#anyway they look SO good i'm going to continue to be FINE about this

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had this kind of stray puppy thing going on that Wayne was reluctant to give him a shovel talk. And he didn't even do anything! All he did was sat there with his perfect posture—straight back, hands politely folded on his lap, big earnest eyes, and calm breathing. He was all good-mannered and nervous smiles, which was both annoying and endearing.

Now, Wayne wouldn't call himself soft or lenient when it came to securing his nephew's happiness. But maybe, he'd mellowed out because of old age. Or maybe, he'd seen how Steve always brought out the best of Eddie, making him the kind of man that Wayne was proud of.

Either way, Wayne didn't have the heart to threaten Steve with something truly malicious, so he just skipped right over it and ended the talk with a well practiced stern look that made the Harrington boy cower just fine.

Later that night, when Eddie came home with a goofy, lovesick smile, Wayne couldn't help but ask, "Anyone given ya the talk, yet?"

"What talk?" Eddie plopped down beside him on the couch and took a long swig from the bottle of Guinness he'd just retrieved from the fridge. A metaphorical lightbulb went off above his head when Wayne gave him a raised brow. "Ah yes, The Talk. 'Course. I'd be offended if they didn't!"

Wayne hummed and continued nursing his lukewarm beer while watching the TV, ignoring Eddie's curious look that slowly turned mischievous.

"What? I just left you guys alone for fifteen minutes and you already adopted him?"

"He's your boyfriend, Ed, not some stray," Wayne responded gruffly, but Eddie could easily hear the exasperation in his flat tone.

"Jesus," Eddie cackled, slapping his knee as if he couldn't believe it. "You're worse than Hopper, old man!"

This time, Wayne just stopped pretending to not care and smirked at his nephew's nativity.

"Ya really think it took that man longer than me?"

Eddie paused and let out a gasp, eyes widening as realization dawned on him.

"He threatened to hunt me down if I dare to hurt Steve." Eddie slapped his forehead. "No way it'd take him months to adopt baby Steve on sight!"

Wayne nodded, not so smugly. "Now you're talkin'."

He'd eat his pickup truck if Hopper didn't also immediately yield under those puppy eyes. The Harrington might not be the best kind of people, but Wayne had to admit that their son was a sweet soul with a big heart. No thanks to them, of course.

"Anyway," Eddie smirked, nudging at his shoulder teasingly. "You're not distracting me from the fact that you consider Steve family now."

Wayne shrugged, unbothered. Family was family. He'd lived long enough to know it had nothing to do with blood relation.

"'Course, he's your boy."

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both agreed that Steve had been a Munson since the day he saved Eddie's life and continued to make it better with his presence alone.

"Thank you," Eddie said softly a moment later when they were about to go to bed.

The only good thing that came out of the whole 'earthquake' incident was their new apartment, which was afforded by the government's compensation money. And even so, if Wayne was allowed to choose again, he'd rather they still lived in their shoebox of a trailer than watch his nephew suffer from blatant PTSD that none of the kids were willing to talk about and this town's blind hatred.

"He makes you happy and you love him. That's what matters to me." Wayne shrugged, ignoring Eddie's blush and sputtering N– No, I'm not!

Before Eddie could try to argue against a moot point, the phone rang and he sprinted toward it to snatch the receiver up as if fearing it'd disappear otherwise.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said breathlessly, looking far too smitten for someone who'd just refused to admit he was in love.

Shaking his head, Wayne decided to leave his nephew be for now. The way he saw it, Eddie wouldn't be able to hold back for long. Not with someone like Steve Harrington.

[rea-grimm]

Possession - Demon Mihawk

You reached the end of the road, and your head tilted up as you gazed at the old, abandoned castle before you. You stood in front of a giant creaking gate, goosebumps prickling your skin from the bad feeling you had about the place.

A mist veiled the castle like a shroud, its gothic towers reaching toward the grey sky. It was typical dreary autumn weather, with constant rain and a cold wind blowing. You rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them, continuing to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach that told you this was a bad idea.

After several long minutes, which felt like an eternity in the cold, your boyfriend finally deigned to arrive. This was all his idea, one you hadn't agreed with from the start, but you followed him anyway.

"This place is amazing, don't you think?" he said enthusiastically. "Besides, a little fright never killed anyone," he added, grinning at you with his smug smile.

"Maybe..." you replied, but it seemed as if he didn't even hear you. Or perhaps he didn't want to, and instead headed towards the castle's main gate.

You quietly followed him, constantly glancing back at your own shadow, feeling as if golden eyes were burning a hole in your back.

As you walked, you wondered why you were even doing this. Sure, he was your boyfriend, but you felt a sort of chasm had formed between you two over the past few days. You remembered him as a kind, attentive guy who could easily put a smile on your face. 

Lately, however, he had been rough, inattentive, and many times you felt like you were just a nuisance to him. And when you tried to talk to him about it, it always ended up sounding like it was all your fault.

The castle inside was dark and cold, its empty rooms echoing unnaturally. You moved from room to room, noticing that all the paintings and furniture were covered with white cloths.

Eventually, you arrived in one of the chambers where your boyfriend stopped. In the middle of the room stood a pedestal with a huge black sword, its blade black and its hilt studded with diamonds.

You had the impression that the blade glowed with a faint red light in the dimness. You were hypnotized by it, but the longer you looked at the sword, the more shivers ran down your spine, and you felt as if golden eyes were burning a hole into your soul.

"Wow, this is something! Finally, something interesting!" your boyfriend exclaimed excitedly, while you would have preferred to disappear from there.

"Leave it alone. I have a bad feeling about this," you warned him, but he didn't listen. He never listened to you.

Instead, he reached for the sword. As soon as his hand touched the hilt, it was as if an explosion of strange energy surged through the room. Your boyfriend, still gripping the sword, trembled and looked at you. In that moment, however, his eyes glowed gold. You took a step back, but as soon as you blinked, his eyes were back to their normal color.

You spoke to him in a trembling voice. You had every urge to take off running, to leave him there with his bad ideas, but you couldn't.

"I'm fine," he replied, standing up straight. You had never seen him with such straight posture before. He walked over to you and looked at you with a gaze that sent shivers down your spine, making you tremble.

"Are you cold? We should go," he said gently, stroking your face. You had the impression that this was a completely different boyfriend than you remembered. Could the sword have given him a jolt and made him act like he used to?

"Y-yeah..." you nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good. I'll just take the sword, and we can leave," he said, returning for the sword, which he now held like a professional.

On the way out of the castle, he behaved differently towards you. He was attentive, gallant. He opened doors for you, let you go first, and even offered you his hand so you wouldn't fall on the stairs.

He took you to his car, where he also opened the door for you, waiting for you to settle in before closing it again. During the drive home, he kept asking you things. How you were doing, if you were cold, what would make you happy, and so on. This completely took you by surprise, and the more it happened, the more it confirmed that whoever this was, it wasn't your boyfriend. You just didn't know who it was.

"Is everything alright?" you asked when you finally reached your door.

"Perfectly alright, my dear," he replied with a mysterious smile that was far too perfect. "Everything is as it should be."

You walked inside, and he held the door open for you again. Inside, he sat in an armchair with the sword on his lap. You couldn't take it anymore and had to ask.

"You're not my boyfriend, are you? Who are you?" you asked nervously, noticing his eyes briefly flash gold.

"Perceptive," he chuckled. "What gave me away?" he asked.

"Well..." you weren't sure how to say that a demon was being nicer to you than your own boyfriend without sounding strange.

"Dracule Mihawk, is my name," he introduced himself, rising from the chair and giving you a bow. "I am the demon of this sword. I slept peacefully in that castle for many decades until your friend woke me."

"Let him go," you said determinedly. Sure, the demon was much better, but he was still your boyfriend, even if he was the worst boyfriend in the world.

"And what do I get in return?" he smirked, raising a hand to play with a strand of your hair.

"Anything," you said without thinking.

"Anything? For someone like him? Someone who doesn't even deserve you?" he asked, still toying with your hair.

"I... Even if he doesn't deserve it, I can't just leave him like this," you finally said.

"Hmm, fine, I'll let him go on one condition. You'll take his place," he said, moving from your hair to your chin, which he gently lifted with his fingers.

You weren't entirely sure if you wanted to do something like that. You looked into his golden eyes, which, despite belonging to your boyfriend's face, held something that didn't inspire fear, but rather a sense of sincerity.

"I'll do it," you said resolutely. The demon merely nodded contentedly. He picked up his sword from the floor and handed it to you. As you took it from his hand, you felt a surge of strength and energy, and suddenly you had the impression you could see his golden eyes at the back of your mind.

Your boyfriend released the sword, clutched his head, and staggered a few steps backward. At the same moment, a black shadow poured from beneath your fingers, quickly taking on a human form. Before you now stood a tall man with raven hair, black and gold eyes, and demonic features.

Your boyfriend finally came to his senses, his eyes darting from the demon to you and back again. You knew this was the end between you two. Without a word, he checked if he had his phone, wallet, and car keys before leaving and slamming the door shut behind him.

"He didn't deserve you," Mihawk said when your now-ex was gone.

"I know..." you admitted. You knew it had been a lifeless relationship lately.

"When he touched my sword and woke me from my slumber, he wasted no time in trying to save his own life. Without a moment's hesitation, he immediately offered your life in exchange for his," he said, looking into your eyes.

"What?" It was hard for you to believe, even though deep down you knew it was true.

"A person without honor like that doesn't deserve someone like you. I saw through him how amazing you are," he said more gently, walking over to you. He slowly took your hand in his, leaned down, and lightly kissed the back of it.

"Even though I am with you now, you have no reason to fear me. I promise on my honor as a swordsman that I will never harm you and that I will protect you from everything," he promised, his eyes almost glowing golden like two small flames.

And even though he was a terrifying demon, something inside you told you that he was serious. Whether it was his eyes or his demeanor, you decided to trust him.

Mihawk Masterlist

[myrtles-and-blood]

Worshipping after a long time - Ares

Yesterday as a way to get back to my worship I decided to dedicate my now exercise routine to Lord Ares. Being totally honest here, I never really had a very profound relationship with him. At least I didn't feel like I had, but he has always been very nice to me. And I want to fix that, so I decided to focus more on him now that I have the time.

Basically I told him what I was going to do and, well, did it. I grabbed his little statue to put it somewhere so I could feel like I was actually talking to him, and after every section of the whole routine I just talked to him. About my thoughts recently, what I struggled with, how the exercise went... Just talk. It felt amazing tbh.

At the end of my routine I did some yoga. Of course I know that Yoga is a practice in Hinduism, which I respect and find quite interesting! When I told Ares what I was going to do he asked me if I ever looked into Hinduism, and I said that even though I really enjoy yoga I never felt drawn to Hinduism itself, and he said I should look into it a little more. Gotta do the homework 🫡

And you know, there is this position at the end of routines in which you just lay down on your back and just... relax and breathe. While doing it I kind of felt like we approached me and crouched down and said "Hey, are you asleep?",I said no, he said "It's fine if you do, you look very relaxed. You did a lot of work" and I said "Yeah but I don't want to fall asleep sweating in sports clothes. Kinda gross", and then he smiled and booped my nose lol.

It was very nice. This whole thing reminded me why I do what I do. Even after feeling very disconnected from Them, even when I pull away, when I don't feel like I'm enough to continue with my practice, I always go back to it.

I want to get better, I want to practice more, do more for my deities and strengthen my practice. This may not be the biggest step, but it's a good step.

Anyway thank you for coming to my TedTalk lol

Edit: Praise Our Lord Ares because I don't have sore muscles AMEN ‼️‼️

[justalittlebluetiefling]

how are you holding up with the mighty nein teaser being the fjorester meet cute?

