#yeah i really get louis right now

[skitskatdacat63]

“Amore et Timore” - King Fernando I “El Animoso”

[sokuroo]

in the spirit of matrimony.

summary — iwaizumi hajime is getting married, and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

pairing — oikawa tooru x fem!reader genres — romance, angst; exes to lovers, fake dating!au word count — 3.0k

warnings — profanity, alcohol consumption author’s note — please excuse the writing, it is wildly inconsistent, and most of it feels like i wrote through a fever dream 😭 a little bit of info on some terms used: an izakaya is a type of informal japanese bar; oshibori is a wet towel offered at dining places used to clean one’s hands before eating; otoshi is an appetizer offered at izakaya

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised. 

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days. 

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown. 

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat. 

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor. 

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer. 

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. “Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp. 

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness. 

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it. 

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in. 

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast. 

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile. 

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.

author’s note (again): this fic is a birthday gift to my best friend, @hanluex! it's the most last-minute thing ever and i apologise but HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOKI!!!

[starkeyisthelastname]

hello lily…. i just had a thought…… about dealer!rafe and me on my birthday his girl celebrating her bday 💖💖……. i cannot stop thinking about him

hi baby! 💖 you better get ready because this man is ready to spoil you even more than already he does and take you to pound town 😜.. hope you like it sweet angel and have the best birthday!!! @oceandriveab

The morning of your birthday, you get awoken by his head between your thighs. His tongue deep in your wet hole and nose hitting your clit just right. He would look up at you just as your sleepy eyes met his, a smirk on his handsome face as he pulled back. “Happy birthday mama.” His voice raspy, watching you bite your lower lip as he then dived back down into your ocean of a pussy.

It was when you walked outside, as he was going to take you shopping that you saw your dream car wrapped perfectly in a pink bow. Rafe did most of the driving, but when he was taking care of “business”, you occasionally needed to go somewhere and what better way now with the brand new luxury vehicle that cost him a pretty penny. Not that he worried how much it cost, he paid for it in cash. (Dirty money at that. 😅). You would open the door, the passenger seat holding a giant bouquet of flowers, along with neatly wrapped boxes that read Dior, Chanel, Cartier, Louis Vuitton and stacks of cash wrapped in silky ribbon. You always wondered how much money this man really made, but never questioned it as you enjoyed the princess treatment too much.

He would then take you shopping, letting you have a pamper day before a beautiful private dinner on the waters of the Outer Banks. He needed you blissfully happy and tummy full before we gave you a brutal birthday fuck.

You may have been drunk off expensive liquor, but you felt every thick and long inch of your man’s cock as he slid it in your soaked little hole. He made sure your knees were bent back, giving you that deep shit all while talking dirty to his birthday girl.

“Shit… that’s it my pretty fuckin birthday princess. Got that pussy soaked for daddy, huh?” Rafe drawled out, tone low and cocky as he watched his massive pipe stretch your fluttering hole out.

“Daddy…” You whined, your pretty eyes rolling back as he hit your sweet spot over and over. He was already about to give you your first orgasm of the night and you knew there were many more to come. “I.. slow down..” You gasped, the feeling almost too much as you reached out how to tap his toned stomach. It wasn’t that you wanted him to stop, but you were about to explode and embarrassed how quickly it was coming on.

“Move your hand and take this fuckin big dick. You know I’m not done with you yet, we are just getting started.” Rafe said between breaths, your plea following on deaf ears as he continued the hard thrusts to your sloppy cunt. “Giving my girl the birthday dick she deserves, yeah?”

He was about to give you round after round, making your birthday end with your pussy sore and the sheets soaked. A new car in the driveway, diamonds, designer bags, fed expensive food, and getting a dick one dreamed of having.

[happy74827]

Butterflies

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You know you’re screwed when you feel them fluttering in your chest {GIF Creds: jeysuso}.

WC: 717

Category: Fluff

For all my Harvey lovers out there, I made a cute fluffy quickie (I’m seeing a lot of my fics being swarmed with love so why not add to it 🤗)

『••✎••』

It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

The butterflies seemed to agree.

[blairwaldcrf]

@lyinoptimist On why Louis is a better character with a richer story because of the way they brought race into the show:

[captioned: I agree with his Interview with the Vampire take, and it's not just that I care more that they're black, it's that I care more that they are black in a world where the creators know that they are black and write the story accordingly.

I remember when they cast Jacob Anderson to play Louis in this story a couple years ago and people were confused and nervous and a little bit angry as to why they cast this black man to play a character, who at least in the original story was a plantation owner that owned slaves & let them go I think eventually, but still it's like "what is this choice that you're making?" and the creators were like "no, no we know what we did".

And so now Louis like owns a brothel instead, and it's like Creole and like down in Louisiana 1920s, and you're like, "Oh, that's a pretty solid adaptational choice."

And I think ultimately the decision makes Louis look a lot more relatable, and also makes the story a lot more relatable because at least it would be harder for me to recommend this story if old Louis was the one I was telling you was in this really great show. It's like, "yeah... but he owned slaves...", you know what I mean?

It's just one of the things where it's not something I have to get into with other black fans who are really into like fantasy stuff who maybe don't want to engage in that sort of like problematic content.

Beyond Louis and Claudia being black and then Armand being like South Asian, it also gives us a really interesting look into different readings of the text now that the characters playing it are adapted in this way. This happens a lot in season one remember... like, because Lestat makes both Louis and Claudia he can no longer read their minds, but Louis and Claudia can still read each other's minds. And so in this kind of familial dynamic they've established for themselves, Louis and Claudia have this literal telepathic understanding that Lestat will just never be privy to and you can kind of read into that. It's like a metaphor for their relationship being with two black people in the household and then moving through the world and understanding the world in a way that is just different from Lestat. There's an underlying racial anxiety to Louis and Lestat's relationship that makes it, you know, more complex and like more fun to watch.

Season two there's less of it, but you have things like racialized trauma being used as the backbone for the trauma that the characters are experiencing to both highlight how horrific the things they're going through actually are.

Like Armand and his like, being sexually abused as a child in that specific way very much has the connotation of like, this happened to him because he was a vulnerable brown child and this very powerful white vampire came--presumably, i don't know who they're gonna cast but i was reading into it--came by and did this to him. And it's like, okay yeah, that complicates that dynamic a bit more.

Same thing with the execution that happens to Louis, Claudia, and Madeline at the very end of the season which is very reminiscent of, like-- Claudia even calls it a stoning but I would also argue that there's, like, elements of, like lynching to it, right?

Like, it's very horrific in a very relatable way to Black people, which I think it's drawing upon that but it's not necessarily like glorifying it in that way in order to like make the point that it wants about like, the tragedy that these characters are going through and I think it just makes the story that much richer and allows for a lot more interesting new perspectives because these characters are people of color now and that's what you can do with a good adaptation and like, these creators they understand that. ]

[hannie-dul-set]

YOURS TO KEEP.

p — SHEN QUANRUI x female! reader. g — college! au, exchange student! ricky, fluff, very very lightly angsty. w — swearing, alcohol consumption. kdrama references and misquoted quotes. 3.2k words.

note — dreamt of ricky. vomited out.....ricky as ur cute bf who behaves like a cat and whose favorite forms of cross-cultural exchange is receiving headpats and watching kdramas. only 2 scenes are actually inspired by my dream 😭 if someone guesses which line/s were extracted directly from my dream, i'll reward u with a gyuvin drabble how about that 👍

you picked up a cat from the university’s foreign exchange program.

however, he did not come in a box. he came in a louis vuitton tracksuit and balenciaga sunglasses, which very much caught you off guard when you came to meet him at the admin building, and you greet him after mustering the courage to finally walk up to the cat’s imposing presence. “h—hello! are you perhaps shen quanrui?”

he takes off his sunglasses, meets you with a pair of pretty swoopy, pretty eyes, and says, “oh. yes. are you my owner?” 

you pause. you’re taken aback because that...that doesn’t sound like the right word. “ah, um. i’m the person assigned to help you around the campus and the city for the semester, yes! it’s nice to meet you!” but you brush it off because of language barriers and all. his mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape when you tell him the correct term.

“oh, sorry.”

“it’s alright!” you say. “hope we get along!”

quanrui tells you that you can just call him ricky, and gives you a small smile. one of many that you’ll be graced with for the duration of the semester.

“i’ll be in your care.”

your new cat is a little intimidating at first, clad in all black at all times. the night you helped him first settle into his dorm, even his pajamas were reminiscent of an abyss— like a white ragdoll trying to disguise itself as a panther because you later find out that he’s actually a really sweet, really polite, and really clingy cat.

“um. knock, knock.”

you look up from your laptop, ricky in a long leather coat hesitantly peeking out from your half-open bedroom door (you gave him a copy of your apartment key. your cat needs a way to get in by himself somehow). he texted you earlier, asking if you can help him out with an essay, and you assume he’s right here right now for that very reason.

“do you have your paper?” you ask, closing your laptop. he nods and lifts up his ipad, showing it off. you have a very cute cat. you scoot aside and pat the empty space on your bed, and ricky comes padding in, mattress sinking when he settles beside you, making sure to maintain a respectable enough distance and hands you his device with the google doc open.

“oh. i marked the parts where i’m not sure about my vocabulary,” he mentions the moment a yellow highlighted part came up on the screen. 

you give it a once over. “i think this is right. yeah, you did good.” when you turn your head, you’re met with a pair of proudly sparkling eyes. you stifle out a laugh. “what? do you want a head pat for that?”

“maybe i deserve one?”

you let your fingers sink into the fluff on the top of his head. again, he’s really sweet, really polite, and really clingy. but maybe a little too clingy sometimes, especially when he finally got a lot more comfortable around you.

comfortable enough to hiss at your friends.

“oh, you signed up as a student-helper for the exchange program too?” hanbin asks after seeing you walk in the classroom with ricky in row, trailing behind you like a shadow. 

“yeah, i can’t miss the extra points prof choi baited us with.” you nudge ricky with your elbow, noticing how tense he is all of a sudden and how he’s looking at your senior with a bit of a glare. perhaps he’s threatened by another feline presence.

“nice to meet you!” hanbin greets with a bright, an arm outstretched before you, meant for ricky, but he keeps tucking himself behind you with his hands fixed on your shoulders.

hanbin has his hand left unshaked for five seconds too long now. you nudge him again. he won’t budge.

“ah, ricky is still a little shy!” you exclaim, trying to salvage the situation by grabbing hanbin’s hand instead with both of yours, swinging it around, left and right. you’re lucky your senior is so easygoing. he laughs along with you and says of course, of course, he totally gets it, merrily swinging your arms together back and forth. “he’s still not that confident with his korean. right, ricky?”

“keep holding her and i’ll claw your eyes out.”

you freeze. you leer back at ricky shen, giving him your what the fuck are you saying look? he maintains his stance, tugging you back by the shoulders. you twitch out a smile and try your best to defend your clingy and jealous cat. “ahaha. he’s picked up some weird things from all the dramas he’s been watching,” you say. “sorry about that seonbae! we’ll get to our seats now!”

“haha, it’s alright! nice to meet you ricky!”

“what was that?”you snap back at him the moment hanbin leaves the premises. all ricky does is shrugs and steadies his hold on your shoulders, aiming your body somewhere and he starts making you walk to the back of the classroom— far, far away from where hanbin is sitting.

your cat is a little weird sometimes, sure. gyuvin finds him entertaining enough though. they play tennis every weekend, and ricky started picking up even more weird things from him and all the rest of your friends that you’re starting to think they’re not very good influences.

case in point—

“if you drink this, we’re dating.”

the grape juice he poured into your paper cup nearly spills over from shock. you look at him, eyes wide and brows furrowed, cheeks burning and heart racing because what the hell? “seriously, where have you been learning these things?” 

ricky looks satisfied for eliciting that kind of reaction. he pours himself a paper cup of grape juice as well because it’s a weeknight, and you have a quiz tomorrow, and getting wasted is off of the table, so you two settled for juice and chips on your living room floor to relish in your academic misery.

“jiwoong hyung and gunwookie recommended me some movies for me to watch.” he sets down the juice bottle after screwing the cap shut, and you fear the other movies those two gremlins recommended him come from a list of top 50 movie pick-up up lines to woo an unsuspecting victim. next thing you know, he’s gonna invite you to have ramen at his place or go see freaking butterflies with him. “i just watched a moment to remember earlier. my pronunciation is getting better, right?” 

ricky is looking at you with his eyes all big and his lips all pressed together expectantly. he’s waiting for your praise. you feel your chest swell. the grape juice feels heavy in your hand. gosh, he’s such a needy cat. a needy cat that deserves all the praise in the world.

“yeah. i’m proud of you. c’mere.”

you leave your cup on the table to focus on more important things— that is, giving ricky his well deserved pats on the head. you don’t recall how your relationship with him managed to get this far, still remembering how intimidated you felt when you first met him. now he’s on your living room floor, head laying back on your couch with a drama playing on the tiny laptop screen settled on the coffee table, both of you barely paying attention because he’s looking at something on his phone, and you’re gently rubbing his head as you reply to some messages on yours.

“ah, gyuvin is seriously annoying,” you complain. “he’s trying to get me to join his club. coding club he says, when i’m pretty sure he’s just starting it as an excuse to play games on campus.”

“are you going to join?” he asks, bumping his head against your palm when you stop giving him scratches.

“mm, i don’t think so.” you set down your phone to pour all your focus into satisfying your needy cat’s attention requirements. ricky lets out a satisfied rumble when set his head down onto your lap, raking your fingers through the tufts of his hair as he lets his eyes flutter to a close. “i’m already too busy this semester to bother with those things. maybe next time if he’s that desperate to fill in the member numbers..”

“yeah,” he mutters. “you’ll be too busy spending most of your time with me.”

your fingers stop moving.

ricky looks up at you, confused as to why you stopped petting him, and you’d eat him right up if you could. but you can’t keep your cat for too long. it’s only a matter of time before you get your last opportunity to coddle him like this, to shower him in unabashed affection disguised as friendship because the exchange program is temporary, and he’s returning back to china at the end of the semester.

so why is he raising your hopes up if he’s just going to leave anyway?

“i meant my acads, silly,” you say, picking up your untouched juice cup from the table, feeling the weight of the drink slosh around the paper cup as you let it hover in front of your lips. 

he’s raising your hopes up and you’re letting him. you know this is gonna end in a disaster.

still.

“but if you put it that way—”

the sharp taste of sweet grapes hits the back of your throat, swallowing down the lukewarm juice that’s been sitting since ricky poured a cup for you. if you’re gonna crash down at the end of this, might as well crash down from two thousand feet above the ground. 

“are we dating now?”

you set the cup back down on the table, gaze flickered down at ricky, whose face is flushed in surprise one moment— easing into understanding the next, and he props himself up from your lap, reaching out for the back of your neck to pull you into a sugary tart kiss.

yeah, you think, feeling the softness of his lips brush against yours, his eyelashes tickling your cheeks when he pulls you in even closer. if your time with him has a deadline, might as well make the most out of it.

“i was disappointed when you didn’t drink it the first time,” he says, drunk on sweet juice and the feeling of your mouth against his. “jiwoong hyung said that line was effective.”

“can you not think about another man when i’m kissing you?”

he lets out a laugh, “‘m sorry,” then presses a fluttering kiss on your temple, tip of your nose, until his lips meet yours once more at last. “let me try again. ahem. i like you. i don’t need a rainbow.”

“you got the line wrong, baek yijin. try again next time.”

if he’s going to leave anyway, might as well make his departure as heart wrenching as all the dramas he’s so fond of watching.

“looks like our friend here got more than just extra credit for volunteering to help out the exchange students.”

you look up from the stack of papers on your table, only to have more dropped off by taerae with a thunk. hanbin, gyuvin, matthew and ricky are also loitering around the classroom— not that they’re helping you and taerae check the test papers your profs asked you to grade as a favor. at least the constant yelling and arguing and meowing noises(?) are making things a lot more lively.

“congrats, you lucky bitch,” he says.

“you sound like you want to covet my cat,” you raise a brow at him, adding the new set to your pile as taerae grabs a new stack as well.

“your cat for this mutt,” he points his thumb at matthew, who’s currently tucked in the to answer an evaluation sheet on taerae. ricky’s doing the same evaluation about you, somewhere. you’re not sure where your cat went, but he’s probably just around. “are you perhaps open for negotiation?”

“matthew isn’t a mutt. he’s a cute golden retriever.”

“well, your cat doesn’t seem to appreciate you calling someone else cute.”

taerae swerves off to reveal a pouting ricky. he’s got his arms crossed, the evaluation sheet folded in between the fingers of his right hand, and you have to hold back a laugh. “did you finish my evaluation?” you ask.

