#so it can't be fair of me to expect more than what he can offer

[sanjarka]

listen, as someone with a father with bipolar disorder, who at certain times in my life, especially when i was quite young, like at 10 or 14, wasn't able to be there for me because he wasn't there for himself, i need you all to be kinder to katniss's mom. the woman wasn't cruel. she needed help. katniss is forever going to be traumatized by that experience but there is a path to forgiveness. she grows up at the end and so does her mom.

#was seeing my dad manic easy #no #did he say hurtful things to me my mom my sister #yes he did #was i scared and at times wanted him gone or to hate him #yes #i am ashamed to have ever thought that #but i did #because i didn't understand and the adults around me were unfortunately uneducated in the topic #but i laugh with him now and i love him and i know he wasn't cruel on purpose #is it the same like it was before #no there is pain and trauma and things we will probably never get over #but our relationship is alive and important #he is just stuck living in a place where he isforced to never get “better” #allowed to either be extremely depressed or extremely manic #with no in-between #he deserves more than a five minut talk everythree months with a doctor that doesn't care causehe isn't being paid enough to #so it can't be fair of me to expect more than what he can offer #and is this situation fair to me? #well i guess not but what am i supposed to do #he's my dad and i love him and miss him #thg #katniss everdeen

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader

I've been plagued by this idea for a while, so let me know what you think! This is just the character introduction. Your new landlord is a Yakuza boss, and his scary looking underling has been tasked to deal with your tenant needs! Although he didn't expect you to be this cute. And you didn't expect him to be this unhinged.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Content: Female reader, violence, mentions of stalking

This was the last straw.

You're angrily stuffing your suitcase with necessities before the moving company arrives. Each glimpse around the cramped apartment fills you with outrage, as you're still heavily shaken from the events of last night. 

You first begun to suspect you might have a stalker when you found your outer lock with a fresh dent in it. You then picked a small scrap from the ground nearby and assumed it was leftover damage, but upon further inspection you discovered, disgusted, that it was part of your peephole. Someone must've fiddled with your door a fair amount. You tried to approach your immediate neighbors for help, but they either refused to answer your persistent knocks or downright scurried away when faced with your questions. They didn't want to deal with a foreigner. 

You tried to put it behind you. The police advised you to be cautions, as there was nothing else they could do without concrete evidence. And thankfully, you had several peaceful weeks following the incident. Last night you were suddenly awakened by faint scratches coming from your balcony. You groggily got up and wondered if your recently added bird feeder was attracting nocturnal visitors. You got up without turning on the light, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious animal. As you pulled the drape, however, you were met with the large frame of a man plucking your laundry in a hurry. 

A panicked scream erupted from the depths of your chest and you slapped the light switch, erratically searching for your phone. By the time you dialed emergency, the intruder had vanished. You were sobbing against the wall under the fake reassurances of the operator, eyeing the sliding door that had no lock. Had he wished, the masked man could've easily invited himself in. You were at the mercy of a lunatic and no one seemed to be impressed by your situation. 

No more. Ideally you'd go back to your home country and forget about your plans to build yourself a life in Japan. What were you even thinking? A lonely girl, low on funds, signing a contract to be relocated across the ocean for work. You barely scraped the first months of a mandatory year. 

You close your suitcase with a satisfying click and on your way out you wipe the table of all the newspaper clippings. You've been scanning the potential offers on the market. The ones within your budget, of course, which means you don't have to worry about being picky. Until you find a new place, your belongings can wait in storage. Dusty furniture is a better prospect than waking up with a pervert looming over you. 

By the time the clock hits evening hours, you're sipping on your iced coffee with a defeated sigh. Most of the cheap apartments seem to be given to locals. Not outsiders like you. At least they spared you of the false hopes and curtly told you to not expect any call back, so you can swiftly move on to the next circled address. You pull out the crumbled sheet of paper from your pocket. Reading over your list of crossed out lines like this deflates you greatly. At the very bottom lies your final hope: the ad you'd stumbled upon this morning was too good to be true and the realtor was available for viewing at any time, so you're almost certain it's some sort of scam. Yet you can't afford to skip it, can you? You stand up, pat your jeans and take a deep breath in. 

As you check your phone to confirm the location, you begin to doubt your decision. It's hard to believe no other potential renters have showed up. The apartment is in a convenient area, very close to public transport, at a great price, on what looks like a busy street. Isn't it the dream? So why? You glance around, examining the surroundings. The shops are bustling with people. You try to come up with possible explanations, when a deep voice startles you.

"You must be (Y/N), right? You sure are easy to spot."

