#list of my fanfics

[jerreeeeeee]

Balance fic recs

some of my favorite balance fics. various ages, popularities, and lengths. i’ve been wanting to do a rec list for a while!

caramel by nevereverever

The first time Taako is left alone, it isn't pretty. But their lives are stuck in a loop and people come back and die again and again and he wonders if there will ever be a time when he doesn't have to fear being left alone.

2.7k, Taako & Lup Lup dies one cycle and then, years later, she dies again. But she always comes back. Hurt/comfort of the best kind.

Warmth by noxic

"It was a well-known fact among the residents of the Starblaster that Lup, Barry, and Taako slept in the same bed more often than not. It was one of those things that they just did without really talking about it."

2.1k, Barry & Lup & Taako The BLT fic of all time. Quality platonic adult sleepovers.

Taako the Matchmaker by @fantasysamsclub

In which Taako tries to set up his sister. Events take place during Stolen Century.

11.1k, Blupjeans & Taako Taako tries to set up blupjeans. Miscommunication ensues. Very sweet and funny.

red fishing line by @anistarrose

A routine performance of Sizzle it Up goes nightmarishly wrong, and at Lup’s bedside, Taako feels helpless. And when a red-robed guest appears before him, Taako doesn’t know how or what to feel at all.

3k, Barry & Lup & Taako Also the BLT fic of all time. Excellent subtle Taako characterization, and my favorite depiction of the familiarity-but-not of being voidfished. Warning for major character death.

Sunny-Side Up by @barry-j-blupjeans

And the world? The world loved Taako. For once in his gods-damned life, people loved him. They didn’t care about all the flaws, they didn’t care where he came from or who he was before. They loved his food and they loved him. No one would ever quite be at Taako’s level and that was something he thrived on. There would never be anyone who could measure up. Taako deserved this happiness. He worked for it. He wasted his fucking life away for it.

5.7k, Taako A wonderful character study, revolving around the role food plays in Taako's life. Fairly minor but impactful characters like Sazed and Taako's aunt are utilized in a very meaningful way. So well-written and warm. Warning for brief suicidal ideation.

On the Deck of the Starblaster by @papergardener

“What the… what are you all doing? We have work to do!” It’s a justified reaction, Lucretia thinks, to finding your entire crew literally lazing about on deck not an hour into this new cycle. “This one's on me,” Taako says. “It’s a new trend I like to call: taking a fucking break.” Cycle Nintey-Five. Everyone’s maybe not doing so good and could use a little warmth.

6.5k, Lucretia & Taako Near the end of the century, Lucretia is feeling rough. Taako pulls her out of her funk and initiates a much needed rest. Fantastic characterization, of Lucretia as a whole, and the loyal, warm side of Taako. Warning for mentions of a suicide attempt and suicidal ideation.

leaving, as an injustice by @anistarrose

When Mavis is eight, she starts finding her Dad asleep on the couch in the morning. Sometimes, he’s even all the way out on their tiny patio, with his head slumped onto a pillow atop the chess table, and bags beneath his eyes. In one of their following games, he tells her about tactical retreats.

4.7k, Mavis & Merle A study of Mavis and her relationship to Merle. Incredibly insightful into criminally underrated characters. Excellent Merle characterization.

Permission by vaguenotion

She’d been doing this on and off for the last hour, as if daring the men to catch up to them. Daring them to fight her. Every time seemed like a final stand. Here is where I will meet them, her shoulders said, hiked up around her ears. Here is where I’ll make them pay for what they’ve done. But then Taako would grab her hand, and she would turn and see the bruising on his throat, the blood drying on his brow, the tear in his shirt. And she would grip his hand in hers and together they would keep running.

12.6k, Taako & Lup My favorite depiction of the twins as children, both in character and realistic. Beautifully atmospheric, with so many small details that make the setting feel so real. Warning for assault and harm to children.

Come Hell or High Water by @nillial

“Taako,” Hurley asks, “where’s your magic umbrella?” Taako looks behind him. He had tossed the Umbrastaff in the path of a neighboring vehicle, which was beginning to catch up to them. He sees them now, far in the distance, and he sees his Umbrastaff, too, lying dangerously close to its wheels. As if on cue, he watches the tires crush it to pieces. “Whoops,” he says. - Lup is trapped. And then she isn’t. --- In which Taako breaks his umbrella during the Petals to the Metal race, unknowingly freeing Lup, who is almost immediately captured by Kravitz. After becoming a member of the Raven Queen's retinue with Kravitz as her trainer, she has two missions: 1) find her family, and 2) ruin Kravitz's afterlife. A story about enemies becoming friends and lost families finding their way back to one another.

197k (currently), Lup & Kravitz Incredible characterization. I love the way Lup is written. Hilarious shenanigans, sweet friendship-building, and terribly sad sometimes, because it dives deep into the reality of Lup existing in a world that's forgotten her.

Very cold water on a very hot day by @keplercryptids

Sometimes a family is a nerd who can't swim and the crunchy-haired watersport inventor who teaches him how. Surfer lingo required.

3.1k, Barry & Taako Deep dive into the beach year. Excellently in character, well-written dialogue, and a beautiful depiction of their growing friendship.

Children of Atlas by @papergardener

They’ve survived the apocalypse and now as far as they know, they’re the only ones left. Perhaps it was inevitable that they’d consider… repopulation. Lucretia writes up a weekly schedule to try and address that. Absolutely no one is happy with this.

76k (currently), IPRE crew The premise for this one is incredibly offputting, but I'm so glad I gave it a chance. The characterization and quality of writing is absolutely wonderful. I also love the attention to detail of the realistic difficulty of just surviving. Fantastically atmospheric, this fic dives deep into the uncertainty and fear of the first cycle, when the crew are all strangers, and the love that turns them into a family. Warning for extensive discussion of sexual assault.

Emissary Davenport by DragonWrites

A series of stories where Captain Davenport is secretly an emissary of Garl Glittergold, Gnomish god of pranks. And when you're a serious-minded captain on a mission to save all of reality, having a cheerful trickster god as your unexpected patron can get a little strange...

300k, Davenport A series of four works set in an AU where Davenport is an emissary to the leader of the gnomish pantheon. My absolute favorite depiction of Davenport, ever. The first three works are explorations of Davenport as a character and the relationships between people and gods in a DnD world. The last, Lost Gods, is the best fanfiction I've ever read. I can't express how good it is. The attention to detail among myriad plot threads, the building of themes, the characterization across just about every single character in Balance, all come together to create 223k words of a genuine masterpiece.

[dahliadew]

Danny Fenton goon union representative (dp x dc fanfic prompt)

At no point in Danny's life has he ever turned down a challenge, even when he had to deal with opponents bigger than himself. From dealing with everyone from Dash to Vlad to heck pariah dark, he's learned to take down people bigger than himself. So when he overhears that his nice father of four neighbors has been having some trouble at work and has been unable to get some time off, he figures it can't hurt to try to help such a nice guy out. And it does go ok, all things considered; I mean, what if the guy's boss was the penguin, and so what if Danny maybe had to show off some of his less-than-human characteristics to get him to agree to let the guy have some time off? Everything worked out at the end of who cares.

Well, when word gets out that someone is not afraid to go tow to tow with the city's villains, someone's bound to either take him out or hire him. And when word gets around that he's willing to help get better working conditions for Gotham's goon workers, their union could use a new representative.

So Danny inadvertently gets a new job, wherein he gets to meet many strange characters around the city and help many friendly working-class people with their problems. Interchange the goons help hide Danny from the bat, and his no meta-rule, even if Danny doesn't know they're hiding him. But this does cause some problems because people like black mask don't necessarily want to pay for their goon's vision care or overtime and refuses to adhere to any of the union's demands. Danny, for what it's worth, did warn the guy because, unlike black mask, he has the goon's respect and knows that they will listen to him, so when he proposes a strike, they readily agree to his suggestion.

And with all of this going down so quickly in the city, both batman and the red hood need to get as much info on this new player before things get even more out of hand. But with all of the normal underground information channels refusing to give them anything, they are forced to schedule a meeting with not only the union but its infamous leader, which is good for Danny because he wasn't sure how to get into contact with batman anyway. He has some concerns with the level of violence used to take down some goons. And well, when they have no choice but to work in this industry, they should, at the very least, outline a clear code of conduct for all parties involved to ensure the safest possible work environment.

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Sarcasm's DPxDC rec list

{I have no else to blame but myself for how long this could have been. I don't discriminate between ships in the fandom. If I'm curious, I'll read it, but I do have a particular love for Hardcover if you haven't somehow guessed. }

Main Masterlist Regent Series Mundane Macabre

[Hardcover/Anger Management ship]

I’m Picking You Up by Clouds

Unfortunately, the Bad Guys Are Human by aggiepuff (With sequel, "Welcome to the Neighborhood" in the same series)

Premeditation by Chromatographic (With its WIP sequel, "The Mercy of the Fallen")

The Wonderous Beauty of the Statuesque Scarlet by Elizabehta_Beilschmidt Unwanted Farewells by TheStarfishAlien (Not sure if this should be in this category or in general)

When All Other Lights Go Out by suzukiblu

Slap-A-Soulmate by Bewitched_Forest

Blood On the Crown by SkylarkSky (WIP)

[Demon Twins/Damian and Danny are Twins] Phantom Assassin by Kanereader765 (WIP) (An incredible view on an assassin trained Phantom who escaped the league)

Cain and Abel Wept by Katlover98 The Fenton Twins by AceFace98 (Twist on the usual demon twin formula) Twin Stars by CrescentCyan

The Bat Trap by Threee (One of the best works I have ever had the pleasure of reading in this fandom. Still reread it every now and then because I love it so much.)

[General Recs]

Ghosts In Gotham by Sivan5733 (Technically two out of the 5 works contain Hardcover content, the fifth work is the longest and its a great series.)

Robin's Egg by Calix (WIP) (Hilarious)

TWINcognito mode by nerdpoe (Double the unasked for gremlin.)

let the mourners come by PorcelanaRota (RIP twitter)

I’m King Boo by TourettesDog

Ghostly Delivery by WeirdNCrazy

The Misadventures of Cosplay Man by Shynnohwen

Midnight Blues and Late Night Tunes by halfagone

Hatred at First Sight by Sagoberattare

If I had a nickel… by bongo_balderdash

Somebody’s Gonna Love You by DisillusionedDanny

Danny Fenton, Hero Helper Extraordinaire by aryelee

You Look Like You’ve Seen A Ghost by ShootingFromAfar

You’re Gonna Be Sooo Haunted by ReverseNecromancer (WIP)

Death In the Hometown by Bad_Wolf_CDS (WIP)

Who Hurt My Baby? By OneDayITooWillChallengeGod (WIP)

Raising Phantom by Imp_y (WIP)

Blood Sons by Katlover98

Bask In Our Cosmic Insignificance by DisillusionedDanny

A King’s Prerogative by SugarPhantom

[Dead Tired]

Still Into You by DisillusionedDanny

The Rebirth of Tim Drake by Bewitched_Forest (WIP)

Family Introductions by Half-dead Ham

[Dead Silent]

Full Time Hero, Full Time Disaster by halfagone

[Dead On Main]

Lightning In A Bottle by DisillusionedDanny (WIP)

Like Betta Fish Do by PaperPuffin (WIP)

Empty Graves by Binaberries (WIP)

I Killed The Who? By Petite_Phthora (WIP)

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER THREE: ALL TOO WELL

AND I KNOW IT'S LONG GONE AND THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO, AND I FORGET ABOUT YOU LONG ENOUGH TO FORGET WHY I NEEDED TO.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, description of panic attack, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.7K+

☆ A/N: it'll be a short fic, i said. short and sweet and simple, i lied to myself.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

The moment your name leaves his lips, you swear the world halts on its rotation. 