I'm obviously so fine about it I'm being so normal in this house right now it's BUSINESS AS USUAL

[mymarifae]

oh yeah did you guys know that the official hsr twitter accidentally posted this cutscene art

with, uh, this guy's sword in the background

and that sword also very much appears to be the sword that killed cyrene

and it also happens to look like, uh. phainon's sword. haha

i don't know how many concrete conclusions i want to draw from all of this but man. isn't that something to think about

[holeforzenin]

₊˚ෆ HOW TOJI DEALS WITH OTHER MEN LIKING YOU <3

Tw- breeding, mentions of violence (not towards you), video recording. Not proofread

“Nuh uh don't hide this fucking pussy, show him how much you're creamin’ on my cock, don’t go all shy on me darling”. Toji laughed mockingly, his large hand effortlessly clasping both of your wandering wrists above your head to prevent any escape while using your phone to zoom in on the icky view of the mess between your mellowed thighs.

A streak of milky wetness glistened all over his massive cock, cascading down to his aching balls that were being captured in the filthy mess anyways because of how it's continuously slamming against your asshole that was coated with the cream that seeped out your gooey cunt.

"Fuck yeah, ya see that? See how this cute little pussy is wetting my dick? She sure as hell must be fucking loving it to be making this hell of a mess," he declared proudly. His deep, husky laugh resonated throughout the room, leaving no doubt that Toji was most likely losing his mind over the situation.

A few minutes earlier you told him about the guy from your class who confessed his feelings to you and you’re very uncertain about how to respond so you asked your boyfriend for some advice and well he decided to matters into his own hands.

“Tojii.. l-let go!” You cried out, attempting to dig your nails into his wrists as if that would make any difference, considering how fucking strong he is that it made your efforts almost laughably worthless.

“Nah don't think I want to darling, this fucker needs to know who the hell you belong to” he gritted his teeth at the thought of the guy even having the audacity to think you'd date him. You're all his and he would go to extreme lengths to ensure it remains that way.

The two of you were undeniably meant for each other and there was no fucking way in hell Toji would let some random fucker take you away from him.

“You wish this was you huh? Too fucking bad it's all mine to stuff and fuck, she belongs to me. Keep texting her and I’ll find you and bash your stupid fucking head in. Ya hear me?”. His brutal words cut through the air with a sharp edge, conveying possessiveness and veiled threats. It reverberated loudly, ensuring every detail was captured in the recording that the guy will be listening to soon after this.

His voice was deeper and harsher than normal, making your little cunt flutter even more around his stiffened shaft.

Which he obviously picked up on. “Ohhh you're such a slutty fucking whore baby, who am I kidding.” his grip on your bruised hands tightened. Threatening to leave more red, angry marks as he buckled his hips harshly into your ruined pussy. The force of his hips as he pushed into you aggressively showed literally no mercy.

“You’ll never fucking leave me, you're too fucking obsessed that your little cunt is twitching around me to the thought of me killing another man for you huh?”.

“N-no—” you stammered, turning your head away to look the other direction which made his grin widen even more as he playfully licked the faded scar on his lips because it had always been an indication of you lying whenever you looked away from him like that.

“Aww, that's fine doll," he murmured softly, his gaze unwavering as he directed the phone towards your fucked out face. His body sank deeper, inching downwards until his face hovered mere inches from your own. "you know what I'm thinking?”.

You peered your eyes at him and held contact in sheer curiosity.

“I’ll just breed this pretty fucking pussy and fuck a baby into you, how's that sound? Huh? You'll be such a good Mommy to our kid” his breath is now fanning against your face. Your body quivered at the thought, a deep longing stirring within you.

The thought of his suggestion made you moan, not just a normal moan. There's no particular way to describe it but the thought of that made your mind blurry and hazed. You and Toji always talked about having children in a few years but there's no harm in one now.

His possessiveness drove you crazy. Sure you knew Toji wasn’t a saint or an angel because at the end of the day, he murdered people for a living and because of that alone— he knew about the lonesome dangers of the world so he’s extremely overprotective and you’d loved every bit of it.

The thought of Toji even thinking you’d leave him for anyone else was an insult towards you because both of you were perfect for each other in every way possible.

“Y-yes! yes please, wanna carry your baby!” you babbled over and over, nodding your head like some stupid bitch as he proudly smirked at your reaction in amusement. “Yeah? Want me to make you a mommy? Get you pregnant so you'll be all full and swollen? Then everyone is gonna fucking know who you belong to”. The glint in Toji’s eyes was so dark, that it almost had you scared for a moment.

“Yesyesyes, please, m’so desperate Toji, fill me up–” you whimpered, tears glistening in your eyes as you pleaded fervently.

“Yeah fuck that, y’know what—” he mumbled to himself with a brief pause to stop the recording on his phone and swiftly hitting the "send" button to the guy that’s currently and patientlyyy waiting for your response in the chat. He casually tossed the device to the side and embraced you tightly, his strong arms enveloping you and wrapped around your neck to hug you before vigorously slamming his hips into you in an intense pace.

Unfortunately, the poor guy never had the chance to witness the adorable blessing you and Toji shared several months later because your boyfriend assassinated him on his way home the very next afternoon because he tried to speak to you again in person.

[pearlymel]

REASSURANCE

Synopsis. Caleb wants to make sure that you can rely on him, and only him.

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, obsessive Caleb, fluff, angst, yandere caleb(?), fingering, unprotected, kinda rough, first time sex, 3k ish words.

notes. Caleb's myth just dropped wtf I need him (yeah I'm a Caleb fucker now :p)

Wearing a bell so that you wouldn't escape in your injured state…

Did you hear that right?

No, is he hearing himself?

“what the hell are you spouting?”

Oh, he's heard himself just fine. Heard it inside his head for years. Just as he's heard the excuses you make every time you try to slip away, as if he can't see through them. "I think you heard what I said, pipsquick. Just didn't get it through that pretty head of yours."

He squeezes your ankle lightly, many times you tried pulling away from, but his Evol makes sure you stay. Afraid he might snap it, you freeze. He could.

"Caleb," you try again, this time using that sweet sweet method. calling him using the softest voice.

And the tone almost works. Almost.

"I'm getting tired, and it barely hurts anymore, you can leave me alone." you try convincing him, to get past him.

But nothing ever gets past him, no?

He's always had a hard time telling you no anyways, and he's tempted to give in again. Still, his gaze is hard; he knows you're just biding your time again.

You get a passing grade, though. Not many people could distract him when he's like this...and the tone you use is so terribly effective.

"leave you alone? After you're hurt? Cute. No." But he's still in that mood, so he continues, "keep still. I'm going to clean the wound.”

You grit your teeth together, that method is slowly becoming useless on him.

You comply, for now. doesn't mean you won't struggle later.

Caleb's lip raises slightly, Good. Be quiet a little longer.

He takes your compliance as his win, a faint smirk barely visible on his face as you finally stop resisting. Of course he knows you're just doing it to avoid fighting him at this moment, but he'll take what he can get.

“… Did you mean it?” you break the silence, and he glances up at you with a brow slightly arched.

“putting on.. The bell.” you continue.

"Oh, you mean the collar?"

His hands still for a few seconds, he's not used to you asking about things like this; even at the mention of it, his mind drifts to how you might look wearing it.

"Why? Are you… into that kind of thing?" His voice takes a lower turn, slightly too eager; and your eyes widen a fraction.

“No.” The answer is immediate, you would never put yourself in a situation where it would get… Humiliating.

“Shame.” Caleb scoffs out a chuckle while shaking his head, you're so proper, aren't you? Always proper, polite, kind. A good girl.

So proper, but you're here right now, injured, and on the sofa in his apartment, no less. That innocence is something he'll treasure, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to find ways to defile your purity.

Sick and humiliating...that's how you see it.

He finishes with your leg, then reaches for your chin, tilting your face forward to look at him.

"Let me ask you something first. Honesty, okay?”

You don't answer.

He raises your chin just a little higher, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"No more trying to escape. Do you understand?”

But you shake your head.

His grip tightens just a little bit when you refuse, irritation flaring up. Of course you don't want to understand.

He sighs, restraining the dark emotions bubbling in his chest, forcing his grip to soften again.

"Of course you don't." His hand leaves your chin, his touch moving to the side of your face, his fingers running down along your skin. Soft and warm, and so painfully easy to break.

“let me out,” It almost sounds like a whine from you, and it makes his blood burn.

His hand slides down to your hand, interlocking your fingers together, “No.” his answer is clear, firm.

“I don't need you!” you hiss out through gritted teeth. “Oh, you need me. Don't you get it? I'm the only one who can protect you.” his tone almost sounds crazed.

You scoff, “you're crazy.”

Caleb's cheek brushes against the back of your hand, and a smile graces his face at your words.

You call him crazy, as if your entire existence isn't enough to drive him to madness.

"I am crazy, yeah," he breathes out, a kiss on the back of your hand follows after, "Just for you. I'm so crazy for you.”

“Caleb!” you raise your voice, shaking his shoulder with your free hand, as if trying to knock some sense into him.

“Stop yelling.”

“or what?”

You always do this, and he's getting tired of it.

“or what?” He mocks you, “Don't test me.”

You freezes once more, almost in disbelief at his words.

Your childhood friend is not in his right mind, you know it. You've known each other since forever. Been together since forever.

His hand moves to your neck, his thumb lightly stroking the skin there.

“I won't escape.” his gaze snaps to your face as you speak again, “just.. Just let me out for now, Caleb.”

His gaze then drops to your neck, watching the way his thumb brushes over your skin.

It feels so fragile, so delicate. He's suddenly reminded of how easy it would be for him to wrap his hand around your throat and—Stop it.

He shakes the thought away, forcing himself to focus on your face again. Your words, your tone; they sound like a promise. Something he's waiting for you to actually keep.

"Do you actually mean it this time? Or is this another promise you're going to break?”

“I mean it,”

His instincts are telling him you're lying to get his guard down; you've tried it before, many times.

“Caleb…?”

He's not having it.

Every time you've promised to stay, and you ran off.

Every time you said you'd be careful, and you put yourself in danger.

Every time you said you'd listen, and you deliberately crossed the line to frustrate him.

He's sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of all of it.

Don't you understand? He just wants to keep you safe. With him.

He's just staring at you, his emotions a chaotic mess. He can see the look on your face, the way you avoid looking at him.

It makes his heart ache. Having reached this point where trust is on the line, where you both don't trust each other anymore.

He's done this. He's hurt you.

His throat feels tight and constricted, and he can't help but ask, "you... you really hate me, do you?”

When you're unable to answer him, his face falls. You hate what he has become, but you don't hate Caleb himself. No, never.

He's always known who he is, but this...he's never hated himself as much as he does right now.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come back," he murmurs, the words almost too quiet to hear. Although you catch on the words quickly.

“nonsense.” you shake your head, “I’m…” you pause, “I'm sorry if I hurted you with my words, please don't leave.”

You're apologizing to him. And it tears him up even apart.

You're all that I have left, you think.

…

Even in the vast emptiness of the apartment, he still feels lonely, he still misses your presence.

He's been alone in the living room for an hour now, and he's restless. His thoughts keep going back to you, he keeps thinking about you behind the closed door of the bedroom (where he carried you to, where you're currently resting), and he can't just sit still.

He can't get the image of you out of his head, and the fact that you're so damn close but yet so far away is driving him insane.

He knows he should just let it go, let you be mad, upset at him if that's going to keep you.

He approaches the door and stops for a moment, his hand resting on the handle.

He can hear the faint sound of you moving around in there, the sound of bed sheets rustling, and he knows you're in his room, his bed.