You turn around to greet the person. Although the second you spot him, you take an unconscious step back. You'd expected a middle aged man dressed in formal attire with a shy bow and clumsy movements. The one standing before you resembles none of that. He's imposingly tall, with a muscular built and slicked back hair. You can discern the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled up sleeves. His face has multiple deep scars and you can only assume that the pale, discolored eye that's transfixed in one direction is a fake made of glass. One might call him handsome, if you're into the kind of appearance you see in documentaries about the mafia. 

"Y-you're the landlord?" You stutter, immediately covering your mouth and regretting your lack of tact. 

"Nuh uh, Boss sent me to deal with it." He flashes you a genuine grin, completely unperturbed by your offhanded implication. "I'm Daitou."

He continues towards the entrance and you follow behind, too awkward to back down now. He describes the living quarters with surprising enthusiasm. If you were to close your eyes and disregard his heavy Kansai accent, you could very well be convinced it's a professional real estate agent hard at work. 

"Excuse me for asking, but..." Once he finishes his marketing presentation, you cannot help the increasing anxiety. "What's the catch?"

"Huh?"

"For something like this to be so cheap...and no one else being interested...may I be frank and ask what's wrong with it? Please understand, I just left my previous apartment because of a stalker. I don't want to be packing again anytime soon."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He searches your gaze for a moment, before gasping as if remembering something. "Wait, you're a foreigner, so I guess you don't know. Ah, that explains it." 

He lets out a hearty laugh, satisfied with his conclusion. 

"You didn't notice anything strange outside?"

You ponder his question before slowly shaking your head in denial. 

"Really? A bunch of heavily tattooed guys with family pins on their suits...This is a yakuza quarter. Our Family owns most businesses here. But lately we've had a lot of police on our backs, ya know? Bound to happen when the street is swarming with us. So Boss had this great idea - he's smart like that, ya know, I've never been the bright one - anyways, he suggested we rent some of our housing to regular civilians. Less suspicious that way." 

He crosses his arms and nods to himself proudly. 

"I myself think it's a great deal. You won't find anything cheaper for the kind of stuff you're getting. All you have to do is, you know, mind your business. If some weasel questions you, no Sir, you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious. That's all."

You can only stare wide eyed, somewhat taken aback by his honesty.

"Uh...Are you sure you were supposed to tell me all of this? I feel we're skipping some steps before admitting to organized crime."

Now it's his turn to consider your inquiry. 

"Probably not, but I'm not good with words. You look like a smart girl, so I thought I won't sugarcoat it. I'm sure you already know that if you leave and rat us out I'll be throwing your chopped up remains in the nearby river. Or would you want to be shipped home instead? I'm a nice guy like that, hehe."

You return a crooked smile and purse your lips in the process. You'd rather not learn the percentage of truth in his humor anytime soon. 

"You mentioned a stalker? I can guarantee you he won't follow here, miss. And if he's that dumb to wander on our turf, well, me and my guys always hang around the block. Leave him to me and I'll bring you his teeth in a box." 

"I-...Why teeth of all the things?"

"Just easier to pull out, ya know." He winks and reaches for his back pocket, revealing an old pair of pliers with childish delight. "See, I'm a bit of a handyman, so I always have some tools on me."

Strangely enough, you're not as terrified as you would expect from someone in your shoes. Certainly your knees are weaker when compared to your pre-encounter state, but there's something about his demeanor that doesn't feel malicious or threatening. Like conversing with an old friend at a pub. 

"Will I truly not get in trouble? You guys do your thing and I'm 100% not involved?"

"You have my word." And with that, as if closing the sale of his lifetime, he confidently slaps a stack of papers on the nearby counter and hands you a pen. "You already have my number, if anyone pisses you off just hit me up and I'll be at your service. Boss left everything to me."

No perverts and less of your monthly allowance going towards rent. Maybe it's your despair talking, but you've been persuaded nonetheless. You scribble your name in the designated field and shove the documents towards your new acquaintance. 

"Pleasure doing business with you, miss (Y/N)." He cheerfully dangles the keys before dropping them in your hand and heads for the door.

"Oh, is shipping included in the rent?"

He stops and turns to you, mildly confused.

"You said if I mess up you'll ship my remains home. Do I pay for the postage myself, or is that part of the monthly tax?" You ask with a cheeky grin. 

His eyes narrow in delight and you can tell he's greatly amused by your words. 

"Nah, consider it a gift from me. Gotta treat a lady nice, 'specially if it's a pretty one like you."

And with that, you're alone again. You look around the room, trying to visualize your new home. It's already getting dark outside. Now that you've had the situation explained to you, you can definitely see what Daitou meant. There's the occasional police officer patrolling the street, and plenty of men dressed in similar fashion walking in small groups. 

