#hot actors brown hair

[kkginfo]

Ayan Khan: The multitasker rocked B-town as a fine actor and an inspiration to the youth | KKG INFO

Ayan Khan: The multitasker rocked B-town as a fine actor and an inspiration to the youth | KKG INFO

In this very competitive industry, actor Ayan Khan has proved his mettle with the best. Born in Bangalore, Karnataka, Ayan has a multi-faceted personality, earned his degree in BBA & Law and proved to be an exemplary businessman. Ayan’s experience in acting is vast along with his skills and keen mind to invest in young and fruitful digital platforms and projects for the future along with his…

[phas3d]

Celebrity Crush|| Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: suggestive jokes (all)

contains :: draco malfoy, tom riddle, mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire

summary :: you're either friends or enemies and they see you freaking out over your celebrity, making them jealous. they search them up only to find out that the celebrity looks almost exactly like them

alternative :: your celebrity crush looks nothing like them

DRACO (enemies)

Your group just watched the newest movie that came out

Ever since then, you couldn’t stop gushing about how hot the villain was

Although the villain was an awful person, you still went on rants about how fine he is

Your friends kept laughing at how out of pocket your jokes were

“I can fix him I swear, just give me a chance” you grieved as if someone died

"I'm gonna get on all fours and start hitting my chest like a gorilla if he keeps looking this fine" you said with passion, not scared of the whole school hearing you

Draco, despite not wanting to say it, was extremely jealous as he gripped his fork extra hard as he heard you

He was a dick, why didn’t you like him? Maybe he wasn’t hot enough? He’s always been slightly insecure about his appearance

The second lunch ended, he ran to the bathroom and secretly looked up the actor

But as he looked at him… he realized he wasn’t too far off from the actor

Their faces were almost completely different but, they both had short bright blonde hair, cold blue eyes, always wore green, and had similar body types

From seeing that, he smirked to himself and got an ego boost

He goes to sleep with a fat ass grin on his face

He won’t directly say the actor looks like him, but he’ll know it deep down

TOM (friends)

Although Tom could stand being around you, he wished he could mute you out

You two were studying together in his room

Or… he was studying while you kept replaying the same edit of some random celebrity

“He could take my eggs and eat it like skittles”

Tom has literally killed and tortured people but he still widened his eyes slightly at your comment

He felt a small bit of jealousy, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he was scared of losing his only friend or because he liked you

(It’s because he likes you but he’s not that emotionally aware)

Tom has always been nosy, so he tilted slightly to see your phone

That’s when he saw a man with pale skin, brown eyes, and wavy brown hair

But beside those basic attributes, he also had the same nose as him along with a resting bitch face

He doesn’t show it, but on the inside he felt much calmer

It gave him a small sense of hope that maybe one day, he could actually be seen as attractive by someone

No one has ever confessed or even liked Tom romantically throughout his whole life due to his insane hobbies

He sleeps a little bit better with the thought that maybe someone could like him

And he really hopes it’s you :)

MATTHEO (enemies) (I made this so long on accident... whoops)

You two clash constantly due to Mattheo’s class clown behavior and your goody-two-shoes attitude

He was always cracking mean jokes and bullying your friend group since you were kinda nerdy

You despised him and have beaten his ass multiple times (with magic) but he still doesn’t learn his lesson

But that's mainly because he thinks it's hot when you beat his ass and yell at him

Once again, he was walking towards your group to pick on you guys once more, especially you

But that’s when he heard you freak out over some random character

At first he thought it was just some lame anime character, that's how you usually are

But when you start showing your friends the photo-card in the back of your phone, he realizes it’s a real person

Instantly, he's pissed and jealous of a stupid piece of paper

He stalks you until you repeat the celebrities' name so he can google him and ruin his career

But once he looks up the idol, he sees that he also has dark curly hair with deep brown eyes

He actually researches and tries to learn about the idol more so he can take note on what you like

That's when he learns that the idol is known as a funny and protective person, just like him

He giggles to himself and decides to be insanely cocky

He prints out a photo of himself in the same pose as the idol, rounds the corners, and even puts his own signature on the back

The next day, he hands it to you and is smirking to himself

But... surprisingly... you didn't know it wasn't the idol????

You smiled widely and freak out, you thank him and quickly put it in the back of your phone case

From that, he smiles insanely widely. Not only at how cute you were from freaking out, but by also knowing he's on the back of your phone without you even knowing

THEODORE (friends)

He's always known you were a fangirl but it was normally for weird things

You've had a few celebrity crushes over the years, but it's never been this extreme before

"GOD I WANNA LIVE IN HIS TOILET!!!" You shouted as you stared at a photo of the celebrity

Theo never understood how people got so attached but he was curious

How hot was this guy for you to like him THIS much? and why was he so jealous?

Theo has always been confident in his looks since he pulls bitches left and right

But, for some reason, he's suddenly strongly craving your validation

He asks you to show him the celebrity, only to see an almost exact clone of himself

Light fluffy brown hair, green eyes that were the same shape as his, thick brows, and a strong jaw

Theo smiles lightly and shakes his head, you perceived it as him making fun of your crush

You hide your phone from him and proceed to watch a pile of edits of this man on loop

Although he didn't get the hype of being a fangirl, he supported this one

He researches the celebrity during his free time and tries to become more like him slightly

Of course, he doesn't change anything drastically

But he might get the same shirt or shoes as him

LORENZO (rivals?) (can you tell he's my favorite?)

You and Lorenzo were constantly at the top of your charms class within the entire school

Both of you have constantly gone head to head with each other just to compete for first place, only to tie for it together

There was no hatred or extreme feelings, just a fun rivalry that was oddly flirtatious at times

While you were in the library with a few friends studying, you suddenly start slamming your fist on the desk

Lorenzo was often in the library in order to check out new books to read in order to beat you

He looked over, worried that something bad happened

But all he saw was you on the floor, as if you melted, with your phone held high showcasing a man

He was curious as to how you got to the floor so fast despite banging on the table only 2 seconds ago, but he didn't care

Many people in the school shipped you and Lorenzo, but you both always denied it in order to not make it awkward

But, Lorenzo has liked you for ages. Despite that fact that he's a fuckboy, he would give up everything just to kiss you

"I would save his nail clippings and make a necklace out of it" You said in a harsh whisper that made all your friends hold back a laugh

Lorenzo was shocked, he's never seen you be so vulgar

He felt slightly hurt, not only by the fact that you were freaking out over some celebrity but also because he's never seen you act like this with him

"The things I would do for this man is un-ex-plain-a-ble" You aggressively whispered as you slammed your fist on the desk again

The librarian came around and told your whole group to shut up, which made Lorenzo happy

He decided to do his usual routine, he walked up to you and flicked you on the head as a joking gesture

You wince and hold your forehead, that's when he looks at your phone and sees the name of the celebrity

He repeats the name over and over and over and OVER in his head until he gets to his dorm and instantly searches him up on his phone

That's when he sees how similar he is to the celebrity

At first, he was doubting it since he didn't want to be cocky

But he told Theo and Theo instantly agreed, saying the celebrity looks just like him

Sharp jawline and cheekbones, fair skin, soft light brown hair, brown eyes, and even the same body build

He smiled to himself, feeling a bit of self love for himself from seeing how similar he is to your favorite celebrity

He's always been slightly insecure of his body build due to most of the guys in Hogwarts being buff as shit while Lorenzo was slightly more lean

But seeing the celebrity be called the heart-throb of the year made him really happy

After he knows all of this, he's much more confident around you and even finds subtle ways to bring up how he knows your type

Uses this as evidence against you to make you blush during petty arguments

[sexlapis]

i only see you

⤷ cw : jealousy, doubt, a little bit of arguing, angst to fluff but not too bad :)

actor! toji x gn actress/actor! reader

a/n: i decided to put these two asks together. great minds think alike!

masterlists

actor!toji masterlist

you regret coming here.

arms crossed, lips downward, and brows so furrowed that they basically cast a shadow over your eyes as you watched toji and his…co-worker from afar.

toji was played a minor role in quite a popular tv series and that popular tv series included a..love interest. now of course, toji asked you first if it was okay - he would’ve never agreed to the role if it made you sad or uncomfortable. being the good partner that you were, not wanting to limit his career choices because of your own feelings, you easily gave him permission to do so.

you’re starting to regret that too.

the actress is so obviously into him, which of course wouldn’t have been a problem if toji wasn’t your boyfriend. she has been like this all of the times you have visited toji on set. you two haven’t decided to go public yet, but god right this second, you wish you had.

and she is gorgeous. tall, long and silky brown hair, bright green eyes, a model-like visage…you attempt to push down that nasty feeling of jealousy that builds up inside of you, but it’s useless. you hated seeing this, really. and if you are honest with yourself, you’d admit that you never want toji to take any acting roles where he would have a love interest, because you hated seeing toji being lovey dovey with another person. even if it was just ‘acting’.

toji sits in his directors chair on his phone while the model stands besides him, speaking. you can’t hear what they’re saying, but she’s clearly trying to look attractive for him - twirling her hair, discreetly pushing her cleavage together, biting and licking her lips…you know your boyfriend was hot but god, does she have to be so obvious? it made you kind of sick.

and then she does something unbelievable.

the model runs her finger up toji’s bicep, circling around him like he’s prey to stand behind where he sits and starts massaging his shoulders.

your jaw is basically on the floor at this point, shocked at her audacity (even thought she is doing this under the assumption that toji is a single man).

toji eyes widen a little, and he looks a little awkward. and then he looks up at her and smiles.

smiles?

your eyes wander around and you see that the crew members are also looking at this little display of…whatever the hell it was. they whisper amongst themselves, taking small glances at where you stand and you decide you’ve seen enough, already embarrassed enough, you leave the set without saying goodbye to toji. you want nothing more than to return home to the comfort of your apartment.

౨ৎ

it’s the next day and you haven’t spoken to toji since that..incident.

you decide to distract yourself with baking, reading, crocheting, painting, all of your hobbies to make you forget about what happened yesterday.

sure, you could just speak to toji, but this has happened twice now, so you think you have the right to give toji a little silent treatment.

you’re laying on your couch reading a booking when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. sighing, you pick it up, unlocking it. there’s a message from your friend shoko.

————

shoko

[link] ???????????

————

you hesitantly click on the link, lowkey scared for what it is. it’s a celebrity news article from a few hours ago, talking about how toji and his new co-worker are dating.

“inside sources have told us that toji and his co-worker, a model playing his love interest, are dating! sorry tojiyn lovers, your ship has sank!”

it’s mocking wording pisses you off and makes your eye twitch. no matter how long you have been famous for, the lies of the media are something you will never get used to.

————

shoko

it’s already trending on twitter…

————

that sets you off and you throw your phone across the room, screaming in your hands.

it was probably those crew members, you thought bitterly.

there is a knock at your door. that’s odd, you weren’t expecting any visitors or packages today.

sighing, you walk over the door but not before looking through the peephole first. the sight has you huffing.

you open the door and there stands toji.

“you ready to talk to me now or what?” he asks in his usual brash, straightforward manner.

you’re already walking away to the kitchen to make yourself tea, leaving the door open as an unspoken invitation. “wow, not even a ‘hello?’ she really has changed you, huh?”

“what?” toji walks to where you are, careful not to make any sudden movements that would piss you off more than you already are, “who’s she? what the hell are you talking about?”

you grunt, setting the water to boil and taking your favourite mug out. you turn to retrieve a teabag but toji is cornering you, pressing and trapping you against the counter.

“ugh, toji!” you groan, trying to escape his arms for barriers but he doesn’t budge.

“no.” he says firmly before taking on a softer tone. “talk to me..please.”

crossing your arms, you lean back on the counter and look at the floor. “what’d you wanna know?”

“i wanna know why you ain’t talkin’ to me.”

“i don’t know why don’t you go ask your new girlfriend!” you shout, ashamed to admit that a few tears formed in your eyes after that outburst of yours.

“my new-? _____, what are you…oh…this is about her.”

“her who?!” you almost shout again, impatient and throwing your arms around. “the one who you let just fucking touch you and massage you all the time?”

“oh, baby.” toji sighs, cupping your face, wiping the tears that you didn’t even know started to fall. “i know, i know. i shoulda told her to cut it out way sooner than i did..jus’ didn’t wanna make shit weird on set. but that don’t matter, i shoulda done it to make you feel okay..’m sorry..”

you hum, nuzzling your cheek into his palm. you missed his touch even thought it had only been a day.

i’m so lame.

toji hugs you and you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his pectoral.

“..and i did tell her i’m with someone.” you look up, afraid he told her about your relationship. “i didn’t tell ‘er it was you, don’t worry. ‘said she was sorry and won’t push any boundaries.”

“…you believe her?” you ask, honestly doubtful and still a little jealous because of that whole fiasco.

“well, ‘m just gonna have to.” he kissing the top of you head before pulling your face away from his chest, making you look up at him. “but hey, you don’t gotta worry about anythin’ like that, sweetie. seriously. i only have eyes for you. nobody else. i…i only love you.. believe that.”

“toji..” you warble, pushing your face into his chest again.

toji chuckles, face a little red due to his own words and speaks again. “but you gotta promise me you’ll just talk to me if i do somethin’ that makes you sad, okay? i don’t wanna go around pissin’ my girlfriend off all the time.”

you laugh, sniffling. “yes, i promise.”

toji smiles down at you, kissing your forehead. you both stand there embracing each other for a few moments before he decides to break the silence.

“why don’t you make toji some tea too? ♡.”

a teabag is thrown in his face.

tag list: @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie | @raven-r0ses | @ib4ryuguji

a/n i enjoyed writing this one a lot <3

[rebelfell]

actor!steve x assistant!reader x rockstar!eddie

cw: fingering (fem receiving), semi-public. 18+, MDNI 1k

The Vanity Fair party…it haunts me…

“She looks so pretty tonight. Doesn’t she, Ed?”

Steve’s hot breath hit the shell of your ear as he held you pinned against him. His body pressed so firmly into your back you could feel every button on his dark gold shirt, every shiny stone on the chain that hung around his neck, every strand of dense chest hair that peeked out from beneath his collar. His hands squeezed tight around your waist to hold you still, his hips moving in a filthy grind in time with the bass music making the floor vibrate beneath your feet.

Shivers ran rampant over you as stubble rasped against the nape of your neck, his voice as rough and coarse as the scruff that dusted his jaw.

In front of you, Eddie’s teeth tugged on his plush bottom lip as he bit back a lustful smile seeing you squirm in your formal wear.

“Oh, yeah, Stevie. Just gorgeous…” 

Eddie hummed to himself as his eyes roved over you and his knuckles traced the neckline of your gown, making your skin fizz like the champagne flowing freely in the next room.

One of his chunky silver rings flicked your nipple that stood rigid behind the sparkly stretch fabric, earning him a sharp inhale from you that had his eyes lifting to meet your gaze

They danced with pure mischief, rich brown irises all inky darkness in the low light.

The slinky black dress Steve had picked out and left for you in your hotel room still felt more like a costume compared to what you typically wore running around the city doing his errands. It was simple, not remotely as ornate or elegant as the custom-made designer ones being photographed by hundreds of paparazzi tonight.

Still, the material draped nicely around your body and the slit that ran up one side showed off a decent amount of leg. The salacious cut initially made you balk, but you found you rather liked it after all—especially now as it granted Eddie’s hand access to your bare skin, the soft pads of his fingertips slowly running up your thigh until he reached your hip and groaned as he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

All night you’d been running around in a near constant panic, just trying to navigate the event without getting in anyone’s way. And all your efforts had led you here, tucked into some dark corner between your boss and his best friend.

The heat of their bodies encasing yours and the mixture of their colognes in your nose made you lightheaded in the best possible way. Your chest heaved as you inhaled deeply, trying to keep your wits about you as it was so easy to lose them when it came to these particular men. 

This was hardly your first time messing around with them, but their intensity never failed to steal your breath. It had been such a long night already, and it seemed it only would be getting longer.

Only Eddie had actually attended the ceremony. Corroded Coffin had been nominated (again) for the work they did on a score, just to lose (again) to whatever summer blockbuster had swept all the awards. He would have blown it off entirely except this year he’d also been drafted to do a surprise guitar solo during Ryan Gosling’s performance of “I’m Just Ken.”

It was already trending everywhere, everyone calling it the highlight of the night. Just another day in the life of the legendary frontman.

Steve, as usual, just showed up to the afterparty with his hairy tits out to do some brief and semi-chaotic interviews while you dutifully shuffled along behind him with the rest of the assistants and publicists. Except when they were dismissed for the evening, their jobs done for the night, you found yourself being dragged from the crowd to some isolated corner of the vast venue.

“Thought I’d never get my hands on you,” he’d groaned, sounding practically feral in your ear. “Can’t wait to get this dress off you…maybe I should just tear it in half, huh?”

He grinned into your throat as he kissed his way down your neck and then back up to your lips, his teeth nipping lightly at your skin as he went. His mouth slid all and fast and rough against yours, like he was trying to mess up your lipstick.

You’d joked to him once that it was “fuck-proof” and he’d apparently taken that as a challenge.

That was how Eddie found the two of you when he grew bored of the party—hidden away in the far corner, your fingers all twisted up in Steve’s messy hair, his hands rucking up your skirt as he palmed your ass only to grip your waist and spin you around when he saw Eddie was watching.

The sight of him in his Tom Ford suit, a slimmer and sleeker cut than Steve’s slouchy seventies get-up, made your chest swell and your heart pound as he strode forward to cage you in between he and Steve’s bodies.

“She’s been working so hard all night,” Steve tutted as he took your earlobe between his teeth and raked them across the soft flesh. “I’d say she deserves a break, wouldn’t you?”

“Definitely,” Eddie groaned, his hand now fully beneath your dress, his fingers expertly dancing across the crease of your thigh until they found the warmth and wetness he sought.

You couldn’t help but gasp as Steve’s hands snaked around to press against your stomach, feeling how it quivered under his splayed palms as he gave a short thrust of his hips. Eddie’s nose brushed your cheek, his face getting as close to yours as he could without it actually touching it, your breaths mixing as his lips hovered in the space a kiss would occupy.

Legs like jelly nearly gave out beneath you, body held up only by Steve’s grasp as Eddie’s fingers slipped inside of you, fitting there like it was the only place they were ever meant to be.

Music that boomed over the speakers and the sounds of the crowd thankfully drowned out the moan you released from deep in your chest, your hands coming up to clutch at the lapels of Eddie’s suit and knocking diamond brooch pinned there to the floor. His lips were at your ear now, more shivers still rippling down your spine.

“Careful with the merchandise, sweetheart” he whispered, a coy smile curling across his lips. He leaned in closer, his cock now pressing insistently into your hip while Steve’s own was digging harder into the plushness of your ass.

“Yes, s-sir,” you whimpered and instantly let your hands fall to your sides.

“You better have them pull the car around, Stevie,” Eddie grunted, his face etched with a need that matched your own, his fingers reaching deeper inside of you, curling up to find that spot that had your knees buckling while his thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit.

“How’s that sound, honey?” Steve asked, his deep voice all warm and husky in your other ear. “That what you want? Are you ready for us?”

“God, yes—” you answered through your fog, lost in the sensations of their distinctive touch.

“Perfect.” Eddie smirked. “Time to take you to Paris, sweetheart.”

[yanderestarangel]

♡ 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 | 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐅𝐓𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

TW: aggressive sex, daddykink, smut, ftm reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, degradation, sex without a condom, creampie, feminine!ftm reader, himbo!reader, age gap.

Johnny Cage has always been a busy man, especially after his success as a director in the film "Mortal Kombat" after returning to the earthly plane with everything he saw on exo-earth, however, he always found a way to have time for you.

Johnny always had eyes for you, a pretty boy like you walking around backstage like a roadie helping him and the actors, with those beautiful dresses, cleavage on your breasts, perky ass, lips covered in lip gloss, high heels, impeccable makeup, hair tidy, a walking work of art.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒚, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕.

Johnny found out everything about you through your friends, and he wanted you, not just to fuck you, but to make him yours, yes, he was obsessed with you, and he knew it.

It was an ordinary day, you were inside Johnny's luxurious car, in the back seat, as always, he just wanted to be alone with you and he finally did.

"-You look beautiful today my boy, that dress looks beautiful on you, as always." -Johnny said with a smug and lewd smile, his cock was practically tearing his pants as he drove, you could feel his light brown eyes penetrating the depths of your soul, looking at your thighs in that short dress, His eyes remained fixed on you in the car mirror, his gaze almost burning with intense lust. He couldn't resist anymore, he had to touch you.

Without warning, Johnny stopped the car in a secluded area, with the engine still running. He turned to face you with a predatory smile.

"-Come here, dear. I can't resist you anymore."

You obeyed his commands, as you went to the front seat, the car's air conditioning sent goosebumps on your skin as you saw Johnny undo his belt, unzipping his black dress pants and releasing his erect, pulsing member next to the box, and it was huge, to the point where you wondered if you were going to be able to swallow it all, but you did, bending down as Johnny couldn't resist your eager mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock. He savored the feeling of your lips and tongue working magic on him, knowing he had complete control over you.

