#I literally had to go into my drafts and tag one of the fics there pythor/skales to make sure

[justmystyles]

Big Winners - Part 1

read my other work here!

pairing: Harry Styles x record producer plus size reader

*i say it's a plus size reader, but it is not something that i focus on explicitly in my fics, because your size should not define you. it will only come up if it comes into the story organically.*

word count: 3,118

summary: Harry and Y/N have been friends for fifteen years, they finally work together on an album, and it leads them to a night that will change everything for them.

a/n: earlier this month, all the grammy memories popped up, and it inspired me to write this. i have a million half finished 'moment turned fic' stories in my drafts, but I actually managed to (mostly) finish this one. this is either going to be 2 or 3 parts, i still have a bit to finish, so we'll see.

tags: @abby8694 @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @blueraspberryreader @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @deannaard @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @laurxn-robinson @lexiecamposv @likeapplejuicenpeach @lilfreakjez @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @potterheadandsherlocked @rach2699 @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

Y/N and Harry met fifteen years ago, One Direction had been recently formed, and she was doing an internship at the studio where they were working on their debut album. She had befriended the entire band, but she and Harry clicked instantly, and formed a tight bond. 

They stayed close throughout the years. Harry’s career, both with the band and as a solo artist skyrocketed, while Y/N moved through the industry and had found herself producing some smaller projects. She rarely turned down an opportunity, taking on any work that came her way just to get the experience and the connections. Then, she received the offer of a lifetime. 

Once Harry had finished Love on Tour, he celebrated by inviting some of his closest friends and family to his villa in Italy for two weeks to relax and recharge. Y/N was one of the first people he asked. One night during the trip, Harry and Y/N snuck away from the group; it was intentional on his end, because he had something he was dying to ask her. 

As they sat on the moonlit beach shoulder to shoulder, their toes in the sand, Harry leaned over and bumped his shoulder against hers. “So, I’m going to be starting work on the new album soon.”

“Jesus Har, you’re not even finished with your recharge vacation and you’re already thinking about the next thing?” She chuckled. 

“You know I can’t turn it off.” He said with a sheepish laugh. “But there’s actually a reason I brought it up… I’ve been thinking about the direction I want to take, and who I want to work with, and I was wondering if you’d want to produce it for me?”

Y/N lets out a loud bark of laughter, startling Harry. “Good one.” 

“I’m serious.” He looks at her, and she can see that he really does mean what he says. 

“Harry, I don’t have production experience on that level.” She says, still in shock. “I mean, unless this is like a lullaby album or something.” 

Harry chuckles. “It’s not, but I know you can do it. I know your work, you’re so much more talented than you give yourself credit for. And sure, you haven’t got experience on my level, but you’re never going to get it if you don’t put yourself out there, who better to get the experience with than your best friend?” He says with a toothy, dimpled grin. 

“Literally anyone else?” She teases.

“Hey,” he whines with a furrowed brow. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” The two of them are silent for a moment, while she lets his offer sink in. “You really want me to do this? You want me to be your producer?”

“That’s why I asked.” He scoffs. “But seriously, nobody knows me better than you, you understand me, you always push me when I need it, and you don’t take my shit. Imagine how that would translate to music. I think it could be something really amazing. Plus, we’d get to hang out a bunch.” 

“Ugh… you were making a good argument until you mentioned spending that much time together.” She says sarcastically as she rolls her eyes.

“Hey,” Harry says in a serious tone. “If you don’t want to do it, just tell me. But I really can’t imagine taking the next step in my career with anyone else.”

She sighs and smiles softly at him. “I would really love to work with you, Harry. If you’re sure, let’s do it.” 

His smile grows once again as he pulls her into a big hug. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” 

A few months later, the two of them embarked on their first collaboration, Harry’s fourth studio album, and it was an even better experience than either of them thought it would be. They knew each other so well, that they were perfectly in sync with every chord and every lyric. By the time they had a completed album, they were both confident that this was the best work of their careers. 

They were so proud of what they had done that they didn’t care how it sold, or what the reviews said, they knew that they had created something magical and if they were the only two people that liked it, they couldn't care less. However, that wasn’t the case. The record was a hit; glowing reviews, great numbers, and the fans positively ate it up. 

Harry and Y/N’s friendship was one that was well known, his fans would go crazy everytime they were seen together, the fandom was constantly shipping them. So when they found out that she was producing the record, it amped up the anticipation tenfold. As soon as it was released, they were combing the lyrics, and criticizing every background vocal and sound to find any clues about the true standing of the relationship. Of course, there was plenty of speculation, but the truth wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as the conspiracies and analysis. They were genuinely just two best friends with creative minds that made something amazing together. 

Given the reception the album received, it was no surprise that, when award season rolled around, they received a generous amount of nominations. So here they were, in LA, sharing a hotel suite and preparing to attend the Grammy Awards. 

As Y/N sat down to begin the hair and makeup process, Harry stepped out to go for a run to clear his mind. He was nervous about what the evening would hold. Partly for his performance, especially given the mistake at the beginning of his last Grammy appearance in 2023. He had insisted on extra rehearsal time, and extended the production meeting to make sure that everyone knew exactly what needed to happen and when. But more than that, he wanted this night to be perfect for Y/N. He had won awards before, but this was her first time being nominated. When they had first met, Y/N had told him about her dreams and one of the things she mentioned was the Grammys. He wanted this for her more than he did for himself. And although he knew she had matured in the last fifteen years, and valued more than just accolades and awards, if he could be the reason one of her childhood dreams came true, that would mean more to him than anything. 

When Harry returned from his run, he saw Y/N sitting in the common area, her hair and makeup still being worked on. She locks eyes with him through the mirror. 

“Hey, did the run help?” She asks. 

Harry shrugs as he approaches her. “A little, still pretty nervous though.” 

“What’s making you nervous? The nominations, or the performance?” 

Harry thought about the best way to answer this question, he didn’t want to tell her that he was nervous for her. He knew that even though she was hiding it well, she was nervous too, and his nerves on her behalf would make hers worse. On top of that, Y/N was alway so sweet and empathetic, she would take it personally and see herself as the reason he was nervous and end up feeling bad. He didn’t want to put a damper on this night for her. 

“Mostly the performance, I guess.” He finally responds. 

She extends her arm out, wiggling her fingers in an invitation for him to take her hand. When he joins his hand with hers, she squeezes gently. “You’re going to be amazing. I’ve never seen you give a bad performance. You’re going to kill it, and I’m going to be right there in the crowd losing my shit for you, just like I always do.” 

Harry laughs at her pep talk. “You know this is an industry thing, not a concert, right? People aren’t exactly going to be losing their shit in the audience.” 

“Good, then it will be easier for you to notice me from the stage.” She looks over at him with a sweet smirk. 

“Like I could ever miss you.” He scoffs, squeezing her hand.

“You’re showering before you get dressed, right?” She asks with an arched brow, lightning the mood. 

“Not before I give you a big, sweaty hug…” He says, outstretching his arms and moving closer.

“Harry Edward,” she says in a warning tone. “I’m already forty-five minutes into getting ready, and still have at least thirty to go. I cannot start over.

“God, you’re such a girl…” He groans and kisses her on the cheek before going into the bathroom to shower. 

While Harry showered, Y/N’s mind was racing. She’d known Harry long enough to know that there was more going on than just being nervous about the performance, but she wasn’t going to push him. She would just do everything she could to support and comfort him.

After his shower, Harry stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a robe just as Y/N’s hair and makeup was being finished. She stood from her chair, thanked her glam team and stepped up to Harry. 

“We should just go like this, it would cause quite a stir.” She joked as they stood face to face in their matching bathrobes. 

He smiles softly, still feeling the nerves flow through him. 

“Hey, you’ve got this… we’ve got this.” She assures him. “Even if we don’t win, the album was amazing. We made something beautiful. If the academy sees that, great. If not, whatever, we don’t need them anyway.”

Harry smiles and pulls her into a hug. “Yeah, I know, I know. No matter what, I am so proud of what we did. It’s better than I even imagined it would be, and I owe all of that to you.”

She giggles as she pulls out of the hug. “I didn’t do anything. I just pushed buttons and bossed you around.” 

Harry laughs loudly. “Two things you’re good at. Being bossy and pushing my buttons.” She gasps in mock outrage and slaps his chest playfully. “Seriously though, you brought my vision to life, and you did all the behind the scenes work to make sure it was the best album possible. You’re the biggest reason we’re here tonight.” 

Y/N smiles shyly and blushes. “Oh come on…”

Harry smirks mischievously, he always found it hilarious when he’d make her blush. He decided to double down. “Well, whatever the outcome, at least I’ll have the cutest date in the room.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

“God, you’re the worst.” She chuckles as her blush deepens. “I have to go put my dress on. You changing?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’ll do that now. Meet you back here in ten?”

“It’s a complicated dress, might need fifteen…”

“God,” he groans playfully. “Such a diva!”

Y/N sticks her tongue out at him and turns to go into her room to get dressed. 

Twenty minutes later, Harry is pacing around in his suit, it’s a simple black suit with a gold silk shirt, unbuttoned enough to display the sparrows on his chest, and the butterfly across his abdomen. He steps up to her door and knocks gently as a reminder that they need to get going. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She calls through the door. 

A few moments later, she emerges in a long gown, made of the same golden silk as Harry’s shirt. Harry’s eyes go wide when he sees her. She looks stunning, the gown hugs her curves in all the right places, and compliments her skin tone perfectly. 

Harry’s silence makes Y/N feel a little self conscious. She rarely dresses up, and when she does, she doesn’t usually pick things that put her body on display like this.

“Is it… do I look okay?” She asks tentatively. 

“It’s stunning, Y/N.” Harry looks at her in awe. “You look so incredibly beautiful, like an angel…”

“Alright Har, come on…” she says bashfully as she drops her gaze. 

“No, seriously. You clean up nice.” He chuckles, punching her on the arm playfully. 

“Yeah, well you don’t look so bad yourself.” She looks him over, a small smirk appearing on her face. “Is this why you wanted me to work with your team to pick my outfit? So we would be matching?” 

Harry chuckles and shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe…”

“You’re such a little pain in the ass.” She chuckles. 

“Whatever, it was worth it.” He says, grabbing her wrist and positioning them in front of the full length mirror. “We look damn good” 

“That we do.” She replies with a smile. She notices his expression grow more serious and furrows her brow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just… fifteen years…” He says wistfully. “We’ve had a hell of a run, you and I.”

“Well it’s not over yet!”

“No, I know. Will you just shut up and let me have a moment?” He says as he nudges her. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I can’t really express how much it means to be standing here with you right now. No matter what happens tonight, we’ve definitely already won.” 

“Yeah, we have.” She sighs, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling him into a side hug. “Now cut it out with all this mushy stuff, my makeup took way too long for me to start crying right now.” 

Harry laughs and pulls her into a tight hug. “Alright, alright, we’ll save the mushy crying for later.” He gives her one last squeeze before pulling out of the embrace. “Ready to go?”

She nods and he leads her out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. As it makes its descent to the lobby, Y/N gets uncharacteristically quiet. 

“You good?” Harry asks softly. “You seem quiet.”

She looks up at him, almost as if the sound of his voice broke her out of a trance. “Hmm? Yeah, sorry. I think the gravity of everything is finally hitting me. Like, it was all conceptual before, just words. But it’s real, we’re on our way to the Grammy awards… we’re nominated.”

Harry takes her hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. But you can’t worry about it, no more stressing out, okay? Tonight is our night, we just need to go out there and enjoy it.” 

“Can I say one more mushy thing before we stop trying to make each other cry?” 

Harry chuckles and nods, looking forward to hearing what Y/N has to say.

“I… when I decided I wanted to be a producer, my big thing was that I always told people I wanted to win Grammy awards. And I know we shouldn’t be defined by awards, but in an industry like this, you have to have some way to quantify or legitimize what you do to people who aren’t a part of it, and that was my way of doing it. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and this is the first time I’ve been nominated. I can’t tell you how glad I am that my first nomination is with you. It means the world to me that I can have this moment, share this milestone with my best friend. So thank you for letting me be a part of this album. You have no idea what it means to me.”

Harry is taken aback by Y/N’s words. While they were close, and shared everything, she would rarely be so open and vulnerable with her words. No matter what happened at the award show, that moment, right there in the elevator, would be the highlight of his night. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, burying his face in her neck. 

“You have no idea what this means to me.” He mumbles against her neck. 

“Okay, so no nerves then?” She asks, pulling out of his embrace. “Whatever happens tonight, we will always have this moment together, and that’s what matters.” 

“Agreed.” Harry says, holding his hand out to shake hers. She giggles at the gesture and shakes his hand firmly. 

After a short ride in the limo, Harry slips out of the car and extends his hand, helping Y/N out. They walk through security and up to the start of the red carpet. Harry turns to face Y/N, and she adjusts his jacket, making sure he looks picture perfect. 

“Okay, go out there and smile big. I’ll see you on the other side.” She says like a proud mom, sending her son off to picture day. 

“How’s my hair?” He asks cheekily. 

She giggles and runs her hand through his hair. “Perfect.” 

He winks and gives her a sly smirk before stepping out onto the carpet and posing for the cameras. 

Y/N watches him take a few pictures, and once he moves on to the second pose position on the carpet, she turns to walk behind the step and repeat. Her arm is quickly grabbed by one of the producers. “You’re up.” He tells her.

“Oh no no no, I’m not walking the carpet.” Y/N insists. 

“Are you nominated?” She nods, a slight panic on her expression. Y/N was a behind the scenes person, she didn’t step in front of the camera. “Then you walk the carpet.” He nudges her forward, and she finds herself standing on the first mark, posing awkwardly for the camera. 

A few steps away, Harry’s gaze is traveling from camera to camera, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Y/N posing, he also sees the panic on her face. He quickly backtracks, coming up beside her and placing his hand on the small of her back. 

“You okay?” He whispers softly. 

“I didn’t know they were going to make me do the carpet…” She whispers nervously. 

Harry keeps his hand on the small of her back, his fingers moving along the skin gently to soothe her. “I know, I know. But you’ve got this, I’m right here with you, we’re going to do this together, this is our night.”

She nods, feeling more comfortable with Harry by her side. The two pose together as they move down the carpet. Harry was completely in tune with Y/N’s emotions, and any time he’d feel her start to stiffen up or get nervous, he would whisper a joke or silly comment in her ear to loosen her up. 

The photographers went crazy observing the chemistry between the two of them. Harry was aware what would be printed about them, and the status of their relationship, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him in that moment was that nothing ruined this night for Y/N. 

[peterparkersnose]

Lovers and Love.

pairing: Joel Miller x reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: pregnancy (if you don't like don't read), descriptions of morning sickness, anxiety, angst, illusions to sex

a/n back to your regularly scheduled program i dont wanna hear it i don’t write pregnancy stories often (i say this with a modern day au pregnancy joel fic in my drafts). literally my third in a year (back during my wattpad days I would solely write pregnancy stories. ew). i really like how this turned out though, the length is good

summary Y/N tries to hide that she is pregnant and Joel finds out

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read time: 8 mins 47 seconds

“What’s filling that pretty head of yours lately?” Joel asked between each chop of the wood.

“Oh, nothing.” you lied.

“You looked mighty focused on that rock just a minute ago.”

“Better than looking at you chopping wood,” you scoffed sarcastically, getting Joel’s scent off your trail.

What you were really thinking about? The last time you got your period.

Each swing of the axe made you cringe. You begged to think of something different, but the thought had filled your mind for the past few days when your expected period didn’t arrive.

You and Ellie had swept out an old convenience store about a month ago. Ellie found some period products and gave some to you and it made you think.

When was the last time you got your period?

Ever since you were a child you dreamed of being a mother. Raising a family with someone you loved. But when the world fell to cordyceps, that idea was quickly left in the past with every other hope and dream you ever had.

This was no environment for an adult, let alone a child. A baby was an absolute no. The constant crying would attract any creature in a mile radius. It wouldn’t get the proper nutrition babies needed to grow. And giving birth in this world was a borderline death sentence.

And your baby’s daddy? The man you had been hooking up with on the low.

He was meant to move the cargo. You assisted the cargo and made sure it behaved.

It wasn’t your fault when Ellie was captured by David and you and Joel had to hide out in a shed one night alone.

Or maybe that time Ellie went out hunting.

Or the time Joel had to cover your mouth and tell you to shut up because she was asleep in the next room.

You knew Ellie wasn’t a dumb kid, but you were just praying she wasn’t that smart.

But pregnancy tests were nonexistent. Most of them you assumed would be expired. Can pregnancy tests even expire? And condoms, come on. It would honestly be funny if Joel pulled one out as a joke. There was no way any of those were still in use at least five years after the breakout.

“Y/N!” Joel yelled, catching your attention. The volume of his voice caught you off guard. “What’s wrong with you, seriously?” he scoffed, flipping his axe in his hand.

Brushing him off, you helped him carry wood into the small abandoned cabin you had found for the night.

Ellie was sitting on the matted couch with her leg resting on top of the coffee table in what was left of the living room. If you squinted, it looked almost normal. No clickers, no cannibals, just a normal world, a normal Ellie sitting in a normal house.

You needed to quickly get the idea of a normal world out of your head. It wasn’t here anymore. You couldn’t hope and dream like you used to. It wasn’t the time for fantasy land anymore. This was serious shit.

“Thank god, I am fucking freezing!” Ellie announced, rubbing her hands together.

Joel dropped his few planks of wood on the ground. “I’m gonna go look for some blankets and supplies upstairs. Ellie, help Y/N with the fire.”

Ellie groaned and slammed her feet on the floor one by one from the coffee table dramatically. You could already imagine the eye roll she had just given him.

You began arranging the logs into a nice stack. Joel had cut enough to easily last you through the night and maybe into the morning.

“You doin’ okay?” Ellie asked, searching through her backpack for the matches. “Mhm,” you lied, watching her scratch the match and throw it in the dry fireplace.

“Joel said something about-” “It doesn’t matter what Joel said.” you cut her off. Ellie rested back on her legs. She was very obviously disappointed you wouldn’t tell her what was wrong.

Was it really that obvious?

“What did I say now?” Joel asked from the banister. He was carrying blankets in his hands he found in the bedrooms. He had a big smile plastered on his face that only widened when your eyes met his.

Just imagine how he would be. Carrying down blankets for you and your child to make a fort together. Making popcorn and watching a movie as the sky became dark. The child would fall asleep in your arms and the two of you would stare at each other and appreciate the world, the life you made together.

You broke eye contact with him and shook your head.

How could you let yourself think like that?

“That I was the best clicker killer in the group.” Ellie made up, lightening the mood. “Oh really now?” Joel chuckled, throwing all of the sheets down on Ellie.

“Oh thank god, warmth.” she sighed, wrapping herself in as many blankets as she could hold.

