#this is definitely just about a writing prompt

[sunshinehaze1]

Sizzlin’

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Your friend convinces you to attend a BBQ at her boyfriend’s friend’s house. The last thing you expected was meeting Frankie.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. meet-cute, drinking (beers), slight dubcon (both reader and Frankie have had 2 beers, Frankie checks in), f!oral (it is Frankie, duh!), protected PiV, no use of Y/N

a/n: This was written for @yxtkiwiyxt’s NHIE Challenge. I received the prompt, “Never have I ever slept in someone else’s bed.” I LOVED this challenge and this was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to my beautiful beta reader @80ssong 🥰

word count: 5,176

ao3 | ml

"Come on, his friends are really hot!"

Sabrina has been bugging you to attend a BBQ with her boyfriend's friends this weekend. They've been dating for over a year, and you've hung out with him a few times, but his golden retriever puppy energy can be overwhelming. He's a great guy, though, and he makes her happy. You're thrilled your closest friend has found someone who treats her right.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not looking to date right now."

"Who said anything about dating?" your friend counters. "You could just have some fun."

You brush her off at the suggestion. "Please, will you just come? His friends are a lot of fun."

Finally, you relent. "Ok, fine, I'll go. It's not like I had any plans this weekend anyway."

Sabrina lets out a delighted squeal and wraps you in a bear hug. "Perfect, I'll send you the address and meet you there at 3."

"Should I bring anything?" you ask as you walk your friend to the door.

"They're simple guys. Beer will do just fine." Sabrina waves goodbye and closes the door behind her.

—

With the address in the GPS and a couple of six packs in the passenger seat, you begin your drive. You're nervous about being in a new place and meeting new people, especially those who are "really hot." It's early fall in Florida, so you can still get away with wearing a sundress. The heat won't take a break for at least another two months, so you wear your favorite one to boost your confidence. "Fake it til you make it," right?

You pull into a quiet neighborhood. The streets are lined with older homes shaded with mature trees, dripping in Spanish moss. The GPS pings as you approach your final destination, and you park on the street in front of a one-story brick home with a driveway full of pickup trucks and Jeeps.

Before you exit the car, you take a final look in the rearview mirror to adjust your hair and ensure your makeup hasn't melted off. Taking a deep breath, you grab a six-pack in each hand and head toward the house.

—

"Pope, for fuck's sake!" A broad-shouldered man, who fills the entire door frame, swings the front door open just as you reach for the doorbell. Your arms flail in surprise, and you fumble to keep the beer from crashing onto the pavement.

"Oh, shit." the man startles. "Sorry about that; I was just going out to get something from my truck. Here, let me help you with those." His calloused hands brush over yours to grab the cartons from your hands.

"Um," you stammer. "Thank you." Sabrina definitely wasn't exaggerating. Benny's friends are hot—at least this one is.

You take him in, starting with broad shoulders covered in a washed-out maroon t-shirt underneath a chambray button-up. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his sinewy forearms. You notice a small bullseye tattoo on his hand resting between his thumb and index finger. A ballcap with an unfamiliar logo sits atop a mop of brown curls, which peek out in the back. His eyes are a rich brown; crinkles form at the corners when he smiles wide, dimpling his right cheek.

You follow him inside the house. He sets down the beers and extends his hand to greet you. "I'm Frankie. You must be Sabrina's friend."

"It's nice to meet you, Frankie." His strong hand wraps around yours, and you introduce yourself.

Frankie quickly excuses himself and heads back outside to his truck.

—

"HEEYYYYYYYY!!!" you hear Sabrina sing-song as she walks into the house from the backyard. "You made it!" She greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. She whispers in your ear teasingly, "So, I see you've met Frankie."

Shyly, "Yeah, we met. Almost lost a few beers in the process."

"I'm so glad you made it!" She drags you behind her toward the backyard. "Let me introduce you to everyone else."

You were surprised to see only Benny and two other men outside. This was a more intimate gathering than you had realized, immediately putting you at ease.

Sabrina introduces you to your host, Santiago, or "Pope," as you soon learn. Benny is two for two on the handsome friend count. He's shorter than Frankie, has dark hair and features, a broad smile, and a gregarious personality.

Next, you meet Benny's older brother, Will. Blonde hair, blue eyes, much more reserved than his brother. A strong, silent type. He seems content to be in his own world while he attends the grill.

You hear the grind of the sliding glass door behind you. Frankie walks through the threshold, waving a stack of folders in the air. "Got 'em!"

"My man!" Santiago slaps him on the back, "Thank you."

With his mission accomplished, Frankie finally has a chance to take you in fully. His gaze travels the length of your body, taking in your soft features and plush curves and admiring the cut of your dress, which perfectly accentuates your breasts, hips, and ass. The short length leaves your bare legs on full display.

—

The backyard is beautifully appointed with sable palms, hibiscus bushes, and a well-manicured lawn. There is a jacuzzi to the right of the grill, which doesn't surprise you; Santiago seems like a lady's man. No bachelor pad would be complete without a jacuzzi. Adirondack chairs encircle a small fire pit in the back corner of the yard. You reckon it only gets used during the short window when it is cold enough in Florida to have a fire and not melt.

"Food's almost ready," you hear Will call out.

Sabrina looks to you. "Come help me get the sides?"

You follow her back inside to the kitchen.

"What did I tell you?" Her eyes widened. "They're all hot, aren't they?"

You respond with a shy smile, "Yeah, you weren't lying."

She nudges her elbow against your arm while holding a bowl of potato salad. "I saw Frankie checking you out."

"You…" stammering out skeptically, "…no way?!"

"Yes, way! You look hot in that dress; why wouldn't he check you out?!"

You attempt to conceal your smile by focusing on the tiled floor. "He does seem nice."

"Oh, honey, he's not just nice! He's sweet, funny, and gorgeous," she whispers conspiratorially, "And it looks like he's packing some serious heat."

"Sabrina!" you scoff, playfully smacking her. "You're not supposed to be checking out your boyfriend's friend's package!"

"Says who? I can look, and you can touch to prove me right." She leaves you speechless, holding a tray of crudites, as she walks back outside, cooing to the boys that it's time to eat.

You make your way to the table with bench seats on either side. After you set the tray on the table, you take a moment to contemplate how to sit without exposing yourself in your short dress. Slowly, you lift your leg to straddle the bench, but your sandal catches, and you're thrown off balance. You brace yourself for an embarrassing fall until you feel strong forearms wrap around your waist to hold you steady. Frankie walking by at just the right time.

"Whoa, you alright there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." sheepish and embarrassed, "Thank you."

He grabs your hand and says, "Here, let me." You begin your second attempt at climbing over the bench, flattening the back of your dress underneath you before you sit down.

Frankie looks down at you. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be great, thank you." Anything to wash down the embarrassment and cool off from the heat of Frankie's touch.

He fishes out a bottle of beer from the cooler. Out of your periphery, you ogle him as he's bent over. His shirt stretched across his back, rugged khakis taut over his ass. You're suddenly much thirstier than you thought.

He returns to the table and sets the bottle before your plate. You feel the warmth radiating from his chest against your back, his bicep less than an inch from your face. A slight turn of your head and your nose would be in his armpit. You hold your breath, afraid that if you let yourself breathe in his scent, you'd succumb to the physiological response. That and the fear of getting caught sniffing a man you just met in front of his closest friends tempers your impulse.

Frankie sits across from you while the rest of the group sits around the table. Serving platters are passed around until the plates are full.

Frankie finds himself distracted by your sweetheart-necklined dress as everyone begins to eat. The hem curving over the top of your breasts, meeting in the middle at a point, which draws his attention to the tease of cleavage. He's completely ignored the clamor of conversation around him. Suddenly, a baby carrot lands in his lap, and he's brought back to the present. "Hermano, did you hear what I said?"

Frankie stumbles a response, "What's that?"

"Malo." Santiago shakes his head and huffs a laugh, "Pretty girl in front of you, and you lose all sense."

You feel the attention of the table shift to you and quickly avert your gaze, picking at the food on your plate and fixating on the pattern that outlines the rim of the dish. Your cheeks heat from the eyes burning into you. You're cautious about looking up to gauge Frankie's reaction; you don't want to become even more flustered.

Frankie flings the carrot back at Santiago, "Shut the fuck up, man!" But he's quick enough to bat it away before it hits him. The rest of the table erupts with laughter, allowing the awkwardness of the moment to dissipate, and you and Frankie join in.

Will asks, "So, how long have you and Sabrina been friends?"

You're thankful for the segue. "We lived on the same street growing up in Orlando. She followed when I moved to Tampa a few years ago for work."

Sabrina chimes in, "Yeah, you wouldn't make it here without me!" You both giggle.

"Sabrina tells me you all served together in the Army?" the men nod in unison.

They briefly share how Frankie, Santiago, and Will met in basic training. Benny joined their unit a couple of years later. They share minimal details about their deployments, not wanting to dredge up too many memories of that time, especially with new company present.

They've all retired from the Army and returned to civilian life. Will tours the state, speaking with personnel considering retirement from service. Santiago runs a security firm where Benny works. Benny is also an amateur MMA fighter, which Sabrina isn't fond of, but even she can admit he's really good. She's even told you that watching him fight does turn her on.

Lastly, you learn that Frankie has transitioned to civilian piloting and leads helicopter tours of the Bay. He has a four-year-old daughter, Lila. When he talks about her, his eyes sparkle. Clearly, she is the light of his life.

You hesitantly ask about her mom. You're nervous that this guy you've developed a crush on in a short period isn't single. "We split up over a year ago. It wasn't working, and we can be better parents to Lila this way."

You're impressed with Frankie's maturity and self-awareness, which enable him to have an amenable relationship with his ex. As a child of divorce with parents who were unable to put their grievances aside, you know how vital co-parenting is for a child. "I'm glad you could figure out what works best for you both and Lila."

Frankie nods before he takes a swig of beer. You watch as his thick fingers wrap around the bottle's neck. You're fixated on his throat; his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the bitter IPA—the prominent vein on the side of his neck, with moles that dot along his tanned skin.

You and Frankie have been in a bubble. The friends surrounding you have been long forgotten as your conversation flows naturally. He has a calming presence that makes you feel comfortable and at ease. He's confident and funny, with a raspy laugh that takes over his whole face and radiates through him and a smile so broad that his eyes disappear.

Subtle flirting has become more overt. Your hands brush against his when you reach for the bowl of chips at the same time. You accidentally bump into him when you stretch your legs in front of you underneath the table. But he doesn't pull away, the rough sole of his shoe brushing gently against your bare leg. You glance at him with a sheepish grin, and he returns with a toothy smile. Fuck, he is handsome. Your eyes remain locked on each other, heat coiling within your body, and you sense the same in Frankie.

"I'm going to grab more ice for the cooler from the garage." Frankie stands up from the table, his eyes silently communicating to follow his lead.

As you get up from the table, you take his cue and ask, "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, that would be great." A sly grin emerges. "Thanks!"

Frankie follows you through the door, his hand brushing softly against the small of your back. The contact sends shivers down your spine, and your pulse quickens as you feel his warm palm against the thin material of your dress.

"Garage is this way." Frankie guides you down the hall to the right of the kitchen.

When you turn the corner, Frankie is immediately on you. He is unable to hold back a second longer. He has you pinned against the wall, his arms bracketing you above your shoulders. Hunger swirls in his eyes, and you feel his breath against your cheek. He's so close to you that you're sure he can hear your heart beating.

"You are so god damn pretty." his finger trails along the strap of your dress and loops underneath, "And you're fucking killing me with this dress. I needed to get you alone."

A sigh escapes your lips, overwhelmed by his closeness and his touch on your bare shoulder. Unable to speak, Frankie fills the silence. "Can I kiss you?"

All you can manage is a nod, your bottom lip held between your teeth in anticipation.

He leans forward until his plush lips connect with yours. A moan escapes you both at the contact. What begins as a sweet, chaste kiss quickly becomes more intense.