"-You're a good cocksucker, boy." -he moaned, gripping your hair tighter as he pushed deeper into your mouth.

"-You love pleasing daddy, don't you? Show me how much you want to make me cum." -As you continued to suck him, Johnny's arousal became more and more intense. He could feel his cock twitching, ready to explode inside your mouth. His grip on your hair grew tighter, guiding your movements to match his rhythm.

"-You're going to swallow every drop, boy. Drink daddy's cum like a good little slut." -His voice was low and full of authority, the sound sending shivers down your spine as you eagerly carried out his command.

The sounds of your wet mouth and the sound of the car engine filled the air, creating a sinful symphony within the tight, luxurious space, the leather seat now dirty from your wet pussy.

"-Damn, baby, you know exactly how to please me" -Johnny moaned, feeling the intensity building inside him. He couldn’t get enough of the way you were so submissive, taking him deep into your throat.

Finally, with a loud groan, Johnny released his load into your mouth, filling your with his hot, sticky cum. He watched you swallow it all, his eyes on your submissive expression. It was a sight that fueled even more desires in him.

"-Good boy, you took everything" -He praised, the satisfied tone evident in his voice. "-Now, let's go back to the mansion. Daddy Johnny has a lot more planned for you."

Johnny’s desire for you was insatiable and he wasted no time in seizing the opportunity. He carried you effortlessly in his arms, strength and dominance evident in his every movement.

With quick movements, Johnny kicked the door shut, pressing you against the wall, his hands holding your ass possessively. His eyes devoured the sight of your exposed wet pussy, the plea of your desperate body for him only fueling his arousal further, he pressed you against the nearest wall, the thud making a loud sound as Johnny pulled his cock out of his pants.

"-I knew you'd give in eventually. And now, Daddy's going to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours until you're begging for more." -Cage positioned himself at your entrance, teasing your wet folds with the tip of his throbbing cock.

"-You're a filthy little himbo, craving my cock deep inside you, I'm going to make you cum so hard, boy." -Johnny finally pushed himself inside you, his thick cock stretching you to his limit. The feeling of him filling you completely sent an electrifying wave of pleasure running through your body.

He began to move with purpose, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one hitting all the right spots. His hands gripped your ass tightly, keeping you pinned against the wall as he fucked you relentlessly.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your moans of pleasure and Johnny's grunts of satisfaction. He didn't hold back, giving you everything you wanted, every moment of your needy cries and the way his body trembled under his touch.

He continued to thrust into you with a slow, deliberate pace, savoring the tightness and heat that engulfed his cock with each movement.

"-Take it, baby. Take all of daddy's big dick. You're doing so well, pleasing daddy like a good little slut, You're daddy's good boy, a silly himbo with a tight little pussy made just for me."

The sight of your pussy dripping onto the expensive marble floor only fueled your excitement even more making Johnny's cock throb even more inside your pussy, slamming the head of his cock hard into your womb.

"-Cum for me, baby. Show daddy how much you love being fucked." -Johnny speaks in his ear while he felt the bulge of his own cock in his belly.

And with that, you let go, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you, your body shaking in ecstasy as you climaxed. Johnny continued to fuck you through your orgasm, prolonging the intensity of your pleasure.

He finally released his cum inside you, your body shuddering with your own climax. Johnny Cage held you tightly against the wall and his body. With a smug smile, Johnny pulled away, slowly pulling out of you as his cum fell out of your pussy and onto the floor.

And he looked at you with a satisfied look.

"-That's what it means to be a good daddy's boy, clean yourself up honey, Daddy Johnny will take care of you. And then... we'll see what other ways I can make you scream later."

© YANDERESTARANGEL

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part One

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

While your journeys are very different, fate brings both you and Major John Egan to Stalag VIIA in Moosburg, Germany.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Descriptions of Aerial Combat and Plane Crash, Reader Injury (2nd Degree Burns), Death, Blood, Gore, Angst, John Egan Injury, Forced March, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7531

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January 8, 1945

A cacophony of thunderous explosions and shrieking metal shredded your restful state where you lay perched on the bottom stretcher in the back of a C-47, desperately trying to recover from the routine 0400 wake-up that came on mission days before your arrival at the advance airfield where some eighteen wounded men would come under your care. As the plane lurched and shuddered again, you bolted upright, cracking your head on the middle stretcher above you with a sharp expletive as the rows of jerry cans that you had helped load to fight off pre-flight jitters rattled against the floor where they were strapped down.

You had never experienced flak before. You had trained for the possibility of it at the School of Air Evacuation in Bowman Field, Kentucky, but the reality of it was something entirely different. Watching pinpricks of daylight appear through the alarmingly thin skin of the aircraft flooded your mouth with the bitter taste of adrenaline, your heart pounding violently as it prepared to fight or flee – but given that you were thousands of feet in the air, neither of those options were really available to you. Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled along the narrow path between the supplies that had been crammed onto the plane to be left at the front, to be traded for wounded patients on landing, and tried to get to the nose of the plane. Tried to get to cockpit where Major Roy and Captain Mercer were, pilot and co-pilot – the senior officers. They would surely know what to do.

Grateful for the decision to add your sheepskin flight jacket and gloves to your uniform of olive drab jacket and slacks with shirt and tie, a garrison cap pinned onto your sensibly styled hair, you still felt a shiver run through you despite the added warmth as you neared the radioman Warren and the brand new, baby-faced navigator Schmidt. With brown eyes wide as saucers and freckles splattered haphazardly across his face, you would not have believed the boy to be a day over fifteen. Given the fact that the plane had wandered into the range of enemy guns, your suspicions were growing all the more likely. Turning to see the back of your surgical technician, Fitzgibbons, blocking the entry into cockpit, you were about to tap his shoulder when a shower of wet, hot viscera splattered across you from the left – the only trace of Warren that remained, as a ragged hole in the fuselage now replaced his radio operator’s position.

You were vaguely aware of someone screaming, not realizing the haunting and horrified noise was emanating from your throat until Fitzgibbons grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you firmly.

“Lieutenant!” He shouted, seemingly exasperated with you. “Are you hurt?!”

Snapping your mouth shut, you smeared your hands across your face and down your body, shaking your head as the acrid smell of fuel flooded your nostrils, returning your senses to you. You quickly looked to Schmidt on your right, worried he might have been in the line of fire, and frowned to see him trying to yank a sizeable piece of metal from his shoulder.

“No, don’t!” You shouted firmly and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall above him, quickly padding the penetrating object with gauze and wrapping it, finding the purpose and procedure of it steadying. “It’ll keep the bleeding slow, ok? Keep it in, Schmitty.” You offered what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but with the remnants of Warren, mixed with the contents of the fuel tanks, splattered across you, who was to say what image you presented in that moment.

“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault Ma’am, we shouldn’t even be here, got lost in the clouds an…” He began to blubber, and the plane shuddered and lurched again as Mercer tried banking out of the hail of flak, fairly dumping you into his lap.

“Easy now, easy…” You cleared your throat as it began to burn with irritation, lifting your head to see smoke billowing in from the hole in the fuselage.

“That’s it, we’re bailing out!” Roy yelled from the cockpit as he hit the bailout bell and Fitzgibbons quickly collected your parachutes, but you insisted on sending Schmidt down the aisle and out the door behind the wing first, given that he was injured.

“You know what to do Schmitty, try not to land on that shoulder.” You nodded firmly as you strapped your parachute on, fumbling slightly due to shaking hands and your thick gloves, but the repetition during your training paid off with your eventual success.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded before seeming to vanish out the side of the plane.

“Sergeant.” You turned to Fitzgibbons, but he shook his head.

“You may outrank me Ma’am but you’re still a lady.” He muttered stubbornly, gesturing insistently toward the door.

“Get a move on!” Came Mercer’s impatient cry from the now-distant cockpit and you glared at Fitzgibbons.

The smoke that had been curling around you ignited then, a wall of flame licking through the air, fixing to separate Fitzgibbons from the door. A look of pure terror crossed his face – in a plane loaded with fuel, carrying dozens of jerry cans and tanks of oxygen, fire was certain death. Gripping the doorframe tightly with your right hand, you flung your left forward in advance of the encroaching, fierce heat, somewhat protected by the leather you wore, though the searing pain on your wrist assured you the flames had still found a way through. Grasping the surgical technician by the collar, you yanked him toward you just before the oppressive wall of fire sealed off the front half of the plane, checking that he nor his parachute were alight before shoving him out the door. You did not wait long to follow him.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as the sleeve of your jacket was smoldering, the leather hardening and shrinking, the fleece on the inside trapping agonizing heat against your flesh. But your first priority was gravity. Yanking on the ripcord, you cried out at the sharp jolt from your midsection as the parachute caught the air and flung you upward before you began a gentle descent. Then you were able to begin frantically smacking at your coat, trying in vain to stop further injury. But it was not the leather itself that was burning, rather the fuel that coated the surface of it, and it refused to be put out. You had to get the damn thing off.

At last the disorienting cloud gave way to mercifully flat Italian farmland, the ground rushing up to meet your feet. You punched the harness free from your chest, yanking off your gloves, and wrestling free of your coat before stumbling forward toward the sound of a nearby stream, collapsing onto your chest to submerge the screaming flesh of your arm into the icy water. The relief of it drew a soft sob from your throat. The sliver of skin that had been exposed between your sleeve and glove was already starting to blister, would surely scar. You could not see the rest of your forearm trapped beneath your uniform sleeve, but it might have faired somewhat better.

You could have happily lay there for all of eternity, numbing the agonized nerve endings in your arm, but the sharp press of a rifle muzzle between your shoulder blades brought an abrupt end to your moment of bliss.

“Up.” A sharp command was issued in an angry, accented voice and you carefully, if awkwardly, raised up onto your knees with your hands in the air, turning to face the man.

The German soldier’s eyes widened, and his jaw hung slightly open for a moment, his shock more than evident as you revealed yourself to be a woman, before a hardened mask fell over his features once more. He gestured sharply with his rifle for you to rise to your feet and you were quick to obey. He stepped forward, reaching out as if to search you and then stopped, once again looking to your face.

You had read a pamphlet once, on what to do if you were captured. At the time, the situation had seemed utterly preposterous and unlikely, but standing face to face with a German solider in the middle of occupied Italy, you were suddenly grateful you remember something of what to do. You gave him your name followed by,

“Second lieutenant. N-741432.”

“Leutnant?” He muttered, nose crinkling, but his gaze moved to the gold butter bar on first your right shoulder and then your left, the second lieutenant’s insignia. His eyes narrowed further to see the silver wings on your left breast with the prominent N denoting your status as a Flight Nurse. “Schwester…”

The first bit of German was easy to extrapolate, sounded very much like the English version of your rank, but the second sounded like ‘sister’ more than anything else and you were not entirely certain what he was trying to communicate. He seemed finished with the conversation when he motioned to the left with his rifle.

“Go.”

And so you went, keeping your arms raised despite the arching protest of the left, past the still-smoldering remains of your flight jacket and your gloves, past your parachute tumbling across the field on the icy breeze, towards a group of two more German soldiers who seemed equally shocked as your face came into view. You supposed the slacks and loose fit of your jacket made it difficult from a distance to determine that you were a woman, but each of them was quick to smother their reactions as soon as they were revealed. One of the new fellows, so blond he barely had eyebrows, motioned for you to drop your hands and you were barely able to conceal your pain in doing so.

A flurry of Germany left his lips, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion before he gestured at the wet sleeve of your jacket. “Hurt?”

Nodding emphatically, you swallowed, pulling the fabric up slightly to reveal some of the blistered skin. The three men turned to one another, and a rather heated debate ensued, or at least that was the impression you gleaned from their tones of voice and body language, before the loudest among them seemed to prevail.

“You, come, medic.” He grasped your uninjured elbow and led you through the field on a slightly different vector toward a semi-ruined barn where several German soldiers were receiving treatment.

A soldier bearing a white armband with the Geneva cross came over when your guide beckoned and after their brief exchange, gestured for you to take a seat on an old barrel. Taking a pair of scissors, the medic carefully cut through your jacket and shirt, revealing angry, blistered skin all the way up to your elbow. Very gently, your arm was bandaged before he offered you a couple of pills that you did not recognize, and you refused them with a soft shake of the head. He shrugged and tucked them back into his pocket.

“Go, schwester.”

You frowned and pointed at yourself. “Schwester?”

The medic nodded and pointed to your golden nurse’s Caduceus insignias pinned to the lower lapels of your jacket and your eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, nurse.” You muttered quietly and stood. “Thank you.” Nodding to the medic, you followed the soldier out of the farmhouse as you rolled up the ruined ends of your sleeves to keep them from flapping obnoxiously.

What followed was a seemingly endless amount of walking, your entire body beginning to shake with cold and shock, as the soldier sought out his commanding officer. Everything felt surreal, the sound of battle so close at hand, German soldiers all around you, casting repetitive glances your way – it felt as though you had stumbled into the wrong side of a John Wayne film. When, at last, you plodded into the correct house on the outskirts of a small village, you were unspeakably grateful for the fire roaring in the hearth behind the desk of the imposing German officer who glared down his nose at you.

“Too bad you’re a woman…” He muttered in startlingly good English, making it your turn to look on in shock as your legs threatened to give out. “I suppose you also only know name, rank, serial number?”

Clenching your jaw, you nodded stubbornly, trying not to let your face betray the way your heart lurched hopefully at the word ‘also’ and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You can put the contents of your pockets in here.” He held out a small burlap sack and you frowned, but obediently surrendered your favorite tube of lipstick, the four spare hairpins you always carried around, and your change purse – things all stored in your uniform jacket as you found the pockets of the flight jacket too unreliable for storage anyway. Satisfied you were carrying nothing more, he nodded to the man behind you and issued an order in German.

It was difficult to convince your legs into motion again as you were led down to a grimy root cellar with a dirt floor and only one window letting in little light. You had never seen a more welcome sight in your entire life as Schmidt and Mercer lifted their faces to meet you, their equally grimy and worn-out but elated expressions quickly blurring behind tears of relief that mortifyingly flooded your eyes. Dabbing them away, you quickly moved to Schmidt’s side and frowned to see he still had the remnants of your hasty bandage job and the piece of shrapnel in place, seemingly not afforded the same medical care you had been.

“Shit, Schmitty, they didn’t do a thing for you did they.” Kneeling beside him you began to unravel the bandages and gauze. “This needs to come out, then. Captain, would you mind holding him still, sir?”

“I’ve got him.” He nodded and grabbed the boy’s hands as you took a steadying breath.

Wrapping your fingers around the protruding end of the warped, jagged piece of metal, you began to carefully pull it from his shoulder, angling it forward as an uneven, wider piece was revealed on the end. Schmidt did an admirable job of relegating his protests to whimpers and murmurs of ‘oh god,’ only letting out one great yelp as you pulled the last of it free. You would have preferred to flush the wound with something, but there was no water available. Encouragingly, though, there was no great gush of blood.

“You did so good, Schmitty.” You smiled broadly and frowned a moment at the filthy bandages you had removed from him before beginning to unravel the relatively clean ones from your own arm.

“M…Ma’am!” He protested, voice cracking as he saw the state of your skin.

“You’re at much higher risk of infection than me, Sergeant, I won’t take any argument.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this?” Captain Mercer arched one of his rather elegant, black eyebrows and you swallowed.

“I’m sorry sir, but not when it comes to medical treatment. Besides, they went out of their way to bandage me once, maybe they’ll do it again.” You muttered and tied off the dressing on Schmidt. “Let me know if it gets hot or more painful, ok?”

He nodded quickly, settling back against the wall and you followed suit, feeling quite fatigued, sore, and to your surprise, hungry. Resting your throbbing arm atop your knee, you leaned your head back against the bricks of the foundation, closing your eyes to listen to the scuff of jackboots across the floorboards above you. Your mind wanted to whirl like a top, to turn questions over and over like ‘Where are we?’ ‘What will they do with us?’ ‘How long will they keep us down here?’ ‘Where are Fitz and Roy?’ but it would just be a waste of energy. Your fate was no longer in your hands and what would happen next would come no matter how hard you dwelt upon it.

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs scraping across the worn floor had all three of your heads snapping up as three sets of feet tromped down into the cellar. It was difficult to hold back your smile as Fitzgibbons peered out from between two German soldiers, the first gesturing for him to join you all on the floor while the other set down a tin plate of thick slices of dark bread covered with thin smears of margarine and four mugs of bitter smelling, black coffee. The first soldier crouched down and pointed at your arm, speaking in German.

“I needed bandages.” You pointed at Schmidt, and he frowned, either not understanding, or unimpressed. Perhaps both.

He straightened with a huff before digging around in his woolen jacket to produce a thick, rectangular bundle, tossing it at you. The two of them then retreated upstairs, shutting the door firmly behind them. Fitzgibbons was on you almost immediately, grasping the folded bandage to unravel it curiously.

“This does not look good, Lieutenant.” He looked at your arm pointedly and you huffed.

“Schmitty was worse off, Fitz, needs must.” You muttered but held out your arm without further protest as he quickly familiarized himself with the foreign bandage and carefully wrapped as much of your burn as he could.

“Thank you for what you did, Ma’am.” He murmured, voice barely audible, and you shook your head quickly.

“You’d have done the same.”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, gaze filled with a vulnerable uncertainty, and you squeezed his shoulder with your free hand.

“Let’s eat something you two.” Mercer chimed in once he had finished bandaging you and the four of you descended on the plate of food, which tasted a lot better than it appeared. The coffee was just as bitter as it smelled, but was hot and that was entirely welcome.

After the plate was emptied, Fitzgibbons looked to Mercer slowly. “Roy?”

The Captain shook his head and you swallowed your gulp of coffee painfully – of the six of you that had left the airstrip outside Rome that morning only four had made it. Two of you were injured, and your journey had most certainly only just begun now that you were captives of the German army.

As the slim shaft of light that penetrated the cellar began to fade, your companions were fetched one by one for individual questioning by the German officer who had greeted you upon your arrival. When it at last came to your turn, the sun was well set, and though you tried to pay more attention to the detail of the rustic country house, it was hard to pick out much in the low light of the sporadically placed candles.

There was a chair waiting for you opposite the desk this time and you sank into it gratefully, every muscle in your body tight with pain as it felt distinctly like someone was rubbing sandpaper over your superheated flesh with every movement you made.

“I’m terribly sorry about your radioman and pilot, must have been horribly shocking to see such things. What a terrible day you’ve endured Lieutenant.”

Shifting quietly in your chair, you shook your head as he offered a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes – surely confiscated from one of your crew members as they were not so readily available in occupied Italy.

“Is there anything I can get you to ease your discomfort? Blankets? A coat? More bandages?”

Pressing your lips together in a thin line you dropped your gaze to your lap, focusing on filling your lungs to a count of three before slowly exhaling, then repeating the process. Each offer of comfort, each word of kindness was horridly tempting and yet the source also filled you with revulsion.

“It’s a far cry from Lido De Roma where you’re going, no beaches or sea air…” Your head jerked up in shock and a slow, devious smile curled onto the German officer’s thin lips as his mention of the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron’s posting finally garnered a reaction from you. “I hope you like the Alps, Lieutenant. You will see them on your way by.”

Tears of shame pricked the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously, looking to the side. Slamming his leather-clad palms flat onto the desk, you jumped and eyed him warily as he stood slowly. “If you have nothing of value to add, then?”

Inhaling slowly you repeated your name, rank, and serial number one last time – much to his ire – before he barked out an order to have you removed from the warmth of his office and returned to the cellar. This process was repeated several times at random intervals throughout the night, the four of you taking turns resting and watching for the unfriendly arrival of an errand boy soldier to haul you upstairs for another ‘chat’ with their English-speaking officer. Sometimes he was friendly, other times he was intimidating. Once he simply sat opposite you in the near-dark and glowered.

Eventually, time or patience ran out and just as the grey light of dawn began to permeate the misty winter morning, the four of you were marched as a group up the stairs and loaded into the back of a canvas-covered truck partially filled with crates. Wedging yourselves into what open spaces you could find, you had barely sat down before the vehicle lurched into motion and began its long and jolting ride to your next destination. The sun was much higher in the sky by the time you arrived at a small train station, emerging into midday, the mists long burned away. Herded across the tracks towards a cattle car, you were startled to see a group of other American soldiers – infantrymen, being loaded in.

“Up.” Came the command from the German soldier at your back and you reached up gratefully for the broad hand of corporal already in the car who helped hoist you inside.

“How the heck did you wind up here?! Ma’am…” He quickly tacked on, and you could not help but laugh a little at the bewildered expression on his face, shuffling further into the car as the last of your comrades were loaded in.

“Well the long and the short of it is, we ran into a bit of trouble during our flight…”

Captain Mercer scoffed as he came to stand behind you. “You could say that again, Lieutenant.”