You snatched a blanket from Ellie with a smirk and moved in front of the fire. You saw the sun setting from one of the still intact windows. Joel made the bold move of laying directly next to you. Normally you would have been so touched by this little bit of public affection (even though the definition of public, for now, was just Ellie), but you were so exhausted by your mind games from the day that you couldn’t care less.

Ellie curled up next to you. She moved into your chest, wrapping her arms around one of yours. Poor Joel, Ellie got all your affection tonight after all.

After a few minutes, she was asleep.

“You wanna meet upstairs in a bit? Tell her your takin’ a piss or something.” Joel whispered in your ear. His wide hand touched your back, making you tense. He was craving your touch you could tell. It had been a few weeks since your last hookup. “No. Not tonight,” you whispered back, pulling Ellie closer.

“Hey,” he said in a low tone. You turned your head to look at him. “What’s really goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “I know when your lying.” he sighed. “Joel, drop it.” you hissed.

Ellie’s head looked up at yours. You felt the movement and immediately reacted.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. Go back to sleep now,” you said sweetly to her, brushing her hair to the side of her face. You could tell Joel noticed how you called her baby girl. That’s what he called her.

“What’s happening?” she asked groggily. “Nothing important. Now back to sleep. We need our energy for tomorrow.” You gave her a reassuring kiss on the top of her head.

Ellie nodded and resumed back to her sleeping spot in your arms.

Joel now sat against the couch, watching the two of you interact.

After a moment of silence to make sure Ellie was asleep again, he spoke.

“You would make a great mother one day.”

Your head whipped around and the look on your face said it all.

“With Ellie ‘n stuff. Sorry,” Joel muttered, rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans nervously. The man never usually let his guard down and say vulnerable things like that and you could tell he was disappointed by your reaction.

“Good night Joel,” you said sincerely. He was right. Ellie was like a little sister to you.

On the brink of sleep, you heard him throw another log on the fire. Blankets shuffled and there was a defining silence. Then the thought hit you.

There was no way he knew, right?

-

The faces matched so perfectly but yet were so different. Joel stood in a kitchen, the kitchen in the house you grew up in. You followed the scent of some sort of food and wandered into the kitchen. Your balance seemed off to you. Looking down, you were met by a large bump. No toes could be seen.

“Mama!” you heard. Your head whipped around to the kitchen table. It was the same oak as you remembered it. A baby sat in a high chair. It had curly (your color hair) and Joel’s eyes. It scared you how fast you recognized his features. Unremarkably, they were copied onto the baby's face. “Come on now, eat your breakfast,” Ellie said, encouraging the child. She appeared next to them with a spoon in her hand, making airplane noises as the child laughed.

“Ellie! Did you finish your homework?” Joel asked her. The oh-so-familiar groan escaped from her lips.

“Yes… maybe…” she began to say as the dream began to fade.

You shot upright, breathing heavily. Then the feeling arose from your stomach.

“Y/N?” Joel asked, shielding his face from the sun rays displaying over his eyes. He watched you run to the kitchen that was left of the living room.

The kitchen sink was the victim of your vomit.

Joel quickly stood up and went to your side. His hand returned to its spot from the previous night.

“It’s okay,” he said. You could tell he was trying to calm you, but it also sounded like he was trying to calm himself.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as the vomiting came to an end.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. “No, no. Stop, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Joel… please,” you stuttered. You embraced him. His surprisingly warm figure held yours tightly. “It’s okay,” he said again.

“You want to try to go back to sleep?” he asked you. Hesitantly, you shook your head yes.

Thank god Ellie was a deep sleeper when she had been asleep for a while. You could just imagine her putting the puzzle pieces together and announcing it without a second thought. She is a smart girl.

Joel held you on the wood floor. The two of you didn’t care if Ellie woke up to find your embrace. Sleep didn’t return to you, but a sense of peace did. You forgot about the world, the pregnancy, the cold, and the anger for just a moment. It was just you and Joel. The way it should be.

-

“Good morning Mom and Dad,” Ellie said, poking her foot into your shoulder.

Your eyes fluttered open from their relaxed state. “Go find some breakfast and shut it.” you hissed at her. Joel adjusted his hold on you, sighing in your ear.

“Some kid, huh?” he whispered.

“Tell me about-”

“Eugh! What the hell happened here?” Ellie yelled from the kitchen.

“I got food poisoning. Leave it,” you yelled to the kitchen, coming up with your best lie.

“Before we leave you should look upstairs. I thought I saw some clothes you might like. Warmer for the winter too,” Joel grunted, sitting up straight and stretching his arms behind his back.

Using the coffee table to help you up, you trotted across the cold floor and made your way upstairs.

The first bedroom was empty. The second had a few long sleeve tee shirts and a pair of jeans that would fit you. At least for now. You picked up a sweatshirt for Ellie and a book she might like.

The third bedroom seemed to be a children’s room. You were going to look for something smaller for Ellie, but when you opened the first drawer you were met with rows of baby clothes.

Your hands ran over the patterns on the onesies. A baby girl had lived here. Your heart ached as you tried not to think about what her fate had possibly been.

You opened another drawer and it was filled with baby shoes. The memories of swooning over the baby shoes at the store when you were younger filled your mind. The memory of little Y/N mentally picking out which shoes her baby would wear one day warmed your heart.

Opening the top drawer again, you looked through the clothes. You let yourself choose four, one for each season. Easy enough to keep hidden in your backpack. You were too busy looking at the clothes to notice Joel leaning against the doorframe.

You only noticed him when you turned to put the clothes into your backpack.

Audibly gasping, you dropped your bag on the ground along with the onesies.

“I… I-”

“Don’t,” Joel sighed. He bent down and grabbed your bag along with the baby clothes.

“You really thought I didn’t know?” he chuckled, slowly opening the zipper to your backpack.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, face burning red. It’s all you could manage to say. Your brain felt numb.

“No, Y/N. It takes two, remember?” he smiled, holding up a onesie in front of him.

“Been a while since I’ve done this,” he chuckled, beginning to fold the clothes. You stared at him astonished.

He was taking this news surprisingly well. You expected him to leave you somewhere, or even worse. The fact that he was smiling and folding clothes for a baby in this world was shocking.

“How did you know?” you asked him. He gave you the side eye and smirked. “I know your body like the back of my hand. I just have to close my eyes and…”

Joel closed his eyes and the stupidest grin grew on his face.

“Stop it!” you blushed, giving him a playful slap on the arm. “I notice things, darling,” he said, assuring you everything was right.

“How long have you known?” you asked him. You nervously dragged your finger across the dresser’s carved pattern. “Week maybe. Figured it was either that or you were hidin’ a bite. I prayed you were pregnant instead of bitten.”

“You also were avoiding me as much as you could,”

You looked at your shoes. “I really just didn’t want to think about… you. This.” you admitted.

“I’m not mad, sweetheart. Pick a few more, I have room in my bag.”

You opened the drawer again and went for your second pics.

“Your not mad?” you asked him. “I’m not thrilled. When I figured it out it wasn’t fun. But now…”

“What about now?” you asked him. Joel sighed.

“If I heard right…” he began.

“My shithead little brother has started a settlement up in Jackson.”

“Tommy?” you asked, folding a pair of baby shorts. “Get ‘sum them shoes too,” Joel muttered, pulling at the handle of the drawer.

“Jackson’s about a few day ride from here. I can't guarantee he’ll be happy to see me but it’s our best hope.” he assured you, placing his hand back on your back. This time you accepted his touch and pushed back on it.

You both agreed that would be the next step in your journey.

“Any name suggestions?” he asked you, handing you back your backpack.

“Jesus Joel, I haven’t even thought about that.” you said, swinging it on your back.

“What about Ellie Junior?” you heard her ask from the hall.

You and Joel made quick eye contact and then looked back at Ellie. Your mouth fell slightly open. The fear expressed over your face, you were basically a deer in headlights.

She walked into the bedroom with a shameful look on her face. “I wasn’t trying to listen I promise. This house seems to echo.”

The t

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[blackshadowswriter]

Kneel At The Altar┃Matt Murdock

Summary: The one in which the Devil fucks you at the altar.

Warnings: blasphemy? (because I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck in church), reader (me) having very unholy thoughts about Matt in church and Matt acting on those unholy thoughts, little bit of exhibitionism, smut: dom!Matt, kinda rough p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, edging, praying while Matt eats you out AND fingers you (???), choking kink, praise kink, spanking, some degradation, marking, multiple orgasms, some overstimulation, dirty talk (not particularly in that order)

God, if you're reading this, stop here, it isn't for you bby 😘

Words: 7,691

AN: Would you believe me if I said that this fic idea formed in my head WHILE I was in church? I'm not even kidding, I got dragged to church, and I literally thought up this fic while sitting in church, half-listening to a sermon. This fic has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I guess the wait was worth it because I bring you 7k words of pure sin. My content warnings have never been this long before, and that's probably not a good sign (or it's a very, very good sign)

Tagging my wonderful @farfromstrange because you also inspired me to finish this, and our horny enthusiasm for this fic kept me going, ily sm girl 🖤

As you knelt in front of the altar on your hands on knees with tears in your eyes and the Devil himself between your legs, you wondered how you had gotten yourself into this predicament. 

It had started out so innocent: dear Matthew asking you to go to mass with him, swaying you with his plea of "I don't want to go alone, sweetheart, please" and that drowned puppy look in his eyes. For someone who couldn't see out of them, Matt could express a great deal of emotion in his eyes. 

You agreed to accompany him to Sunday morning mass and returned the victorious grin that had spread across his face with a fond one of your own. You weren't usually one for religious settings like this, but it was worth it to see Matt in that black suit with the white dress shirt—one of your favorite outfits on Matt. 

Half of the sermon fell on your deaf ears as most of your attention was on Matt, studying his gorgeous side profile and that stubbled jawline that you loved kissing when he fucked you. God, it felt even better between your legs. The thought of that sent heat flaring across your body as you squeezed your thighs together. 

Besides you, Matt cleared his throat quietly, nudging you in your side, undoubtedly guessing where your thoughts had gone. A faint blush rose to your cheeks when you saw that Matt's jaw was clenched tightly, a sign you had come to know meant that he was trying to control himself. The sight of that only spurred on further thoughts of Matt losing control and fucking you right there. 

Matt let out a quiet but ragged breath, and you knew he could smell the arousal between your thighs. His grip on his cane was so tense that his knuckles had turned white, his scars visible against his trembling fist. Your mouth went dry as you remembered those knuckles buried inside of you as you moaned for him just a few nights ago. Thighs clenching even tighter together, you bit back a grin at Matt's low hiss of your name. 

Subtly, Matt adjusted his pants next to you, and the discomfort on his face made you stifle a laugh. The quiet growl Matt rumbled in warning did nothing to dissuade you. You could feel the heat of Matt's body pressed against yours and bit your lip, recalling how it felt against your bare skin. 

Your fingers started to creep towards Matt's thigh, lightly skimming up and down the side of those muscular thighs that always caged you in when he knelt on top of you in bed. Faster than you could blink, Matt's hand flew towards you and caught your wrist in his tight grip. 

"Not here, for God's sake," he hissed in your ear. 

"Funny you'd phrase it like that," you murmured in amusement. 

Matt turned to glare at you behind his opaque red glasses, but the way he had to fold his hands across his lap to maintain some semblance of his Good Catholic Boy image in church (which you had come to realize was a total façade) told you he wanted it as much as you did. 

You should probably listen to him and stop before anything happened. What was the punishment for getting handsy in God's house again? You had a feeling you didn't want to know. 

But there was the slight thrill of excitement shooting through you at the risk of doing this in pubic. A sly grin slid across your lips as you tilted your head towards Matt's ear, letting your hair fall forward in a way that would seem to onlookers as though you were merely whispering something to him. Instead, you nipped at his neck right below his ear where you knew he was sensitive. Matt's entire form, every inch of thick muscle and power stiffened at the contact, and you heard him give the smallest, tinniest groan that no one other than you would be able to hear.  

Matt growled your name in warning, but there was no denying the lust burning in his dark eyes. His blank gaze had landed somewhere around your lips, and you wondered if he really was going to give into desire and kiss your right there. 

But then everyone started to rise around them to sing the closing songs, and the sudden movement snapped both of you out of whatever horny haze you had been in. You stood like everyone else, shoulders pressed together, forced to ignore the blatant lust coiling in both of you.

For now.

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"I'm going out," Matt whispered to you sometime late at night as you laid curled in bed with a book in hand while the shadow of the Devil stood behind you. 

At his words, you shut your book and rolled over to face him, eyes roving over the skin-tight black suit through which you could practically see every single ab. His black mask was held in one hand while the other came up to cradle your face gently. As much was you enjoyed Matt in his black lawyer suit, you decided that you enjoyed Matt even more in his black Devil suit when you could run your fingers across his broad chest and feel the almost burning heat of his skin underneath. 

You tilted your head up to study Matt's face. Whenever his mask was on, cloaking so much of his face in black, he felt like a phantom shadow that could disappear if you closed your eyes for a second too long. There was something sharp and fiery and dangerous about him.

You didn't mind of course. In actuality, you enjoyed it—enjoyed the danger of dancing with the Devil. 

"Okay," you said, sitting up to press a kiss to his soft lips. "Stay safe." 

"I will," he murmured, brushing his calloused fingers across your temple. "Stay in the apartment. Wait for me when I get back." 

You knew that voice—that low, possessive tone that dripped with promise for what was to come. A knowing smirk flitted across your lips as you hooked your legs around his waist to pull him nearer. "Yeah?" you challenged. "And what are you going to do when you get back?" 

Matt chuckled softly, and even though the mask was off, that sound right there was purely the Devil speaking. "Oh sweetheart," he purred. "That's only for me to know, isn't it?" 

That low, raspy voice he used rekindled that fiery want that had burned so dangerously in you hours earlier. By the time Sunday morning mass had been over, Foggy and Karen had called you both over for lunch in the office. The rest of the day had went by as normal with neither of you acknowledging what had transpired in the church outside of his promising smirks and your light, teasing touches ghosting across his body. 

Now, however, with the Devil ready to be unleashed, there was nothing stopping that eager, burning desire rearing its head in both of you.

Nothing except Matt's duty to the city. 

Fucking morals. You could just stay with me in bed, you thought about telling him. You might even be able to cajole him into staying if you could rile him up enough.

But no. You understood Matt's commitment to Hell's Kitchen even if you weren't too fond of the fact he got beat up every night. Still, it would be cruel to ask him to stop what he did just for you, just so he could hear the cries of those who needed him going unanswered in the merciless shadow of the night.

You weren't above asking for a little taste of his promise, however. "Tell me," you begged softly. "Tell me what you want to do to me."

That sharp grin was still on his face. "When I come back," Matt whispered in your ear, "I am going to fuck you into this mattress so hard that you won't be able to keep quiet." His fingers danced down the nape of your neck lightly, and you shivered. "And you're going to be screaming my name so loud, so everyone can hear who you belong to." 

"Oh my God," you whimpered, eyes rolling back at the promise. That heat coiling in your stomach lashed out across your body, spreading through you like a wildfire. It pooled between your thighs, making you clench them tightly together with a soft moan. "Matthew." 

The devilish smile that spread across his lips was absolutely sinful, a promise of the night to come. "But," he rumbled in your ear, his hand reaching down to grasp your wrist as he had in church. "You are not to touch yourself until I come back. Do you understand?" 

You whimpered again. 

"I said," Matt growled, "do you understand me?" 

"Yes," you whined. "But God, Matt, please...I can't wait that long, Matt, please—" 

"You will," he said sharply, "or you'll be punished." He released his harsh hold on your wrist and brought his hand up to trail lightly across your cheek, his tenderness a stark contrast to his rough dominance a few seconds ago. "You can do that for me, can't you, sweetheart? Can't you be a good girl for me? Can't you be a good girl and wait for me to get back to fuck you?" 

Fuck, not the praise. 

Your head fell backwards with a small shuddering moan, eyes falling shut as your thighs squeezed tightly together, a desperate motion to ease the ache in your core. "Matt," you whimpered. "Please." 

His low laugh breezed across your cheek, and Matt's hand disappeared from your cheek. "Be good," came his stern order, and then the radiant heat from Matt's body vanished, leaving you panting and desperate.

By the time your eyes had snapped open, the Devil was gone, melting back into the shadows into the night. 

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You tried. 

Oh God, you truly tried. 

You laid there in bed, body burning with desperate need as you tried not to think about what Matt was planning to do to you lest your predicament worsen. 

You tried to read. You rolled onto your stomach and flipped your book back open, trying to pick up where you left off. It did no good—the words wouldn't permeate the fog of sinful thoughts swarming in your head that screamed Matt, Matt, Matt. 

You thought about disobeying Matt and touching yourself, just to relieve some of that pressure building between your legs but quickly dismissed the idea. Matt would know if you did—he would smell the scent of your arousal on your fingers and instantly know what you had done. Even though the prospect of his punishment was excitement, tonight you didn't think you could stand his merciless teasing. You needed him desperately. 

Eventually, after nearly an hour of lying there, you got out of bed and slipped your shoes on. You would go for a walk around the neighborhood, you decided. The fresh air would help clear your head and calm yourself down. 

At least that's what you told yourself you would say if a certain Devil caught your scent and chased you down. 

And if you were really just hoping that said Devil really would catch your scent...well, that was no one's business, was that? 

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In an interesting twist of irony, you made it as far as the gates of Clinton Church before he caught up with you. 

You thought you had heard him behind you several times as you walked, and you knew he must have been letting you hear his small footsteps and scuffles on purpose. If he wanted to, Matt could move like a giant Devilish cat, leaping across rooftops thought the dark in absolute silence. 

But then you paused in front of the church, staring at the stained glass windows through which you could see the dark interior as you thought about that morning. You didn't even noticed the church doors slowly creeping open in front of your, too caught up in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, a strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you through the doors into the dark church. The startled gasp that flew from your lips at the quick movement was quickly stifled by a large hand over your mouth, but you weren't afraid. You could feel the familiar, broad line of muscle pressed against your back, his body heat that always burned so warm a comforting feeling after the cold New York air. 

"I told you to wait for me," a low voice hissed in your ear. 

You bit back a grin, the tingle of excitement in your stomach growing stronger. "I was just going out for a walk," you said innocently. 

He growled behind you and dragged you towards the altar through the rows of empty pews. As your feet stumbled along, your eyes darted around the dark interior, sweeping for any sign of company. You shouldn't have been worried though—Matt had far more effectively scoped out the inside already to make sure no one else was there. 

"Kneel," Matt ordered when they reached the altar. 

You obeyed, dropping to your knees in front of the wooden table. The cloth that usually draped across it was absent tonight—perhaps being cleaned or for some other reason. It didn't matter. All that mattered right now was the man pressed against your back. 

"You've been a bad girl tonight," Matt mused, his chest vibrating against your back when he spoke. 

"Well, you were taking so long, so I thought I'd come find you," you replied sweetly, unable to keep the grin off your face this time. 