"And?"

Outside the building, a young man is leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to have been waiting for Daitou. 

"It's done. Some cute foreigner is moving in." He lifts an arm in a flexing motion, patting his bicep in a congratulatory manner. "Boss will be surprised, eh?"

"You're fucking with me."

"What? You wanna go back upstairs and check?" He responds, appalled. "Might've taken longer than expected, but I told ya I can manage!"

"Are you sure you didn't threaten her or something? I still don't know what Boss was thinking when he asked a nutcase like you to deal with the civvies." 

"Hey hey hey, I may not be all fancy speaking like you or Kazuya, but I'm not dumb. Matter of fact, she already signed the papers."

"I never said you're dumb. Just batshit crazy." The young man sighs and flicks his cigarette butt away, stomping on it.

"Let's go and tell the others."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #original work #oc x reader #male yandere x reader #x reader

[sp0o0kylights]

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

#borked my computer trying to update the graphics card #have a thing #steven harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #this is part of an almost finished one shot #eventual #steve/eddie/chrissy #eddie is a dork #100% this oneshot focuses on how dorky his ass is #well that and putting two jocks back together after bad relationships and monster's details both their lives #i called it patchworks because its written to ne weaved through the shows plot and is mostly compliant until vecna #hurt/comfort #breakup

[stevieschrodinger]

So what if like the thing that makes Alpha and Omega pairs, true mates or whatever, is like a detectable thing that they can test for. And like, everyone has their little blood test at birth and then on say, their 18th birthday, the Alpha gets informed as to who their omega is.

Obviously it's a bit of a sexist deal and lots of Omega and their supporters are trying to get it changed so that both parties are informed, to make it fair, and that is getting some traction but right now, the Alpha gets told and the Omega has to wait for them to show up.

Except when Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington.

Eddie burns the envelope.

And yeah, he can't help but watch Steve a little more now that he like, Knows, but he does his best to put it behind him.

And Steve gets into a fight with Nancy wheelers new Omega, when Nancy gets her envelope, and it's not Steve's name inside and it looks like Jonathan came out on top and Steve...well, he looks beaten and sad and that nearly makes Eddie cave but...no. no.

Right up until he has Steve under his hands, pinned to a boathouse wall with a bottle to his throat and Eddie's been thinking of Steve has his Omega for so long it just kind of slips out. Eddie whispers it, 'Omega' and the bottle drops to the floor and shatters more.

And Eddie has to watch it play out from close range on Steve's face, dawning realisation. Deep hurt. And then anger. An angry shield that comes down as he pushes Eddie off.

"Dustin explain to Munson what's up, I'll be outside a minute.". And Steve just stomps out and there's fuck all Eddie can do about it.

And then he kinda gets distracted by hell dimension stuff. For a bit. And Steve's clearly fucking angry with him and Eddie, well, what the fuck is Steve expecting Eddie to do, right? Steve would never have wanted him in the first place. So Eddie is fucking angry. And it comes out spiteful, calling Steve 'big boy' like he knows it'll rile Steve up. Throwing his jacket at Steve so he will cover up, because he can't bare to look at all the skin Steve is showing, especially with fucking Wheeler hanging around. And if it got something of Eddie's on Steve, well then, it doesn't fucking matter does it? Doesn't mean anything.

And it's not until it's all done, and Eddie wakes up fucking high as a kite on pain meds, with non other than Harrington sitting by his bedside that it all slips out, "what are you doing here?"

Steve shrugs, won't look at him, "waiting to see if my Alpha dies, I guess."

And he just sounds so...bereft. so broken.

"Steve, I just...look-"

"Doesn't matter. You've made it clear. It's fine. And you're going to live I guess so I'll just-" and he's standing, turning to leave.

And Eddie knows Steve now. Sees him with the sheep. Knows he isn't a bitch. Knows he's just...a good guy. Knows he isn't any of the things Eddie thought he was.

"You grew up in a fucking castle." Steve pauses, sitting back in the chair to frown at Eddie.

"What has that go to do with-"

Eddie clears his throat, it's dry and scratchy and hurts but he has to do this. "You grew up in a castle. Nice car. Both parents. Preppy clothes, fucking, shitty fucking jock friends. Steve, you would have rejected me in a heartbeat. I live in a fucking trailer and sling drugs on the side I'm not- I couldn't do that to you."

And Steve just, he just starts crying. He nods, wipes his eyes, "I might have," he admits finally, "I don't know what I would have said...but I needed you. Since then I needed you so much and," he sniffles, wipes his pink nose .

