn’t notice the way you looked a bit more round. 

A text came across your phone when Aarav went on about Carson. 

Harry (12:43pm): Twelve week mark! See you at 5pm?

It was almost a relief to walk into the Westwood office building at the end of the day. It was a comfort, really, to be in a room full of people who knew your biggest secret. Harry met you in the lobby, a smile on his face when you offered a hug. 

“Look at me,” you said quietly, a few people passed by on their way out of work. “I look pregnant.”

He looked down, his brows furrowed together and his lips pushed out. He scanned your figure, a wave of relief washed over you when he spoke. “Wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t say anything--but, you do, a bit. You look good.”

“I feel weird,” you said, following him over to the same elevators as you tried to ignore the compliment. “I used to just look bloated, but now it’s like--real.”

Once the doors shut and afforded you both some privacy, he turned to face you. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice quiet as the elevator whirred. “Can I--can I feel it?”

“Oh,” you looked down, a hand immediately on your own belly. You’d been doing it plenty, a force of habit, now, really. You found yourself doing it in meetings, on the phone, one hand on the steering wheel and another on the bump. “Yeah, of course you can--here,” you reached for his hand, guiding it towards you, warmth when he made contact. 

It felt a little silly. It was still just your stomach--somewhere deeper in there was a baby the size of a lime. He kept his eyes on the blue fabric of your dress, both of your hands over his until the doors opened. 

Jeff, on the other side, was caught off guard. “Hi--hey, I was just coming to find you.”

“Hi,” you said, a step back from Harry as if there was some sort of rule about proximity. 

He offered an awkward smile, motioned for you to both follow him down the same long hall, past the same rooms and chairs and windows. Harry let out a giggle under his breath, smirked in your direction, another wave of butterflies.

It was the first time you’d seen any of them since the test results, you swore Dave seemed to soften when you sat across from him, this time, Harry was beside you. 

“So,” Dave spoke, a quick glance around the room. “Good to see everyone.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming,” Jeff said, settling into his seat before he reached for a water bottle. “Lola--you’re good to start us off?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, short red hair brushed the tops of her shoulders. She smiled in your direction, much less hesitant than times before. “We’re really here today to start thinking about how we want to share this news. It’s obviously not going to stay a secret forever, so we’re wondering about different options to get in front of it--while still maintaining everyone’s safety and privacy.”

You nodded, a sideways glance in Harry’s direction.

“We have a few options, Harry, about how to do that,” Jeff explained. “We could choose an outlet to inform and let them break it. Or, we could talk about a social media post, a statement from Lola…”

He turned to look at you, caution in his eyes when you offered a small smile. Nothing felt ideal--nothing they said sounded like a good option or like it wouldn’t bring trouble. 

Up until now, really, it had just been the two of you. That was, if you didn’t count the four other people in the room, Lexi, Glenne, your mother, and his family. So, the twelve of you, really. 

Things until now were quiet and private, a small buzz that was stressful enough. You couldn’t even imagine the news spreading, questions, accusations, the ways all of the aforementioned would keep you up at night. 

Harry looked around the room. “Uh--a statement is probably best, yeah?”

“I would think so--your fans will want to hear from you though, too,” Jeff nodded.

Lola smiled, softly, in your direction. “What do you think, Y/N?”

You were shocked, really. Stammered a few things before wishing you could disappear, totally not equipped to respond to that type of question. “Uh, yeah--the statement--I don’t know, whatever you think,” you looked towards Harry, a sudden feeling in your gut that out of everyone in the room, you could trust him the most. 

“We should wait until you’re father along,” Jeff said. “Probably closer to the sixth month mark?”

You nodded--that was something you could get behind. It also gave you some more time to figure out who needed to know before then. As contractual as this had become, there were still some people in your life who’d benefit from finding out that you were pregnant with a celebrity’s baby from you, rather than on TV or online.

Lola went on to say something else, but you were too busy making a list in your brain of who that entailed. 

Levi, Simone, Aarav. Your two aunts in Oregon. Your college roommate, Brie, maybe even your father--if you could track him down. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, more people to disappoint, more people to make the admission to: I fucked up. I didn’t check all the boxes in the right order.

“Does that sound alright?” Harry turned to get a better look at you, his eyes searched your face.

“What?”

“September,” Lola said. “Make the statement in September.”

“Sure,” you nodded. Two months away. That felt like an eternity. 

“How are you feeling about it?” Her question was directed at you, but it took you a second to realize that. Harry watched you, his eyebrows lifted as he waited for a response. 