This was real. Every fear and every anxiety you had wrestled with over the last twenty four hours wasn’t for naught – he was here, sitting before you, breathing your name out like a sigh of relief when all you felt was pain. Stabbing, radiating pain. It’s even worse than looking at pictures and headlines of a stranger on a phone screen. Something about him suddenly being tangible, suddenly being real, sends you reeling. 

Lydia looks wildly between your showdown with the ghost of a man before you, “I’m sorry… Do you two- do you know each other?”

Not anymore.

“I-” you choke on your stutter. You’re frozen under his stare, going ashen as your head spins. Leave the room. Think of an excuse, get out of this room, run away. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

It’s the world’s most pathetic excuse, but the only thing you can spit out before you’re turning heel and running, just as your body had so desperately craved. You nearly bump into one of the security guards you’d just bravely had a confrontation with. 

They’d demanded your phone, you had put up a fight. You had stood your ground. Had held your chin high, dared them to push further even once they had your cell phone in their grasp, and displayed all that self-assuredness you had curated in the last two years. Only to end up scampering past them like a wounded animal mere seconds later.

Pathetic.

Lydia calls out something after you, but it reaches deaf ears as you blaze down the hallway. Your chest is squeezing, as if someone had wrapped it in shrink-wrap and sucked all of the air right out of it, swathed so tightly you could feel every pounding beat of your pulse racing. Your eyesight completely blurs, not quite from tears but rather a mere loss of focus. You nearly knock over one of the god forsaken fake plants Lydia insists as a primary form of decor, hardly being within the right mind to reach out and right the oversized bush of green plastic. 

But you don’t have to. Right as your back collides with the wall off to the side of the plant, breathing only coming in short and miserable pants, a different hand reaches out to catch the plant. A ringed hand. 

When Eddie says your name again, it’s not a sigh. It’s laced with panic as you support your full weight against white plaster and stare at where knuckles wrap around faux wooden stems. 

“Hey,” he stresses, hand leaving your line of sight as he puts a large palm on each of your shoulders. You can’t look at him, not yet, “Hey, can you breathe for me? C’mon, big breaths.” 

This close, you can smell the cologne. It’s not even the same woodsy drugstore scent that had lingered on the pillowcases he’d left you to cling to while on tour. Even that, something so miniscule as what cologne he now wore, had changed. And the new and unfamiliar scent chokes you, turns your desperate gasps for air even more futile. 

You had walked out of that apartment two years ago, without any intention of ever being this close to him again. You’d sworn to yourself you’d never be this close again. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” he squeezes your shoulders within his hold ever so slightly, as if attempting to ground you, “You need to breathe.” 

Your eyes nervously find his brown ones. For a second, you recall summer days when the sun would hit them just right, turning them into molten honey for your tasting. Soft and glowing, warming you from the inside out so effortlessly. 

But there’s not a single shred of sunlight in this hallway. The dark brown falls flat against your vision. 

“I’m fine,” you very clearly aren’t, struggling to even get the words out into the air between you two, “I’m- I’m fine.”

He doesn’t fight you when you reach up to swat away his hands. He lets you, hands falling away with ease, touch retracting as if it had never burned you. You take the chance to look over the metal now settled on his fingers, and you realize he still wears all the same ones you remember so vividly. A cross, a pig’s face, an animalistic skull. But there are new ones added to his collection, adorned on his right hand rather than the left. Unfamiliar and odd, the bulky metallic additions are more plentiful. A silver snake wrapped around his pinky, a large spider with the body of a Magic 8 ball on his pointer, a bat spread eagle on his middle. There’s a chunkier one on his thumb, thinner ones added above a few of his second knuckles, but you can’t clear the haze of your vision long enough to pick up on the designs. You choose to focus back on the familiar ones instead, old and comforting even in your panic. 

New rings, new cologne, new habits – the Eddie before you is not the Eddie you once knew. 

“Okay,” he’s whispering now. You’re not even sure what excuse he used to follow you out here without causing a scene. Maybe he did cause a scene, surely a grander one than you. He had that privilege now; he was an untouchable rockstar, he could afford to raise a ruckus. “I… Are you sure?” 

It’s hard to believe there was a time he was a familiar comfort when all that remains now is the awkward distance between the two of you.

But when he takes a step back from you, the new cologne leaves your stratosphere and the new rings leave your field of vision, and the breaths finally come just a tiny bit easier. Still not enough to satiate your lungs, but enough that the headrush begins to pass. 

“I’m sure.” 

You try to insert such finality in those two words. As if whatever had just happened would fade and never exist, as if you could walk back into that conference room and take yourself off this project. You can’t. Eddie has a sense of control, a grip on his reality and the reigns of his choices, but you don’t. If you were to demand Lydia remove you from the project, you’d be risking termination. You’d be risking everything – and it may not be much, but you’d built it brick by broken brick these last few years. You’d salvaged what you had been able to out of the ashes of what had been, but it hadn’t been enough. It had hardly been enough for a foundation. You’d built up the person that now stood before him from practical scratch.

The weight of just how much you had to lose hits suddenly – the realization that this was happening and you had no control of it. 

But Eddie did. He had to. 

“You need to go back in there,” you start, voice still shaking and eyes still averted, “And you need to demand that they reassign you guys. You… You need-” you begin to stutter and fumble to find the right words. You could have lashed out, could have tried to pour salt in a wound you weren’t even sure still existed so that Eddie made the choice on his own. But your mind is muddled and you’re desperate, “Someone else can take on the project. You need to go and demand that someone else takes on the project.” 

“What?” Not the response you wanted. Not the response you needed, “I- No.” 

Two years later, and he still found a way to do significant damage. 

Your eyes snap up, “What do you mean no?” 

“I mean no.”

“I haven’t asked anything of you. Not back then, not after everything happened, I-”

He cuts you off with a scoff. “Can’t ask for anything if you just fall off the face of the fucking earth.” 

You hadn’t noticed before, but as his walls begin to build, you realize that the prior interaction had been something vulnerable. Something where neither of you were on the defense quite yet like you’d always imagined a reunion would go. All that had mattered ten seconds ago was you being okay, him coming after you, making sure you were fine. He’d allotted you all the care and attention you had craved so terribly two years ago, nearly begged for until your knees had bled for. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, getting too distressed to think straight, “Please, for the love of God, just make them reassign the project-”

“I can’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “Do you think I’d put myself through this if I could help it? I fucking can’t. I have absolutely no control in there. I didn’t even-” he cuts off his sentence, looking you in your eyes, leaving more to be said. 

He didn’t even what?

“I can’t do anything about it,” he says instead of whatever had been on the tip of his tongue, “Trust me – if I could, I would. But I can’t. So why don’t you say something?” 

It’s your turn for scoffing and disbelief, “I can’t. I’m not the one with all the power and glory-”

“Is that what you think I have?”

“That’s what I know you have.” 

You both go quiet as a battlefield fills the distance between you. All anger, all regret. None of the love or care that had once existed between you two exists here in this quantum plane of sharp words and deadly jabs. 

“Just- please ask for a reassignment,” you try with one final plea, eyes hard on him, “Say that that first impression left you unimpressed, I don’t care. She won’t fire me for that.”

“Once again, no. As it turns out,” his voice is low, dangerous, unfamiliar. A tone he had never used before with you, “Even the one with all the power and all the glory can’t make miracles happen. Sorry, doll.” 

He doesn’t await your response, leaving you on your own as you stay pressed against the wall and he’s walking away. 

What is the saying? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? 

You were certainly feeling scorned.

You felt ripped wide open, beaten and bruised and damn scorned as he leaves a conversation you weren’t finished with. You can’t tell which limb aches the most – the shoulder where his now strange hands had held onto you, your fingers that had curled into pained fists at your side to show you were prepared for a fight, your rib cage that still struggled to expand and accommodate the air now vacant of his cologne that you needed after your panic attack, or the legs that had once carried you away from Eddie Munson only to lead you right back to him. 

There’s nothing you can do, though, beyond composing yourself. You take the same big, deep breaths that Eddie had tried to coax out of you moments before. Your fists slowly unfurl and your palms rake against the side of your jeans in an attempt to wipe away the sweat of the interaction. 

Fine. If he wouldn’t help you, you could handle this. You could manage this project, plan a goddamn party for your ex-boyfriend’s new single. You would treat it just as you did every other previous project you had excelled at, and you would avoid all unnecessary contact with him just as you had with previous clients. 

As a matter of fact, you could probably get away with avoiding all contact. 

He hadn’t hired you. His management had. And, according to him, he had no real power in this situation. If he had no say in the matters, then there would be no reason to reach out to him.

You could do this. You could handle this. 

It’s a mantra of salvation that you repeat to yourself internally as you take confident strides back to that conference room, not even stopping for the guards this time before you burst back into the room when your imminent doom awaits. 

The repetition falters a bit when all eyes land on you as you take your first steps into the room. 

Your name comes out of Lydia’s mouth like a hiss, her teeth locked into a smile that would better pass into a grimace as she asks, “How nice of you to join us again. Please, take a seat.” 

“Of course,” you can’t look her in her eyes for very long, immediately rushing to sit at the chair she’d motioned towards. You haven’t spared Eddie a single glance – you haven’t spared any of the boys you’d once known a look. Instead, you look up to direct an apology at the only face you don’t recognize before you, “I’m truly sorry.” 

The older gentleman, wrapped in a certain kindness and warmth below his professional attire, smiles. And in an instant, his face isn’t quite as unfamiliar, “No worries. When Nature calls, right? Regardless, I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.” 

You can guess which hole in Eddie’s life he’s attempting to smother, which shoes this man serves to fill. He has more hair than his predecessor, but the grin is the same. 

If you picture the man he reminds you of back in Hawkins, you’ll surely begin to ache. 

When you reply with your name, you can hear a fragment of your youth in your voice. Better days spent in Forest Hills trailer park, loitering about a trailer as Wayne Munson asks you how well of an eye you’ve been keeping on his nephew. You’d always lie, say you were keeping him in line when you knew you’d spent the day following him right into trouble, like some sort of lost puppy. Like some sort of loyal soldier. It occurs to you that that’s who you had always been; a fierce soldier over the shoulder of Eddie, ever the brave commander. You would have followed him into battle without a second of consideration, you did follow him all the way to New York without ever taking a final glance at your hometown. 