"And I didn't know. I couldn't have and I am so sorry but could we just, now, can we just-" and it hurts like fuck but Eddie bites it down because Steve is half clambered into the bed next to him and yeah. Yeah, that's perfect.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #world building #ficlet #i write

[ddejavvu]

I need anakin to bend me in half, my legs over his shoulders with his hands intertwined above my head to hold me in place and rabbit fuck me until he fills me up with his seed and holds me upside so not a drop spills then do it all over again the next morning. and then pulls up my panties, pats my clothed pussy and tells me to go on with my day with all his cum snug inside me🧎‍♀️

keep the anakin thoughts coming please <3 just like he'd keep me comi- [gunshots]

this post is 18+, minors dni.

the part about- the- the part about... patting it. like a little reward. please i'm convulsing i need him so carnally

he spends a fair amount of time in the morning loving on you, because he's been touch/love deprived all his life and he's enamored with the concept of just being with you. But he's like a leech, and more often than not, when he gets his hands on you, he's gonna latch on and suck and take take take take take from you, so having your knees over his shoulders just becomes a regular morning routine for the two of you.

it's really very casual, too. that's not to say it lacks passion, because anakin is passion in human form, and it would be impossible for him to do anything without an underlying current of it running through his veins like scorching oil, fueling his every move. but it's routine, it's usual, it's expected.

all he has to do is tilt his head up, chin pointed towards the bedpost, and you know to wrap your hands around it and hold on for dear life. he doesn't even need to say it anymore, but sometimes a sleep-thickened, groggy 'bedpost' will fill the anticipatory silence that your blearily buzzing bodies exude.

he is a pussy !! eater !! if you're not already slick and wet and begging for his cock from whatever varying degree of foreplay he'd managed in his freshly awake state, he parts your thighs with an easy wedge of his hands and buries his face in your cunt to say good morning. he probably talks to it too, squishing his nose up against the underside of the hood of your clit and offering a murmured 'morning' to your pussy. he likes when it elicits a response, a shudder of your spine, a fluttering clench around the slack ring of his lips, and he's more than happy to tongue-fuck you open in preparation for his cock. he's rutting it against the bed, ignoring the squished discomfort in search of stimulation that you can give him so much better.

he eats you out the same way he kisses you; a confident, probing tongue and a lot of spit. so much, in fact, that you can't tell what of the foamy residue he sucks up and spits back out onto your cunt is your own juices, or his. but it's wet, disgustingly so, and it's enough lubrication to aid in his master plan.

once you're sufficiently wet and ready, he doesn't hold back. he's been grinding against the stiff mattress for too long to take it slow, once the crown of his cock breaches your eager hole he's blacking out and going all in. his hips start at a jackrabbit's pace instantly and don't slow until he's pulling out of you, a relentless rhythm that you're always woefully unprepared for in the early morning.

you always cry out things like 'ah! anakin!' or 'easy- gentle! please, ani' you sob with tears brimming in your sleepy eyes as you grip at his cheeks, trying to tame whatever wild beast has him in its clutches while your cunt sucks him in, 'easy, baby, please.'

you're lucky you can use your hands, too. because he used to restrain them with the force, something that anakin knows obi-wan would be satisfyingly disapproving of if he ever found out. but once you'd learned to keep them around the headboard, you'd been permitted to hold them there yourself, and you can get away with touching his face or clawing at his back. as long as you don't use them to shift your weight somewhere, or touch your clit, or anything that he can handle. your legs burn as he's thrown them over his shoulders but don't move them, he wants them there.

anakin's a voracious kisser, licking your mouth out and providing it with an abundance of saliva and the residue of your own wetness. it's another hole he can fuck, his tongue prodding at the suction of your throat like his dick does to your cunt. he likes making you gag on it, sticking his tongue so far down your throat that you choke. all the while his drool is leaking into your mouth, pooling and swirling obscenely with your own, and making his cock twitch inside of your sloppy cunt.

he's very vocal during sex, but sometimes the morning sleepiness still has its clutches on him, and he's not very verbal. typically, though, he's grunting and groaning at every thrust, his mouth squelching as his tongue slides wetly against your own and his pornographic growls flowing straight down your throat and to your core.

He always holds himself back from cumming until after you have, maybe because he revels in how sensitive you get while he's still pumping his cock into you like you haven't just finished and spasmed around him. he usually spills warm, thick loads of cum into you not long after you work through your own orgasm, the feeling of your climax pushing him to his own.

but he doesn't slump down onto you, he doesn't roll over, he doesn't go fetch a washcloth, no. he slides his strong hands under your hips, one flesh and one durasteel, and lifts your hips off of the mattress, folding your stomach in half and keeping your cunt elevated.