He licks at the seam of your lips, seeking permission to enter. The bill of his hat hinders him, but he quickly flips it around to devour your mouth fully. It's a flurry of tangled tongues as he licks into your mouth. A groan escapes him when you grab his bottom lip between your teeth. A gentle nibble quickly soothed by the swipe of your tongue.

With his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer to him, the weight of his bulge pressing against your thigh. You feel wobbly even though you're sandwiched between Frankie's solid frame and the wall, forced to grip his shoulders for purchase to remain upright. Your fingers map the sinew of muscle along his traps and deltoids as he dives in for another kiss. Which somehow leaves you even more breathless than the last one.

The feverish kiss continues as he pulls you further down the hall. Twisted limbs tripping over each other, bumping into the walls, leaving picture frames askew. Spurts of laughter echo through the hallway as you fumble around, fingers tangled in the fabric of each other's clothes. His wide palms rest against your hips before snaking around to grip your ass cheeks. You can feel the slick arousal pool in your panties.

Emboldened by the drinks you had earlier and Frankie's attention, you suggest finding somewhere more private.

Frankie growls and grips your wrist, taking you further down the hall until you reach a threshold with a closed door. His arm reaches behind you to turn the knob, and you both fall into the dimly lit room. Dark curtains are draped in front of large windows, and the setting sun peeks through the gap in the fabric where they meet. You and Frankie stumble your way further into the room, hands groping manically over each other's bodies.

You slide Frankie's button-up shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Then, you tug the T-shirt underneath from the waistband of his pants. His hands travel under the hem of your dress, his fingers dimpling into the supple flesh. He shuffles you toward the bed and tosses you against it, giggling as you flail backward onto the soft mattress.

"Fuck, I could get used to that sound." he huffs.

Propped up on your elbows with one leg crossed over the other, you give him a coy smile. Frankie's eyes burn with lust as his gaze trails up your bare legs to your core. "I'm going to need you to open up, baby."

You slowly uncross your legs and spread them into a wide v. Frankie watches you intently, eyes focused on the pull of your dress up your thighs exposing the gusset of your panties, enraptured by the blooming wet spot caused by your arousal.

He hums as he falls to his knees. Leaning into your center with a deep inhale. "Fuck!" His palms warm on your thighs, his eyes pleading, "Can I?"

"Can you what, Frankie?" you tease.

"Can I taste you?" a desperate tone to his voice, "Please?"

You nod, and he's on you within seconds. His fingers slip into the sides of your panties, and you lift your hips so he can pull them off. Your slick folds glisten in the soft light of the room. "Fucking gorgeous cunt."

"Frankie, please."

"I got you. I got you."

The swipe of his tongue through your folds emphasizes his reassurance, and you cry out with relief. The whiskers of his beard brush against the sensitive skin. Frankie moans into your core as the sweet, musky taste of your arousal dances across his tongue. A sample is not nearly enough to satisfy him; he dives in for more.

Desperate for better access, he spreads your thighs further apart, pushing your legs up until your thighs meet your stomach. He holds you down with his palms flat against the back of your thighs. He leaves a wet trail along your skin as his arousal-soaked lips slowly kiss up and down your thighs. A gentle bite on your ass cheek sends a jolt of surprise through your body that you can't help but squeak out a laugh.

You can't even recover before the tip of his tongue journeys across your outer folds, looping around to the other side before sliding through your seam again. Up, up, up until he reaches your clit. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub. Sucking it into his mouth, lapping kitten licks with the tip of his tongue. Your body writhes below him, pulsating need coursing through your veins.

You reach between your legs, eager to feel any part of him, and yank the hat off his head. You fling it behind you, where it lands on the floor with a thud. His gorgeous hair is now unencumbered, your fingers free to roam through his soft curls. You grip the brown locks between your fingers and pull him further into your pussy, his nose bumps against your clit as he eats at you. "Fuck, frankie, you're incredible."

And he is. He really is. The best head you've ever experienced. Somebody who was a stranger just a few hours ago. You can't recall the last time you've been with such an enthusiastic lover. Especially one that is so wanton, eating at you, bringing you intense pleasure, and not making you feel like its a chore or an obligation.

You practically had to beg your ex to go down on you, and when he did, he expected you to return the favor. It never was about your pleasure. Frankie is different. He eats at you like it's his only way of survival, as if he'll die if you don't come by his tongue.

He groans into your cunt, shockwaves pulse through your body, at the precipice of your orgasm, "I'm so close."

Frankie, seeking relief from his painfully hard cock, reaches down to unfasten his pants. He releases his cock from his boxer briefs with a sigh. With a swipe of his hand, he gathers the precum that has leaked from his tip to coat his cock before he begins slow strokes up and down his length while he continues to devour your pussy, suckling at your clit. You're near the edge, ready to tumble forward as your legs shudder, the grip on his locks tighten. Your pussy begins to flutter around his tongue as you tumble over the edge, coating it in your release. "Frankie. Holy shit." you try to catch your breath. "Oh my god."

You lift his head from between your legs, and he reluctantly pulls away with a disappointed whimper. "Too much." you pant, "You're too fucking good at that."

Between your thighs, a crooked smile appears through his slick lips and his glossy eyes connect with yours, "Fuckin hell, you taste good."

Frankie moves from the floor and crawls up your body. The weight of his cock resting against your worn out pussy. He leans down to kiss you, leaving a trail of nibbles along your jawline until he reaches that soft spot behind your ear. Licking and sucking down the column of your neck to where it meets your shoulder. His tongue swipes along your collarbone as he slips the straps of your dress down your shoulders to reveal the lacy cups of your bra.

His lips traverse the plane of your chest, hot breath hovers over the supple skin spilling out of the cups. He grips the fabric of your bra between his teeth and pulls down one cup and then the other to release your tits. He lathes over each nipple, pulling the hardened buds between his lips, flicking them with the tip of his tongue before a gentle bite and releasing with a pop.

You emit a low moan at the combination of his mouth on your tits and his dick sliding through your soaked folds, the tip brushing against your sensitive clit.

"You're so beautiful." Frankie shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you want to keep going?"

As if it were even a question. Of course, you want to keep going, but you appreciate Frankie's check-in. You grabbed his head between your palms and brought him closer, eyes locked on his, sealing your enthusiastic "yes!" with a feverish kiss.

With that, Frankie sits back on his haunches and searches the room. He knows he doesn't have a condom in his wallet. He hasn't needed one in a while. Even if he did have one, it would have expired anyway. As he becomes more acquainted with his surroundings, he slowly realizes where you are and breathes out, "Fuck!"

You sit up in bed, holding the top of your dress against your chest. "What's wrong?"

"We ended up in Pope's room." he runs his palm over his face, scratching the whiskers of his chin. "And I don't have a condom."

You push aside the inevitable embarrassment you'll face for fucking in your host's bed and suggest with a mischievous grin, "Surely, Santiago has condoms."

The distraught look on Frankie's face disappears with a broad smile, and he shifts on the bed to open the nightstand drawer. When he opens the drawer, a Costco-sized box of condoms greets him. Relief washes over him, and he's grateful he doesn't have to cut things short with you.

He reaches into the box and pulls out a foil pocket. You lean back, propped up on your forearms to admire Frankie as he tears open the package between his teeth while stroking his cock with his other hand. Sabrina will be happy to know she was right. His cock is beautiful. Thick, long, and uncut. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him roll the condom down his length. His eyes never leave yours.

"Don't worry. It'll fit; I'll go slow." He reaches up to the neckline of his shirt, gripping its back and pulling it off in one smooth motion. "Lay back, baby."

He positions himself back over you. The broad expanse of his tan chest blocks the view of your surroundings. Not that it matters anyway; all of your attention is on Frankie. Captivated by his gorgeous face and the moles that scatter along his neck and sternum. You've already forgotten you're in Santiago's room, about to fuck this beautiful man, on his bed. He leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips as he notches his tip at your entrance.

"You ready?" You nod, eager to feel him inside you.

It's been so long since you've had sex and you've never had a dick as large as Frankie's. As promised, he took things slow, feeding his cock inch by inch. Allowing time for your body to adjust before going further. There's a pleasurable stretch as your walls accommodate his girth and length as he reaches the hilt, kissing your cervix. "Pussy is just swallowing my cock, baby."

"It feels so good."

"Yeah?" He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. "You ready for me?"

"Yes! Fuck me, Frankie!"

Frankie pulls out until just the tip rests at your entrance. You whimper at the loss of him inside you, but he quickly soothes you with a thrust of his hips into you, pushing you further up the bed. He pulls out slowly, repeating the motion a few more times before he lands on a steady pace that has you seeing stars. "Hnngh, she's so tight." he moans, "Fuckin hell!"

"Harder, Frankie." you pant louder than you anticipated, "I can take it! Please, fuck me harder!"

Frankie slows his thrusts and quickly closes his palm over your mouth, "Shh. Shh. You gotta be quiet."

You hear the din and laughter from the backyard. You had been so distracted by Frankie's dick, you forgot you weren't entirely alone. "If I move my hand, can you be quiet?"

You nod. Frankie reignites his pace with more fervor this time. The tension built up over the afternoon finally comes to a head. Low moans rumble through you with each thrust. Your legs wrap around his hips.

"That's a good fucking girl." He reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit. "I feel you squeezing me. Need you to come for me."

You scramble to reach the pillow behind you and hold it over your face to muffle your scream as you begin to pulse around his cock. Frankie continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his own imminent. It only takes a few more thrusts before he's spilling into the condom before he collapses onto you, breathless.

Your fingertips trail along the plane of his back and shoulders as his cock softens inside you. He peppers feather light kisses along your cheek before he reaches your lips and seals it with a searing kiss.

He pulls away to scan your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect. Fucking incredible, Frankie"

—

You and Frankie sit together at the edge of the bed in your half-dressed, disheveled, fucked out state. The two of you savoring the afterglow of an incredible fuck and also delay the inevitable for as long as possible. You rest your head on Frankie's bare shoulder and express your embarrassment at a whopper of a first impression with his friends.

Frankie reassures you that it isn't that big of a deal. He kisses you gently on the temple and encourages you to get up so you both can rip off the bandaid. He scoops your dress up off the floor, and you flit around looking for your panties and bra while stealing glances at Frankie as he gets dressed.

When you're finally presentable, Frankie opens the bedroom door, motioning for you to go before him. As you head down the hallway, you're greeted with a chorus of cheers and slow claps.

"So, where's the ice?" You hear Benny boom out.

The group erupts in laughter, and you bury your face into Frankie's bicep. Standing next to Benny, Sabrina catches your eyes. With her palms facing each other, she subtly moves them closer and further apart, eyebrows quirking up. You avert your eyes to avoid her silent inquisition. You won't be able to handle her smugness over being correct about Frankie's size right now.

Frankie turns bright red while he stomachs pats on the back from his friends. Santi grips Frankie's shoulders from behind with a shake. "'Bout time you cleared out those cobwebs, hermano. But did it have to be on my fucking bed?"

—

You head back outside with the group for one last drink. Sabrina approaches you with a smile and wraps her arm over your shoulder to follow the guys. Another round of drinks is passed around, and fortunately, the topic of conversation has shifted quickly from your dalliance with Frankie.

Frankie sits next to you at the table, his thigh pressed against your bare skin.. He rests his hand just above your knee, offering a gentle squeeze. When you look up at him, his gaze focuses on you, and he smiles warmly.

The sun set a few hours ago, ushering in chillier air. Frankie notices you shiver. He pulls off his button-up and places it over your shoulders, returning his hand to your bare leg. You lean into him, savoring his warmth.

A few hours pass before you decide to call it a night, and Frankie offers to walk you to your car.

"It was really nice meeting you." You catch him nervously rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

You grab his hand and squeeze, "You too, Frankie. I had a great time."

He smiles at this. "I'd love to see you again. Take you to dinner."

"I would love that!"