You wondered if he had tried to replace you as well. You imagine it; the new and fresh face that replaced yours in picture frames, that laid beside him at the end of each night he returned home, that heard a whisper of I love you over the line to the backtrack of a sound rehearsal. 

Were there ever any bloody wars between him and his new lovers that could compare to the battles never fought between you two? Did anyone else in this world know the wounds of his gun never fired? 

The smoke clears. You still don’t look at Eddie, afraid to only see the commander you once knew. You force a smile, putting on a soldier's bravado that doesn’t fit quite right anymore. 

Bullets never fired, triggers never pulled, but the blood stained the same.

“So, where shall we begin?”

—

Matt does most of the talking for the next hour. Sheet after sheet of paperwork is laid down in front of you, your hand beginning to cramp from signing your name so many times, and the details are discussed.

A new single, set to release in three months. A release party that needed to be grandeur and garner the type of attention that Matt feared had been waning from the band due to radio silence on their music front. The outlines of the project were clear cut, simple enough, and you had yourself fooled just well enough that this would be easy.

You kept your eyes set on the prize and never once noticed the tomfoolery occurring between the band members. The words on the tip of their tongues that Eddie keeps quiet through quick kicks to their shins beneath the table, the individual hurt reflected in each of their eyes as you treat them no better than strangers. That treatment of Eddie, they understood. But them?

They could never understand. 

“What’s the name of the single, if I may ask?” you question as you look over one of your copies of the paperwork. Lydia had been eerily silent, allowing you to take the lead. 

Despite the rough start, it was paying off. Having a switch for your emotions can be a good thing, as it turns out. 

“You may,” Matt nods before turning to the boys. It’s the first time he's looked to them for answers during the entire meeting, “Shall I do the honors, or would you boys rather do it yourselves?” 

It’s a chance for all the members of Corroded Coffin to open their mouths without silent reprimanding from Eddie beneath the table, but he beats them to it.

“Dial Tone.”

You freeze your reading. 

There’s something in the way he says it that forces you to look up. As if he’s only speaking to you, and the rest of the room is a faded mirage for him to send away for these private moments. Still a commander, even when his bravest soldier has left him. 

“Sounds… interesting,” you murmur, taking a few seconds too long to meet his gaze, unsure of what to say, “Rolls off the tongue easily.” 

“It certainly does. Which, ironic, given the situation that inspired the song.” 

“And what would that be?”

You’re both wearing masks in front of an audience half made up of people painfully aware of your history, and the rest being painfully oblivious. 

Does Matt know about you? Lydia certainly doesn’t know about Eddie. 

“Words never said. Answers never given. Phone calls missed and never… returned.”

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. It feels a bit selfish, a bit self absorbed, to so quickly assume you’re the inspiration. 

But how could you believe anything else when Eddie is looking at you like that?

Hollow eyes, devoid of all the honey you once reveled in. Not so much of a stain of sweetness you swear you still taste on the back of your tongue. He’s looking at you with blame, well-deserved anger, and yet not an ounce of the guilt that should exist somewhere in those depths. 

“How riveting,” you play along, trying to swallow down the waves of emotions, “Sounds like it’ll really draw in your audience. Might even be relatable to a few.”

Answers never given. Like how someone could stop saying they loved someone they’d spent years planning their life with, like how he could stop calling so easily, how he could leave so easily. 

“Fingers crossed,” his forced smile in return is almost sinister, and you know it was the right choice to avoid speaking to each other until this moment.

There will be no contact. You know now that if you take on this project, which you technically have through law-binding contracts, that you won’t be able to be civil with Eddie. There is a history that can never be erased, mistakes made and wounds inflicted by both sides. Two worlds of hurt caused by opposing sets of hands that can only clash when they try to meet in the middle. 

But then Matt, sweet Matt that you had come to actually like during this meeting, has to burst your bubble.

“Right, well, the good news is the boys aren’t on tour for the time being, meaning there will be plenty of time to talk about the small details and how the single will come into play during planning,” he explains, happily and still so unaware, “As a matter of fact, I would like to emphasize just how much I would appreciate you including the boys, especially Eddie, in this ordeal. His participation would be very helpful.” 

Some silent form of communication happens between Matt and Eddie, glinting eyes and sudden frowns meeting raised eyebrows and fake smiles, but it’s not your concern. 

The last thing you want during this project is Eddie’s involvement. 

“Of course!” You need to think of an excuse, push for a way to keep him out, “But if Eddie is too busy, I’ll completely understand. I know that a single usually means an album, and that can be very time consum-”

“He won’t be too busy,” Matt interrupts, still staring at Eddie as if he’s daring him, not even questioning you singling him out as he does the exact same.

You recall what Eddie had insisted in the hallway, that his reach of control wasn’t as far as you had been assuming. 

Swallowing hard, you see another relic of Wayne Munson in this man – he wasn’t someone to argue with, “Right, of course. Eddie will be involved. Absolutely.” 

All the power and all the glory – but did it really rest in Eddie’s palms like you assumed?

“She has a point,” Eddie finally finds his voice, leaning back in his chair, trying to relax the tension from his shoulders, “I do have the album to work on.” 

“And now you have this. I’m sure you can find a way to multi-task.” 

Your comparison was accurate. It had been a while since you had seen another grown man capable of shutting Eddie down so quickly, tearing down his walls of affinity for challenging authority and reducing him to nothing more than a shell of his younger self. Matt and Wayne would have gotten along well. You doubt that they’ve met, but you know a bond would have formed between the common denominator of being able to subdue the once-rambunctious boy before you. 

Eddie pouts nearly the complete remainder of the meeting. And those foolish, bitter shards within you become determined to be the bigger person. To smile and nod along, even when you disagreed with certain terms discussed. To be agreeable, to be good, to be better. This new version of you has something to prove; that you’ve done better without Eddie, that you’ve changed into something that no longer aligns with who he is. 

It’s all for show, but you tell yourself no one can see through the cellophane disguise. 

The only remaining signatures aren’t required from you but the rest of the boys. A single contract is passed down the line, and each of them sign themselves away to the agreement. Line after line of swooping black ink locks the five of you into an entrapment, a crowded dance of newly made strangers who have no choice but to play pretend. 

Eddie makes it a deliberate point that he’s the last one to sign. Forces Grant to slide the prettily detailed paper right in front of him until it’s clear he’s making no move to pick up his pen, and the poor guy has to stretch a bit further and let Gareth take it rather than the stubborn rockstar. Only once Jeff’s own night-shade of ink has looped over one of the many lines does it return back to Eddie.

He looks you in the eyes for several seconds too long, pen crooked beside the paper on the table. You can’t take a single breath as you register how lifeless his eyes remain. 

He’s not the person you once knew, but you are no longer the girl that once saw the world in him. 

You will not drop to your knees before him, you will not worship the ground he walks on, you will not break. Certainly not first. Certainly not at all. 

There’s no final words before hands donning unfamiliar rings pick up a pen amongst the silence. Just the click of bringing the ink to life, and the soft scratch of promises that will not be kept. It’s nothing new amongst the two of you.

As a matter of fact, if the scratch of the pen could echo, it might just resemble the sound of the door on that haunted and vacant apartment closing for the final time behind you two years ago. 

—

“Do you two know each other?” 

You had been waiting for this moment. Once Matt had called for a quick break so that he could organize and make copies of all paperwork, you knew Lydia would be chasing you down. 

“What do you mean?” you question airily, topping off the small paper cup of water you had used as an excuse to dismiss yourself into the corner of the room, “Me and Matt? No, I’ve never-”

“Not you and Matt,” she moves to stand in front of you, your back to the room and the band, as she continues in an authoritative whisper, “You and the band – you and Eddie.”

“Why do you think we know each other?” 

Please don’t catch on. Please don’t notice. Please don’t make me admit it. 

Please don’t fire me. 

She retrieves her own water, moving as if she wasn’t having such an intense conversation with you at this moment. All a show for the clients, no doubt. You weren’t the only skilled actress in this room, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you ran out of this room when you saw him, maybe the way he ran after you without a word. Maybe the way the two of you spent a good ten minutes alone in that hallway, and how the rest of that band has been looking at you like you’re a ghost. Please don’t tell me you had a fling with Eddie before this. I really need my best person on this project, but I can’t have personal relationships interferin-”

“No, we don’t know each other,” you cut her off, ignoring the compliment and taking a sip to give your chance to formulate a better addition to the lie. It wasn’t really a lie, though, was it? “I promise it’s nothing, and it won’t interfere. I just…” I just hate him. I just miss the version of him I used to know. I just need you to take me off this project as quickly as possible for a reason that won’t make you think less of me or affect my future career here. “I don’t like the band, you know this.” 

“I knew you weren’t a fan of them, but…” she trails off and looks over your shoulder, no doubt surveying the band. When you stood up from the table, they’d all been feigning boredom as if they hadn’t been taking turns staring you down so intensely. You felt like an animal under observation. “I thought it would be a good thing. To have a neutral party take this on. Why, exactly, don’t you like them?” 

“ I don’t think he’s a good person.”

He as in Eddie. It goes as unspoken knowledge. And, technically, it isn’t a lie. Based on the headlines, based on his coolness this entire interaction, you don’t think he’s a good person. Not anymore. 

You can feel the four sets of eyes on you even now. Your exchange with Lydia has been too quiet for them to hear, but you know you’re still being watched carefully.

“You don’t have to think he’s a good person, but you do need to play nice,” Lydia reminds you. You open your mouth, prepared to argue that you had been playing nice when Lydia waves her free hand to stop you, “I know, I know. I’m not saying you haven’t been perfectly professional. You have been, aside from your… bathroom break at the beginning, but please just remember that.” 

You nod, stiff as ever. She was giving you more grace than you deserved if you tried to look at it from an outsider’s point of view. 

“Of course,” that tone of professionalism, that mask to hide the whirlwind of emotions. You could do this.

You had to do this.  

Choice is an illusion when Matt returns with the copies of paperwork, dividing the files up between himself and Lydia. Choice is an illusion as fake smiles are exchanged and pleasant goodbyes are offered. Choice is nothing but smoke and mirrors when all is said and done, and the entire group of you all stand outside the conference room, ready to part ways with a promise of next time, meaning the next meeting.

You never had a choice in any of this. Eddie did, somewhere along the line, but you didn’t. 

Lydia and you both hand over business cards to Matt’s waiting hands, a deliberate move on your part. You bypass Eddie’s expectant glare entirely. The quicker this is over with, the faster he’s exiting the building and no longer occupying the same room as you, the better. 

“We’ll be in contact,” Matt promises as he tucks the cards away carefully. 

“I look forward to it,” you assure him, as if you weren’t dreading every second of what those contracts had detailed.

Three months. You had just signed on to guarantee Eddie Munson being back in your life for three months. The thought makes you nauseous. 