Matt hadn't told you that you could move, so you kept still in the position he had ordered you in—kneeling in front of the altar facing forward away from the warm frame of muscle and power at your back. Your eyes turned, almost automatically, up towards the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross as you silently wondered if Matt really was planning on taking your right in front of that statue. You decided you wouldn't mind if he did. 

Behind you, you could hear Matt pacing quietly, purposefully keeping out of your line of sight. He made a tsking noise. "So impatient," he tutted. "Perhaps I need to teach you the virtue of patience, don't you think, sweetheart?" 

You licked your lips slowly. "What does this lesson on patience include, sir?" you asked, emphasizing the last word with a smirk. 

His sharp inhale carried to your ears, and your grin widened. Your goal tonight was to rile Matt up enough that he would either forget about your disobedience or not care. So far, the plan was going great.

Then, his hand fisted in your hair and yanked your head back. Matt's burning form reappeared, pressed flushed against your back. His hot breath was in your ear suddenly, growling, "I want you to take these off—" his finger curled in the waistband of your pants and snapped them against your waist "—and get on your hands and knees."

When you didn't move at first, he landed a sharp hit to your clothed ass. You yelped, and his hand darted up to cover your mouth.

"Move, sweetheart," he ordered lowly. "And keep quiet. We don't want anyone hearing us here, do we?"

"No," you panted even though you weren't sure if you were telling the truth. His hand released your hair, and you scrambled to obey him, peeling off your jeans and tossing them aside before kneeling how he told you to. The position felt oddly exposed—you could feel cold air breezing across your naked legs and shivered.

"That's better," Matt murmured behind you. His bare hand—when had he taken off the gloves?—brushed against the back of your thigh, and you whimpered, instinctively pressing back against him. This time, when his hand came down your ass, you didn't have the denim of your jeans to protect you. The sound of his hand against the thin material of your panties echoed with a sharp crack through the church. You had to bring a hand up to fist in your mouth to keep quiet from the sting.

"So." He trailed a finger across the back of your thighs lazily, occasionally dipping them down to slide along the soaked fabric of your panties, taking pleasure in each of your hitched breathes. "You want to explain what that was about earlier?"

"I was just going for a walk," you whimpered, desperately arching back into him, but his fingers disappeared the moment you did. The next second, another sharp smack landed on your ass, jolting you forward with a small gasp.

"That's not what I was asking, and you know it," Matt said calmly. "I was talking about this morning."

A feeling of something—you didn't know what that was—ran down your spine, and you shivered, heart rate picking up at the memory of your little dalliance during mass.

"I don't know," you breathed.

Your heart skipped. Lie.

Another harsh strike landed on your ass. "You do."

"Fuck, Matt," you nearly cried, "please!"

"What are you asking for, hm?" Matt murmured, running a large palm over your stinging ass. "Tell me, sweetheart."

"Touch me, fuck me, anything," you begged. "Please, Matt, I've waited so long."

"Then you can wait a little more, can't you?"

"No," you panted, trying not to move, your body on fire. "Matt, please!"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers teasing you lightly through the thin fabric of your panties. Your hips bucked back instantly, a sharp whine leaving your throat at the touch. You tried to grind against his hand, but he yanked it away with a low, almost mocking chuckle.

"You've been naughty today, sweetheart," Matt purred. "Having such unholy thoughts in church—don't think I didn't know what you were thinking about. Tell me what were you imagining, hmm?"

Heat rose to your face, melting right along with the fire raging across the rest of your body. "I don't know," you stammered.

"Lie," Matt said, his voice darkly amused. His hand slid underneath your jaw and tilted your head back, so he could press his lips to the shell of your ear. "Were you thinking about me fucking you, sweetheart?"

A ragged moan fell from your mouth, a pulse of heat running across your spine. You let your head fall back against Matt's shoulder, arching back against him. The hand gripping your jaw stroked your cheek gently, a glimpse of softness underneath his dominating exterior.

"Please," you begged quietly. "I need it, Matt. I'll do anything, please..."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

He let out a quiet, considering noise, his fingers absently stroking your jaw with a gentleness that you had come to know precede the roughness. You whimpered quietly, begging him in your head to hurry up and do whatever the fuck he wanted to do so he could just fuck you already. Your body was aching with need, that fire in your raging to be satisfied.

"How well do you remember the Lord's Prayer?" Matt asked you abruptly.

You blinked in surprise. "T-the Lord's Prayer?"

"Yes."

"Um...kind of?" you said uncertainly. "Haven't done it since middle school." You felt the breath from his quiet laughter skate across your earlobe and twitched in anticipation of whatever he had planned.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said slowly, his tone dipping back down into the low timber of his Devil voice, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to recite it for me as penance for your sins."

"I didn't—"

"Thinking about the Devil fucking you in church is a sin, sweetheart," Matt cooed. "You're going to need to repent if you want to get what you want."

"Y-you want me to pray."

"Yes."

"Right here. Kneeling in my panties. With you at my back, half grinding on my ass."

A sharp swat landed on your ass. "Hmm, it seems more like you were the one grinding on me," he chuckled lowly, dragging his finger along the seam of your underwear. "As for the panties, God might mind, but I don't think the Devil does. In fact, he prefers you praying like this. Go on, sweetheart. Say your prayer, and maybe I'll think about giving you what you want."

You drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear your head away from thoughts of Matt, fuck me already and remember the words of the prayer. This actually wasn't so bad, you decided. It was a bit of a weird request to pray, kneeling at the altar in soaked panties, but it was fine. All you had to do was recite the prayer, and then hopefully, Matt would be satisfied and finally give in to you.

Oh, how wrong you were.

"Okay," you started to say, the vaguely remembered words coming to the tip of your tongue. "Um...Our Father...who art in heaven...hallowed be...thy name?"

"Keep going," Matt purred in your ear, his hands sliding down from your face to lightly grip your throat for a brief moment, enjoying your shaky groan at the contact. He pushed you back down onto your hands and knees, hand running down to your waist and dragging sensually across your hips.

Whimpering at the touch, you bit your lip and forced the next words out. "Y-your kingdom come....and, um....your will be done—Matt, what are you—?"

For he had just hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and started to slide them down your hips. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the fabric slid against your most sensitive areas. "Don't worry about me," he murmured. "Just lift your legs up for me—there you go. Continue."

What the actual fuck? Did he honestly expect you to be even close to okay after that? He slid your panties completely free of your legs, leaving your soaked heat bare to him. You whimpered at the barely there brush of his fingers against your inner thigh, just a few inches away from where you ached for him most.

"Continue, sweetheart," Matt ordered.

You tried to take another deep breath and continue where you'd left off. "Okay, um...will be done...on—on Earth as it is in Heaven. Uh...give us this day our—fucking hell, Matthew—oh my God, fuck!"

You lurched forward, a strangled cry falling from your lips when you felt Matt's mouth suddenly close around your dripping cunt, tongue lashing mercilessly against your clit so fast and so sharp it nearly hurt. He kept up the torturous pace for a few seconds while you writhed and moaned, pleasure striking like lightning between your legs and arcing up to your back and across your legs. His mouth on you was both a remedy and fuel to the desperate need that had been kindling there all night. Your hands clawed at the carpet underneath you, fire burning across every nerve in your body as you shuddered and cried out for him.

Then, as suddenly as it came, his mouth vanished from your cunt in a heartbeat, and you were left just as empty and desperate as you were a few seconds ago.

"No!" you choked out, voice thick with fading pleasure and need as you tried to grind back against him uselessly. "Matt, please!"

He didn't answer your plea for a few moments, instead dragging his tongue across his lips and moaning softly as the taste of you. God, you were perfection to him, you always were. Matt wanted nothing more than to dive back between your legs and drink from you until you had nothing left to give him.

But half the enjoyment of the catch was the chase, and Matt was not done teasing you yet. He laughed darkly, landing another slap to your ass, gentler this time but no less firm. "I told you to pray, sweetheart," he reminded you. "I told you to pray and repent for your sins. And what do you do? Be a filthy little girl and start moaning for me? In God's house? What a dirty little girl you are."

Your mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of this man to accuse you of such a thing when he just fucking ate you out right in front of the altar. Still, there was no hiding the shudder that rolled through you at his words, and Matt gripped your hips firmer.

"You're going to finish your prayer," Matt ordered. "No matter what happens, and then we'll see if you deserve to get fucked."

"'No matter what happens?'" you repeated in a choked whisper. "Are you—you're not actually going to—"

Another hard hit landed on your ass, the sting only feeding the fire threatening to consume you. "Pray, sweetheart," Matt ordered. "Can't you follow a simple command?"

You swallowed thickly. "Y-yes, I can."

"Good. Then continue."

You whimpered softly, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the burning, aching need for him between your legs. Where had you even left off on the prayer?

"Give us this day our daily bread," you stammered out. "And—um—forgive us our— oh God!"

Because fuck, his mouth was on you again, hungrily lapping at your cunt as you bucked against him desperately. His hot tongue dragged across your clit, and burning pleasure was scorching every inch of your skin. You threw back your head with a wanton moan when Matt circled the sensitive bud with a quick swipe of tongue that had you writhing in his firm grip.

"Matt!" you cried, molten heat rolling across every nerve in your body. Your hands curled against the carpet, desperately grasping for something to hold on to, to brace you against the raging fire licking at your insides.

Matt paused in his motions, pulling his mouth away for a second, but his finger came to replace his tongue, drawing languid circles on your clit that had you rolling your hips in desperation.

"I told you to pray," he told you again, quiet warning in his voice. "Don't make me remind you again."

A strangled noise fell from your lips. "Y-you keep eating me out, and you want me to pray?" you squeaked.

You didn't have to look back to know he had that feral grin on his lips, the one that always drove you insane. "Oh sweetheart, that was the plan from the beginning."

And his deliciously thick finger plunged into you with a sinfully slick noise that seemed to echo through the empty church like a reminder of the blasphemy taking place at the altar, and then you were writhing, whining, whimpering as Matt fucked you slowly with his middle finger. His purposefully slow, deliberate strokes had you moaning so loud, you thought anyone passing by the church might hear you. Each thrust of his finger inside of you stoked that deep, festering pleasure that burned in your very core, making you arch and cry out to a God too ashamed to answer you.

That was okay, you thought through a thick haze of pleasure. You didn't need God to answer you. You needed the Devil to fuck you.

Matt groaned, his eyes rolling back at the smell of your arousal. He dragged his tongue over his lips, bringing the delicious taste of you from the air into his mouth, heat rippling through him at that new sensation. Painfully hard and throbbing in his pants, Matt panted, desperately drawing another breath in just to drag more of your taste into him. You were exquisite. You were perfect, his good little girl, making such pretty noises for him. You were everything he needed and so much more.

His thumb dragged across your sensitive clit, sending jolts of fiery pleasure stabbing through you as that pressure started to build in your lower abdomen, fire coiling into a tight rope, ready to snap. And oh, there it was, sweet orgasm dancing within reach, so close but so far away. Half sobbing, you arched against him, desperately trying to get him to fuck you faster.

But then Matt's fingers withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, slick dripping down your thighs as a harsh sob left your chest. The burning edge of orgasm was already fading away. "Matt," you cried, "please! Please, Matt, please, you've been teasing me for so long—"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he snarled, his hand fisting in your hair to yank your head back, so his lips were right against your ear. "Don't act like you didn't want this, you dirty little girl."

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, before you could register the embarrassment. "I wanted you to fuck me," you groaned. "I need it, Matt, please."

Abruptly, he released his grip on your hair but not before delivering another harsh swat to your ass. "You want me to fuck you? Then do as I say," he commanded. "I gave you an order, sweetheart, and you still haven't followed it. You better finish that prayer before I decide to give you another punishment for not listening."

"I—I don't—"

Another hit to your ass. "Did you not hear me?" Matt growled, his voice all rough edges and heated ash drifting across your skin. "Or do you just enjoy being a brat?"

This, you thought vaguely, this should be embarrassing. The way he degraded you, the way he called you his dirty little girl, his brat—if it had been any other man, you would've beat the shit out of him. But oh, it was him, it was your Matt, it was your Devil whispering filthy words to you, and every single syllable sent another pulse of heat rolling through you like molten lava.

"This is your last warning," Matt said lowly. "Finish your prayer now, or I'll give you another punishment."

Your brain scrambled to comprehend what he was saying, or at least some part of your brain that hadn't shut down, that wasn't giving in to primal instinct to beg Matt to fuck you. Where the fuck had you even left off?

"...F-forgive us our trespasses as we forgive...our—no, uh, those who trespass against us. And, um, lead us not into temptatio—ah, Matt!"

God, this time it was two of his wonderfully thick fingers pushing into you abruptly, thick heat pulsing through you. Your hips bucked against him instinctively, seeking moremoremore. The words of the prayer died on your tongue, replaced by shameless whimpers and moans as Matt dragged them out slowly and then shoved them back in a harsh thrust, the tips of his fingers barely grazing that spot, deep inside of you. Desperate, keening cries tumbled from your mouth as you threw your head back, gasping and whining.

You—oh God—you needed more. Hot pleasure wormed its way through your body, consuming every other thought until you were left with nothing but primal, wanton need. Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, cunt throbbing around Matt's fingers achingly.

This time, when Matt pulled your hair back and snarled in your ear, his fingers didn't leave you. Instead, they continued their torturously slow pace even as he purred, "Finish the goddamn prayer, sweetheart, and don't make me ask again."

You knew better than to protest the unfairness of him making you recite a prayer while he fucked you on his fingers in front of the altar. You could barely summon a thought that wasn't fuck me, Matt, please, but you managed to choke out the next line.

"Deliver us from evil," you sobbed even as Matt brushed his thumb across your clit again, making you jolt at the sharp pleasure racing along the bud of sensitive nerves. "I—ah!—don't know the rest—" you stammered, desperate to reach the end.

"Lie," he chuckled in your ear. "Lie one more time, and that prayer is going to be the least of your problems, sweetheart."

Your head fell back against his hand, eyes falling shut as your needy whimpers echoed along the church walls. His fingers had picked up pace, and now Matt pressed them deep enough to just ever so slightly brush against your g-spot. Even that brief, barely there contact was enough to have you dripping and throbbing on his fingers.

"Finish it," Matt cooed in your ear. "Come on, honey, you're so close."

In both ways, you thought distantly in your muddled mind. "Please!" you cried.

"Finish the last bit, and you can come," he promised.

Well, that changed things. Spurred on by his vow, you blinked harshly, trying to put aside the scorching pleasure arcing through your body for a second.

"For the—the kingdom and—uh something about power and glory—is yours, uh, nowandforeveramen," you rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut, and begging, begging that it was good enough for Matt.

"Hmm," he hummed, considering. Should he make you redo that last bit? Technically it wasn't correct, and how he would love to hear you cry for him if he made you repeat it. But then you ground your hips back, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers with a strangled cry of "please, sir!" And oh, how he could deny that?

Matt didn't reply, but you heard him shifting behind you, the rhythm of his fingers pausing for a second. A half sobbed plea was forming on your lips, but it was chased away in a heartbeat when the glorious wet heat of Matt's mouth closed around your cunt again.

Sinfully loud moans and gasps tore from your throat, your head falling forward. Fiery pleasure almost too much to handle burned between your legs, coursing up through your entire body until your toes were curling and your hands gripping the carpet. Matt lapped at your clit like a man starved, all while his fingers resumed their motions, finally picking up pace, settling into a fast rhythm you so desperately needed.

You were racing towards your climax at a speed that would've been embarrassing if Matt hadn't been edging you all night. "Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face from the sheer intensity of it all. "Please, Matt, you said I could come, I need it, please—"

And his hand that was holding on to you squeezed your hip, and that was all the confirmation you needed. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking, Matt curled his fingers inside of you just right, pressing down on that spot, and then you just fell. Off that high cliff you had been dancing to and from for the entire night.

The plummet was truly something else: your back arched, and a ragged cry—almost scream—was falling from your mouth, incoherent noises and words reaching Matt's ears as orgasm surged over you like a tidal wave, knocking you off your feet and dragging you under into a blanket of blissful oblivion. You swore you saw stars popping in the corners of your blurry vision, so much white-hot pleasure burning through you, it was almost incomprehensible.

Matt slowed the drag of his fingers but kept up soft little kitten licks on your clit as you came down until you were twitching and whimpering from the oversensitivity. But he didn't wait for you to fully recover before continuing.

In one swift move, he flipped you over into your back, and you got a glimpse of his powerful form leaning over you, his flushed face, his straining bulge in his pants, his lust-filled eyes burning into you before his mouth crashed against yours in a fiery kiss.

You could practically feel his hunger devouring you from that kiss from the way he claimed your lips, hot tongue pressing into your mouth the second you opened to him. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, and your moan was swallowed by his tongue sliding against yours. Matt groaned into your mouth, his hips grinding down against you.

"Matt," you whined when he broke the kiss to let you come up for air. "Please, I need you."

He growled, the hungry sound nothing short of feral as he dipped his head to suck at your neck. The hot embrace of his mouth at your throat had you keening, tilting your head back for more, which he gave you, his teeth grazed the delicate, vulnerable skin. A low hum rippled through his form before he suddenly sank his teeth into your neck, nipping you hard enough to leave a mark. You gasped, body involuntarily arching up into him as Matt dragged his tongue over the spot he had bit as if soothing it.

"Wanna mark you, sweetheart," he moaned into your neck. "So they know who you belong to."

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was going to be the death of you.

"Fuck me," you begged. "I want it, Matt, please. Mark me, fuck me, make me yours."

Another feral snarl rumbled deep in his chest, and then suddenly, you were lifted up into the air before your back hit a cold, stone table.

Did he just put you on the fucking altar?

You didn't have time to think about that, however, because Matt was hurriedly unbuckling his pants, and the only thought left in your head was finally. Eagerly, you helped him shove those goddamn pants off his hips, licking your lips at the sight of his straining cock in his boxers before you yanked those down too, reveling in Matt's soft whimper. His cock was painfully hard, the tip bright red and slick with his precum that dripped down his throbbing length. The mere sight of his gorgeous cock had you clenching your thighs together as you wrapped your hand around his thigh girth, stroking him softly. The throaty moan of your name he let out sent shivers racing down your spine.

"Sweetheart," he groaned, eyes falling shut.

"Please," you whined, "I need you, Matt. I need you inside me."

"Fuck," he breathed, and his fingers curled around your hips, yanking you forward suddenly. With a gasp, you were dragged across the altar until your legs could wrap around Matt, who was standing right between between thighs, all that thick, powerful muscle cradled between your legs. Matt lined his cock up with your entrance and brought his hand out to cradle your face. "I want to hear you scream for me," he ordered. "I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

You whimpered, nodding frantically. "I—yes, Matt, yes, just please—just fuck me, Matt."