“About having a baby?”

“About coming out with it,” Jeff said. 

You shifted in your office chair, hands clasped on your lap. “I don’t really know what to expect, to be fair.”

Jeff looked at Harry, then at Lola. 

Harry cleared his throat and rested his elbows on the table, he spoke directly to you. “I think there’ll be some people who are really upset and some who are really happy.”

“You should make your social media private,” Lola said. “That’s the majority of what comes up when I ran a google search of your name. A few things about your work if you dig really deep.”

“Which they will,” Harry said. 

“Okay,” you nodded. “Should I be, like, worried about my safety?

“No,” Jeff said. “Definitely not. If there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable we’ll assess and just get a security detail.”

Harry made a face at that, one you couldn’t read. He sat back in his chair and listened to Lola say more about the announcement and how important it was for him to set the tone once the news was out. 

You were almost as zoned out as he was, but you heard mention of make them believe you’re excited, and that’s when you decided you’d had enough. So you stared out the window, nodded every few seconds to make them think you were listening and invested and following along so you could follow the rules. 

Sure, maybe accidentally getting pregnant wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but Lola’s insinuation that neither of you were excited felt like a dig. Out of everyone in the room, you were the one who had to deal with the most shit. Not only did you get a baby out of one drunken night, but you also got the body changes, the hormones, and the new relationship with someone who was too famous for his own good. 

But aside from all of that--all the shit that made this stressful and terrifying and overwhelming altogether--there was still a piece of you that was excited. And it was easier to feel that later that night when you sat in the same In N’ Out parking lot as before. 

“You don’t, like, regret deciding to keep it, right?”

Your question caught him off guard. He was mid-bite and let out a bit of a cough, wiping his mouth with the backside of his hand before he looked over at you. 

“No--do you?”

“No. I don’t know. Lola said we have to act excited. As if we aren’t at all or something.”

“I know,” he said, voice quieter. “That was pretty shitty, but I don’t think she meant anything by it.”

You nodded, hoping he was right. 

“I am excited, to be clear.”

“Me too,” a nod. “I’m getting more excited. Next time we see Dr. Weston we might be able to know the sex.”

He smirked. “We already know the sex, Y/N.”

“Where’s your premonition coming from?” You laughed. “What makes you so sure?”

He laughed, a sip from his water bottle. “I think you’re going to be a really good mom no matter what. But I think you’d be especially good with a little girl.”

“You’re going to sound like such an asshole if we have a boy.”

“If we have a boy it’ll be great! He can like sports and princesses, too.”

You took another bite of your dinner, a silent prayer that this pregnancy wouldn’t turn against you and make you hate the smell of In N’ Out. “I think you’ll be a good dad, too.”

And then he did it again. He looked out the window and seemed to be somewhere else. Maybe somewhere not as congested as LA, easier and quieter and somewhere were you didn’t exist and the plum sized baby didn’t either. 

You stuck a french fry in your mouth and chewed--thankful for the fact that the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. 

“Would you--” he turned to see you suddenly, a sigh escaping his lips. “Hear me out, okay?”

You nodded.

“Would you think I was totally, absolutely mental if I asked you to move in with me?”

Your eyes must have gone wide, maybe the color even drained from your face, because before you could answer, he rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. “I know--okay, s’fine.”

“No--I just, that’s not what I expected. At all.”

He took another breath, his words came out quick this time as if he was nervous. “I know it’s crazy, but, Jeff got me freaked out today. When he talked about getting you a security detail I thought about your apartment and I know it’s in a house and it’s a nice neighborhood but--”

You didn’t say anything. You watched as he pushed his lips to one side and then the other. 

“I could never live with myself if anything happened to you.” A pause. “Or her.”

You rolled your eyes at that, a small laugh immediately granted levity to the front seat of his car. Dimples appeared on his cheeks when he saw the smile on your face.

“I hear you, but--I’ll be fine.”

He started speaking before you even finished. “Think of it this way, too. When she’s here, we’ll want to be together, right? I mean--don’t you think you’ll want more space than what you’ve got with Lexi? Don’t you think she’ll get sick of dirty nappies and all the crying in the middle of the night? If we live together I can help more and we can go through it together.”

You thought on that for a second. There was no doubt in your mind that Lexi would eventually lose her shit and need a good amount of space from the new roommate you were both about to have. You ignored the thumping in your chest at the thought of it. You, Harry, a tiny baby in that stupid onesie he bought. It sounded perfect.