Matt, ever the normal person, takes it as his queue to leave. Lydia has nodded, turned and began her short trek to her office as the band’s manager starts his journey to the elevator. Most of Corroded Coffin scampers after him, gazes on the floor as they retreat to a private space that will certainly be filled with questions. You almost wish there was a way for you to hear what will be said. The topic of conversation, undoubtedly, will be you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. A pair of intertwined souls that had taken a sharp knife to your connection only to end up with Fate cruelly retying it on this dreadful day. 

Fate, and Eddie, it seems. 

His hand reaches out and catches your upper arm before you can escape the exchange properly. 

“Can we talk?” You stare at him blankly to hide the racing of your heart and pounding in your mind. Those hands on you, skin on skin, leaving an inevitable mark. An inevitable stain. “Go for coffee, go for lunch, just-”

“No.”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Your pause was only born out of shock. 

His eyebrows furrow, “No? What do you mean no?” 

It feels like a pathetic repeat of your interaction in the hallway, when you had begged him to save you from this doomed union. Except now, you hold the cards in your hand. The first sense of control you’ve been offered this entire time. 

“I mean no,” you repeat yourself clearly. Matt is halfway down the hall, and the boys trailing right behind him seem to fumble over their steps for a second. Jeff even goes as far as to look over his shoulder at the brewing storm appearing behind them, but clearly thinks better of intruding, “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want coffee, and I don’t want lunch.” 

End of story. 

Except, it isn’t, because Eddie’s face only twists further in pain, “We have to talk at some point-”

“Actually, we don’t. I’d prefer we didn’t. I think we can both agree it’ll be better, easier, for both of us to keep this strictly professional until we can go our separate ways again.”

He looks as if you had physically reached out and struck him. The force of your words nearly makes him rock backwards, face falling and mouth agape as he tries to grapple with the determination in your words. 

If you were a fool, you’d mistake it for a flash of disappointment. But it’s not possible – it couldn’t be disappointment, only arrogance. He had obviously been assuming you would just give in. Your change just hadn’t become clear enough to him yet. It would, in time. 

And now, the two of you seemingly had too much of it to endure. 

“Actually, I think we can both agree that’s a load of bullshit,” he crassly argues back once he’s regained composure, “You know that’s not possible.”

You shake your head, suck in a bit of the skin of your inner cheek between your molars as an internal encouragement to stand your ground, “It is. It’s not only possible, but is exactly what’s going to happen.”

“You heard Matt. We have to talk at some point, even if it’s just about this and not us.”

“And we will. We can talk about this project all you want, Eddie. But not over lunch, and not over coffee,” you swear you draw blood from your cheek as you take back on that tone of professionalism, ice cold and completely disconnected, “My preferred form of contact is email. I usually respond in a timely manner, even after hours-”

“Don’t do that,” he stops you.

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m just another one of your clients.” 

The metallic flavor floods the deepest corners of your mouth, overtaking the aftertaste of a honey you once knew on the back of your tongue, “That’s exactly what you are. One of my clients.” 

Just a client, and nothing more. A boundary must be drawn, or else there will be more blood spilled than a mere drop from biting your inner cheek. And you aren’t prepared to bleed for him – not again. Never again. 

He opens his mouth, as if he has more to dig out of the grave of this conversation, when Matt’s voice calls from down the hallway, “Eddie! C’mon! There’ll be time to talk later, we’ve got a meeting with the producer across town now.” 

His stance goes rigid, annoyance rolling off him in waves, eyes still focused on you. 

Maybe the reminder of time, the three month timeline, hurts him just as much as it hurts you. Maybe, just possibly, his arm has also been twisted in carving out a space for you in his life once more, whether strictly professional or not. 

He deeply exhales through his nose, “I don’t even have your email.” 

“Matt does. He has my card.”

“Yeah, he does. I don’t. How am I supposed to reach you through your preferred form of contact without it?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

You mean to smile at him just as you would the owner of the bakery opening on Third Street, or the mother of a bride trying to share the weight of responsibilities for a wedding. It doesn’t come off that way, though – you can feel the sadness of it tickle the corners of your mouth before he’s even slowly turning from you.

You watch the figure of Eddie Munson walk away from you, and you begin to wish he were walking out of your life rather than only out of the building for the time being.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone

join my taglist!

[thotpuppy]

ThotPuppy's Historical-themed Sterek Fic Recs

I know lots of folks have already done one of these! BUT! This is one of my favorite tropes, so... here are some of my faves! As a note, these largely range from ~vaguely medieval~ to incredibly well-researched SPECIFIC 'Medieval' to ~general regency ish~ to VERY Regency to various points in between. I am also aware of some as of yet unwritten but ~coming soon/eventually~ Pirate, Wild West, 1920s, and of course Medieval pieces coming out, so I MAY have to post an updated version in a year or so lol

Also... have one that's not here? PLEASE send it to me! Especially Medieval Fantasy. It's my FAVORITE and I KNOW there are more that I don't have/don't have saved and I'm very interested!

Golden Boy by trilliath Rated E, Complete, 127k+

A Most (Im)Proper Proposal by Welsh_Woman Rated E, Complete, 200k+

Entente by Siria Rated E, Complete, 44k+

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse Rated E, Complete, 115k+

Foolish devouring things, build your castle in me by LunaCanisLupus_22 Rated E, Complete, 23k+

The Consort's Tourney by Lalaith_Quetzalli Rated T, Complete, 12k+

The Wolf in the Tower by exclamation Rated M, Complete, 57k+

Propriety and Pursuit by JenyaKeefe Rated E, Complete, 27k+

The Wrong Hale by Dextrous_Sinistrous Rated E, Complete, 77k+

The White Hart of Winter by DarkAthena Rated E, Complete, 65k+

The Marriage Contract by Palendrome Rated E, Complete, 12k+

The Omega Servant and the Alpha King by EmeraldTrident Rated E, Complete, 2.4k+

Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex Rated E, Complete, 109k+

I Made a Vow Out to the Dark by WhoGeek Rated T, Complete, 22k+

I'm Not Asking Questions, I'm Taking My Chances by keldjinfae Rated E, Complete, 80k+

Here are a few that I haven't had a chance to read yet, but the mere concepts have me in a chokehold:

Kingdoms Fall by Gia279 Rated M, Complete, 74k+

A Pauper's Prince (Revised) by Welsh_Woman Rated E, Complete, 83k+

A Wolf's Heart by Palendrome Rated E, Complete, 22k

Tangled Crowns by Halevetica Not Rated, WIP, 37k+

A Winter's Knight by changez Rated E, Complete, 5.5k+

I Won't Be Alone For The Rest Of My Life by blackorchids Rated G, Complete, 1.4k+

And lastly, would I really be that bitch if I didn't rec my own?

Triskelion Reign: the Shepherd, the Lamb, and the Wolf Rated E, WIP, 47k+

Tagging authors (i know of on here) so they know we out here loving and appreciating them! @Athenadark , @outtoshatter, @halevetica, @changez4sterek, @lalaithquetzallicaresi, you all write lovely works and I appreciate your efforts <3

[emkini]

Would like to thank taob by @hella1975 for giving me ample sketch inspiration over the last few days

[panevanbuckley]

how do u mark a fic as read?????????? I don't have that button! what is this sorcery???!!!?? :O

ahh okay sorry it's literally a month late 😭

a lot of people saw this post and apparently didn't know the mark as read feature existed (which ??? i'm 95% sure y'all will recognise it once you read this post)

so anyways. say you're like me and are scrolling for a very specific fic but during that scrolling you pass a fic that also intrigues you. but you don't wanna read it yet. you also don't trust yourself to open a new tab and not lose it so you use the mark for later button!

you'll see it at the top of any fic (example below)

click this. and boom! fic has now been added to your mark for later list. which can be found under history and marked for later on your account

but if you're anything like me you probably won't actually use that list because you switch hyperfixations far too often

it does come in handy still though because when (read: if) you return to this ship/fandom and are yet again scrolling for a good fic it can help you identify fics you've read before or not. usually i'll see something that sounds interesting, open it, and either it will be bookmarked already or it will have this new button at the top:

mark as read my beloved 🥰 means this fic caught my eye in the past but i never got around to actually reading it. so yay! new fic to read!!

(unless, like in the original post, i somehow either forgot to then mark the fic as read after reading it or for some reason never bookmarked it and then i trick myself into thinking i've not seen it 💀)

[violentnewmarley]

I uhmmmm I uh um I. Uhhmmm.. HWVAHWBWJNSNANSNANANSNS HAVE MY BABYS PLEAASE BILL PLAESE

[cinnamon-harry]

hiiii, hope you are having a great day, can you please do an Instagram blurb abt harry and gigi hadid as y/n ? <3 like they're expecting a baby and he's so enamoured 🥺

hello :) long time no see babies!! i’ve been busy w school but i managed to whip this one up, alsoo i may or may not have a little valentine’s day blurb coming next week👀 lol anyways here we go, lovesick dilffry coming up! hope u like this one <3

Liked by annetwist, harrystyles and 3,184,973 others

yourinstagram oh baby yeah!

View all 41,194 comments

harrystyles🤰🤰🤰

ynfan1 IM BALLING MY EYES OUT

harryfan1 PREGNANT ????? HELLO

arianagrande the cutest ever🥹

yourinstagram @/arianagrande ilyyyy

annetwist so excited to meet the little one, you're already the best mom💗

yourinstagram @/annetwist ahh im gonna cry, ily mom❣️

harryfan2 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUTUPSHUTP

ynfan3 aww i'm so happy for them 🥺❤️

Liked by annetwist, pillowpersonpp and 4,163,936 others

harrystyles my pretty girls

View all 42,253 comments

harryfan1 IM SOBBING

annetwist gorgeous

harryfan2 now imagine harry taking this photo...yeah i'm crying too

ynfan1 they're gonna be the best parents🥺

ynfan2 GIRLS ?? ITS A GIRL ?? SHUT UP

harryfan3 HARRY BEING A GIRL DAD OMFG I CANT DO THIS

ynfan3 aww it's a girl i’m crying

3,164 likes

harryupdates1 Harry via insta stories!

View all 825 comments

harryfan1 THEYRE SO FUCKING CUTE

harryfan2 PRETTY. MOMMA. R U FUCKING KIDDING

ynfan1 omfg she’s GLOWING

harryfan3 PRETTY MOMMA ?? THOUSANDS DIED.

Liked by harrystyles, arianagrande and 5,184,962 others

yourinstagram oh yeah, update!