When you reach your car, you exchange numbers. With your back pressed against the door, Frankie's arm propped against the frame, he leans in for one last kiss. He squeezes your hip before he pulls away to open the door for you and as you turn to enter your car, he teasingly smacks your ass.

Before he shuts the car door, he offers, "Drive home safe. Let me know when you get home."

"I will." You nod. "I'll see you soon, Frankie!"

Frankie waits until you drive off before he turns to go back inside. A wide smile stretched across his face. A smile that won't be going anywhere any time soon. He's excited to find out what the future has in store for him, especially if that future includes you.

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

tagging some folks who engaged in my WIP posts on this fic: @peepawispunk @burntheedges @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @ak-vintage @probablyreadinsmut @goodwithcheese @almostempty (please let me know if you’d like to be removed)

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: the rough patch

authors note: idk. i wanted to write something. this is what came out of my opening google docs. been sitting on this concept for a while anyway, so why not?

not really tagging anyone, cause idk, this is too short for a taglist. if ya see it, ya see it. 😭

warnings: angst

*** gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

words: 1.7k (see, i can write short shit!)

The door being closed does nothing.

It muffles, but it doesn’t sound it out completely. Doesn’t provide the soundproof barrier prayed and hoped for by Leya who sits on her bed, her baby sister pressed up against her side, the story book of the night on her lap.

Though something tells her that Aroha isn’t paying attention to the tale of a beautiful princess and the handsome prince who came to save her.

She’s paying attention to something else entirely.

“And the princess said to the prince—”

“Leya?” 

The minute Aroha’s soft voice interrupts Cataleya from finishing her sentence, she knows what’s about to be asked. She just does.

Leya does her best to maintain her smile. “Yes, Roro?”

Aroha’s previously neutral expression slips into something solemn and almost fearful. “Why are mommy and daddy fighting again?”

Leya’s eyes shut. 

She knew it.

Knew it was only a matter of time before it was asked. Aroha may only be five, but she has eyes. Eyes that can see every time their parents avoid eye contact or minimally interact when in the same room. Can see every time it’s Leya who knocks on her door to read her a bedtime story cause mommy and daddy are “busy.” Ears that can hear the arguing that’s transpired more often than usual for their parents. 

Arguing that’s been happening the past two weeks. Increasing in frequency. And intensity.

But, Aroha is also only five, thus she doesn’t need to know all the ins and outs. Truth be told, Cataleya doesn’t either. She tries not to think too much about it, as it spikes her own anxiety. Causes her to face what could be a devastating reality. 

A knock on the door leads to it opening, followed by a set of faces. Leya and Aroha’s siblings. All of them. 

And, they all look the same sans Tama and Lina.

Worried.

Wordlessly, the kids load into Leya’s room, Lina closing the door behind them. Samaria is the first to speak.

“They’re fighting again.”

Leya casts a glance over to her twin, grateful for her sudden presence. Lina has always been much better at handling things like this.

“Couples fight sometimes, Aria,” she supplies, forcing a small smile. Leya and Tama see right through it. “It happens.”

Koa is the first to speak up, poking a hole in the defense. “But, they’ve been fighting a lot.” He looks over at his twin, prompting Kai to supply his own counter as well.

“And mom and dad never fight.”

Leya doesn’t say anything. That’s not necessarily true. She’s definitely seen them argue on an occasion or two. 

But….never like this.

It’s never been like this.

“They’ve just got a lot going on, you guys.” Tama attempts to cheer up his younger siblings, seeing the worry on all their faces. “That’s all.”

But, it’s Aroha who says and voices what all of the Reign’s kids are secretly thinking, just afraid to say.

Looking up at Leya, Lina, and Tama, her biggest siblings, she asks in the most innocent, heartbreaking voice, “are mommy and daddy gonna get a divorce?” Just hearing it makes Leya’s stomach drop. A shared sentiment for all the kids.

Still, she does her best to remain calm. “Aroha….” Cataleya closes the book, pulling Aroha onto her lap as the rest of the kids sit on the edge of her bed and the seats spread across her room. “Where—where did you learn about that?”

Aroha pouts, her voice so soft and sweet in nature. “My friend Raya’s mommy and daddy got a divorce, and now she only sometimes sees her mommy and sometimes sees her daddy.” Aroha’s eyes begin to water, followed by sniffling. “I don’t wanna live with mommy or daddy. I wanna live with mommy and daddy.”

“Oh, Roro….” Cataleya welcomes her into her chest, allowing her to silent cry, to let out her emotions. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Mom and dad would never get a divorce….right?” A tentative, nervous question asked by Samaria but issued to the OG’s. 

“They would never split us up,” Kai says with a level of conviction that wavers and fumbles as he too falls victim to his fears. “Right?”

It’s only then when the indecision washes over to Lina that she takes charge. “No.” She says, voice firm, drawing the attention of everyone to her. “Mom and dad are not going to get a divorce. No one is separating us. We’re a family, and that’s never going to change.”

Tama nods, recognizing that even if he’s struggling with his own anxiety about the unexpected onset of his parents' marriage problems, there’s no need to worry his siblings more than they already are. “Lina’s right. Mom and dad love each other. They’re just going through something. They’ll figure it out.”

Words that seem to somewhat settle Samaria, Koa, and Kai. Aroha requires a little more consolation from Leya, gentle kisses pressed to the top of her bonnet covered head. 

But, as the Reigns’ children work to comfort each other, the cause of said distress continues, thrives, prolongs longer than necessary down the hall, behind closed doors but never out of hearing distance.

Not from the children.

“Roman.” Solana closes her eyes and rubs her temples. This all feels so circular. “I don’t understand what you’re not understanding.” Because, she truly doesn’t. “I’m just asking you to commu—”

“Communicate with you, I know,” he cuts her off. Solana focuses on him. He looks just as exhausted as she feels. “I heard you the first time, Solana.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?” She snaps, shaking her head. “Why do I have to keep repeating myself?” Without giving him a chance to respond, she continues, pointing out, “it takes five seconds to text me and tell me you’ll be home late—”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I don’t have five seconds, okay?” He cuts her off once more, running his hand over his face. “I text you when I can, Sol. I always do.”

She scoffs, looking away before crossing her arms. “A half hour after dinner time is not soon enough, Roman.” She points out what was an issue once again just earlier this evening. “I’m worried about you. The kids are wondering where you are—”

“They should know I’m working,” he counters, adding with a level of a defensiveness. “You should tell them I’m working, so they don’t worry.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll just add it to the list of the other 50 million things I’m doing.” Solana says with all the sarcasm before switching back to seriousness. “Roman, I am stretched so thin right now—”

“And you don’t think I am?” He challenges. “Why do you think I’ve been getting back so late?”

Solana hesitates to respond, readying for a generic answer but ultimately settles on the truth. “I don’t even know anymore.”

If she didn’t have her husband’s attention, she most definitely has it now. Roman’s face drops. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t say anything at first, partially wishing she hadn’t let the intrusive thoughts win. But, with the genie out the bottle, there’s no backing away from it now.

“You’re secretive. You come home much later than you have before. You….you don’t talk to me like you used to, and and you—you haven’t touched me—” She stops herself, hating the emotion building up. One minute she was angry with him, and now she’s on the brink of tears. “I just don’t know what’s going on—”

“What are you accusing me of, Solana?” A pointed, straight-forward question that he answers for himself, the devastation, hurt, and anger all palpable. “What, you think I’m fucking cheating on you? Is that what you think?”

Solana shakes her head, standing up from the bed. This is too much. “I can’t do this right now, Roman.”

“No.” He stops her, moving before her, blocking her path from the bathroom. Her destination. “We’re gonna have this discussion right now—”

“I said I don’t want to, Roman.”

“I don’t care.” 

The wrong answer, because as saddened as Solana was before, she’s irritated now. Stepping past him, she stalks over to her dresser, pulling out a change of clothes. “I said no, Roman.” Swallowing, she turns around and matches his intense gaze. “You used to listen to me when I said that.”

A slap in the face. It’s evident in the hurt that flashes in his eyes. That’s heard as he replies, evenly, “and, you used to trust me.”

A devastating blow. On both ends. One that renders both silent for a good moment or two, before Roman is back at it.

“Solana, we need to talk about thi—”

“I can’t, Roman—”

“Avoiding it isn’t going—”

“They found something when I went in for my mammogram.”

Probably the most unexpected thing to leave either set of mouths and most definitelysomething Solana didn’t want to share. Not right now. Not like this.

Because the look on Roman’s face is something she can barely stand to tolerate. His tone and volume have shifted almost entirely. “Wh—what?” She looks away, the tears finally spilling over. “What do you mean they fo—”

“I have follow up testing next week, but in the meantime, I need to not deal with all this stress.” She clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath, voice cracking at the end. “So, when I say I can’t deal with this shit right now, Roman…I can’t deal with it.”

Solana could and maybe should give him more than that. Should elaborate on what is easily the biggest bombshell he—and she—have faced in a while. If, she’s even facing it, because the fact that she’s been sitting on such a thing for almost two weeks speaks volumes. Roman’s correct in that they need to talk, need to sit down and actually try to conversate without it turning into an argument. 

But, not tonight.

Tonight, she can’t and won’t think about anything. 

Because thinking about it means confronting what could easily be a terrifying reality. 

One she refuses to acknowledge.

Not….not unless it becomes something.

[theywantedplayer]

masterslist

prompt list

I edited this 10min before my class so it may be shit but idk. I'm trying to come back to writing but I gotta put other stuff first. I just fine it hard to come up with ideas.

“You're so lucky I said yes to this,” you gritted through your fake smile as you watched the other wedding guests on the dance floor.

“Yeah, because you definitely had better plans,” he smirked, taking a sip of his drink.

You and Jack were at one of his relatives' weddings. For some crazy reason, he asked you to be his date—his fake date—and what’s even crazier is that you said yes to a night of faking whatever he told his family you two were. You only knew Jack through your brother, Nico. You always got annoyed by Jack's cocky hockey-player persona; you could practically feel his ego getting bigger the longer he stared at you, smirking. You knew he was a sweet person, and you'd never heard a bad thing about him. Your brother is an honest person, so you couldn't really figure out the exact reason why you hated his guts.

“What did you even tell your parents anyway?” you asked, still watching people on the floor, while Jack kept looking at you.

Why is he looking at me like that? you kept wondering.

You could see his smirk growing stronger before he spoke. “That we’re helplessly in love, that we can't breathe without each other,” he teased, leaning a little closer as he sat beside you.

You scoffed when you heard his dumb words, turning your head to him, a small smile on your lips at his shameless demeanor.

“You’re kidding.”

“What do you mean kidding? It’s true, I'm hopelessly in love,” he shrugged.

But it didn’t seem so careless. There was a weight on his shoulders as he shrugged them. For a moment, when you both stared at each other, the air got thick, and the things around you seemed to slow—but only for a moment. Your heart skipped a beat when he said that to you. He never once broke eye contact, even when he sipped his drink.

God, snap out of it, Y/N, you thought.

And you did. “Whatever, Jack,” you said, shaking your head, resting your chin on your palm as you went back to watching the dancers. But you never felt Jack’s eyes leave you. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you felt his gaze lingering—on your body, your face, your skin, anything. It annoyed you. You already felt like you had enough eyes on you at this damn wedding. Not knowing anyone here and being Jack’s “date” just made more people stare, wondering who you were.

You were about to tell him to fuck off as you turned your head to look at him with an annoyed face.

“Can you no—”

“Wanna dance?” he asked, cutting you off.

Your mouth stayed open for a moment. He took that as a yes for some reason, getting up and holding out his hand for you to grab—not leaving room for a no. But you knew you wouldn’t say no. You just didn’t know how to say yes. So you grabbed his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor.

The music was soft and gentle as the other guests danced, most likely with their lovers, making you more nervous about dancing. Once you both found a spot, Jack’s hands found your waist like it was second nature. You slowly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, lacing them together.