The space was suddenly plunged into darkness as the door was slid shut and barred closed. You nearly toppled over as the train jostled forward, thanking Fitzgibbons as he steadied you. You embarked on a seemingly endless journey in darkness as the train ascended and descended, stopped and started, climbed and came down across unknown landscape. It was nigh impossible to see through the thin gaps between the slats of the car itself, but you knew from your ‘conversations’ with the officer that you were crossing the Alps. Could feel the air grow cold as you huddled closer to the men around you for what warmth you could glean as your breath hung from your lips in foggy exhales.

Your bladder ached until you could no longer deny needing to use the squalid bucket in the corner. Mercer, Fitzgibbons, and Schmidt formed a human wall with their backs to you, loudly clearing their throats as you took quite possibly the longest piss in the history of womankind. With that basic need met, the ravening hunger set in. Those slices of bread were long digested by the time the train came to a stop and disgorged the lot of you, blinking into the daylight like mole-people, squinting for signage.

“Moosburg.” Mercer muttered under his breath, and you hugged your arms tightly around yourself as you stumbled through the snow to form two lines as instructed by new soldiers whose uniforms sported the double lightning symbol of the SS.

You would had never thought it possible to envy a dead man, but standing there shivering in the snow as cruel-faced men in well-cut uniforms marched up and down the lines with their snarling dogs, you wondered if perhaps it would not have been better if that piece of flak had taken you out at the same time it had struck Warren. You were not entirely certain if you were strong enough for what was to come.

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April 11, 1945

Every step was an agony. It was remarkable, really, how many injuries two goons had managed to inflict on Bucky’s body in the brief moments between Buck’s escape and Lieutenant Colonel Clark’s intervention. At least two of his ribs were cracked by the butt of that rifle, severely hampering his ability to breathe properly. Then there had been the sharp kick to the back of his calf, wrenching his knee. The coupe-de-grace had been the left hook to his jaw, shredding the inside of his lower lip across his teeth and flooding his mouth with blood. If Clark had not called them off with the threat of riot, Bucky was not entirely sure he would have made it out of that village.

As it was, he had barely made it off the floor of the church the next night, requiring a great deal of prodding from DeMarco. Teeth gritted against the raw ache in every limb, every joint, he had risen to his feet through sheer force of will, knowing the alternative was a bullet to the brain. Somehow even though Buck was well on his way back to the American lines – by god he truly hoped so – Bucky could not face the thought of disappointing him by dying like that and so he had persisted. Had kept putting one foot in front of the other as they had trudged through the mud, crossing the Danube, putting another twenty kilometres between them and Nuremberg.

It had not made it any easier to keep up, however. Bucky had felt himself slowing, felt his body refusing to keep pace with the rest of the men. Every time he had lifted his eyes from the boots of those in front of him plodding through the endless muck, he had been surrounded by different faces. As he had neared the back of the group, lightheaded from pain and lack of oxygen, he had taken a second glance as he realized the faces around him were those of Brady, Cruikshank, DeMarco, Murphy, and Hamilton – all men from the Hundredth. All had been keeping pace with him.

“We’re almost at 20, Bucky.” Brady had murmured quietly under his breath, glancing back at the pair of goons bringing up the rear.

“Keep it up.” Cruikshank had nodded encouragingly.

By some miracle he had made it into the half-collapsed warehouse, crawling into a corner that was still partially covered by its patchy roof and had promptly fallen asleep. There had been a gentle prodding against his shoulder sometime later, daylight filtering in through the dust motes drifting thickly in the air and an offering of bread had been waved in front of his face. He had pushed it away clumsily before falling back asleep. Bucky’s next return to consciousness had been with his arms slung across the shoulders of DeMarco and Brady, a great amount of protest falling from their lips about the size of him.

It had been dark again. Darkness meant more walking and so he had awkwardly planted his feet. Relieved sighs had filled his ears from both his companions as the three of them worked together to propel him out of there and down the muddy road. Night had yielded to the hazy light of dawn and at last a sea of barbed wire fences, clapboard buildings and canvas tents came into view. Bucky had quite honestly never been so pleased to see a Stalag in his entire existence.

“Almost there.” Groaned Hamilton, who had since switched off with DeMarco, though the stalwart Brady had yet to budge from beneath his right arm.

As they stepped through the gates into the main courtyard, Bucky lifted his head to eye Clark blearily. “Guess they’re not gonna process us.” His words were slightly slurred as he tried to present his usual level of joviality, but the man’s brows only furrowed deeply in response.

“Get him to the hospital immediately.”

There was a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and some hesitation before Hamilton and Brady got their bearings, but then they were on the move again. Bucky’s legs were barely responding by this point, toes mostly dragging through the incessant muddy landscape that seemed a consistent feature of every Stalag he’d had the misfortune of visiting thus far. As his vision began to go fuzzy, black dots eating away at it while it simultaneously began to dim at the edges, Bucky began to worry this might be his last camp.

“Put him right there please.”

Bucky tried to swing his head towards the most musical sound he had heard in over a year, but Hamilton and Brady were turning him to lay on his stomach, rambling about the broken ribs on his back and all he could see were worn wooden floorboards. Until suddenly your gorgeous face flooded his vision as you knelt beside his cot, your shockingly feminine fingers cradling his face to gently turn it and ensure he was not smothered in the pillow.

The style of your hair, the lashes framing your eyes, the cupid’s bow of your upper lip – the unmistakable womanliness of you; it made his heart ache.

“Must be in heaven…” He slurred as there was certainly no way he could be alive anymore. Women did not exist in this reality of underfed men and murderous goons.

“They got you good, Major, but you’re still very much with us.” You smiled warmly up at him, and he groaned out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re killing me, angel face.” He wheezed, lips clumsy and barely responsive, before promptly blacking out.

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Your heart plummeted as you watched his eyelids fall, shuttering those stunning, if exhausted, blue eyes, terrified you had lost another one before you even had the chance to try and save him. Fingers delving beneath the collar of his shirt, you were greatly relieved to find his strong pulse. Holding your cheek in front of his notably plush lips, the bottom one all the more pronounced by his recent injury, you were even more encouraged to feel the caress of his steady breathing. Sitting back on your heels, you nodded up to his mismatched pair of friends reassuringly.

“Did he just call her ‘angelfish?’” The blond one with angular features and a mouthful of gold muttered as they watched over their friend protectively but also seeming shocked, as everyone before them had been, to find an American woman in a POW camp.

“Maybe he was going for ‘angel face?’” The brunette with sturdy eyebrows replied in a hushed voice.

“Are you gentlemen in need of anything?” You asked, fighting hard against the amused smile that wanted to break through. They were truly a distraction when you had a patient in need of attention before you.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Ma’am” They shuffled off to leave you to your work.

Taking a moment to assess the length and breadth of your patient, you carefully worked off his leather flight jacket before untucking his uniform shirt and undershirt to reveal the deep purple bruises on his back. His friends had been very right to be worried about broken ribs – at least three by the span of the contusion. Kneeling back down you looked over his face once more, gently lifting his head to inspect both cheeks and confirm the bones were all intact. There did not appear to be anything in need of bandaging. It was most likely that undernourishment, the march, and the broken ribs all compounded to extreme exhaustion.

“What do we have here, Nurse?”

You looked up as Major Chalmers, a British surgeon, and head of the hospital emerged from one of the exam rooms. He had been a resident POW of Stalag VIIA for nearly eight months when you arrived in January, happily surrendering one of his exam rooms to become your separate quarters in return for your work in the camp hospital. It was an arrangement that benefited both of you, kept you safe and out of the male population and occupied the long and lonely hours that seemed to pass at their own pace in this place.

Chalmers had done what he could to care for your burned arm, re-bandaging it daily. However, by the time he had been able to start giving it proper care, the damage had already been done. The skin was now permanently mottled by scars, unnaturally smooth, with a texture akin to crumpled cellophane. You were always very mindful to keep your mended sleeve down to your wrist. It was not all that difficult to cover your shame when the rest of your wardrobe consisted of standard men’s POW wear from the Red Cross – the sweaters draping over half your hands and the winter coat blissfully warm but nearly swallowing you whole.

It was only due to Chalmers’ temerity that anyone walked away from the camp hospital at all. With supplies chronically low, men were dying of the most preventable and treatable things. All you could do most of the time was put on a brave face and hold their hand, give them a little comfort at the end. Even Schimdt, despite your best efforts, had found his shoulder wound quickly beset with infection in the less than sanitary environment. Penicillin was non-existent here and he had faded fast, lost in a feverish delirium as you held tight to his hand, watching the light fade from his burning eyes. Your brave façade was second nature to you by this point, showing itself more often than your real, bedraggled self who only showed her face in the cold isolation of your locked exam-room-turned-solo-combine at night.

“Newly arrived American Major, force marched over eight days, beaten two nights ago. At least three broken ribs, damage to lower lip, abrasions to the face and contusions to the back but nothing else I can see. Pulse is strong, breathing is steady, but lost consciousness almost as soon as we laid him down, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Chalmers made a noise of displeasure at the last and conducted his own exam, digging out one of the makeshift charts to add some notes before glancing at his watch. “Do we know when he last ate?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head.

“Alright, I want you to sit with him and keep an eye on his vitals. Hopefully, he’s simply sleeping this off, but I want you to get some water and broth in him as soon as he wakes up alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Collecting the requisite liquids, you settled onto the sliver of floor space between the Major’s cot and his neighbor’s, working at folding some boiled and dried bandages, now ready for re-use. The actual hospital itself was unspeakably crowded, men nearly stacked atop one another around a small cast iron stove. Originally built for 10,000, the camp’s population had been well over that when you had arrived in January and seemed to multiply every week now. Things had become so dire, a tent hospital had been erected adjacent to the building you lived and worked in to allow for the treatment of more men. It was crowded and ripe, and even surrounded by all these humans you still felt alone as the sole representative of your sex.

As you pulled each strand of once-white fabric from the basket, carefully rolling and tucking the ends to form neat bundles, you studied the unconscious man’s face. Errant dark curls were dangling across his tall forehead and the most absurd and yet endearing dusting of hair graced his upper lip. Clearly, he was going for a Clark Gable, but it was not quite there. Even with one ear poking a mile out to the side, however, you swallowed tightly as you realized you would not change a thing about him. Taken individually his attributes seemed odd, yet combined to make an incredibly handsome whole. Not to mention his feet were dangling off the end of his cot, his shoulders barely contained by the sides of it. If he woke up, no when he woke up, he was going to be a devastating sight to behold.

Reaching the midway point of your task, you slid forward onto your knees to check his vitals, pleased they were holding steady and noting so on the chart, before settling back onto the floor. You had nearly reached the bottom of the basket when a pair of boots entered the hospital. Not German, you had long since become familiar with the way jackboots reverberated across wooden floorboards. Most likely American or British. Peering around the end of the bed your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of a silver oak leaf – a Lieutenant Colonel! That was the highest rank you had yet to encounter in camp.

Struggling to disentangle yourself from your laundry and not kick over your patient’s waiting fluids in the process of trying to rise to your feet and accord the man the proper greeting that his rank entitled him, you looked up startled as he addressed you first.

“At ease, Nurse.”

He was the first man to seem utterly unfazed by your presence and you somehow found that unspeakably reassuring.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“How is Major Egan?” He peered down at the still very much asleep man.

“Major Chalmers, our Surgeon, is certain it is no more than a case of exhaustion and he will recover with rest and fluids upon waking. He’s just down the hallway behind you there if you’d like to speak to him yourself, sir.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he glanced over his shoulder before looking back to you. “The Red Cross knows you’re here?”

“I filled out the card when I arrived in January, sir.” You nodded.

“Where have they put you?”

“Converted one of the exam rooms, sir. I eat, sleep, bathe separately.”

“Good.” He nodded in return, seeming quite satisfied with your answer. “Name’s Clark, please find me if you need anything.”

“Thank you very much, Colonel.” You smiled warmly, feeling strangely fragile as the warmth of it actually emanated from deep inside you rather than a mask plastered on for the comfort of the recipient.

Dismissing himself from your presence with one sharp nod, he turned to follow your directions down the hall, most likely in search of Chalmers. Turning back to eye your patient, Major Egan, you sighed a little as he remained blissfully unconscious, lips parted against the thin pillow to allow heavy exhales to fall rhythmically. There was little change to his condition as the sun made its way across the sky before hovering at the horizon, preparing to set. Your dinner was delivered to the bedside and there was a rather heated exchange between Chalmers, Clark, and a few of the guards before they conceded you could remain unlocked for the night to keep an eye on your fragile patient. This Lieutenant Colonel was obviously not someone to be trifled with.

You waved off Chalmers when he asked if you were up to the task, taking advantage of his presence to make a quick bathroom run and fetch a blanket before returning to your post. It was your first night spent amongst others in months, their soft snores and nightly noises combining with the sound of rain pattering onto the ramshackle roof to do their very best to pull you under into sleep. The downward slide of your eyelids was halted abruptly by the first vocalization from Major Egan since his contested term of endearment – angel face? Angelfish? Whatever it had been, silence had since reigned over his mouth until he began to mutter and emit soft sounds of protest, his features tense and furrowed. Shifting up onto your knees, you lay one hand over his clenched fist, trying to smooth the crease in his brow with the thumb of your other.

“It’s alright Major Egan, you’re safe.” You soothed in a hushed whisper, hoping to dispel whatever unseen terror was plaguing his thus far peaceful sleep.

He shifted slightly in response, lips smacking a little as his hand moved with alarming speed to engulf yours in a tight grip and hold it close to the side of his chest. Barely smothering your gasp of surprise, you held your breath a moment until he stilled completely, features relaxing and breath evening out as he slipped deeper into sleep once more. Exhaling slowly you gnawed on your lip a moment before shifting to sit on the floor with your back against the cot, hand still very much held captive by his. Allowing yourself to drift a little more, quite certain any movement on his part would now alert you to his wakening, you barely noticed the hourly checks the goons were making on you – clearly uneasy about having you roam free amongst the hospital patients, but for whatever reason Clark’s demands had been honored and it was a refreshing change around here.

It was just before dawn of the following day when Major Egan began to shuffle and groan behind you, your hand slipping free from his. You straightened stiffly, turn to watch him roll onto his uninjured side and take stock of his surroundings.

“Good morning, Major, have a good rest?” You asked quietly, hoping not to wake the others sleeping around him.

His head immediately snapped down towards you and he eyed you in bewilderment once again. “I thought you were a hallucination.” He rumbled, voice roughened by disuse.

You smirked slightly and nodded. “I got that impression. Thirsty?”

He bobbed his head in a small nod, and you slid to your feet, grasping his elbows to help him sit up. Grabbing the mug from the ground, you offered it to him, only allowing him to take a small sip before pulling it back. He blinked at you sluggishly for a moment before you offered him the mug again. After three limited sips, which he clearly found frustrating, you allowed him to keep hold of the mug as you wrapped your fingers around his thick wrist to track his pulse.

“How long was I out?” He asked once you were finished noting your findings on his chart.

“Almost a day. Seems as though you really needed the rest. Ready to try a little broth?” You smiled as he nodded once more and picked up the other mug from the ground. “I saved you some, I’ll get it warmed up.”

He slowly lay back down as you took the mug of broth over to the stove in the centre of the room and set it on top, swirling the liquid until it was steaming and then decanting it into his now empty water mug so it would not burn his hands. As you returned to his bedside, he leveraged himself up with barely concealed, painful effort and you frowned as you set the mug in his hands.

“I’m here to help with that, Major.”

“Please,” he took a sip of the steaming liquid, “call me Bucky.”

You smiled and introduced yourself properly as well before your lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “But do feel free to keep calling me angelfish, I certainly haven’t gotten that one before.”

He choked a little on his next sip, giving you a rueful albeit lazy smirk. “Kick a man when he’s down why don’t ya, angelfish.”

You were unsuccessful in smothering your answering giggle, several of the men around you muttering and tossing restlessly as you had accidentally woken them. Bucky pressed a long finger to his lips teasingly before turning back to his broth, slowly finishing it before setting the empty mug on the floor beside the low cot.

“I uh, am sure the facilities are lacking but…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and you swallowed, gesturing for him to follow you, and assessing his movements with your medically trained eye.

It was of course a test, of his balance, pain level, and energy to see how he moved across the floor and into the rustic patients’ washroom. You, of course, left him to his own devices in there, but walked him back to the bed, noting how he grew stiffer with each step.

“I’m sorry we don’t have anything for the pain.” You whispered when he lay down once more on his stomach, small grunts of discomfort escaping him.

He shook his head. “S’fine, angelfish.” He mumbled softly, sleep tugging at him again already as you tucked him in with the worn blanket.

“Rest then, Bucky.” You soothed, relieved that he was quite cognizant, able to keep his food down, and resting well.

This one might make it.

-------------------------

Read Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747

[the-kr8tor]

Horror/slasher movie actor hobie x actor reader whose the protagonist of the story 💳💳💳💥💥💥

Silly actors that meet for the first time and falls in love on a silly horror movie set

ACTOR AU!!! LET'S GOOOO!!!! (Thank you for requesting ly bestie ❤️❤️❤️)

Pairing: Actor! Hobie Brown x Actress! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, fem! Reader, no specific physical description of the reader, R is mentioned wearing make-up, Actor AU, Fame AU, CW food mentions, Pretend blood, pretend violence, Pretend death, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You run on the soft soil, sweat dripping off your brows. Your trainers sink under the earth with every step. The wet squelch behind you tells you to run faster, but your curiosity gets the best of you. With a quick look behind your shoulder, you instantly regret it as the tall masked man has gotten closer to you with his long strides.

He walks the same path you've taken like he's on a stroll in the park. His leather punk jacket and clown mask is drenched in warm blood— the blood of your fellow camp counselors, the blood of your dearly departed friends. Even with his casual movements, his entire demeanor sends a shiver down your spine. Heavy footfalls and a bloodied knife makes you run faster than your own feet could take you.

With the moonlight as your guide, the fog blanketing the dense woods, lungs burning, you trip on nothing.

“Fuck!” You shield your chin with your hand to avoid the hard impact. Hands braced, eyes closed, your face meets the moist forest floor. Dirt in your fingernails, grass in your hair, a warm hand flips you around by your shoulder and you scream loudly. The sound echoes around the dark woods, eyes wide, the killer raises his sharp knife to plunge it in your heart.

Your eyes meet the killer's eyes behind the mesh of the mask, gorgeous mismatched eyes greets your own. To your surprise, he winks and your terrified scream falters in your throat. Eyebrows knitted, hands on the villain's broad shoulders, he stabs you in between your ribcage.

“No!” Cold blood splatters out as you try to wrench away the mask from your murderer's face. With your last breath, tears in your fear filled eyes, his name falls out of your lips without a second thought. “Hobie?”

Hobie tilts his head with a playful smile, sticky blood smeared on his chiseled cheek, blue and hazel eyes staring at you fondly.

“Cut!” The director yells, and you audibly groan at your mistake. A bell rings, spotlights suddenly click open, the lights almost make you blind. The crew murmurs around as the director puts his hands on his hips. “The character’s name, darling! Not his real name,” he kneads at his temples. “Everyone take ten!” With one last frustrated groan, he walks away, entering his tent with a stomp and grumbling about changing the villain's name.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” You ask, still under your favourite co-star. “I'm sorry.” Frowning, you ready yourself for a berating.

Instead of a glare and a passive aggressive comment, Hobie wipes your cheek free of muck with his warm thumb. Eyes staring softly, his touch lingers.

“There, I just did the makeup department a favour. Not like you need it anyway.” He flashes his signature smirk, the same smirk that has people falling over themselves just to get a glimpse.

Your heart pounds loudly as he gets back on his feet, leather squeaking, he reaches down to help you up. Taking his hand, he lifts you up effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat or straining his muscles.

“Thank you.” You say fondly. The numerous spotlights above make your heart-shaped eyes sparkle.

“No problem. And you didn't fuck up, it happens to the best of us, yeah?” He pats your shoulder, and you think all the friendly late night talks in your trailer are just that, friendly. “You were doin' good, the best fuckin' scream ever. Thought my eardrums were about to burst.”

“Thank you.”

“Stop sayin’ thanks, I was just statin’ a fact, love.”

You hide your flustered face with a nod, cheeks hot. You make your way towards the wardrobe tent to get changed for the next scene where your character resurrects to help the remaining survivors. You've seen better scripts but money is money.

“Thank—” you correct yourself, chuckling as he follows you. Walking side by side, his hand brushes over your own. Hobie smiles, eyes trained where you're walking in case you unintentionally decide to method act and fall flat on your face. “You did great too, you were really scary.”

He snorts, the sound that fills you with endearment. “With this face?” Pointing at his chin, you laugh.

“I guess that's why they made you wear that god awful mask, no one would run away from you.” You push him playfully with your shoulder. “They'd run towards you instead.”