It's weird, knowing you're avoiding him but seeking comfort in his room, but he can't help but find it a little endearing at the same time.

He feels like it's a mistake to enter the room without knocking first, but he needed to see you now. Needed to know if you were doing okay.

And there he was met by the sight of you. his bed, his pillow, his blanket, and you're just there, buried under the covers, and he can just feel the urge to join you.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and he just stands there for a moment.

You call out to him in a low tone, “Caleb…?”

"Yeah?" He responds, taking a few more steps towards the bed, the covers covering most of your form, but he can still see your face peeking out.

“What's wrong?”

He sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight. He looks down at you, his gaze soft as he speaks.

"Nothing's wrong."

He's lying.

He's here because he can't stop thinking about you, he's here because he needs to see you, he's here because he needs to be close to you.

You feel even sleepier when he touches you, running his hand through your hair, his fingers gently stroking your scalp, and he can feel the way you lean into him, seeking more.

He wants more too. It reminds you of so many nights when you both were teenagers, when you would struggle to sleep, or when you needed some comfort after failing an exam. And he would promise to teach you the subject, even if he had to learn it all.

“I’m sorry about… earlier.” he starts, leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead. “i didn’t mean to scare you.” he adds. I just want to be the one you would lean onto, the one you would rely on to protect you.

You're silent again, half asleep, the sight is quite adorable, the gentle presses and caresses on your head doesn't stop.

“hey, pipsquick,”

You almost smile at the familiar nickname.

“honey?”

Your eyes now fully opened as he grabbed your attention.

You both are really no longer kids…

…

You feel heat rush through your neck, to your ears, is this even okay? Crossing that invisible line?

“Caleb—ah—slow down,” his lips finds yours again, everywhere his lips can reach, until you're relaxed enough underneath him.

All while his fingers continue to curl deep into that spongy spot deep inside your tight hole, his palm never forgetting to press into your swollen bundle of nerves that already has you rolling your eyes back.

His other hand slides up your body to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound, teasing your nipple until it peaks into a hard, aching bud. And Caleb watches your every reaction, how your jaw hangs open as he rolls it between his fingers, pinching and tugging until your back arches off the mattress.

Caleb knows he should slow down, should give you a moment to catch your breath, to come down from the heights of pleasure he's brought you to. But he can't, not when he knows he's the one making you feel like this, all for him. Your first and last.

“p-please enough, just—just put it in,”

Your plea doesn't go unheard by him, “Oh, my sweet girl.” he purrs as he reaches down to undo his pants, the sound of his zipper descending seeming obscenely loud in the silence of the room.

He pulls out his cock, and your eyes widen at the sight of it, a gasp escaping your kiss-swollen lips. He's… huge.

the thick shaft throbbing and hard, the tip already glistening with the drops of pre-cum. Caleb wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly, his thumb swiping and rubbing over the leaking slit.

Fuck, he's hot.

Upon sensing the nervousness creeping in, he reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "I know it's a lot to take in, but don't worry. I'll be gentle... at first.” he whispers the last part, and you don't think you quite caught on.

He takes your hand and guides it to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft, showing you how to stroke him, how to feel every pulsing inch of him. "Get a good grip, sweetheart," he instructs, he starts to move your hand up and down his length. "Squeeze me just like that, sweets. Yeah, fuck..." He throws his head back with a low groan as your fingers tighten around him, his hips rocking into your touch.

With his other hand, he reaches down to your thigh, lifting your leg up to wrap around his waist, opening you up to him.

“up, up, there we go,” you lift your hips as told, and your hand freezes when he starts pushing in your entrance, your hands scratching at his chest panickingly.

“breathe,” he murmurs, leaning to kiss your shut eyelids while he rubs your thigh comfortingly until he buries himself to the hilt.

his hips starts to move after giving you a moment to adjust, not withdrawing completely, but rolling and rocking against you, stirring himself inside your clutching cunt.

“Caleb..” you whine, bringing him closer as you wrap your arms around him, "Shh, it's okay, baby. I've got you," he murmurs against your lips, his hand coming up to stroke your hair, to cup your face tenderly. "I know it hurts, but I promise, it will feel so much better soon.”

Caleb starts to move again, his thrusts still slow and careful. He can feel your body starting to relax, "you're doing so well," he praises, and you start to rock your hips against his, meeting his thrusts with your own.

"Such a good girl, taking your first cock like a pro.” he teases, and you huff, feeling your face heat up.

He takes your hand into his, intertwining your fingers together while picking up the pace as leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans, his tongue delving to tangle with yours.

he starts snaps his hips faster, driving into you with hard, deep thrusts that's having the headboard slamming against the wall. Until both of you are moaning and whimpering desperately.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he fucks into you with wild abandon, chasing his own release even as he demands yours. “haaah, I'm so close,” he pants against your lips, his hips jerking erratically as he feels his balls tightening, his shaft pulsing inside you. “let's cum together, please honey,”

Your walls spasm around his cock, gripping him like a vice as your orgasm rips through you, leaving you trembling and gasping. The feeling of your pussy clamping down on him, milking his shaft, is too much for Caleb to bear. With a whimper of your name, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and jerking as he starts to come hard, flooding spurt after spurt of his hot, thick cum.

his weight pressing you into the mattress as he grinds his hips against yours, working his cock inside you, making sure every last drop of his cum does not go to waste.

He can feel the warm, sticky fluid starting to seep out around his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you.

Then, silence. Accompanied by both your heavy breathings.

…

He's holding you in his arms, your body molded to his, and for a moment, the world feels like it's at peace. Caleb is whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin, his hands stroking your hair. His voice is soft, gentle, and he's holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

“I'm sleepy,”

He rubs your back gently, his hand moving in slow circles, and he can feel the way you melt even more against him, "you can sleep. I'm here.”

[ssahotchnerr]

fluffy aaron request !! reader is on a date that is going so bad when she gets called in for a case so she shows up in her like fancy date outfit and confides in hotch about her horrible date then he offers to make it up to her and takes her out when they get back <3 maybe there’s some room for slight jealous!aaron in there somewhere tehe

it's a date

there's always room for jealous!aaron 🤭 cw; fem bau!reader, mutual pining, a touch of nervous and jealous!aaron, brief standard cm case info, fluff <3

You were the last one to arrive at the BAU, departing from the far side of town and evening traffic to blame.

Consequently, you pulled stares the second you arrived within the roundtable room. Your presence was anticipated, for one, the sound of your heels clacking against the hard floor, and:

A low whistle exited Morgan.

"Look at you." He tossed out, a tickled grin spread wide across his face.

Your current attire was a dress; a fancier, slightly more risqué choice compared to your typical office wardrobe. It was a light beige, your hair was down your back in loose curls, makeup more enhanced than your usual routine. Aaron had to (internally) admit, you looked stunning.

"Hot date?"

"You could say that."

Aaron felt his jaw move. Clench, actually.

"Sorry for cutting your night short." He apologized, forcing his sentence out deep from inside his chest. He turned towards the screen, concealing himself.

"On the contrary," You eased yourself into your chair, eagerly accepting a file from Emily. "Thank you for cutting my night short."

"With this one, you may want to rethink that sunshine." Penelope clicked her remote, illuminating the screen with the latest case photos. "Ain't no rest for the wicked."

The team collectively ran through it quickly; a brutal family annihilator, decreasing cooling off period, the gravity of the situation heightening and a panicked town. Wheels up in 30 to Oklahoma.

As the others trailed out, Penelope hurrying to her bat cave, Aaron slowed his pace. He prolonged securing his files into his briefcase, zipping it shut, leaving only the two of you in the room.

Coincidentally, you weren't in too much of a rush either.

"That bad?"

You huffed in response as your eyes found his. He was met with a hardened, utter annoyance, instead of your familiar warm liveliness.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about." The bottom of your files hit the surface of the table, loudly, stacking the few evenly together. "The guy sucked. Interrupted me every second he could. I don't think the restaurant he picked was up to code either. Thank goodness I got the call before our food arrived." You shuddered lightly, in theatrics but also genuineness. "I'm greatly looking forward to pretending it never happened."

There was a carefree airiness within your voice - attempting to wave it off, the simple acceptance of one night gone bad - but small dismay was amongst your words.

"I'm sorry." While Aaron meant his apology wholeheartedly, he couldn't help but feel relieved, for his own selfish reasons. "But I am glad you narrowly escaped the potential food poisoning."

That pulled a laugh from you, agreeing. "But it's fine, really. I didn't want to go anyways, don't know why I did." You shrugged as you disrupted the continual, shared eye contact. While the tail end of your sentence was spoken lowly, it wasn't long lasting, picking up some enthusiasm. "How was your night going?"

"Jack and I were just settling down to watch a movie."

"Which one?"

"Shrek."

Your head tilted exasperatedly, face pulling into jealousy. "Really? How fun." You whined gently, wishing your night could have been spent with the two of them. Your preferred choice of company.

"Well, he wasn't too happy it was cut short." Aaron admitted, a loose, downhearted chuckle escaping.

"You'll make it up to him. Perhaps a multiple movie feature when we're back? Shrek, Shrek 2, Shrek the Third... maybe order some pizza too." You suggested, reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly with a gentle smile. "No matter, he'll be thrilled."

Sourcing from your touch, lightning bolts dashed within his arm, feverishly. Aaron soon found himself simply studying your face, falling on the silent side. You were just, you. Extraordinarily kind, beautiful you.

"C'mon, Dave told me if I was late to the tarmac once more, he'd tell the pilot to leave and I'd have to take a commercial." You joked. Although, a small part of you feared he'd stick to his promise.

"Yeah, like I'd let that happen." He rolled his eyes, amusedly shaking his head.

The bullpen was quiet; most had gone home, the overheard lights had dimmed, the team long out of earshot. As the two of you neared the glass doors - Aaron leading - there was an urgency heightening in his chest, mere seconds away from bursting. As if each step forward, he was losing precious time. Any hesitations on the temptations he had felt for months dissolved. Now or never.

"What about you?" He asked, sweetly but timidly, finding a sudden interest in the floor.

"What about me?"

"Who's going to make it up to you?"

"Well," That caught you in a bit of surprise, your feet halting. Aaron turned, his eyes lifting. "That's a million dollar question right there. I don't see anyone lining up to take me on some extravagant outing, do you?" You forced out a laugh, your cheeks fairly blushing.

"Maybe," Aaron replied, his voice wavering with a touch of nervousness. It was rather endearing, seeing him so adorably flustered. "Perhaps the person you're looking for is right in front of you. Figuratively, at that."

A rather charmed expression formed on your face. Eyes brightening, lips pursing upwards, "Are you asking me out?"

"I'm trying." He confessed, his boyish expression just as light as yours. "So, tell me. How am I doing?"

"How about this," You spoke slowly, attempting to suppress the butterflies in your own stomach, hoping to maintain some composure within your answer. "Your next available night after your movie marathon with Jack, I'm completely and all yours."

All yours. He could get used to that.

"It's a date."

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot)

General Masterlist Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages. A/n: I don't really know what i'm doing here, i just got inspired and i was bored, i'm clearly not a professional fanfic writer, but i hope at least someone enjoys it. (ALSO ENGLISH IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE SO BARE WITH ME WITH GRAMMAR AND STUFF) Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Not really, use of y/n, maybe slow burn, cliff hanger cause i don't know if it's good enough to continue it.

Friday, January 10th

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files you asked for last Friday, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

…

Tuesday, January 14th

"Hi! This is Y/N again. I know you might be busy, but I just wanted to confirm if the files were okay. We also still have the last payment pending, so whenever you can, it’s fine! Have a nice day!"