“Think about it, yeah? I’ve got plenty of room.”

You nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

**

Dave had given you the go ahead to tell your coworkers. It took three phone calls with Jeff and him and Harry, but he eventually relented. When you ended up telling him that he didn’t have to go to work trying not to puke every morning waiting for your coworkers to notice the growing bump, he gave in. 

You were relieved, that is, until Levi called a team meeting, the five of you sat around a conference table on the third floor--also known as the floor with the balance ball chairs. You had no idea how much your back had been bothered by your regular office chair until you settled in to your seat. 

“So,” Levi looked around at the four of you. “Obviously my leaving is bittersweet, I know we’ve all been working hard lately to make the transition as smooth as possible. But we obviously haven’t handled one aspect of that, which is, the new Team Lead.”

You kept a straight face, glanced over to Aarav who suddenly couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You’d been planning on telling them that afternoon, at least Aarav and Simone. Maybe you’d wait until Levi left to fill him in, maybe you’d wait until you left for maternity leave to tell Carson. 

But would Levi still choose you to fill his role if he knew you were pregnant? Bound to take a decent maternity leave right after the holidays? Right when things amped up in the New Year?

“Y/N--you’ve obviously been a huge part of our success this last year, and I spoke with Mike and Tracy about having you fill the role, if you’re interested.”

“Yes--of course I’m interested,” you smiled. “I would love to.”

“Awesome--you’re obviously all in good hands,” he said to the others, a smile in your direction again. “You and I can meet with the rest of the Marketing c-suite--it’ll be painless, I’m sure.”

Now was definitely not a good time to tell them, but, your body decided it was the perfect time for an all encompassing wave of nausea. 

“Okay--yeah, sounds good.” You tried to wrap things up, looked over at Simone, hopeful she’d follow your lead. 

“When’s your last day, again?” Carson closed his laptop, if you weren’t doing your best to keep your lunch down, you’d be more surprised that he wasn’t as bitter as you’d expected him to be.

“August 5th.” 

You stood from the table, beads of sweat on your forehead. Aarav gave you a look, Simone was too busy on her phone. 

Levi started to gather his belongings. “We’ll get everything sorted out, too, about who’s going to take on some of Y/N’s responsibilities. Most things will stay the same, but, I think Mike wants to hire someone else to do some more of the graphic work, too.”

“I’m so sorry--” you said, embarrassed to rush out of a meeting like this. “I have to go--uh, make a phone call, really quick.

Again, Aarav looked at you like you’d started speaking another language. 

“Yeah, go ahead, no worries,” Levi looked suspicious too, but he turned back to Carson.

You bolted for the door, down the hall, no idea where the nearest bathroom was. Water fountain, lounge area, vending machine. Where the fuck was the bathroom?

You found it around the corner, barely making it into a stall before throwing up, desperately trying to pull your sticky hair away from your face when your knees met the floor.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Simone was behind you--the carpet of the hallway had apparently quieted her footsteps. You reached for toilet paper and wiped your mouth, thankful that no one else had witnessed your close call. The only thing worse than throwing up at work was throwing up on the floor at work.

You flushed, stood back up and offered a smile. “Yeah--sorry--bad lunch, I guess.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What?” You laughed, waving a hand before wiping at your mouth again. “No--that’s crazy!”

She raised an eyebrow at you.

A sigh. “Fine,” you said. “I am. But--you can’t tell them yet, okay?”

Her lips threatened to curl upwards, but she caught herself. “Are you--was it on purpose?”

“No,” a wave of embarrassment replaced the nausea in your stomach. “It was completely unplanned.”

“Who’s the father?”

Dave had been clear on the phone. If you have to tell them, we’ll prepare NDAs for them to sign. 

“You don’t know him.”

Maybe she did. 

“Is it that guy you’ve been seeing?”

“Yeah--we’re just friends.”

“Who have sex?”

“Just once.”

“Holy shit!”

“I know--I wanted to tell you!”

She pouted, an understanding look on her face. “That’s why you won’t have margaritas with us.”

“Busted.”

“How are you doing with it? Does your mom know?”

You thought on that for a second--it had been a while since someone asked. Harry was inquiring quite frequently, but you were also at the point now where you gave him a daily update about any symptoms. Jeff and Glenne and Lexi would check in, too, of course, but Simone was asking you on a deeper level. 

She was asking if you were losing your shit altogether and having recurring panic attacks when you’d try to fall asleep. 