His seed spills obscenely from its clutches but he prods at it with sloppy, haphazard fingers and licks them clean once it's no longer spilling outside of you. he wants it to sink into you, he wants it to take and be trapped in your cunt for the entire day. he knows gravity isn't on his side in that wish, but he dips down to nudge and kiss it between your puffy lips, tasting it on his tongue as he pushes it further into your sex.

when he's satisfied with its placement, he takes your underwear, sliding it over your ankles and hiking it up to your waist. it takes a little maneuvering to secure it under your ass, but once it's there he pats over your now-clothed, still filthy pussy, offering up an appreciative, 'good job, angel'. you can't tell if he's talking to you or your pussy but your brain is simultaneously exhausted and on fire at the same time, so you let him get up and shower for the morning while you recover beneath the bedsheets. when he leaves for his duties he drops a kiss to your lips, much more chaste and quick than it had been before, and tells you to have a good day, pretty girl.'

and that's it.

like he hadn't just fucked you raw and rough into the mattress. like your hands don't have imprints of the bedpost on them.

'have a good day, pretty girl.'

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker scenario #anakin skywalker oneshot #anakin skywalker one-shot #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker headcanon #anakin skywalker headcanons #anakin skywalker hcs #anakin skywalker hc #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker dialogue #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker smut

[strangersteddierthings]

February 3

rating: T

cw: none

prompt: Love is being terrified but not letting that stop you from taking a leap.

Continued from yesterday's post.

They end up on opposite sides of the alley as they wait. It's been about fifteen, twenty minutes of silence. Steve leans back against the wall, arms crossed, and he switches from staring at one end of the alley to the other. He doesn't expect the guy who attacked Eddie to just pop up but... Well, better safe than not.

Eddie sits across from him, one knee propped up, the other stretched in front of him. He hasn't looked up from his lap since he sat down.

Steve should be mad. Eddie's being a dick for no reason. He's not mad, though. He's... hurt.

He's always sort of suspected he was the problem. Eddie's been hot and cold with him since they saved the world together. He originally thought they were friends, and that Eddie's distance and anger would creep in when Steve was coming on too strong.

And, like, not for nothing, but Steve knows he attractive. He's caught Eddie looking. But that guy back in alley- Steve can't deny they look similar. If that's the type of guy trying to beat up Eddie in back alleyways, then-

Steve shakes the thought from his head. That was probably just a coincidence.

"I think it's been long enough," Eddie says, though he makes no move to stand up.

Steve pushes off the wall. He heads straight for Eddie, to offer him a hand up. Getting up is harder than getting down some days, with the scars. Eddie looks surprised, but he takes Steve's hand.

They stand for a moment, before Steve steps back. He gets about five steps away.

"Wait, Steve," Eddie says. And Steve stops. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said- any of that."

"Apology accepted," Steve says, even though it's not true right now, he knows it will be. He starts to turn around but-

"Stop! Don't- can you please not turn around? I-I got something I need to say, but I don't think I can do it to your face, man."

"What? Why?" he asks, but stays put.

"'Cause I- Can you just listen?"

Steve sighs, putting his hands on his hips and dropping his head down but he doesn't move.

There's a moment of pause, probably where Eddie's expecting verbal confirmation, but Steve stays silent. "I-I can be a dick, and I get pretty defensive-"

Steve snorts at that because, yeah. Yeah he does.

"-when, when I'm scared. And man, you fucking terrify me."

He sucks in a sharp breath. Maybe he wasn't too far off with his earlier thoughts of himself and that guy.

"And now you- you saw Michael. And, and maybe you saw enough to... see a resemblance?"

"Yeah."

"So, uh, I am- I'm fucking terrified but we both know we can't- I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to you, that I take things out on you. Especially around the things I feel. So, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who- who did something to make you scared," Steve is confused. "I'm- I look like the guy who attacked you. I get it."

"Steve," Eddie sounds different, his voice is more steady. "I- I mean, yeah, he was going to throw a punch but that's not- we went into that alley together."

Well, now Steve does whip around because, "What? Like... willingly?"

Eddie cringes, but doesn't look away. "Yeah."

Furrowing his brow, Steve says, "why? I don't- if you knew he was going to hit you, why'd you go?"

Eddie laughs, but it's humorless, "he wasn't going to hit me. We were going to share a cigarette. Or, like, I thought we left for a smoke break, we'd been chatting it up at the bar and I wanted to not have to strain to hear him, but Michael thought that was me using 'have a smoke' as an innuendo. He didn't turn into a dick until I told him I wasn't going to blow him in broad daylight."