“i did, but i wanna redo it now. negative points for you,” he protests, but lets you snatch the paper from him anyway. you scoot your chair to the left to give him some space next to you. he grabs an empty armchair and nudges his nose close to your face when you start reading his note at the bottom.

“mid-semester evaluation. my student-helper is very acommodatimg. she has been helping me adjust to korea very well. you spelled accommodating wrong, angel.” 

“i did it on purpose to test you. good job. you pass.”

you roll your eyes, free hand absentmindedly reaching out for the top of his head, and you hear ricky let out a noise of satisfaction. “she always answers my questions and is…very pretty and smells nice,” you set the paper down. your cat is looking at you expectantly. “ricky, i don’t think you can submit this.”

“why not?” he asks. “professor choi said to be as honest as possible.”

your cheeks grow warm.

gosh. this makes things even harder knowing your cat has to leave eventually.

“what did i tell you?”

the convenience store lights need to be replaced soon, you note. it keeps flickering intermittently against the dim night— reminiscent of how you’re feeling right now when you called jiwoong out for a few drinks two weeks before finals, but you’re not depressed because finals are near. you’re wallowing in tear stained sniffles because the exchange program will be over soon, meaning you only have two weeks until ricky has to pack his bags and leaves.

“not to get too attached because he has to say goodbye eventually,” you lament, a puddle of soju burning your lips. jiwoong looks at your pathetic state with remorseful sigh.

“and what did you do?” he says.

“got too attached and now i have to say goodbye to him eventually.” you groan and swallow down a shot. you’re about to pour yourself another, but jiwoong pulls back the bottle— maybe your third one of the night, you’re not sure— away from your reach, and pushes you a plastic bottle of water instead. 

“you just had to go ahead and start dating him like an idiot,” he cracks open the water for you when you don’t do anything with it. he pours it in a shot glass, and you take the bait, drinking down the water, eyebrows furrowing when it doesn’t burn your throat like you expected. “maybe if you tell him to say, he might listen to you.”

you let out a gasp. “i can’t do that! that’d be so selfish of me!”

jiwoong can’t do anything to help you but share your miseries tonight. he simply sits in silence, waiting for the owner of the number he texted a while ago to make an appearance, and listen to your drunk ramblings at eleven in the evening.

“i miss my cat. i haven’t seen him the entire day because he says he had things to do with hanbin and hao.” you’ve melted into the table. high pitched whines aside, he’s surprised you’re still coherent at this point. “bring me back my cat. i miss him so much. i miss my cat. i miss my ricky. i wish he’d never leave me.”

jiwoongs eyes flit up. “looks like your cat misses you too.” he pulls himself up from his chair and picks up his jacket from the backrest. “took you long enough.”

when you tip your head back in confusion, wondering who the hell jiwoong is talking to, you’re pleasantly surprised to see the upside-down face of the cat you’ve been missing.

“ah,” you sound out. “you’re here.”

“thanks, hyung,” ricky settles a hand on the top of your head. you blink. now you understand why he liked headpats so much. “i’ll take care of her from here.”

this is eye opening. you feel your eyelids growing heavier as ricky continues to massage your head, his and jiwoong’s faraway voices talking about something, something you can’t really hear, until jiwoong waves off, and it’s just you and ricky in front of the quiet flickering lights of the convenience store entrance.

you hear yourself whine when ricky’s hand disappears from the top of your head. “you should’ve called me if you missed me,” he says, circling from behind the chair to being in front of you now. he crouches down, settling his crossed arms on your lap, and he looks up at you with his pretty swoopy eyes. “why didn’t you call me?”

“i need to get used to you not being around even if i miss you,” you say, letting your fingers sink into the soft strands of his hair.

ricky lets out a questioning hum. “why wouldn’t i be around?”

“because your deadline is near,” you grumble. “i have to return you to where i first picked you up, but i don’t want to. but you have to. this sucks so much.”

you’re still saddled with insobriety, and the fact that your sweet cat isn’t purring like usual when you’re patting his head is making your bottom lip quiver and your eyes sting because you fear you might’ve said something wrong. “aren’t you gonna ask me what i did today?” he simply asks. you suck in a wavering breath and swallow a lump in your throat.

“what...did you do today?”

“hanbin hyung helped me settle the requirements for my transfer” ricky lands a gentle hold on your wrist and brings your hand down to the side of his face, cupping his cheek. it’s warm. “i’m going to continue attending here. hao hyung is too.”

you blink at him. “w—what?”

“i don’t have to leave. you don’t have to keep missing me.” he brings your hand down palm to the front of his lips, pressing a kiss into your palm. “i’m not going anywhere. i’m yours to keep.”

it takes you a moment to register ricky’s words, so you stay there for a while— sitting frozen in cold silence until the warmth of his messages finally settles in to thaw you out. oh, you think. “oh,” you repeat out loud, voice wavering. ricky hums out a smile at your reaction. he rises, pulling you up to your feet, and you stumble into him.

“i think i know the perfect line for this moment,” he says, steadying a hold on the small of your back. “what was it? if I don't see you, i get upset. If you're depressed, i get curious. something like that?”

“it’s the other way around, dummy.” you sniffle. “why do you keep quoting nam joohyuk?” 

“because he’s cool,” he says. “let’s go watch start-up at your place once you’ve sobered up.”

the cat you picked from the university’s foreign exchange program is clingy, sweet, and is for some reason obsessed with quoting the dramas he’s been watching. he keeps an arm around you when he walks you back to your apartment after grieving over his departure, only to kiss you with the news that you don’t have to return him any time soon.

YOURS TO KEEP. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[puck-luck]

give him six | trevor zegras

warnings: extreme domination. EXTREME domination. daddy kink because i do what i want. edging. spanking. cockwarming. at the same time. don’t worry about it. i do what i want. HINTS of anal play but they don’t actually do it. derogatory language (name calling…). crying during sex. sorry! spit kink. had to be done. subspace! ugh need a man to put me in that BAD bad pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader summary/request: “thinking about trevor zegras needing to fuck his gf roughly after a tough game to let out his frustration bc i can sooooo see him being into that. but he’d always be looking out for u too, saying to tell him if it hurts and checking in to ask if she’s ok, but as soon as she assures him she is he’s just going absolutely nuts not holding back 🫠” wc: 4109

You don’t have to look at Trevor to see how angry he is. He lost a few weeks of hockey due to his broken ankle and now he was back– but he couldn’t make a fucking goal in a shootout to get the win for his team? The worst part was that his shot was denied not by the goalie, but by the post. By the fucking post. 

Trevor loves to flaunt his accuracy in the backyard, in the practice rink, even when tossing trash into the garbage bin, but the one time he doesn’t mean to hit the post, the puck does? It’s idiocracy. It’s humiliating. He’s better than this. He knows it, you know it, the whole world knows it. But St. Louis got to celebrate tonight, and maybe if he hadn’t hit the damn post, then he’d be celebrating with his teammates instead of stewing in your bed. 

His arms are crossed over his chest and the TV isn’t even on– you join him and want to laugh at the image of your pouty boyfriend wallowing in silence. You climb under the covers with Trevor. 

“You did really well, Trev,” you compliment, settling into the mattress.

“We should’ve won,” he replies.

You sigh. “You can’t win them all.”

Trevor scoffs. “Yeah, well, we could’ve won this one,” he snaps.

You stare at him for a moment while his tone really sets in. “You don’t have to talk to me like that,” you say, your voice growing cold. “I wasn’t out on the ice with you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He, at least, sounds the part. He covers his face with his hands, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “I just– I’m so mad.”

You take a deep breath. You don’t have to be at work until 9 and it’s about five minutes away if you leave on time. You have to do the laundry tomorrow afternoon anyway. Trevor would feel better if you did this. You really wanted to sleep after the game tonight, but it would be a lie if you said you didn’t want to make him feel better. Another deep breath.

“Why don’t you take it out on me?” You ask.

Trevor looks over at you, surprise written all over his features. “Really?” He asks, like a child who was just told that he could have another candy before bed. “Like last time?”

Last time. You practically start salivating, thinking about how Trevor brought you to the edge and ripped you away from the cliff time after time, until you were sobbing and screaming and begging for a release. 

“Yeah, like last time,” you agree, already a little absent. Trevor notices, of course he does, he’s more in tune with your body than you are at this rate.

A smile tugs on the corner of Trevor’s lips, but he ignores it.

“Hands and knees,” Trevor says. “Right in front of me.”

You position yourself accordingly.

Trevor smooths a hand over your behind, your shirt riding up and exposing your skin due to the position you’re in. You hadn’t worn anything else to bed– why would you? You and Trevor had been together for ages and you weren’t exactly new to his… post-loss coping mechanisms. 

“Elbows,” Trevor corrects. His cock twitches when you immediately drop to your elbows, no hesitation in your movements. You’re silent, like he wants when you play like this, and you’ll do anything he says. You’re gorgeous like this, all spread out and listening to him with your head forward like a good girl, waiting for your next instruction.

You hear his voice over the thumping of your heart, although you’re not sure how. You’re always finding Trevor in the mess of everything. 

“Bite the sheets,” Trevor commands, shimmying out of his boxers. You can hear him moving and you take the bedsheets in your mouth, the fabric almost immediately saturating with your saliva. “Close your eyes.” You slide your eyes shut and wait, your shaky breath filling the room and heating your face.

Something warm probes at your entrance and for a moment, you can’t tell if it’s Trevor’s fingers or his cock. The answer comes to you via a sharp spank on your left cheek, with Trevor’s left hand. He always fingers you with his left hand so that he can keep his right around your neck– the hand that’s currently kneading your other cheek. 

He pushes his cock into you slowly, the movement more like he’s pulling you back than pushing you forward. 

“Six shots,” Trevor muses, watching his cock disappear into you. “Six shots, and I didn’t make one.”

You bite back the reassurance, swallowing it. Trevor doesn’t want to hear it.

“Do you know how that feels?”

You don’t answer. He still doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll show you,” Trevor promises, his voice deceptively soft. His hand rests against your skin, heavy and present. 

You get lost in the feeling easily, your mouth full of the comforter and your fingers twisted in the top sheet. Your eyes stay closed, the red-tinged darkness grounding you. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” he repeats, his voice darker this time. “You’re going to understand exactly what it feels like to come so close six times, just for all of that to be taken away from you.”

Your eyes open at his words and you pale. You spit the covers out and break your silence. “Six times?” You ask, incredulous. “Trev.”

“Daddy,” Trevor corrects with a spank. “Unless that’s… not what we’re doing tonight?”

You clench down on his length at the contact and the name, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sound of his voice. Trevor is playing with you, teasing you. His fingers are walking all over you– the small of your back, your cheeks, down your crack all the way to where he’s buried inside of you… and it’s distracting.

You find yourself nodding. “It is.”

“Good,” Trevor says. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make the second and third ones quick, okay?”

His voice is full of condescension, like he knows you’re going to lose track of everything as soon as he starts hitting you. He’s right, but that’s neither here nor there.

For as long as you’d been dating Trevor, you’d never seen him tap into the mindset that he has on the ice off the ice. However, when he’s bringing his hand down on your ass, he gets pretty damn close.

His spanks are precise and powerful. He’s leaving pink handprints all over your skin, from the fleshy parts of your ass to the top of your thighs, even a few falls over the hole that he’s not occupying. Each flash of his hand leaves your skin burning and your hips inching upwards, begging for more. All of this, and he’s still inside you– the torture of the spanking is that he isn’t moving, and you’re not supposed to.

You lose track of the count, feeling your stomach flip with each slap. What starts as stinging pain turns into aching pleasure, and the sensations aren’t lost on Trevor.

He feels you jolt each time he brings his hand down on your skin, the clench of your pussy around his cock, the pounding of your pulse from inside of you. Trevor smirks and shifts his hips forward as he brings his hand down, his hand making contact with your asshole just as his tip nudges against your g-spot.

You wail, lurching under Trevor’s watchful eye. You fuck back on his cock once, only managing the movement one measly time, before Trevor stills you with a hand and slides out of you.

“No,” you breathe out, voice muffled by your makeshift gag. 

“Yes,” Trevor replies, smug. “Isn’t it frustrating?”

You glare at him, turning so he can see the look on your face.

All it does is make him laugh. “Well, now I have to really punish you, don’t I?” He asks. “I can’t have my baby making angry faces at me.”

Trevor taps your hip, wordlessly telling you to move. You resume your original position next to him, expecting Trevor to tell you to put your “pretty little hand” on his cock and jerk him until he comes all over your freshly manicured fingers. 

You don’t expect him to slide under the covers and hike up your shirt until your breasts are exposed. Trevor hooks a leg around yours, his mouth exhaling warm air onto your nipple. His fingers tap at your skin, one hand on your side and the other on your mound, making its way south. 

“We’re going to do four like this,” Trevor tells you. His voice is merely a whisper, crawling over in your skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. “Just like this. I’m gonna take one,” he breathes, catching your nipple between his teeth for a split second before continuing. “Right here. Gimme one, baby, just from me licking your tits. I know you can.”

He dives in, tongue first. Your jaw drops as Trevor’s eyes close, the same way you know they do when you kiss him. It’s surreal, seeing him kiss and lick over your skin the way he normally does over your lips. His eyelashes flutter, the long, dark pieces of hair stealing your train of thought. 

Trevor surprises you with how quickly he brings you to the edge again. He promised that the second and third would be quick, but you didn’t know just how quick he meant.

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand flies to Trevor’s hair when he opens his eyes and lets his adoring gaze fix on your face. You pull him off your chest, heaving breaths filling your lungs. 

Trevor smirks, but it never quite reaches his eyes. The same look burns you, makes you shy under his gaze. You blush and look away, one of your hands covering the redness on your cheeks.

“Good,” Trevor remarks, a mere observation. “You got close, didn’t you, baby?”

You nod, still breathing heavily.

Trevor waits, expectant. He tilts his head down and blinks.

“Yes, Daddy,” you concede. “I was close.”

“Honest girl,” Trevor praises. His fingers dance over your slit. “Love you.”

“Love you,” you parrot back to him. 

Trevor rewards you by pushing one finger into your heat, pumping it in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Your breath stays shaky, your eyes never leaving Trevor’s. His finger drags along your walls, petting the inside of you with its pad, and you swear you can feel the ridges of his fingerprint inside of you if you focus enough. 

It’s hard to focus on that when Trevor’s got his scrutinizing eyes on yours, though.

“What finger is it?” Trevor asks.

“What?” You stammer, finally blinking and breaking the trance. 

Trevor’s other hand flies up to steady your chin before you can look down and ruin his game. “Which finger–” Trevor asks, curling it inside you. “–am I fucking you with?”

Your brain stalls. It’s a no-brainer, really, you should know each of Trevor’s fingers by feel alone with how often they make their way inside of you. However, you’ve been denied two orgasms already and Trevor is close to taking a third from you with just his smug stare.

“Come on,” Trevor goads. “You know which finger this is, baby. The faster you tell me, the faster I get you to your orgasm.”

“Yeah, the faster you take it away,” you reply. 

Trevor’s eyes cloud over and he jams his finger inside you, increasing his pace. “Don’t be a bitch.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Trevor twists his finger inside of you.

“Unless you want me to fuck you like one,” he teases. 

You clench down on Trevor’s finger, his middle finger you realize, when he utters those words.

“You like that?” Trevor asks, unnecessarily. He can feel how you feel about it. “You like the idea of me getting my cock in you and fucking you like a damn animal? What is it, baby? Is it the primal instinct of it all or just the fact that I’m disciplining you like you’re worth less than I am?”

You moan at his words, logical responses and formed sentences too far from you to grasp.

“Tell me.” Trevor nudges your g-spot and you arch your back, your hips grinding against his finger… just for him to draw it out of you. “Not so fast. We’ve still got three more to go.”

“I was close,” you complain.

“So was I,” Trevor counters. “Hurts, doesn’t it? When things don’t work out the way you want them to?” 

“Trevor!” You frown, put off by his game.

“Well, now you’ve really done it,” Trevor growls, shoving two fingers inside of you and resting his thumb on your clit. “You know better than to call me by my name.”

You’re drenched in sweat and slick, so Trevor’s movements aren’t hindered in the slightest, not even when you squeeze your thighs shut. All Trevor does is push them open, trap your thigh under his bony knee. Somehow, even though you just had your legs spread, Trevor seems to push in further and rub your clit faster, hitting every right spot in alternating movements: clit, then g-spot, clit, then g-spot again. And over and over.

You don’t warn him this time, you don’t pull away. You try not to clench down, you try not to rock your hips, you try anything that might get you real relief from a real orgasm without Trevor noticing.

But it’s also a futile effort because your boyfriend knows you that well.

He withdraws his fingers just as your legs, the traitors, begin to tremble.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t think you’d get away with that, did you?” Trevor teases.

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Daddy.”

Trevor’s eyes flash with approval and he teases your entrance again, this time with a third finger. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “We’ve only got two more. Then I’ll let you come.”