Hobie ignores all the crew scrambling around on set and the numerous cameras pointed at your back. He imagines that you're strolling at a park after a nice dinner where he bravely held your hand underneath the table.

Maybe it shouldn't remain in his mind, maybe he should just ask you, and maybe you'll say yes.

It's long overdue anyway, after two horror movies together and one comedy special, he thinks it's time to try to star in a romcom. Preferably with you.

Stopping in front of the tent, you look at him. “This is me, unless you need to change too—?” Hobie gingerly reaches for your cool hand, index finger lacing around your pinky carefully like he's able to snap it in half. “Y-yes?” You can hear your pulse quickening, you fear that your hand is sweaty and that his finger would slip away from the moist.

“Have dinner with me? A proper one where we don't eat take out in your trailer.” Hobie fakes a cough that's Oscar worthy to hide his nerves. “If you're not busy.” If you want to, he wanted to add, but he wants to remain suave in front of you. He'll save all his hidden awkwardness during the date. If you graciously accept anyway.

Your smile is brighter than the spotlights above. “I have to wear my best disguise then. Y’know, so we don't end up in a gossip mag in the morning.” Pinky lacing around his finger, you stand closer to him, toe to toe, smiles mirroring each other.

“Let me guess, it's a baseball cap with sunglasses innit?”

You giggle, “yep.”

“Leave it at home, you're not gonna need it.” His heart skips a beat at the realization of your closeness. Hobie now knows why you're the lead in most projects you're in.

Eyebrows knitted together, you tilt your head, eyelashes fluttering in the breeze. “Why?”

“The paps don't know where I live.”

[whorediaries-09]

Can I request a remus lupin x reader? Where they go to an autocinema and end making out

hi dear, thank you for sending in the request. hope you like it.

wherever i go

pairing- remus lupin x reader warning(s)- fluff, making out, suggestive. a/n- okay so i searched up what an autocinema is cause i had no idea what the heck is that 💀anyways i hope i did it justice.

the slut club valentine's day event

wherever i go there's a shadow of you

the beautiful pink and orange hues melt away to form the most beautiful sunset. but nothing matches the beauty of the hazel peripherals of the lanky male who sits near by you. his caramel brown locks reflect under the setting sun, his usually pale skin painted a dusted hue of red. he fiddles with his fingers, drawing your attention to the several rings on his long thin fingers. he's wearing one of his brown, oversized sweaters which made him look like a grandpa. a very handsome grandpa if you were being honest...

you shook your head. no you weren't supposed to look at his hands on his steering wheel. the ones you'd prefer intertwined with yours. not that you'd tell him. it would be heinous, truly, you thought if he got to know about your very inappropriate thoughts.

you slowly licked the vanilla softy you'd gotten prior driving into the autocinema. truth be told, you had no interest in the movie. the movie was a background noise, to distract yourself from your fluttering heart and your very silly thoughts.

about kissing him. about tangling your fingers through his fluffy hair. about wrapping your legs around his waist and-

'do you like the movie?' remus' voice startled you. you stared at him blankly. shit. you didn't listen to what he was saying.

'yeah yeah, the actress and actor were paired perfectly,' he stared at you, his eyes bluntly reading through you. it was no secret remus could read through people, and the quiver in your voice told him you weren't actually paying attention. it was a plain white lie, but you'd played your cards right.

but how he wished he'd know why you weren't paying attention. did you find it boring? he played with a loose frayed string on his sweater, not quite meeting your gaze. his eyes were averted towards the movie screen, but he wasn't watching. not really.

he could only think about how the sun painted your already beautiful eyes. how your skin glowed under the light, your lips smeared slightly with the softy. how the dress you'd chosen to wear hugged you in the right places, highlighting your assets.

if he could, he'd rip it apart, even though he liked how it suited you. he never liked softies, or anything more sweet than his dark chocolates and teas, but he'd love to lick the treat smeared on your lips....

'remus, you want some?' your voice caught him off guard. shit, he hadn't been listening.

'i think it's quite boring...' he drawled, trying to hide the flush that came with his shaky voice and white lie. your eyes bore into his, and he could swear his heart jumped out his poor chest. it was agonizing, too fast, when he felt your warm breath coated with the scent of vanilla and honey tingle his senses.

or maybe he forgot the ticks of the clock when you climbed onto his lap, capturing your lips with his. your weight pushed down on him, and he moaned as you grinded your hips against his, entangling your fingers into his hair, rubbing his scalp on just the right places. his felt his remaining breathes pound against his lungs when he heard your little squeak against his mouth when he squeezed your hips, pushing his clothed crotch against your core.

it was hot, dirty and filthy, a mix of teeth, tongues and saliva. he felt his soul crush, as his dreams and thoughts crushed into a realm of reality, an abyss of love and lust that made the both of your breathless. he tugged at the zipper of your dress, as he felt you push him against his seat.

he's doomed he thinks, when you leave his mouth. a string of saliva connects your lips. you're flushed, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. but there's a haze of lust with bloomed peripherals, kiss sick lips and your heaving chest. you bite your lip, encouraging him to flick the useless metal of your zipper. you want nothing but him, to feel him, to feel his skin against yours.

remus lupin was always good at reading people, after all.

[the-grimm-writer]

Hii i love your page and i was wondering... imagine billy loomis stalking you and you find yourself in a haunting adeline situation. Being chased around by him in a house of mirrors. If you don't know what i am talking about, please search "haunting adeline house of mirror". i promis you, you won't be disappointed. ANYWAYS LOVE YOU❤

I love that book so much 😭 now I wanna reread it ughh. It's one of my favorites!! And the sequel Hunting Adeline killed me, i still haven't recovered from the first half of that book :( I love you too!! 💕

Sorry this took so long! But this is perfect for Halloween <3

Warnings: Dub-con, fear play, forced orgasm, lots of reflections, some praising, fem reader

It was dead silent in the house of mirrors. Outside, you could hear the high-pitched screeches of fear followed by cheerful laughter as people ran in and out of the haunted house. It was a busy night at your local haunted carnival. Even pushing midnight, when they were supposed to be closing.

“Hello?” Your stomach dropped when you were greeted with silence. Was this part of the experience, or was someone playing some prank on you?

The deeper you walked, the more eerie everything felt. It was getting quiet and dark, seeing your warped reflections made you pause, carefully looking past yourself and trying to get any details of your surroundings.

Your breath caught in your throat when you saw something behind you. A flash passed in the corner of your eye, and you jumped, immediately turning, trying to find what it was.

Something was off. You felt it the moment you walked in and the actor at the front shut the door. It was never so dark before, and you weren't used to being alone, feeling like your reflection was taunting you, trying to trick you into believing something was there that wasn't.

The more you walked around, the more it felt like your reflection was beginning to warp. Different shapes and sizes making your head spin. You stopped walking for a moment, taking a deep breath. Your heart sped up when you saw the flash of black again, making you yelp and jump back.

It was just part of the experience you signed up for, right? What's the point of a haunt if it didn't scare you? You were scared and excited.

Looking at one of your reflections, you tried reassuring yourself. This was always your favorite thing, so why were you suddenly feeling so paranoid? Like someone was chasing after you, toying with you.

A scream left your lips as you saw someone standing behind you. A man with tan skin, brown hair, and a white shirt most people would think was covered in fake blood, but you knew too well it was real.

A rough hand slammed against your mouth. His arm slid around you and locked you in place, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear as he leaned in close to you.

"Did you miss me, (Y/n)?"

Your blood ran cold, heart pounding in your chest as you looked in the mirror that disfigured your reflections, looking right at him.

He was the last person you expected to see - the last person that you wanted to see.

You shook your head, struggling against him, which just made him smirk, his dark brown eyes cold and taunting as he looked down at him.

"I don't like it when you lie to me, you know." His hand that wasn't keeping you pinned against him slowly trailed down your body. "Why else would you be at a silly little haunted house? I'm trying to get scared by fake killers when you have a real one right here."

"It's a tradition." You said back once he uncovered his mouth, voice trembling as his hand slowly moved down and wrapped around your throat. "I go every year."

Halloween was once your favorite time of year. Thrilled to go to haunted houses in your area that provided that rush of fear and excitement in a safe environment.

But then one the Ghostface killers barged into your life, changing you for the worst. And even when you denied it, both of you knew a weak jumpscare wasn't enough to keep you satisfied anymore.

“You know, you told me once you wanted to experience what it’s like be in a horror movie, didn't you?" He chuckled, keeping you pressed against his chest. "I know you, (Y/n), better than you know yourself."

No, you never wanted your darkest fantasies to come to light. You never imagined that someone would find out about them. Much less a psychopathic killer like him.

You should hate him, fight against him, scream for help like any sane woman would. Yet you found yourself rubbing your thighs together as his stalker kept you close to him. Even if you do hate him, he always found a way to make your body respond to him.

Chills ran down your spine, your body shaking with fear but you couldn't deny the wave of desire that shook through your core as you watched in the mirrors him lean in to you so he could press his lips against your ear. "I'm here to fill those fantasies for you. I always have been." He pulled his hand away from your mouth so you could speak.

"Billy." You shakily said his name, finally speaking up. "I thought you were dead, or you were hiding somewhere." You felt so foolish now, thinking that would stop him from getting to you. You tried to force yourself to go back to normal by being here. One of your biggest mistakes.

"You know nothing could keep me away from you, sweetheart." He said, teasing you as he pulled the hem of your shirt up before he unclipped your bra.

You stayed stiff as he pulled off your shirt. Even when you turned and tried to move away, your reflections taunted you, forced to watch as he stripped you of more than just your clothes.

"Did you miss me that much, (Y/n)?" He chuckled. "Try to replace all those feelings I gave ya? I was only gone for a few weeks, I told you I was just tying up some loose ends then I'd be back for you."

How could you forget your personal stalker? The infamous masked killer that took extra pleasure in torturing and terrorizing you in multiple different ways.

"No!" You bit out, trying to maintain your tough act for as long as you could.

A whimper left your throat, refusing to admit or deny it. Of course you had those fantasies. Wasn't it normal? It wasn't bad if it just remained a fantasy.

“Look at yourself, (Y/n). Look at us. This is who we are." You shivered as his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. "Those weak little haunted houses weren't made for us. You need the real deal."

You almost screamed as he yanked your hair back hard, forcing you to stare at your reflections. "Admit it." He demanded, his eyes connecting with yours through the wavy mirror.

"I..." You took a deep, shaky breath. "I need you, Billy."

He smirked at this. "Are you scared (Y/n)?" You whined, nodding your head as his other hand slipped into your pants, rubbing your pussy against your underwear, making him chuckle as he felt the wetspot that was already there. "Yeah, I can tell. You're fuckin terrified."

Roughly, he yanked your pants and underwear down, never once breaking his intense gaze on you as he did the same for himself. The sound of his pants unzipping ringing in your ears.

"Mine." He hissed as he lined himself up with you, making you scream as he started roughly thrusting into your tight hole without a moments hesitation. "All fucking mine."

You cried out as his cock slammed into you, his hand gripping your hair tight, forcing your back to arch back, never breaking eye contact through the mirrors until you looked back down.

After a minute you slowly started adjusting to his roughness, a broken moan leaving your lips as he hit the spot you knew you were most sensitive at. Pain and pleasure twisting together, how it always felt being with Billy.

Billy's grunts filled your ears, making you look at him in the mirrors as he held onto you like you were about to disappear from his sight. Your breasts bouncing as he continued to fuck you, the sound of skin slapping against naked skin continued to fill your ears.

"Still so tight for me." He chuckled against you, pushing into your cunt deep. "My pretty little slut."

Shame went through you, unable to stop the small moans that left your lips while he pounded into you. "Billy!" You yelped as he turned your head to the side and slammed his lips against yours.

He kissed you with an overwhelming passion, his tongue slipping into your mouth to take complete control. You weakly kissed him back, unable to keep up with him until he pulled away, letting you take deep shaky breaths as his cock stayed buried inside you.

Your small gasps against his lips caused him to growl softly, his speed increasing as he pounded into you almost with a primal, animalistic desire.

"I'm never letting you go again." He said softly as his hips jerked against yours, keeping your body pressed against his, his breath hitting your cheek. "Now cum." He growled as your pussy throbbed around him, his free hand slapping your ass hard before roughly rubbing your clit.

You whined a bit, clenching your fists together since you had nothing to hold onto as he pounded into you until your eyes started crossing.

"Too - too fast!" You whined out, biting your bottom lip hard as you felt the familiar pressure building up.

His grip on your hair tightened, his pace increasing in response as he grunted. "That's not what I said. Now be a good girl and do as I say."

"I'll see you when you get home, (Y/n)." He chuckled, kissing the top of your head before you collapsed, slowly walking out of the house of mirrors. Finally leaving you alone. Just for a little bit more, at least.

You whimpered, nearly forgetting everything as you screamed out, tears burning in your eyes as you felt yourself cumming hard, flooding his cock with your juices.

Billy swore, but you didn't hear him as you shook against him, body filled with a pleasure only he was able to twist out of you. And you knew he was getting closer by the way he held onto you, throwing his head back.

He slammed into you one more time before he finally stopped, letting out a satisfied groan as thick, hot cum filled you up. Your legs were shaky from your own orgasm, unable to keep yourself up as he finally let go of your hair and pulled himself out of your leaky pussy.

You laid there panting, body sweaty as your twisted reflections surrounded you, replaying what had just happened like a rewinded tape.

Slowly, you forced yourself to stand up and pull your clothes back on, the twisted mirrors never failing to remind you. You were just as sick as him.

[kkginfo]

American TV show 'The Monkeys' co-creator Bob Rafelson has passed away | KKG INFO

American TV show ‘The Monkeys’ co-creator Bob Rafelson has passed away | KKG INFO

by IANS July 25, 2022 12:11 IST All of Massachusetts reported the first US case of monkeypox Writer-filmmaker Bob Rafelson has died at the age of 89 of natural causes at his home in Aspen, Colorado. The news of his death was confirmed by his ex-wife Gabrielle, Deadline reported. Rafelson is considered a giant of the American independent film movement as a writer, director and producer, and…

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Robin never really got boys talk.

When Sarah turned 14 she invited all the girls in band for a sleepover. It started out fun. After her parents went to bed they put on a creepy horror movie and watched it in a huge cuddle pile. They braided each other's hair and did each other's nails and squeezed each other during tense scenes and muffled their shrieks after a sudden jumpscare.

After that they watched another one. This time Sarah sneaked her mother's makeup kit down to the living room, and so lipstick and eyeshadow joined the mess of nail polish, hair clips and snacks already on the floor.

The second movie was different. In the first one, the blood was obviously fake and the acting wasn't the best (to say the least). But the second one was tense through and through. The cries of pain were so visceral that Robin shuddered, and in the end everyone was terrified. It was silently and unanimously agreed upon that everyone had had enough TV for the night. It was already 3 in the morning, but tomorrow was the weekend and right now Robin wouldn't be able to sleep even if she wanted to, and thus began Robin's first real boys talk.

It was funny at first. Sarah pretended to die of heartbreak when "the blond hot one" was unfortunately the second to die. Heather said the nerdy one with glasses and abs was cuter, which started a very heated discussion of whether blond or brown is the more attractive hair color. Robin had to defend her correct "redheads" opinion all by herself.

(When the others got into a stalemate Sarah turned to Robin. "C'mon", she pleaded, "you know that the blond one was hotter. Just tell us which one you found prettier! And don't forget that this is my birthday party."

Robin laughed at the ribbing, played a bit hard to get, until she finally admitted. "I actually found the first one who died the prettiest." Sarah was already halfway through her victory dance, when Robin corrected her. "No, I don't mean the dude. I mean the first one. The girl with the pink purse."

Everything was silent for a moment.

Then Emma laughed. "You don't have to be jealous Robin", she consoled, "you are also very pretty."

"Yeah, especially after our makeover!"

Robin laughed and agreed and continued on as if her world just hadn't been turned on its axis. Because she knew that the stirring in her gut and the beating of her heart had nothing to do with jealousy. She didn't find the blond one hot or the brunet one cute. That was the first time she really knew it. She liked the girl.)

It was a bit funny the first time, even though she couldn't really join. It got less funny the more it went on. Suddenly boys was the only thing everyone wanted to talk about. And worse: it wasn't just unreachable famous boys like singers or actors anymore. Suddenly it was all "oh, Steve Harrington is sooooo cute" or "oh my god, Tommy Hagan had suuuuuuch a glowup" and "I want to lick the sweat of his body after basketball practice" (this last one was applicable to multiple different people, including Steve and Tommy. It was not applicable for Chrissy when she exited cheerleading practice or Beth after football.)

She thought it would get better when Emma finally confessed to her crush and they actually got together, but no. It somehow got worse. Because "normal boy talk" turned into "experienced boy talk", and Robin wasn't allowed to admit that the only thing that got wet when she thought of Billy Hargrove was her mouth, because he made her want to throw up.

At first she'd say that she didn't have crushes. After a while of people refusing to believe her (even if she was telling the truth! Sometimes.) she started pretending to be into Steve Harrington. Every girl had a crush on Steve, so it made sense that she'd been embarrassed to admit that she was just like everybody else. He was way too far above her league for her friends to force her to "confess" and she could stare without fear when he passed by in the halls with the beautiful Tammy Thompson in his arms. Truly, it was a brilliant plan. It didn't stop the boys talk, though.

So she became a tomboy. She joined football and she hung out with boys and she cut her long hair into a bob. She lost a bit of touch with Emma and Sarah and the others, but she tried not to think about it too much. Instead she threw herself into sports and started hanging out more and more with Matt, the second trumpet in band.

And that was that. Sometimes she missed wearing dresses, but it was a relief not to have her mother insisting she "do something about that hair" anymore. She and Matt became best friends. She even considered telling him for a while. Until he sat her down and confessed his feelings.

She tried to let him down as gently as possible, and they never talked again. The cycle would repeat for multiple times.

Someone out there is laughing their ass off because who would have thought that the dude she pretended to have a crush on would turn out to be the missing half of her soul?

It started out like always. She teased him, he laughed. They suffered through customer service together. He was funny and surprisingly in touch with his emotions and apparently babysat a bunch of middle schoolers, which was equally hilarious and adorable to watch. They both enjoy sports and they both hate Billy Hargrove with a passion and Robin is heartbroken because she knows she can't get attached. She has already been through this too many times to allow it to happen again. She gets close with a guy, they become best friends, he confesses, she can't reciprocate, they never talk again.

This is what is going to happen. She should already be used to it, but it still hurts. It's better for her to keep her distance. To encourage him to flirt with other girls, even if she can see that he mostly does it to amuse her.

And then they uncover an actual real life Russian spy network right beneath their place of work like some fucking blockbuster. And then they are pumped up with drugs and the next thing she knows is that they are both throwing up in a cinema bathroom.

And then it happens. Of course it happens.

He starts his little speech and her heart is already breaking. She surprises herself when she realizes how much she started enjoying Steve's company. He is a dingus, but she is also a dingus and they just fit.

She is already preparing her apology in her head (oh fuck work is going to be so awkward), but what comes out instead is what she wishes she could've said every time this happened. What she wished she could have said every time she got close to another person, every time her parents questioned if she finally found a boyfriend. Something she really tried not to feel ashamed of, but it was so fucking hard when you had to keep it hidden all the time.

(She remembers when she used to train in front of the mirror. She would stare at herself and repeat again and again "I am Robin Buckley and I am a lesbian. I am a lesbian. I am-")

She doesn't breathe as she waits for what she knows what comes next. What has to come next. There is a reason she never told anyone, always kept it hidden and to herself even if she wanted to scream it into the world. He will mock her and he will out her and he will be disgusted and-

"Tammy Thompson?!"

Instead they have girls talk. And Robin finally gets it.

[morallyinept]

Sleazy Santa - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Have you been naughty or nice? Sleazy Santa Dieter will find out... Come sit on his knee, baby, and tell Santa what you really want for Christmas. If you've been good, he might just give it to you. T'is the season to be sleazy...

Pairing: Sleazy!Dieter Bravo x MenaceF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.) Reader is referred to as 'Cookie' on occasion. You'll see why when you read... and has hair long enough to pull.

Word Count: 5.3k of Christmas sleaze

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/drug use/anal play/lots of smutty dirty talk/verbal degradation - Dieter calls you a whore & slut and you love it/(im)proper use of a candy cane/Dieter being absolutely lewd and trashy whilst being a mall Santa. Reader is up for this and wants it all. Dieter is not an actor in this story. Just a dirtbag.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: (I intended to get this out on the 1st Dec, but this week has completely run away from me, so better late than never! 🫠) I just know Dieter would be the trashiest Santa. So here he is. Ho(e). Ho(e). Ho(e). 🎅🫦

☝🏻This is not a direct follow on from Back Alley Bang, but is the same Sleazy!Dieter.

Read Back Alley Bang!