View all 3,163 comments

harryfan1 OMG SHES HERE

ynfan1 GIRL ITS BEEN THREE MONTHS WHERE DID U GO

yourinstagram @/ynfan1 i had a baby😌

arianagrande MOM Y/N SUPREMACY!

yourinstagram @arianagrande ILY

harryfan2 ANDGDJEH SHUT UP IM LOSING MY MIND

Liked by yourinstagram, lizzobeeating and 4,274,962 others

harrystyles ❤️❤️❤️

View all 2,742 comments

harryfan1 SO MUCH TO SCREAM ABOUT

ynfan1 his hat is so real

lizzobeeating milf y/n all day, everyday

yourinstagram @/lizzobeeating i feel so special

harryfan2 HELLO THIS IS SO PRECIOUS I CANT BELIEVE HES REALLY A DAD

ynfan2 BABY SLEEPING ON HIS SHOULDER🥺🥺🥺

yourinstagram @/harryfan3 ik, so precious😭

harryfan3 i can’t believe we’re really getting dilfrry content now

———

masterlist.

———

taglist: @b-reads-things, @vrittivsanghavi, @lomlolivia

[yeyinde]

FINESHRINE | John Price x F!Reader

It surprised you when he’d taken your off-handed comment about wanting to fuck him senseless for a change as something sincere, obtainable, and simply looked at you, plain-faced, if a little bashful around the edges, and said, “alrigh’, love. Lemme see what you got.” Or—John Price finally gets pegged.

WARNINGS: 18+, SMUT—pegging, rimming, anal fingering; bottom John Price; soft dom!John; topping from the bottom WORD COUNT: 5,3k.

His skin tastes of brackish water—briny, salty; mossy—when you slip your tongue over the tight ring of muscles clenching like a vice around two fingers. The stranglehold of his flesh feels like it might cut off the circulation to your veins, digits bluing under the strain, the clutch. 

It’s almost the same tension as wrapping several rubber bands around your appendages until the tips turn garishly purple, nails bright vermillion. It's tight.  

You pull back, fingers easing out of him until only your first knuckle remains locked in his iron hold, pushing and throbbing around the intrusion. Your tongue slides over the raw rim, easing the ache, the sting, you know must be there. 

The same soothing motion he’d used on you many, many times. 

He must recognise the pattern. It makes him huff. 

“Don’t stop, love,” he husks, voice the consistency of wet papier-mâché in your clenched palm. “C’mon—”

“Price—”

Your murmur is swallowed when he notches his hip, taking more of your fingers into himself, tightening around you like a vice when your palm is flush against his perineum. 

“Fuck—,” his groan is airy. Light. “Ain’t gonna shatter me, kitten. Jus’ – jus’ keep fuckin’ me, yeah?”

It snatches the breath from your lungs in a way that leaves you dizzy. 

It surprised you when he’d taken your off-handed comment about wanting to fuck him senseless for a change as something sincere, obtainable, and simply looked at you, plain-faced, if a little bashful around the edges, and said, “alrigh’, love. Lemme see what you got.”

Even then, even with his acceptance, his willingness, you hadn’t believed him. Hadn’t even given it another thought. 

Not until he looked at you, brows raised when you spread your legs for him, baring your cunt to his smouldering gaze, and said:

“When is it my turn, love?”

And okay. Okay. 

Price wanted you to fuck him. To split him apart with your plastic cock until he came, clenching like a vice around the mocking imitation of you, and— 

Sure. Yeah. 

Why not?

So, you do.

It takes three weeks to work up the nerve, and another two to find the toy you like, to research everything, to plan, prepare. 

You sit him down and have discussions, much to his unfathomable bemusement. 

It's when his hand curls over the nape of your neck, thumb pressing against the soft curve of bone behind your ear, and drags you close to him, noses pressed flush together, do you see the sincerity in ashlar blue. His rasp, then, of you weren't this hesitant, this careful, when I said I wanted to stick my cock in your arse. You were raring to go that night. So, why are you acting like I'm some blushing little virgin, hm? You think I can't take it? brings everything back into focus. 

Right. This isn't about you. 

Well. It is. But it's about—

"Us," cambium soft, the word slips from the seam of his teeth, festering like a sickness in the thick atmosphere between you. "This is an experience for us." 

It’s only when you have a lovely cock strapped around your pelvis—dual pleasure, the package read (a must, Price insisted: he wanted you to cum when you were inside of him, the words leaving his mouth—you’re gonna cum when you fuck me, yeah? Cum while you’re inside of me, kitten—nearly sending you to an early grave, and a desire so deep, you soaked the gusset of your panties with your slick)—a bottle of lube, and a mountain of pegging knowledge nestled in the fibrils of your head do you even begin to feel ready. Eager. 

You want this. It surprises you just how much you do. 

Price is a bulwark. A curtain wall. He’s untouchable, unmoveable. 

And you—

You get to see him break. Get to fracture him down into little pieces in the palm of your hand, the blunt press of your—cock—

—and then make him whole again. Patch him back together. 

“Fuck—!”

The expletive is snapped out between clenched teeth when you add a third, final, finger. Your tongue follows along, slipping between the spread of them, chasing more of his taste. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell—,” he snarls the curse out, chest heaving when your fingers graze his puffy prostate, swollen and full from the nearly hour-long abuse by the tips butting into it over and over again. “Christ, pretty thing. Where the fuck did you learn this?”

You pull back, a strand of spit and lube following you from his soaked, spread hole. You wait for him to look at you, to glance between his massive thighs, and see—

Broken sapphire falls to your face, flushed cheeks darkening when he catches sight of your wet mouth, your hand buried between his legs, beneath his throbbing, leaking cock, and the groan he lets out makes your pussy ache. 

His head falls back, eyes snapping shut. The muscles in his thick neck bunch, veins throbbing. 

Price clenches around you fluttering in tandem with each jerk of his turgid cock. 

The sight of him sends something blustering through your core, rippling down your spine. It stabs through the thick tissue around your heart until you're gasping from the ache of it all. The want. 

It’s intoxicating. This power, this dominion over him. 

The way you can pleasure him with gentle notches of just your fingertips, the flat seam of your tongue laving over his flexing, fluttering flesh—a place only you have ever claimed, taken. Touched, licked. Fingered. Fucked. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs—an ugly, noxious, greedy thing—and the spores it releases seep into your bloodstream, into your marrow. 

He's yours. All yours. 

Just like you're his. 

Implicit. 

And John has already assured you of this—many, many times—but it's somehow infinitely different, more intimate, and possessive, than anything else you'd ever experienced. 

It's bare, raw trust. 

He wants this. Asked for it. Asked you for it. He wants to share this moment of vulnerability, the base reversal of traditional roles, with you. Only you. 

Affection blooms in your chest, and the spillover makes you tremble. Makes you want. Yearn. 

You want to make him feel heavenly. To feel the same potent Nirvana you do when he fucks the tight clutch of your cunt, pounding bliss into your synapses. 

An experience shared by both of you. 

He's been inside of you. And now—

"C'mon, love," he pants, drawing your attention. 

In your periphery, you catch the sight of his hands fisting the sheets so tightly, his knuckle blanching under the strain. 

When you lift your gaze from the mess you've made between his firm thighs, you find nothing but blistering desperation in the cut of blue. 

He holds your stare for a moment—liquid sapphire pools brimming with desire, with want; with something so achingly tender, so vulnerable, you feel it bludgeon into your chest like a battering ram to your pericardium—and then, softly, softer than you'd ever heard him speak, he says your name. Just your name. 

You echo it with his own, the utterance drenched in your devotion, an orison spilled over into the honey-thick air that pulses between you. 

It drums through your veins, the steady plume of a hummingbird's wings, and everything that isn't this—you and him: bathed in a diaphanous fragility, an epoch in the making, and weaved together with the brassbound threads of devotion, trust—dissipates into ash. 

He stares at you, drinking in the heat in your irises, the deep pools of want in your eclipsing pupils. There is a smoulder under your skin, the steady burn of a low-grade fever. The current of anticipation thrums in your veins. 

Your eyes drop, gazing at the hardened length of him laying fat and heavy against his quivering stomach. Prespend leaks from the tip, puddles on his naval. Each minuscule movement of your fingers makes him twitch, and more of his milky release stains his flushed skin. 

He burns inside. A molten heat that envelops you. The squeeze of him stops the tremors in your joints, the quake born from your own nerves, uncertainty. 

You don't want to hurt him—ever. The thought churns in your guts, sour and acrid, and wells up like you'd drunk bleach concentrate from the nozzle. Noxious, polluting. The thought alone has your mouth knotting to the side. 

"What're you thinkin' about?" 

Your chin snaps up. Price gazes at you, cheeks flushed, forehead wrinkled, creased with his syphoned concern. 

"I—," you swallow, tasting him on your tongue. "I don't want to hurt you."

John doesn't say anything. Not for a moment. A beat. He stares at you, plain. Open. His brow twitches, a flex. A throb. 

When he exhales, you feel it against your joints. 

"You're not gonna hurt me." 

You swallow again, eyes dropping to his thighs. Quivering. Bunched tight. Muscles coiled. 

"Love. Look at me." 

It's a command. 

Your eyes flicker to him. Dutiful soldier even when you're three fingers deep inside of your captain. 

"Sir—," you bite your tongue over the word, the accidental slip. But the way he clenches around you, cock twitching, spitting a thick puddle of prespend over his belly, you don't think he minds. 

"Fuck, love," his voice is a pulsing wound. "You're not going to hurt me, alright?" 

You nod. It's pulled out of you. A magnetic acquiescence in the face of your superior, your lover. A man you're undoing with little flicks of your fingers, knuckles. Tongue. 

"Lemme hear you, kitten," he rasps, words sticking together when you slide your middle finger over the soft bump inside of him. "Always, yeah? Wanna hear you say it."

"Yes," you breathe. "I won't hurt you."

"Good—," he shifts, clearing his throat. His Adam's apple buoys when he swallows, muscles flexing in his throat. A bead of sweat runs down his hairline and you have the sudden urge to chase it with your tongue. "Now—come on. Been at it long enough. Gonna make me cum if you don't stop it with those little fingers—that fucking tongue."

Your head lifts higher. Price catches your gaze again, eyes lidded and heavy. Cheeks dusted pink with desire. 

"Hurry up, and fuck me."

It takes everything inside of you not to whimper. Fuck me. Fuck me. The words ring in your ears, reverberating around your head in a ceaseless crescendo. 

Your fingers tremble when you give one last thrust, spreading them wide apart, and feeling the resistance around the rim. The stretch. You know the burn. The sting.

"Ah, Christ—"

And the pressure. The fullness. The feeling of being pried slowly, agonisingly apart. The tension coils. Builds. You can only imagine he's feeling it too when you scissor your fingers once more, leaning down to tease your tongue between the wedges of your digits. 

It's a good stretch when it's like this. When the muscles loosen, going lax. Soft. Malleable. 

You take a steadying breath, easing your thundering nerves, and letting everything else fade away until Price, his pleasure, sits on a carved strait. 

You pull away, fingers slipping gingerly from him. A shudder wracks his chest, and you reach out with one hand, curling your fingers over the thick length of him. His cock throbs in your hold, skin wet, sticky from his spend. 

"Are you—"

"Yes."

It's bitten out through his teeth. A snapped affirmation. Quick, decisive. 

It draws a nod from you, lashes fluttering when you swallow. 

"Okay. Tell me if it's too much."