You suddenly became fully aware of how close you were to him. Your head followed your gaze, which was anywhere but on the man in front of you. Jack never looked away from you. He couldn't if he wanted to. He’d been a witness to your snarky and sassy comebacks to him over the years—your trucker-like swearing—and then the stories Nico told him about you. Your brother's exact words were: “If you wanna live to see tomorrow, don’t piss her off.” When Jack first heard that, he had to piss you off. That’s like telling someone not to push the big red button. And oh, did Jack push your buttons. But yet, he always lived to see tomorrow.

But now, he was looking at a girl who was too nervous to even look at him.

He loved it.

He loved how you sounded when you watched hockey games. He would never admit it to you, but he even started to use some of the chirps he heard you yell at the TV when he went over to Nico’s.

“I'm over here, you know,” he laughed slightly, looking into your eyes, which were focused on someone else.

He didn’t look. Why would he want to look at anything else?

“No shit, I’m dancing with you,” you sassed back.

“Well, it's rude to not look at the person you're talking to.”

“You're talking to me,” you threw back.

There was a small scowl on your face, but you both knew it was harmless. He had you figured out, and you hated it.

…Right?

Jack laughed at your comeback and squeezed your waist softly, pulling you closer to him.

“Y/N, come on, don’t do that,” he said.

You sighed and turned your head to look at him. You couldn't even describe how you felt when you made contact with him. It was a burning feeling in your chest… or was it stinging? You couldn't put your finger on it. It was accompanied by those stupid butterflies in your stomach. You tried to force down your small smile, but Jack already noticed it and doubled it with his own.

Fuck, you thought.

Jack could see the glare that was once on your face disappear into your beautiful features—the face he couldn't look away from all night.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asked as you both swayed to the music, the warm lighting covering you both, his brown hair seeming lighter as if it were summer.

You smiled shyly, wanting the blush that crept across your face to disappear into thin air. “Yes, Jack, you’ve said it many times tonight,” you nodded, laughing slightly.

“Okay, okay, just making sure I covered all my bases for the night,” he joked, nodding his head repeatedly.

“Your ass had a checklist?” you asked.

“Yes, my ass does,” he answered as if you should have known that. “I only have one more thing on my list.”

“Ooooo, and what’s that?”

You felt him squeeze your waist again as you asked, as if he was trying to tell you without actually having to say it. But how were you supposed to read this guy’s mind?

He just shrugged and didn't answer as you both kept dancing. Once the song ended, most people were off the dance floor, so you assumed you both were done and started to pull your arms away. But Jack didn’t let you go.

“One more song?” he asked, looking at you, his hands never leaving you for a second.

“Okay, one more song,” you responded, and your hands laced around his neck once again.

You both fell into a quiet dance, Jack’s thumbs tracing circles on your waist.

“You know, I meant what I said before,” he told you, his eyes piercing into yours.

“What, that you can take a glass off the champagne tower without it falling? Jack, I already told you, you can't. That shit’s gonna come crashing down, and when it does, you owe me 100 bucks,” you laughed, gesturing to the tower.

He shook his head, laughing. “No, no, not that. But I still believe I can do it. It’s one glass—how hard could it be?”

“It takes so much skill and balance to even build it. Taking one, just one,” you told him, “can mess up the whole thing.”

“Okay, okay, enough about the stuffed tower. That’s not what I was talking about.”

You both laughed. You found it funny how sure he was that he could do it.

“Okay, then what were you talking about?” you smiled, cocking your head to the side, looking at him.

God, Jack could feel his heart beating out of his chest like he was about to play the game of his life. But to him, this was bigger. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“About me being hopelessly in love,” he said softly.

He didn’t know it, but your heart was also beating out of your chest as he said those words. But you didn’t want to jump too far and assume it was towards you. Your mouth was glued shut as you looked at him with hopeful eyes, so he continued.

“I am hopelessly in love,” he restated. He took a deep breath before he continued. “With you… I’m hopelessly in love with you. I have been for a long time, a damn long time.” He chuckled slightly after hearing his own words, shocked that he was actually saying them to you.

You softly laughed too, looking away from him for a moment, and you could’ve sworn you saw Jack’s smile falter as you did, making you look right back at him.

“So I am here as your date? Like, your date-date?” you said.

“If you want to be. I mean, you were the whole time in my head,” he admitted, making you laugh again.

“Yeah, and your family thinks so too,” you responded.

“I never actually told them you were my date-date,” he said, his eyes big, waiting for your response.

“What?” you laughed. “You told me I had to act like your date so your family would believe you had a girlfriend!” You were the most shocked. All night, you were pretending to be Jack’s girlfriend because you had to, but you loved it. And now that Jack was telling you what he was doing for you, that what he was saying to you all night was true, it felt like a dream.

“It was the first thing on the checklist, okay!” he said like that would make it make sense.

“You’re fucking crazy.” You shook your head, smiling at this so-called checklist.

“100% it’s crazy,” he admitted, smiling, but he quickly turned serious. “It’s true though. I’m hopelessly in love with you, and I…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you. You don’t have to feel pressured to say anything. And now that I think back, this fucking checklist is insane, but it helps—Luke helped me with it—”

You smiled as he rambled on and on, but as soon as he started to talk about how maybe you didn’t feel the same, you felt like you had to prove it to him. You tried to talk, but he kept going, wrapped in his own whirlwind of rambling.

You counted to three in your head before you pulled him into a kiss by the nape of his neck.

You kissed him and noticed how he didn’t kiss you back right away. Until you went to pull away—he realized what was happening. He pulled you even closer, crashing his lips against yours. You knew Jack was a ladies’ man and hoped he had the skills of one. And when his hands caressed your lower back, pushing you against him, you knew he did.

When you both pulled away, his hair was a mess on the sides, and his eyes were filled with something that made your knees want to buckle.

“Does that answer your question?” you smiled teasingly, fixing his hair.

Jack shook his head, smiling, his hands roaming your waist and lower back. “I don’t know… I think I might have to double-check,” he flirted, glancing at your lips.

“Okay, okay, big guy,” you laughed. “We’re surrounded by your family and friends. I don’t think they want to see you mack on me,” you said, lightly slapping his chest.

“So you wanna take this somewhere else?” he smirked, cocking a brow.

It was gonna be an interesting night.

[captain-huggy-bear]

When I was in first year of uni my hall's bed was a 7ft mattress and I can say from experience that being 5ft3 and having a mattress that long is the best thing in the world because there is no possible way for your feet to fall off. I could lay in the middle of the bed and have space on both ends. Even if you were 6ft, you'd still have decent space. Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

It's not really something you ever considered. The size of Michael's bed, more specifically the length of it. It made sense to you, of course, that someone as tall as him, 6ft 5 to be exact, would need a long bed, a significantly larger mattress than the average person. You just never really considered that those were in fact a thing. That you would be sleeping in a bad made for someone most definitely not your size.

Until now. Staring at a 7ft long mattress, the largest bed you've probably ever seen. Big enough to accommodate all of Michael, his arms, his legs, and still leave some room. Not like your bed, where his feet hung off the end unless he curled up into a ball.

"Go ahead, angel." He doesn't even wait for you to ask, can see the way you're looking at the bed like you want to jump on it, to see what a bed that large feels like when you're not as large as he is. It's all the permission you need, that and the way he grins at you all goofily.

You take a running jump at his bed, landing face first, arms spread out as you land in the middle....or not so much the middle as landing half on the bed because you don't get much leverage. It's Michael who moves to the side, grabbing your hands and dragging you up the length of the bed until you're in the middle properly.

You turn over onto your back, staring up at his ceiling as you take in just how much room you have.

"Oh wow!" You can't help it, the way you practically try to make a snow angel in the bedding, head not on the pillows and still your feet are far from the end of the bed, fingertips nowhere near touching the edges of the mattress.

There's something amazing about it, just how much space there is, how secure you feel like you could roll over a million times and still not leave the bed.

"Oh, I'm never breaking up with you." You grin up at him, toes curling into his bedding as you snuggle down into the mattress. It's actually adorable the way you burrow down, the way you try to reach the edges of the bed with your finger tips and still fail.

"Because of my mattress?" His goofy smile is almost permanently attached to his lips around you, he can't really help it. The idea that he could be anything but happy in your presence seems so bizarre at this stage in your relationship, the honeymoon period in full effect still.

"Yup!"

"Can't believe you only want me for my bed...guess I'll just have to join you!" Michael all but throws himself onto you, large body squishing you into the mattress, face pressing into the crook of your neck. His weight is heavy, but there's something reassuring about it even as your breathing becomes more shallow.

"Michael! You're heavy! Get off," You protest even as you laugh, even as you smile because you can feel his own goofy grin pressing into the skin of your neck and the way his hands press into your waist.

"Nope, gonna stay right here. I thought you loved my mattress?" Michael lifts his head just enough to talk to you, reaching forward to kiss your chin before plopping back down, cheek against your shoulder. His lips lay kisses across your skin and no matter how much you try to wiggle, to dislodge him, he seems immovable.

"Michael..."

"Shhhh, angel...let me have this?" You're conceding a little almost immediately, melting a little further into the mattress, fingers coming up to comb through his dark curls even as you say you want him to get off you.

He's practically falling asleep with the way your nails scratch at his scalp, down the back of his neck and up again in rhythmic motions, every now and then catching in his curls and carefully detangling them. You've stopped caring so much about his weight on you, sure it's harder to breath, but you feel safe under him like this, in your own little peaceful bubble.

"If we break up do I get the bed?"

"Sure." He's not really listening to you at all, clearly not even aware of what he's agreeing too because your nails against his scalp, fingers running through his hair is his main focus. Because Michael is half-asleep already and if you want his massive bed that's fine, he can always get a new one, but it's also fine because you're never breaking up so win-win either way.

[starcurtain]

hi, me again. so like. i have NO idea how to write omegaverse. like yeah, i definitely was the beta reader for a 165k word omegaverse fic in a fandom that shall not be named, but. i?? how does one even BEGIN

(sincerely, sweating nervously)

Cryinggggg--I wrote like a massive response to this and then my cat jumped on the keyboard and closed the tab. Sorry if this response is not as great as it could have been. RIP my 1500 words. 😭 But trying to rewrite the original response:

I wish I could tell you, but... This is probably a bad time to confess that every fic I've ever written barely rises above the level of gen fic... because I'm super ace. Like, I can think up romance plots, but can I actually write them? PROBABLY NOT. 😂

However, if this is about the omegaverse plot in the Phaidei fic posts, I can share some other thoughts I had about that prompt, and maybe some of this will help you?

I think my key idea for this fic was that it focuses most on Mydei's issues with his body, and how he struggles because the way he looks externally just does not match who he is internally. Like yes, he values the physical strength and dominating presence because they help him keep command of the Kremnoan army and garner his people's respect, but... the whole thing is based on a lie. He's not the overpowering alpha they think he is, and honestly, he doesn't even want to be. He can't abandon rulership and leave his people to fend for themselves, so he has to keep his true identity as an omega secret, but if he had a choice, he would never choose to be this "strange" half-and-half existence. Why can't he just have been born like everyone else? Hell, even though Kremnos treats their male omegas terribly, it still might have been better to have born actually looking like a delicate omega than to be just... stuck between the two.

The point of the fic, obviously, is Mydei coming to accept himself as he is and recognizing that he is worthy of love, even if he doesn't fit his own culture's definition of "acceptable." But the problem is that he's spent so long living the lie that he's internalized it: Mydei is convinced that no one will ever want someone as "incomplete" as him. He's never let himself even consider the dream of having a mate, because how could he ever find someone willing to both keep his secret and accept a mate who doesn't fit anyone's standard for "normal"?

Meanwhile, poor Phainon is down bad. He thinks Mydei is also an alpha like him, but even if alpha-alpha partnerships are frowned on in Okhema, he doesn't care in the slightest. He would want Mydei with any secondary gender, in any form. He just wants Mydei, no matter what. The only thing holding Phainon back is his own anxiety: Sure he doesn't care about being with another alpha, but would Mydei care? Would Mydei think he's strange and reject him outright? Would it make things terribly awkward between them and damage their mission with the Chrysos Heirs? Would Mydei refuse to even look at him if he knew Phainon's interests would persist no matter what their current society defines as right or wrong?