"Oh!" Steve is shocked, and given the confused look on Eddie's face now, he thinks his face shows his own shocked confusion.

"What did- did you think Michael was just there to beat me up?"

"Yeah! What else was I supposed to think!?" Steve doesn't- what? If Eddie... "So, you were, like, attracted to him?"

Eddie doesn't say anything. He looks almost as wired as he did the night they found him in the boat house, terrified and running on adrenaline alone, but he manages to give Steve a nod of confirmation.

"So, you're attracted to guys that... look like me?" Steve says out loud, trying to piece the puzzle together. Eddie is turning red but he nods another confirmation. "But then why aren't...." he trails off, remembering the shout that really started this conversation. 'Because it's you.'

It won't matter what Steve looks like, he realizes. Eddie just isn't attracted to him. As a whole, as a person, in general.

"Oh," Steve says again, unsure of what else to say. "I- I get it. I wouldn't- I wouldn't want me either, but, uh, thanks for like, saying it plainly. Do- Can I go, now? Or do you- I'll walk you to your van if you're still worried about Mitchell."

"Michael," Eddie corrects while just staring wide-eyed for a moment before he shakes his head and exclaims, "What? What are- What are you talking about!?"

"I- You said the problem was me!" Steve says back, trying not to raise his own voice back. "What do you mean what am I talking about!"

"What do you think this is about!?"

"That you hate me! And you've been trying to pretend you don't! Probably for Dustin's sake or something. But you don't have to! You don't have to force yourself to hang out with me."

Seems like Eddie wasn't expecting Steve to say that, it the dropped jaw looks of disbelief on his face is anything to go by.

"So, can we go now? Are we- is this done?" Steve says, bitchy.

"Steve. Steve, I don't hate you! How did- what have-" Eddie cuts himself off with a quiet 'fuck' as he looks down. Steve watches as Eddie seems to steel himself against something before he looks back up and says. "Dude, I'm like, in love with you. And I was trying so hard to hide it but I-I guess I did that. A bit too well if that's your conclusion."

Steve doesn't even know how to process that. That's not- how can that be- but Eddie said it. He looks like he might have a heart attack at any moment now, but he said it. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again, man."

"No, no I think I need you to. Because there have been so many times I thought we were flirting and it might go somewhere and then you'd- you'd suddenly be a dick again and I thought it was because I was making you uncomfortable with my flirting."

"You were flirting with me!?" Eddie screeches.

"Yes! For months! I thought you knew."

"No! If I fucking knew I wouldn't be driving to Indy when I can afford it to try and find some knock-off Steve Harrington to try and get my rocks off with!"

They both just stare at each other for a moment before Steve feels the laughter building in him, and it comes out as a high-pitched giggle that builds into full on laughter. It brings tears to his eyes and he hears Eddie's laugh joins his after a moment.

"This mean you'll quit being a dick to me all the time?" Steve asks, once the laughter has died down.

"Well, I'm kinda a dick in general, so no," Eddie says, offering a small smile. "So, are we... okay?"

Steve pretends to think on it before saying, "yeah. We'll be okay. But, we should get back to Hawkins. And, uh, maybe you wanna come over and we can talk more? Figure this out?"

Eddie's small smile becomes blinding. "I'm following you home, Harrington. Best of luck getting rid of me now."

Steve smiles back and closes the distance between them to give Eddie a quick, teasing kiss. Eddie leans back in, but Steve stops him with a hand to his chest. "No. More talking first. I-I've started too many relationships by skipping that bit and, uh, they never last. So, home?"

Eddie grins. "Yeah. Home."

-

@steddielovemonth @nburkhardt @i-less-than-three-you @afewproblems @skepsiss

#steddie #my fic #steddielovemonth #not edited

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

Ok ok so- genius idea. Jason X daughter of Persephone. It’d be so freaking cute tbh

kk love you/p coveyyyy

-✨ anon

⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason grace x daughter of persephone! reader hcs

content: jason grace x daughter of persephone! reader hcs warning: none! author's note: i feel the need to clarify THIS IS NOT VLOGGING DAUGHTER OF PERSEPHONE THIS SOME OTHER GIRL OKAY??? DONT GET IT TWISTED YALL open ending bc im cruel hahaha this ones adorbs tho love love love

okay okay in jason defense, he had no idea it was your garden

bro just thought it was an orange tree

so, abusing his powers of flight to pick the best orange didn't seem like a problem until the branch of one of the tree smacked him upside the head

"excuse me? do i walk into your room and take the shiniest thing i can find?? i don't think so buddy," your fuming voice was heard as jason floated back down, rubbing the back of his head

"what-"

"thats! my! orange!" you repeated, wagging your finger at him, "scram! or ill sic nico on you like a rabid dog!"

jason walked off, confused but determined to learn more about the mysterious guardian of the orange tree

he came back the next day to find you glaring at him, arms crossed as he approached

"i figured you'd come back," you spoke as he stood before you, eyes squinted, "it's a lost cause, buddy, you're not getting that orange."