I wrote this a little while back in prep for my Christmas stories to release throughout December. Since then, the lovely @cerridwen007 dropped a Frankie fic called Candy Cane, which you should totally read because it's bloody amazing! And hot! 🔥 Seeing as both our stories mention some lewdness with Candy Canes, I want to shout about hers, because it's epic. And so is she. 🥰🖤

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

🎄MASTERLIST🎄

Enjoy! 🖤

“Come sit on Santa’s knee, baby.” He smirks at you under the grizzle of greying, scruffy facial hair, sprawled across his jawline like a patch of overgrown weeds in a neglected alley.

Each bristle of his moustache seems like a picket in a fence, guarding the secrets of his expressions, a formidable barrier to anyone attempting to decipher the stoic visage he wears, despite the adept grin crook shanking it's way out from underneath it at you now.

You joust a sharp glance at him, sitting back lazily on the throne, manspreading and reaching down to adjust the swell of his cock inside his red velour pants, brazenly.

In a worn-out wife beater, that's seen one too many spin wash cycles, tinged grey with sweat around the hem and underarms, braces dangle loosely over Santa’s broad shoulders, contributing to a somewhat dis-reputational vibe.

Boots, covered in dirt and scuffs, complete the unkempt look, and a lingering rolled cigarette, possibly a joint by the herbal stench emanating from it and how tightly it’s tobacco stuffing is packed into the thin papers, add a touch of nonchalance to the unconventional ensemble.

The once jolly twinkle in his tired and bloodshot eyes he had for the children and parents queuing up all day to meet him excitedly, now carries a mischievous, darkening glint polluting the soft browns into a deep onyx as he regards you.

You can feel the heat, running moist and sticky across your body in all those fleshy crevices, as his eyes traverse all the curves and shapes of you gluttonously and leaving you stained.

It feels as if he devours you with his gaze, eyes chomping through your bones; each hungry look a bite into the forbidden fruit of your supple skin, leaving you with a sense of exposure that’s both invasive and titillating.

You feel it pulse on the end of your clit and bite back a wayward groan as you squeeze your thighs together.

You pull off your elf's hat, ruffling your hair out of your tight pony that’s been threatening to scalp you all day, and smirk at him suggestively. 

He leers back, through full lips chapped pink, under that greasy moustache hidden behind a fake silvery beard all day. A sly grin twists those pert smackers up as he looks you up and down in your cute fuzzy elf ensemble, complete with annoying bells that jingle when you walk.

A crude name tag is pinned to your lapel, flecked with glitter that says Cookie. And you can't help but wonder at how he'll make you crumble.

The Grotto’s decor transports visitors to a whimsical realm where the spirit of Christmas thrives in a rammed-down-your-throat abundance. Faux snow covered branches, adorned with twinkling lights that frame the entrance, complete with fibreglass reindeer with beady eyes, creates an archway that beckons families into the enchanting space within the hustle and bustle of the shopping mall. 

Inside the main cabin, the walls are adorned with festive murals depicting scenes of Santa's workshop; his cheerful elves, and his sleigh chock full of presents for all the good boys and girls.

Glittering ornaments in hues of red, green and gold hang from the ceiling, casting a warm and festive glow as they twirl and sway. Garlands of pine branches intertwine with fairy lights, adorned and wrapped around every available surface, filling the air with the invigorating scent of Christmas pine to the point you want to choke.

Eager youngsters, with their big awe-struck eyes, gravitate around your knees all day and hearing Let It Snow play on repeat is starting to grate on your last nerve by lunch time.

A two bit job in a shopping mall Grotto for the season to help pay the rent on your shitty apartment, isn’t exactly the high point of your mundane life, but being assigned as Santa’s personal elf in the Grotto this year seems to have an unexpected appeal. 

Especially when under the hat and beard Santa is a fucking grimy feast for the eyes, in all of his sordid, dirty appeal. 

“Oh, he’s kinda hot.” You whisper to the other elves, Sugarplum and Cinnamon, when you overhear them talking about him. “In a scummy sorta way.”

You watch as he chortles and pushes crudely taped gifts with lopsided bows into tiny, waiting hands. 

“I saw him out of the suit having a smoke round back. He looks like he spends all day injecting.” Cinnamon the elf remarks, wrinkling her nose. 

Sugarplum snorts distastefully in agreement as she pushes another child through to meet the magic man himself. And you can’t help but grin.  

Who is this guy? 

He stands out like a sore thumb in the mall full of Christmas card perfect families, with two point four bratty children, not the type to be cast in the role of Santa. He looks like he shouldn’t be anywhere near the vicinity of children at all. 

He’s an obvious stain on the holly-jolly, a blot; a malignant smear with his dark appearance and equally dark aura that radiates and flashes in neon green above his head like a Sims character, that he’s a bad, rotten egg. 

And yet, there’s something about him that piques you and your pussy’s interest as you can’t look away. 

You wonder where they hired him, possibly off the street by the way he looks; hair a fluffy mess as he runs a giant paw through it when he takes off the Santa hat for a reprieve. Slick with sweat around the neck and ears after being swamped in the furry suit all day.

But amidst the cheerful chatter and the jingling of bells, you and Santa start to engage in risqué repartee through exchanging heated glances, hidden within the joyful chaos that swarms around you both.

He watches as you bend to greet the children, deliberately pointing your ass, clad in tight, striped hosiery, in his line of sight, and throwing him a steely glance over your shoulder as you smile innocently around your glittery lipstick. 

You suck on candy canes to rile him up as he waits for the next toddler to enter the Grotto, and tease him with how far you can get it down your throat. 

You can see the effect it has on him all day as he has to adjust to himself constantly and refuse that any more kids sit on his lap, opting to just talk to them on their level instead.

Your eyes often fall onto that heavy bulge between his legs as you lick up the red striped cane suggestively. 

You, the teasing little elf, pretend to inspect a list of wishes, shooting Santa a sultry look. "I must say, Santa, you're on everyone's 'Nice' list, but I can't help but wonder what it would take to get you on the 'Naughty' list for a change…"

And he takes that as a direct challenge. 

After the Grotto is closed to the public for the day, you see him head into it and follow, lured like he’s dropping gingerbread crumbs for you to snort up.

Lights are out in the Winter Wonderland area; a few amblers doing their late night Christmas shopping still linger around the mall, but no-one would obviously know you're heading in as your toes jingle with your quick steps in the shadows. 

And it’s where you find him now, sitting back in Santa’s grand throne, legs akimbo and waiting for you as he tokes; running his thick mitts around the chintzy scruff of his real beard.

His eyes crinkle with mirth as you shut the Grotto door behind you. You reach into the basket of candy canes and he watches as you unwrap one, sucking on the stripey end of it as you step up towards him, when he pats his thick thigh again at you. 

Perching on him, dwelling inside the mist of hazy smoke that lingers above your heads and makes you feel lighter as you breathe it down into your lungs, you flutter your eyelashes as you take him in. 

Thick arms, speckled with tattoos of triads that look coloured in with a Sharpie, speak of a past etched with both labour and skirmishes. His hands, large and calloused, possess a certain coarseness, evidence of a wayward journey through life's grittier back alleys with short, chewed on nails. With shoulders that may slump a touch, he carries an weight of shady roughness on them; his belly and thighs telling stories of indulgence, and perhaps a few late night brawls.

Thick fingers are stacked with silver rings that are covered with Santa’s cotton gloves throughout the day. His hawkish nose adds a touch of defiance, completing the image of a man with a scuffed exterior, rough around the edges, yet somewhat intriguing in his lived-in authenticity. An unpolished diamond in some scummy rough. 

But who needs a diamond, when a zirconia is just as good, right? 

In the twinkly lights, the grazed hair on his face appears not as distinguished silver, but rather a mishmash of unkempt greys woven in, like shadows playing on a weathered canvas or someone forgetting to water their garden in patches.

His cocoa bean eyes, though sharp, carry a glimmer of adept slyness, a snake waiting to strike and latch it's fangs to your calf, as if they've witnessed more than their fair share of venomous dealings. 

The pierced ear, with its slightly tarnished hoop you're longing to suck into your mouth, feels less like a statement and more like a relic of some practised rebellion; a declaration of nonconformity, a middle finger raised to polished appearances.

And it's here where your eyes settle, on his fingers as he brings the joint up to his lips to inhale again, and you marvel at their thickness, their startling turgidity, clenching internally.

He inhales on the end of the blunt, smoke billowing around his face in misty, gossamer trails that beckon you further into him, and his eyes, dark and beguiling with blown pupils, are still on yours.

“Have you been a good girl this year?” There’s a coarse texture to his speech, a visceral quality that mirrors the scuffed exterior of a life lived on the fringes.

He’s watching your lips around the candy cane as though hypnotised by the talent of it. You pull it out of your mouth, sticky - the red bleeding into the white - and smile sweetly.

“I’m always a good girl,” you remark with a minty grin. 

Santa shakes his head. “I hear differently. I hear you’re a very naughty girl.” 

You mock pout as he leans forward and sucks the end of the candy cane you’re holding into his own mouth. He smacks his lips around one another after tasting it and hums out. “Filthy,” he adds. 

“Dirty.” You confirm with a singular nod. 

“I like ‘em dirty.” He agrees, looking up at you, chin jutted out in a provocative challenge. 

You stroke under it, scritching your nails in the softly coarse hairs there.

He flicks your name tag and smirks. “Cute.”

“What’s your name?” You ask curiously. 

“Dieter,” he exhales again, and you can taste the smoke settling on your tongue. “But you can call me Santa, baby.”

You nod willingly. 

“Santa wants to touch you, Cookie. You gonna let him?” He queries.

You nod again, smiling. 

“Say it, baby. Say you want Santa to touch you.”

“Touch me, Santa.” You simmer. Your body tenses waiting for his hands - those giant, fucking hands - to get acquainted with you.

He finishes the joint, before squeezing the end to extinguish it, and plops it on the floor. “You gonna let Santa fuck you too?”

“Yeah," you nod again like you can't stop. "I want Santa to fuck me with his big, hard cock.” You reach down and give it a squeeze over the velour Santa pants, and he hisses. “Mmm, so big.” You say, sucking on the cane again, hooking your finger around the curved end of it.

“Fuck, baby. You want it bad don’t you? Slutty little elf…” He states.

Dieter runs his hand up your thigh, your stomach and stops at your breast giving it a good squeeze over your outfit; a grunt of approval rippling low in the back trench of his throat and he massages and gropes.

Clawing his fingers of his other hand over your thigh and grabbing at the pliable skin of your ass cheek, he squeezes a generous handful of it, pulling and smirking at you. 

“Lemme get a look at these tits, fuck.” Dieter says, immediately running his tongue over them as you pull off your elf top. He yanks down your bralette, tearing at the flimsy material making you gasp around the candy cane. 

Mouthing and licking around your nipples, flicking them with his hot, wet tongue, you moan and trail your fingers through his greased up hair. And Santa can’t help himself but to motorboat them, making you giggle as you squirm in his lap. 

“Fuck, look at these,” He says groping them in his giant hands. He brings them together moaning and groaning as he licks and sucks them some more. Running his scruffy jaw over them, greedily like all his Christmases have come at once. He bites down on one and you hiss, feeling it fizz between your legs. 

“How ‘bout a little kiss for Santa, hmm?” He croons at you, craning his face into yours. "Mmm, my lil' sugar cookie..."

You lean in, slipping your cool, sweetly sticky tongue inside his mouth as he kisses you. He strokes over your breasts, squeezing more and groaning as you suck on his tongue. 

He tastes of weed, and something else strong and tart laced around his teeth. But you devour him, feeling that long tongue search around your mouth tasting you, and filling you with his muffled grunts.

“You know, Santa can fill your stocking with whatever you want, right?” Dieter smirks at you as he runs his fingers up down the striped nylons.

You grin, as you pop the candy cane back in your mouth.

With both hands, he tears open your pantyhose from your apex, and smirks at the damp patch there between your legs. You can feel it, all wet and sticky between your thighs. 

You’ve made a mess of yourself all day watching and lusting after him, and now he can see it and knows exactly what he does to you. Knows how you've been craving that filthy dirtbag - who looks like he rolled out of the gutter - they hired to play dress up for the kids.

God, you wanna ride him so fucking hard. 

“You been this wet for me all day?”

You nod. “Drenched.” You tease. 

“Fuck…” he husks approvingly. 

“You make me so wet, Santa.” You say, still innocently sucking on that darned candy cane.

His fingers swipe over the front of your panties, feeling it and pushing the damply soiled material against the folds of your swollen pussy lips. 

He groans as he feels that warm slick seep through onto his fingertips. He brings them up to his nose and sniffs before putting them in his mouth and sucks them, looking at you the whole time as you flare.

Then, he runs them all over your seam again, pressing in and applying pressure to the protruding, swollen bump of your clit. Those grubby, filthy hands pawing greedily all over you, just as you wanted.

“Mmm,” you whine as he strokes and circles over your clit that’s buzzing and pulling tight. A tinge of an ache that makes your thighs tense in the most delicious of ways as he strokes over it, lewdly.

“Santa’s little slut, aren’t you?”

You nod, smirking.

He takes the candy cane from you, and slots it in his own mouth, sucking on it as he inspects between your legs like a letch. You hear it clack against his teeth as it rolls from side to side across his mouth. 

Sucking on it, the stripy tip turned fully white now, he runs it in your folds, and you gasp at the coolness of the mint.

He dips it in, sliding the candy cane into your hole and pulls it out, sucking it back into his mouth, tasting you around the peppermint treat. 

"Mmm, you taste so good." He praises.

He does it again, fucking you slowly with the candy cane and watching as you bite your lip as he slides it in as deep as it’ll go, before holding the sticky treat out for you to taste.

You eye him as you suck it clean of your slick, your tongue lapping down the length of it, and he groans.

“So fucking nasty,” he says with a glint in his eye.

You crunch on the end of it, breaking off a chunk into your mouth as you chew and he discards the rest onto the floor, breaking into pieces that scatter upon impact. 

“Let me get another look at that pussy.” He wrenches your panties aside again, and spits on his fingers, rubbing them over your dripping cunt. 

“That feel good?” He slides up and down your folds, teasing your clit with slimy circles of your slick and tapping it. 

“Yeah. I want those dirty fingers in me.” You whine. 

“All the way in?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s get those panties off. Santa wants you spread open on his lap, baby.”

You lift your ass up as he tugs them down and you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket with a cockamamie smirk. You can only imagine all the sordid things he'll do with them later.

“Oh my God…” You gasp as he slides in two thick fingers, thumb running over your clit. 

“You like being a dirty little slut for Santa, don’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod.

“Look at you, spread wide with my fingers in your cunt.” He looks down at the wet patch on his pants where you cream for him. 

“I love it.” You nod. "I love being your slut, Santa."

“Yeah you do. Kiss me again, baby. Gimme that tongue.”

He sucks on your tongue before he pushes in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. He pumps them in and out of you, garnering a tempo that leaves flames licking down your spine as you writhe against them. 

“Such a tight little cunt,” he whispers, pulling on your bottom lip and sucking it. 

“Mmm, yeah… that feels so good.” You mewl.

You can hear your slick squelching around his fingers and leaving them shiny as he pulls them out. You watch as he separates them, leaving strings to break before he sucks them in his mouth. 

“Santa’s got a gift for you in his sack, baby.” He reaches down into a bag, just as dirty and grimy as he is, and pulls out a battery powered wand with a bulbous head. 

You’re stunned as you giggle, and he raises his eyebrows. 

“You carry that around with you all the time?” You say, bewildered. 

A filthy grin lances across his face, the type that could impregnate women. And looking at him, he probably has. A harem of single mothers waiting on alimony cheques that’ll never come.

He clicks the wand on and pushes it to your cunt. 

“Oh fuck!” You drool as you feel it pulsing deliciously against your clit immediately. He sucks your nipple back into his mouth, whining at the taste of your skin. 

The vibrations, like soft, tingly ripples, spread from the device and explore every facet of your nerve endings. Tiny electrical pinpricks; a bubbling conduit of glittery bursts that intensify the more pressure he applies against you.

"That feel good?" You hear him graze at you.

“Mmm, I feel like I could come right now.” You sigh, gripping onto his broad, tan shoulder and enjoying being so close falling off the ledge already.

“This little toy gonna make you come, baby? Make you come for Santa?” You watch as he tongues your nipple, flicking it back and forth fast.

“Yeah. I’m almost there.” You shudder. "Mmm, fuck." You grab a hold of his hand, pushing the wand tighter against you. You can feel it pulsing in the centre, a deep winding sensation behind your abdomen; bunching and tightening. 

He clicks it up a notch, the vibrating head faster and louder against your clit. 

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes, yes!” Nails digging into the back of his hand as you grind against the wand head.

“Yeah. Come for me, baby. I wanna see Cookie come for Santa like a good slut.”

“Feels so nice like that… fuck!” You say your eyes rolling back, jaw tight and teeth clenching as you shudder and burst. Eyebrows furrowing and biting down on your lip as you come around the wand’s head. “So good, Santa… fuck, so, so good,” you pant. 

His eyes flash with wild encouragement, yet they contain a sense of addictive danger as he kisses across your breasts that taste salty with sweat and glittery fragments that stick to you as you shake.

“Such a good little elf, coming for Santa aren’t you, baby?”

He glances at you as he suckles and kisses your nipple, and pulls your face towards his for a swamping kiss that tastes acidic and makes you dizzy with it all. 

You reach down and squeeze his cock as he tosses the wand onto his bag. Stroking him over the red velour pants. He has an oily smirk; slick and fast, matching the tempo of how quickly he gets his cock out for you. Thick, veiny and pink, with a nice fat head, oozing just for you. 

“Is this all for me, Santa?” You marvel at the lack of boxers or briefs under the pants.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got such a big cock. Mmm, that’s gonna feel so good in my tight pussy.”

“Gonna stretch you out, baby.” He takes your hand and wraps it around him, pumping.

“Fill me up.”

“Yeah, Gonna fill this slutty pussy up till you're dripping me down your thighs.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the ominous swell of his cock in your hand, astounding in its size and girth with a puff of grizzly dark hairs at the base of it. You’re trying to understand the science of how the fuck he’ll fit inside of you.

“I feel so fucking good, Cookie. So hard.” He whispers with a beguiling whip around his gritty cadence.

“Mmm,” you say, mesmerised by jerking him off. Watching as he drips for you and smearing it around his head with your thumb. 

“You wanna feel it? Feel it in your pussy, baby?”

Biting your lip you nod and grin. “Yeah.”

In a flash, he sits you on the throne, your legs hanging over the arm rests and spread wide for him.

"Fuck, look at you," he sighs at how spread and soaked you are for him.

Dieter jerks his cock as he runs his tongue up and down your slit, sucking on your clit hungrily. He swirls his tongue round and round, speedily as it flicks across your clit and makes your thighs twitch. 

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He groans.

“Like candy canes.” You giggle.

“Yeah. So sweet.”

You yank his head forward, clutching at the roots of his greying curls. His nose snuffles against the top of your mound as you feel him penetrate your hole with his tongue. 

“Fuck!” You drone as he fucks you with it.

He licks down and then runs back up again, this time gliding his nose in your folds too. Slick gathers on the end of it, shiny as it passes over your clit. 

“God, I wanna fuck this tight, little pussy.” He growls, wiping your juice from his nose and licking it away from his palm. 

Dieter pulls off the pants fully, then stands, crouching with legs spread; thick thighs supporting him as he lines himself up with your slit.

You can see the swell of his belly where the wife beater rides up and you reach forward to stroke it, feeling the galaxy of soft hairs that lead in a trail down to his cock.

You wince as he pushes in, fisting onto the hem of the vest. 

“What, huh? Too big? You can take this big cock. Come on, baby.” He looks down to see he’s halfway in; your cunt sucking him in as he traverses the fleshy, wet walls crushing around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mmm, God!” You groan, reaching for him as he pushes in all the way, deep into the hilt of you and there he stays for a moment, unmoving, just feeling you pulse and contract around him. 

He wiggles his hips and watches you breathlessly gasp. 

“Fuck me,” you plead. 

He pulls out and then slides deep again, over and over until he works up a tempo that has you panting; clawing at his arms and soaking around him. 

You sit up on the edge of the throne, legs wrapped around his lower calves as he slows into a more laboured pace. Sliding his cock in as deep as he can get it into you. He nips at your neck, running his tongue over the skin and sucking it between his teeth, marking you with purple welts.  

It’s a deep, somewhat brutal fucking, as he flexes his hips and pounds into you with determination. Taking your breath away as the jolts of your body stop you sucking more oxygen in. 

You hold onto the arm rests to steady yourself as he fucks into you. His own breath getting lodged in the back of his throat. 

You look up at him, jaw slack and eyes glazed over in ecstasy as his thighs slap relentlessly against your ass cheeks. His face his taught, veins bulging around his neck and eyes focused on you. Lined forehead coated with a sheen of sweat and you want to taste on your tongue. 

“You like this don’t you, getting fucked by Santa?” He queries with a dark smirk. 

“Aah fuck! Yeah, give it to me!” You wail. 