Mydei, on the other hand, is SUFFERING™. He's an unmated omega with a clingy, unclaimed alpha around him at all times, one who has no boundaries about personal space and scenting because he thinks Mydei is another alpha. It is driving Mydei insane. Mydei can barely spend time with Phainon in the weeks leading up to his heats because Phainon keeps bringing on the symptoms early. (Stupid Deliverer, this is all your fault...) It's the worst thing ever because that's him. That's the best damn alpha Mydei is ever going to meet, the only person he's ever encountered that he could actually imagine being mates with, and Mydei's body is just... useless. Unappealing to an actual alpha. Socially unacceptable. Mydei is in love and also miserable.

(Basically, the feelings are very mutual but social pressure is making them both hesitate and think there isn't any way they can be together. Phainon just doesn't know the truth or realize Mydei's feelings, but even if Mydei knows they'd technically match, Phainon is Okhema's golden boy "Deliverer." Choosing someone who looks like another alpha, and is even Kremnoan on top of that, would only ruin his reputation.)

Maybe if anyone in this universe was capable of communicating, they wouldn't have such a hard time. 😂

Some other smaller things I was thinking of too:

Mydei being super good with kids and imagining himself having his own, but thinking something like that is out of his reach. The angst is real.

Mydei also super soft on Tribbie. He knows they're not actual children, but tell that to his instincts, because the message is not getting through.

Phainon totally misunderstanding Mydei's flat-out refusal to be naked with him in the bath. Yikes, Mydei won't even bathe with another alpha? He definitely isn't interested in me. T_T

Castorice being able to somehow magically sense people's secondary genders (I don't know how, Thanatos bullshit go~!), so she actually knows Mydei is an omega but she has no idea what to do with that information because clearly he's keeping it a secret? She's trying so hard to be supportive and to give Phainon and Mydei the encouragement they need, but ugh, these boys are so stupid.

Aglaea is a girlbossing alpha in the background. She doesn't actually know Mydei isn't an alpha, but she's suspicious, because Phainon is always accidentally challenging her authority while Mydei, despite looking like the most powerful alpha in the room, is strangely content to let her lead.

Kremnoan female omegas are as tough or tougher than the alphas of other societies, so the "normal" relationship in Kremnos is an alpha of any gender with a female omega. On the other hand, male omegas from Kremnos are super rare and tend to look very delicate; because they're unsuited for war, they basically get no respect in Kremnoan society. If Mydei revealed that he was an omega, the Kremnoans would definitely strip him of his authority. He's worried that they'll make the wrong choices if he does that, so he has to keep his secret or risk harm to his people.

I think this would have to be a world where betas either don't exist or are so rare that they don't even figure into the equation, because if Mydei could just pass himself off as a beta, that would kind of defeat the plot. 😂

Phew, I think that kind of covers what I originally typed. T_T Obviously you wouldn't have to use any of this, but I hope maybe this might give you an idea or two to help start?

[massivedrickhead]

Could you do number 9?? 🤞

Guess who's back from the dead?!

I apologise, you sent me this prompt like weeks ago at this point, and I've just been slowly working on it whenever I felt motivated.

I hope this can get me back to writing and posting more frequently.

-

9. "My head hurts."

Prompt taken from here.

Read on AO3

-

“My head hurts.”

It was more of a mumbled exhale than actual words, but it caused Chloe’s eyes to snap open. She practically jumped out of the chair, her phone clattered to the ground as it slipped off her lap.

She’d been almost asleep seconds ago, but she was wide awake now.

“Beca?” Chloe said. “Beca, did you just speak?”

Beca groaned in response. She attempted to lift a hand to her head, but the heavy cast on her right arm made it impossible.

“What happened?” She asked as she blinked against the brightly lit room.

“An accident, we think,” Chloe said. “A neighbor found you at the bottom of the stairs in our apartment building. You must have tripped.”

“I don’t remember,” Beca said, her uninjured hand pressed against her eyes. 

“God, Beca, you scared me half to death. I thought…” Chloe trailed off as tears filled her eyes.

Beca let her hand drop and finally turned to look at Chloe. “Is my Mom here?”

Chloe froze. “You… You want me to call your Mom?”

It was Beca’s turn to look confused. “Isn’t that, like, the default move? Isn’t she my emergency contact, or whatever?”

Chloe swallowed and felt something cold settle in her stomach. “Beca, I’m your emergency contact.”

“N-no…” Beca said, slowly shaking her head. “Aren’t you a nurse or something?”

Chloe looked down at her scrubs. She had rushed there straight from work. She hadn’t moved from this spot in close to 24 hours. “You know I’m not. Beca, do you… Do you not know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?”

Chloe felt like she’d just been pushed out of a plane. Like she was freefalling with the sound of wind rushing in her ears.

This couldn’t be happening.

“I’m your girlfriend, Bec,” Chloe said, her voice shaking. 

Beca’s widened. She shook her head rapidly before wincing. “I-I don’t even know your name. And I’m not… I’ve never…” 

Chloe could tell she was getting upset, so she held up her hands. “I’m gonna get a doctor,” she said. 

“Call my Mom, please.” Beca said. “She must be worried.”

How old do you think you are? Chloe wanted to ask. What year do you think this is?

How can you not remember me?

-

“It’s likely a result of the TBI,” the surgeon said to Chloe after exiting Beca’s room. 

Traumatic Brain Injury, Chloe told herself. Beca has a traumatic brain injury. 

He talked to Chloe about the part of Beca’s brain that had been injured. About how they had repaired the bleed in surgery, and that they were confident in her full recovery. 

But there was only one question on Chloe’s mind right now. 

“Is it permanent? The amnesia, is it permanent?”

Will she ever remember me and what we are to each other?

“It’s impossible to know,” he replied. “It can be, but I couldn’t say for definite one way or the other at this time. Let the swelling go down, and give her time.”

“She, um, she wants me to call her Mom and I… I don’t know what to tell her.”

“If she wants you to call her Mom, you should call her,” he said. 

“Beca and her Mom don’t talk,” Chloe said, glancing through the glass in the door to where Beca was lying in bed. Her eyes fixed on the view outside, her uninjured hand fiddling with the edge of her blanket. “Her Mom hasn’t spoken to her since Beca came out.”

The doctor sighed. “I see. Maybe you should tell Beca that.”

“And break her heart all over again?”

Despite Chloe’s efforts to keep her voice low, it still carried into the room. And despite the gauze and bandages wrapped around Beca’s head, she heard. 

So she had been right then, about her biggest fear. Her Mom had disowned her after she came out. 

It made her stomach hurt and her chest feel tight, and did nothing to ease the throbbing in her head. 

And despite this revelation, she still wanted her Mom there. 

She was scared and confused and hurt. 

She didn’t want to do this on her own. 

The door to Beca’s room opened again and Chloe stepped through it. 

Beca thought she looked exhausted. Her eyes and nose were red, and there were still tears shining in her eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” Chloe said, “I’m gonna go. I just came to get my bag and to, um, say goodbye, I guess.”

Her voice broke on the word goodbye and she quickly turned away.

“Can you prove it?” Beca asked, suddenly feeling terrible for this stranger standing in front of her. 

“Sorry?”

“Can you, like, prove what we were to each other? Can you prove you aren’t some crazy stalker?”

Were. 

Not are. 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, clearing her throat. She unlocked her phone and moved closer to Beca. “You’re everywhere on this thing.”

“Damn, cell phones got crazy,” Beca mumbled, watching as Chloe began swiping through photo after photo of them together. “We look happy.”

“We are.” 

Were.

Chloe showed her text messages between them, played her voicemails she’d saved, and all the embarrassing Instagram posts that Beca used to tease her for. 

“We were supposed to have dinner tonight,” Chloe said, as she scrolled through her phone. “Or last night, I guess. Somewhere fancy, your treat. They found a bunch of flowers near you.” Chloe cleared her throat. 

They found a ring in your pocket.

“They called me at work and told me what happened and I… I thought I was going to lose you, and maybe I have but… I’m so glad you’re still alive, Beca. Even if you aren’t mine anymore, the world is still better because you’re in it.”

“This must be awful for you, Chloe. I’m really sorry.”

Chloe sniffed and shook her head. “It isn’t your fault.” She wiped her eyes. “If you want I can come back tomorrow. I can help fill in the gaps, tell you about college, your career, and our life and-”

“No,” Beca said, her eyes focused on the blankets covering her legs. “I’m sorry, but no.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I heard what you said about my Mom. About why we don’t speak.”

“Beca-”

“The thing about coming out is that you don’t get to undo it. Once the cat’s out of the bag, you can’t get it back in. I… I have a chance to put the cat back. I have a chance to get my Mom back.”

“You would do that? You would go back in the closet, pretend to be someone you’re not, just so your Mom will speak to you again?”

“She’s my Mom-”

“And she treated you terribly. She made you miserable, Beca.”

“Well, she won’t this time. Because you’re going to tell her that I can’t remember, and that I’m asking for her, and I’ll just… I’ll pretend. And she’ll pretend. And I can… I can have my Mom back. I need my Mom, Chloe, I can’t do this on my own. I need family.”

“I’m your family,” Chloe said, wondering if it would be possible for her heart to break anymore. 

“You’re a stranger,” Beca said. 

Yes, Chloe thought. It is possible for my heart to break more. 

“Is this really what you want?”

“Yes. Please. Please just call her.”

Chloe let out something between a laugh and a scoff. She rubbed a hand against her tired eyes. “She’ll hang up the second she hears my voice. I’ll have one of the nurses do it.”

“Do you need me to give you her number?”

“You don’t have it,” Chloe said. “I have it, but you don’t.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Beca said. It suddenly seemed important to her that Chloe didn’t leave mad at her. “But I’m doing what I feel like I need to.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m not mad, I'm just… My whole world is ending right now.” Chloe wiped her eyes again and picked up her bag from the floor. “Even if you don’t remember me, I would have stayed. I’d have gotten you to fall in love with me all over again. But if you need your Mom then… Then this really is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Chloe,” Beca said. “Thank you for, you know, waiting with me.”

“Of course I waited with you,” Chloe said. “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah.”

Before she left the room, she hesitated at the door. “If you change your mind, my number is in your phone. The screen is cracked to all hell, but it still works. Your passcode is 0607.”

“Oh, okay. Why is that my passcode?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Ah, right, I guess I should change that.”

Chloe left before she could hear anymore. 

She didn’t want to hang around while Beca erased what was left of her from her life. 

-

She couldn’t go back to their apartment so Chloe spent the next few hours walking around the city in a haze.

It seemed impossible to her that yesterday morning she had woken up beside the love of her life. Beca had pulled her back to bed when Chloe had tried to get up for work.

“Don’t forget about our date tonight.”

“I’m not the one who’s always getting caught up at work.”

Yesterday morning they had eaten a hasty breakfast while they manoeuvred around each other in their tiny apartment - Beca having made them both late for work - and Chloe couldn’t even remember if she’d said ‘I love you’ as she dashed out of the door. 

What was she meant to do now?

Where was she meant to go?

Yesterday her future stretched out ahead of her, so clear she could almost see every milestone.

Now it was like staring at a brick wall. 

She didn’t want a future without Beca in it, yet she wasn’t even given a choice. 

She wondered when she should tell the Bellas. They didn’t know about her fall - Chloe had been waiting for either good or bad news before contacting them - and now she had no idea what to say.

Bad news, Beca fell down the stairs. Good news, she survived. Bad news, she doesn’t know who any of us are.

It wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have yet. 

Chloe went back to the apartment with the intention of grabbing spare clothes and her phone charger before heading for a hotel.

But then she walked through the door and saw another cruel joke from the universe.