“I’m okay,” you said, a confident nod. “I was freaked at first, and I am, still, a little--but, it’s been going okay.”

“Are you going to tell Aarav?”

“Yeah, yeah--I was gonna let both of you know today, but then Levi dropped that shit.”

“How dare he promote you,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well I couldn’t exactly follow that up with thanks so much, I’ll need three months maternity leave in January.”

“A January baby!” She threw her arms around you. “How far are you?”

“Thirteen weeks.”

She let go, looked you up and down. “You’ll be fine, you can totally handle this. Is the father supportive so far?”

You nodded, ignoring the tiny shred of fear that tried to squeeze it’s way up into your brain. “So far, yeah.”

But how long would that last? How long would Harry be interested in having dinner and hanging out? When would he get sick of you and when would he realize that he didn’t have to do this?

He had more options than either of you had mentioned. Harry was acting like his only option was to be completely, totally, one hundred percent involved, or the exact opposite. 

But you felt like the more realistic option was somewhere in the middle, right? He’d visit and have the baby for weekends, go off on tour and you’d FaceTime him every so often to make sure they didn’t lose touch. You’d be the one to handle the skinned knees and all of the tears, but he’d be the fun dad that would swoop in and get to take them for ice cream or out to dinner. 

He’d send a check, eventually. After things died down and he realized that it didn’t make sense for you to live together or be more than co-parents or anything like that. He’d help financially and you’d have to get a nanny if you were going to keep your job--which, as a single mom, you’d have to.

Simone brought you back to your office, smiling excitedly when you told Aarav the news, making them both promise to keep it quiet for now. You didn’t tell them who, you didn’t disclose the name of the guy who had suddenly lodged himself in a strange space in your heart and your head. Because if you did, you’d have to tell them you were also afraid he’d leave. And speaking that out loud was too much to handle.

**

Harry was a regular at Dr. Weston’s office, so much so that you found it a bit embarrassing how he knew the nurses by name and proclaimed proudly in the waiting room that he’d read every pamphlet they had. 

For someone who has to keep this pregnancy low-key, shouting excitedly in the waiting room is the opposite of that, you told him.

So he followed you back into the exam room yet again, but this time with a pout on his face after the nurse left you alone. 

“What’s your problem?”

He held a hand over his eyes to offer you privacy when you changed, the gown in his outstretched hand. “You don’t even care that I’m extremely well read.”

“One of those was a pamphlet about gestational diabetes--which I don’t even have.” You took the gown and stepped into it, tying it in the back before climbing up on the table. 

He took his hands away without even asking if you were clothed, rolling his eyes and making a face. “I’m just trying to care, okay? However will you forgive me?” 

You fought back the laugh that tried to crawl up from your belly. “I appreciate your caring. And your reading.”

“Good,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat back in his seat. “You should. Where do you want to go to dinner tonight?”

You thought on it for a second. “Know any good barbeque places? Some ribs sound so good.”

His eyebrows lifted, he watched you for a second. 

“What?” You asked, a sudden nervousness in your chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He broke eye contact for a second, let out a tiny laugh and then looked back up at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Just didn’t know it’d be that easy to get you to hang out with me.”

“Oh shut up,” you said with a laugh, adjusting on top of the sanitary paper. “I’m hungry. It’s almost dinnertime anyway.”

“The only bad news is that I don’t know a good barbeque place.”

“That is bad news,” you said. “There’s one near my house. We can just go there. Or--get take out,” you corrected. 

Okay, so maybe it bothered you a little bit. At this point, feeling like you were a secret and the baby inside of you was a secret was a recipe for feeling like a big, old, shameful one night stand that he probably regretted. But you weren’t about to tell him that. 

“Is Lexi home tonight?”

You nodded.

“We could invite Glenne and Jeff, too, if you want. Or it could be just us, that’s fine.”

You didn’t have a chance to answer, though you wanted to say either would be fine. Dr. Weston knocked and offered a smile, how are both parents feeling? 

She asked the same questions: new symptoms? Any bleeding? Mood? Appetite? Headaches? You answered and nodded along, listening to the advice she gave about any lower back soreness as you started to really gain some weight. 

When she had the ultrasound machine on and when you had laid back and assumed the position, Harry pulled his chair up to be right next to you.

“Definitely growing in there,” Dr. Weston smiled, reaching up to point at the screen. 

“Wow--she actually looks like a baby now.”