You choke on your own spit when Trevor buries his three fingers inside of you, all in one motion. He doesn’t dawdle or stall for time. He doesn’t take advantage of the situation at hand– that you were already shaking for him and a pump of his fingers would give you away to the pleasure just on the other side of your approaching peak.

No, he doesn’t pump his fingers. He just wiggles them as deep as he can get them and smirks before dropping a kiss on your lips. He lowers himself then and blows cool air on your clit, spreading your folds with his other hand so the full bundle of nerves is revealed to him. He leans in and captures it with his tongue, lightly sucking on the bundle. It’s not the most friction he’s ever given you, but it’s consistent. He builds you up on his tongue, slowly, so slowly. 

And when your thighs close around his head, he stops. You’re aching for a release, tears building along your waterline. Your refractory period is shrinking with each near-orgasm, your babbles begging for Trevor to do something.

“I need it,” you beg, but the words feel more like a scream with how heavy they sit on your chest. 

“Oh, I know you need it,” Trevor replies, tone mocking. “You need it so bad, you’re acting up. Talking back, not using my name, not answering my questions, trying to trick me so that you can get an orgasm. I ought to leave you like this, really show you what it’s like to be left frustrated after a disappointing performance.”

“No,” you whimper. “No, Trevor, that’s too much.”

It’s not your word, it’s not a cry of pain, but it still gives Trevor pause. 

“Need me to be sweet to you?” Trevor asks, his eyes genuine and his hair wild from your wandering grasp.

You whine, arching your back. Trevor smiles fondly, but bats you away. When your back makes contact with the mattress again, Trevor’s deft fingers pinch your nipple and cause you to arch up a second time. He pushes you back down.

“Slut,” Trevor chastises. “Think you can distract me with your tits? This isn’t amateur hour, baby. I’ve still got to steal one orgasm from you.”

You blanch at that, your eyes wide. You take in every detail of his face, panting. There isn’t anything you could say that could stop him, except your word, but you’d rather curl into a ball and die than stop this right now. The words don’t come to you to tell him to continue, though.

“I’m going to get you so close,” Trevor whispers, his face close to yours. He leans down and kisses your neck. You arch into him, your once-useless hands finding his sides. You feel over the muscle there, his lean waist and strong chest. “You’re going to be right there, baby, and then I’m going to take it all away.”

“Please,” you repeat, but it’s indecipherable whether you’re begging Trevor to let you come or begging Trevor to leave you wanting more.

“Yeah,” Trevor agrees, sliding his three fingers back into your wet cunt. 

You moan sharply at the intrusion, pumping deep into you this time and dragging along your walls in a torturous way. It feels so good, it has you seeing white specks when you manage to open your eyes and look at Trevor. His eyes are trained on your cunt, watching your wetness seep all over his fingers. When you push his hair out of his face, his eyes lift to meet yours. 

His pupils are blown wide with lust and he’s got a snarl rumbling from deep in his chest. It is primal, you realize, the way he’s bullying his fingers into your cunt without a thought about what you can or can’t handle. He’s taking you, the way that you’ll only ever allow him to do.

“Gonna come?” Trevor asks, the evil smirk overtaking his face again.

“Please,” you beg again.

“‘Please,’” Trevor mocks. “Is that the only word you know?”

He pulses his hand, his fingers bouncing off your walls and causing you to jolt and scramble to find something to hold onto. That something ends up being Trevor’s hair and the pillow to your side. Your chest is heaving again, your nipples taut and pointed and begging to be touched. 

As Trevor’s eyes trail down your body at a snail’s pace, you can feel your orgasm approaching. You yank his hair and he winces, bringing his hand to your neck and squeezing in retaliation.

“Daddy,” you wheeze, the edge of your vision growing fuzzy and dark. It’s the only warning you can give Trevor as the cliff starts to crumble below you, as you start to fall away into the orgasm that was denied from you for so long.

And when Trevor pulls his fingers out of you, he yanks you back onto solid ground.

And, unsurprisingly, you start to cry.

It’s not pretty, either. It’s not a tear here and there when you’re deepthroating your boyfriend, or the beautiful running of mascara as he fucks your face at some hockey event. No, this is full-on sobbing, gut-wrenching cries that have Trevor taking inventory of all the things he did to you, wondering if he pushed you too far. He rubs your thighs with both of his hands in a soothing motion, ignoring the glistening precum that he’s inadvertently rubbing into your skin. 

“Baby,” Trevor murmurs. 

You sob and raise your arms, needing him to hold you. Trevor’s face softens immediately and he pulls you into his chest, turning so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard and you’re awkwardly dangling half on his lap, half off. You keen into his neck, burying your face in his soft, tan skin.

“My girl,” Trevor whispers, rubbing your arms now and pulling you closer to him, comforting you with his warmth. “You’re perfect.”

“Daddy,” you whisper into his neck. “Please.”

Trevor tilts your head back and looks into your eyes. His gaze looks sad, meeting your own, red and puffy. “Please what, baby?”

“I need your cock,” You plead, petting over his stomach with a hand that feels like its made of static. “I need you to make me come, Daddy.”

Trevor groans, sounding pained. He twitches beneath you. “Like this?” He asks.

You nod, losing your words again. It’s a timid but vehement nod, needing Trevor to press inside you more than anything, but not knowing if you could handle another ruined orgasm.

“Please, let me come this time,” you say, trying to look as pathetic and needy as you can. With big doe eyes like this, Trevor has always been bad at denying you the things you want. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve tortured you enough,” Trevor agrees, reaching under you and pressing his cockhead against your entrance. “Give me a bounce, baby. Wanna see your tits jump in front of my face, yeah?”

Trevor snakes his hands around to grab your bottom, his fingers tight against the skin. He uses his leverage to bounce you for him, knowing that you don’t have control over your movements as fucked out as you are, and he’d hate to see you cry more because you’re mad at yourself for not moving the way he wanted you to.

He lifts you up and down, snapping his hips up to meet yours when they fall. His eyes flicker between your boobs and your face, the teartracks drying over your cheeks as you allow yourself to be consumed by ecstasy. One of Trevor’s hands flies upward, tracing over your skin until he threads it between the strands of your hair. Once his whole hand is enveloped in your roots, he tugs and your mouth falls open.

Trevor leans forward and directs a glob of spit down your throat, his forceful hawk causing his spit to find the back of your throat. 

You convulse on top of him, trembling under his watchful gaze and his warm cock. “Daddy,” you pant, feeling like you’re burning and drowning in your desire for him. Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth as you come and you suck on it like a child, grinding against him through your aftershocks.

You’re floating on air by the time your aftershocks cease and Trevor pulls out of you gently, grasping his cock in his fist. He’s watching you and you’re watching him. Never breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out.

Trevor presses his tip to your tongue and strokes his cock, squeezing on the downstroke and groaning curses with each turn of his hand. He comes just seconds later, his white ropes of come gracing your tastebuds. He pulls away after only a few drops intersect with your tongue, continuing to come in spurts over your cheeks, lips, and nose. A bit of come drips down the tip of your nose and you poke your tongue out again to try and catch it, which makes Trevor laugh.

Still lost in your post-orgasm haze, you barely notice when Trevor leaves the bed and comes back with a moist towel. He wipes your face, then your thighs and pussy, dropping a kiss on your lower belly after he’s finished. You let out a breath at that, not knowing that you were holding it, astounded by the fragility and intimacy of the moment.

“Daddy,” you say out loud, mostly just to yourself. Mostly just to feel the word on your tongue, feel it take its shape in your mouth. It sounds like awe.

Trevor deposits the towel in the hamper across the room with a toss, proving yet again that his precision and accuracy are off the charts most of the time. He crowds your space, tracing your features with his delicate pinky. “Did Daddy make you feel good, baby?” Trevor asks. “You made Daddy feel good.”

You whine at that and almost want to cry again at the praise. All the time you spent wondering if you were good enough, if you’d ever get a boyfriend who loved you and stayed with you was worth it when you found Trevor. He always said the right things, made you feel things you’d never felt before. 

“I love you,” you say.

Trevor slips his thumb into your mouth, watching your eyes close in bliss as he presses it against your tongue. You can still taste where he was rubbing your pussy with this digit.

“I love you,” he replies, voice soft. His voice sounds like awe, too.

note: small town girl chapter 1 next! (hopefully)

[zepskies]

A Wish to Build a Dream On

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader

Summary: Dean has been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for weeks now, putting a strain on your relationship as you struggle to help him. When Dean makes a wish that accidentally brings his father back from the dead, you get to meet the (in)famous John Winchester. But as always with magic, your boyfriend’s wish has unintended consequences.

AN: Welcome back to the Espresso-verse! This is set in 14.13: “Lebanon,” of course, but chronologically in the storyverse, it sits between Show Me and In Bad Weather.

Song Inspo: The story title was inspired by “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” by Louis Armstrong, but the real song inspiration for this is “Come Back Down” by Lifehouse.

Word Count: 7k~

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Spiciness/smuttish, angst, hurt/comfort, hint of body insecurity, and feels. 

Start from the beginning of the series: ⤵️

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Sometimes, even the mundane in a two-year relationship can become new. And not in a good way. 

You and Dean are getting ready for bed, taking turns brushing your teeth. When you’re done, he comes in behind you at the sink and starts up his routine.

As you go to look for the moisturizer you pretend he doesn’t borrow from your nightstand, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Even dressed down in his loose shirt and pajama pants, he seems tired, and tense.  

Maybe because he’s been harboring the archangel Michael in his mind for an entire month. 

You know Dean hasn’t been sleeping well, if at all. Now, he seems to be anticipating another fitful night. It doesn’t sit well with you to see the tension in his shoulders, the lines around his eyes that aren’t from laughing.

You wait until he slips into his side of the bed. Then you turn over and sidle up against him. You prop your elbow against his pillow, so you can look down on him with a smile. His brows twitch upwards.

“Well, hey,” he says. His arm settles around your waist under the covers. You stroke his cheek.

“Hey,” you reply. Though you don’t ask him if he’s all right. You already know the answer. Instead, you dip down for a kiss.

At first it’s just a sweet meeting of lips. You part from him softly, letting your thumb drag back and forth across his prickly cheek. He breathes in deeply and allows himself to savor the touch.

You dive back in again for a deeper taste, finding minty freshness with your tongue. He hums in response. His hold tightens on your waist, while your fingers drift down his neck, down his chest over his shirt. And then, they slip under the worn-out waistband of his sweatpants.

He groans deep in his throat when you stroke up and down the full length of him with a practiced hand. His knee bends on reflex, and he sucks in a breath as pleasure stirs low inside him.

But he stops you, grabbing your wrist gently, but firm.

You break the kiss in confusion. Dean’s eyes are still closed, brows furrowed while he takes deep breaths, as if he’s trying to pull himself back together. Or maybe, maintain a level of self-control.

His green eyes open and find yours in apology.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling your hand out of his pants. “Just uh…not really in the mood.”

You lift up the covers and glance down at the half-pitched tent in his pants with a raised brow.

“You sure about that?” you ask.

He stays quiet, which starts to make you suspicious. You let the covers drop and rest a hand on his chest, where his heart beats at a ticked-up pace.

“It’s been over a month, baby,” you point out. “I know there’s…a lot going on, but this isn’t like you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired,” he claims.

You can understand that, to an extent, but intuition tells you that there’s something deeper here. Beyond the lack of intimacy, you’ve been starting to realize just how distant your boyfriend has been with you, even after getting him back from Michael.

Dean doesn’t…touch you anymore. And not just in this bed. As a matter of fact, him holding you right now is some of the closest affection he’s given you in days.

Despite that thought, he actually surprises you by covering your hand on his chest and squeezing your fingers. Likely he’s seen the disappointment and concern across your face.

“Come on. You think I only want you around for sex?” he jokes. It gets you to smile, however slightly.

“Call it a perk of this little arrangement,” you say in a dry tone. 

“Ooh, an arrangement. Sounds kinky,” he quips, with a curve of his lips. 

You smirk and take back your hand from under his. Carding your fingers through his hair, you dip down and start to kiss his neck. 

“I miss you,” you whisper against his warm skin. “But I also want to help you take your mind off it all… Just let me distract you for a while.” 

His eyes briefly close as he lets out a shaky breath, but he stops you for real this time. He holds your cheek and guides you away. His rejection hurts, making your chest sting, but his eyes implore you to let him explain.

“That’s just it,” he says. “I can’t. I can’t risk it.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose control,” Dean says. His tone is laced with grit and strain. “Michael’s in there, rattling around. He’s either pacing all damn day, or pounding on the walls.”

Dean presses a hand between his eyes, as if that’ll stop the headache that’s already forming. It’s bad enough that the archangel was controlling him for so long, rooting deep in his head and opening every door and shady corner. Thoughts, memories, private moments.

Now, Dean doesn’t know how much Michael sees of the outside world. It’s another reason he’d rather not heed every desire he has to roll you underneath his body and fuck you deep into the mattress. It’s why he hasn’t let himself touch you as often as he wants, as he craves.

Because the truth is, he’s scared. Scared of what might happen if he gets too distracted.

“Sometimes I think I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” he admits to you, his throat tightening.

He glances back up at you, and finds you weeping. Your lower lip trembles. Guilt hits Dean harder between the ribs when he realizes what he’s been putting you through. What he’s still putting you through. He cups your cheek and wipes away a stray tear.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says.

You shake your head. “It’s not just that we can’t…it’s that I can’t help you,” you reply, with a tremble in your voice. “I can’t do anything.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to you, but he knows what he can do. He wraps his arms more securely around you and pulls you against him. You rest your forehead in the crook of his neck and try to calm yourself by taking long, even breaths.

“I wish I could take this from you,” you confess.

He sighs. “I don’t.”

The next morning, Sam and Dean catch a lead on a fellow hunter who was killed by a supernatural artifacts dealer. They mean to track down the dealer.

Instead of going with them, you stay at the bunker and continue to research a way to extract and capture an archangel from a human host. 

Dean doesn’t question your decision; he’s grateful, but still feeling guilty about last night. And part of him doesn’t even know how to move forward with you right now. 

It’s just as well, because you’re not too sure of how to act around Dean either. Your heart breaks every time you look at him, and it was hard to even meet his eyes at breakfast this morning.

Mary is on a hunt nearby as well, but you don’t have the heart to join her when she calls you around noon. After you hang up with her, you realize that you’re feeling sorry for yourself, when the one who’s really suffering is Dean.

For a moment, you take a break from the old book in front of you. Your back is twinging from being hunched over in your research for hours on end in the library. You rub your eyes and let out a sigh, before you lift your gaze heavenward. You doubt your grandmother can hear you up there while she relives her greatest hits, but at this point, you’ll try anything.

Please, you think in Spanish, and even pray. Give me strength. Give him strength.

Sam and Dean return to the bunker after “taking care” of the scumbag dealer. They bring back a number of artifacts, which you’ll have to help them sort through. They pile it all onto the War Room table. 

But they show you one item in particular: the Baozhu, one of eight ancient Chinese treasures. In other words, it’s a pearl that grants your heart’s desire.

Now, in general, you tend to be wary about hoodoo, but Sam has already convinced Dean that it could work. He could wish Michael gone.

They’re both so earnest that you’re willing to go along with it…and let Dean give it a try.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call Mom?” Sam asks him. “Or wait for Cas?”

“No,” Dean replies. “If this mojo works, great. If it doesn’t, then why get their hopes up?”

You agree with that point. In fact, you almost wish you could be Mary or Castiel right now.

Dean notes the look on your face, and he knows you well enough to read what you might be thinking. He turns his attention back to the pearl with determination.

He takes the pouch from Sam’s hand and doesn’t know what to do with it at first, but after little coaching from Sam, Dean takes the pearl in his hand, closes his eyes, and concentrates on his “heart’s desire.”

Michael outta my friggin’ head, he thinks.

The lights in the bunker start to flicker. You and Sam look up in wariness as the magic from the wish knocks out the electricity for a moment, casting the room into darkness mixed with a red glow from the emergency lights.

Sam turns when he spots a shrouded figure out of the corner of his eye—almost as tall as him, a large threatening frame. Sam swings a punch, but the intruder bats at his stomach, then his face with what looks like a crowbar. He goes down hard.

Just as you turn your head, Dean steps in next and gets an elbow to the chin for his trouble, then a swift kick in the stomach that sends him across the room with Sam. The intruder wracks his crowbar, which as it turns out, is actually a shotgun.

“Don’t you move,” he says.

He must not have seen you in the dark. It gives you the opportunity to come up behind him with one of the emergency handguns Dean had taped under the table for exactly this purpose. You tuck the safety back with a click.

“Drop it,” you demand.

The man pauses. He knows you’re there, but he doesn’t yet lower his weapon.

And the lights come back on.

Sam and Dean’s eyes widen when they realize who they’re faced with.  