You can feel the weight of his balls pendulum against your ass as he thrusts relentlessly. 

"Santa fucking his little whore." He puffs.

"Fuck yeah!" You cry.

“Get up baby,” he instructs, wincing as he stands upright and clutching his lower back. 

He sits on the throne and pulls you onto him, but facing away. You hoist yourself up, feet flat on the seat either side of his thighs and lower yourself, squatting onto his cock standing tall and thick beneath you. 

“Oh, that’s it. Sit on Santa’s fucking lap, baby!” He gushes, pulling you all the way down until your cunt is flush with the base of him. 

“Oh shit, Dieter!” You cry as you feel him plunge deeper than he's already been. It forces the breath out of your lungs as you sharply inhale. "Shit, shit!"

"Call me Santa, baby." He teases.

His hands hold onto your waist; thick fingers curling around towards your belly button as you move up and down, using the arm rests to push yourself upwards. 

“Fuck, you’re so deep.” You groan as you work faster with the aid of him pushing your hips. 

“Yeah, fuck my cock, baby.” He grunts from behind you. 

You reach forward and stroke his swollen balls, groping and squeezing gently as he groans in delight. You run your hand across the both of you; feeling him plunge into your pussy, moving up to your clit as he fills you. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby. Oh fuck yeah!” He’s groaning behind you, hissing and puffing. The throne creaks and rocks under you both. 

The burning in your thighs stops you momentarily, and you step down off the throne and ride him harder, leaning forward on his thighs. 

He’s watching, hands on your ass cheeks, splaying you apart so he can see his cock delve deeper into your pussy, shiny and drenched with your slick. 

He sucks his thumb and notches it against your tight, puckered hole. You squeal in delight as he breaks through and hooks it into your ass.

“So fucking dirty baby.” He praises as you tighten around his cock. “Wish we had that candy cane now so I can put it in your ass.” 

“Oh my God…” You sigh deliciously at the seedy thought.

“You gonna come? Come with my thumb in your ass like the dirty slut you are?” 

“Mmm, yeah!” You coo. 

“Fuck yeah!” He hollers as you start to shudder and ripple around him. 

Your voice wanes, becoming nothing but a husked whisper scraping against the back crevices of your throat. But the most fascinating thing of all to him, is the way your body shakes uncontrollably on the end of his cock as he strokes the inside of your ass. 

The dreamy, heady feeling crawls over you like smoke in the dimly lit corridors of the back of the mall, choking you up. The colours of Christmas in the Grotto take on a seedy glamour, as if you're witnessing the world through the tinted lens of a noir film.

It's a sensory whirlwind, where every touch, taste, and sound carries a palpable sharpened edge, laced with a hint of danger that adds to the thrill of the fuck between you both.

His cock bottoms out in you constantly, filling you full of him and you can’t get enough. Panting and whining for more.

The knotting and binding cinches tighter and you start to fall, not into a soft cloud; it's a smokescreen of desire and kinky vice. It's the kind of state where the boundary between illusion and reality blurs, and you find yourself entangled in the gritty allure of forbidden pleasures.

Fucking Santa in a children's Grotto, and you giggle at the absurd, yet vividly decadent rapture, as your orgasm takes you and turns you out. 

“Yeah come all over my cock,” Dieter cajoles as you whine and screech, riding yourself through it until you buck and shake, unable to keep yourself up right on legs that feel like mush.  

Dieter bends you over the throne this time, kneeling on the plush seat as you cling to the back of it whilst he stands behind you, pummelling into you and seeking his own finish.

“You like taking Santa’s big cock like this?” His voice pelts the back of your neck; hair bunched and knotted around his fist.

“Yeah!” You cry out, literally clawing at the gold paint finishing. You’ll find it under your nails later. “Harder.” You whine. 

“Oh, you want it so hard, you greedy cock slut.” Wheezing like he’ll need an oxygen machine for the rest of his life, Dieter speeds up.

Obscene slapping of sweaty skin-on-skin fills the Grotto. If security were to trundle on by, there’s no mistaking you'd both be caught and the thought makes you flare. 

“Spank me, Santa!” You urge over your shoulder. 

“You want me to spank you?”

“I’ve been a very bad elf…” You pout coyly. 

“So fucking bad, baby.” He slaps across your ass, the sting making you moan out as it traverses your body.

“Mmm, yeah! More!”

“More?” He does it again, harder and it leaves a mark where you can feel the burn. 

Another slap has you screaming as you push back on his cock, meeting his every thrust. 

The sweat sheen on your back shines at him and he leans over you running his tongue up your spine to taste it. The action pushes him deeper and you both cry out in unison.

He works his hips, shunting back and forth in small, quick bursts as he fucks that tight, pretty hole and makes you mewl and gasp. 

A savage rhapsody of his unrelenting stamina that pummels you continually; all you can do is take it, whining and groaning and seeing the phosphenes glitter around your vision as he builds you up again.

It’s soaking between your legs, immensely sticky and you can feel it dripping between your thighs. You reach under yourself and stroke your clit that feels like it might explode with the simplest nudge.

It feels so good, too good, and you’re coming again, legs shaking and your back feeling like it might break in half, as he twists and pistons into you with all that he’s got.

“Where’d you want Santa to finish, baby?” He grunts desperately. 

“In my mouth.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Watch me swallow it all down, Santa.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He pulls out and jerks his cock a few times before coating your waiting tongue with warm, thick spurts of him. 

“Take Santa’s load,” he groans. “Yeah, lick the tip clean, suck it. Oh yeah, that’s it… fuck. Clean me up with that slutty mouth, baby.”

He reaches down, smearing his thumb over your lips that are sticky with his pearly come. Cock in hand still, he strokes the side of your face as you look up at him and run your tongue over his length. 

“Next time, you can fill my ass.” You wink.

“Fuck,” Dieter chuckles. He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect crescent, like the moon in its waxing phase. You decide instantly that it's kinda beautiful.

Standing, your hands on his chest - the wife beater drenched with sweat - you kiss him, slipping your salty tongue into his mouth and he whines, groping your ass and crushing his softening cock between you both. 

You feel him pick you up, wincing around his teeth a little, as he strains, hands splayed under your ass cheeks as he plonks you down on the counter where all the treats are kept, namely the basket of candy canes.

You groan contently into the seedy warmth of his mouth once more as he latches onto your lips, tongue exploring the wet crevices of your mouth. You cup the back of his head, yielding to the undercurrent of surrender, willingly.

Dieter takes one of the candy canes, unwraps it and slides it into your mouth. You feel his fingers stroking through your wet swollen folds, gathering it and swirling it around the rim of your ass as he puts one of your ankles on his shoulder. 

It's a feeling that goes beyond the physical, a warmth that stirs the echoes of desires you might not want to admit, but have willingly embraced nonetheless.

You want more of him, want more of this grimy bastard filling you up, and judging by how grunts, licking around your teeth and gums hungrily, Santa’s not done yet with you either. 

“Get it nice and wet, baby. That’s it.” He encourages you as you slurp and suck around the candy cane.

He takes it from you, and you bite down on your lip as you feel it pushing against your rim.

“Santa’s gonna make it disappear, baby.” Dieter, the Sleazy Santa chuckles at you, with a sly, twisted grin as you crush his rancid lips to yours once more. 

Thanks so much for reading more of Sleazy!Dieter. I hope you enjoyed him! Stay tuned for more of him in the future.🖤

MASTERLIST

[seeingivy]

historic wins

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: mentions of implied SA/uncomfortable agent, nothing else too serious. reader has anxiety before performing, eren being sick in love, baddie moment

an: when I tell you writing this chapter took ten years of my life, it really did. i literally had the worst day ever regardless BUT i regurgitated out and i can't tell if i hate it bc my mood is bad or bc its actually bad if its bad let all just collectively close our eyes please bc it ACTUALLY gave me a tension headache FDSFDSF

previous chapter

--

You knock on the door, the stress sitting on your shoulders, as you hear rustling behind the frame. When it swings open, you’re met with Marco and Reiner answering the doors, the two of them swiftly pulling you in and slamming the door shut behind you. 

“Did anyone see you when you came in?” Reiner asks, his hand still pulling you up the stairs. 

“No. Was-is there someone there or-”

“Paparazzi. They’ve been swarming since yesterday, we've barely been able to leave as it is.” Marco responds. 

They drag you up the stairs and both push open the first white door open. You’re met with five pairs of eyes staring you down. Eren, Connie, Mikasa, Ymir, and Historia - who looks downright horrible. 

You figured it was bad. You had seen the headlines on your way down - saying Historia was canceled, her trending on Twitter, her socials getting blocked. And you always thought that situations like this were sensationalized when you weren't famous, something horrible to go through. But it’s worse than you expected.

She looks sick. 

Her complexion is pale green, her eyes rimmed red, and her hair is tangled into such a mess at the top of her head that it’s making your stomach turn.

The Historia you know - glimmering blue eyes, soft blow-dried hair - is no comparison to the downright ghost you’re looking at now. And the worst part of it all is her expression.

Broken. Defeated. Crushed. 

You walk forward, opening your arms for her to sink into, and she immediately breaks out into sobs. She’s crying into your shoulder, her salty tears making a home against your skin and her cries so loud they're giving you goosebumps. You can see the rest of them behind you - Mikasa and Ymir sharing a knowing look - as Historia lets go and crawls back into the middle of her bed. 

You take a seat next to Eren on the floor, the two of you crisscrossed against her pale pink walls. He links his hand with yours as you plop your head onto his shoulder. 

“Is that everyone?” 

“Yeah, Hisu. The rest of them couldn’t get off and Levi and Hange are on their way now.” Ymir responds, her hands making small circles into her back. 

“Okay. I-I appreciate you coming, even when everyone hates me right now.” 

“We could never hate you, Hisu. Ever.” Eren responds the tone definitive, angry, and firm. It only occurs to you now that you’ve never really seen Eren like this - his shoulders tensed up, the look in his eyes burning hot instead of softly warm. 

“I know, I just-”

“No one could ever make us change our mind about you, Historia. The shit they’re saying doesn’t even sound like you. Why would you randomly fire your agent when you’ve literally loved him for years?” Reiner responds. 

Historia’s face pales at the mention of her agent, the reaction catching all of you off guard. Eren pulls his arm around your shoulder as you both slump farther down the wall, the anticipation, the anxiety of what Historia’s about to say so palpable it makes your throat dry. 

“I did fire my agent.” Historia chokes out. 

You remember her agent well, from when you met him at the season two premiere. He was a tall guy, with chocolate brown hair and a fair amount of wrinkles. He couldn’t be much older than your own parents, but he was always the biggest supporter of Historia. The first person in line to brag about her, about how amazing her career has been, how many credits she has for how old she is. 

“Why?” Connie asks. 

Historia takes a deep breath, her head in her hands and her voice shaky as she starts explaining. 

“I was set to act in Endless Love, that big movie being produced at the end of winter. I had gotten the lead role and I found out on my birthday, while I was still filming that limited series. I-I threw a big party to celebrate the fact that I was turning eighteen, that I was getting my dream roles, that my work was finally coming to fruition and-” 

She pauses, leaning back on her bed as she screeches it out of her voice. And what she says hangs in the air, making your head feel like solid metal. 

“The party ended and he was…congratulating me on everything. And I told him that I appreciated everything he had done for me, how far he had helped me come. And when-when I said that, he said…if I was really grateful, I’d give him a kiss.” 

You pause, the implication sticking in your mind. Eren had hinted it to you before. That people in the industry take advantage, that they’re so powerful, so successful that it makes them feel entitled, deserving of whatever it is they please. 

“I fired him. He went on Twitter, made a few tweets about my character when the news broke and you know how he is. They’re-they’re dragging my name through the mud. Calling me spoiled, that I paid to get the roles that I had, calling me names, sending me death threats and I-”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Levi and Hange will be here any minute and you know they’ve had their fair share of this. Hange especially and they’ll know what to do and-” Ymir starts. 

“This is career-ruining. I didn’t do anything- anything at fucking all and my career is over if I tell the truth. I have to stay quiet, put my head down, and take it all if I still want to do this and I do.” 

You all sit quietly, head down as she pants, the words angrily spilling out of her mouth. The words hang in the air, the silence deafening. Because what do you even say to that? 

Can you really compromise your own feelings for the sake of your career? Your art? 

“Okay, Historia. Let’s talk, just us, okay?” 

You all turn your heads to find Levi and Hange leaning against the doorframes, Erwin standing at the back too. You all stand up, Historia running first to Hange and the rest of you following suit. You and Eren reach for Levi first, squeezing him way too hard. Levi ruffles both of your hair as you look up at him, a soft smile pressed against his face. 

“Okay, run off. Let us talk to Historia first, okay?” 

You both nod, letting go of Levi as you walk down the hall. 

“Levi?”

“Hm, Y/N?” 

“I missed you.” 

“Don’t be corny, brat.” Levi responds, glaring at you. You smile back and he most definitely murmurs something that sounds like I miss you too as you and Eren walk out. 

- 

The lot of you settle for milling around the kitchen, Mikasa talking Ymir down from her hill of rage in the back. You can’t help but watch Eren in the back corner, leaning against the counter with his eyes fixed on the outside. 

There’s a group of stormy, angry-looking gray clouds simmering in the air above, the grass outside lush and green. It’s positively gloomy, the weather matching the storm brewing in all of your heads. 

Eren flicks his eyes over at you, making a gesture for the two of you to go outside. You nod, setting down your phone as you walk over to him, the two of you sliding open the side door and walking out onto the pavement. Historia’s house opens up onto a nice green field, surrounded by lush, flowery hills. 

He’s walking faster than you, his long legs carrying him to the closest slope. When the breeze picks up, it’s moving through your hair strongly and sending a shiver down your spine with it. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Just a little, Eren. I didn’t realize it would be this cold outside.” 

He immediately shrugs off his dark green hoodie, the one you’ve seen a hundred times, and yanks it over your head. He’s placing it over your head haphazardly and you can hear him laughing at your protests. 

“You know, you could have at least aimed for my head when you yanked it on me.” 

“Be quiet. Let’s sit.” 

He plops down onto the grass, lying flat against the flowers as you join him. You’re both watching the clouds swirl above, the blades of grass whistling in the wind against your hands. 

“This is lying down, Eren.” 

“Oh, shut up. Do you always have to talk back?” 

You turn your head to the side, looking into his eyes. 

“Maybe a little bit.”

He rolls his eyes, turning his head back to the sky. You can tell he’s more tense than usual, his jaw clenched against his skull and his eyebrows knit in irritation. 

“Are you okay, Eren? You've seemed off today and-” 

“Quit asking me that!” 

You’re thrown off by the immediate rejection, the tone in his voice so angry it nearly makes you flinch. You can feel your skin burning - in embarrassment and humiliation for asking him something stupid-

His hand comes down on yours, squeezing three times, as he shifts over to face you. You follow suit, the two of you lying on your sides, face to face with your interlocked hands in between you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I-I’m not mad at you. Marco and Connie, they’ve just been asking all day and I’m okay and it’s just getting tiring to-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not. I-I can never be mad at you, I just-just got frustrated for a second, but never at you.”

You lift your hand, placing it on his ice-cold cheek, and squeeze once. 

“It’s okay, Eren. I know,” you whisper. 

He gives you a smile, closing his eyes as he leans his head against the flowers. They’re pale yellow and you silently wonder if they’re as soft as Eren’s skin feels under your hand. 

“I’m not okay, Y/N.” he whispers. 

“Want to tell me about it?” 

“I-I have a brother.” 

“Zeke. I remember, Eren.” 

“We-we don’t really get along anymore, but I loved him when I was a kid. He was always so cool - driving me around in his car to get ice cream, teaching me tricks on all the video games I used to play, and acting in all these really cool shows. But, he-he” 

You place a hand on his shoulder, moving it back and forth and trying your best to comfort him into talking. Eren was always the worst with words. 

“He had a scandal like this. And then he started talking to all these big producers, acting differently all of a sudden. He stopped talking to me all together after it all happened and only to my parents when he needed something. Even to this day, he’s come back from what happened but he was never the same. And I-” 

“That’s not going to happen to Historia, Eren. Don’t think like that.” 

He leans forward, dragging you into his embrace, as he digs his face into the crook of your neck. You bring your hands up, dragging him through the tresses of his brown hair as he squeezes harder. 

“It just-I got iced out by him. I wanted to be around him, wanted to be him and he just stopped talking to me all together. I loved him so much and I-

“Eren. Historia loves you. She’s not going to ice you or any of us out from this because she’s not like that. None of us will. And maybe your brother had a reason for what he did.” 

You and Eren stay like that for a few minutes, the words hanging in the air between you. You can feel your chest stinging at Eren’s words, his stress from the situation making more sense now. You curse the fact that Eren might have been dealing with something like death threats, people spewing hatred before he was old enough to even understand what it meant. 

“Hey. You’re supposed to be on my side, Y/N.” 

“This is being on your side. Sometimes that means being a devil's advocate a little bit, Eren.” 

He rolls his eyes as he readjusts and you can’t help but stare at them. His eyes. Bottle green, with specks of darker shades in the middle. Like a clear ocean or a shiny gem, glittering even in the dull light of the clouds. 

“What are you thinking, Y/N?”

“Your eyes have lots of colors, Eren. Pretty greens.” 

“Pretty?” 

“Pretty.”

He smiles, bringing a hand up to your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your lips. You can feel your body burning at the touch, at his eyes, at his smell all over you. 

“Eren. What are you do-” 

“Do you ever think about how we live in a fishbowl?” 

“A fishbowl?” 

“Like an aquarium. We’re fish on display, that everyone gets to point at and laugh at and enjoy. And then one day, when they don’t like us, they put their rods out and wring us out.” 

“I guess, Eren. Why do you-” 

“I like being a fish with you.” 

You lean back, squinting your eyes at him.

“You like being a fish with me?” 

“I just mean- that I- I like” 

“You think I smell like a fish, Eren.” 

“What? I didn’t say that- oh my god, I just meant that we’re two fishes swimming together and-” 

“The plural of fish is fish. Not fishes.” 

Eren rolls his eyes, getting up off the grass to tackle you in the grass, pinning you down by your arms to hover over you. He’s smirking at you, his lips only a few feet from yours. 

“You’re annoying, Y/N. I was trying to be cute.” 

“Let me go. Is this how you treat your fellow fish?” 

“Shut up. We’re not fish together anymore because you’re rude.” 

He gets up off of you, plopping back into the grass next to you. You’re both laughing, your cheeks hurting from smiling so hard and the blood rushing to your head. 

“I’m just teasing, Eren. The whole fish thing is cute.” 

“Now you’re just saying that so I’ll stop being mad at you.” 

“Hey! I get what you’re saying. It’s like…we’re fish. People stare and talk and whatever and it sucks. And no one really understands what it’s like to be a fish, even when they’re staring at us through the glass, but you do. They’ll always be something between us and them, but you and I are always on the same side. We-we have each other.” 

He smiles, bringing his hand back up on the back of your neck and pulling you closer to his face. When he talks, he whispers, the breath tickling your skin. 

“So if you got the fish thing why were you giving me so much attitude about it?” 

“I have to keep you in line, Eren. You can’t have all the cards.” 

“I don’t even have one, Y/N. Not even one when it comes to you.” 

He smiles, his eyes shut as he leans forward to press his lips to yours. But before he can, his phone starts buzzing behind him and he leans back, the two of you awkwardly scrambling off of each other. 

The moment passed.��

“Reiner. This better be something fucking good.” 

“What? Okay, we’re coming back now. Oh my god.” 

Eren stands up, holding out a hand to you. You place your hand in his and he nearly yanks you up, the two of you running downhill back to the house. 

“What-what happened?” 

“The TV awards. They announced the nominations.” 

- 

When you both run back in, Reiner and Marco immediately drag you to the center couch, next to Historia who's crying puddles and Ymir who's holding her like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Hisu got a nomination. Despite this shit.” Reiner says, smiling. 

You and Eren smile at each other too, piling onto Ymir and Historia, and squeezing hard. A win. 

When the program starts again, you’re all staring intently at the screen, you and Eren anxiously fumbling with each other’s hands as you wait for it. They’ve announced almost all of them, except the major acting ones which are the only ones you and Eren could really be nominated for. 

“Speaking of historic nominations, lead actor for hit series Attack on Titan, Eren Jaeger, has garnered three nominations - including a major six category for Actor in a Lead Role. He is the youngest person to be nominated for this award.” 

You turn your head, squeezing the entire circulation out of Eren’s hand as the realization sinks in. Actor in a Lead Role. Like Eren’s lifelong dream, Actor in a Lead Role. You reach forward, tangling your arms around his neck as Reiner and Mikasa pile on too, the three of you nearly strangling him by the way you’re shaking him. 

“Okay, okay let me go. You’re going to kill me before I can even go to the show and lose.” 

“Shut up. You’re so winning.” 

He rolls his eyes at you both keep watching the lady, announcing the costume design and casting awards. 