The skin of his palm is searing, sandpaper rough, when it folds over your own still loosely gripping his cock. The contrast between his raw palm and the velveteen softness of his cock is familiar. Comforting. His thick thumb circles your webspace. 

"You know I will," he says, thick. Sincerity bleeds into the vowels. Reassurance rings in the rounded consonants. "I remember the safe word and all."

"I know. But it can be a bit much, and—"

His hand tightens, eyes flash. "If I didn't want this, do you think I'd be here?" 

Another swallow. It sticks at the bottom of your throat. "Okay."

"Come on, love," he urges, an ashy demand that plucks against the fibrils of your heart. "Been waitin' for it." 

His words pulse in your head, in your cunt. You moan a little at the aching want in his voice, the rough desire. 

Price gives one last squeeze of his hand before letting you slip away, thumb sliding over the weeping head, gathering his prespend on your flesh. It makes him suck in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering in pleasure. 

He takes over, holding his cock firm at the base when you lean back on your haunches.

Your nerves spark when you reach for the bottle of lube. It's tacky. Sticky. You'd already used half just fucking him open. Steady, you think, struggling to find some sense of control amid the rapid thunder of your pulse. Your guts churn, featherlight, but it's the gossamer of want that simmers beneath it all that piques across your spine. 

You're going to fuck him. 

Spumes of desire lick up from the flames that billow inside you, and in the red-hot ache of your molten core makes you feel fervid. Feverish. It melts your nerves into liquid metal that hardens, ironclad, brassbound, into a near-perfect equilibrium of galvanised need. 

You're going to fuck him. 

You pour a generous amount into the palm of your hand, letting it puddle in the cup you make before carefully lowering it to place between your legs where the fake cock juts out from your pelvis. 

The toy is a little cold when you touch it with your slick fingers. You grab it loosely in your fist, pumping your hand up and down, rubbing the excess over the mushroomed head, and then back to the base. 

The heat of your skin bleeds into the polymer. The added friction makes it feel warmer than it had before. It still feels of plastic—fake, rubbery—and as it sits between your curled fingers, you know it isn't real, that it isn't pulsing flesh and tissue; but it feels—different. 

A novice experience. A first for both of you. 

Your eyes flicker to John, to his heavy, thick cock grasped in his hand. The tightness of his knuckles wrapped around his turgid flesh makes you suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on it when it tickles your trachea. 

He looks good with his legs parted, thigh notched up and spread. Cock bobbing in the V of them, leaking over his closed fist.

"John…"

"Ready, love?"

There is something in his voice that gives you pause. It's deep. Gritty. Pulverised desire whispered in his rasping lilt. 

You glance up at him, searching his gaze, his expression. John's brows are drawn tightly together, knotted in the centre. The divot between is not from unease, or distress. Anger. Irritation. Hesitance. 

The thick cock in his hands twitches again, prespend pooling at the tip. 

Oh. 

You swallow, and taste humus in the back of your throat. 

"I am," you breathe, belly bubbling, roiling, with want. 

Pleasure sparks down your spine when you move, shuffling toward to settle between his spread thighs. 

It brings heat to your cheeks, your chest, when you feel the movement of the toy inside of you. It does very little to pass as anything like Price with the smaller tapered end nestled within you, curved tip rubbing behind your pubic bone. But it's the idea of fucking him that makes your blood feel red-hot in your veins than the snug plastic grazing against your walls. 

The other end juts forward, knocking against Price's knee. It leaves a smear of lube behind. 

"Take a deep breath," you murmur, hand gripping the plastic base as the other settles behind his stretched thigh, holding him open. Lifting him higher. The thought has your pulse racing. Sputtering. 

"Speaking from experience, eh?" he rasps, liqueur-rich. When you lift your gaze, you see humour cut in cerulean ashlar. "Or sage wisdom?"

"Both," you volley back. "My cock isn't nearly as big as yours, but taking deep, even breaths will help you relax." 

"Your cock?" His eyes gleam in the jaundiced light spilling over from the lantern beside the bed. "Gonna fuck me with your cock, then?"

Your eyes flutter. A paroxysm blistering through you. Your tongue grazes the whetstone of your lower lips, shredding it into a blunt point. 

"Yeah, I am." Your voice is pitched low, sultry. The decibels dropped, dripping with the glaze of bold, impish confidence. "Are you ready for me, John?" 

His chest expands, lips curling up behind the wry hairs of his beard. 

It's aided by the ease in which he sprawls out for you, letting you bend his legs, hitching them below your arms, and pulling you hungrily into the apex of his spread thighs, that fortifies your mettle. 

"Always, love."

The facsimile of your cock nudges against his slick hole. It spreads around the head, rim widening, flexing, around plastic until it's swallowed by his reddened flesh. Disappeared into the clutch of him. The first inch. He huffs at the stretch, the feeling of you slipping inside. 

You push, burrowing in deeper until his ass is flush against you. Cock swallowed whole. 

You pull back, and his rim suctions against you, pulling taut around your cock. You trace the seam with your eyes, breath caught in your throat. Your hips cant, a soft roll, all the way until you're buried deep. 

"I'm—"

"—fuck."

The throaty groan makes your head snap up, eyes fixed on Price, and the sight that greets you is nearly your undoing. 

Cheeks flushed a deep vermillion, jaw clenched taut—he looks good. Looks like it feels good. His head is tossed back on the pillow, broad thighs spread apart to fit you between them as you sloppily pound into his ass. 

And it's you. You making him feel this way, breaking him apart at the seams. 

The slap of your thighs hitting his ass is the perfect parody of when he has you bent over, taking him deep, and you feel it in your head with each clap, each noise that spills from between the two of you. A microcosm, a place, where only you and he exist in tandem. 

"Does it feel good?" You pant, hips rutting into him, sitting low to hit the grove of his prostate with each thrust. 

It forces a rough bark of laughter from his lips, chest expanding with it. "Fuckin' cheeky little thing—"

His words are cut off when you grind into him, hips pressed flush against him. 

"Oh, shit—"

Your hands fall from his shins, pressing flat to the mattress under his arms. He's too tall for you to bend over him the way he does when he's fucking you, or when you're on top, balanced on his lap, and you settle for coming to his chin when you lean over him.

His eyes are wildfires, smouldering embers. The lick of flames is a magnetic dance in endless pools of sapphire, brimstone. You seek him out, eager, rapacious. Greed gnarls inside of you; a basal bud, a dormant seedling, now fed, nurtured. It springs up, roots taking refuge in the fibrils of your beings, locking tight to your cells, molecules, and leaching sustenance from your appetency as you take him. 

Take, take, take. 

A moth drawn, haplessly, to the light that sways, hypnotic, in front of it, you have no choice but to go. Instinct, primal and starved, lead you to him. 

His hand threads into your hair, cupping the back of your skull. Price pulls you close until his warm, wet mouth meets yours in the middle. 

It's messy, breathless. You can't stop gasping at each noise he makes when your cock hits deep, the blunt, polymer head grinding against him. He groans into the kiss each time, breath heavy and thick. The hair on his chest grazes your nipples. The rough scrape of his beard chafes your skin until it's raw, irritated. Stinging like a sunburn. 

Through it all, Price holds you steady. Letting you take. Explore. Rut into him however you like, knowing—trusting—that whatever it is you do, however you decide to shift your hips, it'll be good. 

It's new. Different. 

You venture through this unfamiliar arena on fawn-like feet, stumbling around under the lush peat beneath you. Scrambling for purchase, for some sense of stability. Clarity. Control. 

A foothold, solid ground, is found when you strike his prostate with the eager tip of your plastic cock, and he huffs, startled, into the wet seam of your mouth, cool breath ghosting over your scorching tongue. 

You're good at patterns. At geometry. Linearity. Lines and parallels. 

You remember the place, the angle; head running through the minutiae of the movement, the sway of your hips, the placement of your knees, until it tangles inside the sulci of your hippocampus. 

A steady rhythm grows amid the clumsy cants of your hips, shaping, forming, into a dance you can fall into easily. 

His mouth slides over your chin, your jaw, a trail of spittle following it, cooling on your skin with each little stutter of his breath washing over you. 

John isn't usually vocal in the bedroom. His noises are reserved. Pulled from the threads of his chest, wrenched through the barbed lining of his throat. They're deep, low. Rasping curls of grunts. Ashy growls. All soaked in petrol. The rumbling of an old car engine. Brassy. Baritone. 

But as you quicken your pace, you punch little gasps from his lungs that he can't stifle under the harsh grind of his teeth. 

It's—

Incredibly appealing. Addicting. 

He tastes of nicotine when you bring your mouth back to his, devouring the hickory tang on his tongue. It slides down your esophagus where it puddles in your guts; a heady elixir that seeps through your tissue, into your bloodstream. Ichor thick. 

"God," you gasp into the messy wetness of his lips. "It feels good—"

The toy rubs the walls of your cunt with each blunt press of your hips notching into his ass, and the pressure of it makes everything feel real. Potent. 

Your slick fingers grip his massive thighs in your hands, leaving indents where your nails dig into his flesh, finding purchase. You fuck him in deep, full thrusts that make heat coil inside of you. Steady. A building tempo. 

Each roll makes him grunt, groan. Short huffs leave his broad chest, punched out through gritted teeth when you sink to the base, cock kissing his prostate. 

His belly quivers. One hand falls to your forearm, the other gripping your hip. He pulls you in deeper, fingers locked tight around your hip bone, and you let him lead, let him guide you how he likes. 

"Fuck," he breathes, fingers leaving the stain of him on your skin as he rolls your hip, cock bludgeoned into his prostate, grinding over it. "Like that—oh, fuck—jus' like that—"

"Yeah?" You tease, teeth nipping the coarse hair trailing down his neck. The angle makes the head of his cock rub, slick and wet, against your sternum, his knuckles pressed into the valley between your ribs. "Feels good, John? Like it when I fuck you deep, huh?" 

"Ahhh, you little bugger—you, uhh, fuck—you fuckin' menace—"

You pull back, settling between his thighs. 

"Gonna like this even better, I reckon." 

You punctuate the promise with a sharp snap of your hips, pausing only when you're seated deep, letting the blunt head cudgel against him. 

Another thrust makes you whimper when the flat harness presses taut to your throbbing clit. 

"You feel good, John—," your head tips back, hands spasming around his sticky skin as you rut into him. Your eyes are heavy, lidded with soporific bliss that bleeds into your synapses. "You feel so good, so so—"

You're babbling. Words leak out between your slack jaw, but you can't swallow them down with the static in your head, the bliss in the joints of your fingers, and palms, as you feel his broad thighs tensing under you. 

Seated deep, hips gyrating against him, your hand falls to his throbbing cock, leaking rivulets of prespend over his taut abdomen. You stroke him in time with your shallow thrusts, eyes fixed on the way his brow folds, eyelids wrinkling when he squeezes them shut. 

His lip curls up, teeth are bared, cusses spat between the grind of his molars. 

"Shit—shit—" 

It's snarled out of his heaving chest. 