Maybe it was too soon to think the client had run off with the files and didn’t want to pay, or maybe he was in trouble? Maybe he got mad that I texted his personal phone number? Anyway, it wasn’t unusual for clients to disappear, but this time, you were really looking forward to that last payment.

Your mom’s birthday was coming up, and you wanted to buy something nice for her for the first time—maybe even outdo your sister and prove you could buy her something special too. You were eager about it but tried to brush it off and focus on other clients who actually responded to emails and texts.

Then, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, I wasn’t going to answer these texts, but I’m pretty sure someone gave you the wrong number. I’m not waiting for files—sorry!"

"That explains a lot," you said to yourself, staring at your phone. Embarrassment crept in as you double-checked the number the client had sent in an earlier email. And there it was—one single digit off from the number you’d been texting. Still, why wasn’t the client answering their email?

Regardless, you had texted the wrong number and even asked for the final payment.

"Oh my god, I’m really, really sorry! I just double-checked, and yes, I made a mistake with the number. Again, I’m so sorry to bother you."

"It’s fine! Hope you find the real client and get your payment."

You facepalmed in your office and chuckled at yourself. It was embarrassing to think about the stranger receiving your out-of-context texts. Maybe they were busy too, and you’d just interrupted their day. Or maybe you were overthinking it.

After searching for that email again, you dialed the correct number carefully, double-checking each digit. Then you sent another message:

"Hi! This is Y/N. I already sent the files last week, but I didn’t get any reply. Could you please confirm you received them? Have a nice day!"

Minutes later, the client responded. He apologized for falling behind on things, said he’d been busy, but confirmed he had received the files and planned to make the payment the next day.

Thank God.

You were always busy—navigating the challenges of freelancing and the whole "being your own boss" thing. Sometimes it meant being not just the social media marketer but also the accountant, admin team, planner, and much more.

"Everything alright?" Gwen asked, chuckling as she glanced at you. "You look a little stressed."

"It’s been a couple of stressful days," you replied. "But I’ll survive. You know I always do," you added with a smile.

Gwen was the fashion designer you shared the downtown office with. She was more experienced than you and ran her signature shop below the office, filled with beautiful, unique pieces. Thankfully, she was always a helping hand when you got stuck with an Excel sheet or needed advice on balancing work and life.

The next day was more of the same. Mid-month meant analyzing how the brands were doing—were they selling? Were they stagnant? Was there a new trend going viral? Or an upcoming holiday to leverage?

Your phone buzzed, interrupting your focus.

"I hope this isn’t weird, but did you get the right number? Or the payment? It felt like I was left on a cliffhanger."

You smiled at the text from the stranger who had received your initial messages.

"Not weird at all! I’d be curious too. And yes, I got the right number, and I think he’s paying me today!"

"Well, I’m glad! I wasn’t going to sleep without knowing how it ended."

"I’ll update you as soon as the payment comes through! lol."

Maybe it was odd to have a conversation with a stranger, but they didn’t even know who you were, so what did it matter?

"Please do. 🙏🏻"

You thought of that viral story about the grandma who accidentally texted a stranger and ended up inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner. But in your boring life, nothing like that could ever happen. You weren’t particularly chatty or extroverted in real life, but since they didn’t know who you were, what was the harm?

——-

"Update: The payment came in!!"

"Thank God! I’m happy for you, and it’s not even my money."

"Well, thank you for answering. Otherwise, I’d still be texting you about my lost payment."

"My pleasure. Is it okay if I ask what your job is? I’m curious—it’s my first time being a wrong number!"

"Is it weird to be texting a stranger who randomly asks about my job?" you asked Gwen, showing her the texts.

"What does that even mean?" she asked, confused.

"Have a look at this," you said, sliding your phone over. Gwen read the texts and smirked.

"He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows your name, but how many Y/Ns are there in London?" she said, trying to calm your overdramatic thoughts. "Or you could make up a funny, dramatic life and have fun for a few days—tell him you work in a strip club!"

You laughed softly but were tempted by the idea of harmless fun. What real danger could come from simple texts? He was the one who started asking questions, after all.

"I’m a digital marketing specialist."

"Sounds cool. I could never."

"What do you do, then?" you asked boldly.

"I own a small brand."

He technically wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Maybe it was too soon to reveal his real identity. If he even had contemplated that.

"'I own a small brand?' That’s it?" you muttered to yourself. Your life wasn’t that boring after all—or maybe it was, compared to his.

Recently, you've been haunted by questions about your career. Did you even love marketing? No. Did you know what you wanted to do? No.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"My name is Harry, by the way. Seems fair to tell you since I know yours."

"Nice to meet you, Harry."

You smiled at your phone, a soft, involuntary expression that you quickly brushed off. It wasn’t like you were getting attached or anything; it was just amusing. A stranger texting you was definitely the most interesting thing to happen that week. But after that, it went quiet. The conversation stopped, and you figured it was just one of those random, fleeting interactions life throws at you. Something to laugh about later with friends.

Two days later, though, your phone buzzed again. You assumed it was your mom or a group chat notification—certainly not Harry

“How did the week end for you? Any other wrong numbers?”

You blinked at the screen, taken by surprise but also oddly pleased.

“It ended pretty busy, but thank God it’s over. And no, no more wrong numbers, lol.”

“So, any weekend plans?”

How was it that this stranger, Harry, was better at keeping a conversation going than any guy you'd actually dated? It felt natural, like he genuinely wanted to talk to you, and for once, you didn’t feel like retreating into vague one-word answers.

“Nope, a bit of a boring life here. You?”

“Yeah, same.”

Okay, that was definitely a lie.

Your life was painfully average. You worked to pay rent, paid rent to keep a roof over your head, and that was it. Sure, there were good days and bad ones, clients who made you want to tear your hair out, and others who gave you glowing feedback that kept you going. But lately, when anyone asked, “What’s new?” or “What have you been up to?” your mind went blank. The truth felt too dull to say out loud.

Your love life? Also on pause. You’d had a long-term boyfriend once, but when his ambitions veered wildly away from your own, it fell apart. You didn’t hold any hard feelings, but dating apps weren’t exactly your thing, either. Deep down, you clung to the hope that someone would randomly appear in your life, the way they do in rom-coms—chocolates, flowers, and all. But you’d stopped expecting it a long time ago.

So why was a stranger, with nothing more than a name and a few texts, suddenly the most exciting part of your week? Maybe it was the mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it made you feel like you’d stepped out of your routine.

“Is it weird that I just kept on texting you? I feel like it is,” he texted again.

“A bit, but I’m enjoying it so far. It’s kind of fun, actually.”

“Ok, thank God we’re both weirdos, then. Are you based in London?”

And just like that, the fun felt like it came to a halt. He was asking for your location now. Sure, London was massive—1,572 km² of sprawling city—but your anxiety immediately perked up. Was this crossing a line? Did he want to track you down or something?

But then, the little mischievous devil on your shoulder chimed in. Relax, it’s harmless fun. It’s not like you two are actually going to meet, or like he’s going to know your exact address just because you said you lived in London.

The devil wins.

“Yes, I’m in London. You?”

Your turn, Harry man, you thought. And then, as if on cue, your brain jumped onto a rollercoaster of wild thoughts. Wait, what if he’s a 50-year-old? Or worse—a 15-year-old hormonal teen?! You shook your head. No, no, he’s a brand owner, you reminded yourself.

Was this fear of the unknown creeping in? Or... was it just pure curiosity?

“Yes, around Notting Hill.”

You stared at your phone, a bit shocked. Did he really just tell you his neighborhood? Was this man never taught about the dangers of sharing personal details with strangers?

Says the girl who keeps answering his texts.

“Cool,” you panic-texted back, immediately cringing at how abrupt it sounded.

A second later, another message from him popped up:

“You don’t have to tell me your neighborhood. I know it’s probably TMI. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

You blinked at the screen. 

Wait, was he apologizing? For oversharing?

“It’s fine, but be careful, I might be a stalker. You never know 😉”

An emoji? Oh my god, did I just use an emoji? 

You internally cringed, debating whether deleting the message was still an option. But his reply came quickly:

“I’m used to that.”

You stared at your phone, baffled. What? What does that even mean? Was he used to stalking people? Or being stalked? That didn’t even make sense. Had you missed some new meme or slang? Or was he just trying to sound cocky and mysterious? Either way, your brain was now racing, trying to decode mystery Harry man.

Harry, on the other hand, was staring at his phone, feeling a wave of nervousness wash over him. Shit, did that just give away who I am? He tried to reassure himself. Maybe not. It could pass as just a random response... right? But the doubt crept back in. Then again, if it’s just a random response, does that make me seem really weird? Ugh, why didn’t I think before typing? He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he waited for your reply, wondering if he’d managed to keep things casual—or accidentally made it more suspicious but as you never did he quickly types another thing

“Hey, can you help me with something?”

You stared at the message, your eyebrows furrowing. Whatever this is turning into, it’s really, REALLY weird, you thought. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful that he’d brushed off the whole stalking comment. Now he wanted help?

“I’m about to launch a new collection next month, and I need to choose four nail polish colors for a kit. Which ones would you pick?”

He sent a picture of a color sample sheet, words scribbled around it like, “Too bright?” “Love this one,” and “OUT.” The paper rested on a dark wood table, and you couldn’t help but notice his right hand in the frame, his nails painted in a sleek shade.

A man wearing nail polish? you thought, biting back a grin. What’s sexier than a guy with zero fragile masculinity?

STOP. Sexier? Seriously?

STOP. He’s a stranger.

“I would go with, the coral one at the top, the navy, the nude and the green” 

“That’s literally what I was thinking. If they sell out it’s on you y/n” 

“So I’ll be expecting a good commission then” 

“Deal and thanks, by the way. For actually helping. I wasn’t sure you’d reply to that one.”

“No worries, it’s kind of nice having someone randomly text me about nail polish drama. Way better than client emails. Didn’t thought your business was about nail polishes though”

“Glad to be of service. Let me know if you ever need a second opinion on, I dunno, which shade of PowerPoint gray to use.”

“My saviour”

“That 's me. A true giver. Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you for now. But seriously, thanks again, Y/N.”

“No problem. Good luck with the collection!”

The conversation ends with more questions than answers about Harry—nail polishes? Why is this conversation flowing so effortlessly? It left you curious but not uneasy. Both of you felt like this wasn’t the last time you’d talk. It was a small, unexpected connection, one that neither of you was quite ready to let go of.

—-

Your mom’s birthday went on as planned. You were able to buy her a beautiful scarf from one of her favorite brands—pricey, yes, but it was your mom, so you didn’t mind splurging. And if you happened to overdo your sister this time? Well, that wasn’t the point, not entirely. But deep down, it felt good to prove to yourself that you could keep up, even if her success with her law firm always felt like a shadow hanging over you.

It had been five days since you and Harry last texted. It felt... normal. No stomach-wrecking nerves like the ones you got when talking to guys you were interested in. No overanalyzing if you’d been annoying, rude, or too eager. With Harry, it was different. Maybe it was because he was still mostly a stranger. Maybe because you weren’t trying to impress him. Or maybe because you knew deep down that, even if he didn’t reply again, it wouldn’t sting. At least for now.

After a few days of sporadic texting, Harry throws out an idea, the text that changed everything.

“Okay, hear me out: since we both don’t want to seem like stalkers, how about a deal? We get to ask one random question a day. Nothing creepy or too revealing. Just normal stuff. What do you think?”

You smirked at the screen. He’s trying to make it less weird? Bold of him to assume this isn’t already weird.

“Alright, but you go first”

“Fine. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

“Somewhere coastal. Like Brighton, maybe? I need the sea to remind me I’m alive.”