Even like this, flushed, panting, and as obviously needy as you were, he could still manage that cocky smirk as his finger brushed across your lips. "You asked for it," he chuckled and finally, finally pushed himself into you, inch by burning inch.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, your mouth falling open as slowly, he slid his thick length into you, the stretch of him in your cunt welcome after the emptiness of so long. "Matt," you moaned when he finally bottomed out, his ragged groan matching your own. God, he was so big, so thick, seated deep inside of you. His burning body molded perfectly against you, the endless expanse of lean muscle and soft skin glorious underneath your roaming hands.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he panted, dragging his cock out slowly and sliding back in, his leisure pace driving you mad. "Ah!—fuck—you're so tight, baby."

"Want you," you moaned, arching into him. "Want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way I know you want to, Matt, please."

He let out another ragged groan, the hand cradling your cheek moving down to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding for the time being. "Y-yeah?" he stuttered, trying to sound rough and in control but failing as he swallowed down another eager moan. You loved watching him like this, watching the way he fell apart in front of you, all because of you. "And what's that?"

You wrapped your legs around Matt's hips to let him grind deeper into your cunt, matching his heady pant with a needy whimper of your own. "Y-you wanna fuck me hard," you moaned out. "Could feel it, Matt, could feel the way you want it. Please, I—I can take it, I need you to—oh fuck!—fuck me rough. Take me, Matt, please."

His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and the large hand gripping your throat squeezed just once. Matt dipped his head down to place a kiss on your lips, sweet and gentle one last time as he purred against your mouth.

Then, he braced his other hand next to your head on the altar, and when he dragged his hips back, this time he returned to you with a vicious snap of his hips, slamming his cock back into you. A strangled gasp flew from your mouth as your hands scrambled against the altar surface beneath you, trying to find something to hold onto.

But there was nothing, nothing other than you and Matt and the fast, rough, almost brutal pace he set as he drove himself into you again and again. This pleasure was so much deeper and stronger than before, each delicious drag of his cock against your slick cunt sending sparks careening through your body until your brain felt overloaded with bliss. The sounds you two were making were nothing short of downright filthy: the slap of skin on skin as Matt's hips collided with your thighs, the slick noise of his cock gliding through your obscene wet cunt, the sinfully loud moans falling from both of your lips.

Matt's grip on your throat tightened when you clenched around his cock, and he growled, the sound thick and hazy with lust and need. He picked up his pace even more, fucking you so hard you knew you were going to feel it tomorrow, but you didn't give a shit. Worth it, in your opinion, if it came from Matt Murdock railing you like this.

"Matt," you slurred, half drunk on the pleasure he gave you. He stroked your jaw with his thumb, his blank eyes, dark with arousal and lust, focused somewhere around your lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he panted, his hips driving into you with animal-like need. "Y-you feel so good. So wet, so tight just for me. You sound so—fucking pretty getting fucked on my cock."

You whined, writhing beneath him even as his hand not gripping your throat pressed against your waist to hold you down. Every goddamn nerve in your body was screaming, burning, scorching with the pleasure that rolled across your body in throbbing waves. Matt adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you up every so slightly but oh at that perfect angle that let him hit your g-spot with each thrust of his hips.

Your high moan, pitched almost at a scream, was the result as mind numbing pleasure sparked between your thighs with each harsh thrust. You clenched tighter around Matt, spurring his frantic thrusts on until he was pounding into you at a pace close to brutal, the obscene squelch of his cock diving into your soaked cunt echoing around you like an unholy melody, the chorus being your screams.

Matt leaned over you, panting roughly. You could smell the sweet scent of musk and sex in the air and see the way his pink mouth parted with each heavy breath against your throat. He lowered his head to drag along your cheek until his lips were pressed against your ear.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groaned. "I can feel you, you're almost there." And you were for the second time that night, you could feel the cloud of your orgasm hovering right above you, pushed closer and closer by each brutal stroke of his cock inside of you.

"Come on, honey, come on my cock," Matt ordered, and you whined. "You're taking my cock so well, all you have to do is come for me. Be my good little girl and come all over my fucking cock."

That was all you needed. Your back arched off the altar, your hands shot out to grab desperately at Matt, your eyes squeezed shut, and your head was thrown back in absolute bliss. This time, orgasm rolled over you slower than the first time but even more intense. It scorched its way through every nerve ending in your body, consuming you like a blanket of fiery heat, making your vision go white. Distantly, you heard yourself scream—actually scream—as you descended into a blank state of pure, utter pleasure.

You could feel Matt's pace growing sloppy and frantic, short, desperate thrusts as he panted and groaned louder and louder until his hips stuttered against yours, and the most beautiful moan you had ever heard left his lips. He emptied himself into you, and you felt his hot seed spilling deep inside of your cunt even as Matt continued to grind into your tightness until every last drop of his spent was buried inside of you. He slumped over your body on the altar, both of your chests heaving in sync as you came down from your highs together.

Finally, Matt lifted his head from your chest and peered at you with his lovely dark eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked uncertainly. "Was that too much?"

You cradled his face in your hands, marveling how this wonderful, wonderful man was yours. "It was perfect," you promised, kissing him sweetly. "It's never too much. I love you, Matt."

"Hmm," he hummed contently into your mouth. "I love you so much, sweetheart. You're sure you're okay?"

"Oh I am absolutely glowing, Matthew. If I had known this is what you meant when you said you wanted me to come to church with you, I would've came ages ago."

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AN: It's been a hot second since I've written full blown smut, so forgive me if it's kinda rusty. Although I feel like I should be asking forgiveness for this whole fic soooo 🤷‍♀️ I wanna say I need to go to church after writing this, but the last time I was in church, I came up with the most unholy smut fic idea ever, so maybe not a good idea (maybe it'll inspire another one though)

If you enjoyed, please remember to like, comment, and reblog! 🖤

My Matt Murdock Masterlist

[sweetenerobert]

hey yall!

soooo there is a situation with gracieispunk and i had a long time ago and with all this drama going on i felt like it was time to explain my side of things.

story under the cut

months ago (if you were on tumblr in september) i wanted to write a maintenance man joel x male reader but, since i started on wattpad i wanted to make sure i got gracie’s explicit consent before even writing it, around september i texted her, but she never responded.

it’s now october at this point and my friend tags me in a WIP game so i post my drafts and along with my drafts i post my maintenance man draft and at this point i couldn’t figure it the title for the of my fic so i just put “maintenance man — maintenance man!joel” and then i wanted to give me asking her another chance, so i went in here ask page and see if she was able down to talk.

she responded to my WIP and finally we got to talking

*here are the screenshots and proof that it was september that i first texted her in september, proof that she responded to my WIP game and then we talked

as you can see, she blocked me shortly after that, this is when i had a full blown panic attack and i had to call one of my best friends that helped calm me down and made me realize some things, but i couldn’t help but see if gracie had posted something about this situation, and she did.

but a couple days had passed since the situation (this happened in like a span of a week might i add) and a lot of people, whom i’ve talked about the situation with, has stated that people can’t own a character or anything and i made the conclusion that im still going to write maintenance man joel for the male audience, a whole different thing, inspiration and plagiarism are two different things!

the male community is tiny compared to the community that i don’t write for. i would understand if i was just stealing her idea, word for word, but that’s not me. at all.

i forgot to mention that a bunch of authors that i had looked up too, to come out of my shell in the writing world had blocked me, i don’t know what gracie told them, but all that i know is that a lot of authors blocked me, maybe they had their own reason, i don’t know.

but, all of this drama with basically putting small writers down, i would like to say i was one of them in a sense, where i literally almost quitted my future career. but im glad i told people about the situation and everything, because if i hadn’t, i possibly would’ve deleted tumblr and not made any of the friends/acquaintances that i have now.

so if you wanna hate me? go ahead. support me? i love you. shit on me? make me feel bad about myself? try it, i do it every day. i’m not posting this out of hate for no one at all, im just here to write and have a good time.



[sameschmidtdiffname]

Can I get a Derek Danforth x shorter Male Reader where reader is like the only person Derek cares about. Reader is very cuddly but Derek isn’t big on PDA but when they are alone Derek loves holding the reader in his arms.

If not it’s ok!

OFC YOU CAN!!!

I had like fifteen different drafts for how this story could go and I couldn't make up my mind until literally last night, thus why it took so long. I hope this is okay!!!

Tangled

Derek Danforth x Male! Reader

Summery: The holidays are a miserable time of year, especially when ones mother won't even talk to them to let them know she's not coming, sending Derek into a breakdown and wrapping you up in the process.

Tags: No use of Y/N, short! Reader, hurt/comfort, mommy issues, drug use (marijuana), arguing, breakdown, banter, comedy, injury, eventual fluff, holiday fic. (I don't give a fuck that it's Febuary, shut it.)

Notes: honestly I was HYPED when I saw this request. I fucken GOT YOU babe and I am so sorry it took this long. I hope this was worth the wait <3

•°○《▪︎☆▪︎》○°•

I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest; who likes the holidays?

The decorations are nice. The food's better. But in the matter of family and visitation, could anyone honestly say they liked the whole routine? Picking who to see, booking flights, trying not to lose yourself in a bottle of liquor that you bought on the way to their house.

Maybe not every detail is the same, but you get the general idea.

"Please sit down," I begged Derek, watching him pace the floor. All week Derek had been in a mood, which isn't totally uncommon I will admit. But usually he could be coaxed out of it, sweet words whispered in his ear finally bringing him off whatever edge he was ready to fling off of and convince him death was for another day. This week however was different, Derek always tapping his foot, glaring at something. And pacing. Neverending, always thinking, lasts through the night pacing. I was beginning to feel sick from the anxiety, and my mood was making Derek even shorter in his.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"You're clearly not," I said. In his hand he gripped his pen, clicking it to life with five rapid clicks before taking a long pull like he couldn't breathe without it. "Derek."

"I said I'm fucking fine."

"I have never seen you as more of a mess, will you please just sit down for one moment?" I pleaded, shifting closer to the edge of the plush loveseat kept in front of our bed. "I'm worried about you."

He wants to snap. His jaw is tight, teeth gritted as he spins on the heel of his black, pointed boot, mouth opening as he begins to point one finger at me. But the minute he actually makes eye contact the edge drains, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhales his smoke, bags appearing under his eyes. Derek had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but when we were alone and I grabbed his attention, his demeanor would shift into one more gentle, more honest. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he finally crossed over to me, sitting beside me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"I'm fine," he said quietly, tucking my head under his chin. His hand strokes up and down my back, his heart still pounding but beginning to calm as the smoke begins to work into his bloodstream, allowing him to focus on me more than his thoughts. His cologne compliments mine, smelling mostly of cinnamon to match the winter season. The silk material of his red shirt is soothing against my skin, little silver snowflakes decorating it. Always a pattern with him.

"Is it your mother?" I asked quietly. He stiffened, his heart rate picking back up against my ear.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said quickly, beginning to pull away. I gently grab his arms, making him look down at me before he can close off once more.

"We've been together for almost a year and you won't say anything about your-"

"I said I don't want to talk about this."

"We have to talk about this at some point or you're going to have a giant fit and I won't be able to help you."

It isn't meant as an insult, but I hear it as soon as the words come out. Derek's eyes narrow into slits, bitterness seeping through.

"Fuck you. I don't throw fucking fits." He pulled away quickly, the battery of his pen glowing as he took another hit, long and deep, blinking rapidly to show he's hit his limit.

"You are on the cusp of one right now. You're in denial," I said concerningly.

This time he really is about to snap when someone knocks on the door, popping her head in to announce dinner will be ready shortly.

"Is she on her way?" Derek asked the redheaded assistant, blowing his smoke out through his nose, hands on his cocked hips. The woman presses her lips together tightly, glancing between the two of us before speaking.

"I haven't heard anything from President Danforth for a few hours, sir," she finally said. Derek sighed deeply, looking down and pinching the bridge of his straight nose as he taps his foot at impressive speed.

"Thank you," he said quickly, not meeting anyone's eyes. She takes the opportunity, quickly nodding at me and ducking out of the room with the quick click of the door, leaving us alone again.

I simply stare at him, hands folded on top of my lap as I wait for him to say something, do something. When he goes to take a third blinker, I finally stand.

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Derek warns me, holding out his palm.

"You are going to get stoned to the point that you'll fuck up this dinner the you have been worried over for the past week. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I hiss, stepping closer.

"There's no fuckin' point, she's not coming," he said, shrugging harshly and scoffing.

"And that bothers you. Will you just admit that?" I said. I step closer, close enough to reach for the pen, but I wait, letting him narrow his glazing eyes at me first.

"What is your obsession? You want me to break down? Cry? You wanna fix me, huh?" His tone is harsh, paranoia settling in as he takes a step towards me. "Whatever savior shit this is, I'm not taking."

I snatch the pen quickly from his grasp, only to have his hand grab my wrist without any real thought. Derek towers over me, gripping me tightly enough it hurts.

"Drop it," he growled.

"No," I growled back.

"I'm not asking."

"Tough shit."

"What is your-"

"Derek." The snap does something, my voice bouncing around in his ears as he glares at me, but releases my wrist nonetheless. I step away quickly, tucking the pen into the inside pocket of my evergreen blazer. "You'll get this back tonight," I tell him, not looking back. Derek mutters under his breath, brushing past me to exit the suite. Fine. Let him hate me. See if I care.

Derek never liked public affection in the first place. Growing up in a house with a politician for a mother he was hyperaware of all the right and wrongs to a public reputation. I think he also just had no desire to be seen as any kind of vulnerable in a crowd. But tonight it's different. Tonight there is a tinge of hate with the distance he creates, and my side feels cold without him. With each step forward he takes five back. People filter in and out of each room, some I'm sure just here with a friend of a friend for the free food. But if there's anyone I never see through the passing hours, it's Derek's mother. I can see him checking his phone every five, three, then every other minute.

It was a touchy subject. Derek loved his mother, adored the ground she walked on. And when she would visit him or welcome us over to wherever it was she was staying it was obvious she loved him too, allowing him to get away with things most mothers wouldn't. But her head was always in work, her eyes always scanning a document with a pen in her hand to sign off on anything at any given moment. There were times we'd spend the visit gathered in silence lest she retreat to an actual study, claiming she could not focus with our chatter. Derek loved his mother, but it was obvious he was neglected by her too.

He'd been planning the party meticulously. Ordering dozens of sample just for garland, asking my input on plates. Yes, Derek was known for throwing elaborate and wonderfully tasteful parties, but if he thought his mother would be in attendance he would go the extra mile, not sparing an inch of detail and making sure that it was so perfect she'd have no choice but to attend.

Problem is, Madame President has many choices for her perfect Christmas party.

It isn't until the clock strikes ten and security begins to push people out that he finally locks eyes with me, the hate draining and giving way to the exhaustion underneath. He disappears through a doorway, and I follow after him, watching his snow white suit that matches my shirt perfectly work its way quickly through the endless halls as I chase him down the rabbit hole. Oh yes, don't think I escaped his scrutiny just because I'm a living being. I didn't even know we'd have complimenting outfits until I stepped out of the shower that morning while he worked on a cigarette, waving it around between his fingers on one hand with the hangers in the other and a phone pressed between his shoulder as he shouted something in Spanish at the poor assistant on the other line.

He doesn't bother shutting the bedroom door behind him whether he knows I'm following him or not. But when I gently push the door shut behind me, finally turning away from him, I feel his warm body press against mine from behind. His arms wrap around me, one around my waist and the other around my shoulders, alcohol thick on his breath as he buries his head into the crook of my neck. His hand finds my hair, burying his long fingers in it as he takes a deep inhale of the pine scented cologne dabbled on my neck. His body is heavy against mine, swaying slightly from exhaustion.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I say just as soft, reaching up to find his curls. I smile slightly at the feeling of his fried ends, tainted from overprocessing. "You wanna talk?"

"No," he maintained. But his voice cracks, and the collar my shirt is starting to feel wet. Not to mention his arms are shaking.

"You wanna not talk on the bed?" I ask him.

"I'm fine right here," he says in a broken voice. But when he softly sniffles and takes a tiny gasp for air, he's finally done in and dragging me towards the oversized bed, not bothering to actually open the canopy as he flops himself down onto the lush, green and gold duvet.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he insists even though he's dragged half of a gold chiffon curtain down and around him and he's too high to figure out how to get it off. "She has meetings, this happens."

"Yeah, well. It happens a little too often," I say gently, trying to help him before he gets this thing wrapped around his neck. In his vulnerable and understandable fit he's making this curtain situation much worse, actively reweaving whatever I untangle from him in his blind confusion.

"I mean, I get it. Running the country, having a conversation with your own son, it's fine," Derek hiccuped as he gestures his hands like scales weighing the options, one drastically higher than the other. His face is as red as his shirt, large tears streaming down his face as he paws uselessly at the fabric. He swipes frantically at them, clearly becoming frustrated at being unable to control his raw emotions. "I mean, priorities shift so what the fuck am I complaining about?"

"Honey, I think you're sitting on it."

"What?"

"The curtain."

Derek moans inconsolably as he throws himself against the bed, taking down the rest of the gold chiffon and covering us both in the material.

"What does it matter?" Derek cries pathetically. "I could hang myself with this and she'd have a fucking meeting in Germany!"

"Your mother would come to your funeral," I say softly, stroking his hair as I press my lips together, letting him heave out his sobs. He brings a bundle of the fabric to his face, bunching it up and sobbing into it before raising his head once more for another comment.

"Probably have a flood in Uganda day of. I'd fuck up my own suicide day," he snaps to no one in particular.

"No you wouldn't," I say, continuing to run my hand through his hair. Derek sinks into the golden bundle once more, curling in on himself like a child. Then suddenly his eyes grow cold again.

"And the fucking appetizers were cold!"

The comment is so out of left field that a short laugh escapes me, my hand immediately covering my mouth. I instantly feel awful, looking away as I try to compose myself from the dramatic change in complaint.

"Don't laugh at me," Derek snaps. "I paid good money for those."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, that was just a bit random. Would you like to get off of the curtains you also paid for?" I ask him softly, fighting the fit of giggles his hateful eyes inspire to continue. I try to wrap my arms around him in comfort but he moves away in irritation. Or tries. This curtain is keeping us pretty close, which only adds to the whole thing.

"No," he says as he finally gives up. He crosses his arms in irritation and huffs, but after a long moment and a glance at my bemused face he moves to get the curtain off of his own. "Yes. Get this off of me!"

"Okay, I'm coming."

"Where the fuck is the end?"

"I told you, I think you're sitting on it."

"Your mother is sitting on it!"

"Let's not bring anymore mothers into this-"

We struggle in the cocoon of chiffon, twisting and turning in the same and opposite directions, both of us bickering over who has what and who's preventing our freedom.

"This shouldn't be fucking hard!"

"Quit moving, you're making it worse."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"Hang on, I think I-"

With a forceful tug I pull the end out from underneath of Derek. Unfortunately, Derek had shifted himself to move off of the end at the same time, leaving me to fling off the side of the tall bed and hit the lush rug underneath that hardly cushions the oak floor with a loud 'thud' that makes the artifical blond gasp.

"Fuck! Are you okay-?"