“Yeah,” Dr. Weston laughed a bit. “Less of a plum and more a baby.” But she turned, after that, her eyebrows furrowing at the screen before she looked at Harry again. “How did you know it’s a girl?”

“It’s a girl?” you asked, lifting yourself on your elbows to look at the screen closer. “How do you know?”

She turned the screen to show you better, moved the probe along your lower tummy. “Well--if she weren’t, we’d see something right there between her legs.”

“So I’m right?” He looked at you with wide eyes, a smug look of excitement on his face. “We’re having a girl?”

“You are,” Dr. Weston nodded. “I hope it’s okay that you know now.”

Harry clapped his hands together and stood from his seat. “I knew it, Y/N. I totally called it.”

“It’s fine that we know, we wanted to,” you assured her. Harry had already grabbed his phone, likely bragging to Jeff and Glenne that he’d been right. “Now I just have to deal with this know it all, now.”

“Well congratulations,” she removed the probe and clicked a few things on the screen. “Fourteen weeks and everything looks great.”

You smiled, sat up and looked over at Harry, he looked up from his phone and smiled at you. “S’a girl.”

“I know,” you nodded, voice quiet. 

Dr. Weston ducked out of the room quietly, saying she’d see you soon before shutting the door to offer privacy.

“Did you already tell everyone we know?”

“No,” he laughed, letting his phone call into his pocket. “Just my mum and sister.”

You hopped down from the table and he handed you your clothes. 

“Are you happy it’s a girl?”

“I’m happy she’s healthy, and that I’m healthy,” you laughed. “But yes--a girl will be fun.”

“We’d make anything fun,” he said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around your shoulders, the fabric of the gown was scratchy on your skin. You looked up at him, and for a second, you wondered how it would feel to kiss him.

**

Jeff’s mouth was wide open, he was still, a look of shock on his face as Glenne let out a laugh loud enough that the neighbor’s might complain.

“Don’t,” Harry groaned, his eyes pleading with you to not embarrass him any further. 

“They were expired?!” Lexi’s eyes were wide, she looked between the two of you from her spot on the floor, take out on her lap. “That’s fucked man.”

“I didn’t know they were, obviously!” He defended.

Glenne shrugged her shoulders. “Just getting laid that infrequently.” 

“Alright, s’not my primary residence.”

“So wait,” Jeff said. “When did you find this out?”

A drop in your stomach, the nervous kind like you’d said the wrong thing. 

“When she was over once for dinner. Gave her the grand tour and we obviously had to stop by the scene of the crime,” Harry borrowed the language you once used to describe his sprawling bedroom. 

“He can definitely cook but apparently he doesn’t read expiration dates,” you laughed.

“So it’s all your fault,” Lexi laughed, reaching for another drink. “Bet that was tough news.”

Your eyes flashed over to Jeff, curious to see his reaction. In a way, Lexi wasn’t wrong. Sure--you’d fed Harry the response that it’s no one’s fault, and yeah, okay, you could live with that being the agreement everyone settled on. 

But it was also nice to know that it wasn’t anything you did. 

Harry rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the couch when his phone rang. “One day you’re all going to feel terrible for saying that when you’re in love with our baby. It’s John--I’ll take it outside.”

Jeff followed behind him when Harry signaled for him to, the back door to the patio and small yard slid shut behind them.

“How ya been doin’ lately?” Glenne asked, leaning forward to grab the glass of wine she’d been nursing. 

“Fine,” you said. 

“Yeah?” She eyed you skeptically, Lexi dunked her fork into her green curry. 

“I’m handling the stress and constant anxiety as best as I can,” you admitted.

Glenne pouted. “What are you anxious about?” 

You let out a sigh, hesitant to say anything that would make her feel in the middle. “I just feel like Jeff thinks I fucked everything up or did this on purpose.”

Lexi sipped at her glass of wine. “What makes you think that?”

“I dunno--every time we’re all together I feel like he wants me to maintain a six foot distance or something.”

“He can’t tell you what to do or how to interact with him, Y/N,” Glenned tried to reassure you. “All he can do is give advice or give his input.”

“What if his input to Harry is that he shouldn’t ever talk to me or see me?”

“Bitch, you outrank him!” Lexi sat up straight and looked at you like you were losing your mind. “He’s his manager, he’s a friend. You are the mother of that man’s child. You are going to push his baby through your coochie!”

You let out a laugh, threw her a sideways glance. “I mean, I don’t know if outrank is fair.”