"alright, fair enough," jason shrugged, going to walk away.

you flubbed at his easy defeated, eyes trained on him as he walked away and your brows furrowed in confusion

he came back the next day, this time a book tucked on his arm

still, you stood guard, this time you were sitting at the base of the tree, balancing your dagger on your finger

it tumbled off as you looked up at jason, narrowing your eyes as your dagger stabbed itself into the ground

"back again?" you offered and jason just hummed, sitting down across from you and cracking his book open

he rested his cheek against his fist, his glasses slightly crooked, but you had the vague thought that it was endearing

"what? give up?" you taunted, but the malice was gone from your voice

"hmm? oh, no. playing the long game," jason replied, glancing up with a soft look before returning his gaze to his book.

you frowned, confused but allowed him to stay, his company strangely calming

everyday for a week, jason would join you under the orange tree

some days he brought his book, some days he brought cards and they played games together

you'd grown fond of jason in the time he'd been joining you under the orange tree

maybe even something more than fond of the son of jupiter

then one day, while you and jason were playing a game of 'go fish' a faint thud was heard

both your eyes looked over and there the orange was, having fallen from the tree

jason got up and grabbed it, presenting it to you with a proud smile

"i told you; i was playing the long game," he mused with a cheeky smile and you laughed, nodding your head in agreement

"alright, for those impressive tactics, you can keep the orange," you offered, flaring your hands dramatically

you felt a pit start to grow in your stomach at the thought of not seeing jason every day, as you figured he only visited to prove he could get the orange

you fully expected him to pack his cards and his orange and march away, never to be seen with you again

but, instead, he sat right back down and began peeling the orange

you stared at him, a smile twitching on your lips as he stayed with you

"it's your turn, ya know," jason spoke, glancing up at you with that soft smile again, jolting you into action as you asked if he had a king of hearts

"nah, but here," he replied before splitting the orange in half, holding it out to you

"oh, you don't have to! you waited so long-"

"i can't imagine sharing this with anyone else. please, take it," jason cut in, holding it out further to you

it was an offer you couldn't refuse, grasping your half of the fruit like it was the most precious of jewels

"thank you," you whispered and jason beamed you a smile

"any time."

"how about tomorrow? after breakfast? we could, uh, do something...together," you offered, keeping your eyes trained on the fruit in your lap as to avoid the emotions on his face

"y-yes, that, that sounds awesome. yes, please," jason breathed out, looking eyes with you as you looked up from your fruit

"cool."

"totally cool."

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #pjo fandom #jason grace #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n

[yanderecrazysie]

Can I please request for yandere todoroki who at first was very cold and distant to you because he was unhappy with you and his quirk marriage courtesy of Endeavor. The reader tries to get along with him even making him cold soba and bringing it to him during his patrols. But todoroki remains stubbornly coldly ignoring the reader. One day the reader finally has enough and decides to just destroy the quirk marriage contract and leave for the countryside leaving everyone including Todoroki behind. Todoroki then starts to slowly fall for the reader now missing how the reader took care of him and cooked his favorite meals, he also starts to view The reader in as their own person without being clouded by his judgment. Todoroki then turns yandere out of shear yearning for you, he has recognized his mistakes and wants to make things right no matter the consequences, he will have you back and continue on with the marriage.

-Thank you for reading my request. I really love your writing especially the yandere cheater ones, they’re my favorite.

Thank you! And I’ll be glad to write this! ^-^

Title: Is It a Crime

Pairings: Todoroki Shoto x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes

Summary: Shoto isn’t fond of the quirk marriage his dad has arranged. At least, he didn’t think so at first.

Part 2: here

“Is it a crime

That I still want you?

And I want you to want me too

My love is wider, wider than Victoria Lake

My love is taller, taller than the Empire State

It dives, it jumps, and it ripples like the deepest ocean

I can't give you more than that, surely, you want me back”

-from “Is It a Crime” by Sade

“Cold soba, just how you like it,” you try your best to smile warmly, but the glare he sends you is as cold as the dish you try handing to him.

“I’m not hungry.” 

Your smile falters a little, you had hoped that your cooking would get through to him. Wasn’t the fastest way to a man’s heart through his stomach?

Shoto resumes scrolling on his phone, indifferent to the sad look you give him. Your heart gives a painful tug in your chest- what were you supposed to do to get him to like you?