Derek scrambles to the edge to look down at me, but he's too high to realize he's overshot his position and sends his larger body crashing on top of mine, making me cry out as I break his fall.

"Eat a salad," I groan, curling in on myself as I try to catch my breath.

"I did, that's why I'm the tall one." Derek and I are once again tangled in the curtain, laying on the floor in a pile of limbs and half of Derek's face is burned from the rug. "Are you okay?" He asks worriedly, looking over my body for obvious injury.

"Have roses at my funeral," I cough, clutching my stomach.

"Rose's are cliché."

"Rose's are fucking iconic."

"If you have basic taste, then yes."

"I don't mix snake and cheeta."

"It's French."

"Then get fucking cheeta print rose's."

"Don't be hysterical."

I shoot him a look and finally he manages a laugh, wiping at his nose with the cuff of his blazer and smiling.

"Maybe I'm a little hysterical," he offers.

"I think I have a concussion."

"Oh, you don't have a concussion," Derek says dismissively. He cups my cheeks gently, his soft hands forcing my eyelids open wide as he checks my eyes. "Oh, fuck. Yeah, you have a concussion."

I laugh, pulling him close and keeping my eyes closed to keep from getting sick.

"Mister 'I Don't Throw Fits,'" I tease.

"I can just not take you to the hospital."

"Bitch."

"Cunt."

"Dickhead."

"Fuckface."

"Fashionably handicapped."

"Poor."

Derek finally figures out how to free us from our prison, pulling away the fabric and looking down at me from above with a gentle smile on his tear stained face. "You've got good bone structure, though," he says.

"It's my daddy's," I tell him.

"I don't remember buying you that."

I smack Derek's chest playfully, groaning as I try (and fail) to sit up. "You're awful."

"You love me," Derek says softly, sitting beside me. The statement is true and meant as a playful reminder, but it's the way his bloodshot eyes still glisten with leftover moisture that makes me cup his face. Or try. I can't see.

"I love you," I say softly.

"That's my chest."

My hand moves.

"Knee."

My hand moves again.

"That's my dick."

"Jolly good friend," I say with a squeeze and overexaggerated British accent. This knocks the last bit of sorrow out of Derek, making him laugh loudly as he finally lays down beside me. He wraps his arms around my smaller frame, pulling me close to him as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.

"I'm sorry,' he says softly.

"We really do need to talk about your mother at some point," I tell him, stroking his arm that lays across my chest.

"I know." Derek's voice is soft, his fingers playing with one of the buttons on my blazer.

The silence is sweet, the sound of Derek and I's breathing the only sound in the room. And the slight ringing in my head.

"I think you need to call someone," I tell him.

"My problems aren't that bad," Derek says in a hurt voice, moving to look down at me.

"For me."

"Oh!"

▪︎《•☆•》▪︎

I'm going to be so fr, I haven't watched 'The Beekeeper' since it was in theaters so if the mommy issues are inaccurate that's on me. But y'know what it works better for his character so it's °~*accurate to meee*~°

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Masterlist

[squarebracket-trickster]

9 People you want to know better

Huge thank you to uhhh *checks drafts* @words-after-midnight - their post here, @bluberimufim - her post here, @touloserlautrec - his/their post here

Currently reading: City of Bones by Cassie Clare. I never read it during it's peak when I was literally the right age demographic and I feel like I missed out. It's not the strongest writing in the world but I am enjoying it so far. It's been interesting to go back and reread a bunch of "older" YA - like pre-2016-ish. There is so much more filler, banter, character moments than in the post-2016 stuff, especially post-2019. Like it was right around that time that publishing shifted to the "everything has to advance the plot and be super fast paced" mentality. And tbh... I like the old stuff better. It spawned larger fandoms with more staying power - I mean, how many post-2019 booktok popular books have more than 100 fanfics on AO3? I think I'm not the only one who misses the slower, more character focused YA.

Last song I listened to: Avril Lavine's Keep Holding On was on the radio while I was driving home from work. 10 year-old me knew all the words. 20-something me still does.

Currently watching: I haven't watched any TV or movies is so long oh my gosh. But! I did go see murder mystery play with my friend last Friday night!

Current fic I'm reading: [do I confess to having a secret whump blog here? My anxiety is pretty bad rn. Which means I have been devouring and regurgitating whump like no tomorrow. I have read and written so much holy]

Current hyperfixation (changed from obsession because I don't use that language. I do, however, have ADHD): yeah... uhhh... whump.

Favourite colour: Green, specifically the shade of the underside of a maple leaf caught in the sun. But I am also very partial to any rich blue or pink.

Spicy, sweet, savory, or salty? A little bit of everything. I like it when dishes are made with really high-quality ingredients that speak for themselves and don't need to be disguised with sugar, spices, or salt.

Relationship status: *cries in single* where meet men in my city????

Last thing I Googled: hypothermia whump... yeah... (also apparently I googled the word lapel to make sure it meant exactly what I thought it meant)

Song stuck in my head: OH I am the QUEEN of getting shit stuck in my head! I once had "In Flanders Fields" the POEM - not even a song - stuck in my head in both English AND FRENCH. It wasn't even November... Currently, it's the "I had a little turtle, his name was tiny tim" song... it's been days help

Favourite food: Kiisseli (a Finnish stewed berry dessert.) I am also partial to a very juicy steak.

Dream trip: I wanna go to Ireland so bad. But I need to know some Irish person willing to teach me harp techniques first.

Gently tagging (you don't have to answer all of these. I just chose to combine three tags in one): @nacricissa *ahem*, @malapertmarquess, @ditzydisko, @dyrewrites, @toribookworm22, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackrosesandwhump, @beloveddawn-blog, @unhingednovelist

[wolfjackle-creates]

1000 Follower Celebration!

I'm blown away, honestly. The last time I had any notoriety in a fandom was back in, like 2007 or 2008 when I was on the Dibbuns Against Bedtime fan forums for Redwall. I was made the head of my dorm as the site started dying because I was the most active member in said dorm.

But you all? You're here because you like something I'm making? It's so wild to me. I appreciate every single one of you. Every like, every reblog, every comment. They warm me up.

I've been thinking over the last few days what I want to do. The obvious answers—prompt fills, polls to determine what I write, story snippets—I do all that with too much regularity. And I'm trying to avoid taking on more fics as I focus on the ones I've already got going.

So we're gonna do something a bit different this week.

Over the next week (From Wed 2/21 to Wed 2/28) send me the title of one of my WIPs (listed below) and I will respond with a few paragraphs. Not my usual 1.2-1.6k that I like to do for WIP Wednesday, but a few paragraphs. At the end of the week, I'll compile them all and post everything in a single post.

I won't be adding all the links like I usually do with each addition to a story until I post that final draft, but I'll tag everything with "[story name] 1000" so you can click that and follow along with the fic in some sort of order.

There are six WIPs eligible for the game! Please limit yourself to one fic per ask, but you may send in multiple asks. I will request that, for now, you limit yourself to one request per fic (aka a max of 6 requests per person). If I find that I'm able to keep up, I may waive that request in the upcoming days. But it will depend on how busy my inbox (and life) get.

Bring Me Home

Ghost!Robin

Answer My Call

I'll Carry Your Heart (Until I Find You Again)

Want to Hold On and Feel I Belong/Bad Reveal AU

Empathy!Verse

I totally forgot about the Empathy!Verse when I did my last ask game. Mostly because that has been entirely written on Tumblr and I...kinda forgot to transfer it to a Scrivener document. Ooops. 😅

Something to Feel isn't on this list because I want to dedicate my time to it today. I'm close to the end, I think, and already have one ask in my inbox about it that I totally meant to get to before now (if it's your ask, I promise I haven't forgotten you!).

Brief Story Summaries

Bring Me Home: Tim and Danny are online friends and know each other's secrets. Currently in the arc where the Young Justice and Team Phantom help Danny escape after a reveal gone wrong.

Ghost!Robin: Jason is haunted by the ghost of the Robin he used to be. Danny finds out when Jazz introduces him to Jason over a meet-the-in-laws dinner. Currently, Jason and Robin are meeting with Frostbite to learn what may have happened.

Answer My Call: Jazz is sending texts to Danny after he escaped a GIW facility and they can't talk. But it turns out Jason is the one who's actually been getting them.

Carry Your Heart: Jason and Danny meet in the Ghost Zone while Jason is dead. They become friends. But Jason runs to Desiree to wish for his life back. A wish she fulfills. Danny goes to visit him, only to find his core left behind in a lair that's in ruin.

Bad Reveal AU: Danny is living with the Waynes when he finds out they're also the Bats. He freaks out because he believes the bats are working with the government (aka the GIW). So he shoots Bruce and runs away. The bats are now trying to convince him it's safe to come home.

Empathy!Verse: Liminal!Jazz is studying in Gotham and feeling the lack of other liminals to interact with. After getting used to the undercurrent of emotion that follows all interactions with ghosts/liminals, humans just feel...flat. Then one day, she literally runs into another liminal as she's going to the library. Jason Todd. Only... he doesn't know what it means to be liminal. So Jazz is there to show him.

[jake-g-lockley]

Would you mind doing prompt 18 with either Jake Lockley or Santiago Garcia? I couldn’t decide which one I wanted more, so I’ll let you decide ❤️

Erase it (Santiago Garcia x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: they’re teasing each other when one character goes “then kiss me” and is surprised that the other character actually does it

Word Count: 2.6k A/N: Fun fact! This period fic was just sitting in my drafts for a while but this prompt inspired me to add a lil something hehe. Enjoy <3

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (doesn’t matter if you’re on your period, WRAP IT UP), i'm back at it with the idiots in love trope <3

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't decide whether mother nature had decided to play a nasty trick on you or had blessed you with a chance when your period had made its uninvited appearance. It was an unusually cold night in Bogotá but you woke up sweating, pure pain radiating from your lower abdomen, edging itself towards your lower back. You panicked slightly when you turned, feeling a wet patch under you. 

“Shit …” you mutter as you scramble to get out of bed to turn on the lights.

You were right, you had bled through your pants onto the bed below you as you slept. The past few weeks have been absolute hell, you and the boys have been out and about. Today had been the day where they checked into a hotel and you guess that your body decided to let go of all its stress that it was holding and push it out of your uterine lining. Your period had been late and your flow was heavy despite it being literally the first day. The cramps were biting into you, making you curl your body forward each time another wave hit you.

You ransacked your bag and the hotel room, but found no pads or even tampons. Part of you was ready to just free bleed but the other part of you just wanted to cry. All you wanted was a hot cup of chocolate and a large pad but you couldn't go and get it yourself, not in the streets of Bogotá at 2 am in the morning. You bit your lip and decided to admit defeat, walking out of your room and padding sadly towards Santi and Frankie’s room. You hesitated slightly before knocking their door.

Santi flung the door open and squinted down at you warily, sleep heavy in his eyes. His curls were astray and he was pulling down his sleep shirt, exposing some skin that made you blush a little. His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled, a warm feeling coursing through you at how genuine he looked. 

There's no way that this man could look this good even when he slept.

You were pretty sure you looked like a gremlin in your oversized t-shirt and blood covered shorts. 

“Everything okay?” he mumbled, sleep coating his usual gruff voice, softening out its edges.

To put it plainly, his voice sounded like it had been touched by a siren. 

“Uhm, yea kinda, but also no.” you look downward, shifting from one foot to another. 

Santi raised an eyebrow but let you continue.

“Sorry for waking you Pope, but I need a little help.”

“That’s alright, querida. Name it, I’m at your service.” he said bowing a little, making you giggle.

You hugged yourself, feeling very vulnerable as you bit your lip

“I started my period.” you whispered

Santi gave you no reaction to what you had said and you wondered whether he had fallen asleep with his eyes open and standing up.

“Okay, need me to get you anything?” he said, instead giving you a small smile.

That took you aback slightly, no one had said something like this to you so casually. Normally men would lean on the extremes, either making it a big deal, as if you were on the verge of death or downplaying it and making you feel small

“Yes, please. I just need pads, the biggest ones you can find please and something for the pain.” you meddled with the edge of your shirt, twisting it in a comforting pattern. 

“Alright, lemme just get my wallet. Wait for me in your room, okay?” he said cupping your face with his hand, an unusual act of affection from him.

“Okay. Thanks, Santi.” you smile, forcing down your tears as you look away from him

You went back to your room and took a nice shower, letting the hot water soothe your body. You heard a knock and you shut off the shower, pulling a fluffy towel around you before letting Santi in.

“I- oh.” Santi said before turning around when he realised you were only in your towel.

“Oh, it's fine. I’m decent. I mean the towel is long enough.” you laughed a little awkwardly.

Santi set the big bag of things he got for you onto the bed. He pulled out a packet of big pads, several of your favourite chocolate bars, pain ointment, painkillers, a hot water bottle and lastly a pack of cotton underwear. You didn’t realise you had a hand on your mouth as you watched Santi pull out the stuff from the bag

You were absolutely flabbergasted

“Fucking hell, Santiago Garcia.” you breathed. 

You stepped closer to him and grabbed the pack of pads, examining it with a smile before turning to face him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. When you pulled away, you noted how red his face had gone, and the dopey expression that lined it. You thanked him profusely and rushed into the bathroom to get changed. 

You finally felt nice and fresh. You came out to find Santiago laying a towel on the soiled part of your sheets and you started to tear up. You sniffling made him look up and he just opened his arms out understandingly. You almost run to him, letting him envelope you in his warm, comforting embrace. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs into your hair. 

“Much better, thanks Santi.” you say into his chest, breathing in his soft scent as your tears get caught in his sleep shirt. 

“Alright, I’ll let you get some rest, okay?” he said before slowly pulling away. 

You were rendered confused, and he didn’t even get to put his hand onto the doorknob before you grabbed onto his wrist. His confused stricken face made you blush and drop his hand.

“Could you maybe stay?” you ask, slightly bashful.

Santiago just smiled at you, studying your face. 

“Sure, I’d love to get away from Frankie’s snores for a while.” he said after a few seconds, making you snort. 

He grabs a few of the chocolate bars before he leads you to the couch. You open one of the bars and break it into half, giving the other half to Santiago. The both of you nibbled on the chocolate and laughed about old memories. 

You watched as Santiago animatedly tells you about the boys and their shenanigans. Oh, to be Santi’s girl. You would be treated like a queen, forget it, you would be treated like a goddess, mainly because this man had the heart to be absolutely head over heels over someone. 

“There was once where Benny tried to pet a dog, it was a calm dog, for your information, and the dog lunged at Benny so fast that all we saw was Benny’s rifle flying 30 feet away in one direction and Benny running as fast as he could in the other direction.” You laughed a little too hard and felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, making you double up in pain. 

Santiago held you and pressed his hand over yours on your tummy. For the first time panic flashed through his eyes, not knowing whether this was a normal thing. 

“Ugh I hate taking pain killers, it's not like they work anymore.” you straighten your back as the pain ebbed away. 

Years of chronic pain have made painkillers essentially useless for you. Santi nods understandingly, rubbing the back of his neck. Suddenly a sheepish look settled upon his face.

“What?” you say squinting at him

“It's nothing.” he said and you swore you could see a tinge of pink upon his cheeks. 

“I demand you to tell me, I'm the one in horrendous pain,” you winced.

Santi settled back onto the couch and pulled you down with him with a sigh. 

“Remember when we were small and our mom’s would take care of us?” he said softly.

“Of course.” you said, snuggling a little closer to him.

“You know when you would fall down and your mother will always have that one special remedy?” his voice edged into a whisper.

“Hmm? A bandage and some tylenol?” you say back, totally oblivious. 

“No, I mean what comes after the bandage and the tylenol?” he says a little exasperatedly now. 

You look up at Santi with a pout and shrug. He sighs again, this time with a small smile on his face as he brushes away a wet strand of hair from your face. 

“When they kiss it all better?” 

It took you a while to process what Santiago was trying to tell you. Suddenly it clicked but you didn’t let it show, masking your shock at what Santiago was implying with confusion to divert him.

“You wanna be my mom, Santi?” you feign confusion and he rolled his eyes.

You sit up slightly and press your lips together, trying to keep your laugh in. 

“I’m just playin’, I’d love to kiss me all better, not that you’d know where to kiss-.” 

His lips caught yours before you could finish your sentence. He sighed sleepily into your kiss and caressed your cheek with his knuckles. You smiled against his lips and anchored yourself against his chest, fingers feeling up whatever was under his sleep shirt. 

He pulled away and smiled at you, a boyish smile that made him look several years younger. His fingers were at your chin and he turned our face so that he could plant another kiss onto your cheek before pulling you down onto his chest. You groaned again and clutched at your stomach as another wave of pain crashed through you.

“Guess your remedy didn’t work.” you mumbled sadly into his chest as his hand kneaded your lower back with soft pressure. 

Santiago stayed silent for a while and you slowly felt yourself getting sleepier with his presence but a few biting cramps kept pulling you out of your relaxed state. 

“I… umm… heard somewhere that there is a way to take the pain away.” Santiago stuttered a little, a little unusual for someone who was usually so calm and collected.

“I’ll do anything.” you muttered again.

“Anything?” 

“Well not do hard drugs but you know, yes anything.” you sigh. 

“It involves coming.” Santi says after a few seconds of silence

“Going where?” you said without missing a beat, the pain clearly making you stupid

Santiago’s nervous expression shifts to a blank one as he stares at you incredulously

“Pope, what?” this time you were genuinely confused as you stared at his face. 

“I mean, like, ORGASM!” he whisper-shouted.

oH-

 Now it was your turn to be nervous. You eyed Santiago and picked at a hangnail on your finger. 

“Let me take care of you.” his voice dropped to something more sultry and you felt your insides swim with desire. 

“How?” you whispered. 

Santiago wanted to buy his time by whispering all of the sweet and sacrilegious things he had been meaning to do to you but in your current state, he would rather just blatantly tell you before he made a fool of himself.

“Let me touch you and help you relax.” his eyes were so soft when they met you and you found yourself trusting him entirely.

“Okay.”

With your confirmation, Santiago scooped you up and walked you to the bed, laying you down on the towel he placed there earlier, before pulling his shirt off and crawling beside you. Your heart thudded in your chest as you pressed your legs together and stared up at Santiago. You’ve never seen this look on his face before and he was studying you, his eyes scanning your body as your breath quickened. 

“Relax, querida, I’ll take care of you.” he said, pulling your oversized t-shirt up slightly before hooking his fingers at your shorts, tugging them down gently, easing your legs apart. 

The cold air on your bare pussy made you shiver and he eyed your core in a way he’s never looked at you before. You let yourself sink down at his soft touches, his fingers kneading gently at the skin of your thigh as he kissed your knee. He kept his eyes on you as his fingers found your clit and you squeezed your eyes shut at the soft pressure. Silently, he began to softly rub at your clit, easing out soft moans and whimpers from you. You felt the tension in your abdomen pull away as it is replaced by another sensation, one that was egged on by the attractive man who was hovering over you. 

“How do you want me?” he asked softly over your whines. 