“And finally, our record-breaking announcement. Lead actress for the hit series Attack on Titan, Y/N L/N, has broken history by being our most nominated actress in Institute history. Including nominations for the ensemble cast, she has garnered five nominations, including two major six categories for Actress in a Lead Role and Breakout Actress. She is the first non-SHWA affiliated actress and the youngest to ever do so.” 

Eren drops the remote and turns to you, cupping your face in his hands and dragging your face as close as he can to his. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You-you’re insane. You just-” 

He nearly leans forward, pressing your lips together for the second time in the past twenty minutes, but Marco and Mikasa cut him off before you can, the two of them jostling you from his embrace to squish you in a hug. You give Eren an apologetic look, which he shakes his head at. 

They’re all squishing you so hard - Levi and Hange pressing kisses to the top of your head and Historia squeezing the life out of all of you - but all you can think about is one thing. Eren, standing a few feet away from you, smiling at you like you’re the sun. 

It only occurs to you then and there.

That you’re in love with Eren Jaeger. 

-  

You guys leave on your press tour two weeks later, meeting up in New York. You have a full day of interviews for the pre-awards show the day before and then you’re all going to fly out to Los Angeles together and attend the awards. 

Not only are you nominated for six awards - which you still haven’t wrapped your head around - you’re also performing at the show. Your agent had reached out to you a few days after the nominations list went out and mentioned that you were listed to perform at the show. 

You hacked it out with Eren. You’d play the piano and perform New Year’s Day, the song you wrote together last year on your birthday, and be done with it. It’s the song you have the most practice working on since the rest of your songs are half-baked. 

But now that you’re doing press, you barely have any time to practice - being stuck between interviews all day. You shake the thought from your head as you and Eren clip your microphone jacks to each other’s shirts before walking onto the stage and standing in view. 

“My name is Eren Jaeger and I’m one of the leads of Attack on Titan.” 

“My name is Y/N L/N and I’m the other lead of Attack on Titan. We’re going to be taking a Friendship Test today!” 

Around halfway through the interview, the crew brings you and Eren little notepads and pens, instructing you guys to compliment each other. You scribble a few thoughts down as you and Eren stand on the stage, now facing each other. 

“Okay, you first, Eren.” 

Eren flips the notepad in his hands, awkwardly fumbling with his fingers when he does. When he looks up, his green eyes are awkwardly meeting yours. 

“Jeez, Eren. I didn’t realize it would be this hard for you to compliment me.” 

“Shut up. I was just thinking about how to start.” 

“More like thinking of what to say.” 

“Be quiet.” 

“Okay, okay. Compliment me, Jaeger.” 

He rolls his eyes, giving you a smile as he runs his eyes over the notepad. He seems much more at ease now, the awkwardness from before coming off in waves. 

“Y/N. I am the most stubborn person on the planet. Which only speaks volumes about how patient, understanding, and compassionate you really are for being my best friend.” 

You can feel your throat getting dry and your eyes welling with tears at literally the first sentence, taken aback by how sincere Eren’s being. The soft eyes, the one he only reserves for when he’s lying down on hills or writing songs with you on the piano are out in the flesh, and they’re making your heart pound so much you’re sweating under the lights. 

“You’ve always been able to sense my feelings - my happiness, my frustrations, my pain - without me having to tell you. And you always, always know how to say the right thing to bring me back down to Earth from it all. You make me a better person and I love you for it.”  

You can feel the tears streaming down your eyes as reach up to wipe your tears away, knowing you’re smudging the makeup your team spent hours on. 

“You’re not terrible to look at either.” 

He smiles into the camera on the side and you can feel the tears spilling from your eyes, your nose filling with snot. 

“Eren.” 

“Told you it was good.” 

“Shut up. That was so sweet, I didn’t even know you knew half of those words, let alone what they mean.” 

Eren reaches forward, rolling his eyes at you as he squishes your cheeks. 

“I literally just called you the best person I know and you’re still being annoying?” 

“Yes. It’s a full-time job.” 

He turns to the camera, moving your squished face towards the camera with him. 

“Do you guys see what I have to deal with? My girl is literally the most stubborn person on the planet.” 

“Didn’t you call me infinitely patient five seconds ago?”  

You both stand back on your marks as you wipe your tears, reaching forward to hold Eren’s hand. You squeeze three times, which he returns with another three squeezes, before you take your own notepad and read your compliment out to Eren. 

“Eren. I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. Not only because you took a chance on me after our first screen test, but every other hiccup along the way was only something I could swallow because of you. You-your steadfast determination and belief in me is something so inspiring, so warm unlike anything else. You’ve always been a safe place for me, somewhere I can always run to when I need someone. I’m so glad we can always be fish together.” 

Eren smiles at the fish line, leaning forward to crush you in a hug. You can smell the clean laundry smell on his shirt, breathing it in as you soak in Eren’s embrace around you. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

“Hey Eren.” 

“I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too, Eren.” 

After the interview is over, you and Eren are stuck on this stage for another hour before the rest of the cast comes to do another interview. You both stay in the back, near the snack table and run through the song again.

“Eren.” 

“Hm?”

“I don’t know why I got signed up to perform at this thing. I-I don’t think I’m ready to perform this song yet.” 

“You are. New Year’s Day is a great song and you’re an amazing singer. Plus, the person you wrote the song about is really attractive, so that helps your case too.” 

You reach forward to flick his cheek. 

“Shut up. New Year’s Day is not about you.” 

“I’m literally your inspiration. You literally wrote a love song about me.” 

“You wish, Eren.” 

“I don’t have to. I can see it written all over your face, sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart? When did you become so cocky?” 

“When did you become so beautiful?” 

“Eren.” 

“Y/N.” 

You’re both cut off by one of the crew members, a shorter, older woman standing near the table with her eyes fixed on you. She smiles when you guys both turn towards her, extending her out. 

“Hi. My name is Le-”

“Leila. I remember. You helped us fix the microphone packs before we started!” you respond. 

“Oh. Yes, Leila. I can’t believe you remembered that. I-I was going to ask you for a favor if that’s okay.” 

“Sure. We’d love to help however we can.” 

“My daughter. She’s a really, really big fan of the show. I was wondering if we could take a picture together so we could send it to her.” 

You smile, gesturing to Eren to stand up with you as you take a picture with her. You and Eren are both taller than her so you put your hands around her shoulders and muster the biggest smiles you can for the picture.

“Are you sure you didn’t want us to make a video of us saying hi to her or anything? Or maybe call her if she’s free? If there’s a paper here we can sign something as well or anything you want.” you ask. 

“Oh, I couldn’t impose. You guys have been so kind already and-” 

“Nonsense. Eren and I are just going to sit here and I’d really love to help make her day. You work so hard day and night on these sets for us and make sure everything works by the time we get here and we really, really appreciate it.” 

You and Eren end up filming a video for her daughter since she’s already asleep so you can’t call her, and you and Eren also sign a few posters for her to take home to her daughter. 

“Y/N. Just so you know, you’re amazing. My daughter was so inspired when you signed yourself up to perform at the awards show after you openly talked about how nervous it makes you. You actually gave her the courage to sign up for a dance team at her school and she actually made it on the team now. My point is you’re a big inspiration to everyone and the strides you’re making for all of us don’t go unnoticed.” 

She gives you both one last hug as she runs off back to the other side of the set, giving you a smile as she leaves. Eren brings his hand around your shoulder, leaning forward as he smiles at you. 

“You hear that, Y/N? You’re an inspiration.”

“It’s weird to hear that, Eren. I remember being that kid watching Hange win on the screen when I was little. And if I win-” 

“When. When you win.” 

“If I win, it’s weird to think that I could be that for someone else.” 

“You’ve always been that way. People are just noticing it now.” 

“Do you have to sign yourself up to sing for the awards, by the way? Because…I never even told my agent that I had written a song. She just told me that I would be performing and then I started prepping.” 

“Yeah. You have to send a demo for them to accept the performance.” 

You lean back, even more confused than you were before. There’s no demo of New Year’s Day. How could they accept your performance if there’s no record of you singing it? How could they even know you wrote a song when the only person who knows you even finished it was Eren? 

Eren. 

“What did you do?” 

“Hm?” 

“You did something, Eren. What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“Eren.” 

“Maybe, I took the sheet music and recorded a demo of me singing it. And convinced them that it would sound even better when you did it, because it’s your song.” 

You smack him across the shoulder. 

“You signed me up to sing the song? In public, on live television?” 

“The song is good. You’re a phenomenal singer. And you can’t become a triple threat unless people hear you sing.” 

-   

You stand on the other side of the curtain, shiny and gold, as you readjust your dress one last time. You take a deep breath as you give a smile to Marco and Jean, who are right behind you, squeezing your arms. 

“You’re good. You look great and you’re going to kill it tonight. And Eren just walked out on the carpet so he’ll be right there.” Marco says, smiling brightly at you. 

You nod, giving the two of them a smile back, as you part the curtains and walk out onto the red carpet. You can feel your ankles shaking from the heels you were wearing, making sure to walk slowly so they didn’t tangle with the long, purple billowing fabric of your dress. As you turn to the right, you’re immediately blinded by the flashing lights and the sound of screaming from the photographers on the other side of the red carpet. 

The lights are so blinding that you can feel yourself squinting, trying your hardest to muster a smile with your eyes closed. You can already feel the embarrassment coming on from how these pictures are going to trend later, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Put these on.” 

You turn to the left to see Eren, his hair messily styled to perfection. He’s holding up sunglasses, a matching pair in his hand as well. You both place them on your nose, garnering a big amount of cheers from the paparazzi as you both pose together, Eren’s hand around your waist. 

“How did you know?” you whisper under your breath. 

“You can barely handle Armin’s Polaroid. You get used to the flashes, but the first time it’s hard to adjust. And this is a big night, so I had to make sure I had a contingency plan.” he says. 

“Always thinking ahead, huh?” 

“Only for you, sweetheart.” 

All you can think about is the awards, the performance, and the anxiety building in your stomach with every passing second. You force a smile as you both walk down the carpet, stopping every few seconds to take pictures and smile. At one point, Eren stands in front of you in the camera, blocking the view. 

“What a picture, Eren. You really want them to get a shot of your ass?” 

“No. Your dress. It’s kind of sliding off the side.” 

You look down, realizing that in all the movement and sweating you’re doing under the lights, that one of the clasps keeping the fabric in place came undone. You quickly tuck the clasp back together and look up to shoot Eren a smile. 

“Thanks. You just saved me from flashing everyone on the carpet.” 

“That doesn’t sound too horrible, doll.” 

You and Eren turn around to find Sukuna and Nobara standing at your side, the two of them wrapping their arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheeks. Eren immediately yanks Sukuna off, his arm stiff around Sukuna’s shoulder. 

“You never get less annoying, do you?” Eren asks. 

“Not really, no.” 

“You look really pretty, Y/N. We’re really rooting for you, we want you to win.” Nobara says, her hands squeezing yours. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. These types of things are kind of a long shot, Kugi.” 

“We know. Doesn’t stop me from rooting for you though.” 

You smile, leaning to take a picture with her before the four of you walk off to the side, continuing your conversation. 

“Where are Yuu and Maki? I haven’t seen them since they started dating and stopped responding to my texts.” 

Sukuna and Nobara share an awkward look, leaning forward to whisper in your's and Eren’s ears.

“They broke up. Well, just wait. You know the mess they're in is going to find its way to the tabloids somehow.” 

You and Eren cringe as you share a look, thinking about Historia’s scandal from a few weeks ago. You can’t imagine how much worse it must be when it involves the two of them. The intimate details of their relationship being on display.

“You look pretty, doll. Way more confident and self-assured than you were when I met you. It suits you.” 

Eren slithers his hand around your waist, the grip firm, as he responds to Sukuna. 

“She’s always been like that.” 

“Okay, Eren. Pipe down. I’m not about to be swapping saliva with your girl anytime soon. Though you might want to get a move on that, everyone’s going to have their eyes on your girl by the end of the night.” Sukuna says, smirking at Eren. 

“You sound disgusting, Sukuna. Like a pervert.”  Nobara says, rolling her eyes at him. 

“That’s what happened with Yuuta and Maki. Everyone went all gaga for Yuuta after the movie dropped. And after she sings too, Eren’s going to fight to stay afloat over here.” 

“Ignore him, Eren. His neurons are decaying as we speak.” Nobara responds, giving Eren a smile. 

“I’m well aware,” Eren says, giving the two of them a smile as they walk away. 

As Sukuna walks away, Eren only tightens his grip on your waist, literally seething with anger as he turns to you. You can tell he’s burning, that he’s jealous or aggravated like he always is when Sukuna's around, and you put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I hate that guy. So much, Y/N.” 

“You know he just says that because you’re easy to piss off right?” 

“Are you really taking his side?” 

“I’m just saying. You give him a lot to work with when you react like that. You should try to be zen. Like a flower.” 

"I'm so zen right now." 

"There's a vein on your forehead that's pulsating from how hard you're clenching your jaw, Eren. You're more of a cactus than a pretty flower."

Eren rolls his eyes as he drags you into the auditorium, the two of you taking your seats at the front. 

-  

Five awards later - two of which you won - and you’re standing behind the stage ready to puke. You choked out your best acceptance speech when you won Breakout Actress, spilling tears as you spoke, and luckily enough the other award was one you and Eren won together. He carried most of your speech together, though Eren spent most of it raving about you. 

Reiner’s still on stage, doing his acceptance speech for Breakout Actor and you’re ready to annihilate yourself. When you came back out after winning your award, getting ready for the performance, you received the worst news possible. 

You have to play the piano while you sing. You have to play the piano while you sing because the pianist you’ve been practicing with has food poisoning. 

You lie down flat on the ground, the silver dress you just put on, feeling heavy against your skin, weighing you down. 

“Are you okay? Y/N, you’ll be fine, it's just a piano.” 

Marco brings his hands to the side of your face, lifting your head so he can rest it on his lap. You’re totally aware of the fact that Marco’s sitting on this disgusting floor with you, in his expensive ass outfit, because you’re having a meltdown. You make a mental note to thank him for it later. 

“Oh my fucking god, Y/N. Can you believe it? We’re literally breakout stars.”

You look up at Reiner, now having come off the stage with his shiny silver trophy in hand and a huge smile on his face. You give him a weak smile back, the pressure in your head only getting more intense when you realize it’s your turn. Reiner nearly cringes at the sight of you, which you ignore as you flutter your eyes shut. After the ad break, they’re going to roll out a shiny black piano you're expected to play. 

“Get Eren.” Marco says and Reiner gives a swift nod. Reiner leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, whispering good luck, before he runs off into the background. 

Not even thirty seconds later, you’re met with Eren, a third person now sitting on the dirty floor with you with the softest expression on his face. He’s taken both of your hands, pressing your knuckles to his lips as he presses a kiss onto them both. 

“You okay?” 

“The pianist. Has food poisoning. I have to play the New Year’s Day piano, Eren.” 

“You have magic hands. You can do it.” he whispers.

You can feel Marco’s hands in your hair, fixing away the flyaways as you look up at him. Marco nods too and you can feel yourself feeling dizzy. 

“I can’t do it. I can’t sing for the first time and play the piano. I-I can’t do this.” 

"Y/N. Come on. You can do this." 

You can feel the tears burning in your eyes when you meet Eren's bottle green ones, washed over in concern. And you know that it's just a piano, that it's juat a crowd, and that it's a song that you've sang a million times. But the anxiety is as big as a balloon, ready to burst into something ugly the second you walk out there under the lights.

Eren frowns as he looks over at the piano, getting rolled out onto the stage, and the crew awkwardly looking at you splayed out on the ground. They're pointing at their watches, signaling that if you're going to perform, you're going to do it now. And Eren can't let you choke, not when it's this important. So he does the only thing he can think of. 

“I’ll play the piano." 

You sit up and put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard on the fabric of his suit. 

"Huh?" 

"I'll sit at the bench with you. Play it for you so you can focus on singing." 

“Really, Eren?” you whisper. 

“Can’t do anything without me, can you?”

You lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, his face immediately turning pink at the sensation. He holds his hand out and helps you up, his hands leaning forward to fix the folds of your dress. You both stand on the side of the curtains and you’re nearly positive you’re cutting off circulation to both Marco and Eren’s hands as you wait for your cue. 

When you and Eren walk out, taking your seats on the piano bench and adjusting the microphones, you stare at the crowd. There’s a light flashing on you and Eren that’s partially obstructing your vision. You’re staring out at them - two hundred faces you don’t know and half a million watching at home. 

Don’t choke. Don’t choke. Don’t choke. 

It’s only then that Eren stops playing the piano, his hand on his shoulder shaking you. And then you realize now that he had started. Meaning he had played the entire intro waiting for you to sing and you didn’t. That you blanked on stage. He places his hand on your chin, lightly guiding your face to look at his. 

“It's okay. Just you and me. Like we did on set okay?” 

You nod and Eren starts playing the piano again. And before you know it, you’ve choked out the last lyric, and Eren’s holding your hand as you both bow on the stage. You see people cheering, standing up out of their seats as you walk off and you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest. When you get off into the curtains, they immediately start yank the microphones off of you two as you reach forward for Eren’s hand. 

“I-I blacked out. Was it bad?” 

“It was amazing. You’re amazing. You-you’re” 

Eren leans forward, wrapping his hands around your neck and pressing his lips to yours. You can still feel people moving around you, setting up things for the closing part of the ceremony, but the only thing you’re paying attention to is Eren. And his lips. And the way he’s pulling you closer like he can’t get enough of you. 

When you pull apart, you’re both panting, smiling at each other, foreheads pressed together. 

“Thank god. If I got cock-blocked from kissing you a third time, I was actually going to commit murder.” 

“You want me so bad,” you say, sarcastically. 

“Obviously.” 

You both smile and turn to the left, to a very smiley Marco staring at you two. And then you cringe, remembering that you and Eren are literally backstage and there are like seven people who just watched you suck face in public. Marco walks up, wrapping his arms around both of you and hugging hard. 

“I love you guys.” 

“Marco. Don’t-” Eren starts.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You need time to figure out whatever is going on, without Connie and Sasha up your ass the entire time. But I’m really, really happy for you.” 

“Really, Marco?” you ask, leaning into Eren’s touch. 

“It’s always been you guys. You guys better not break up or else I’ll come hunt both of you down. And if I’m dead, I’ll come back to life just to haunt you guys.” 

You both laugh, smiling at Marco and then each other. Levi and Mikasa call you from the other side of backstage, gesturing for you to come over to watch the video of the performance. You give Marco and Eren a smile before you run off to where they’re standing. 

“Told you she liked you, Eren,” Marco says, elbowing him in the side. 

“I love her,” Eren responds, watching Mikasa and Levi crush you in a hug as you all hunch over the video of you and Eren performing. 

Marco smiles, giving Eren a pat on the back before he walks off to join you. Eren stays, trying to commit the memory to mind. You in a sparkly, silver dress looking at him like he's the sun. 

Eren Jaeger is in love with you. 

- 

Two afterparties later and you and Eren are in a disgusting tattoo parlor down the street. 

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this, Eren.” 

Eren smiles as he presses a kiss to your cheek, the two of you leaning through the little prints in the binder. You’re getting matching tattoos. 

“I can be very persuasive.” 

“Uh-huh. More like hypnotic. I’m half convinced you have me under some spell right now.” 

“You pick what we do. Whatever you want, I’ll get it tattooed.” 

“We should do something special, Eren. Like something that has significance to us.” 

Eren smiles, lifting your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles again before he responds. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s do fish.” 

You smile, nodding at him. 

“Koi fish. Like from that show, the Last Airbender. One fish is the ocean and the other one is the moon” you say. 

“I call the ocean, Y/N.” 

“What? I wanted to be the ocean.” 

“No. That doesn’t fit.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because the moon pulls on the ocean. The waves in the ocean, objectively the best part, don’t exist without the moon. I’m the ocean. You’re my moon.” 

You smile, leaning forward to kiss Eren before you tell the artist the design you two want. And when the two of you walk out, matching sore arms from the ink, you can’t help but wonder how you ever got so lucky in the first place.

A few years down the line, you stare at Eren's blocked contact and think back to that moment. The two of you running down the streets, bathed in dim lamplight laughing into the night. Matching tattoos, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you're two soulmates destined to be together. 

You wonder where it got so fucked up between the two of you in the first place.

--

next part linked here

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[sky-kiss]

Okay I had a thought and you can do with it whatever you want... but Raphael speaking infernal is so underrated. Even in game when he casts spells during battle, he doesn't really verbally say anything which is a shame (but is kinda cool if certain beings are powerful enough to cast nonverbally. Either that or my game is hella bugged). When you had that moment in your latest chapter of him speaking infernal to transform that made me 😳Like the way it'd described of being this harsh language and Raphael speaking it just snapped some part of my brain and I'd imagine it'd do something for Joi/Tav too. Like would Raphael still somehow make it sound beautiful (to quote Mamzelle, "a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn" or it would he still sound harsh but it's still hot because it's flying out of THAT mouth?