“Dad?” Dean says incredulously.

John Winchester is just as confused to be in the bunker as his sons are to see him alive, and in the bunker. For John, he thinks it’s 2003. Sam should be at school in Palo Alto, while John’s been hunting with Dean.

John is understandably shocked when Sam tells him that sixteen years have passed.

“I think we summoned you,” Sam says, after he and Dean pick themselves up from the ground.

John takes a beat to try and process, but he has too many questions.

“You boys better tell me what’s going on right now,” he says. Though he turns and notices you after you slip your gun back into the waistband of your jeans and draw closer to Dean, laying a hand on his arm. A subtle look passes between you two.

You good? yours says.

I think so, Dean’s replies. The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And you are?” John asks. His gaze is focused on you, and the directness of his tone somewhat takes you by surprise. You never thought you would meet John Winchester.

But after you tell him your name, Dean rests a hand at the small of your back.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he says.

Intrigue sparks in John’s eyes, and he nods in response. His mind is probably buzzing with too much information to levy any kind of politeness your way, but it still leaves a tense, awkward atmosphere in its wake.

Sam tries to bridge it by suggesting you all sit at the long table in the War Room to go over what John’s missed. He agrees, though he requests a strong drink first.

Explaining what’s really happening to the older, yet still incredibly spry hunter takes a while. You all do it with a bottle of Jack Daniels split four ways.

“So, you saved the world?” John asks. His whiskey glass is in his hands, and he raises a finger in a “So you mean to tell me” gesture.

“More than once,” Dean admits.

“Then it’s all true. God, the Devil, you boys smack in the middle,” John says. You can see him working through all this, but also with fatherly pride coming through. It would make you smile, if this situation wasn’t so goddamn weird.

“Now you all live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer’s kid,” he continues, and this time, he includes you in his gaze. All you can do is nod with a feeble smile.

Sam and Dean also confirm his summary.

“And you’ve done this whole…time travel thing before?” he asks.

“A few times,” Dean nods. “Actually, our grandfather, your dad…he’s the one that helped us find this place. I think he’d be real happy to know you’re finally here.”

Dean has told you about Henry Winchester, and how John had thought the man abandoned him when he was a child. But now, he seems to understand.

“Right, Man a’ Letters,” he nods.

“Yeah, we’re uh, we’re legacies,” Sam says, giving his father a smile. “Because of you.”

John has to smile back.

The three of them continue to talk for a while, and you mostly keep to yourself. Truth be told, you’re feeling a bit out of place in this moment.

The John you’ve heard stories about is a gruff ex-marine with a “give ‘em hell” attitude. This man has a solid presence, and a gruff voice not unlike Dean’s, but all you see in him is both pride and wonder at everything his sons are telling him about this world he’s been thrust into.

After a little while more, Sam realizes he needs to call someone immediately: his mother.

John’s face falls into shock.

“Mary?” he says. His disbelieving eyes become tinged with hope. “She’s…she’s alive?”

Dean shares a quick look with Sam, who heads out of the room quick to find his phone.

“Yeah, Dad. It’s a long story, but uh…she’s back too,” Dean says, smiling. “Wait ‘til she sees you.”

John’s brows furrow. He looks down at his hands on the table, fighting emotion. You can’t help but feel for him. You notice the empty bottle of whiskey, and without meaning to, you fall into “caretaker mode.”

“Uh, John, you want some water? Or maybe a beer?” you ask, as you start to get up from your seat. Dean looks up at you with a measure of bemusement.

“Beer would be good, thanks,” John says, giving you a small, but sincere smile. Somehow that unbalances you even more, though you smile back.

“Okay, and while I’m at it I think I’d better start dinner,” you say. Mary doesn’t cook, really. Sam is a lost cause too. (The man can barely boil an egg.) So it’s often up to you and Dean to handle the food in this house…bunker…whatever.

Dean disrupts your thoughts by grasping your hand, hoping it’ll steady you.

“You don’t have to, baby,” he says. You perk up with a more genuine smile.

“Oh, I want to! Besides, you guys should keep talking. Catch up,” you say, gesturing between father and son. You squeeze Dean’s hand, then make your quick escape.  

Dean smirks and watches you go. John follows his son’s gaze, then looks back at him in amusement. 

“She a good cook?” he asks. 

Dean raises his brows. “Oh, just you wait. She makes this beef stew thing, ropa vieja? Ridiculous. And a pork roast like you wouldn’t friggin’ believe.”

John chuckles. “Latina, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dean grins.  

“Nice,” his father nods with another short laugh. But it evens out into a certain smile. “How long’ve you two been together?”

Dean mentally counts it back. You often calculate it from the first time he officially asked you out for a nice dinner here in town. He likes to count it from that very first night he finally got a taste of your sweet café con leche…in more ways than one.

“Two years and some change. Almost three,” he says. John gives a low whistle.

“Look at you,” he remarks. And he seems pleased, with a gleam in his eyes that warms Dean deep inside. “Good for you, son. Glad to see you’ve got someone to hold you down.”

Dean sobers at that. He glances down at his empty glass of whiskey.

“Yeah,” he says. “You don’t know how much.”

It’s a good thing you went grocery shopping yesterday, or else you’d be shit out of luck trying to put something together for dinner. There happened to be a sale going on in the seafood section, so you find that you have everything you need to make a Spanish paella.

You get to chopping the onions, bell peppers, garlic, tomato, and parsley first before anything else. While that starts sautéing in the pan, you break out the chicken, shrimp, and mussels from their individually wrapped packages.

You continue according to the recipe you have in your mind’s eye—the one your grandma instilled in you. She’d learned it from her half-Spanish mother when she was a kid.

Cooking is one of those things that allows you to reset your mind. It’s like how Dean is when he sits down to tune up his car, or Sam when he reads a new book. You can just zero in and focus on the task at hand, and it allows you to put the rest of the chaos out of your head for a while. Plus, you just like feeding people.

Sometimes though, the task of whipping up a hot meal just gives you time to think. And right about now, you’re still reeling.

On one hand, you’re so happy for Sam and Dean. And of course for Mary, who’s about to get her entire world flipped upside down. You have so many questions for John Winchester…but not all of them would be pleasant.

You have to try to push that part down, for Dean’s sake. He’s just gotten his father back. He doesn’t need you adding even more onto his load.

There’s a knock on the open door of the kitchen that pulls you out of your thoughts. You raise your head and look over your shoulder. John is there with an empty beer bottle, which he raises in greeting.

You give him a small smile. “Hope you’re getting hungry.”

“With that smell, who wouldn’t?” he says, drawing near enough to lean against the counter next to you. He answers your unspoken question. “Dean’s lookin’ for some pictures to show me.”

You nod at that. “Yeah, he has a few good ones, and some are new. I’m sure you’ll like to see them.”

John nods and regards you with curiosity. He wants to know more about the woman in his son’s life, but he’s not too sure where to start.

“So you’re a hunter too?” he asks.

“Yep. Not for as long as Dean, but long enough,” you reply. It’s tinged with the knowledge that no hunter should’ve been as young as Dean when they started, but you keep that thought deep inside.

“How’d you two meet?” John asks.

Your lips twitch at a smile. You tell him the story of how you’d met Dean at a dirty bar in Las Cruces, New Mexico. Dean hadn’t realized you were a hunter at first when he watched you hustle some guy at pool.

He set you in his sights, flirted with you, and you probably would’ve let him take it further if you hadn’t stunned him with the knowledge that you, Sam, and Dean happened to be in town working the same case. From that day on, the three of you had become allies and friends.

You and Dean just hadn’t become you and Dean for a long time after that. Too long, if you were honest. But, it’s all worked out so far. This is the longest relationship both of you have been in, pretty much ever.

There’s a lull of silence that falls between you and John after you finish the story. It’s not altogether comfortable, and he realizes that when he watches you putter about the kitchen while you cook. You’re trying to busy yourself.

“This must be one hell of a strange day for you,” he says.

Your head perks up, and you have to smile wryly. “Our lives are built on strange.”

John’s chuckle concedes your point. But you look over at him thoughtfully and set down your wooden spoon.

“Could I, um…could I ask you something?” you ask.

He nods at you. “Sure.”

Maybe you shouldn’t, but you really can’t help yourself.

“We don’t know each other well,” you begin. “But, knowing what you know now, about Sam and Dean and everything they’ve gone through… If you could go back, would you change anything?”

John tilts his head at you, like he’s trying to read through the lines in your words. It reminds you of Sam.

“You mean, would I do things differently?” he asks. “From what point?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. From the point in time you can remember, with Sam in college. Or maybe further back…from when they were kids.”

You try your best not to make it sound like a leading question, but you don’t think you’ve disguised it well enough. John stares back at you, as if the lines are now connecting in his mind.

He sees you're well-meaning. Despite your best efforts though, he knows you're accusing him of something. And he thinks you have some audacity.

He's somehow both taken aback, and amused by that fact. Trust Dean to be with a woman who goes for the jugular.

“Because you’ve been straight shootin’ with me, I guess I’ll shoot straight with you,” John replies. He sighs and wipes a hand over his bearded mouth, like you’ve seen Dean do at times when he’s tired, or anxious.

“A good part of me believes I did the best I could,” he says.

Your gaze falls; you don’t want him to see your real thoughts in your eyes.

“But,” he says, “If you're asking if I have regrets? ...Then you'd be right.”

You consider him then, for a moment. You find that you believe him. You begin to soften.

“Well, that’s something we have in common,” you reply. “But Sam and Dean are the best men I’ve ever known… So thank you.”

And you mean that. You are grateful for both of them. They became your family when you thought you had no one left.

John surprises you by shaking his head, smiling. “That’s what I wanted to say to you.”

You falter at that.

Me? you think. Why would he want to thank me?

Before you can truly digest his words, Dean comes into the kitchen, both to check on you and bring his dad the pictures he keeps in his nightstand. While he looks through them, John surreptitiously watches you and his son. 

Dean sidles up behind you and rests a hand along your hip. He peeks over your shoulder at what you’re cooking. You open the lid on the big pan of rice, chicken, and seafood, and he hums in delight at the smell of saffron that hits him.

“What’s that, paella?” he asks.

You give him an impressed look. “Very good. Here, it’s not quite ready yet, but try a bit.”

You put a shrimp and a bit of rice on the wooden spoon and raise it to his lips. Dean smiles and takes the proffered bite. He then moans in appreciation.

“Oh, that’s good,” he praises with his mouth full. “A bit spicy.”

“You like that though,” you tease.

Dean eyes you, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I do actually.”

John smiles to himself, both at the pictures of his boys throughout the years he missed, and at the glimpse he gets to see now.

You turn to him with another spoonful held out. “Want to try some, John?”

He obliges you by coming over and taking the spoon from your hand. He takes the bite, and his brows shoot up.

“Oh man, that’s got some kick to it,” he says.

“Too much?” you ask.

“Nah, it’s real good.”

Dean grins, but it soon dims as he realizes something.

“Ooh, what about dessert?” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Do we have anything?”

“Nope,” you reply. “Either we pick something up, or…I could make a flan.”

Dean’s grin kicks back in, full force. If there's one thing he's come to love in this world besides pie, it's your flan.

“But! For that I’ll need more ingredients,” you say, holding down a laugh at the look on your man’s face.

“Say no more,” he replies. “I’ll go on a grocery run. Just tell me what you need.”

You’re about to respond when a door creaks open down the hall. Mary hastens into the kitchen with Sam on her heels. When she sees her husband, her face falls into shock.

“John,” she breathes.

John's amusement gradually melts away, into watery-eyed emotion.

“My girl,” he says.

The two meet each other in the middle of the room. He holds her face, and she grips the front of his shirt with desperation. Their kiss is beautiful and tender…and then it’s more.

You and Dean share a wide-eyed look with Sam. The three of you quickly tip out of the room to the sounds of soft moans in your wake.  

“Wow. I mean, this is crazy right?” Dean says. He gesticulates wildly with his hands as the three of you make your way down the hall. “The way they just…connected, like magnets.”

You turn to him with a knowing smile.

“Your parents are about to have a lot of reunion sex,” you tease. 

Both Sam and Dean grimace. Dean has a full body shiver and gives you a look.

“Thank you for that,” he says wryly. 

You laugh and try to soothe him with a hand down his arm, but he playfully shakes his head at you. You have mercy on the brothers and manage to stifle your laughter.

“Okay, so, dessert,” you say.

“Well, since you’re so graciously being our chef for tonight, you just relax,” Dean says. “Sam and I’ll go make a run. You just tell me what you need.”

You pause in the hallway and give a hum of suspicion. You’re not sure you trust him to get the right stuff. The last time you asked him to get very specific ingredients from the store, he did not, in fact, bring you what you needed. (Somehow, he thought regular garlic powder was the same as Adobo seasoning.)

He clocks that look of yours and rolls his eyes. “Come on, really? What am I, five years old? Just give me a list.”

You relent with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll text it to you. But if you need me to send you pictures of anything, just let me know.”

Dean’s lips kick up into a smirk. He leans in for a parting kiss on your cheek, but it’s just an excuse to whisper in your ear.

“Well, I’ll never say no to some pics,” he says. “Nudes, preferably.” 

He then laughs at your rosy blush and raised brows. Now you know he’s in a better mood.

“Just hurry up,” you reply, shaking your head. He keeps chuckling as he passes by you. A smile curves your lips, and you give into the urge to smack his ass on his way up the stairs.

Sam just sighs in amused resignation. He raises a hand to you in goodbye and follows his brother up to the garage. 

Once they’re in the car, Sam finally unloads what he’s been holding onto all afternoon.

“Dean, how did this happen?”

“I mean, I don’t know. You said that the pearl gives you what your heart desires, right?” Dean says. “So, my heart desired… Look, I’ve wanted this, man. I’ve wanted this since I was four years old. Maybe having Mom back just brought it all back up.”

He’s not exactly sure how deep that “desire” was buried, but the pearl knew. Dean couldn’t believe how happy he was when he saw his dad again, got to tell him everything that he’d missed, getting to have him meet you. And seeing his dad with his mom again? Well, that was a child’s dream come true.

But Debbie Downer (AKA: his brother) looks concerned in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I know, and I love this too,” Sam says. “But messing with time—”

“No, no, no. Sam,” Dean says, raising a hand in protest as he drives.

“You know how this ends, Dean. Things change,” Sam tries to reason. Dean just shakes his head.

“Yeah, we got our family back together! I’ll take that change.”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“Stop. Just stop,” Dean says, in a tone that bodes no argument. “Look, can we just have one family dinner? Just one? Us—all of us together? That’s all I want. Can you just give me that?”

Sam’s lips purse. He knows it’s useless to argue with Dean when he gets like this, but Sam just can’t help the uneasy churning in his gut. It warns him that the other shoe has yet to drop on this spell.

You’re checking on the food when Sam and Dean return from their trip. Except the way they come storming into the kitchen has you turning to them in alarm.

Dean grasps your arms and searches your face. His face is marred by fresh cuts and a bruise or two.

“You feeling all right?” he asks. “Do you think Sam is a turtleneck-wearing douchebag?”

“Dean, what?” you utter. You touch his bruised cheek lightly, wincing in sympathy when he does out of pain. “What happened?”

True to Sam’s gut, the wish changed more than bringing John Winchester back from 2003. They explain what they went through after getting the groceries you requested—namely getting attacked by Castiel and Zachariah at the local liquor store.

The latter of the two angels was supposed to be dead, while the other had no recollection of being friends with the Winchesters. Sam was supposed to be a hot-shot Steve Jobs wannabe lawyer, while Dean had his mugshot plastered all over town.

“I think it’s…a temporal paradox,” Sam says.

Now, you’re very alarmed.

“Are you kidding me?! What the hell are we gonna do?” you exclaim.

“About what?” John asks from the doorway. He’s no longer wearing his jacket, you notice, and his shirt is looking a bit rumpled and hastily buttoned at the top, but his gaze is serious, matching his sons.

After sharing another telling look, Dean takes the responsibility of explaining the situation to his father, while Sam goes to find his mother.

Dean and John go into the library to talk. He explains that pulling John out of his time is now making the current timeline self-correct. Meaning, everything and everyone is gradually adjusting to the change.

“Basically, uh, if you don’t go back,” Dean says. He hesitates on the words, but he forces himself to continue. “Sam never gets back into the life. And Mom, she…”

“What?” John asks.

“Well, without everything that we did, with God, the Darkness, Mom never comes back,” Dean explains, even though it’s killing him inside. “Sam thinks that she’ll just fade away.”

It hurts him still to see the understanding don on his dad’s face, along with a smile of resignation.

“Okay,” John agrees. “I mean, me versus your mom? That’s not even a choice.”

Dean nods at that, however belatedly.

“Dean…I never meant for this,” John says.