“Interesting choice. I’d go somewhere quiet, but still close to a city. Like, Italy?”

You paused for a second, feeling a little silly. He chose a whole other country, and you’d barely ventured two and a half hours away from London. Still, it was a start.

The daily questions continued, evolving from a simple game into something that felt more like a natural rhythm. Each question peeled back another layer of this stranger you were beginning to know better, even without ever seeing his face. You learned that Harry loved tea but hated coffee—how do you even function?—and that his favorite season was autumn. He found out you adored thunderstorms and had an irrational fear of elevators, thanks to a terrifying incident years ago when an elevator you were in nearly dropped two floors.

It wasn’t just the questions, though. There were moments in between: a blurry photo of an office corner from Harry, captioned, “My life in chaos”; a street view of Downtown that you sent, carefully avoiding any landmarks near your home. Then there was the fluffy golden retriever he’d spotted on his way to work—he couldn’t resist sharing it with you.

Before bed each night, you’d find yourself thinking for at least twenty minutes, trying to decide what to ask next. The game didn’t feel like a game anymore. It was something else, something steady and comforting. For now, there was no pressure to meet or cross any lines—just two strangers finding small joys in their shared curiosity. But now it felt refreshing and even exciting whenever his or your question popped up on the phone. 

It was a rare Sunday sunny afternoon in London, and you found yourself strolling down the street. The shops buzzed with life, tourists snapping photos, and locals hurrying along with their errands. You were looking forward to reach that particularly small ice cream shop you loved. That’s when you saw it—a storefront with sleek, funky decor and the words Pleasing printed elegantly across the window. You slowed your pace, curiosity pulling you closer. The display was stunning: a lineup of nail polishes in perfectly curated colors. Coral. Navy. Nude. Green.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn’t be. This is just a coincidence.

You even felt silly for considering it. But for a moment, you just stood there, staring at the bottles neatly arranged under soft, flattering light. Your mind raced back to that conversation. Harry when he had asked for your opinion on nail polish colors. Coral, navy, nude, and green. The same exact shades in the window now.

It HAD to be a coincidence.

“Pleasing is huge…Harry is a huge pop star too” you thought to yourself, folding your arms as if to shield your thoughts from prying eyes. “There’s no way. It’s not like that Harry would just randomly text someone asking for nail polish advice. Or just to play a silly game of questions everyday”

But the seed of doubt was planted. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking your trance. For a split second, you expected to see a message from him. But it was just a group chat notification—nothing exciting. You took a deep breath, willing your mind to behave. “Stop being ridiculous” you tought  “He was probably just some regular guy with the same first name, with the same kind of business. Nothing more.”

Still, as you walked away from the shop, the memory of his texts lingered, trailing behind you like the shadow of a question you couldn’t quite answer. Was it possible? Could he have been the Harry all along? The thought was outrageous, yet your heart raced with the tiniest flicker of hope—or was it just pure curiosity? You slipped your phone out of your pocket, scrolling back through weeks of messages. One by one, you opened the pictures he had sent, your eyes scanning every corner, every detail, hoping for something—a slip-up, a clue, anything to confirm or dismiss the wild idea.

There was the photo of the nail polish color samples, laid out on a dark wooden table. You zoomed in on the edge of the frame. The faintest reflection of something metallic—jewelry? A ring? You’d noticed his hand before, polished nails and all, but now you studied it with new intent.

Then, there was the picture of a cat, curled up on a plush couch. The background caught your attention this time: the kind of sleek, minimalist decor that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine. It could belong to anyone, really…but why did it suddenly seem so…familiar? Your finger hovered over the screen as you stared at his name in your contacts: Harry. Just Harry.

And yet, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You zoomed in on one last photo—the corner of his shoe peeking into the frame of a sunset he’d sent you. White Sambas. Completely ordinary. But the tiniest voice in the back of your mind whispered, or maybe not.

You locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, your cheeks burning as if someone had caught you red-handed in your amateur sleuthing. “Get a grip,” you thought. “Even if it was him, he’d never admit it. And honestly, why would he have time to text a stranger?”

Still, the idea danced at the edge of your thoughts, impossible to ignore. As you walked away from the Pleasing shop, a small, secret smile tugged at your lips. Even if it was crazy, the idea was kind of…fun.

The easy back-and-forth continued for days, it was like a month by now, his messages feeling less like texts from a stranger and more like snippets of a conversation with someone familiar. You felt lighter, laughing more often, and somehow the world didn’t seem quite as dull as it did a few weeks ago.

Then, one night, came a new question:

“If you could pick one place to meet a stranger for the first time, where would it be?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. Is this what I think it is?

Your heart jumped as you stared at the screen, the words blurring for a second. You thought for a moment, carefully choosing your response before typing: “A café. Casual, safe, easy to leave if they’re weird. Full of people, maybe near a police station if they’re a serial killer. You?”

His response came quicker than you expected.

“But if you could pick an estimated time to meet a stranger, how long would you wait to feel comfortable with it?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Nice try, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

Oh no. That wasn’t your stomach growling in hunger; those were butterflies. Actual, undeniable butterflies. Was it even possible to feel something for someone you had no idea what they looked like? What if he was totally different in person, the opposite of this charming, thoughtful guy behind the texts?

Harry had started calling you Tulip after you’d mentioned they were your favorite flowers, and somehow, it stuck. Now, every time he used it, it made you smile like a fool.

Maybe his question was just a throwaway comment, harmless banter before he said goodnight. Or... maybe it wasn’t.

----

One Friday morning, you found yourself buried in work at a café you liked to visit when you needed a break from your desk. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of quiet chatter helped you focus on a new project.You were mid-email when your phone buzzed. 

“Today’s question: what’s your go-to coffee order?”

You smiled, grabbed your cup, and snapped a quick picture to attach to your reply. “An iced latte with oat milk. Drinking one right now.”

“Is that a café?”

“Yeah, it didn't feel like an office day today.”

Moments later, your phone buzzed again, and your stomach dropped.

“…I think I see you.”

Your heart stuttered. Wait. What? Your eyes flicked around the café with a mixture of curiosity and panic. Students were typing away on laptops, a few professionals were deep in email mode, and a couple laughed over their pastries at the next table. Everything seemed normal—except now you felt like you were being watched. You straightened in your seat, pretending to be calm while your mind raced. Another buzz.

“I don’t mean to freak you out, but… blue sweater, iced latte, corner seat by the window?”

Your stomach did a flip. That was definitely you. The serial killer theories came roaring back in your brain.

“Okay, very funny. That was just a lucky guess, wasn’t it?” You hit send, not sure if you wanted him to be joking or if you secretly hoped he was serious.

“No joke. I swear.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you set the phone down. You scanned the room more carefully now, eyes darting from one face to another. Was it the guy with the newspaper in the corner? The barista behind the counter? And then, you saw him.

A man near the door, half-hidden behind sunglasses and a black baseball cap, a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, holding a cup. He was leaning casually against the wall, phone in hand.

Holy fucking shit. No. No way. Your brain scrambled for logic. This was just a dream, right? Some random coincidence. But your phone buzzed again, yanking you back into reality.

“Disappointed?”

Your breath hitched. He’d sent the text just as you watched him tap his phone. And when your screen lit up, he glanced up—right at you.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him. Harry. Your Harry. and Everyone's Harry Styles.

PART 2!!

-------

[juliet-017]

Incommensurate - T.R.

Tom Riddle x fem!reader

Minors DNI!!

Warnings: dubcon (consensual sex under imperious curse), begging, unprotected p in v(? Kinda? Tom casts a spell so?), cream pie, tit play, pussy slapping, degradation, slight spanking

Synopsis: As Tom starts to feel a slip in control he becomes harsher with you, more distant as well. It's bloody tortuous, the growing distance and silence between you both driving you crazy. Making you bring up a proposition that you wouldn't have thought of prior.

A/n: yeah so.. here's this instead of that mattheo work (you guys can thank my wife @viperify for that). Side note, I might js get rid of my current wips on my nav as well so I feel less tied down?? Idk but I have so many old drafts I need to get through. Anyways enjoy!!

w/c: ~1.5k

Tom liked control, it was obvious from the way he bossed his mates around, not even scared that they'd retaliate or leave. It was.. fascinating to say the least. You pondered on whether it was because of his time at the orphanage in his formative years, he didn't speak of it much but you presumed that being a charge there wouldn't be anything close to fun.

You'd still give him shit, teasing him for being so bossy at times. A few times when you two had sex you'd fight your way on top for a few seconds before he'd roughly push you off and take to fucking you doggy style, your face shoved into his bed.

Normally things were fine, he'd take your taunts in stride, fucking your attitude out of you till your throat was raw from either screaming or being used.

**

You've noticed how he's been acting.. off lately. Snapping more, not taking kindly to anyone mouthing off. Not even the first years could escape his wrath.

He wasn't vulnerable so asking him right out wouldn't do anything in your favor. Observing him overworking himself, skipping meals as a result, and falling back into old habits.

You start slowly, trying to give him massages or attempting to pull him into bed. When none of it works you decide to just be blunt.

“Tom? What's wrong?” You ask from your perch on his bed, lying down as he studies.

“Nothing. Why.” He responds coolly, barely sparing you a glance. Hunched over, elbows on his desk as he runs his fingers through his hair.

“You're tense.”

“I always am.”

“Not this tense.”

He scoffs, finally looking over at you. “What do you want?”

“The truth. Or I'm going to sleep in my room tonight.”

You both know it's an empty threat, but Tom gives in. “You're too good for me.”

You freeze, trying to read his expression, grasping for a response.

“You can't leave me, you know.”

“Yeah… I know.” You murmur, sitting up and debating on approaching him. “M’yours, Tom.”

“Hm, you think your words matter? Fascinating” He scoffs, rolling his eyes before looking back at the open book at his desk.

It's unfair how wet his words made you. Especially when they're degrading.

You wait a second before getting up, leaning up against his desk and toying with his wand.

“Just what do you think-” He starts harshly, reaching out to take his wand back before you leap away.

“Remember that one night, where you mentioned wanting me to just be even more.. submissive?” You hum, raising a brow.

“How could I not? You were even more of a fucking brat afterwards.”

You grin, still playing with his wand and waiting for him to get the hint. And oh the rush that goes through when he does, moving quickly and towering over you, yanking his wand out of your hold. “And just how are we going to go about that, hm? Never can get you fucked out enough to just go along with it anyways.” He mutters, backing you into a wall, lifting your chin up with this wand.

Your stomach flips as you look up at him, hesitating before continuing. You know you've seen him cast it before so.. what's the big deal, right?

“The imperious curse.” You reply quickly, spatting the words out before giving yourself a second to think. You watch his reaction, studying

He smirks, and you can’t help but melt. “You sure? You know I won't relinquish it every five seconds to check on you, right?”

You nod. “I know. Just.. same rules as usual, m’kay?”

He nods, running the wand down your body, watching your face. “Ready?”

“Uhuh..” You nod, looking up at him, feeling his wand press to your temple.

Before you know it you feel otherworldly, listening to his simple hypnotic commands. Opening your eyes and kneeling like he commands. It shouldn't make you even wetter but it does.

Kneeling whilst undoing your shirt, your bra. Your mind foggy as you finish stripping. He strips too, finally removing his boxers before hold an open palm in front of you. “Spit.” He instructs smoothly, catching your saliva, using it to stroke himself, becoming even harder. “Open.”

You comply, opening your mouth, letting him find refuge in your mouth. He almost immediately gives you all of him, not even giving you a second to adjust, mindlessly drooling around his cock. Grasping your hair he thrusts, allowing you to go slack jawed as you moan around him.