“Anything you can give me.” you breathed back, and instantly, he slipped two of his fingers inside you, making your head drop back with a delicious moan. 

He started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you started whispering his name like a prayer almost like you were pleading for him to not stop. His thumb swiped at your clit when your walls started to get tighter around his fingers and the band that he was building instantly snapped and your back arched off the bed as you came with a gut wrenching moan. 

You dropped back down onto the bed and caught your breath, your vision swimming as you vaguely heard yourself thank Santiago. You felt the bed dip around you and your eyes dropped down to where Santi’s hand was. He had rid himself of his pants and was gently pumping himself up and down, smearing your blood on himself, eliciting a string of curses from your own mouth. You dropped your knees open and he pushed himself in, filling you up to the brim as you gasped at his size. He dropped himself onto his forearms, caging you as his lips whispered soft nothings into your ear.

“So wet and warm… Still so fuckin’ tight…” he started pistoning his hips pulling out moan after moan from you again. “Fuck, you feel so good, I need to make you feel good.” 

He was making you feel good. All of the pain had vanished and was replaced with quaint pleasure coursing through your veins. The intimacy of it all made you feel so vulnerable yet safe. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly, letting him drop his head against your shoulder as your pussy started to grip him with absurd strength. 

“So close…” you managed to breathe and Santi nodded, unable to form any words.

His fingers dropped to your clit once more and it didn’t take much for you to snap again, Santi spilling into you with a sharp moan to the column of your throat. He slumped against you and your hands lazily scraped at his scalp.  All of your muscles were relaxed and it was replaced with soft clouds of pleasure that turned your mind hazy. You kissed Santiago’s temple and thanked him over and over as he soothingly kissed your neck.

“Better?” he mumbled into your neck.

“So much better.” you breathed, sleep pulling your eyelids over your eyes.

“Shh, rest, I got you baby. I always got you.” was the last thing you heard before you succumbed to the powerful callings of sleep. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up curled up against him, his hand pressing a now lukewarm hot pack to your abdomen as he cuddled you close. While you were asleep, he changed you, and made sure you were comfortable before settling to sleep. His nose now was buried in your hair and your back was flush to his chest, impossibly close. 

You held on to his arms and you pulled him closer, praying that he would never slip away, knowing that he’d be able to erase everything that could harm you. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~~

Tagging: @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @lia275 @euphoricosmo @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @swiggy-needs-mental-help @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @melodygatesauthor

[allbark-no-bite]

Meet Me In the Middle || Elvis Presley x reader

summary: it is all too easy to give and take when the lines of platonic love become blurred. or in which you’ll alway be Elvis’ little girl

warnings: 18+, sexual content, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, the usual swearing

word count: 5k

author’s note: low key I’m really proud of this one. thank you all for the love and support i received on my last fic <33 i literally have so many elvis ideas but not enough time to write them. would y’all want some shorter fics too?

—

Summer was sharing sweet orange slices from the farmers market and the sticky juice that trailed down our arms. Summer was playing tag in the front yard, tousling like rabbits in the the green grass. Summer was late nights spent listening to records together on my full sized bed.

Summer was Elvis. Until it wasn't.

One late night in 1957, summer became the three month notice of a court ordered draft. Summer became the worst three months of my entire life.

—

"You're not actually gonna go though, right, El?" I'm standing at the bottom of the stair case, feet cemented to the last step as I wait for his reply.

Elvis and his mama and daddy all look up at me from where they're gathered in the living room. He drops the hand holding the paper to his side, as if hiding it from my sight would erase it from my mind. Uncomfortably, he clears his throat.

I swivel my head, looking from his mama and then back to Elvis. No one moves to speak, and I break the building tension again as I realize what their silence means. "Elvis!"

He sighs, lifting his hand to rub his brow. "I've got to go, darlin’. I can't—"

I stomp my foot against the wooden staircase and it makes a loud thud that echos through the house. "Tell them you can't! You can't go—you can't leave us!"

Obviously becoming frustrated, Elvis takes a few steps towards the stairwell, waving his draft notice at me. "I've got no choice, alright? It's that or they fucking arrest me!"

"UGH!" I screech, turning on my heels and stomping up the stairs. It's childish of me but had I stayed planted there any longer, the tears burning in the back of my eyes would have made their appearance, and I don’t want him to see me cry.

Elvis shouts after me. "C'mon, really, [y/n]? You're gonna cry? Get back down here!"

I stomp louder, ignoring him, and storm into my room. I slam the door once I'm inside. Elvis hated it when I slammed doors. Once I reach my bed, I rip the sheets off of it and then clamp them shut around me. Only then do I allow the burning tears to start down my face.

Germany. He was going to Germany. Out of the millions of people in the world, what were the odds that they pulled his name. Apparently pretty damn good. What was he thinking? Elvis couldn't fight in a war. Surely the Colonel would have something to say about this. As much as I hated my stepdad, I was certain this was something we could agree on.

My mama had married young. It was a fairytale story in which she'd fallen madly in love with my daddy her senior year of high school and dropped out to marry him then and there. My daddy had been dealt a good set of cards by his own father and was a very successful lawyer down in New Orleans. He died of a heart attack when I was five, leaving my momma his entire inheritance. A few years later, she married a Mr. Colonel Tom Parker. My momma was beautiful, but he had married her for the money. He proved my point by divorcing her two years later, leaving me stuck between two homes.

I loathed the summers that I would be sent to spend with my stepdad. He'd never done ill to me, but again I had little reason to like him either. He tolerated me for three months of the year as his form of child support, and I spent weeks dreading following him and his little circus act around for the sake of 'show business'. That was until I met his up and coming act Elvis Presley.

Once Elvis blew up, the Colonel finally set aside his circus life and moved us to Graceland to focus on the young star full time. Suddenly, I found myself looking forward to leaving behind my mother's beautiful Louisiana estate and spending more and more time in Memphis, Tennessee.

But if I had ever learned anything about my stepfather, it was that he would do anything for the sake of business. Which is why instead of shutting down Elvis' ridiculous notion that he was going to enlist in the army, he encouraged it, hoping to make him some sort of all American hero or whatever he called it.

We throw Elvis a going away party the night before he ships off for Germany. I refuse to attend, spending the evening moping in my bedroom. The happy chatter and music coming from downstairs only serve to worsen my mood.

I wish everyone would just go home so I could sulk in peace.

I kick off the shoes I had worn for the evening and sit with my legs crossed a top my bed. A tattered flannel dog sits where I had left it on my pillow last night, and I pick it up, realizing I had forgotten to put it away.

Elvis had given me the plush dog at the end of the first summer I spent at Graceland. Something to remember him by back home, he had said. For a long time, I never went anywhere without it. But I'd eventually forgotten about the dog and didn't touch it for years. I'd started carrying it around again now that he was leaving.

Knuckles rap softly at my door, but before I can even stand up to answer it, Elvis is pushing the door open and stepping hesitantly into my bedroom.

I glare at him, dropping the flannel stuffed animal to the ground. "I didn't say you could come in."

He ignores my harsh rebuke and crouches down to retrieve the stuffed dog. Methodically, as if lost in a memory, he turns the plush toy over in his hands. I watch as his fingers muse with the soft flannel of the dog's ear. Standing up, he slowly walks towards the bed. "I don't wanna fight tonight."

I turn my head. Between his freshly cut hair and crisp uniform, it's all too much.

The bed dips underneath me, and Elvis places the toy in my lap. "I haven't seen this thing in a while," he comments, prompting me in a futile attempt to get me to talk.

I just shrug, still not looking directly at him. Because I can't tell him that I haven't slept without the stupid plush dog in months now. Can't tell him that because I don't want him to think I'm just some dumb little kid.

"C'mon," Elvis persists, a playful tone to his voice as he nudges his elbow into my side. "Don't go tellin' me you're too grown for that kinda stuff now, lil’ girl."

I set the dog off of my lap, as if wanting to remove it from view and out of the conversation.

"I'll be too grown by the time you're comin' home. Turnin' eighteen next year," I point out bitterly, reminding him that he's missing my birthday.

Elvis is quiet for a moment. "Eighteen don't mean all that much," he finally says. "You'll still be my lil’ girl."

His little girl. His dumb kid sister. It's all just the same, I think. That is all he will ever think of me.

I'd been counting down the days until I turned eighteen, waiting for that growth spurt, waiting for puberty to hit, waiting for the day that I could shake him awake and say, Look. Look at how much I've changed. I'm not your kid sister anymore. I don't want to be your kid sister anymore.

I'd always been his 'lil’ girl'. And for a long time that had been okay. I was fourteen when I permanently moved into Graceland. We were practically raised together. We were best friends and fought like brother and sister. But now that I was older, it was hard to see him like that anymore. He was still my best friend in the entire world, but I'd grown, and I understood a lot more than I did when I was fourteen. I noticed the sharpness of his face now, the childlike roundness gone. I noticed the new fullness of his body and how it balanced out his once lanky frame.

He'd become a man without me realizing it, and I desperately didn't want to be his little sister anymore. But now that he was leaving, none of it mattered. I'd grow up without him there to see it, and he'd move on, find some nice girl in Germany.

Elvis tilts his head, trying to smile at me, his soft pink lips pressed together. "I'll throw you a big party when I get back, yeah? Mama'll make you a cake, and we'll sing 'happy birthday' even if it's the middle of June."

I bite my lip and laugh, thinking about how ridiculous it would be because I know that he's being serious.

God, I'm gonna miss him.

"Two years isn't so long," my voice cracks, and I laugh through the sob as I finally turn towards him. "Right?"

Elvis smiles. "I'll be back before you know it."

—

The day Elvis came back was a cold day in Memphis, Tennessee. The warm weather of budding summer had yet to come, leaving us all bundled up in heavy coats as we waited amongst crowds and crowds of people at the train station. But then again, summers had never been quite the same since Elvis left two years ago.

Gladys held onto my elbow beside me, and I would point out in the direction of each new train that appeared. To my left was my boyfriend of six months. We had met due to some mutual friends and hit it off pretty quickly. He was no Elvis, and so I had been hesitant at first, but he was persistent in asking me out for weeks. I had finally relented, and he surprised me. He was good to me.

"Oh look!" Gladys exclaimed, patting my hand and drawing my attention back to the tracks. "That's him!"

A black train engine approached us, slowing down as it neared and stopped at the station in a whoosh of steam. After a bustle of excitement at the side of the loading dock, I caught a glimpse of his dark black hair. With the help of the conductor and a couple police officers, Elvis began to push his way through the crowd.

He greeted him mama first, hugged her tightly and unabashedly let her kiss his cheeks as he stooped to reach her. He'd grown a lot in two years. Next was his daddy, who's hand he shook firmly and then leaned in, clapping him on the back.

When he got to me, he hugged me like a big brother would do, slinging a heavy arm around my shoulders and drawing me into his side to place a smooched kiss to the top of my head. And then when he pulled away and caught sight of my boyfriend standing at my side, he hardened his blue eyes and squared his shoulders in that same big brotherly fashion, stiffly holding his hand out to shake. If he was angry with me—as he should have been—he didn't show it. I hadn't told him about my boyfriend, but I assumed Gladys had let him on about it.

Moving on after an awkwardly stiff handshake, Elvis greeted the Colonel as well as Sonny and Jerry, and then gathered his things. We went home and life went back normal, exactly as it was before Elvis had left. Everything went back to how it was. We laughed and joked and quarreled as we did before he left, and pretended to ignore the problem the presence of my boyfriend proposed.

For most, Elvis and I’d closeness would have likely torn apart any romantic relationships. We were too comfortable with each other to just be friends, and yet that’s what we where. That’s what we had to be. We took what we could get.

—

What I would have done had I not stumbled into the wall, likely waking up the entire house and causing Elvis to stick his head out of his bedroom door, I honestly don't know. I wouldn't have called him, I think to myself, because brothers aren't supposed to know that their little sister's in bed with a boy. But he's not my brother, and I don't have a choice because before the words leave my mouth, he's pulling me into his bedroom, shielding me from everything except for the view of his wide shoulders that are wedged between the doorframe.

My legs are shaking. My entire body is shaking. I'm lightheaded from crying and my chest burns from all the hyperventilating I was doing moments before. The insides of my legs tingle, and I realize it's because liquid is dripping down them. I don't want to know what color it is. Neither is good, I think.

Out in the hall, I can hear footsteps muffled against the carpeted floor. "[y/n] run off in there?"

Elvis steps further out of the door, still using his body to block me from view. "She got a reason to be runnin'?" His voice is dangerously monotone.

I hear the other voice scoff. He must be standing out in the hall, a safe distance from Elvis. "Look, I didn't do nothin' she didn't ask for."

Elvis looks back at me from over his shoulder, taking in my current state under his gaze. My face burns with shame and humiliation.

His eyeliner black eyes are steely, almost murderously calm. It's the look of someone who's about to kill a man. I know that he notices my lack of shorts and half unbuttoned night shirt because it's his. Stolen from Elvis long ago, it's just long enough to cover the curve of my ass and enough to hide the fact that I'm not even wearing panties. And maybe that is why he doesn't kill the boy on the other side of the door then and there.

"Get out of my goddamn house."

"I didn't—"

"Get out before I break your fucking face in," he snarls.

The noise is enough to stir Jerry, who pokes his head up the stairwell. Ever the peacekeeper, I hear his mellow voice float down the hall. "EP? Everything okay?"

Never breaking eye contact with the boy, Elvis' voice has returned to the chillingly quiet tone. "Get to stepping, pal," he growls. I can picture his face, white teeth bared into a menacing snarl like one of those dogs who's yard the postman stays away from.

There is a heavy pause in the conversation and then I hear loud footsteps descending the stairs. The front door slams shut.

The moment he retreats from the door, I'm clinging to him, grabbing at his soft satin shirt and hiccuping into his chest. His palm cradles the back of my head, hugging me into his body. His presence is comforting enough to stop my trembling, but when he pulls me away from his chest, another sob escapes my mouth.

"Please, you can't tell the Colonel, El." I reach for him again, just wanting to be held.

He holds my shoulder at arms length, worried blue eyes taking me in. "What happened, lil’ girl?"

Another sob rakes through my chest, tearing at my raw lungs and choking up my throat. My hand grabs at his shirt, desperate to hold on to him. "I thought I was ready. I really did." I'm swallowing spit as I talk, still trying to breathe and cry at the same time. "And then I couldn't— He wouldn't—"

Elvis' jaw hardens and he lets me push myself into his chest again, hushing my cries. "Okay, okay. It's okay, darlin'."

I hiccup into his shirt, pressing my cheek to his chest. The heavy thrum of his heart pounds against my ear. He's still breathing hard, holding me securely against him. "El, You can't—"

"I ain't gonna tell no one, lil’ girl, alright?" Elvis states firmly, as if to put my worries to an end once and for all.

"Hey." Elvis takes half a step backwards, doing his best to detach me from his body. I let out another halfhearted sob again, my eyes blurry and red from crying. "Hey—now, enough of that. Let's clean you up." His tone is firmer than I would have expected, but it works enough to sober me up.

I nod, emitting one last hiccup and dragging the backs of my hands over my eyes.

Walking into his bathroom, Elvis sits me down on the closed toilet seat and after running a wash rag under the warm sink water, crouches in front of me. Suddenly I'm in grade school again, waiting for him to clean my scraped knee because I never did know what was good for me.

"Gonna clean you up, 'kay, darlin'?" His tender blue eyes hold mine.

The wet clothe drips onto the ground and his finger tips ghost up my thigh, brushing aside the shirt bundled at my waist. I see his hands tremble, and he swallows as his eyes take in my bareness. He's realizing I'm not wearing panties. Elvis sniffs and squeezes my knee with one hand. Wordlessly, he brings the wash clothe softly between my thighs.

I twitch slightly at the sensation, wanting to mewl and push his hand away, but I remain still as he works. He won't look up at me as he tenderly drags the clothe between my legs, focused on ridding me of every memory of tonight.

It's a terribly strange experience, having someone who is so close to you care for you in such a compromising position. And yet there's a mutual understanding there that says, 'this is okay with me so long as it's okay with you'.

Finally, the feel of the clothe disappears, but Elvis remains crouched, his head between my knees. He's so close that I feel his breath on me.

I imagine his nose brushing my bare cunt.

The problem was that I was exactly the kind of pretty that he picked out in girls every weekend and sought out after shows, and we both knew it.

The problem was that I was his little girl who's boyfriends he ran off and runny nose he wiped.

He sighs and kisses the inside of each of my knees. "C'mon. Let's get you in the shower, lil’ girl." He sits back on his heels and stands up, tossing the red stained rag into the bin.

I watch from the toilet seat as he turns on the water for the shower that he doesn't even like. Elvis had a preference for baths and I knew because he alway requested a room with one wherever he stayed. The only reason he had a shower at Graceland was because it was easier to have sex in.

I knew this because I'd asked him one day as I laid sprawled across his mattress, flipping through a magazine. He was in the shower at the time, the door half ajar as he had left it, the steam of the shower spilling through the crack. His girlfriend had just left and he'd run upstairs, tossing his shirt on me as he went. He'd nearly had his jeans off before he even slipped through the bathroom door, and I'd caught a glimpse of his blue boxers.

A while after, as I listened to the spray of the water against the tiles, I'd asked him then and there, why he'd taken the room with the shower and given the other to Jerry.

"What?" he had asked distractedly, his voice raised so that I could hear him.

"How come you got a shower when you don't even like 'em?"

The spray of the shower head cut off and I could hear him moving around in the bathroom. Through the crack of the door, I could see his reflection in the mirror as he preened at his wet ebony hair.

"Just easier I recon. When you have a girl over, I mean."

Elvis was nearing the cusp of twenty himself and so the topic of sex was not new nor uncomfortable to him. Besides, I was just his kid sister.

I was sixteen at the time and had no real concept of what it meant to me when he brought girls over. I guess I knew that he never grew especially attached to any specific one, and they went out of his life just as quickly as they had come.

"Oh," was all that I had said afterwards, watching him as he walked out of the bathroom, his face flushed red, towel bunched in his hand. Instead of using it to dry off his hair, he tossed it into the laundry bin and grabbed a fresh one.

"Water's probably hot enough—," Elvis says, drawing me from my thoughts.

I tug at the rumpled collar of my—his—night shirt. "Will you..." I swallow away the knot in my throat. "Will you get in with me? I don't wanna..."

No. He's supposed to say no because someone's got to draw the line somewhere. We aren't kids anymore, no matter how desperately we both cling to the idea.

He pauses. "Yeah, sure, sweet thing."

I pull off the silky night shirt without a second thought. It was just Elvis and he'd probably seen me nearly naked a thousand times before. I can see him in the reflection of the mirror behind me, sliding off his own clothes and trying to avoid looking over in my direction. His is cock hard against his stomach.

"Go on," he says, ushering me into the shower, as though intent on pretending his body wasn't responding acutely to the situation. Elvis follows me in, his large frame taking up the bulk of the space.