Their apartment was spotless, when Chloe knew it hadn’t been when she’d left.

On the table was a bottle of champagne, sitting in a now melted ice-bucket, along with a sprinkling of rose petals on their bed. 

Beca had been so certain of Chloe’s answer, Chloe almost wanted to laugh at her cockiness.

Beca was right, of course, Chloe would have said yes before she’d even finished asking the question.

The only thing out of place was the scattered shoes by Beca’s half of the wardrobe. 

She’d clearly tried on a few pairs before settling on the unsteady heels that were higher than she usually wore.

Had that caused her fall? Chloe wondered. If she’d worn the flatter shoes would I have a fiance now, instead of an ex who doesn’t remember me?

Chloe had been given the late shift, so she’d planned on getting ready at the vet’s office and meeting Beca at the restaurant. She’d gotten the call just as she clocked off. 

Had Beca been running late? Had she hurried down the stairs instead of waiting for the slow, clunky, elevator?

Chloe couldn’t look anymore.

She grabbed what she’d come there to get, and left for the hotel.

Once there she would shower, and sleep and then…

And then she’d figure out how to move on with the rest of her life.

-

Chloe wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it was still dark out when the buzzing of her phone woke her up. 

“Hello?” She mumbled, eyes closing again as she held the phone to her ear. 

“Ms Beale?”

“Speaking.” She desperately wanted to go back to sleep. She had dreamt of Beca and wanted to go back.

“I’m calling from the hospital, it’s about Beca.”

Oh god, what now?

“Is she okay?”

“They’ve taken her back into surgery, a CT scan found another bleed that they missed last time.”

The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone was calm, but it did nothing to ease the fear ratcheting up inside her.

“But she’ll be okay, right?”

“They’re very confident that she will be, yes, but we think it’s a good idea for you to come in.”

“I… I can’t. Beca doesn’t remember me and her Mom hates me, I don’t want to make this harder for her. She asked me not to come back so… I’m sorry.”

“Beca’s mother…” The woman on the phone trailed off, and Chloe heard her professionalism slip from the first time. “We called her, like you asked, but she refused to come. She said that Beca may have forgotten, but she certainly hasn’t.”

Chloe felt too angry to speak. Her hand was gripping the phone so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t shattered.

“Ms Beale,” the woman said, her voice firm again, mistaking Chloe’s silence for hesitance. “Beca will need someone, and you’re still her emergency contact.”

“I’m on my way,” Chloe said. Heartbroken and exhausted as she was, she knew she could never turn her back on Beca. 

-

“My head hurts.”

Chloe got a rush of deja vu as she looked up from her phone. Hours had passed and sunlight had once again begun peaking through the window. Chloe had lost track of what day it was.

“Hey,” Chloe said. “Welcome back?”

“What happened?” Beca said, wincing at the lights in the room as she tried to sit up. “You look as bad as I feel.”

Chloe swallowed. “They found another bleed,” she said. “But they fixed it. And I know you said not to come back, but they called and-”

“What are you talking about?” Beca asked, closing her eyes and letting her head rest against the pillows again. “Bleed where? What’s going on, Chlo’?”

Chloe thought her heart might have stopped.

“What did you call me?”

“Oh my god, start talking sense, please Beale. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse.”

“Beca, do you know who I am? You remember me?”

“Like I could forget you,” Beca snorted. “Can you tell me what’s going on? I mean, it must be something bad if I’m in the hospital and you look like that.”

I must be dreaming, Chloe thought. I’m still asleep in that hotel room and I’m going to wake up any second and be alone again.

“Chloe, you’re freaking me out.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Beca closed her eyes, a crease forming between her eyebrows that she always got when she was concentrating.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Leaving work early, I guess? No, I remember cleaning the apartment.” Her eyes remained closed as she thought. “Shoes,” she said, opening her eyes. “I was trying to decide on what shoes to wear.”

“You fell down the stairs,” Chloe said, hope filling her chest like a rapidly rising balloon. “We think you fell down the stairs. You hit your head really badly.”

“Shit,” Beca said. “How badly?”

“Like multiple surgeries to repair brain bleeds bad,” Chloe said, tears brimming in her eyes once again. “Like… Like you forgot who I was bad.”

“Oh,” Beca said. “That’s why you look like that. Baby, I’m so sorry. That must have been… I can’t even imagine.”

Chloe shook her head and tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop forming. “It wasn’t your fault.”

The tears kept falling and Chloe eventually broke into a sob.

“I thought I lost you,” she said, holding onto Beca as best she could without hurting her.

“I’m sorry,” Beca said again. 

She waited for Chloe’s sobs to die down before Beca spoke again. She didn’t want to cause Chloe anymore pain, but she still had questions to ask.

“I didn’t remember you at all?” 

“No,” Chloe said, wiping her eyes and sitting back in her chair. “I was a total stranger to you.”

“What year did I think it was? How much time did I lose?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “A lot of time, I think. Pre-college based on the stuff you were saying. You…” Chloe trailed off. “We don’t have to do this now, you know? I can fill you in on all of this when you’re doing better.”

Beca was quiet again, and Chloe could practically hear the cogs turning in her head. “You said I told you not to come back.”

Chloe sighed. “Yeah,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” Beca said. “I don’t know why I would have said that.”

“You… You wanted your Mom, Bec. You didn’t know you weren’t speaking, and then when you heard… You wanted to pretend. Wanted me to call her and tell her you’d forgotten everything and that you wanted her there.”

“Jesus,” Beca said. “She disowned me when I was 19.”

“I know,” Chloe said. I was there. “But you were scared and I was a stranger. You must have thought you were still a teenager, and here’s some woman in her 30s saying she’s your girlfriend. I’d have probably asked for my Mom too.” 

“Shit, wait, did you call her?” Beca asked, suddenly looking alarmed. “Is she going to burst into my room any second thinking her daughter is straight again?”

“No,” Chloe said. “I know she wouldn’t have spoken to me, so I asked the nurses to do it as I left.” Chloe swallowed. “I guess they didn’t get around to it before you had to go back in for surgery.”

She was never very good at lying to Beca, so she avoided looking into her eyes.

“She didn’t want to come,” Beca said. “They called her, and she said no, right?”

Chloe nodded. “I’m sorry, Bec.”

Beca let out a soft laugh and shook her head, before wincing and stopping. “You don’t need to apologise to me for anything. After what I put you through, you don’t have to apologise to me ever again.”

“You have a brain injury, Beca. I don’t want you feeling guilty over this. I thought you were going to die. And then you woke up and I was so relieved and then… You’d survived but I was still losing you. I thought I’d have to spend the rest of my life figuring out how to stop loving you, and now I have you back. It’s… I’m treating this as a miracle, Bec. That was a bad dream, and now I’ve woken up and you’re still here and you love me again, and that’s all I care about. Okay? No guilt over what you had no control over.”

Beca smiled. “Okay.” 

They talked for a little while longer before Beca fell asleep again. 

When she woke a few hours later, Chloe was still at her bedside.

“Dude, you can go home you know?” She said, trying to adjust herself into a more comfortable position.

“I’m not leaving you alone in the hospital,” Chloe replied. Beca took hold of her hand again, and Chloe rested her head on the rails on Beca’s bed. “Though I should probably go shower at some point.”

Beca brushed her thumb across Chloe’s hand before coming to rest on the spot just above the knuckle of her ring finger. “Have you been back to the apartment yet?”

“I have,” Chloe said. 

“Well, there’s that surprise out of the window,” Beca said, and Chloe laughed for what felt like the first time in days. 

“I can still act surprised,” Chloe said. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see it. Pretend I don’t know that there was a ring in your pocket.”

“Damn, can’t a girl have any secrets?”

Chloe laughed again. “I can’t say it was a total shock,” she said. “You had me get my nails done and everything this week. You booked a table at my favourite restaurant, and I know you made sure I was on the late shift so I couldn’t get back to the apartment until after our date.”

“Okay Sherlock,” Beca said. “I guess I’m not as sneaky as I thought. Did the ring survive?”

“I think so,” Chloe said. “I didn’t check. I wanted to wait for you to ask.”

“Can you go get it?”

Chloe nodded and pressed a kiss against Beca’s cheek. 

She retrieved the little black box that was in a bag of Beca’s belongings and passed it to her.

With Chloe’s help, Beca sat up a little higher in bed.

“Well, this wasn’t really the way I was planning on doing this, but Chloe Beale will-”

“Yes!”

[readenheim]

This but I also know the dark version of it. Like A starting to feel it fade and accepting that maybe they can be okay even if it's not meant to be .. and then B loving them so much all of a sudden..so so so so much..maybe too much .And A starts feeling guilty for not being at the same level of love anymore because.. isn't this what they wanted ? And now that they do and B is still such a wonderful person why isn't it just perfect? shouldn't they be swimming in happiness? Are they too greedy ? is that why they're not satisfied? and they can't just let B know because they're just so wonderful .. if they were to feel hurt because of them it would only prove how much of an awful person they are.And B sometimes notices B is not as happy as they thought they'd be . So B starts doubting themselves. And A knows it and knows it's their fault..

And so A fell first , and B fell harder but neither can admit the fall hurt.

!!!!!!!

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Bruce: How was your class trip Damian?

Damian: It was quiet and productive Father.

Bruce: I’m glad to hear it. What was your favorite part?

Damian: I learned how to escape an Iron Maiden.

Bruce: …

Damian: …

Bruce: Explain please.

Damian: A boy Drake’s age taught me how to escape an Iron Maiden.

Bruce: How did he have that knowledge?

Damian: He claims his family has a dungeon full of medieval torture devices. I believe he may require further investigation.

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[hitlikehammers]

Early November, 1984 and all Eddie wanted was to light up behind the Byers' place in peace🚬

he went all that way and all he got for it was a maybe-dead💀-but-definitely-unconscious-king👑-slash-maybe-babysitter(?), plus some shithead children directing his van🚐 to those fucking abandoned labs that may as well be lit up in neon lights screaming 🚨THIS IS A FUCKING TRAP🚨

Eddie shouldn’t be here. Like, not in a it’s forbidden kinda way, but more in a, there’s no real reason for him to fucking be here.

Save for the obvious.

It’s just…after the whole dead-not-dead thing with the youngest kiddo, the property around the Byers house has kinda turned into no-man’s-land; easy place to get high when Eddie wants a change of scenery, basically, with no one trying to break his nose, or call the pigs.

Or snatch his supply.

But when he hears that fuckface Hargrove call out, the tone on him—and Eddie’s real sensitive to tones, he can guess between the lines for everything he can’t read—he perks up; listens in. Stays put out of sight.

(And no, he does not cream his pants when Harrington calls back, Jesus; taunts like the cocky prick that he is—

And no it is not a close thing or…whatever.)

Point being: he hears more than sees what happens. Up to and including a gaggle of literal fucking children dragging Harrington toward wha Eddie thinks is Hargrove’s eyesore of a car, one of the sheepies crossing around like they’re planning on driving it, and Eddie’s not one for the rule of law or anything—definitely not if it’s Hargrove’s property that’s on the line—and fuck yes Eddie’s driven without a license, and far below the age to get one, but, but—

He’s tripping over himself to turn the keys in his own ignition and swinging the van around quick enough to kick up dirt before he leans over and throws open the passenger door.

“Hey,” he hisses, low but not quiet, he needs them to hear but he doesn’t know if Hargrove’s gonna storm out any second, it’s a delicate balance; “hey, get in,” and he’s crawling over the seat to open the back, too, to push things to the side to mostly leave it flat, tossing blankets to the middle with no care for their cleanliness because there’s no time for that shit, there’s no time and then he’s grabbing the hinges of the doors and flinging his whole top half around to eye this hoard of strange ankle-biters and what’s revealed quickly to be their still-weirdly-attractive-when-beat-to-shit charge in Steve Motherfucking Harrington, trying to project some degree of meaningful trustworthiness, because he is trustworthy, here and now, but they’re kinda in the fucking clock of crazy-eyes-Mc-West-Coast stumbling out of the house, so Eddie’s kinda gotta urge these rugrats with real feeling, waving his hands to the point where his fucking wrists hurt:

“Get in.”