“Dad, we pulled you here—”

“No, son. My fight,” he says. He still thinks about his conversation with you earlier today. He thinks about how protective you seemed just by that question you asked—not just protective of Dean, but of Sam too.

“It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes,” John explains. “But now, you’re a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you.”

Dean takes that in; he feels a rush of warmth deep in his heart, even though he doesn’t know what to say.

“You and your girl…you two planning on settling down someday? Having a family?” John asks.

Dean quirks a smile. You two haven’t talk about…that. Any of that. In between all the shit you all keep landing in, he’s somehow never had those conversations with you. Maybe he should.

But not now. Not until Michael’s gone and dealt with.

“I don’t know if we’re the settling type, but either way…I have a family,” Dean replies. He can say that honestly, with a soft smile that reaches his eyes.

John smiles back.

“All right,” he says. “Just think about it then.”

Dean once again finds you in the kitchen. You’ve gotten the plates, glasses, and silverware ready for dinner on the dining table.

“Hey, there’s only four plates on the table. We’re five,” Dean says.

You nod and close the oven back up. You’ve spent the past hour preparing the flan and just took it out of the oven. Hopefully it will have enough time to chill in the fridge.

You go to Dean and grasp the front of his gray flannel. In return, he holds you close by your arms.

“Listen, I thought it might be better if the four of you have dinner together. I’ll just eat here in the kitchen,” you say. Dean’s brows furrow, but you try to explain before he can start protesting. “You don’t have a lot of time left with your dad. This is the first time you’re getting to be together with your family like this. I just want to make sure you get the most out of it.”

Dean squeezes your arms and frowns down at you.

“You being there doesn’t take anything away from me being with them,” he says sternly. “And you’re part of my family. Part of our family. I’m not gonna have you eating in here by yourself like you’re a leper or something. Come on.”

He grabs your plate and the glass that you set aside on the counter, and he brings it to the table without letting you get a word in to stop him. You sigh, watching him go, but you also have to smile as the sting of tears burns in your eyes.

Dinner is awkward and dour at first. You all can’t help but think of what’s to come at the end of the night—ending the spell, and sending John back along with it.

But after John sets the tone, encouraging them to be grateful for this moment, and not dreading the inevitable end, everyone’s able to relax. The rest goes off without a hitch. 

While Sam and Dean are telling a childhood story, arguing about who’s version of the events were more accurate, you get up to grab the dessert from the fridge. 

You take out the pan of flan with both hands and go to bring it back to the table, but right in the doorway, you stumble to a stop as a wave of something washes over you. It prickles across your skin and feels a lot like magic.

The pan drops from between your hands and crashes to the floor. It startles everyone in the room.  

Dean calls your name in alarm. He’s the closest to you, and he gets up to steady you with a hand on your shoulder. 

“You okay?” he asks, trying to get you to meet his gaze. 

But when you do, he sees blankness behind your widened eyes. 

“Who are you?” you ask. You look around in both fear and confusion. “Where the hell am I?”

Dean’s throat constricts. "What do you mean? You live here. I'm..."

He searches your face for any hint of a joke, but he finds none. Trepidation grows inside him, and he realizes then what this is.

Another temporal shift, getting closer to the new timeline. One in which you and Dean are clearly strangers.

Somehow, he didn’t anticipate this.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he says.

Your brows furrow as you take in the man in front of you. He’s certainly a sight to see, you think, but those broad shoulders, the cut of his jaw, those green eyes…they’re unfamiliar to you.

“Sorry, but…I feel like I’d remember you,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “Have we worked together or something?”

Dean’s lips press together. He gives you a meaningful look. “Sweetheart, we’ve done a lot more than that.”

Your brows raise, and you blush hotly at the thinly veiled innuendo in his deep voice. You take another quick scan of him, which he notes with a smile.

“Yeah, I uh, I doubt that,” you say, which drops his smile again. You curl a strand of hair behind your ear, like you’re embarrassed just by him scrutinizing your curvy form. Like you can’t believe he’s basically flirting with you.

That’s not the woman he knows. 

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I have to figure out where the hell I am and how to get home,” you say. And you ease out of his hold and back away. 

Dean grabs your hand fast. “Uh, wait. Sorry, just…”

He raises a placating hand and glances back at Sam with a hidden thread of desperation in his eyes. His brother is shocked and disheartened, as are Mary and John.

“Okay. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, our parents, Mary and John,” Dean says, turning back to you. “I know this has gotta be weird as hell for you right now, but can you just…stay put for a bit, until I get this worked out?”

You give him an uneasy look. He’s holding your hand like he’s afraid to let you go. You don’t know this man at all, and yet he really seems to believe that he knows you. It doesn’t make any damn sense.

You shake your head. “Look, I have to go home.”

You try tugging your hand out of his, and Dean finally lets you go.

“Why, you got a boyfriend waiting or something?” he asks. He’s half teasing, and half serious. 

“No, um, family,” you admit. “My grandma’s probably waiting for me.” 

Dean’s expression slackens. In the right version of the timeline, you’re his girl. But your grandmother passed away a few years ago.

“Okay,” he wipes at his mouth with a hand. “Tell you what, it’s pretty late. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Deal?”

The truth is, he has no intention of letting you go any-damn-where, but he needs to buy them some time to break this spell. Then you’ll be back to normal.

Right now, you’re reluctant to trust him. Eventually though, you nod in agreement. Dean wastes no time in bringing you to the War Room, where he encourages you to take a seat.

“I’ll be back in a few,” he promises.

You nod a bit hesitantly, as you still treat him with dubious suspicion. It breaks his heart. He forces himself to turn away from you and return to the dining room.

Part of you can’t help but watch him leave. Those long legs and broad shoulders are a sight, you can admit, but this is all too much for you. You further take in your surroundings and also think this place is strange. No windows…what, are we in some WWII bunker?

And yet, Señor Green Eyes claimed that you live here. Your car, your keys, it all must still be here, you reason. 

So you wait until he’s all the way down the hall, and disappearing into another room. You get up out of your seat and start looking for your stuff—and a way out of here.

Meanwhile, Dean goes back into the dining room where Mary is already crying in John’s arms: for her eldest son, for her youngest, for her husband, and for herself. Dean’s eyes are red and stinging too. 

By now, Sam has gotten up from the table and has been waiting for his brother. He lays a supportive hand on Dean’s shoulder. When Dean meets his brother’s gaze, he sees the shine of heartbreak there too. 

“Let’s get this done,” John says.

Saying goodbye is the hardest thing. 

Somehow, though, they get through it. Dean reflects on how he never got to say it to his father the first time. He feels the worst for his mom, who gets her husband ripped away from her.

It’s not fair. In fact, it’s a cruel turn of the knife that he should’ve expected. Dean feels guilty just for making this goddamn wish.

John says goodbye to his wife first, then his sons. He pulls them both into a hug that Dean clings to. Again, he hears his father say that he’s proud of him and his brother. Dean hears him say that he loves them. 

“I love you too,” are the only words Dean can manage out, in a coarse whisper. 

But Sam is the one who has to make things right. He crushes the pearl. John slowly disappears in a haze of golden light. Tracks of tears are wet on all of their faces, but Dean is the first one who has to lock it all away. 

He remembers that you’re still waiting in the other room. 

Wiping at his eyes, he leaves Sam to comfort their mother and hurries out there, to the room where Dean left you…only to find your chair empty. 

A tendril of panic churns in his gut, but he has to remind himself that they’ve set things right. Even if you’ve run off, you can’t have gone far. 

He calls your name as he heads for the door to the garage. He picks up his keys and his phone to call you, but he stops at the foot of the stairs.

He sees you at the top of them, having dropped your duffel bag at your feet. Your name falls from his lips again.

You turn around and hold a hand to your head, with your brows furrowed in discomfort. Your gaze travels down to his.

“Dean?” you call out.

You head down the stairs, and Dean meets you there at the bottom. He pulls you into a tight, desperate hug. His hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. Even though you’re still a bit confused, you hold him back to reassure him, and to steady yourself. 

“What happened?” you ask.

“We reversed the spell,” he confesses, after he finds his voice. “Had to send him back.”

Your hold becomes more comforting as your hand slides up the back of his neck. 

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry,” you whisper. You card your fingers through his hair. His hold on you tightens even more. You feel his deep, shuddering breaths. He’s trying to contain it all, to push it down. You wish he would allow himself to let it out. 

He presses his lips into your neck instead. 

“You okay?” he asks. Your cheek brushes his when you nod. 

“I’m fine, but…” You pull back enough to see his face. “Did I…forget you? Everyone?”

Dean’s lips press together.

“For a minute there,” he says, “but we got it all worked out.”

You let out a shaky sigh, and you tug him back into a warm hug that you both need. 

Mary prefers to be alone that night. You understand it, but you still apologize and give her a heartfelt embrace in the hallway outside her room. 

It takes her a moment, but she returns it. You start to realize that Winchesters are not a touchy-feely bunch by design. You can’t help yours though; you’re affectionate by nature. You just hope you haven’t overstepped.

Mary gives you a small, teary smile when you eventually pull away. She squeezes your hand before she says goodnight to you and her sons. 

You give Sam a parting hug as well. He rubs your back in a brotherly gesture. 

“Sorry about the whole temporary amnesia thing,” you quip. 

Sam shakes his head with a smile. “Just glad to have you back.”

After he lets you go, Dean thumps his brother on the back. He then heads down the hall without a word.

You and Sam share a look, in which you give him an unspoken promise: I’ll take care of him.

You follow after Dean, who trekked a well-worn path to your shared bedroom. He’s already at the sink, splashing water on his face. After drying himself with a small towel, he sighs and rests his hands on the corners of the sink.

After closing the bedroom door, you go over and slip your arms around him from behind. 

You rest your head against his back, and you both take in some deep breaths. Dean clasps a hand over yours on his chest. 

“I’m okay,” he says. 

“No, you’re not,” you tell him. “And that’s okay.”

Dean stays quiet. For a beat, he closes his eyes. He’s grateful for you. He’s still not sure why you put up with all the hellish shit that surrounds his life.

He turns in your arms so he can cup your cheek, smoothing his thumb across your skin. 

“You know how much I love you right now?” he says, even though his deep voice cracks. Tears well up in your eyes, but you smile and you nod. 

“Yeah, I do,” you reply, resting a hand on his chest. “I love you back.” 

He frames your face with his hands and bows his head to kiss you. It’s fraught and devouring, and a bit greedy. You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now, especially when his hands slip under your shirt and raise it over your head with practiced ease. In turn, you help him shrug out of the flannel and everything else.

You seat him down on the edge of the bed and stroke his face, his neck, his bare shoulders. His fingers press into your thick thighs as he encourages you to climb aboard, straddling his hips.  

Michael still paces back and forth in his mind, but for now, Dean’s able to tune it out and focus on this moment, with you. 

AN: This ended up being another long one. Lots of angst and feels, but I sincerely hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun with this chapter of the Espresso-verse. 💜

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "A Little Danger." This one is lighter. Just a "quick and dirty" one-shot my brain couldn't let go of:

Summary: While relaxing together in the bunker, Dean takes your playful teasing to a new level. (And he’s too horny to care about the consequences.)

▶️ Next Story: A Little Danger

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

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[vanilladove]

❤︎ ₊ ⊹ get free (bonus)

based off of an anonymous request to see what would happen if reader tried to escape because trust was lost🫣 this is also the 'bad ending' reposted bc 'read more' wasn't working the first time.

pic creds luvpngs | gif creds akashi-tetsuki

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: asylum patient!nikolai x asylum attendant!fem!reader; slight fydor x fem!reader🤫

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: angst + fluff? w/ dark elements; one suggestive scene with nikolai🙈read at your own discretion!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ content warnings: feelings of guilt, manipulation + violence, unhealthy relationships, slightly yandere nikolai, this is lowkey sad...😔

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: you've become an accomplice to the doa. however, you've started to grow some doubts about your situation. are you really free or just in another man's cage? not to mention the demon lurking from a distance... ˚₊‧꒰ა read pt 1 & pt 2 & pt3 (good ending)໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word count: 4.7k

"So, what's your husband like?" Your coworker Juliette asked, sitting in a circle with your other colleague Anaïs, passing around a box of assorted chocolates.

It had been three months. You and Nikolai had successfully infiltrated Mersault, getting more information about the space-creating ability and honing in on potential ability users. Now you were alone, working for the government's IT department--your goal was to create a breach in their database for Fyodor to get into, so he could narrow down the Decay of Angel's targets and get their information.

Anaïs scowled and gave you the chocolates, muttering a word about how she was "low-sugar" before she primped her hair, preparing to brag, "Well, y'know, Louis takes me shopping and buys me new jewelry whenever I want. He just got me a new puppy, too, and he's the cutest little pomeranian!" You giggled a bit as Juliet pouted in envy, "Oh--and he's taking this weekend off, so we can go to the islands together!" You popped a caramel-filled square in your mouth as Juliet rolled her eyes playfully.

"You spoiled princess...Antoine spends all his money on the kids--plus he only gets one weekend off a month and always brings them to our romantic date nights..." Your coworker sighed dramatically, pretending like she wasn't equally as doting over her children, whose pictures and handmade gifts were all around her cubicle.

Ah, children, families, frequent romantic dates, marriage...those were all traditional things you gave up after running away with Nikolai.

You were lost in your thoughts as you popped another rich candy into your mouth--this one being filled with a creamy pistachio ganache that tasted a bit too artificial and made you cringe. Juliette called your name to snap you out of your daze.

"Well, what about you? What's your husband like?" She leaned forward and stared curiously at you, waiting for you to share your little gossip. You chewed slowly, trying to process the question as Anaïs nudged her friend's side lightly.

"Juliette, are you blind?! The girl doesn't have a ring on her finger--certainly she must have a man though--I mean look at her--she's a stunner." Your eyes widened at that as you twirled your wig hair and fixed your fake disguise glasses.

"Oh, well, Anaïs is right, I do have a...lover." Lover...you and Nikolai had never really put an official label on your relationship. You described Nikolai--dubbed as "Nikolas"--to the two other women, trying to stay as true as possible while not revealing his true identity.

Juliet winked at you, "Do you guys have sex? Is he rough, soft, kinky?" She giggled as Anaïs side-eyed her for her childish behavior.

You blushed, well, at least you could answer this question in earnest, "Yeah...he's good...really good." You covered your face briefly, feeling heat in your cheeks when you remembered your little Mersault moments. "But we haven't done anything in a while since he's away on a...work trip." You smiled sadly at that, despite missions being the new norm, you couldn't deny feeling lonely and missing Nikolai constantly.

"Ohhhhh?" Juliette and Anaïs exchanged coy looks, "You need that man to marry you before he leaves you...trust me, darling, I would know." Anaïs said, touching up her lipstick, "You wouldn't want to get knocked up and left alone, would you? Men are too unfaithful these days..."

Yeah, you knew all about that first hand.

You were about to interject until you supervisor knocked on the wall of the space you three were having lunch in. "Lunch break's over. Get back to work, ladies." You all got up slowly, and you held onto the box of chocolates, offering some pieces to Juliette before taking it back to your work desk and putting your headset on.

"You shouldn't eat so many chocolates, ptichka, you'll get a sugar crash." You straightened your back suddenly upon hearing the sultry, russian man's voice in your headset. Fyodor. He usually gave you instructions privately to hack into the system, but he normally only talked to you for mission purposes.

Rolling your eyes, you popped a sweet milk chocolate heart into your mouth, "Hush, I'm stressed. And how did you know? Are you watching me or something?" You looked up by the ceilings to glare into the nearby security cameras.

Fyodor only laughed on the other side. "Oh, milaya, I'm always watching you." Shivers ran down your spine as his voice faded out and you were back to staring at your log-in screen.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You waved goodbye to your coworkers as greeted Ivan--your personal chauffeur--and stepped into the backseat of the car, staring out the tinted window. The car was stopped at a red light when you noticed an animated billboard broadcasting a clip of the news. It was your parents and your in-laws begging for any information about you or your husband's disappearances and the award for either of your safe returns. While that didn't bother you at first--after all, your parents just saw you as a pawn they could marry away for a sound investment, and your in-laws didn't treat you much better either--you couldn't help but feel some remorse from their desperate pleas.

You knew what had happened to your husband--you and Nikolai had killed him. As much as you didn't want to admit it, his death was starting to haunt you. The eerie silence after you'd pulled the trigger and the horrible state he was in before replayed in your dreams, and it didn't help that your lover wasn't there to comfort you anymore. Especially now that Sigma was busy managing the Sky Casino, and you had to work your 9-5 office job, you really had no one to talk to openly. No one...except for Fyodor.

"Welcome back, milashka." Fyodor greeted you as you slipped off your heels upon entering the base. You smiled awkwardly at him, freeing your hair from the wig and slipping your glasses back into your purse. "How was work today?"

"Good...as always...you would know that, though since you're always watching me." You teased, still a bit shaken by what he'd said.