__________

A/N: There’s an actor I used to adore who was German, but often spoke a lot of french. So his German would come out with that gentle French lilt. Gonna channel that.

__________

He comes to her in the evening, this devil she loves, and the scent of cherries, sulfur, and musk hangs about him like a shroud. Raphael prowls about her suite like some great cat, his dark head held high. In the hells, his hellfire eyes will light with their inner fire. On the prime material, he’s softer. Warm brown, a touch of honey, almost sweet enough to make her forget. 

“You’re late,” she says. 

He hums lowly. The natural theatricality of the noise does not rob it of its power; Tav shivers. The devil sees; he knows. He always knows. “Ah, but there is such beauty in anticipation, wouldn’t you agree? Desire honed to a knife’s point.” A turn of his right hand, long-fingered and elegant. “Before one tips over the edge.” 

It’s a fine enough point in principle, but less appealing in reality. Their time is short, limited to stolen moments when their schedules align. She has a city to rebuild. He has the lower planes to conquer. 

Her devil smiles, patronizing. “If you feel neglected, mouse, I have already proposed a solution. You’ve only to accept the offered hand.” 

“Join you in Hell?” He nods, eyes wide and lovely. It strikes her that he has cultivated every aspect of this human skin: the smile is so wide, so open, and so nakedly suffused with guile that it wraps back around to innocence. 

Raphael steps close. The scent again: cherries, sweet and delicate. Her devil, wearing sweetness and silk to hide his uglier underbelly. He brushes the fringe of her hair back from her cheek, touch lingering. “Deny me all you like, pet. It shall make the eventual fall all the sweeter.”

Anticipation. Tav shivers. 

Some nights, they fuck in front of the fireplace or on the chaise. Never in the bed. It’s her stipulation. Raphael crinkles his nose at the coarse language and indelicacy of the location. She deserves better, he says. The phrase always comes with an accompanying hand gesture, as if he's framing her for a portrait. Something pretty he can lock away from the world, point at when he wants to feel superior. Admire his wealth, this wild adventurer he’s collared. 

Most nights, they work. Tav shuffles through requisition orders. Raphael amends his contracts. She watches him work, more often than not, gaze flicking across the elegant script. It burns, and there’s an undeniable elegance to the infernal ruins. Tav reaches out to race a line, mouthing the words. She’s out of practice. Infernal is not a pretty language; it fits particularly poorly in her untrained tongue. Raphael rests his chin in his palm, amused by her attempt. 

“Allow me.” 

The devil repeats the phrase. It may as well be a different language. The words drip off his tongue, the harshness erased in favor of a lilting cadence. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, brow furrowed. “Is that…is it a regional dialect? Something distinct to Cania?” 

“In all likelihood, you’ve only heard the lower dialects. The least baatezu are harsh and guttural. The higher speech has a grace to it, provided one is willing to learn. It is a melody, dark and heady as any wine.” Raphael places his hand, palm up, on the table. “Allow me.” Tav sets her hand in his. “Close your eyes, pet.” 

She does. 

Raphael traces lines across her palm, humming to himself. “There are four tongues, sweetling. Lower, lowest, high, highest. For the sake of your sanity, we shall avoid the dialect of the archdevils. But the language of the courts might please you.” 

“And is there a reason my eyes must remain closed?” 

He chuckles, thumb pressing against the veins of her wrist. There is an awful note of potential in the touch; he could break the fragile bones with half a thought. “Feeling, Tav. Like the steps of the dance, it should fill you, move you.” 

She shivers as his fingers ghost up her forearm, featherlight nerve strokes. Raphael repeats the lines of infernal, his fingers drifting up on the mouth melodic stretches, dipping down when the words adopt a guttural edge. It is never grating, never clipped; some of that is exclusively him, years of experience and language marrying in a distinctive vocal pattern. Tav chews her lower lip. She’s too aware of his heat, pinpricks of warmth dancing across her skin as he plays his game.

It is beautiful and dark, and she feels the words on her skin. Raphael traces the runes. Her mind struggles to translate the higher dialect, flowing until it isn’t, succinct until double-meaning creeps into the terminology. Tav feels drunk in the darkness. 

“And now,” his voice is closer, spoken against the shell of his ear. The devil gathers her into his lap. He smiles into the curve of her throat. “The student demonstrates what she’s learned. Come, pet, impress me.” 

He traces the runes on her thighs. Over the skin of her belly. Between her breasts. And if she loses the thread, if her voice gives way, her devil stops. He’ll suck a bruise into her throat, press teeth until they threaten to breast skin, tease, tease, tease…

Anticipation, she thinks, that earlier word flitting across her awareness. 

And her devil is ever patient.

[celebtf]

Dylan and The Extra

So I got cast as an Extra in this movie, didn't really know what it is about but it's extra cash and right now I take everything I can get. As an Extra you really don't meet the stars on set, you just do your job and they come do their scen and leave. I just to think every actor/movie star was a bart, acting all snobby, arrogant.

I was going in to Studio 17 to see the scene they were shooting right now and I also wanted to get a sandwich from the snack table, I have been here since 4am, I'm getting hungry at this point.

I got into the studio and see they are running through a scene and somebody yells

" Dylan, we need to in hair and makeup right now, to fix up the wig and some other stuff"

I saw Dylan Minnette run from place A to B and for the first time i started to find him attractive.

----------------------------------------------------

" Hey Dylan, I'm sorry I had to rush you out of the scene so fast, we just needed to check the wig really fast " the makeup girl said, Dylan just looked at her and smiled a big smile. He actually loved this trailer because it was very quiet. " Can you please take of your shirt, just quick so it dosen't get messy before the scene " Dylan changed out of the yellow shirt and put it on a hanger.

" I'm so sorry Theresa, I need to run to the bathroom very fast before we start " Dylan said with a sad undertone and left the trailer

----------------------------------------------------

I had been listening outside the trailer when Dylan and his Makeup person talked so I knew he was going to the bathroom, I quietly opened the door in to the trailer, his makeup artist was not there at the moment, so I took the shirt of the hanger and hide it and run towards the bathrooms.

I was in the bathroom and went in to a booth and I tried Dylans shirt on, and I heard the door open from the other booth.

I opened my door and I saw dylan drop to his knees in pain but I still tried on the shirt, it smelled so good, if I could get high on a smell, it would've been this.

Thankfully I couldn’t feel the pain myself, but I could feel a small light pleasure in my now too-tight pants, my dick was growing.

I went over to the mirror and saw my face changing, the hair went light brown, my stubble grew back. The Transformation made me sweat, I needed to get this shirt of right now.

" I look so hot, don't I, Dylan" I looked at the old Dylan who was in pain with a smile. " I would love to chat, but the makeup girl is waiting on me" I took the weak Dylan by his collar and locked him in the bathroom. I took the shirt in my hand and went out.

" One last check " I look so hot, I know what I will be doing later " I laughed and went back to the trailer.

" Hey Theresa, I'm sorry, I have a bad stomach today" I said, hoping she wouldn't notice the change in actor.

" It's okay Dylan, we all have those days, now sit in the chair so we can put the wig on, and then put the yellow shirt on again "

----------------------------------------------------

Hii it's me, I'm hoping you guys understood the POV shift, it makes it easier for me too, even if it's a bit basic. Hope you liked this story, I try uploading every 2-5 days.

[muchlov3ashley]

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓣𝓸𝓸 𝓦𝓮𝓵𝓵~ (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸’𝓼 𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷)

Au! Actor!Gojo x Singer!R

______________________

Yachting with Gojo is fun, but when any guy slightly tries to get close to you.. his blood boils? Wonder why? What are you to him?

Fluff! Smut! Angst! Fake-dating! Enemies to lovers! Drug use! She fell first he fell harder!

Previous chapter

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𝓒𝓱3-𝒮𝒶𝓁𝓉 𝒜𝒾𝓇, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒..

Sarori come into the kitchen after showing you her fifth bathing suit she tried. You looked up from the counter. Nipping your finger skin a little with the knife you were using to cut fruit. Your started sucking on your finger due to the pain. Looking up observing Sarori.

“That’s the one!” You told Sarori. Sliding the fruit from the cutting board into a container. “Yuji’s gonna love it.” You teased winking at her. Her face became filled up with blush. “So uh what are you going to wear?”

You both walked to your room. You pointed to the 2 piece bikini on your bed One pink and blue. “Well I was thinking one of these.” You said while going to your night stand applying a bandaid on your cut. Sarori stepped a little close to observe them. “This one.” She pointed to the blue one. “I think gojo will like that one.” She teased back. Your face heated up, but you took her advice hoping a little that it’ll be true.

_____________________

You parked at the parking space of the dock. Putting your beach bag on your shoulder holding the tinfoil container filled with mixed fruit. Peaking over to notice a pink haired boy. “Hey yuji.” Yelled Sarori. He waved towards you and hugged Sarori. Leading yall down a pathway to the dock.

Your face lit up amazed at how big the boat actually was. You stepped on the boat to see the familiar faces and some new ones. Greeting everyone near by. When Geto came up to you. “Nice to see you Y/N.” He hugged you in a friendly way. “Nice to see you too, I brought some fruit.” You said handing him the tray. “You didn’t have to Y/N-.” Suguru got cut off by another familiar voice. “But it’s very appreciated.” You felt a warm hand on your waist turning you around to face him. “Glad you came Y/N.” Said Gojo hugging you.“Oh. It was my pleasure thank you for inviting me.” You said a little hot from the blush rising up from Gojo being close to you. “You look very-.” Gojo said before being cut off by a buff guy with a man bun. “Gojoo go tell them to start the boat.” He nodded walking off. You pouted wanting to hear what he was going to say. Walking to sit by Sarori. Now chatting with the group around you.

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The boat stopped Finally making it a shallow part of the ocean. Almost everyone got into the water beside a few people. You sat on the the the foot rest part of the boat dipping your toes in the water. With a notebook in your thigh brainstorming song ideas.

When a brown haired boy came to sit by you. “Hi nice to meet you, I’m Haibara, I haven’t seen you around here?.” He said. “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/N, Gojo’s costar.” You said extending a hand, he shook it gently. From a distance Gojo had been watching with a scowl on his face. For some reason seeing you so close to another boy made his blood boil. He felt he had to do something show him you were with him. “You must be the pretty actress, singer Gojo had been mentioning.” You face heated at the thought of Gojo mentioning to others about you. Before you could say anything Haibara was pushed into the water. You reached over bending down, with a hand reaching out towards him to help him. Haibara declined looking behind to see Gojo giving him a “fuck off look”. “Oopsies. My bad it was an accident.” Said Gojo in a low tone. Peaking at your backside and your ass while you bend down. “Are you okay?” You asked Haibara. “Yeah, it all good accidents happen.” He said swimming off. Sarori started swimming towards you.

You sat back up. Elbowing Gojo’s stomach. “Was that really an accident.” You said to Gojo. “Ouch, I swear it was.” He said trying to hide a the pleasure in his voice. You just rolled your eyes. “Plus you’re gonna be dating me soon. So it’s best not to give any guy an idea.” He leaned towards your ear. “Maybe I should mark you that way everyone knows your mine.” He said softly. You started heating up from the comment.

But before you could reply. Sarori tapped on you leg. “Y/N come and get in water.” She said. “Mkay but come put sunscreen on my back.” You replied. Pulling out sunscreen from your bag to hand it to her. When a hand snatched it from you. “It okay Sarori I can do it.” Replied Gojo. You hesitated but didn’t wan’t to take away from Sarori time. You nodded. “I’ll be there In a second, Sarori.” You said. She nodded and swam off.

Gojo started applying it. Just like he imagined it you skin was soft and smooth. You bit you lip holding back gasps from the pleasure you felt from his warm and gentle hands. “Do you want me to put some on your back.” You asked a little a gasp escape. Gojo heard it and scared smirking feeling pleased with himself. “Mhm, yeah.” Replied Gojo. You scooted behind him. Applying the sunscreen rubbing it on his back in messaging motions. “Fuckk- right there Y/N.” He said. Your face heated up, a thousand of dirty thoughts running through your head. You started messaging in the same spot. “Here?” You asked . “Yes right there.” He groaned. “Uh, just tell my when to stop.” You said trying to brush off the dirty thoughts. “Mhm, that’s good you can stop.”. Realizing he might’ve made you uncomfortable. In reality he didn’t want stop. He wondered a little what else you could message so good. You also wanted the know the same but knew it was wrong.

_____________________

He got up climbing down the stairs on the yacht into the water. You follow by a few seconds later. Swimming around. Now you were all by each other. “Let’s do chicken fighting.” Suggest Yuji. You saw people starting get on top of eachother. You would play just didn’t know who to ask because you’re new to the group. When suddenly you felt someone lift you up. “Is it fine if you’re partner.” Asked gojo. You were now on his shoulder. “Mhm sure.” You said quietly surprised. Gosh this man just can’t leave you be a moment without making you blush.

“Ready set go.” Announced Yuji. You weren’t normally a “try hard” but for some reason you felt competitive right now. And you ended up winning. Gojo lifted you up and everyone started clapping others teased you saying you two were cheating. During the time he lifted you up his hand accidentally slipped to your rear end. You gasped and he accidentally dropped you. You fell into the water. Rising up holding onto his shoulder as he held onto your waist. Coughing out water. He lifted you up onto the foot rest to sit. Climbing out off the water onto the yacht going to look for a water.

When hand appeared holding out a water. You thought it was gojo. “Thanks Satoru.” You said grabbing the water. “It’s Suguru.” You rubbed your eyes. They were still a little foggy. Oh. “Glad to see you two warming up to each other.” Said Suguru. “But Y/N you’re only warming up to him as a coworker right?” You sat there in silence not knowing what to the answer was. Because your heart liked him than that, more than a coworker. “Look Y/N you’re a bright and talented girl, right now Satoru will only get in the ways of your goals. As much as I want to see my best friend happy. He has a lot of issue going on with him. Deep down Satoru is an empty man, filling up the emptiness with luxuries, sex, and substances.”. You gulped. “You’re the type of girl who wants something serious, “live in the moment” and commitment. He isn’t, hes has a “live fast and die young” mindset , and commitment isn’t in his apart of that.” You felt you stomach ache. “But why?” You said in a shaky voice. Just as Geto was about to speak. you felt a towel wrapped around you.

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“Are you good Y/N?” Asked Gojo. “Yeah I’m just cold.” Geto said goodbye leaving you two alone. Looking around to see no one. Feeling a vibration on your thigh. Looking down at your phone to see a text from Sarori and also-

[incoming Call] Dad 💕

[6:45] Sarori 🤍: I left with Yuji. I’ll be home soon tough :).

[5:30] Dad 💕: Hey Darling! I want you to meet my girlfriend. Just let me know when you’re available. ❤️

“Can’t I take this?” You asked Gojo, he nodded getting up. But only sitting in a nearby table, keeping watch on you. Answering the call.

“I’m good dad, look I can’t talk right now.” You muttered clutching your fist. “No it’s fine I’m happy you’re happy. I’ll call you later Kay?” You said a littler tear running down your cheek. Putting down your phone. Gojo reappearing sitting down by you.

“What wrong Y/N?” He said looking at you. You sighed “Nothing just something silly.” You replied fighting back the urge to burst. “I’m sure it’s not silly, you can tell me.” He said holding your chin, for you to face him. His eyes were bright, the pretty sunset hit his face perfectly, and he had assuring presence to him. You turned away looking at the waves of the ocean. Letting a few tears escape. “It’s just my dad, he has a girlfriend. It just reminded me of my mom. It’s been years since her ..” you paused for a moment tears now obviously streaming down your face. Gojo put a hand on your cheeks wiping away the tears. “Death, I’m just a little uncomfortable with my dad having a new partner. But I really do want him to be happy.” You said. Gojo put a hand on your hand moving his thumb back and forth.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I don’t know how to comfort you properly.” He pulled you into a hug. Your head on his chest feeling his pulse, somewhat fast?. “It’s fine can we just stay like this for a little more?” You said admiring the sunset. “Yeah of course.” He replied. Enjoying the peace for around 5 mins. When a notification went off on his phone. But you both just ignored it. Enjoying the peace. When another notification went off. You pulled back from the hug. Looking at the ocean lost in your thoughts. He grabbed his phone turning it on the silent button tossing it to the side.

He use his fingers to make you face him. “Feeling better, princess?” He said wiping any wetness off of your face. “Mhm, thank you.” You replied. “Satoru..” You said. “Yeah princess?” He said bitting his lip, he loved the way you said his name. “What did you wanna tell me later?” . “When?”Gojo replied. “Uh. You said you look very, but never finished what you were going to say.” He leaned into your ear. “I was going to tell you look very pretty, but right now I wanna tell you, you very look beautiful. Blue suits you very well, princess .” In your mind you thanked Sarori.

“You mean it? Or are you just teasing.” You asked. “How could I not?” Gojo replied. Fuck this man was gonna be the death of you, you thought. Sinking back into reality. This man was gonna be your coworker for atleast a year. It’s best to not give into that temptation. “I should go.” You said getting up. “No whyyy princess.” He groaned. “I have work tomorrow.” You lied. But he could see right through you. “Lairr tomorrow is Sunday, no one works on a Sundays. Cmon stay a little longer.” You wanted to agree, but remembered Suguru’s advice. “Sarori had an argument with Itadori, I wanna be there for her.” You lied. He could feel you were lieing but he just agreed. So he just nodded.

“Thank you for today Satoru, I had fun.” You said hugging him enjoying his warmth. “Goodnight princess glad you came.” He said hugging you back.

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You walked back your car exhausted. Feeling a the a little throb in your chest. When you saw a figure leaning on a light pole at the parking lot smoking. “Suguru? What are you doing here?” You said leaning on your car. “I like smoking near the waves it’s calming.” He shrugged.

“I have a question.” You said. “Mhm what’s up?” Suguru replied lighting another cigarette. “Is there any chance he’ll .. commit? You know like atleast try?” “Can’t say for sure. Maybe some love with change that. And honestly you’re different, from what I’ve seen he’s never acted around some other girl like the way he does with you. when he looks at you his eyes a filled with pure happiness and affection.” You heated up at the way he described the way gojo looking towards you. feeling butterflies in your stomach.

“But look I still think it’s better off keeping boundaries, and staying purely as coworkers, in reality he does impulsive things, he’ll hurt before he can be hurt, especially after-.” Suguru paused feeling he said to much. “Especially after what Suguru?” You asked. “Well he was getting serious with a girl once, he wanted to give it a try. But she ended cheating on him… with his dad. After that he tried a few more relationships but he was either to over protective or he cheated on them.” He said in an unpleasant tone. “Please Y/N, just make the best decision.” Suguru said walking off.

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𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸’𝓼 𝓟𝓞𝓥

He was back home alone.. leaving just him and his thoughts. He got into his shower, his bones ached a little. Letting the water drip on his body , just in his thoughts. And you were the only thing on his mind. The way you rejected staying with him a little longer, the way you messaged him, the way your plush soft thighs felt on his shoulders, your beautiful giggles, and that little gasp you let out while he applied lotion, the way your ass felt when he accidentally let one of his hands slip.

“Fuck.” He groaned. Seeing his member harden. Slowly but surely moving him hand down his body until he was holding it. Biting his lip. Giving his member long strokes and vigorous pumps use one of his thumb pressing on his throbbing tip leaking of precum. Thinking about your how you would jerk him off. Imagining your smaller hands moving up and down him, telling him he was so big. another long fast stroke. He found himself letting a loud moan of your name slipping out of his mouth. Eyes clenched shut as he relished in the feeling of release .. thinking of you and only you. He groaned, Cum spilling onto his shower tiles.

He finished cleaning up going into his room seeing his phone ring.

[incoming Call] Yuji

“What’s up?.” Said Gojo. “Look my girl left her purse, on the boat can I just pick it up real quick?” Asked Itadori. “Yeah go ahead I’ll just tell the boat crew, Sarori right?” Said Gojo using a towel to dry his hair. “Yeah duh..” replied Yuji. “Glad to know yall made up.” “Huh made up..? what do you mean?” Asked Yuji confused. “I thought yall had an argument.” Asked Gojo. “Huh no we didn’t. We were just chilling.” Replied Yuji. “Hmm must be thinking of the wrong person then. Anyways I told the boat captain, go ahead bye.”

Now he was confused was it a mistake? Or did you just flat out lie. Did he make you uncomfortable. Was he rude? Or .. Was there another guy, you were seeing.? “Fuck it.” He said grabbing his car keys, he needed an answer.

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Ch4 Preview || Why did you lie to him? Pushing back your feelings for your costar is for the best right?

A/N || uhh sorry for yapping so much. And for the wait! Anyways bye! Gonna go start on ch4 :))

Please Repost and @ me . Like and follow so I know you’re liking the series! Feedback Too Very appreciated !

Love yall! 💋

Taglist || @sakui1 @sanriosatoru @gh0ulkz

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