A blunt jab to your sternum knocks the air from your heaving lungs when his gyre blue eyes snap open, piercing into the white haze that clots behind your retinas. 

The veering of his jaw, teeth gnashing together as he struggles to hold his composure, has liquid pleasure clogging the filament lacing down your spine, weaving through the gaps in your bones, leaking into the spongy marrow below. 

Your head buzzes with an opiate gossamer of bliss spooling inside of you with each motion you make. Each noise you drag out of him. 

Price groans—a low, needy sound rucked from his chest, punched out through the cant of your hips into him, cockhead burrowing into his prostate—and then he's cumming. Spasming around the toy as you ride him through it, fucking into him in deep, languid bucks of your hips. 

"That's it, baby," you gasp, voice thin, airy, arching over the words as his cum lashes over his broad, sweat-slicked chest. His eyes snap shut again, fingers curled around your forearms as you thrust your cock into the spasming clutch of him. "Cum for me, cum for me, John—"

His voice is effervescent, aerated when he groans your name out in a pitched drawl. "Fuckin' Christ—that's it, that's it—feels so fucking good, fuck, fuck—"

"Fuck," your running tally of curses stacks up. This one is breathless; a sandpaper husk. The next one that leaves his lips is deep. Oceanic. "Fuck, love."

Price's hands are firebrands when they roam over your flesh, tugging you down to his sweat-slicked chest, and tucking you into the fold of his embrace. 

He opens his mouth, lips rucking up in the same shape of another cuss, but you beat him to it, stealing the word from his tongue with your own. He rumbles into the kiss; the low growl deep enough to rattle the bones in your chest. 

It's wet. Messy. The clumsy, sloppy melding of your lips, tongue lolling out, filling the chasm of his heat where he tastes of smooth cigars and bitter scotch. 

Spittle dribbles down your chin as your tongue lashes over his teeth. It draws a mirthful puff of hair through his nose; a chuff. 

"Makin' a mess of me tonight, ain't you?" 

You make a show of rolling your tongue under his bottom lip, smile curling up at the corners with the tickle of his hair grazing your flesh. 

Peppering kisses into the corner of his mouth, you murmur: "you just look good messy." 

"Yeah?" He husks, lids dropping, lashes cresting over glacial blue. "So do you." 

It drags a twee from the depths of your chest, prickling along the flutter of your heart. "We look good all messy, then." 

"Fuckin' right we do." 

He shifts, and the motion makes him groan a little under his breath. You catch the draw of his brow, a little valley of discomfort, and reach for him, hand settling on his chest. 

"Sore?"

One lid lifts half-mass as he mulls it over. "Tender," he settles on, shifting once again. "Nothin' too bad."

"You'll get used to it." 

He lists toward you, lips curling into a waggish grin. "That right?"

John lifts his arm, chin jerking in a soft beckon toward. You follow the wordless command, sidling into the open bracket of his side, careful not to jostle him too much. He's strong. Resilient. Having his ass split open on your cock (left hanging on the end-table in some parody of a war trophy, glistening with the sheen of lube in the flushed light of the lamp) isn't enough to barrel him down, but there is something about this tender moment that makes you want to care for him. To coddle him. To hold him tight to your chest, and never let go.

You won't ever tell him that, of course. Never. He's too proud, too practical, for your bare sentimentality in this tender moment, but you give it to him, anyway. Small motions. Giving little by little before he can't catch on to what you're doing.

You brush your fingers over his chest, soothing the quiver in his stomach, and perch your chin on his arm. There is no distress in the cut of his brow, the dip in his lids. Drenched in torpor, satiated, and still dusted pink with glow of his pleasure, his heated release, he looks good. Satisfied.

It makes you sink your teeth into your chapped bottom lip to stem the broad grin from stretching over your face.

"Takes some practice, but I think we broke you in quite nicely."

A sharp snort jostles you. "Yeah, you did." 

John's hand rests on your hip, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you pout. "Tired. It's hard work. Next time you should be on top." 

"Right," he huffs. "I'd snap you half, love." 

"I can take it," you hum, fingers carting through the matted hair on his damp, slick chest. "Plus, think of the view I'd have."

His chest rumbles when he laughs. "Yeah, and think of the backache I'd have." 

"I'll give you a backrub," you murmur, tilting your head down to press a soft kiss into his breastplate. 

"Hm." 

Price eases into the mattress, eyes lidded. Heavy. In the absence of your playful volley, a question weighs in the back of your head, needling through you. Something soft. Fragile. Achingly uncertain. 

It feels silly to be so clumsy, so hesitant, when moments ago you were buried inside of him. And yet—

You lick your lips, tasting him on your tongue. Stalling. Hedging. 

A thick mass wells in your throat. You feel your pulse throb in the thick of it. 

"Did you… did you like it?"

Price sucks in a sharp breath at the ginger utterance, eyes rolling up to the stark white ceiling as he considers the weight behind your question. 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting. 

When he turns back to you, chin dipping down, something cracks. The muskeg splinters, splits. 

There is something almost liquid, open, about the way he looks. As if a wall had fallen. The deep moor around him eroded, washed into the chasm that surrounds him. The sediment settles at the bottom of the trench, making the untraversable waters shallower than they were before. 

His voice is featherlight when he speaks, eyes are limned in the lantern, framed in gold. When he drags his fingers over your skin, the tips are leaden. Heavy. 

"Yeah, love. I did." 

You settle into his side, tension bleeding from your marrow. 

He sometimes says that his hard edges are buffered by the softness inside of you; giving and tender. But you're not a smooth surface. You're porous and gritty. You scour the abrasiveness off of him, and he, in turn, makes you rougher. 

That sentiment has never been more apparent now when he cups your jaw in his worn, rough palm, the cracked, cry pads of his fingers scraping over the plush give of your cheek. 

Your emotions coalesce into a deluge, cascading through your being with a visceral intensity. When you try to reach out and grasp one, it slips through your fingers. 

You settle, instead, for sleepily lying your head on his chest, crown buffeted by the plinth of his palm, and run figure-eights into the damp, coarse curls matters to his chest. 

"Good," you murmur, and try to ignore the thunderclap in your chest. The too tight feeling clutching at you in the aftermath of an epoch, the shattering of a wall. 

His chest wobbles under your hand. When you lift your graze, you find his eyes filling with the same uncatchable emotion that curls in the brackets of your ribs, gnarling its ironclad roots over the soft tissue of your chest. 

Featherlight. Evanescent. Nothing but he and you, and the feeling of his skin, the taste of him on your tongue, exist in the cosm that lingers, honey-thick, between you. 

It catches in your throat. Sticking in the empty spaces of your being when his lids flutter, lashes fanning over his roseate cheeks. 

The weight of his stare is a brand on your flesh. You want to run from it, and bask in its glow. Hold it tight to your chest with your trembling hands, and never let it go. 

It's the breaking of everything that settles low inside of you. Too much, too soon. 

It's easy to cover up the whirlpool of your emotions with false bravado. With a jest. 

And so, you do. 

"'Cause, I'm ready for round two whenever you are."

"Cheeky little—"

(You tuck it away for later, content to just feel the steady rise of his chest beneath your palm when he laughs.)

[airaibunny]

GENERAL SMUT PROMPTS

1. “i need you, right here/now”

2. “louder/quieter”

3. “i dont care who’s outside”

4. “do you want them to hear?”

5. “what if i dont?”

6. “make me”

7. “you don’t get to tell me what to do”

8. “that’s strike 1/2/3”

9. “if you stop, i’ll stop”

10. “no more, please, i can’t”

11. “where are your manners?”

12. “what did you say?”

13. “try again”

14. “but the cameras” - “they can’t see us from this angle, if you can stay still”

15. “you don’t get to touch”

16. “i’m begging you, touch me, please”

17. “beg for it”

18. “i said no”

19. “stop pushing, it wont end well”

20. “you look so fucking hot right now”

21. “you don’t need anything, you want it”

22. “say it”

23. “use your words”

24. “i can’t understand you”

25. “i can’t read your mind”

26. “could he/she do it better?”

27. “do you wish it was *name* touching you right now?”

28. “play with me”

29. “you’re such a needy girl”

30. “i don’t think your stage outfits cover that”

31. “let me focus”

32. “sluts don’t get to make requests”

33. “what happened? you wanted this so bad five minutes ago”

34. “stop talking”

35. “did i give you permission to talk?”

36. “you don’t understand how angry i am right now”

37. “you’re fucking soaked”

38. “you make me so wet”

39. “why are you already squirming”

40. “can i ask you for something?”

41. “please don’t stop”

42. “please don’t think i’m weird for this”

43. “i’ve been waiting all day”

44. “does that turn you on?”

45. “i need your fingers”

46. “i want you to fuck me”

47. “do it like you mean it”

48. “scream my name while you cum”

49. “call me mommy”

50. “touch yourself, i want to watch”

51. “come here, now.”

52. “on your knees”

53. “turn around”

54. “bend over”

55. “spread your legs/spread your legs further”

56. “you can barely speak, so cute”

57. “you’re so flushed, pretty girl”

58. “sit on my thigh/face/etc”

59. “lift up your leg”

60. “i’m bored, let’s play”

61. “i can see you staring at my tits/thigh/ass”

62. “if you make me/if i have to stop this car, im going to make sure you can’t walk out of it without my help”

63. “harder”

64. “let me do it”

65. “i didnt mean to, im sorry”

66. “dont cum until i tell you to”

67. “what if i just leave you here, wet and needy”

68. “what’s the safe word? you’re going to need it”

69. “what about you?”

70. “it’s my turn now”

71. “i didn’t mean to call you that, i’m sorry”

72. “you look so pretty on your knees”

73. “what are you going to do? punish me?”

74. “i think i deserve a reward”

75. “your *body part* are/is so pretty”

76. “i really don’t care that we’re in public”

77. “keep it up, you won’t like the situation you end up in”

78. “who do you think you are?”

79. “spank me”

80. “choke me”

81. “bite me”

82. “no, don’t go”

83. “you can practice on me”

84. “this is a one time thing”

85. “i thought you said it was a one time thing?”

86. “we can’t do this”

87. “i ordered us something”

88. “that looks too big”

89. “are you comfortable?”

90. “grab the handcuffs and come back here”

91. “you bought a vibrator?”

92. “how do i look?”

93. “you taste so sweet”

94. “i’m/it’s all over your chin”

95. “do you want to try?”

96. “you’re so cute”

97. “do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

98. “why are you being so shy? it’s not like i haven’t already seen all of you”

99. “can we use a toy?”

100. “can i use a toy on you?”

101. “good girl, keep going/just like that”

102. “you’re doing such a good job”

103. “i’m so proud of you”

104. “nobody can know about this, okay?”

105. “how are you so close already?”

106. “i can see how wet you are through your shorts”

107. “can you be quick?”

108. “please, i’ll finish fast”

109. “use your mouth”

110. “why do you get so shy when i use that word?”