Despite how cold and reluctant he was towards you at first, you'd somehow gotten closer since it was basically just you two at the base. He'd held up his promise and gave you plenty of books to read, so you often talked about literature, which usually lead to deeper conversations. Additionally, although he never addressed you by your name like Sigma, he started giving you russian pet names--some of which were uncannily similar to the ones Nikolai would call you. You tried not to pay it much mind--it was probably some weird power dynamic thing--but you couldn't help but notice how he hid the nicknames and subtle flirting around Nikolai.

Fyodor motioned towards the small table by the fireplace, "I made some tea. Would you care to join me, ptichka? He smirked as you sighed and sat down next to him--you swore the chairs were closer than usual. You pulled the box of chocolates out of your purse and set them down next to a blue and white porcelain tea cup. You poured yourself some black tea before taking another chocolate, this one being filled with strawberry cream. You sulked after seeing a drawing of a happy family on the box, drawing Fyodor's attention. "Is anything on your mind, milaya? You seem bothered."

You eyed him curiously, surprised that he cared to listen to you. You figured you needed to get it off your chest, though, so you opened up, "Well...it's just that I've been alone lately with Nikolai gone, and I've been feeling like maybe this life isn't exactly for me..." You trailed off, a bit panicked when you saw a blank, stoic look on Fyodor's face. You put your hands up defensively, "N-not like I don't want to be a part of the Decay of Angels anymore, but just that I want more out of my life in the future."

Fyodor crossed his legs and rested his chin on his hand, gazing down at you, intrigued, "Go on."

You gulped, "I get so jealous when my coworkers talk about their families and settling down, going on fun vacations, or having daily board game nights...How they can speak so freely about their lives, while I have to live a lie and walk past my missing posters every day...I-I don't have anyone to come home to anymore, either..." You could feel tears start to cloud your vision as you looked down, never speaking this passionately before. You were sure you looked pathetic.

Your eyes widened as you felt Fyodor's frail fingers come up to wipe away your tears and brush across your cheek before landing on top of your hands. They were cold, not as warm as Nikolai's but at least somewhat comforting.

"Perhaps it isn't a different lifestyle you crave, but a sense of belonging and security." Fyodor started, bringing his face a bit closer to yours. "Your heart desires a deeper connection with those around you. After all, you abandoned everyone you knew before and suddenly went into an entirely different life. It's only normal that you would feel distressed after a while. You need comfort--and I'm sure that some part of you wants to give your parents some closure about your disappearance."

Fyodor was being...sympathetic? It was almost scary how well he could describe what you were feeling, along with how surprisingly empathetic he acted. You had quickly learned that he had little regard for others or for defective subordinates.

You looked up at him, "It's not just that, though. Even though it's selfish, I want Nikolai to marry me--or at least make things more serious and clear between us..." You didn't notice Fyodor slightly frowning at that as you continued, "He's just been away for so long, and it's not like I don't trust him, but he really has no obligation to stay loyal to me, and I've already been cheated on before...There's no way I can fall in love with another man being a double agent, so I need to know if he plans on us being long-term or not..." Rambling out the rest of your feelings, Fyodor stroked your hand slowly, his smug smile returning on his face.

"You should tell him that, then. If you speak from your heart and tell him the truth, I'm sure he'll listen to you. After all, he'd fulfill your desires if he really loved you." You pouted.

"But it's Nikolai...at the end of the day, he lives by his own convictions and philosophy."

Fyodor clicked his tongue, "If he loved you, he'd compromise." You weren't quite convinced, but you flinched when he brought your hand up and placed a soft kiss to the back of your hand. "Good luck, milashka." As soon as it happened, he was gone as he dismissed himself and left you alone at the table. You didn't know how to think or process the conversation as you lightly slapped away the faint blush across your cheeks.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Another long day of work had concluded as you wished your coworkers a good weekend and walked out the door. It had been two weeks since your conversation with Fyodor, but it was all that was on your mind. You really needed to talk to Nikolai soon.

Wait. Was that Ivan...holding a bouquet of flowers? Not just any flowers either--they were the same lavender roses you'd been gifted by your ex-patient in the asylum courtyard.

Ivan only gave you his usual twisted smile and laughter before handing you the bouquet as you shot him a questioning look. You muttered a quiet "thank you" as you got into the backseat and stared out the window again, smelling the fragrant roses and replaying Fyodor's words in your head.

It didn't hit you that the road you were traveling on was unfamiliar until the car suddenly came to a stop, and you realized you were in an abandoned alleyway. Uneasiness started to settle in as your driver exited his seat, shutting the car door behind him. "Iv--"

You were interrupted when the door to the backseat flung open and closed as Ivan crawled on top of you, pushing the flowers out of your hands as he pushed his body against yours and cradled into your neck, hysterically giggling. "I-Ivan--" You struggled to shove him off you, but he was too strong, "W-what are you---"

A familiar scent stopped you from speaking as your heartbeat increased. Wait, was that--?

Ivan pulled away from your neck before tugging off his bandages, his whole appearance suddenly fading away before being replaced by...

"K-Kolya! I-It's you!" Relief washed over your face as you looked up to see your lover staring back at you, clearly satisfied from whatever prank he'd just played on you. He kissed away the tears that had formed instinctively from your fear while laughing maniacally.

"Hehe~ Did you miss me, dove? I wanted to surprise you since I just came back. Your reactions were a nice little treat~" You pouted as you looked away, embarrassed that you'd lost yet another one of Nikolai's mini games. His features softened, "I'm afraid I may have gone a bit too far though. I really missed you, myla." His warm, gloved fingers traced over your bottom lip slowly.

"M-missed you too, Kolya. So much..." You sniffled as you pulled his head down to yours, tangling your fingers into his fluffy white hair and capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Your back pushed into the car cushions as Nikolai's hands roamed your body, needy to touch you again after so long--especially since he couldn't contact you. He fumbled with the buttons on your thick coat, hands working fast to get you out of all of your layers.

He groaned into the kiss as you tugged on his locks and wrapped your legs around his waist to press him further against you. By now, he had unbuttoned your light blue blouse to reveal your pretty skin. Nikolai pulled away from the kiss gently to take you in--the sight of you all flustered in just a thin lacy bra was turning him on, evident from his growing arousal that was pushing against your tights.

"Fuck, dove, you're so beautiful..." He dipped back to leave messy hickeys on your neck, whispering in your ear before slowly working his way down, "Your skin's so soft...were you touching yourself while I was away, pryntsesa?" You moaned at that, whining when his hand starting rubbing circles from your hips to your inner thigh, getting dangerously close. The trail of wet kisses traveled down your collarbone and your breasts to your stomach and eventually stopping where the waistband of your black skirt and tights laid. He was panting lightly at this point, devoid of air from worshipping your body. "It wasn't enough, though, was it? You need me to feel good, myla~" He heaved, his face pink and strands of hair falling over his eyes. His fingers hooked around your clothes and he resumed his trail of kisses, about to strip you.

"If he loved you, he'd compromise."

Fyodor's words hit you as you stopped Nikolai, lightly pushing yourself up again. "W-wait, Nikolai, I want to talk to you about something." He grunted, annoyed like a little kid, his bulge still pressing against you.

"Can it wait? I didn't bring you to this abandoned, sketchy alley for nothing, ptashka." You pulled away further, to his disappointment, and pulled your knees up against your body, pouting sadly.

"I know, but it's something that's been on my mind since you've been gone", Nikolai only sighed impatiently as you pleaded, "I promise it won't take too long..." You put your hand over Nikolai's, and he obliged reluctantly, sitting up a small distance away from you.

"Cockblocker...make it quick." He muttered, and you tried not to be immature and giggle. This was supposed to be a serious conversation.

You cleared your throat, "Well, I was just wondering about us...and our relationship..." You flinched when you saw Nikolai's eyes bore into you, "I-It's not what you think---I love you and want to stay with you, but, are we..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed and unsure about what to say next. You looked down, mind a muddled mess, but you tried to remember Fyodor's advice.

"A-are we ever going to get married? Settle down and maybe start a family? Move somewhere nice and peaceful, where we can just enjoy each other's company?" Your mind went back to Anaïs and her husband, as you slowly started to look back up, "Go on a vacation together to the islands? Or your home coun--"

"No." Nikolai's dark gaze cut into you, stopping you from speaking any further. "Why would you want that, dove?"

You could feel your heart shattering. This wasn't how you thought he would respond. He was supposed to understand you, to listen to you, to compromise.

"I want a future with you, Kolya, that's why..." You started sadly, throat feeling constricted.

"But we're already together right now, myla. Isn't that enough for you?" Nikolai replied apathetically, his expression stoic and unreadable.

"It's--but my husband cheated on me, so I have to know if you're serious about us. I don't want to be in an unstable relationship anymore." Tears pricked your eyes, threatening to spill out as you could feel your heart breaking, "Anyways, you could just cheat on me, too. You're barely even around anymore, and I'm sure that you're always surrounded by beautiful women...All my coworkers are already married and in a happy relationship, so I feel so behind..."

"Oh, so that's why? Because society's telling you to live that way? Because you want to be accepted and imitate everyone else? That's the exact life I was trying to escape from, dove." Nikolai butted back, smiling cruelly.

"N-no! That's not--" You cried out, not being able to hold in the tears. Nikolai frowned and looked up from your face, reaching up towards your head.

"That hat? When did you get that?" He glared up at the white ushanka on your head. It resembled a certain someone's too closely.

You sniffled, "T-this? It's a gift from Fyodor. 'Cause it's getting cold out." Nikolai furrowed his brows in jealously upon hearing that name.

"From Dos...he's the one who planted those ideas in your head, didn't he?" His fists tightened at the thought of Fyodor wrapping you around his finger; it was his specialty, after all.

You wiped your tears sadly as you lowly shook your head no. At this point, Fyodor seemed to be the only one who understood you. He was the one who'd told you that Nikolai would compromise if he loved you. But he didn't. Did that mean...?

"Tch. Look, myla, stay away from that man. Dos may be my friend, but I don't trust him." Seeing your sad face and lack of response angered him more and he raised his voice a bit, "Stop talking to him, dove. I'm warning you--don't you dare even look in his direction."

Your sobbing resumed as you pulled your head back into your knees, hearing the backdoor shut as Nikolai left and started driving back to the base. You heard the sound of rain in the background as you clutched the white ushanka in your arms, the fluffy hat offering you some comfort.

The ride back was silent.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Fyodor awaited you both when you finally arrived back at the base, the same sly smile on his face. "Welcome back, you two." Nikolai only glared back, holding your hand tightly. He let go suddenly and walked past Fyodor into his stone room, implying for him to follow suit.

Once Nikolai's back was turned away, Fyodor gave you a soft, concerned glance. Your nose and eyes were swollen and red from all the crying. "I'm guessing it didn't go well, milashka?" You shook your head softly, and he whispered about leaving some cookies and tea in your room. He tried to approach you, but a strong voice cut him off.

"Dos, let's talk." Nikolai menacingly called out, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. You'd never seen him this stern or angry before. He never took anything seriously, certainly you weren't an exception, right?

Fyodor shot you one last empathetic look and went into his room. You shuddered as the sound of Nikolai slamming the door and immediately yelling loudly bounced off the walls. As much as you wanted to eavesdrop, you were worn out and tired.

You retreated to your and Nikolai's shared room slowly, too exhausted to even try the tea and cookies Fyodor had thoughtfully left for you. You barely stripped off your disguise before crashing onto the bed, just wanting the day to be over.

Things with Nikolai could never go back to normal again. You wished you'd just kept your mouth shut, but you also wished Nikolai had been more open to your desires. What were you to him, anyways? And you didn't understand why he was so mad at Fyodor. He'd kept you company while Nikolai was gone, and he'd been nothing but respectful and attentive.

You groaned and tried to shut your eyes to drown out the conflicting thoughts in your head. Everything was way too complicated now. You wished things could be peaceful again. You wished you could escape.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"You want to go back home, ptichka?" Fyodor asked. You nodded in response. The next day, Nikolai was gone on another mission, never coming to your shared bed the night before or saying goodbye to you before leaving.

The russian man sighed, "That's a bad idea. You'll get caught before you know it, and once the press gets a hold of you, it'll be hard to rescue you. Plus you still have your job that could arouse suspicion."

"I know..." You started. "I just...have some amends to make...and I'll only be gone for a day or two...and stay in disguise." Liar. You didn't know why you wanted to go back, and if you were homesick or just trying to self-sabotage yourself. Either way, you knew you couldn't stay here and look at Fyodor or Nikolai any longer. Things were too tense, and you didn't know who was genuinely there for you or just manipulating you.

You couldn't trust either of them. Your plan was to either go back and get caught for your crimes or retreat to the Sky Casino for as long as possible. You bet that Sigma didn't like or trust the two men either.

Not to mention, you'd already left Nikolai a parting text, writing,

"I'm sorry. I'll always love you, Kolya. Thank you."

Not that you even knew if he'd see it, but you still wanted to say something.

"I'll help you." Fyodor finally said, making your eyes widen in surprise. "But I want to tell you something first." He took your hands and held them, running his thumb over your fingers. His touch was cold. "I admire you for wanting to confront your feelings and follow your heart. The rest of us have forgotten such feelings of humanity." He continued, "To see such a lovely, well-read woman like you leave pains me. I'll truly miss you and our intellectual conversations, milaya. So much so that I'll be awaiting your safe return."

You blushed as he kissed your gentle hands, "T-thank you, Fyodor, I'm flattered." Lying again, but you figured you would have to use your 'feminine charm' a bit to fully convince him.

He smirked subtly, "Escaping from another man's cage of lofty ideals and freedom into the outside world...Would you care to do me one last favor, milashka?" You nodded with doe eyes as he leaned into your ear.

"Give me a goodbye kiss." Shocked and flustered, you pulled away and broke contact.

Fyodor only stepped forward and held your face, his soft smile seeming more sinister now, "What's wrong, dove, you just have to kiss me, and I'll help you escape. Not a bad deal, no?" He got dangerously close to you, his hot breath fanning over your glossy lips.

You froze for a second, "I-I can't--" Fyodor only traced your lips ominously, like he was taunting you and asking you why.

"I'm still in love with Niko--"

"Dove? Dos?" Your heartbeat stopped when you heard your lover's voice behind you. Why was he here, and how'd he get here so fast?

You turned around, hoping he would save you, until you saw him holding a gun--the same one he used on your husband.

"Kolya, w-wait, this isn't..." You stopped talking when you heard the gun cock. There was no way you could explain your way out of this. You and Fyodor were just about to kiss, and you were trying to escape indefinitely.

Nikolai narrowed his eyes and pointed the gun at Fyodor, "This was your doing, wasn't it?" Fyodor only remained calm, however, and twirled a strand of your hair while smirking.

"No, quite the opposite actually. Our little dove here was just about to escape and go back home to 'make amends'. It seems like she may still be grieving over her husband and their traditional life together..." Nikolai's grip on his gun tightened, still pointed at his friend. "Actually, she was just seducing me to help her escape. A goodbye kiss, that's what you wanted, right, ptichka?" Your ex-patient's eyes narrowed after hearing the similar pet name.

He turned to you, "Is he telling the truth, dove?" You were shaking, still trying to process the situation in front of you.

"N-no! I was trying to escape with Fyodor's help, but that's it! I swear, I still love you--please believe me, Kolya!" You pleaded, practically begging for your life. Nikolai looked at you regrettably before removing the card over his right eye and laughing bitterly.

"And here I was, rushing back to see you once I saw your text because I was worried about you and wanted to talk things out properly. I'm quite the fool aren't I, dove?" He started laughing maniacally, scaring you. He then stopped suddenly and pointed the gun at you, "But I guess this decision was from your own free will. I was wrong for thinking you were the same as me..."

Anxiety settling in, you couldn't react. What was Nikolai going on about? Had Fyodor said something to or manipulated him, too?

"We got rid of your husband, but now you want Dos, too? You're aren't really mine, are you, dove?" He walked closer to you and pressed the cold metal barrel to your hip. "I'll be nice and let you play one last game, though~" He had a crazy look in his eyes--one dark and emotionless, and the other streaming tears; you were sure every feeling was spiraling through his brain.

Nikolai giggled as he pushed you out of the door onto the floor. You were about to get up in fear when you heard a shot in the background. Did he shoot Fyodor?

Deranged laughter was heard behind you as Nikolai peeked his head out the door, "Better start running, dove. Otherwise the next shot might hit you~" You backed up in terror, standing up and stumbling over to Nikolai, wrapping your arms around him and crying hysterically.

"K-Kolya, you're s-scaring me. I-I love you, s-so let's go back t-to n-normal." Nikolai paused against your shaky body and lifted your face up to his. Tears were falling out both of his eyes now, contrasting the wicked grin contorting his lips. You gasped as he wiped your eyes and licked away your tears.