He isn't sure if it's out of pleasure or defiance, but he ignored it, focusing on his release. Tom reminds himself that you agreed to it when he came so deep inside your throat that you had no choice but to swallow.

Pulling out of your mouth slowly, Tom watchs himself leave you with a pop, your eyes glassy and tearful. Only making him even harder than before. Leaning against the wall as he catches his breath. “Such a good little thing.” He praises quietly, patting your head before brushing your hair back as he looks down at you.

He steps out of the way, almost admiring you. “Crawl over to the bed.” He instructs softly, your body moving without a second thought.

You make your way over to the bed, getting on all fours whilst Tom walks around it. The silence painful, listening to Tom as he ends up behind you, squeezing your ass before landing a sharp slap.

Whining you look over your shoulder, feeling him grab your hips and pull, causing you to lay mostly flat save for your hips holding your ass slightly up.

“Beg for it.” He hums, his voice tantalizing whilst his shadow looms over you. “C’mon be a good girl and beg straight from the heart.”

“Please Tom, I need you.” You whine, the words leaving you effortlessly. “I'll always need you, please.”

He ruts into you with one deep thrust, groaning. “Such a good fucking slut, so tight f’me.” He groans, slapping your ass again as he thrusts, leaning over you to pin your wrists to the bed. “My favorite little fucktoy.”

You moan loudly, feeling him hit deeper than ever, hitting your cervix. The bit of your coherent mind grasps the concept that it'll be bruised by morning, but you can't bring yourself to care.

“Fucking love your pussy.” He groans, gripping your wrists even tighter as if fighting to ground himself, his thrust growing messier as his manicured nails dig into you like some animal. “C’mon be loud.” He encourages you, squeezing once more.

“Mm Tom,” you gasp, head to the side as you try to rut your hips. “So.. fuck, so deep.” You moan, practically screaming, the curse not letting you even try to muffle it. Your face heats in shame.

“That's it, such a good girl, letting everyone know how good I fuck you.” Freeing your wrists he wraps an arm around your waist, causing you to kneel as he still thrusts in and out of you, his free hand reaching down to play with your clit. Heat forms in your lower stomach at that, only making you more desperate.

His one hand now slides up to play with your tits, your moaning and arousal only seeming to turn him on even more. “Fuck, you're close aren't you? I can feel it, you and your greedy little cunt.” He growls into your ear, slapping your clit and causing a shot of pleasure to run through you. He gives you another slap, a sort of warning. “Answer me unless you want me to stop, that is.”

“Yes’sir.” You whimper, nodding. “I'm close.” You moan, trying to match his pace but deciding it best to go limp, allowing him to use you like the doll you are.

Lost in a bliss you barely hear his command, too dazed to even fully comprehend. “Cum for me.”

You weren't prepared for the earth shattering orgasm that wrecks your body, feeling Tom finish deep inside of you, feeling him coat your cervix you let out a small squeal.

Laying you down, Tom slowly pulls out. You hear him mumble something, the curse lifting as you look around in slight shock.

Tom hushes you immediately, gently pulling you into his hold. “You okay?” He murmurs, pulling your head against his chest and casting a charm to clean the both of you. You presume the other is a contraceptive. “It wasn't too much, was it?”

Nodding you hum, too dumbed out to even think of how to word it. “Nice. It was nice letting go for once.” You murmur, lifting your gaze up. “You liked it too, right?”

Tom lets out a warm chuckle, a rare commodity. “Course I did, got to have you all dumbed out on my cock, not able to mouth off.” He mutters, giving your hair a light tug as he takes to playing with it. “But I don't want to make it a common thing, if you do want to do it again that is.” He hums.

“Course I do.” You hum before the scent of sandalwood alongside Tom’s warmth, lulls you off to sleep.

[luxcuriousao3]

Summary: You're Kyle's old friend, and you've had a crush on him for ages. Too bad he has no idea, and leaves you high and dry to fuck some other girl. Thankfully, Price comes to the rescue. Word Count: 2140 Warnings: sfw, emotional hurt/comfort, alcohol, can be read as platonic Price/Reader Notes: This was supposed to be about Gaz showing off his hot gf to the 141 and making them jealous... but he was not cooperating lol. So now we have this. If I ever continue this, it will be a Gaz/Reader/Price love triangle, but who knows if I'll get the inspiration or have the time lol. As it is right now, it's just a moment of Reader being sad and silly and Price being the gentleman we all know he is. (Masterlist)

Gaz hasn't done a modeling gig since before he signed up to join the military, but he keeps in contact with the friends he made during that part of his life. One of whom (you) happens to have had a crush on him for years.

You've never said anything, though, and Kyle either knows and ignores it, or is completely oblivious. Either way, when you meet his team for the first time, you entertain their lingering stares in a way you wouldn't usually, hoping it will make Kyle jealous. Hoping it will make him spontaneously realize that he's been in love with you this whole time.

No such luck.

Kyle is a gentleman, making sure you're safe and comfortable and having a good time, but he doesn't pay you any special sort of attention, playing pool with Soap ("Call me Johnny") and not turning away the girl who sidles up next to him, asking him to teach her.

You maybe, possibly, definitely drink too much to try and soothe the ache in your heart.

Kyle and Pool Girl leave together when you're only two drinks deep and can convincingly act the part of "sober friend who is definitely fine with being abandoned for you to go fuck a stranger, Kyle, absolutely, I'm going home soon anyway." Soap-Call-Me-Johnny slides into the seat across from you and next to Ghost ("If you call me Simon I'll shoot you.") He starts trying to chat you up, and he's at least a lot more personable than his masked teammate, who has been sipping his pint and staring at you unflinchingly for the last half hour while you pine for Kyle from afar. You're not entirely sure why Ghost was observing you so intently, but if you weren't already well on your way to tipsy-town, you'd be severely creeped out. As it is, you figure he's trying to a) decide where he recognizes you from or b) make you so uncomfortable you leave. Or maybe work up the courage to hit on you. Unlikely, given he hasn't said a word to you this whole time since introductions were made, but not entirely impossible. Unfortunately for him, if that's what he's going for, you're not biting. The whole silent and mysterious schtick is so not your thing.

Johnny, on the other hand, is definitely trying to hook up. He is not subtle about it at all, despite his superior officer being right next to him. But he, too, is not your type—charming and handsome, certainly, but too... energetic. You prefer a proper, refined gentleman—it's why you'd fallen for Kyle—and while Ghost is stoically silent, Johnny talks so much you can barely get a word in edgewise.

You think about giving Johnny some friendly advice that he should... not talk less, but perhaps leave openings for other people to respond. But based on the way Ghost is hanging off every one of Johnny's words, you're pretty sure you'd get a knife to the gut for your trouble.

Those two end up heading out together a while later, leaving you alone with Kyle's Captain—Price, you think. It's a bit hard to remember with how fuzzy your head has gotten, and Probably-Price seems to notice how done in you are just from a single look.

"Going to have to have a talk with Kyle about leaving a woman alone and vulnerable like this," he says as he gently loosens the death grip you have on the stem of your empty cocktail glass. You blink sluggishly at him, wondering if he's joking, but he seems genuinely upset on your behalf—lips pursed beneath his mustache, a furrow between his bushy brows, blue eyes flinty. His eyes aren't beautiful like Kyle's—big and deep and brown like a well-steeped cup of tea, or an expensive mahogany table, you can never decide which shade is closer—but you find yourself staring at them anyway.

In the dim lighting of the pub, they're more grey than blue, hooded and adorned with fine wrinkles at the edges, ones you didn't notice earlier but do now that you're up close. You know he's older than Kyle—and thus yourself—by a fair few years, and you feel a bit like a misbehaving child being caught out by their father.

"Sorry," you murmur, looking down at the table as you're suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. You blink again to try and keep the tears at bay, but a sniffle escapes. Embarrassed and dizzy, you lay your head on the table with a groan.

"Didn't— didn't mean to so— to dr— to get so. Drunk," you finally manage to get out, words halting and slurred. Your embarrassment only grows worse at how badly you stumble through a single sentence.

"S'alright, love," Kyle's captain says, laying a comforting hand on your upper back and rubbing slow circles on it. It's grounding, and you focus on his touch, trying to still the spinning in your head. After a moment, he speaks again. "Let's get you home, hmm?"

You nod, peeling yourself off the table and trying to hop down from the raised booth. You realize what a stupid idea that is a second later when your spindly heels fail to hold up your drunken, uncoordinated weight—so much for having a model's grace—and with an undignified yelp, you face plant onto the floor.

Or you would, if Kyle's captain doesn't catch you the second you stumble, his big, warm hands landing on your waist as he redirects you to fall into him instead.

"Easy now," he says, deep voice rumbling in his chest—which is quite broad and solid, but not uncomfortably hard like the male models you usually work with—beneath your ear. You shiver at the feeling of the vibrations traveling across your skin, and it takes you a moment to realize you're turned on by it. You cringe at yourself, taking a deep breath to try and clear your mind so you'll stop acting so sloppy—but instead, you just get a deep whiff of Price's scent. That only makes your situation worse, because he smells good—like some sort of spicy cigar smoke, the top shelf whiskey he'd been sipping on, and good old English oak.

"You smell nice," you tell him, because you're drunk and have zero filter left. The regret is instant when you realize what you've said, but Price doesn't seem to mind, based on the low chuckle that escapes him.

"Thank you, darling," he says, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. At least one of you is having fun.

Kyle's probably having lots of fun with Pool Girl, a voice in your head reminds you none too kindly, and the tears escape before you can stop them this time.

A calloused thumb wipes the salty trails away, and Price grips your chin gently, tilting your face up towards him.

“What’s all this for, then?” He asks, and just like before, he truly seems to care. It’s that that makes you crack, you think. That and the alcohol.

“I— I got all dr-dr-dressed up for— for him and he— he w-went home with P-Pool Girl!” You sob, lips quivering and shoulders shaking. You probably have snot dripping down your face. Good lord, you’re a mess. You’re a mess and you’re probably embarrassing Kyle in front of his Captain—what if Price tells him how sloppy you’d gotten and Kyle never wants to see you again? Suddenly desperate, you clutch onto the man’s sweater-jacket, fingers twisting into the fabric as you stare at him with big, panicked eyes. “P-please don’t— don’t tell him or— or m-make him scrub the— um, the— the loos!”

“Oh, he’ll be on latrine duty for months, alright,” Price says darkly, and you wail. Loudly. Price immediately tucks your face into his neck to muffle the sound, petting your hair as he tries to calm you down. “Shhh, lovie, s'alright. You haven’t done anything wrong. M’gonna take you home now, yeah? Can you tell me where your place is?”

Through your tears, you tell him the address of the little flat you share with your roommate. You’re not well known enough yet in the modelling industry to get paid the big bucks, so you’re stuck with the other girl for now, no matter how nasty she can be.

You don’t remember most of the drive there—you think you must have fallen asleep at some point—but you come back to yourself when Price gently shakes you awake after parking in front of your building. He walks you to the door, putting up with you hanging off his arm like a limpet so you don’t fall again. There’s another blank stretch in your memory, but then you’re lying in bed, still in the outfit you had spent so much time picking out tonight, only for Kyle to barely look at you twice. You groan in embarrassment, pulling your legs up to your chest so you can curl into a ball and hide from the world—or you try to, but you abruptly realize someone is holding onto one of your feet. You shriek in fear, sitting up sharply—and then promptly plop back down when you’re hit over the head with vertigo so bad you almost lose your three (four?) espresso martinis and… however many shots you had. It’s definitely not good that you can’t recall, but at least you don’t have work tomorrow.