111. “i love your tits/ass/etc”

112. “where do you want me to touch you?” - “down there…” - “say the word”

113. “stop teasing me”

114. “i like it when you’re mad”

115. “punish me”

116. “are you going to stop me?”

117. “on the counter/table/etc?”

118. “you’re the only one that gets to touch”

119. “have you seen the things the the fans write about you and *other member*?”

120. “i don’t care what the fans think”

121. “i really need to finish this”

122. “this is exactly how i imagined it”

123. “is that my shirt/underwear/etc?”

124. “everyone else is gone”

125. “fuck, i wish this room was soundproof”

126. “shut up”

127. “relax, angel”

128. “keep doing that, please”

129. “you feel so good”

130. “your skin is so soft”

131. “kiss/touch me, everywhere”

132. “no, you started this, now you’re going to finish it”

133. “pull my hair”

134. “open your mouth”

135. “clean my fingers, this is your mess”

136. “you’re such a messy girl”

137. “why are you so hot”

138. “fuck, i love you so much”

139. “take off your underwear” - “but, there’s other people here” - “they won’t see you, there’s an entire table here”

140. “you’re so gorgeous”

141. “open your eyes”

142. “look at me while you cum”

143. “do you want me to use my fingers/mouth?”

144. “i want you to keep going, forever”

145. “do you want to join me”

146. “you’re not allowed to touch”

147. “bad girls/sluts don’t get to cum”

148. “can you tell me what you did wrong?”

149. “explain what you did, if you don’t finish before you cum, you don’t get to finish again for the rest of the night”

150. “you’re all mine” - “hm…” - “say it” - “i’m all yours”

151. “you’re such a fucking slut/whore/cunt”

152. “how bad do you want it?”

153. “make me cry”

154. “ruin me”

155. “i want to do so many things to you”

156. “you look amazing, really, but i think i prefer the dress on the floor”

157. “i need you”

158. “if you ever pull a stunt like that again, i won’t wait until we get to our bedroom”

159. “say that again, i dare you”

160. “it’s too late for this” - “you don’t have to do anything, just stay laying down”

161. “what does this make us?”

162. “i love making you so flustered, it’s so cute”

163. “do you like it when i touch right here?”

164. “can you stay quiet if i take this call?”

165. “we could get kicked out for this”

166. “don’t make me say it, you know what i want”

167. “let me eat you out while you do that”

168. “can you teach me?”

169. “can i call you mommy?”

170. “what would the others think of this? their innocent little maknae being such a whore”

171. “shower with me”

172. “put your leg over my shoulder”

173. “there’s no one else here, be louder”

174. “look what you did”

175. “i want to taste you”

176. “i’m going to fuck you against the windows, i want everyone to see how good you are”

177. “stop being gentle”

178. “i don’t care what you do, just touch me”

179. “i want to fuck you so bad”

180. “i want to feel you, inside”

181. “i promise i’ll be good, just please…”

182. “you can’t leave marks”

183. “you’re not going to fall, i’ve got you”

184. “we are not doing this standing, there’s a bed right there”

185. “do you like it when i spank you right there?”

186. “stop moving on your own, you’ll take what i give you”

187. “use my thigh”

188. “if you hate me so much, why are you letting me do this?”

189. “you’re really telling me to stop while both of your hands are in my shirt?”

190. “i still hate you”

191. “this is just sex, no strings”

192. “fuck you” - “well, that’s what we’re doing isn’t it?”

193. “you looked so hot out there”

194. “you can take it like a good girl, right?”

195. “swallow”

196. “i’ll untie you if you’re good”

197. “you heard me”

198. “that was a nice way to wake up”

199. “i want to make a mess of you”

200. “breathe, please”

201. “take it like a good girl”

202. “why don’t you make it up to me?”

203. “you think your begging is going to change my mind?”

204. “i don’t care that you’re sorry”

[naranjapetrificada]

In this weird wonderful AU Georg fandom that is OFMD we have so many beautiful options. I was never, ever an AU type until now, but I truly can't get enough. Just last night I stayed up entirely too late because I finally got into Wave Hello to the Void, which on its face should absolutely positively not be My Thing, but the AUs we're blessed with here seem to always break that rule (especially with mxmollusca involved because holy shit have you read In Favor With Their Stars yet???).

We're so incredibly lucky y'all. I've been in fandom spaces for a long time but I've never felt this lucky.

We get different takes on time travel. We get the multiverse (and in so many beautiful forms). We get thought-provoking fantastical allegories and devastating (but often hopeful?) prequels with fascinating studies of character and fascinating takes on soul mates. We get complete fantasy overhauls that are gem-like in the beauty and precision of their prose and world-building. We get darling modern AUs and heartwrenching (but still ultimately happily-ending) modern AUs and modern AUs in basically every possible permutation, including ghost stories.

We get dystopias and apocalypses and post-apocalypses, meditations on love and existence, metafictional experiments in Not-RPF that draw even the biggest RPF skeptics (*points to self*) in, leaving us to wrestle with fundamentally altered attitudes toward storytelling that we may never be able to reconcile. Hell, even the missing scenes, canon-divergence, and fix-its hit different. Not to mention westerns with outlaws and cowboys, an archetype which conveniently also manages to scratch the proverbial pirate itch.

Even though pretty much every fandom has these things, for me at least they've never felt quite so imaginative and well-executed. We're so lucky to be here, to be writing for each other and reading for each other and for many of us, feeling creative for the first time in years or even decades. The gay pirates did that for us, because good source material can be the key to great fan works. And whether or not we get a third season, as much as they can't take the show from us, they also can't take away the gift that getting to experience all these fanworks has been. That's something I'm going to keep reminding myself while we wait.

and idk maybe tell your cowboy fanart friends that Ed can also ride horses as a steppe warrior or whatever

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Bruce already has 6-23ish kids (depending on who you count/which run you're reading) in DC canon. He really doesn't need anymore-

AO3 Fic Authors: *eyes Peter Parker* *eyes Billy Batson* *eyes Conner Kent* *eyes Roy Harper* *eyes Wally West* *eyes Danny Fenton* *eyes-*

AO3 Fic Authors: Eh, he can afford the child support.

[btscontentenjoyer]

BTS Summer Fic Recs

Here are some summer fanfic recommendations if you need something to read on the beach, by the pool, or just in your room while you're trying to escape the heat! If you enjoy any of these stories, please don't forget to let the author know by reblogging and leaving feedback. Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!

kim namjoon

solace by @m-yg93 (13.5k) fluff/smut

[roommates to lovers]

summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

kim seokjin

all you’re giving me is friction by @hot-soop (28.3k) angst/smut/fluff

[surfer!seokjin x lifeguard!f.reader, lovers to enemies (lite) to lovers]

summary: You’ve graduated! Congratulations - you’ve got one thing checked off your parents ten year plan! Now all that’s left to do is start your dreary office job, drag yourself up the ladder to CEO, marry your (as yet unknown) dream guy, and carve out some time to pop out a few kids before your ovaries shrivel up… Except all of that sounds horrendous, and you’d much rather spend the next three months at Hoseok’s beach house with your closest friends - relaxing, partying, and sleeping late while you still can. And it would be your last perfect summer break, if it weren’t for the most irritating man on the planet (and his chickens) living next door.

min yoongi

the landlord by @ppersonna (4.3k) smut/light crack/pwp

[landlord!yoongi]

summary: your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

watermelon sugar by @yoonjinkooked (23k) smut/romcom

[strangers to lovers, vacation au]

summary: Travelling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins.

jung hoseok

strawberry sundae by @youtifulhobi (6k) fluff

[lifeguard!hoseok x olympian swimmer!reader, meet cute]

summary: A few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.

a taste of paradise by @theharrowing (8k) light angst/smut

[strangers to lovers, chance encounters]

summary: A handsome stranger helps take your mind off of all of the drama that awaits you back home. It is bittersweet, isn’t it, how a chance encounter that makes you feel so good can also just leave you craving more.

park jimin

i need you tonight by @minisugakoobies (1.5k) smut/slight angst?

[pool boy!jimin]

summary: You’re tired of watching your evil stepmom waste your father’s money. So you steal one of her toys.

you dtf? by @sailoryooons (10.2k) smut/pwp

[strangers to one-night stand]

summary:  You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong?

into the wilderness by @gukyi (27k) angst/fluff/comedy

[friends to lovers, camp counsellor au, unrequited love]

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

summer feelings by @jjkeverlast (558) fluff/crack

[childhood best friends to lovers]

summary: taehyung catches you off guard during your first trip to the beach.

himbo hours by @gimmethatagustd (7k) pwp/smut/humor

[himbo!taehyung x reader, strangers to lovers]

summary: Trouble always seems to follow Taehyung. An innocent night of finding new friends to share his alcohol, drugs, and boxy smiles quickly turns into a mess when he accidentally punches you, a poor, unsuspecting clubgoer, right in the face. Whoops!

trip by @daechwitatamic (22k) fluff

[friends to lovers, camping au]

summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

jeon jungkook

in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world. by @onlyswan (3.1k) fluff/a pinch of angst/suggestive

[established relationship]

baecation by @1kook (5.9k) smut

[richboy!jungkook, vacation au]

summary: “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

heartless by @here2bbtstrash (7.4k) pwp/smut

[exes hooking up]

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

no longer strangers by @soft4gguk (9.4k) fluff/smut

[jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au]

at the end of the day by @starshapedkookie (13.3k) fluff/smut/a little angst

[ex-baseball player!jungkook, high school friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

lemon sherbet by @extravaguk (15k) fluff/smut/angst

[tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook x popular!reader, ex high school classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, summer au]

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

concrete king by @bratkook (16.7k) fluff/smut

[skaterboy!jungkook x reader, himbo energy]

summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there’s no way you could ever say no to him

ex on the beach by @beahae (mini-series, 18.2k) fluff/light angst/smut

[exes to lovers]

summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right?

stars behind waves by @taegularities (22.7k) angst/fluff/smut

[estranged childhood best friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

paddle with me by @yoongsgguktae (two-shot, 30k) angst/smut

[enemies to lovers, camp counsellor au]

summary: when your camp leader forces you and jeongguk as partners in a team building activity. with frustrations and anger flaring during your journey down the river, how will all this pent-up emotion get released?

Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my list! I read some of these stories while on vacation this year, and some have stayed with me for a while since I read them last summer. If anyone has more summery recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3

[buckybarnesss]

I feel like Stiles and Derek are THAT couple, where they move in together "as roommates" but they only seem to use one bedroom and the other bedroom is an office space

Scott is like "...you two are dating," and Stiles is like "no, no, we've never gone on a date." Scott just side-eyes him because he doesn't want to start unpacking that shit, meanwhile Stiles and Derek always go on "joint vacations" to Hawaii and couples cruises because "the tickets are cheaper, Scott!!"

top tier. god level. no notes. favorite trope. best dynamic.

here's a few fics off the top of my head that deal with this in some fashion:

five times derek and stiles weren't actually boyfriends (and one time they were)

STIFF

let's build a beehive

falling into place