"You look so pretty when you cry, angel. I'll give you an extra ten seconds for that. Ten...nine...eight..." Realizing you had no way to convince Nikolai to spare your life, you ran, not daring to look back behind you. The man you loved was gone, driven mad by his obsession over you. Your skin crawled as you heard his voice reverberating through the hallways.

"I thought you loved me, dove, but it seems I wasn't what you wanted. I got too attached to you, though, and you know too much, so it seems I can't just let you go or give you to another man. You won't escape my cage."

[nalyra-dreaming]

COMMENTS on 2x07 - SPOILERS

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *FIRST OFF: GOD HAVE I CRIED *No breath, no relief, all the pain This… contains a lot of swearing. . . . . . . .

The fucking rat box - there is a significant time gap between Claudia being shoved in there and her on stage. I BET that will become "that" time frame later, when Armand.... finally gets to it.

Btw, the iron boxes... an iron entrapment. I'm not sure if deliberate, but there is a piece of lore from Blood Communion that could come into play here IF they should pick it up again, later on

I’m glad they made the mental influence clear right away. Like… it’s not even subtle. And Lestat acting weird AF isn’t subtle either. It’s clear. It’s scripted. It’s the “last play”. It’s been “designed, and rehearsed.”

The Achilles’ heel slashed is so… vicious

Louis sensing and smelling Lestat… oh honey

Like that they referred to “the old place” for the other theater

Them making him swear on her diary is sooooo…💀

Santiago is so PLEASED when Lestat returns to script lol… we don’t see it but I wonder how many of the jury it took

A story of love... 💀

They are using the music box music … the fuckers

Awwww Armand being “punished” to watch… nawwwwww glad Daniel is not buying it either... and by Sam, the playwright... with a scythe... nawww. Okay, everybody buying that after that little restaurant display raise their hands, lmao.

That Lestat sleeping in the dirt is just... wrong. We already KNOW he returned to Paris twice. Another hint!!!

The repeated hint at the “ancient blood”… very on the nose

Their eye contact

Them trying to make it seem as if Louis “hunted” Lestat… lmao. As if Louis could have if Lestat would not have wanted him to????

Santiago prompting Lestat…. they seem to have pushed the narrative into his mind

on a random note: the blue contacts look so much better this season???

Oh…. Lestat SNAPPING at “fags” - loved it - so fantastically intense and creepy

“where lies their disgust now”?

Lestat making that man feel what he feels - WHY didn’t you just show this to Louis?????

THE HAIR CHANGED!!! There is that strand again! And the perfect hair in other scenes!!! INFLUENCED!! Manipulated!! I’ve been fucking saying.

OOOOHHHHH MY GOD Claudia’s turning … Louis knowing about the laws, did Louis really promise to stay???? I mean that’s just bargaining, and Louis just… begging… oh god, AND THEN THE FUCKING CUT TO ARMAND’s LOOK OH YOU FUCKER

“you were manipulated into it”… yeah. Say it, Santiago

God. Lestat there. And Louis the way he sees him.

Lestat confirming that Louis did not share affection with him anymore, as said, for years

Yeah, no, Lestat’s pose there for the Antoinette reveal is totally… natural 💀

God, Claudia cackling at Lestat saying “she’s the best of my vampiric self”… 😭

Ep5 revisit. Uhhhhh boy did they expand on what we already knew. And I KNEW something happened in the coffin room that made Lestat snap!! I KNEW IT! Okay, they kept the weird logistics of the fall (for now at least), but… yeah. This makes at least… more sense than before, I guess. Also, Lestat fully breaking script and admitting it. KNOWING he had hurt Louis there. Knowing. (I still stand by the Amel theory for the outside part and the comment in 1x06. Since they are taking from Prince Lestat….)

“A wolf congratulated for not killing her pup”!!!!!!!!

Louis is wearing something other than black again!!!!

“and then - something real” - and Armand chiming in… how… inconspicuous 💅🏼

A Stoning. Indeed.

I’m not sure how much I believe of them waking Lestat tbh… like... with the supposed trial rehearsals... and the crossing over... nawwwww

That eating blood with a spoon is so… inefficient. Like, they drink so much more???? What kind of blood is that to savor it like that? Must be special??? Or it's just show.

Oh god. Madeleine choosing Claudia. She is my coven. God.

Ugh. Lestat breaking script for Claudia. AND BY GOD I HOPE CLAUDIA FULFILLS THAT PROMISE

Oohhhhwwwwwww and Armand working SO HARD ON SAVING LOUIS!!!!! YOU LITTLE…. GNAAAHHHHH I don’t even have a word. "bites something"

God the pebbles/rocks. The entombment. And the SAME stones at the Dubai tree…

Lestat, swaying on his feet

So. Armand tells us of Claudia facing her death bravely. And defiantly. And the stare of shock and pain on Lestat’s face. Armand… the last to know the truth… for now. -.-

PREVIEW

And Armand getting Louis out.. afterwards. When… the coven did not care anymore, right??????? Mh hmmm.

Louis getting their asses

Louis going to kill Lestat??? MHHHH

EPISODE INSIDER

"it’s a fake setup - props in a play". Yeah. THAT.

Claudia doesn’t give an inch - "she knows she’s right"

“She has Lestat’s blood - if they do anything, it’s come back with a vengeance”!!!!!!!!!!! YES PLEASE 😭

Claudia’s death represents Louis’ last connection to this world

“[Claudia] was a brilliant vampire.

IN - fucking - DEED

God, what an episode.

I am... somewhat irritated that the reshot the turning and did not really revisit murder night, because the discrepancies there still stand. Except they have always intended to return to it in s3, which might make sense. Still. A bit weird, all of it. And Lestat breaking out of the control and script to admit to hurting Louis. 😭

God.

[cbrownjc]

Three quick thoughts about EP 2x06 (spoilers):

Thought #1: So this episode gave me something I really wanted but I actually wasn't 100% sure we'd get this season -- which is Armand admitting that in over 500 years, for his entire vampire life, he's never made another vampire. Ever. I wasn't actually nervous that the show would change things to have Armand turn Madeleine -- since it was already spoiled in trailers that Louis (and Claudia) would do it -- but I could feel that whole situation being a perfect setup for revealing that Armand has never once made another vampire, and they did it. 😁 Just as in the books, Armand is being set up to only have one fledgling. And the show very much leaned into the bond that makes between two vampires, given the dialogue Louis and Madeleine exchanged about that, the feelings of that.

Thought #2: Look, maybe Justin Kirk's character could still be Marius, but if so? Then the writers are leaning super hard in trying to specifically get book readers to look the other way on this. Because of that "switch bodies with you" line they had him saying to Daniel? Come on! I've heard that we won't see his character on screen again this season, but IMO that doesn't mean anything IMO, and for now, my hackles are still up. And the reason I still can't shake the Marius deal wrt him is because --

Thought #3: You know, "eating" and going to the bathroom doesn't mean Rashid is human. And the fact that Justin Kirk's character came right up to Daniel to talk the minute he left? And then didn't have any fear, or even tried to excuse himself quickly after Rashid came back? Again, come on. Because, again, Rashid was the name of a character in Blood and Gold, the book that gave us Marius' backstory. That whole scene also made me think there is a connection between Justin Kirk's character and Rashid, just as much as it gave me Body Thief vibes. But yeah, we very much won't know anything either way until the finale, IMO (hopefully).

[parmahamlarrie]

Happy June! Happy pride! I read like crazy this month, so please enjoy one of the longest lists we’ve had in a while! x

sunshine, baby! || @harruandlou || 106.5k Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Friends with Benefits, College AU, Florida, Swimmer Harry, Law Student Louis, Olympics Started this to get excited for the upcoming Olympics, fell utterly in love with the masterful fic here! Truly incredible, you have to go read it right now.

The Cottage || @holdingontochaos || 70.6k Omegaverse, Strangers to Lovers, Small Towns, Artist Louis, Farmer Harry, Sick Louis, Touch Deprivation, Neighbours, Soulmate AU This one is one that will really stick with me for a while! As someone who deals with chronic illness, this really allowed a light into understanding it without any of the further stress, since this world is made up. Loved it!

where we landed || @blueskiesrry || 70.4k Exes to Lovers, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Hometowns, Teacher Louis, Kidfic, Cancer, Past Mpreg I quite literally started reading this at 11pm (rookie mistake) and didn't manage to sleep until 3am. I truly could not put it down, it's a truly compelling read!

you were in my dream || @harruandlou || 59.3k Baker Harry, Builder Louis, Fluff, Best Friend's Boyfriend's Best Friend I don't think I have enough words for how much I loved this one. Easily one of the best, nothing I would change about it. More proof that fanfic is in and of itself an act of love and the fact that we get works like this? For free? It makes me cry. I love their love and I'd love in their world forever.

Sugar, Sugar || @parmahamlarrie || 25k Sugar Baby Harry, Sugar Daddy Louis, Soulmate AU, Age Difference

Peeping || @jacaranda-bloom || 16.5k Strangers to Lovers, Housemates, New Years Eve, Oblivious Idiots, Wanker's Day Dee has a way of writing exactly what I need when I need it! She has been so missed, so give this a read and send some love! x

The Checkout || @silverstuff50 || 12.2k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Awkward Flirting, Fluff

you're the one that I'm dreamin' of (you're the one that I love) || @suckerforhome || 11.7k Omegaverse, Non-Traditional Dynamics, Famous/Non Famous, Musician Harry, Make Up Artist Louis, Exes to Lovers (ish)

Where Do We Go Now || @jaerie || 10.6k Omegaverse, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, College Au, Roommates to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Human World I had never considered Alphas having sex with humans and this has really made me think about it! Very well done, of course, and a great little story.

Half a World Away || @silverstuff50 || 9.8k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Enemies/Friends to Lovers, Heat, Hiking

Undo This Privacy || little_obelia || 9.5k Girl Direction, Established Relationship, Watersports, Fluff

vitamin || cabinbythesea || 6.5k Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Fluff and Smut

Take My Hand, Dumbass || @londonfoginacup || 5.9k Omegaverse, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Roommates AU, College AU, Enemies to Lovers This became a new favourite of mine from @londonfoginacup! The humour was great, tension fantastic, and the ending was just fun!

Body Stay Vicious || @letthemusicmoveyou28 || 5.3k Strangers to Lovers, Meet-Cute, Gym AU, Light D/S, Wanker's Day

In an octopus's garden with you || louisismycat || 4.6k Omegaverse, Alpha Harry, Omega Louis, Established Relationship, Autistic Harry, Fluff & Comfort This was one of the best reads I've read in ages. A great reminder that love exists.

Louis and the no good, very bad day || @haztobegood || 4.5k Soulmate AU, Crack, Oblivious Idiots, Wanker's Day This was SO good! I love being able to read soulmate sillies!

U-Pop Truck Stop || @kingsofeverything || 4.1k American AU, Truckers, Shower Sex, Poppers

Wordplay 2023: there his charming nest doth lay || @bottomhaztoplou || 3.8k Omegaverse, Established Relationship, Nesting, Domestic Fluff

Come On and Rescue Me || @kingsofeverything || 3.3k Neighbours, Older Louis, Age Difference, Instagram, Wanker's Day

Slippery When Wet || @uhoh-but-yeah-alright || 3.4k Girl Direction, Zourry Roommates, Wanker's Day This one is so iconic, I'm obsessed.

(on the edge until) you pull me in || @zjofierose || 3.1k Famous/Non Famous, Age Difference, Single Dad Louis, Wanker's Day

I'll Still Feel the Same Around You || @crinkle-eyed-boo || 2.4k Married H&L, Older H&L, Insomnia, Wanker's Day

Irrumabo || @londonfoginacup || 2.2k Plane Ride, Sex Pollen, Established Relationship, Wanker's Day

You've Got A Friend In Me || @red-pandaaa || 2.1k Established Relationship, Phone Sex, D/S, Wanker's Day

I taste your sugar, you swallow my salt || @bottomhaztoplou || 1.4k Omegaverse, Alpha Louis, Omega Harry, Intersex Omegas, Heat/Rut, Historical, Wanker's Day

[justanother-janedoe]

Marry You

Summary: What does the person the lawyer who's known what she's wanted all her life decide to do for her wedding? Seriously, what does she do?

Word Count: 1.2k

Harvey Specter x Reader (she/her)

*This isn't really set in a specific time on Suits; just somewhat near the last few seasons. It's been a while since I've watched it but I really wanted to post this story idea so I hope you enjoy.

From a young age you always knew what you wanted. At 7 you realized you wanted to become a lawyer. At 16 you decided to attend Harvard. And when taking your first steps into Pearson Hardman, meeting the 'Harvey Specter', there you knew from his iconic smirk he'd be an important person in your life.

So when you couldn’t make a single decision for the wedding this made Donna, concerned to say the least. 

At Donna's desk early in the morning

“Special order for one Donna Paulsen.'' Rachel said, placing the coffee cup in front of an exhausted Donna. 

“You're an angel.” Donna says looking frustrated 

"I got your SOS. What's wrong?" Rachel said, looking worried. 

"Wedding plans."

“Is there too much to do? I told you if you need any help at all I’ll be there-”

“No, that’s the thing. We haven’t made a single decision yet.”

"I mean it does take time to plan a whole wedding."

"But it's been months; you would think by now we’d have an idea for a theme. All we’ve done is look at tons of cake flavors, venue options, themes; but nothing seems to resonate with her.” Donna said, pulling out binder after binder of wedding decisions. 

It seemed that whenever they’d go over planning you would avoid it, trying to push finalizing for another time. (Not picking a wedding season, let alone date).

"Yeah, that's a bit weird..."

"I know."

"So why don't you talk to her about it?"

"It's just. Ever since she asked me to be her maid of honor I knew I'd do anything to give her the wedding of her dreams. But she's rather focus on her cases than sit down and make a decision. I'm just feeling so frustrated. I want to help her but I can't." Donna said, laying her head behind the stack of binders, eyes fluttering from tiredness. 

"Look. Why don't we just put this aside and see how tomorrow goes.” Rachel said, pushing the binders away. 

“We're all going wedding dress shopping, maybe once she tries on a couple of dresses she’ll get a clearer idea of what kind of wedding she wants."

"You're right."

"I always am."

"Hey, that's my line!" Donna exclaimed.

At a brand named wedding dress shop the next day

As the consultant described the dress you had on you couldn't help but feel odd. Not that the dress was bad. But with every gown you couldn't envision yourself walking down the aisle in any of them.

"So what do you think?" the consultant asked the room, waking you from your thoughts.

"It's beautiful."

"You look gorgeous."

"I'm bored."

"Louis!" Donna lightly scolded.

"Not of this but the dress. It just doesn't radiate how special she is. How is she supposed to take photos, smile happily, and look back fondly at this moment in her life when all she's wearing is this boring thing."

"Sir this is an Oscar De La Renta-" the consultant tried to pitch in.

"And this is about to be Miss Specter so I suggest we look at some other dresses to save us from wasting our time at this establishment." Louis said, turning away in frustration.

In the dressing room

"That Louis Specter sure sounds like a handful." the consultant said assisting you.

"Oh God if he heard you call him that. His ego is already inflated-" you said grinning at the consultant's assumptions about your relationship; probably more normal than the reality.

"I need to speak with you." Louis spoke after he knocked on the changing room door.

"Does it have to be right now?"

"Yes it's an emergency!"

"Could you please give us a moment?" you asked the consultant who promptly left.

"What's wrong?"

"This!" Louis said, pointing at you exasperated.

"You've lost me."

"What I mean is my two best friends are getting married to each other. You both aren’t treating this as passionately as you do in your cases. I’ve seen more fire in your eyes when defending clients than today. I mean I am truly concerned as Harvey's best man.-"

"Okay Louis. Calm down." you said, holding onto Louis' shoulders but clearly growing worried from his speech. While a part of her wanted to jest about Louis' borderline obsessive view on her, he was right. 

“I appreciate your candor, truly. I’m just… feeling a bit lost at the moment.”

“Should I call Harvey then. I mean he’d probably ignore me but I could get Donna to-”

"No Louis. I do want to marry Harvey. I swear I do."

"That's exactly what I wanna hear, especially on that big day."

“Thanks Louis.”

“Of course. I mean we really need to get your mojo back if I’m buying your dress.”

“Buying my-Louis you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t even worry about the price. I offered to pay for Harvey too but he said he didn’t want me finding out about where he gets his suits…”

As Louis went on talking like he always did you felt appreciative of the deep caring nature he had; even if it was a bit eccentric. 

Late night in you’s Office

"You know working such late hours like this isn’t beneficial to your health right?" Harvey said, leaning against you’s door frame to her office.

“We’ll then. I guess I’ll have to fight the case beyond the grave.” you said, getting up to properly greet Harvey. As you gives him a quick peck on the lips he holds onto you a bit longer. 