Tangles of my wet hair falls in cascades down my shoulder. I let the stream pelt into my face, opening my mouth only to breathe and spitting out the water that enters. Rust tinged water swirls down the drain after running down my legs. A hiccup shakes my shoulders and more water flows into my mouth. I hadn't realized I was still crying.

Elvis' arms pull me into his chest, resting just under my breasts, and one hand slides up my throat, tipping my chin up so that I can breathe. "Hey." His bare skin feels foreign against my back. Forbidden in a sense. "Enough of that. Breathe, lil’ girl."

My head falls back limply against his shoulder, and I allow my eyes to close. The steady weight of Elvis' chin comes to rest in the joint of my neck and shoulder as he holds me close. One of his thumbs strokes the swell of my breast, just barley ghosting the bud of my nipple. Even in the hot shower, the action makes me shiver.

"I should have run him off after dinner. Shouldn't have boys around the house this late," he whispers softly.

"I'm grown now, Elvis," I remind him weakly. "I can do what I what."

"And you wanted him?"

I can feel the girth of his arousal against my back. He emits a small huff each time I move. Elvis runs a hand down my body, not stopping until his large fingers are splayed across the expanse of my stomach. His other hand still tweaks at my nipple, cupping the fullness of my breast in his palm.

It feels good enough to make my body feel like putty in his hands. I'd let those hands do anything to me.

"You know, you were the first boy to break my heart?" I say instead.

Elvis sighs heavily against my body, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my belly. "You were too little, and I was grown," he says in his own way of answering me.

"And now?"

His hand slips from my stomach to slide around the curve of my ass, and he tips his head up to press his nose into my wet hair. "God, I hate the thought that his hands were on you. That he touched you."

I feel his puffy pink lips hover above the tender skin of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. His nose skims the shell of my ear, and he kisses the joint between my neck and shoulder. Elvis's hand travels back around my body, sinking lower lower, until his forefingers just barely ghost my bareness. I whimper as my sensitive cunt clenches around emptiness.

Elvis' mouth is hot against my ear. "Do you trust me?"

There are still faint smudges of dark mascara under my eyes, and I've only just stopped all the ragged, unsteady breathing. I’m still aching and tender. I think about how I didn't think twice about running into his arms, even if I was too ashamed to call for him myself. I'd trust him with my life.

I nod.

"Words. I need words."

I swallow, pressing my nose to the column of his throat. "I've always trusted you."

There's no tension between us as he rubs his fingers against my cunt, tenderly exploring the heat of me. There's no hurry as his fingers prod at my opening, feeling the tightness and resistance of my body. I reflexively push my hips into his hand when his thumb passes over my clit, sending jolts up my spine. The hand holding my body against him tightens, pulling me back into his chest, and he draws his hand away. His fingers spread and my arousal, tinged with red, clings between them. The spray of water slowly washes the color away.

I can feel his silent anger in every breath, how it stalls and then releases. It's evident in the way his body moves around me. "He didn't do nothin' wrong," I whisper timidly. "Just—it was too late by the time I realized I didn't want it to be him."

Elvis stills behind me, and his hand comes up to crane my chin around to look at him. His hooded blue eyes are questioning. "He didn't—"

I sniff embarrassedly, a broken huff of a laugh coming out of my mouth. "Pop my cherry? Not necessarily."

As if soaking in my words, Elvis observes my face, thumbing my bottom lip thoughtfully. Then he dips his head down, capturing my lips with his. His mouth is hot and he licks into my mouth. For a moment, I'm painfully conscious of my youth and the years of experience that he has on me. It's obvious that he's done this before, kissed a lot of girls before me. However, I could get drunk on his taste alone, and I go with it, building confidence as he groans into my mouth.

"Want you to do it, El." His large hands feel up and down my body, and he groans again.

"Yeah?" he asks breathily.

"Yeah."

I nearly stumble as he moves us together as one unit, and my back hits the cold wall of the shower. His body is on mine immediately, and I chase his lips, desperate to taste him again. Our mouths connect, consuming each other, savoring the taste.

A gasp escapes my mouth at the sensation of his fingers prodding at my entrance, but he swallows it, pushing in one finger and then adding another. It's uncomfortable at first, and I squirm at the stretch, but then he's curling his fingers and petting at my velvet walls and my vision swims. My eyes must literally roll into the back of my head because he laughs at me.

"That feel good, lil’ girl?" Elvis hums.

It does but it's not what I want.

My attention goes back to his cock, which still sprung alertly against his abdomen, except now it's a flushed red. The head engorged and swollen, begs to be touched, and when I do, it's Elvis' turn for his eyes to roll into the back of his head. I don't know what I'm doing, and he must realize that because he slides his fingers out of me and cradles my jaw, his other hand wrapping around my fist. With his large hand over mine, Elvis drags my hand rhythmically over his cock. I take a guess and drag my thumb over the tip. His hips buck into my fist.

"So good, sweet girl," he rasps in that throaty southern drawl. After stroking himself a while longer, Elvis pulls my hand away from his cock and instead interlocks our fingers above my head.

His eyes find mine, panting heavily in the sliver of space between us.  "I'll be gentle," he promises, and then he's pushing in, the head of his cock pressing deep inside me.

With the slick of my arousal, the stretch is bearable, and quickly turns in to pleasure when he rocks his hips slowly into me. I can feel him hot and full within me. His second thrust is more fluid than the last one, pulling out and then sliding back in one motion. Above my head, my hand squeezes his and he reciprocates the gesture. I keen into his shoulder, biting down each time he drags deliciously in and out of me.

"Doin' so good for me," Elvis praises, kissing my cheeks and neck and lips over and over again. His next thrust has my stomach coiling, bubbling with hot pleasure. When he leans in to kiss me once more, he capture my bottom lip between his teeth and then releases it, leaning in again to kiss the swollen flesh.

"El—" I can hardly utter a coherent sentence. "I'm—" I can feel myself slipping, my mind fogging up.

"It's okay, I've got you. Let go, lil' girl. You can let go."

It feels like a rubber band pops in my stomach, and I moan, clenching around him as I come. Soon Elvis is releasing inside of me as well, claiming my walls with his seed. When he pulls out, I whine at the feeling of emptiness.

Elvis is still pressed into me, as if our bodies have become one entity. His release runs down my legs and pools on the tiles of the shower. Exhausted, I collapse into him. We’re both spent, chests heaving, legs shaking.

He laughs, pecking my swollen lips. "Looks like you need another shower."

[stardustbarbarians]

Kneel Down Ye Sinners

A Samuel Kiszka / Daniel Wagner fic

Summary: Daniel has a bad round of golf... and Sam is bored.

Tags: spanking, oral, unprotected sex, literally just smut idk what else to say... so MDNI!

Words: 2.3 k

A/N: This has been written in my drafts for over a year and I just got around to polishing it up. Anyway, as usual, this is dedicated to @ofthecaravel because when is it not. (Also pspspspspsps @runwayblues) Title taken from Wild Side by Motley Crue (I swear I don't listen to them that much). Anyway, and as always, enjoy!!

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"God, that was awful!" Daniel yelled as he stormed into the house, throwing his baseball hat into the wall and kicking off his slides. They made a subdued smack as they landed onto the floor near the entrance. 

"How was golf?" Sam called out for his spot in the living room, flipping through channels mindlessly. He was bored out of his skull, having already finished all the chores he wanted to do this weekend and really not all in the mood to play any of his instruments. 

"I shot in the 90s! I haven't gotten a score like that since high school!!" The golfer raged, now pacing in front of the couch Sam was on. He had to admit, Daniel was hot when he was mad. He'd get this set in his jaw that defined it more and this look in his eyes that reminded Sam of all the times he was pinned underneath Daniel. 

Oh, thought Sam, now there’s an idea 

"Oh, baby, that's rough," Sam patronized, his voice dripping in manufactured sympathy. He threw the remote down, not needing the tv anymore. His entertainment had arrived.

Though, he felt his heart skip a beat when that rage fueled gaze was cast onto him. His skin began to prickle with goosebumps as Daniel stopped in his tracks, one of Danny's eyebrows cocking up. He felt his blood simultaneously freeze and boil beneath his skin at that look. 

"You think you can do better, Samuel?" His tone was even and dangerous, a low grumble in his chest. 

Sam had to suppress a shiver at the words. He was diving head-first into the deep end and he knew the risks. 

"No… but you should've" Sam retorted, his bratty streak always strong. He knew he was in trouble the moment Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles very visible under the pliant fabric of his golf shirt. 

"You've got quite the mouth on you. Don't you, princess?"

At the pet name, Sam visibly shivered, unable to suppress this one. That name was reserved for the moments when it was about to get nasty. And the way Daniel was glaring at Sam? It was about to get very, very nasty. 

"And what about it, big loser?" The bassist really hammered the last nail in the coffin with the smirk and raised eyebrow he sent Danny’s way. 

That's what finally set Daniel off.

His arms dropped to his sides, hands balling into fist. Sam watched it happen in rapt fascination, feeling just the tiniest twinge of fear in his heart. However, it was drowned out by the excitement flooding his veins at knowing just how much he had successfully riled up Daniel. 

"On your knees.”

Sam was not expecting that of all things for Danny to say. He felt his eyes get big as he swallowed thickly. That fear had turned into surprise, his heart fluttering inside his ribs. He knew where this was going, however he still dumbly asked: "W-what?"

"Get on your knees. Right now, princess," Daniel growled, his teeth clenched as he spoke. 

Doing as he was told, Sam slipped off the couch and stood on his knees, his eyes gazing up at Daniel. This was far from the first time Sam had viewed Daniel from this vantage point; it certainly would not be the last, either. At least, not if Sam had any say in it.

"What have I told you about that mouth of yours, princess?" Daniel approached Sam, only a few inches away from him. Danny leaned down just enough so that Sam didn’t strain his optic nerve to look at him, but Daniel still loomed above him. Sam was suddenly reminded of devotees gazing up at their gods on bended knee, feeling a sense of understanding of their blind devotion at that moment. 

"That it's only useful wrapped around your cock," Samuel answered, stealing a glance down at the other man's crotch directly in front of him. He felt a rush of saliva at the mere memory of the weight of it on his tongue, having to swallow it down so that he wouldn’t drool. 

Daniel hummed in approval, his hand coming to pet Sam's hair. Sam is only mildly ashamed to admit he leaned into it like a cat. 

"That's right, pretty boy," Danny used his other hand to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, leaving them on and only freeing his cock, "now put it to good use."

Knowing when to obey, Sam immediately wrapped his lips around the tip of Danny's dick. The growl that slipped past the golfer's lips made Sam's own dick twitch inside his jeans, a whimper escaping his lips.

Sam wasted no time bobbing his head up and down the length of Daniel's cock, hollowing out his cheeks and laying his tongue flat. The long, drawn out moan that escaped from the back of Danny’s throat was music to Sam’s ears. When he looked up at Danny through his lashes, he’d noticed that the drummer’s head had tipped back, his eyes pinched closed as he basked in the pleasure Sam was imparting onto him. 

It wasn't long before Daniel grabbed the top of Sam's hair and began setting his own pace, Sam gagging as the other man's cock hit the back of his throat particularly aggressively. But Sammy took it all in stride, only mildly disgusted when the extra spit that flooded his mouth began dripping down his chin. At least Danny would find it hot that Sam now looked all ruined. 

Tears fell from his eyes right before Daniel pulled Sam off of him, a string of saliva connecting them as he looked at Daniel with the most lust filled gaze. His eyes half lidded as he panted in order to catch his breath, barely able to breathe around Danny’s girth.  

"Take off your clothes, whore," Daniel commanded, his voice rough but still authoritative. He had tilted his head forward in order to look down at Sam. 

"Awww, Danny boy's a wreck 'cause of little ol' me," Sam taunted, his voice even more of a mess than Danny's. 

Daniel cocked his eyebrow once again, Sam's smirk growing at the reaction he was able to pull from Daniel. However, it quickly fell from his face at what the drummer stated next. 

"Clothes off. Get on the coffee table. On your hands and knees.”

Sam's breath caught in this throat, finding himself obeying the commands at the deep, rumbling tone Daniel employed. Once he was stark naked, Sam climbed up onto the wooden coffee table and rested on his hands and knees just as he was told. A twinge of embarrassment made his face pink, overly aware of the heavy staring from Daniel. 

"I told you to only use that pretty mouth of yours for sucking, princess. Now it's gotten you into deep trouble," Danny told Sam, his voice deep and guttural. 

Sam looked over his shoulder to see Daniel sliding his belt out of his pant loops, gathering the white leather in his hand; the appendage bulging with veins underneath tanned, practiced, and calloused skin. 

The bassist involuntarily whined as he put together what was about to happen. Yeah, he was in deep trouble. Like, the deepest fucking layer of trouble he could possibly be in- well… maybe not. There was one time that Sam had continued to mouth off even after this stage and… well… Sam was pretty sure they’d have to move this little shindig to their bedroom to get the rope if he pushed his luck any further. 

Sam gripped the edge of the table in his hands as a sharp snap of leather came down onto his ass, a yelp leaving his throat. He didn’t hurt. Far from it, in fact. The noise was one of surprise, more than anything else. 

He felt a warm, calloused hand smooth over the spot that was just struck before it remained planted on the opposite cheek. Another blow came, the sound just as loud as the belt made contact with Sam's skin. This time, however, instead of a yelp in surprise Sam let out a needy whine as the pleasure overruled the pain. 

Daniel kept going, raining down blow after blow. His fingers dug into the skin of Sam's ass as his moans became needier and needier. Samuel was certain his ass was becoming bright red. But he wanted Danny to keep going, to allow the belt and his digging fingers to leave bruises that would stain the skin there for days; to serve as a reminder for who he belonged to and who belonged to him.

With another snap of the belt, Sam became a waterfall of incoherent pleas. "Oh, please, please, PLEASE, Daniel! I need more fuck- FUCK! I need more,  you don't understand how much I need- oh my god please FUCK!"

A pleased hum sounded from the drummer. "Look who finally learned how to run their mouth properly.” 

Without any warning, Daniel flipped Sam so his back was pressed against the coffee table. Sam's brow was knit as he pleaded up at Daniel, his lips pouting slightly. 

"God, fuck! You don't know how easy you are to fucking need with a face like that!" Daniel lost his composure momentarily after gazing upon the visage of Samuel fully exposed and begging him for anything Danny was willing to give him. It was enough to break any man, even one perceived as a god. 

Throwing the belt to the side with a loud clatter, Daniel pressed his lips into Sam's; sudden and aggressively. Sammy's hands immediately grabbed at Danny's shirt, trying his best to rip it off. He was eventually successful as the fabric tore underneath his hands with a clamorous noise. Daniel was surprised, to say the least; marveling at what Sam had just accomplished. 

"You're gonna pay for that, princess." And just like that, Daniel was back. Though, there was no missing the awe hidden just beneath that authoritative growl. 

"Hurry up and give me my punishment, Danny. I've been waiting for it this whole damn time,” Sam impatiently demanded, also falling back into his role within the blink of an eye. He wouldn't be tamed so easily. It was more fun for both of them that way. 

Opening the drawer next to Sam’s head and popping open the bottle of lube with his thumb, Daniel glared down at Sam. "Watch your fucking mouth."

Before Sam could even say anything, Daniel was plunging his  lube covered fingers into him. With an unfettered scream, Sam's eyes rolled into the back of his head as his back arched up off the table. Danny played Sam like a violin, using his fingers to cause Sam to make all the noises he wanted him to. 

Just as quickly as they had been shoved into Sam, Daniel pulled them out much to the bassist's dissatisfaction. He made his disapproval known, huffing out loudly. "That wasn't even close to being enough."

Kicking his boxers off, Danny's hand came down hard onto the side of Sam's right thigh.

"I think your next lesson will be one of patience, princess," Daniel threatened before squirting lube onto both of his hands before tossing the bottle back into the drawer. 

Using his left hand, Daniel stroked his own cock. His right hand came to wrap around Sam's aching dick, a pathetic wail ripping out of his throat at the contact. He'd never been so thankful over the fact that Daniel was ambidextrous in his entire life. Truly, he’d have to write him a card or something for him when this was all said and done. 

Daniel's hand never left Sam's dick as he plunged his cock into Sam, all eight, well endowed inches into Sam. All of the other noises Sammy had made up to this point had been absolutely nothing compared to the toe-curling scream he let out as

Daniel pushed himself in. Sam's vision was beginning to white out in pure pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

His hands gripped the sides of the table for dear life as his back arched, his toes curling involuntarily as the feeling of Danny throbbing inside of him. It was driving him insane, the feeling of it being too much, yet not enough all at once. 

It wasn't until Daniel started thrusting that Sam really lost control of himself. He became a mess of pleading and screaming out Daniel's name like a satanic and perverted prayer. 

"Daddy please - fuck, please!!"

Sam cried out after Danny managed to nail his prostate, his vision fully whiting out.

Daniel, knowing exactly what he had just accomplished, shifted his thrusting to focus all his attention there. Samuel's brain short circuited, his mouth permanently hanging open as he remained silent, all brain function stopping. 

Sam gave no warning before cum began spurting out of his cock, a final pathetic cry ripping out of him as he painted himself in white. It was a surprise to even Sam. But, hitting your g-spot over and over to the point of abusing it would surprise anyone, he guessed. 

Daniel was soon to follow, pulling out and pumping his cock before he also covered Sam's chest in cum. They were both out of breath, sweat covering every inch of their skin. Danny had bent over at the waist, his arms catching his fall and planting on either side of Sam’s head. Looming above Sam once more, the bassist had never felt more comfortable in his life. He’d happily perish in this spot if it meant he got to spend his final heartbeats  between Daniel’s arms. 

"You should play bad rounds of golf more often," Sam finally posited, a stupid smile on his face as he gazed up at Daniel. 

The drummer laughed, caught by surprise. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, princess?"

Samuel gulped at the pet name usage. However, that previous edge had vanished from his voice. 

Impossibly, he felt his dick twitch at the combination of seeing Daniel covered in sweat and cum while panting heavily. And when he looked back into those hazel brown and green eyes and saw nothing but amusement, adoration, and satisfaction, Sam knew that it was, in fact, he was where he belonged. 

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[pillowspace]

hi! you write ur stuff on ao3 (or at least yk.. put it there) and my question is: how. I've been wanting to write n stuff for a little while but I do Not know how to use ao3. like to the point I don't even know how to use the searches n stuff. I just click links on Tumblr and go "this is great" and hit the little button at the bottom of the page. I know absolutely Nothing about this site and I Don't know how to learn

I'm good with navigation, but I am very bad at posting. I literally accidentally made 19 drafts of the last CSD chapter I posted and had to delete them one by one. So! I'll explain navigation, and if you have a specific question on posting, I can help with that. But uh, I'm better with navigation for broad advice:

You can search by "last updated," and sometimes I do do that. But what I tend to do is I go into a fandom's tag, go into filters, and sort by "Bookmarks"

From here, you're already mostly safe to read the most beloved works if you don't have something specific you want in mind. But let's say... you suddenly really want fics with modern themes, but you don't know the tags for that. Scroll to "Other tags to include," type in "modern," and watch for what tags appear.