You suddenly remember that there is someone in your room and they are holding your foot hostage, so you do the only thing that you can think of in that situation—you try to kick them. From the loud oof you hear, you’re successful, and you feel momentary pride that you’ve wounded your would-be attacker—at least until he speaks.

“S’a strong kick you got there, love. Kyle teach you that?”

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out, because you recognize that voice. It’s Kyle’s captain. The man you’d confessed your crush on his subordinate to, cried all over, and made take you home. And now he’s here, in your room… holding your foot. For some reason. Drunkenly, you ask for clarification. “Why are you trying to steal my foot?”

There’s silence, and then a loud, booming laugh. He lets go of your foot, standing up so you can see the pair of heels he’s holding in his hands. Your heels. That you had been wearing. He was taking them off of you. To steal them.

“Wait, don’t— don’t take those, those are my— my, um. Lou— Loobtons. Loooobtons. Loo-ee-batons? Lubes. Um. My red bottoms… don’t take them. Please?”

“Nice as they are, darling, I’ve no need for high heels,” Price says, still chuckling, and sets the heels down the shoe rack next to your closet. “I’m not takin’ ‘em. Just didn’t want you getting your bed dirty.”

“Oh,” you say, blinking several times in a row, and then nodding. “Right… that— that makes sense. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Price echoes, and his face is kind of blurry because there’s two of him and you’re not sure which one to focus on, but you think he’s smiling. You wish you could see it better—he probably has a really nice smile. The two Prices move closer, leaning over you and turning you on your side.

“Um,” you say, because what else are you supposed to do in this situation? It’s starting to feel like all those anti-rape ads you always see. “Do I need to kick you again?”

Rather than be offended, Price just chuckles again, and you can’t help but calm a little bit at the sound of it. When he pulls a blanket over you rather than climb into bed behind you, you relax fully.

“Oh,” you repeat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “And if you ever feel afraid like that, trust your gut. Better to overreact and be wrong than underreact and face the consequences.”

Price’s voice is darker now, harder, and you think you’re seeing a glimpse of the man that Kyle must know. It’s a bit intimidating, but also kind of hot, and you nod obediently. It’s good advice, after all.

“Thank you for helping me,” you say quietly. You may be drunk, but you still have manners. “You’re really nice, Mr. Price.”

A beat, and then you giggle at the unintentional rhyme, finding it hilarious in your drunken state.

“Call me John,” Price says, pulling up the blanket a little more when you shiver, so it’s right under your chin.

“Okay, John,” you agree easily, and then close your eyes. You’re exhausted, and heartbroken but trying not to think about it, and still really dizzy. Sleep sounds like exactly what you need right now. “Night night.”

“Goodnight, love,” John answers. You hear his footsteps walking away, but you’re out before he even reaches the door.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

[morose-melodies]

DROP MORE PREGNANT READER AND MY LIFE IF YOURS🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

ups and downs | various! yandere! fatui harbingers x pregnant reader

a/n: gimme your life :3

CAPITANO

you were not happy, the captain could tell.

whenever he'd bring light to your sad expression, you'd just sulk, and walk off, dragging your feet.

perhaps this pregnancy was getting to you more than he knew.

to see you so sad, to see you so sluggish, he knew you weren't feeling well.

so he started coddling you. he'd do everything for you, or, almost everything anyway. he would help you get dressed in the morning, he would braid your hair down for you to keep it out of your face, he'd hold your hand and walk you through the snowy garden with him.

things seemed to be looking up for you.

"it's getting colder shall we go back in?" the captain asked, pausing to look at you, waiting for an answer.

"I'm not ready..."

"very well," he would remove his coat and place it over your shoulders, "if it pleases you, we can continue our walk."

"thank you."

"of course. I'd do anything for you, (y/n)."

sure, he was getting tired of roaming the garden, but holding your hand and being near you, seeing you enjoy yourself, made it worth his while.

DOTTORE

dottore had it with you.

not literally, but goodness, you were wearing him out. if you weren't complaining about one thing, it was something else.

you were sitting in front of the fireplace complaining about how hot it was. so, of course, dottre had to help you find a better seat, or else you'd get upset with him.

and now, you were complaining about the fruit salad you were eating.

looking across the table at you, dottore picked at his salad. it was meant to be a small meal until dinner and here you were complaining about it.

"(y/n), if it's not to your liking, then don't eat it. nobody here is forcing you to eat it," dottore formed a smile on his face, it was small and tense but if he didn't smile at you, he knew you'd think he was being 'rude'.

"yeah, but I'm hungry... I don't think fruit salad should be so... mushy."

dottore swallowed, poking at his salad - it wasn't mushy at all. pulling your bowl away, he slid his own to you, "eat it, (y/n), please - there is absolutely nothing wrong with mine."

dottore then ate your fruit salad - it didn't matter to him how it tasted, as long as you were satisfied and eating, he didn't mind how rotten the salad tasted.

though, he would be firing the chief for even daring to serve this garbage to you.

PANTALONE

"look at this dress, oh, it looks absolutely lovely on you," pantalone turned you to face the mirror, his hand hovering over your round belly before he dropped it to his side.

catching a glance at your face, pantalone saw that you were frowning deeply. "(y/n)... what's the matter?"

"I'm tired," you replied, looking at him through the mirror.

right, pantalone had forgotten, you've been quite sluggish these past few months. it was inconsiderate of him to make you stand and try on multiple dresses just for his satisfaction.

it was truly inconsiderate of him.

"oh, it completely slipped my mind," pantalone was quick to turn you to face him, his hands on your shoulder, "forgive me, won't you? here, let me help you out of this..."

"it's fine..." you mumbled, as he began tugging the dress from over your head. removing the dress, he helped you back into your old clothes.

"a nap would be nice, no?" taking your hand into his, he guided you into his bedroom where the two of you would lie down for a nap.

he could tell you were tired.

gosh, he was so very considerate.

CHILDE

when childe worked, he had a new goal in mind.

providing for you, of course. he was going to be a father; he needed to prove that he was worth it, and he needed to prove just how good of a father he'd be.

he had never felt quite so motivated before. he had never felt so motivated to be good and stay out of trouble.

love really changes people, huh?

after finishing his work, he'd come home with a grin on his face. it didn't feel real, at all.

he was with you and you were going to have a child with him!

"(y/n), where are you? I'm home! I brought dinner," childe called out as he stepped through the front door.

the fireplace was on, the lights were off and the bedroom door was cracked open. huh, guess you were sleeping.

so childe crept down the hallway and into his bedroom where you were sleeping.

how pretty you were...

he sat down beside him, looking at you and your peaceful features. he grinned, how much better could his life get?

he idly messed with the hairs on your head, petting and twirling them around his finger. he sat there and did that for a while, that was until you woke up.

you swatted his hand away, scowling at him.

childe smiled down at you, "let's go shopping for baby clothes. that would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"sure..."

"great! now let's go eat, (y/n), I brought dinner home for us."

eating dinner with you would be a nice change of pace but, of course, anything done with you would be nice.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I Tiny Bit of Angst I idiot4idiot I First Kiss I 1.8k I SFW

“We're out of Mountain Dew,” Eddie yells into the living room.

“There's another case in the garage, I think,” Steve yells back, “I'll go look.”

Eddie slams the fridge shut. “No, don't get up, I've got it.”

“Quit being sweet on me!”

He's teasing, it's nothing, but Eddie's pulse jumps anyway, horrified that he's being obvious again. “I'm not sweet on you! I'm repaying my life debt!” Not the whole truth but not a lie either. Satisfied that he's dodged a bullet, he jogs to the garage, grabs the 12 pack from the moderately-wealthy-person's-modest-second-garage-fridge and drops it off at the ultra-wealthy-person's-expensive-and-shiny-main-fridge. He brings two back to the living room, gets ready to leap over the back of the couch so they can resume the movie, before he realizes Steve is MIA.

“You taking a shit?” He yells out.

Steve doesn't answer, which he supposes is answer enough. He resumes his roll over the back of the sofa, cracks his can open, chugs, and waits for Steve to return.

The TV is still paused on Kurt Russell’s rugged face. What a man. Eddie idly wonders what Steve would look like with a beard. He could sketch it out and then hide the evidence in one of his old D&D manuals.

Speaking of Steve…

“Yo, did you fall in?!” No response. “Hello?”

Okay, now it's getting weird. A chill runs down his neck.

Steve is fine. There's nothing to worry about. It's just weird he hasn't responded yet; the downstairs bathroom is ten feet away.

He jumps up, just to check for himself that Steve is okay. Which he is, because everything is fine.

The bathroom is empty…

“Okay, this isn't funny, asshole! You know I have trauma!”

No response to that either. What the fuck.

“Steve,” he yells up the stairs next, “seriously, dude, where are you?”

He takes them two at a time, because there's no good reason for Steve not to be yelling back. He pictures him being chewed on by a last remaining Demogorgon and preemptively starts planning his own sacrifice. Because if Steve is dead on Eddie's watch, killed while Eddie had his head in the garage fridge, he doesn't deserve that second chance at life.

“Hello?” He croaks down the hall. All of the doors are ajar, but that's not unusual. They're forever in and out of the various rooms; Steve into Eddie's, Eddie into Steve's, the both of them into his parents' empty room because they have the better bathroom.

Still nothing from Steve. It's getting ridiculous. He's not being eaten by a monster either, too quiet for that, so what the hell is going on?

He marches into Steve's room and finds it empty too. He almost continues on to Steve's en suite but he stops, notices the comforter on Steve's bed is missing, which is weird. A clue, maybe? He glances around, a look underneath, a peek around the side of the bed, but it's nowhere to be found.

He goes to call Steve's name again but then he hears something, like a sniffle.

The closet doors are shut but between them is a chunk of Steve's blanket, a tiny corner sticking out at the bottom.

Eddie tiptoes over and listens.

Yup. Another sniffle.

He parts the doors gently.

Steve throws the blanket over his head before Eddie can see him, only getting a quick peek at his knees before they disappear.

“Uhh, wha’cha doin’ in the closet, Stevie?”

He thought he'd said it soft enough to not scare him but when he immediately bursts into loudy, snotty tears underneath his blanket, Eddie can only assume he's fucked up anyway.

He crouches down. “Hey, I'm sorry, don't freak out, it's just me. C'mon, man, talk to me, what's going on? You're scaring me.”

“I'm fine,” Steve croaks.

“Yeah…clearly.”

The lump that is Steve groans and then falls over, landing on a pile of old shoes, which he doesn't seem to notice or care.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

Okay. Now that Eddie knows Steve is upset about something, he thinks back to what they were doing before they paused the movie. Which was nothing.

“You said you'd seen The Thing before.”

Steve sniffs. “I have. At Mike's fifteenth birthday.”

“Okay. So why are you freaking out about it now?”

“Why the fuck- Uhh. Yeah. The movie. Scared me real bad.”

Eddie frowns at The Lump. So it's not the movie. Something happened when Eddie got up. Think, think, think!

“The life debt thing?”

Steve doesn't respond. He does curl into a smaller ball, which seems like an answer in itself. What it means, he has no idea. Why would that leave Steve a sobbing mess? It's not like he can undo Steve saving his life! Of course he owes Steve everything!

“Please talk to me,” he begs softly. “I'm not good at this. I'm not Robin.”

He gets a scoff. “Robin is also not good at this.”

True. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean she comes equipped to handle emotional outbursts. She's more of a ‘pat, pat, there, there' kinda gal.

“Would you tell her what was wrong?”

“Yes,” Steve admits after a short pause.

“Would you like me to go get her?”

“No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But you don't have to stay in here with me. You can finish the movie if you want. I'll be okay.”

“Steve,” he pats what he hopes is Steve's shoulder, “I might not be good at this emotional vulnerability shit but even I know you don't leave your friends crying on the floor of their closet.”