And of course these little urchins still and just, raise a fucking eyebrow at him. Like they’re not working on an inexact sort of fucking timeline—

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yeesh. He wasn’t off when he said they were ankle biters; the little lambies have teeth.

“I just wanna help,” Eddie tries to say it with as much of the genuine concern that he really and truly feels, and not get weighed down with the probably-suspicious-off-the-bat vibe of pulling up in a random van just to start the exchange out with waving some strange kids into the back of it.

Jesus, that sounds terrible, wow, okay.

He gets it.

“No,” oddly, not the ringleader girl who eyed him first but it’s the curly headed boy now who stands up, squares his shoulders, and stares Eddie down with an only-slightly-less-menacing glare. “No, you’re not gonna hurt Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I swear,” Eddie’s honestly surprised by how unmuddled his tone bleeds put as desperate, versus irritated by this motley crew of munchkins trying to fight him when he is risking his own neck to help them.

And…King Steve, but then: can he be that motionless, hanging awkward from the noodles limbs of a handful of preteens (at most)?

“I just want to get you out of here, somewhere safe,” Eddie bites his lip, wonders where the fuck he intends to go and realizes he was probably just going to drive toward his home and hope for the best; “Er, somewhere safer than here,” and they don’t fucking budge, little assholes, and Harrington doesn’t fucking twitch, and just, just…

Ugh.

“Come on,” he urges them again, just shy of begging; lets how fucking nervous he’s getting seep clear into his tone a little, but he honestly doesn’t think he’d have convinced them to move if not for the crashing of something in the house behind them, and—well.

Nothing like impending doom to speed shit along.

“I wanted to drive,” the redhead’s muttering with a scowl as they heft the body they’re barely keeping off the ground and awkwardly feed Harrington head-first up to Eddie where where he’s crawled properly into the back of the van to help, and Eddie thinks these little fuckers just might be more wild and feral and insane even than he originally would have guessed for how they make to scramble behind their Steve; only just manages to steady and lower the royal body as careful as he can before the hoard clamors in and denies Eddie so much as a moment to press his finger under Steve Harrington’s flop of bloody hair and touch below his jawline where those stupidly infuriating moles of his speckle his skin, marks that Eddie’s hasn’t ever really paid attention to ever, nope, Eddie only needs now to assess whether he’s just accepted a dead fucking body into his van but: no.

Maybe a little sluggish, but pulse’s strong. Which: Eddie doesn’t care about past the legality of it all. Beyond getting saddled with a murder charge or some other bullshit.

No other reason. Of course. Yeah.

The only thing that floors him more than the Hardy Boys-plus-Girl on steroids tearing onto the cushions around where their unconscious charge is laid out, as Eddie shifts into gear and makes to get the fuck out of dodge, like, yesterday, is the even-louder voice in his head that asks probably the most pressing question:

The fuck did the King do, and how, and why, to make these children this loyal?

What follows all that is quite arguably—actually more than that; definitely a strong contender for—the most surprising thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. That could maybe ever possibly happen to Eddie, in any circumstance for any reason within any universal construct or reality. And he’d been really marinating in his Munson Doctrine this year, too, having been forced to reevaluate some shit after the letter arrived to hammer the most disappointing nail in the coffin of Eddie’s first senior year, but then…fuck everything, then there were the stupid little sheepies and their stupid gorgeous goddamn babysitter—which still, still: what the fuck was that, who the fuck even was Steve Harrington?—and Eddie’d barely even put the ink down to dry before all of them banded secretly together and shredded that motherfucking document before it could even properly take root in Eddie’s brain.

All while something else entirely started to take root in his chest, in his hea—

Well. Something. Something that wasn’t even remotely recognizable inside his most recent—and most polished to date, if he does say so himself—draft of the Doctrine like, at all.

Which is the point.

Because Harrington was indeed alive, and did indeed wake up, and clocked Eddie quicker than expected, even by name—Munson? What the fuck?and hell if that hadn’t fluttered between Eddie’s ribs an indefensible amount that no one would ever know about ever, thank you very much, but still: Jesus H. Christ—

But all his own humiliating discombobulation at the not-even-hands-just-voice-and-presence-of-the-golden-boy aside: it’s a damn good fucking thing Harrington wakes up, and is definitely not dead, because Eddie knows where the King lives, and he knows he’s not driving in that direction but had instead been foolish enough to give these shitweasel munchkins the benefit of the doubt here, like that there maybe was a safe house or some shit, fucking sue him, he was a little prepccupied, yeah—by the threat of a chase with that Hargrove fucker and then by the absolutely spectacle of Harrington screeching at the wayward waifs like a harried mother at the stovetop, because fuck, but Eddie nearly crashes them into three ditches and at least five trees for for trying to watch and he can’t even pretend otherwise—but the end result is definitely not a fucking safe house, and these little asshats have directed him in the wholeass wrong direction, if the undeniable fact of the old abandoned labs at the edge of town looming big through his windshield, looking at least slightly less abandoned (as if that’s not goddamn terrifying in and of itself), what the fuck has he literally driven into, is he an accomplice, and to what, and just, just Jesus—

“Hey.”

Eddie is honestly wholly jolted out of his spiral for a lot of reasons, here. The low tenor exhale of a sound in a voice too kind and open and invested, to much like music given what it does to Eddie, what music means to Eddie and what this voice shouldn’t fucking mean too straight out the goddamn gate. The proximity of a body close enough to feel the warmth of each breath. The indefensible feeling of it being nearly erotic out of nowhere and with no justification at all—just the reality of Eddie’s world right now, to feel the barest brush of the side of a body alongside his, leaning forward where he’s still in the driver’s seat. All of that would tip his world at the very least into a different sort of spiral pattern, breathless in a completely other way.

But.

What knocks Eddie hardest and most effectively in one go is the hand on his shoulder, braced to comfort and steady, and the realization in the flesh of how fucking big it is, how the span of that palm, those fingers, because Eddie knew those hands looked big, not that he’d studied them with any real…attention or anything but feeling them was something entirely other, and the touch, the touch is…is—

“Hey,” and Harrington’s breath is close enough then to tickle Eddie’s hair, goddamn: “breathe.”

And where Eddie hadn’t been wholly aware that he wasn’t, y’know, doing the breathing thing so well, either for the absolute insanity of the evening or the ominous spread, all proper D&D-style foreshadowing of nope don’t go there not now not ever waiting where these menaces had directed him to drive; but whatever the reason, where Eddie now takes a gulp of air in now that fucking burns, there’s Harrington, leaning over a little more, a second hand on Eddie chest to steady him as he falls all while he’s fucking squeezing Eddie’s shoulder, only a second before he’s getting ready to jump out of the van like he wasn’t just beaten unconscious like, five fucking minutes ago.

What the actual flying fuck.

If Eddie weren’t a goddamn idiot, he’d put the van in reserve before anyone could get out the back, fuck the way they’ll be thrown against the sides, at least they won’t be walking—willingly—into whatever the fuck’s waiting, all angry red and kinda…pulsating in the distance in a way that may or may not be a trick of his own paranoid mind, and then spewing little glowing motes into the air like lightning bugs.

Which could be charming, if it weren’t way fucking past the season for that shit.

And in fairness, the whole experience of Steve Harrington touching him and leaning close and breathing near him and telling him to breathe? That shit does carry him through—mostly—the hours that will follow, cliche and genuinely fucking embarrassing as it is, as it will be, to acknowledge at all.

But in the now—

“Thanks, man.”

And…oh, well, fuck.

As in point number one: that hand—bothhands—really are distracting as all hell but then also, simultaneously, very much point number two:

What the actual fuck.

“What?”

Apparently sending Eddie-usually-eloquent-enough-to-spin-some-pretty-bullshit-on-demand-Munson reeling outta nowhere is this fucker’s MO. Probably for the best that Eddie’s been writing him off as a pretty airhead for years now—if for nothing more than his own sanity.

Or else, like…relatively speaking.

“You got us here,” Harrington gestures out the window and…yeah.

“Here?”

That’s the relative part. And the insane part to be thanked for. Because where they’ve ended up is definitely the DoE labs that were supposed to have shut down or whatever, after people disappeared and came back and disappeared again and also didn’t and were never gone and fake bodies and whatever.

No one thanks anyone for bringing them to a place like this.

“And it’s more than I could have asked someone to do,” Harrington’s going on like it’s a casual thing, a favor like walking his goddamn dog and not more like what’s actually staring them down inside the fencing, namely the building that doesn’t look as abandoned as advertised by half, and definitely doesn’t at all look like the only thing it’s missing is a big neon sign blinking TRAP! FREE TRAP! IN THE MARKET FOR A QUICK PAINFUL DEMISE AT THE HANDS OF THE WORLD’S SHITTIEST TAINT FACTORY EAST OF ARMPIT-IAPOLIS? STEP RIGHT UP! ALSO REMINDER: CLEARLY A TRAP!

“Harrington,” Eddie doesn’t love the way his voice trips over a bonafide gulp. “Steve.”

He also doesn’t love how much feeling sneaks into that part because one, where the fuck’d that even come from and two, he…

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever said this guy’s first name out loud. As in…ever.

He doesn’t love how nice it feels, how scary but bubbly-warm it tingles at the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

So there’s all of that.

Still set inescapably under the threat of the non-existent-but-no-less-real-neon-sign-of-death and…stuff.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve’s pats Eddie’s shoulder again, moves the hand from his chest like he’s pulling away, like he’s leaving to go toward the trap and Eddie whips his head around just in time to catch Steve shrug sheepishly and add:

“Like, mostly.”

It is not at all lost on Eddie, how Steve doesn’t even try to sidestep that he’s walking into the gaping maw of probably death, here.

That might be the most terrifying part of this yet.

“I could,” Eddie’s voice is a crackle, so he tries clearing his throat, licking his lips; “I could at least try to help.”

That comes out a little stronger, but not steadier, and he doesn’t really think he’s making his point very well at all.

But then there’s Steve, and his hand back full on Eddie’s shoulder, saying:

“You could,” like he believes that; “and we’d be grateful,” added in like he means that too.

And most unbelievable of all of it, what he tacks on last with a squeeze of his hand and a lower pitch for no reason Eddie can figure save to catch inside the clench of his pulse so it takes to jittering like fucking mad as the King himself exhales:

“I’d be grateful.”

And what the fuck does that mean, said with eyes so bright when the night’s so dark?

And what the fuck does it mean when Eddie’s heartbeat starts jittering, a butterfly between cupped hands, until:

“I need you to be safe though,” and the words have physical form, brush Eddie’s frizzled curls straight behind his ear like…tenderness, delicate.

What. The. Fuck.

Eddie blames the way his heart goes form butterfly to battering ram, ready to crack through his ribs for no reason save a feeling he can’t justify, but’s too real to pretend away as less when he half-fucking-moans:

“What about you?”

Because Steve’s shepherding the kiddos. He’s keeping Eddie on the sidelines, safe. He’s charging into battle with a handkerchief and a bat and a goddamn pair of rubber gloves found from somewhere, sticking out his back pocket like he’s flagging in day-glo, holy hell—

But who takes care of Steve?

“I’ll see you at school,” Steve winks, leans this time to bump one shoulder straight to Eddie’s and then he’s jumping out the back of the van, and he’s moving too fast and—

“Harrington,” Eddie calls, suddenly forgetting he’d ever been trying to keep quiet, to avoid attention of whatever they’re going out to face, Hargrove or harbingers of worker fates, or both at once; “fuck, fuck,” he hissed as he trips over shit that got shifted back in his way as he stumbles to the doors and yells:

“Steve!”

And it’s like maybe saying his name does something to Steve himself, too, because he pauses, and even for the distance, the little curve of his lips isn’t a smirk, it’s a smile.