“Hold on." Harvey said guiding you both to the couch in your office.

"So I might have overhead from a couple birds that you’ve been having a bit of trouble with the wedding planning. Now I know I’ve been gone for an unbelievable amount of time, but I just want you to know that you could tell me anything."

Harvey said looking at you tenderly.

"Seriously. Whether you wanted to elope or take 12 years until we have the perfect wedding; I'll support your choice no matter what." Harvey joked.

"We'll I don't think I'll take that long... I guess a part of me wants to blame it on you for leaving but deep down I know this life we chose isn’t exactly flexible.”

You started unraveling your nervous feeling on the wedding.

“ I’m just a bit overwhelmed by the fact that we’re officially together.”

“So these last few years we’re just a friendship?” Harvey jokes to lighten the mood.

“Yeah didn’t you get the memo. I guess it was misspelled. I meant best friend not boyfriend.” you joked along. 

“What I mean is for most of my life I never had to think of others. God I sound so selfish for saying that; but it’s true. The choices I’ve made have been simple to make because I knew everything it'd entail. Any other option would be pointless... While marrying you, being together has been-"

"Amazing, spectacular, just grand..." Harvey interjected to brighten your mood like he always knew how to.

"Yes. Planning a wedding though; I have no idea what I want for us. I mean there are so many flavors of cake and decorations to consider-"

"That's probably on me actually." Harvey said, referring to his business trip

"You think." you said sarcastically.

"I know going with Mike to set up in Seattle before planning our wedding wasn't the brightest decision. But I'd like to make it up to you. Because I really do want to marry you. From now on I'll be right beside you."

"Thank you Harvey."

"I mean it. " Harvey said holding both your hands and looking at you intently.

"I know you've had to make decisions for yourself for the most part but I just want you to know... Your not alone anymore. For all the parts you feel unsure of in life, I'll be there to catch you and push you back up again."

"That was so beautiful. Did you plan that?"

"That may or may not be a couple lines from my vows. Just act surprised when you hear them on the day. Speaking of what do you think about November?"

"For the wedding?"

"Yeah it's right around the time we started to get to know eachother..."

"You're such a romantic Harvey Spector."

"We'll your about to marry me so what does that say about you."

"We're just a couple of romantics I guess." you say as Harvey kisses you deeply.

Breaking the kiss you exhaled a breath. “You're relentless.”

“Well I’m sure it's one of the things you find attractive about me.” he said walking to her office couch; looking romantically into her eyes.

“I could think of a couple more things.” she said walking in a way Harvey thought was iconic. Like a scene in a movie. 

“PG-13?” he asked, stroking you’s arm as she sat on his lap.

“More like rated R.” she said, hands holding his face.

“Kinky.” he said, kissing her. If he were to tell others the way she made him feel, he’d be dubbed a romantic. But the truth was every time Harvey and you kissed it felt like the world faded like that scene in West Side Story. 

“While being caught and embarrassed by the whole office sounds like an interesting night, why don’t we go home?” you said, getting up from their close position.

“As if this office hasn’t seen worse things.” Harvey said, smiling in that playful way that made you feel light. Grabbing you’s coat as you went to get your purse putting you’s coat on for you. Turning around and giving Harvey a peck as you walked together.

Feeling relaxed and lonely no more you we're now exited not only to plan the wedding with Harvey but spend your future together. Knowing that while the future may hold some unpredictable moments you can share them with Harvey by your side.

Author’s Notes

Hello, thank you so much for reading this. If your familiar with my work you may know that I’ve been absent for a long time. But I’m motivated again to write. This may not be my best work but I feel proud of this. 

If your interested in a part 2 or more Harvey Specter stories let me know.

Anyways I hope you have a good day.

:)

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of fics that skip over portions of time and that take place over the course of years as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

📆 Hold You Now by solvetheminourdreams / @cursethedaylight

(M, 131k, ex-fwb) When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

📆 Strawberries & Cigarettes by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(E, 76k, omegaverse) Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

📆 7 Up by @cherrystreet

(E, 51k, friends to lovers) we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded

📆 when we were younger by luinlote

(E, 53k, canon) In where you get to see small glimpses of Harry and Louis' life together through the years, first through the eyes of others and eventually their own, as their life keeps spinning madly around them.

📆 Dear Devoted Delicate by therogueskimo / @bravetemptation

(M, 47k, canon) A collection of moments in time that show just how worth it love is when it’s real.

📆 the love it takes, it's worth it all this time by hemakeshimstrongx / @hemakeshimstrong

(T, 46k, canon) a timestamp fic between 2010 and 2022, told using snippets of harry's house. the album imagined from bottom to top, the moments little flashbacks in film reels. it's about love, and it's about keeping that love alive despite surmounting challenges.

📆 yeah, he's a looker (but i really think it's guts that matter most) by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain

(E, 40k, Oli pov) Five times Oli was asked to do something that was outside of his job description, and the one time he didn't have to be asked.

📆 Love is the Right Place by Chelsea Frew / @chelsea-frew

(T, 33k, friends to lovers) Over the years, friendship turns to more. Just as their romance blossoms, however, Louis gets an offer which promises fame and fortune far from home.

📆 When You Know, You Know by @mission2feelike

(M, 27k, omegaverse) Louis and Harry have been friends for years, their friendship maturing easily from pups to teenagers to adults. 

📆 Anonymous Said by @alivingfire

(T, 21k, bookshop) two boys, two blogs, two years of anonymous messages, and a bookshop where it all comes together.

📆 Love in slow motion by sloganeer

(E, 17k, Posh & Becks au) A series of glimpses into the life of Harry Styles, pop star turned fashion designer; his husband, Louis Tomlinson, football legend; and their four adorable children.

📆 I Wanna Feel (Your Love) by @infinitelymint

(E, 15k, canon) Five moments in Louis and Harry’s life based on five of the biggest emotions: fear, sadness, love, anger and joy.

📆 Go Out for Adventure, Come Home for Love by myownspark / @myownsparknow

(M, 9k, 5 times) Four years of iconic moments that inspire tattoos and promises.

📆 Here We Come A-Wassailing by @lululawrence

(NR, 8k, Christmas) The year Louis was in the 8th grade, his mom decided to gather the families of their closest friends to go caroling. 

📆 Flowers of Tomorrow, Seeds of Today by @haztobegood

(G, 7k, fae/fairies) Louis is a changeling and Harry is a human and their fates are more connected than they know.

📆 Like A Neon Sign by @reminiscingintherain

(T, 7k, canon) Harry had always been perfect to Louis, through every age, through every stage, and in all the important ways, he was proud to have been able to witness the growth that Harry had experienced first-hand.

📆 Though the Seasons Change So Quickly (Keep Them Buried In My Heart) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(G, 6k, canon) A series of moments of Harry and Louis' relationship through the years, from the very beginning to the present, through the perspective of those around them. It's beautiful and it's brutal, it's awe-inspiring and it's awful - it is what it is.

📆 Dear Louis by callmenine

(E, 5k, famous/not famous) The one where Harry is a popstar having an existential crises and writes a song for his high school ex-boyfriend Louis after more than ten years of no contact.

- Rare Pairs -

📆 in darkness i follow you by @leighbot

(E, 6k, Zayn/Louis) four glimpses into Louis and Zayn's relationship through the years. With bonus side!Narry.

📆 like air to me by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 5k, Zayn/Louis) Five times Louis’ smoke break brings back memories of Zayn and one time it brings him back to Zayn’s doorstep.

[daisyblog]

Our Heartbeat

Young Love Masterlist Summary: YN and Louis have their first ultrasound.

warning: pregnancy, ultrasound

The early spring sun woke YN from her short slumber. She tossed and turned in bed all night, unable to sleep. Louis’ loud snores kept her company but teased her, the reality of her being unable to sleep whilst he slept peacefully.

Deciding to begin the day, YN gently stretched as she sat on the side of the bed. She glanced at Louis who was still sleeping, his arms now stretched across both pillows.

Walking into the kitchen, YN was greeted with Jay and Lottie who were laughing about something she had missed moments before. “Morning!”.

“G’morning my darling…did you sleep alright?”. Jay asked, as reached across to the drainer to get an extra mug to prepare tea.

YN sat in the seat next to Lottie, the younger girl reaching across to give her a small cuddle. “Not really, I think it’s the nerves”.

“You’ll be fine my love…I’ll be right by your side”. Jay tried to reassure her, but it was easier said than done. She could see the worry written all over YN’s face. “Here…have a cuppa and toast”.

YN gave her a grateful smile, as she picked up the triangular piece. “Thanks Jay!”.

Being surrounded by Louis’ sisters definitely took YN’s mind off her appointment. The way Lottie and Felicite showed her different dance moves, made her smile with happiness at their innocence. The twins had asked her several times to draw them pictures, from flowers to princesses.

“G’morning to all my girls!”. Louis walked through the kitchen door, rubbing his sleepy eyes as entered.

The were a round of mornings around the room. Louis found his way to YN, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Morning!”. He placed a gentle peck to her cheek, aware his sisters were in view.

YN’s hand found his. “G’morning!”. She turned her neck to face him. “You alright?”.

“Yeah…a bit nervous but we’ll be okay…yeah?”. Louis’ voice was gentle, as he gave a soft smile. His eyes distracted by YN’s.

YN nodded, trying to hide how nervous she was. They were walking into the unknown and that terrified her.

---

Waiting for her name to be called felt like a lifetime. YN was sure she had read every poster covering the while walls about hundred times. She was eager for the appointment to be over with.

“YN LN?”. A woman in blue called, a sweet smile welcoming them as the three of them walked towards her. “Hi…I’m Fleur and I’ll be your midwife today”.

“Me Mums a midwife”. Louis blurted out, pointing to his Mum who was next to them.

Fleur’s smile got larger as she looked at Jay. “Oh well you’re in good hands at home then”.

The midwife had taken them to the ultrasound room and explained that she would see them later to take YN’s details and perform some tests.

The sonographer instructed YN to lay down on the bed and expose her still tiny tummy. Louis and Jay sat on the seats next to the bed and waited for the moment they longed for.

At the feeling of the cold gel hitting her tummy, YN let out small hiss, causing Louis to chuckle. The little moment caused the couple to share a smile, one that made Jay look on in admiration.

The room fell into silence as the sonographer moved the probe around YN’s tummy, back and forth, side to side. “And…here’s your little baby!”.

There in black and white, was their baby. Two tiny arms, two kicking legs and a petite little head. YN felt a gush of love fill her heart. She had never felt a feeling like it. The reality of carrying a little baby inside her, had sunk in for the first time in weeks.

Louis couldn’t take his eyes away at the mini version of him and YN that covered the screen. A sense of purpose hit him and in that moment nothing else was in important except his little baby and YN. Their own little family.

Jay had five children and she loved them all deeply for their own personalities. They had brought her so much love, joy and laughter but seeing her first baby’s baby wriggling around the screen was a feeling she’d never forget.

YN turned to face Louis, and they realised they both had tears running down their cheeks. Louis reached over and wiped a stray tear from her cheek before placing his lips on hers in a sweet kiss. “I can’t believe we’re having a baby”.

“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else”. YN spoke, as she reached to hold Louis’ hand, smiling as he brought it up to his lips.

The sonographer moved the probe a little, and pressed a few buttons on the machine. A loud sound filled the room, each of them feeling the relief of hearing it for the first.

“Thats my new favourite sound”. Louis spoke into the room, not at anyone in particular but himself.

“Our heartbeat!”. YN closed her eyes, basking in the precious moment of seeing their baby for the first time.

---

Later that evening, Louis and YN were enjoying some alone time as they laid in bed the scan photos in Louis’ hands as they started lovingly at them.

“I’ve never been so excited for anything!”. Louis explained as he studied the black and white photo.

“You’re going to be the best dad”. YN complimented as she laid her head on his shoulder.

Louis left a quick peck to her hairline. “You’re going to be the best mum!”.

“Do you wonder what they’ll look like and who they’ll be?”. YN thought out loud, her hand finding its way to her tummy.

“Yeah…but I want to give them the best life possible”. Louis maturely spoke, meaning he had really thought about this. “I’m going to do everything I can to give you both the life you deserve”.

“We’re so lucky to have you…you know that?”. YN cuddled further into his arm, craving that comfort after a long day and the first trimester tiredness hitting her.

“I’m the lucky one”. Louis’ hand found its way to YN’s tummy, his hand give it a gentle rub as he realised she was about to fall asleep at the feeling.

After a few minutes, YN breathing had changed and Louis smiled at the sight of his love’s eyes contently closed as she caught up on some sleep.

Louis lips placed small pecks to YN’s tummy, he was longed for the day he felt their little one move around and respond to their voices. “I love you baby tommo”.

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r @slaymybreathaway @wh0s-nadii

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Katsuki Bakugou x Popular/MeanGirl!reader - oneshot about Katsuki loving his ruthless girlfriend!

Ok, the title is a little misleading, you're not that mean! you just do unto others what they do to you...and Katsuki loves it. As always, please let me know if you want more, and if you have any ideas for the future <3 calling this a songfic, because it's hugely based on Don't Touch! by Lil Mariko

warnings: lots of cursing, mentions of castration, and one chaotic good(?) reader

______________________________________________________________

When you first arrived at UA, a late entry as you lived in the Americas prior, everyone loved you, and surprisingly that included Bakugou. Of course, it took him a long time to warm up all the way, but you started dating after a few months of getting to know each other. What could he say? You were pretty, smart, patient with him, and best of all, you didn't take crap. He learned that the first week of your arrival, when his attempt to bully you fell short. You actually took a liking to him, so he was spared most of the passive aggressive fate he saw you give some others. You were just nice to people who were nice to you, ergo most considered you sweet as candy while some considered you a total bitch.

You were hot and you knew it, and believe it or not it caused a lot of people to spread rumors about you. He'll never forget the first time he saw you in action, it was as satisfying as it was attractive. While walking to lunch, a pair of 2nd years were standing to the side whispering and pointing to you. one of them yelled out, "slut," while the other laughed. You, being the bad bitch that you are, turned around, smiled pleasantly, and put on your best innocent demeanor. "aw, I'm really sorry for getting your dick hard, maybe next time try and keep your eyes a little higher, yeah?" It. Was. Magnificent. The two were flabbergasted to say the least, and Katsuki himself was glad to finally see someone who didn't act like a saint all the time.

Long story short, you were his other half, and he had gotten used to your mocking, sarcastic way of handling assholes...until the day of the Sports Festival. You and Katsuki were were perusing the food stands, you dragging him around from place to place, him trailing behind like the grump he was. One stand actually caught his eye, a sign claiming to have the spiciest sauce in the city to compliment their renowned Takoyaki. You were standing with him, looking around while holding his hand, when out of the corner of your eye you saw someone point towards you. You didn't turn your head, not wanting them to know you noticed, but kept an ear out to see what they were saying.

"yeah, he's the one I was telling you about."

"that guy? No way he's with a girl like her."

"I know, right? He has to be keeping her with him, probably scaring her into staying."

Oh hell no. You weren't going to let this slide, it was one thing to talk about you, but a whole other thing to talk about your relationship. You whipped around, yanking a very confused Katsuki with you. Katsuki had heard the two talking, but was far too enamored with the spicy sauce to actually listen. "Hey," You yelled, using a voice Katsuki hadn't heard out of you before as you raised the hand holding Katsuki's into the air for all to see. "See this?! This means he loves me, so next time you go and make assumptions, why don't you keep your damn mouth shut?!" You step closer to the pair of stunned teens, wearing a look that could kill. Your voice was low and menacing now, making sure they understood every syllable. "Next time I hear you talk shit about my boyfriend, I'll take the Louis Vuitton's He bought me, hunt you down, and castrate you."

The two whimpered, stuttering out a response but unable to finish before running off with their tails between their legs. You watched them dash, one hand on your hip and the other in Katsuki's, before turning to him with that same bubbly smile you always had. "Alright, let's go get ice cream, I'm still hungry!" He had this unreadable expression on his face, and when you tried to pull him to the ice cream he stood stock still. "...What...?" You were fearing the worst.

Were you too much for him? Did he realize he wanted someone nicer, like Ururaka or Momo? This time, he did dragging of his own, yanking you in the opposite direction. He pulled you along without another word, looking left to right, before stopping next to an empty vending stand. "Katsuki, what are you doing," You asked, he was worrying you.

He looked around again, making sure no one was watching, before yanking into the stand with him.

He never answered you with words, but the way he made out with you for the remainder of the Festival break kind of spoke for him. Right then, when you were threatening those extras, was the moment he realized he loved you. Actually, no. He already knew he loved you, despite the fact he never said it (yet). Right then was the moment he knew he'd marry you. You wouldn't know that story from his perspective until he told it at your wedding.

______________________________________________________________

hope you enjoyed, I had this story on my mind all last night and was just itching to write it! let me know if you want more of this!