Since he's touching Steve, he can feel the short, hitching breaths he's taking, trying so hard not to be heard.

“I'm fine. I'll be fine,” Steve tries to convince him, “I just need a bit to get over myself. Like a week or…six.”

“Over what?”

He sniffles some more. “Nothing.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, dude.” To prove his point he shuffles fully into the closet and pulls the doors shut behind him. “There. Our closet breakdown.”

Steve groans, tries giving Eddie a little kick but his feet are trapped inside the comforter, so it feels more like a nudge.

“I'll be over here by this pile of old basketball jerseys when you feel like talking. Number twenty-one? Is that lucky?”

“This is so stupid,” Steve mumbles.

“Hey, you're in charge of this rodeo, just tell me what's wrong and we can mosey on out of here.”

“You sound like Wayne when you say shit like that.”

“Well, he did half raise me. Tell me what's wrong.”

“No.”

“So you don't trust me?” He says just to be an asshole, to get some kind of reaction. “We're not that good of friends I guess.”

That gets him a reaction alright, just not the one he wants. Instead of getting pissed, Steve somehow curls even tighter, near silent sobs emanating from The Lump.

All of this had had a sort of surreal, humorous quality before, finding Steve having a nervous breakdown on the floor like a toddler told to go to bed, but it's getting less cute now.

Eddie gets up and lays the opposite way, head down near Steve's. He wants to bundle Steve up and rock him like a baby, but it doesn't seem like Steve wants that. “If I'm really hurting you…if this is my fault and you want me to go, I'll go, but I don't want to. I want to fix this. What do you want me to do?”

He's quiet. Not actively crying at least. After a long stretch, he mumbles, “Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to fix things? Doing what you think I want because you think you owe me?”

Okay, now they're getting somewhere.

“I do owe you, Stevie, but that's not why… That's not why.”

“Then why?”

He swallows. “Because you deserve more than you get.” There. That's fine. That's platonic and still vulnerable and absolutely true.

“And that's it?”

What the fuck does he say to that? ‘No, actually, I want to treat you like the god damned royalty that you are, not in the fake high school sense, but in the way that knights willingly followed Kings onto the battlefield?’

“What do you mean?” He asks instead, like the coward he is.

“I mean… You close all the curtains in the house when you notice I've got a migraine. You learned to play my favorite songs even though you think they're mediocre. You corral the kids when they get out of hand and start being mean to me. You invite me to family dinner at Wayne and Gail’s. We live together and make breakfast together and spend all of our time together and I guess that's just because we're friends. That's what friends do. We're just friends.” He's worked himself into a fit again.

Eddie can do nothing but stare at the blanket lump and try not to panic. Either Steve has been onto him for months and has finally had enough or…

“Stevie? Why are you crying in the closet?”

“Don't make me say it.”

He chokes on his own sob, months of being good, keeping it tucked away and out of sight, welling up in his chest and in his eyes.

He finds the end of the blanket and pulls until he can crawl underneath too, finding Steve with his head turned away, like he's still trying to hide. Eddie slides both hands onto the sides of his face and turns him away from the floor. He blinks at Eddie, looking every bit like a tragic Prince in a fairytale. Or a baby cow.

“Please,” he begs, voice breaking, “tell me why you're sad.”

Steve studies Eddie, eye roaming over the tear tracks Eddie can't stop, over his trembling lip, the blush that must be painting his cheeks. He's going out on a real limb here, betting it all, but Steve doesn't leave him hanging for long.

“I thought you were sweet on me.”

Eddie coughs out a relieved a laugh. “I am, baby. I'm so sweet on you.”

Steve's face could outshine the fourth of July. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You think I'd crawl back into the closet for just anyone?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head falling to land on Eddie's shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudges softly, “whaddya say we come out of the closet together?”

“Why do I like you so much?”

“Aww, you sweet on me, Stevie?”

Instead of answering, he throws back the blanket, bringing fresh air, and then Steve basically knocks Eddie into the door, spilling them out onto the floor of his room. He crawls on top of Eddie, pinning him down with all of his jock glory.

"I am so sweet on you."

And then he kisses Eddie. Kisses him like he's been thinking about it just as long as Eddie has, which is a real bitch of a realization. Months they could've been doing this.

He's got two handfuls of jean covered ass when Steve pulls back far enough to whisper, “We have to make up something else to tell Robin. She can't know it happened like this, I'll never live it down.”

"Let me touch your dick and I'll tell her whatever you want. You fought off a bear in the backyard and I was overcome with desire."

"Deal."

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hi! I enjoy your stories very much. As a shy person myself wanting to push myself out of a shell I am curious if you've always been naturally good at meeting people, or do you get social anxiety too? Sorry if this is a super random/personal question. I appreciate you!

I used to get REALLY bad social anxiety but then I accidentally threw myself off the deep end on the first night of college when I heard people assembling furniture out in the hall and thought "If I do not get up right this second and go hang out with those people I'm going to lie here crying about how much I miss my family all night and they wouldn't want that."

So I went out in the hall and said "Hi! I'm [Gallus], and I thought I should meet people instead of being a miserable wreck in my room!"

And then we spent the rest of the night assembling dorm furniture, talking about weeb shit and generally having a good time! and every single time I've gone and introduced myself to someone since then, I've either made MORE friends and had a good time, or had, at worst, a perfectly neutral time. So that positive re-enforcement really helped.

Anyway, the three Guidlines to Meeting People:

Meet people at places they expect to meet people. People do not want to make friends when they are busy with something else- see how much we hate it when people come to the door when we were working or cleaning. But when they're at somewhere they expect to socialize like a Hobby Meeting, a convention, The Club? they're THRILLED to make friends and tbh probably glad you broke the ice. Go to places where people who share interests with you are meeting. They'll probably adopt you.

2. The Worst Thing that will happen is that you will lightly confuse someone. No for real. Nobody is going to scream at you and you're not going to terrorize someone by saying hi. It's fine.

3. Sample conversation script for those of us who have brains that make us act like we're in a movie:

*Be At Place to Meet People* *See someone who looks interesting to talk to, who is not actively doing a physical task or already having a conversation* You: Hello! I love your (Physical aspect of their appearance they chose: Hair color, lobster-themed dress/Dog/Orbital mechanics tattoo)!" Them: Oh, thanks! It (single sentence of explanation: I did it myself/It has pockets/He loves people/I got it for completing my thesis!) (this is a sign that they are open to social activity) You: That's so cool! I'm (you name), and I'm new here. You seem like cool people, can I hang out with you? Them, and I actually for real swear this will be the answer 90% of the time: Sure!

Congratulations! You have introduced yourself to someone. Continue to be a huge dweeb about the thing you have a mutual interest in and you will shortly have a new friend!

[pomefioredove]

hiiiiii i luv ur bloggg😭💞 i hope it's not a bother bc u most have SO MANY asks already, but i'll like to request for the event a #17 sugar cookie with dry fruit and chestnut❤️ byeeee

THANK YOU!!! I am getting thru all of these requests one at a time dw!!

order #17, sugar with dry fruit, chestnut

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ soliciting kisses

summary: legend says a true love's kiss cures all... tropes: first kiss, sick fic characters: jade additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, mentions of kissing but nothing explicit

"It's a children's story. Don't listen to him,"

Azul pushes his glasses up his head and rubs his eyes. He's in good health and yet seems more worn and weary than the coughing boy in bed behind him.

You look between the two. Jade is smiling, despite the rasp in his throat.

"...Are you sure?"

"Prefect," Azul sighs. "I know you're unused to the rules of this world, and I sympathize with that. But you are not a child. A kiss is not going to cure a cough."

You glance between the two again. "...But he seems so sad,"

Azul frowns and taps your forehead. "You're not some poor, unfortunate fool. Don't fall for... whatever it is he wants from you,"

"I'm not asking for much, Azul," Jade croaks from his sickbed. "If I truly had malicious intentions, wouldn't I be soliciting something of value?"

Azul covers your ears. "You should be resting," he snaps at the eel. "And please, for the love of the Seven, leave the Prefect alone! The very last thing I need is to be accused of inappropriate conduct. I don't need the staff involved in lounge affairs..."

"You say that as if I'm going to eat them," Jade grins, baring his pointed teeth.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Azul mumbles, his hands leaving your head. "I have to see to the lounge. Floyd will come to take your place in a few minutes. Don't get too close to the bed. He bites."

Your eyes widen as Azul waves the bedroom door shut behind him. Jade remains in bed, perfectly complacent and calm. His hands are folded over his stomach, there's a pleasant smile on his face.

"...Well, then," he says, once the sound of Azul's footsteps have finally faded. "I suppose we'll wait for Floyd."

You take a seat at the desk, careful not to touch any of the little glass boxes and jars full of moss and mushrooms that cover it.

Five minutes go by. Then ten. Then thirty. Then it's been fifty minutes. Jade leafs through a thick book. You shift uncomfortably.

"...It's rather uncomfortable, being ill in a human body," he says. He's soliciting sympathy from you. Azul had warned you about this. "Unbearably hot. However do you stand it? I could collapse if I wasn't already in bed."

He looks fine. But there's still a sheen of sweat on his cheeks that glistens in the mellow light.

You look away. "What're you reading?"

"Oh, this? It's what I was telling you about, before Azul interrupted," he smiles. "The story of the mermaid princess. Shall I summarize?"

You open your mouth, and nothing but air comes out. He continues anyway.

"She had wanted to be human. And this was a time where potions for these purposes weren't widely available, so she sought the help of an expert potionmaker. She was offered a generous deal: if she kissed her true love, all of her wishes would come true. Isn't that nice?"

You blink. "Why are you telling me this?"

Jade sets down the book, which he hadn't really been reading. "Only making conversation. Is it not intriguing how stories from both land and sea cite a true love's kiss as the cure to all ailments?"

You can recall a few stories like that. Lilia had told you one, once, and so had Rook. Both seemed more like fables than fact.

"...I suppose,"

"Of course, there is some truth to the sentiment," Jade says, as if sensing your suspicion. "It may not be a miracle cure, but it certainly lifts one's spirits. Ah, I am so very warm..."

Is this working on you? Why is this working on you??

Floyd was supposed to be here an hour ago. But it's still just you.

"Is it really that bad?" you ask, to which Jade nods solemnly.

"I'm used to the cold of the Coral Sea. I've never felt so uncomfortably warm before,"

Curses. He almost looks pitiful. He's pouting. You've never seen that face on him before...

You leave your seat at the desk and stand over his bed.

"Alright... to make you feel better,"

---

Azul opens the door, a tray of tea and cough drops between his hands. "I just ran into Floyd in the courtyard, he says he never came at all, I'm terribly sorry that you- AH! PREFECT! You look awful!"

You're slumped against the side of the bed, face flushed and warm. Azul sets down the tray and hurries to feel your forehead.

"...Dreadful. Of course, you're sick. Did he bite you? He bit you, didn't he?"

"...A little," you mutter, which is technically true. Azul snaps his fingers in front of your face to keep you from falling asleep.

"What did I say about getting too close to the bed?"

Jade snickers. Contrary to you, he looks happy as a clam, leafing through a mycology magazine. "Why, I'm insulted. I'm not an animal, Azul. I can control myself,"

Azul frowns and mumbles to himself. "I'll be in the Prefect's pocket for months... how will I repay this?"

"No need," you manage, wearily waving him off. "...Well, maybe a warm cloth wouldn't hurt."

"Yes, right away," Azul says, standing from your side.

Jade just smiles, setting his magazine over his stomach, completely unconcerned.

"Take your time, Azul. I can tend to the Prefect just fine," he says, "I have a cure for all ailments that's proven to work,"