Okay! Cool! I want Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, so I'll press that. BUT WAIT. I want fics that don't take place in a university! What do I do?

Scroll down to "Other tags to exclude" and follow that same logic

Oh, huh... I'm not interested in smut or graphic gore... what now? Perhaps I should open "Ratings" under "Exclude" and hit "Explicit"

Extra information. Relationships tags with PersonA/PersonB with a / are romantic. PersonA & PersonB with an & are platonic

So you're good to go with this alone. Buuuuut, let's say you want some more details.

I'm tired tonight, so I'd like to read a completed work that's under 20,000 words. Here's how I'd do that, opening Word Count and Completion Status under More Options

AND THEN

There's "More Options." Even I don't have this fully down, but this can be useful if you ever need it.

So let's say, you want fluff and whump fics to come up in your search. Either or. Fics that are just fluff, alongside fics that are just whumps, alongside fics that are fluff and whumps. You would type in "fluff OR whump". Caps lock OR

But wait! This whole time, you've actually been looking for a fic you forgot the name of! But you recall that in its description, it had the words "the trees stood tall." How would you search for that? Well, put that into quotation marks. It will search for those words in that exact order.

You can combine this with OR. Like...

"the trees stood tall" OR "the meadows were golden"

Also, adding a * onto a word will... ah, I don't know how to describe this. Let's say you put in app*. Your search will bring up fics containing the words app, apples, applies, applicable, appliance, etc. Words that start with app

And maybe

Just maybe

You're asking because of the DCA, and I have a complex DCA + reader/oc search I wrote up already saved that I can link to anyone

[fumifooms]

Do you know about the Marchil h-doujin, just called "Marchil Meshi"? (Dunno wether you're comfortable about adult content regarding the ship. If not, sorry and feel free to ignore).

Imagine my surprise… When a few months ago, I was looking up places to buy doujins for dunmeshi online bc of that new-ish laimar (sfw) doujin and I find, many many nsfw ones bUT AMONGST THE HORDE… MARCHIL MESHI. I ate it up. It’s a lil iconic to me ngl, I quote it in my head sometimes. Marcille angrily gesturing always gets me cackling. It honestly has no business being this good, it was made pretty early on in the story so many years ago, and STILL! So in character, and honestly so funny, AND no weird business either. Like listen, I scour the internet, looking for any marchil content, any marchil content at all… And find a dry af desert, no life here, literally jackshit nothing. Only Pixiv has some afaik but the nsfw is def… Hm. 😔 (2 fics tagged chirumaru on there btw!! That aren’t mine lol) Thank you marchil meshi author if I had to pick 1 piece of marchil nsfw to exist I’d choose this one (honestly that’s already so close to reality lol) Thank u Asaki Takayuki I owe u my life. I like zines but I’ve never bought doujins before so it didn’t cross my mind, but dunmeshi is taking a lot of my first times in fandom engagement and I bought said laimar doujin just the other day hehe 

I do want to keep my blog generally sfw but yes I’m 100% cheering on nsfw marchil content from the shadows, glad that ao3’s finally getting some too. I hope that fic writer makes more… Tallman Chil is so so good but I hope they also do some more general premises, which the end notes on that one do make me hopeful 👀 I want more marchil writers in general. More marchil fanartists. Sfw nsfw idk I need to be fed 😭 (<- This post was drafted before that new marchil smut fic WOOHOO. So much new marchil content this week!!)

Oh while I’m here, I find this so funny/odd, but in japanese fandom ship names are simply the beginning of each name smushed together, like marchil or chilmar. The order of the names is that the first one is the "top"… Idk how jp fandoms live without switches but aight, but in m/f ships this means that typically the man is the first half of the ship name right. WELL WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT marchil is so much more used than chilmar lmaoo. Even more stats: On Pixiv, the tag marchil had all the artworks, but the chilmar tag had all the fics. Ain’t that wack to think about. Anyways marchil or chilmar idc you go guys

Sighh thinking about them. They are so "I beg your pardon??!" "Then beg", "Fuck you!" "Fuck me yourself you coward"… Forget stamens and pistils, Chil is the cursed "You see, there are keys and there are locks…"

More under cut since I don’t get to talk about this often, screenshots and hcs for horny time

^ said panel that lives rent free in my head and makes me giggle. I wish I’d just put the whole page here it’s my fave but nahh go find it yourself

Why are they like this. Like what is thatttt

I need to stop collecting these I’m making myself feel insane (thank you fic writer for that last one I’d never noticed but omg)

Alright hc time what was I gonna talk about… Ah yes ah yes. I def think Chil is a pest, he’s horny and he wants sex and is flagrant about it, but also we know that he stayed faithful for 4 years without getting any, I feel like realistically the relationship sex wise would 100% be on Marcille’s pace. And this is the fun part, bc would Marcille be very eager? Would she want to do the romance book correct™️ route and that means no tapping until marriage, or he needs to court her all princely first? I hc that elves have a much lower libido than humans because of the whole long af lifespan thing, it’d be kinda funny if Marcille was like "Let’s take things slow… 🥺" aka first base achieved after two years of being together lol

But seee that’s the thing too bc Marcille is so afraid of loss she might rush through things as well, she very well could like, jump on him right after confessing. Is Chilchuck kind of a shithead or is he very gentlemanly and romantic, wanting to do it right and treat her well? They are such a blank canvas of sexual chemistry listen LISTENNN there are just so so many ways you can go with them they are so special. God the banter… They cannot stop bantering for a second I swear So many kinks they could fit… I like uhh praise kink for him and for her… Idk she just really loves him and the emotional adoration is what’s at the core of her enjoying it all so like, loving Chilchuck kink, which turns out those two really match together 🫶 He makes her sing and ummm um you see where this goes. They are so grossly in love and into each other

They are so domestic. I hate them

[lazuliquetzal]

Fic Stats Game

Ohoho thank you @tavina-writes for the tag!! Pretty sure this is gonna be the same 3 fics over and over but we'll see :)

rules: give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the fewest words.

1) Most Hits

It's AA Batteries (Daiya no Ace). I know this without even looking, it's AAB 100% and by... not a significant, but a decent lead. That thing breached containment. I'm glad that it did, because I had fun writing it, but it always surprises me because sports anime twin OC fic? Really?

But I'm glad it's my most popular fic, even if I don't consider it my best, because even if it's a canon rewrite, I finished a 100K+ fic and I am proud. I'm literally never over it, I could talk about it all day.

Like, I usually don't ship things very strongly, but Misawa is insane to me. Also, do you know how embarrassing it is to relate to Miyuki Kazuya? And not even in a 'generic repressed character' way, I'm talking in a Hey I Literally Was In His Shoes And Made The Same Exact Fucking Mistakes And Decisions way. Nobody gets Miyuki Kazuya like I do. I'm fucking Miyuki kin. I didn't ask for this. I didn't--

2) Second Most Kudos

This one is also AAB, so I'll go with first place: Reflection (The Magnus Archives). A classic. A nice and simple time travel fix-it comedy.

I remember the writing of this one because I had been utterly obsessed with TMA. It would not let me go. I drafted the early chapters on my phone while walking across my college campus. I almost got ran over by a bike when I was writing the "Martin witnesses Jon have a mild breakdown in the break room" scene.

3) Third Most Comments

Dawn of the Fourth (Linked Universe). The LU fandom is super giving with their comments! Probably the most comment-friendly fandom I've been in.

I think it also helped that DotF is one of those stories where every chapter is a punch to the throat lol. If you didn't comment after ch7, it's probably because you zoomed through haha.

4) Fourth Most Bookmarks

It's DotF again, so I'll go with third place: ain't no rest for the wicked (Naruto).

Ah, this one... I'm fond of it, in the way I'm fond of all my writing, but also I was in high school. There's a lot about it that I would do differently now. But I learned a lot from writing it, and actually Chie, Issei, and Riku are still my children and I love them all. I'm proud of the color test. :)

5) Fewest Words

If you ignore the Zelda comic and the CSS formatting test and the anonymous April Fool's fic that I will not be claiming ownership of publicly, my shortest fic is Blackout Blues (Daiya no Ace) at 1101 words. If you subscribe to the belief that a picture is worth a thousand words, then that bumps the word count up to 4101 words.

I should draw more art for my fanfic. I have the power. It's fun.

tagging (if you want!): @yellowocaballero @xxsolar-writesxx @ellie-tarts @zarvasace @dottie-wan-kenobi and anyone else who wants to!

[bidisasterevankinard]

tease tidbit tuesday! 🎸🎙️

Tagged by @heartbeatdiaz thank you love 💙💙💙

rule: share whatever scene or snippet from your fic that has you excited, ig???

I shared part of it for sss but I needed to share part with Bobby cause his my fav here and I actually excited about this scene

more enemies to lovers au

“Let's get started. Buck, you're the first, play that tune that you showed me a few months ago,” Bobby points Buck to the instruments.  Buck goes to the guitar to play a melody that he started six months ago, but the text never came to him and he never finished it. Maybe someday.  He almost reaches the chorus, when the damn brown-eyed begins to sing and his as it was called "a wonderful angelic drawling voice that makes you think sinful things"(Buck literally read it in twitter once) fills the room. And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before They end the chorus and both are looking at each other shocked. Buck can admit lyrics are good and go with music fantastically. Well, he can admit it for himself, never to anyone else. “I wrote it after Shannon sent the divorce papers,” the only explanation Eddie gives to Bobby, and the old man nods.  Buck feels the urge to be a jerk and doesn’t stop himself. “Couldn't satisfy your wifey?” Eddie turns to him so quickly that Buck is sure his neck will hurt for weeks. Fires of anger and hatred are burning in brown eyes and Buck wants to pour more gasoline. But he doesn’t have a chance to add more. “Well, at least I got into the label not through the bed of one of the producers,” Eddie says with the smirk that Buck hates from the first day he found out about Eddie Diaz, it always makes him want to start a fight.  “I slept with Abby after joining the label. And I didn't know she was a producer,”  “Come on, you're with your story and you haven't whored your way here? How many pussies have you licked and dicks sucked to get there?”  Eddie continues and Buck abruptly gets up and in a few steps overcomes the space between them, standing so close to the brunette jerk, using all his height and size, trying to seem bigger and intimidating. Bobbie’s quiet but rather intimidating voice scares both. “Both shut up and in the corners,” he points to two different chairs in different corners of the studio.  “The lyrics and music are perfect together, so whether you like it or not, we are finishing it. And you better start being a team. Otherwise, both of you will fly out of the label with a scandal that no one will ever want to work with you. Now you both have to stick to each other as if you haven't drank water for days, and the second one is a fountain of pure delicious water. Is that clear?” “Clear,” they both say looking at Bobby like kicked puppies, but then send each other looks that can set someone on fire. “Buck, do you have more for music?”  Bobby looks at him and Buck just shakes his head in denial and slight shame. He had never had to sit for so long with a draft of one song. And moreover, only with a melody. There are no words at all to put his heart in them as much as music does it. “Eddie, more lyrics?”  The old man changes his attention to brown-eyed but Buck prefers to look at the guitar or he might say something again, and maybe Bobby is a good man, and with the patience of the saint, but he has his limits too, and Buck pushed them enough in the past that almost lost his place in the label. “Only three more lines in the start,” the voice of a jerk playing an angel says and Buck can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Well, looks like they are going to work long together. “Ok, Eddie, give your lyrics to Buck to read. Buck, give Eddie notes to look and Eddie, try to play it. Maybe while you look at the project of the other one it will inspire something. Learn from each other a little. I will go and work in my office, only try to start another fight. I’m serious about ending your careers,” on that Bobby leaves them alone in the studio.

Tagging if they want to share : @honestlydarkprincess @911onabc @alyxmastershipper @transbuck @cowboy-buddie @heartshapedvows @bekkachaos @panbuckley @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @hippolotamus @transboybuckley @devirnis @spotsandsocks @monsterrae1 @spaceprincessem @userdisaster @caroandcats @mandzuking17 @useramor @paranoidbean @sibylsleaves @jobairdxx @translasso @bigfootsmom and anyone who wants to share

[ambidextrousarcher]

Frustrated with the snippet translation, because it is time-taking work, lost on where to go with the fic, but I wanted to sing this for a long time, so…here we go, Sol in my untrained, squeaky voice.

Tagging my usual Ponniyin Selvan people as well as some friends who liked my singing.

@hum-suffer @humapkehaikaun @harinishivaa @celestesinsight @willkatfanfromasia @rdx-dcm @racoonpaws @favcolourrvibgior @hinsaa-paramo-dharma @hindumyththoughts @deadloverscity @mizutaama @thelekhikawrites @themorguepoet and @thereader-radhika

I remember @thegleamingmoon had a wonderful translation of this song on their blog, but I couldn’t find it there (thanks, Tumblr Search function) so I’m translating it here under the cut.

In retrospect, this ended up taking more time than necessary, because Tumblr was kind enough to delete the first draft of the translation. Sigh.

Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list!

Kaadhodu sol, kaadhodu sol

Whisper in my ears, whisper in my ears

Yaarendru sol, yaarendru sol

Tell me who it is, tell me who it is.

Perazhagan ah sol, kodar megan ah sol

Tell me if he is a man of great beauty, tell me if he is as tall as a craggy peak.

(Raja Raja Chozhan was apparently known to be quite handsome, from what I have heard)

Maaveeran ah sol, vaayijalan ah sol

Tell me if he is a man of great valour, tell me if he weaves webs with his words.

(Arulmozhi in Ponniyin Selvan is definitely a man of valour, and Vandiyathevan can weave anything he wants with his words)

Odathe soladi or vaarthai sol

Don’t run away, at least say one word (about him) dear

Kaavalan ah sol, en evalana sol

Tell me if he is a guardian, tell me if he is my servant

(in a scene in the movie, Arulmozhi calls himself both the kaavalan (guardian) and the velaikaaran (servant) of the Chozha people, though Vandiyathevan can also fit the ‘my servant’ part, for he is indeed serving Kundavai’s will at that point)

Poraali ah sol illai odoli ah sol

Tell me if he is a warrior, tell me if he is a coward.

(I don’t think ‘odoli’ here means coward literally, it is meant to mean, I feel, someone who escapes from sticky situations, which is definitely a fit for Vandiyathevan, and well, the great warrior can be both of them, though such magnitude of praise is probably for Arulmozhi)

Kichu kurala ah sol, kaviarasu ah sol

Tell me if he has a chirpy voice, tell me if he is the King of poets.

(Kaviarasu, I have heard, is a title given to Raja Raja Chozhan, and Vandiyathevan might have a chirpy voice, haha)

Ippodhe soladi inge sol

Tell me right now, tell me right here.

Mayai ah sol mayan ah sol

Tell me if he is an illusion, tell me if he is a magician.

(The illusion is probably Arulmozhi, who is, at this point in the story, not present in the flesh, only heard about in the highest of terms, though it can also mean Vandiyathevan with his many faces, while the magician can, again, mean the both of them, though it is more suitable to Vandiyathevan)

As Aa Aa Aa

Aa Aa Aa Aa

Kaadhodu sol, kaadhodu sol

Whisper in my ears, whisper in my ears

Yaarendru sol, yaarendru sol

Tell me who he is, tell me who he is.

Perazhagan ah sol, kodar mugan ah sol

Tell me if he is the most handsome of men, tell me if he is as tall as the highest of peaks

Enge avan sol, edhenum sol

Tell me where he is, tell me anything about him.

Maaveeran ah sol, vaayijalan ah sol

Tell me if he is the bravest of men, tell me if he weaves webs with his words.

Kaavalan ah sol en evalana sol

Tell me if he is a guardian, tell me if he is my servant.

Kichu kurala sol kaviarasa sol

Tell me if he has a chirpy voice, tell me if he is the King of poets

Ippodhe soladi inge sol

Tell me right now, dear, tell me right here.

Mayai ah sol, mayan ah sol

Tell me if he is an illusion, tell me if he is a magician

[phoebe-delia]

When This Is Over

YALL I FOUND THIS WIP IN THE DRAFTS OF MY SIDEBLOG FROM *LITERALLY* A YEAR AGO!!! Honest to god, NO idea if I've posted this already; I looked at my blog and at my tagged fics at @drarrymicrofic (wrote this for the now-old prompt: wedding btw) and I didn't see it so I'm going with it. I added an ending after "pretty damn impressive," and I made minor edits to the stuff I wrote before lol. Also this is an AU.

I don't care which china patterns we use; I'm sure you'll choose something delicate and ridiculously expensive and you'll insist on keeping it forever despite the fact that you'll also never let us use it again, let alone allow anyone else to touch it except for you. But it'll make you smile, and that's enough of a reason for me.

I'm going to wear dress robes, which you'll no doubt pick out for me. I don't know or have much of a preference as to what you'll wear, but I know you'll look gorgeous because when I see you wearing that outfit for the first time it'll be when you're walking down the aisle to meet me, and it'll be the best thing I've ever seen.

All I really care about for the planning, other than inviting all our friends and family, is serving good food and dancing to good music. I want us both to know every single song that the DJ plays, and can we please for the love of Merlin ask whoever we hire not to adlib or make commentary during the songs? It's so annoying when they do that. I want to listen to the song, not some stranger stopping the music to scream "WHAT" and "PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR" intermittently into the microphone. And if I hear one—and I mean ONE—strangely upbeat or techno remix of a gorgeous ballad, I'm firing the DJ and plugging in my phone and playing music myself. I was scarred from the guy at Dean and Seamus's wedding who played a remix of "My Heart Will Go On." Scarred, I tell you, which is saying a lot for someone who is literally scarred in several places, and would probably be a prime test subject for a team of psychologists.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, the wedding. As for rings, we're going to pick them out together. There's a jewelry shop in Diagon—well, there was before; I hope it'll still be there when this is all over. But if it's gone we can go somewhere else.

It's weird; everyone's talking about how we need to "make sacrifices" if we're going to defeat Him. But I don't think anyone understands that more than you and me. You sacrificed everything to show up to the Order headquarters, alone and asking for help, for forgiveness. And me—well. I haven't had much of a choice in what I've sacrificed. You did, though, and that's pretty damn impressive.

When this is over, I don't want to make a single compromise that impacts the grand scheme of my life. I want to be greedy; I want to be selfish. I want to grab happiness by the balls and never let it slip through my fingers.

I want to travel the world together. To lie on a beach until my skin grows flushed; hike up a mountain and feel my lungs burn. I want to feel my shirt stick to my skin from how much I'm sweating while we dance in a packed club, in a city where we don't speak the language; you'll move in close and grind your arse against me, throwing your head back against my shoulder to demand, through hot panted breaths, to take you home. I will, immediately, because of all the things I want for the rest of my life, you're at the top of the list.

I don't care where we are, or what we're doing, when this is all over. As long as I'm with you.