Glenne held up a hand, trying to get her two cents in before Lexi went off again. “He’s not mad--I don’t know why you think he’s mad.”

“Okay--fine, he’s not mad. But do you really want to try to convince me that I’m his favorite person on the planet right now?”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Y/N--he’s stressed. His client got his girlfriend’s friend knocked up. This is all going to explode into a thousand crazy headlines and he’s trying to keep it all somewhat contained. He loves you.”

You let out a long sigh at that, looked through the sliding door and watched as Harry gestured wildly, the phone sat on the small patio table between them. Jeff laughed at something he said and sipped at the beer that Harry was undoubtedly jealous of. 

Jeff had always thought you were funny. You knew that. When you got a good amount of tequila in you, you were no stranger to comedy or outrageous accents with Lexi and Glenne. Jeff would laugh his head off and there was even one time he made you drunkenly take obnoxious snapchat selfies with the stupid filters. It was probably the highlight of your relationship. 

So that night, after dinner was eaten and Netflix was watched, you tried to harness the courage that Lexi and Glenne had instilled in you. 

When Jeff came out of the bathroom, Glenne pulled herself up from a couch, a dramatic groan escaped her mouth when she smiled over at you and stretched. “Alright, my dear. Eat well, sleep well, take care of that sweet little muffin.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “So far, so good.”

Lexi had already retreated to her room, beauty sleep, y’all. Jeff waited as Glenne put her wine glass in the sink, hands on his hips. “Are you hitting the road too?”

His question was directed at Harry. He shifted on the couch. “Uh--might stay for a bit, if that’s alright?” 

Now he looked at you, and once again, you wondered if this sort of thing was allowed. An awkward look in Jeff’s direction, Glenne’s eyes were a bit wide, a smirk threatened to twist her lips into a full blown smile. 

“Yeah,” you said, looking around at all of them. “S’fine.”

You were all for following the rules and doing what you needed to do to protect everyone. But something about watching another episode of The Office on Netflix with the father of your child felt pretty safe. And maybe Glenne was right. Maybe you did outrank him. And if you didn’t, maybe one day you would. 

“Alright, well, we’ll see you both at some point in the next week, I’m sure.”

“Are we on for Saturday night still? With Tom?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, watching as Glenne grabbed her purse from the counter. “I’ll text you.”

They said their goodbyes and headed out the front door, when it clicked into place you looked over at Harry. 

“Would you actually tell me if Jeff hated me?”

“Why would he hate you?”

“Because you got me pregnant.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” he shook his head, a smile tugged at his lips. “S’my fault, remember?”

“He might not see it that way.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “I just know.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, I would know if he hated you. He’s a terrible liar. He’d never be able to hang out with you if he didn’t like you.”

You were quiet, looked back down at the remote in your hands and picked at the skin around your thumb. 

He turned himself towards you on the couch, his voice quiet in the living room. “Why are you nervous about that?”

You shrugged, trying to fight back a smile. “I’m still trying to get over the whole fear about ruining your life.”

He rolled his eyes at that, a laugh escaping his lips when his arm reached up to the back of the couch. “You’re ridiculous! I can tell you a thousand times and you won’t believe me.”

“Probably not.”

“You didn’t ruin my life.”

“Okay.” You stood from the couch and moved towards the kitchen, bringing the glass that Lexi had left behind over to the dishwasher. 

He followed behind, watched with narrowed eyes as you tried to tidy. “I mean it,” he laughed. 

You turned around, hands on the counter as you looked at him. It was late, the light in Lexi’s room was off, you hoped she didn’t have her ear pressed up against the door. Mostly because you didn’t want her to hear what you said next. 

“I just don’t want you to leave.”

He took a step forward, brows furrowed. “Tonight?”

“No--like, in general.”

His lips parted at that, a pause before he sighed, another step forward. 

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I’m just--scared sometimes.”

“I know,” he was close now, his chest almost pressed against yours. His fingers reached up and tugged at the hem of your shirt, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, stared down at the floor now as if looking up in his eyes would somehow make it more risky. As if ignoring the fear and the doubt and everything that bubbled inside of you when you tried to get your mind off of it would keep you safe, keep her safe. 

His hand nudged at your chin, lifted it up so you had to look at him. Something in his eyes felt promising--or maybe it was the way you felt his lips curl into a smile once they were pressed against yours.

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**author’s note: **FINALLY!!!!! No but really, thank god. It’s been tough to wait to share that with you. Things are finally heating up in here! You know I’m a fucking sucker for a slow burn.

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