It’s fucking beautiful.

And then he’s saluting cockily before he turns on his heel with just one last parting shot;

“See you on the other side, Munson.”

And the tunnels beyond only let him watch so long, see so far. The weird shit in the air, and the bandanas he can see a scuffle over, to make sure they’re tied over noses and mouths, lit by weird pulsing colors, obscene squelching noises he can hear the echoes of even this far back and just, just…

Typical eldritch fuckery from a monster manual.

That doesn’t belong in real life.

It’s a fucking trap, Admiral. Good fucking god.

And Jesus H. Christ, but Eddie hadn’t even had the chance to light up tonight as he’d planned, as he’d explicitly driven out to do.

For fuck’s sake.

>>>part two 💚

For @miraculousmultifan, who requested Post-S2; 'Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—very late, obviously, and MID-S2, rather than post but it ENDS UP being post-S2, promise 🖤

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yesdangerpls @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here

[grevyi]

14 days with you x Teen Beach Movie AU

[Prompt 1] A storm approaches as Angel surfs while [REDACTED] follows, but they are both swallowed by a wave and transported to a 1960s musical titled Wet Side Story. 

Playing the younger brother of the leader of a motorcycle gang, [REDACTED] is determined to continue the plot of the movie by having Angel catch him when he falls off the stage while singing. (They didn't know each other before all this)

[Prompt 2] When [REDACTED] first meets the surfer gang at Momma's beachside restaurant, he falls in love with their leader. Determined to win them over, [REDACTED] goes undercover as a new surfer named 'Ren' while his gang tries to understand the disappearance of their commander.

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[i-am-become-a-name]

Hello! If you're still accepting prompts, could you add "Tegan adopts an android pet" to the pile? I loved her relationship with Alphie (sorry, not sure if it's spelled like that) in Pursuit of The Nightjar, maybe she picked up another friend some time in late s20/s21? Five got to keep Kamelion after all ಠ⁠‿⁠ಠ (or maybe he wanted to one-up Tegan with a cooler android?)

Anyhow, taking the opportunity to thank you as a 5 era fan, I love your fics!

Hello hello! You're getting yours in two parts - mainly because it's already pushing too close to 1000 words and I am running out of time, oops.

------

WARNING - violence against an animal (robotic)

09/12/2024

The Doctor hadn’t seen what had happened - had heard it more than anything, a thump followed by a crash of tinkling, as if someone had thrown a box of bells down a staircase. By the time he had turned around from his conference with Turlough, Tegan was already in full form, jabbing her finger into the chest of a rather loutish looking character and yelling loud enough to bring the roof down. He bustled over, hands tucking in pockets in his most disarming manner, but the man was already walking away down the avenue while Tegan continued to shout after him, accusations that the Doctor was only catching one or two words of. He caught up to her, and gently wrapped a hand around her arm when she looked liable to chase after. 

“Tegan?” he questioned, a note of warning in his voice, and she whirled around to glare at him.

“Did you see what he did?” she hissed and he let go of her to hold his hands up in a gesture of peace. No, he hadn’t, obviously, but that didn’t seem to matter to Tegan, who had already made for the wall across the street, a tiny pile of- ah. He felt a thunderous frown crease his face, a sudden flash of dislike for the man who he had never met. He crossed the street to Tegan, crouching down beside her where she was gingerly hovering her hands over the pitiful tangle of black fur, the crumpled creature the man had callously kicked. 

“Is it alive?” she asked, voice quiet and imploring, and he gently touched the head, a rattling noise as it shifted with his fingers. 

“No,” he said, and gathered it up in his hands, gently supporting the little creature’s mechanisms. “It never was, in a manner of speaking. But back at the TARDIS we might have the tools-” 

“A robot?” and there was relief in her voice, that something here was fixable. “Still,” she said, her voice angry again, “doesn’t mean that bloke could do that. If I meet him again-”

A scream interrupted her threat, and the Doctor nearly overbalanced in turning around so quickly towards it. A second scream followed, almost as an echo, and he turned back to Tegan and poured the small pile of fur back into her hands before springing to his feet and running towards the noise, a complaining Turlough in tow. 

He’d only caught glimpses of her as the situation resolved, guiding people away, letting others balance on her despite her teetering heels, but his attention was constantly snatched away by trying to mitigate the aftereffects. An accident, no malicious actors or intentions, but still just as capable of causing hurt. It was with exhaustion that they had all trooped back to the TARDIS, Turlough sniping about the planet’s society that they were so unprepared for this to happen, but the Doctor and Tegan were simply too tired to take the bait, slumped shoulders and shuffling feet.

It wasn’t till later, rallied by tea and toast, that the Doctor remembered what had caught his attention before the screams, remembered with guilt the small pile he had left behind, dark fur and tinkling gears, cradled carefully in his companion’s hands. He hadn’t seen it after that, but knowing her- He headed to her room, tapping gently on the door. No answer. But nor did it feel occupied. He let his feet carry him past the occupied rooms and recreation areas until he came to the lab that had been Nyssa’s. Ah. If she was anywhere- he knocked at the door, and this time was answered by curses, and the sound of rattling metal. He gently eased it open, and there she was, a bundle of dark fur in front of her on a cleared bench, cogs and wheels spread out in a circle around her. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and slumped shoulders. 

“Tegan,” he said quietly, and she sniffed. 

“I was never any good at puzzles.” She poked one of the piles, and it tinkled as it collapsed. “Not patient enough for it.”   

“I always rather liked them. May I?” 

He pulled a stool out from under the bench beside her, dusting it off before sitting down. She had pierced together some of the bits rather well, actually, the main mechanism that made up the body of the creature still there, but some cogs had bent, shattered connections. He thought he could dig up some replacements, but for now- 

He gently pushed a few pieces of her work into one coherent piece, and gave it a gentle flick, starting the gears in motion. There was a quiet noise beside him, and Tegan was smiling, a small joyful smile. 

“All your work,” he told her. “Just needed a little push.” 

“The guy who did this needs one hell of a push more,” she retorted, but she had placed a gentle hand on the still unmoving head, giving it a stroke that belied the anger in her voice. He wasn't going to tell her he agreed, his own disgust at anyone who would cause unnecessary damage to a harmless robot even if it were incapable of feeling hurt as they knew it. But he just put his hand over hers briefly, then stilled the ticking mechanism.

“Tomorrow, Tegan. If you could help me dig through some old boxes, we might find the replacement pieces and finish this.” 

[bittersweetresilience]

how do you write so many fics for one ship? i respect your dedication so much, but for me, i just can't think of that many ideas :( do you have a prompt list or something you use?

ohh anon that's such a good question!! and i completely relate, actually. after i'd written my first 30k for renjing i thought i was done. then i thought i was done again at 45k, then 60k, then 100k, then 250k, and i still kind of feel like i'm done now. but magically, i've still kept writing 🤣 don't limit yourself... as long as you keep thinking about them and sharing with others, the ideas will keep coming 🙏

as for concrete pieces of advice... the first i can give you is just not to worry about writing the same thing! i've written almost a dozen stabbing related fics now... if you find an idea you like, you don't have to let go of it after you write it once. you still like it, don't you!! when i get a craving for the same thing i sometimes reread my fics, but sometimes i'm like. well, that was good, but i kind of want a different flavor of this cake now. so i'll write it again and just add a different side ingredient. switch the pov. make it a modern au. change it from 'forced to do it' to 'did it of own volition but regretted it'. change it from 'this person found him' to 'that person found him'. or just injure a different part of the body 😌 i'm always interested in something, and so there are a million ways to engage with that thing again and again!

as for new ideas... the absolute best advice i can give you is to engage with other people's works!! read fics. read headcanons. read unfinished fics. read fics that aren't even about your ship, and then make them about your ship. make friends with an author and get in their dms and absorb their ideas and then give them your own spin!! half of my ideas and spontaneous fic inspirations come from either talking to my friends or reading other people's fics. if you read a fic of mine that ended tragically and you want to give it a happy ending? give it a happy ending!!! if you read a crack fic and thought it could be a little more angsty? add the angst into it!!! it's free real estate... we're here to share and get excited together and be inspired by each other. sometimes i even read jing yuan fics that aren't renjing and then i take the premise and make it renjing* :33

*i awkwardly feel like i can't post these fics, not because it's not allowed but because i am usually too shy to ask the author and list them as inspiration, but i can still have fun writing and so can you.

and thirdly... never be afraid to go back through your own fics 🙏 all the time i leave drabbles or concepts unfinished and then i go back and add a sentence to them every month or i reread them and then i get a new related or even unrelated idea... your brain is precious. believe in it!!! and even if you don't have ideas right now, just give it time. look out in the real world. watch a random movie and think about a crossover. and even if you really really can't think of anything to write... don't beat yourself up about it. you're still valued just as you are. as long as you're having fun 🥰

[super-ion]

Aug-UST Day 17 - From rival factions

Some original fiction of character ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for a while now, based on a prompt from @thepromptfoundry

---

I heave against the barn door and in a horrible cacophony, it grinds closed. It's still cold as hell, but at least we're out of the wind and snow.

I should probably place wards on the doors... and windows... and...

I glance up at the roof of the barn where wind whistles through more than a few holes that need patching. Yeah, no amount of warding is going to make this place defensible. Honestly, it's probably better not to use any magic at all, lest we give away our position.

That and I'm completely exhausted, I very much doubt I have any effort to spare for a half decent ward.

Getting eaten by zombies on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain was not how I imagined myself going out.

A hiss of a match brings my attention back to the here and now. Katerina is stooped over a glass lantern that shortly casts a sickly yellow light over the room. For a moment, I get that same brief impression of too many shadows around her. Spending a week with her has done little at temper the strangeness of her magic to my senses, that blend of traditional Eastern European craft and whatever the hell the Soviets have been dreaming up.

She straightens, bearing the lantern aloft and peering around the room as she carelessly brushes the curtain of her dark hair behind her ear. The flickering lamplight casts her bony features in sharp relief, and it really isn't that hard to imagine her as some witch living in a hut in the woods that walks around on chicken legs. There's something hard yet beautiful about her. She's...

"Elizabeth, you are bleeding," she says cutting through my thoughts.

I raise a hand to the wet spot on my temple.

"It's just a scratch," I reply. "It looks worse than it is."

She frowns and strides towards me.

"Let me see," she demands.

"It's nothing," I insist, probably sounding petulant, which is not at all my intent.

"It is not nothing if those beasts hunt by smell."

Damn, she's got me there.

She sets the lantern on the ground and takes my head in her hands. Her touch is surprisingly gentle as she makes her examination.

My heart speeds up at the touch.

Get it together Liz, I tell myself. She's the enemy.

Is she though?

Only a few months ago, our two nations were bearing down on one another in the waters between Cuba and Florida. Even the mundane world understood how close everything had come to all going to hell.

Right now though? Here in this barn in the East German countryside? We are just two witches, just two women united against a common enemy.

She murmurs something in a language I don't recognize and a blessed warmth flows through me, centering on the cut on my scalp.

Her eyes meet mine, those dark pools of intensity captivating me. The gaze lingers. The gentle touch of her fingers against my cheek linger. Her eyes flicker to my lips briefly, erasing any doubt that she hasn't felt the exact same feelings that had been haunting me.

Unbidden, my breath hitches. We are so close, it would be the easiest thing in the world to close that distance between us.

This is...

This is a terrible idea. At the end of the day, common enemy or no, we are still agents of rival governments.

I watch as the exact same thought plays out in her head. Something in her expression closes off and she jerks her hands away.

"We should get some rest," she mutters. "We will both need all our strength in the morning."

"Yeah..." I agree reluctantly.

[fruchtfleisch-art]

It's been a little quiet around here, but I promise I'm still writing! This fic is going to be a 20k monster at the very least (my final drafts are always longer than my first drafts), and I've been trying to make it to the finish line this month so I can start the long, long process of shaping it into something readable. Have some snippets of weird little boys, past and present!