It wasn’t like you particularly wanted in this marriage either.

Your parents had left the final choice up to you, claiming that they’d be fine without the money, when you knew it was the opposite. They were too elderly to work and you couldn’t get a second job while in college to support them.

Endeavor had swooped in, offering to support your parents as long as you were married to Shoto. Evidently, he was drawn in by your powerful healing quirk, and could picture strong grandchildren that could use ice, fire, and heal themselves.

In order to give you and your parents security, you entered into the agreement, assuming Endeavor’s son was okay with the contract.

You were wrong.

Shoto seemed to hate you more and more with each passing day. He’d made it clear from day one what he thought of your marriage.

“I want nothing to do with the marriage, nor you. I will never love nor care for you like a husband should. Give up and go home.”

You were determined to continue the forced relationship, not willing to easily give up the life your parents would be supported by. Yet, no progress was made towards wedding plans nor any discussion of life after marriage.

Endeavor wasn’t pushy about when a wedding should be set, telling you that Shoto was “needlessly stubborn about things”. But you’d begun to worry that maybe he would never come around to the idea of loving you.

And, really, how could you expect that of him? It wasn’t fair to suddenly come into someone’s life and wait for them to love you like a husband loves his wife.

You retreated to the kitchen to deal with your thoughts, putting the soba in the refrigerator in case Shoto got hungry. You thought over what you should do, a little bored with the housewife position you’d been put in. Shoto was a pro hero, Endeavor one as well- you had no reason to even continue college. The two of them each had enough money right now to live off of three times over.

You were ready to hang on as long as it took.

Until you overheard Shoto on the phone.

“She’s annoying. Not my type at all. I could never love anyone like her, even without this quirk marriage nonsense my father is forcing on me.”

You felt tears pricking your eyes. He’d never, ever like you, would he? This was just a waste of time, until Endeavor either forced you into a wedding that made Shoto despise you even more, or canceled your contract for you.

You went straight to the number one hero himself, heart pounding in your chest as you approached his office and knocked quietly on the door. A moment later, you stood before him, those tears from earlier finally falling.

“Shoto will never love me. I think it’d be best for both of us if we… just… went our separate ways.” Your voice quavered, and your eyes closed tightly for the finish.

Endeavor sat back in his chair, obviously surprised, “But your parents-”

“I can quit college and get a second job.”

Endeavor blinked and, after an eternity, pressed on, “My son is stubborn, he has rebelled against me before. You should not take it personally.”

You considered his words. Perhaps Shoto didn’t hate you, just the arranged marriage. But then you remembered his words over the phone and started to cry all over again.

“No… no. I’m sure. I want to cancel the marriage. I’m sorry.”

Endeavor nodded, “I understand.”

Shoto woke up in a bad mood and it only worsened when he didn’t see you in the kitchen, making him breakfast. You always made him breakfast, so why not today? Were you sick?

He checked the fridge and found the cold soba from yesterday. Not exactly a proper breakfast, but it would do.

Sour expression on his face, he wondered why you weren’t awake, bustling around like a happy tornado, cleaning every surface like you had a grudge against it. Maybe you really were sick. He spooned soba into his mouth, debating whether or not to check on you.

Against his better judgment, he walked over to your room and knocked sharply on it. He gave an exasperated sigh when there was no response and opened the door, only to find… nothing. No clothes, no knick knacks, nothing that made the room uniquely you, like it had once been.

His heart sank in his chest and he leaned against the door, head hanging down as his thoughts raced. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy? Thrilled, even? This meant that the quirk marriage was over, right?

So why did he feel crushed?

Shoto stormed into his father’s office without knocking. “Where is she?”

Endeavor looked up from his paperwork, surprised. “Gone. The marriage is off.”

The younger man left, a hole deep in his heart where you had once been. He hadn’t realized it, so focused on hating you, but he couldn’t live without you. He felt like he was panicking, his breath was coming fast and heavy, his mind clouded with thoughts of you.

He knew where you lived, he’d been there once before to meet you. It wasn’t a far walk, and he’d be running.

He could be there in ten minutes. He was positive he could convince you to sign the contract again.

It was time to bring his bride back home.

#yandere #yandere one shot #yandere x reader #one shot #yandere my hero academia #my hero academia #yandere shoto #todoroki shoto

[shinidamachu]

Sid, why do you think people think Kagome is “so annoying” and “whiny?” How exactly did she earn this reputation among her (rather dumb) haters.

The world is not kind to 15 years old girls, and what is Kagome, if not the perfect representation of one?

People forgot they can dislike a character just because and then move on. They'd rather grasp at straws to try and justify themselves, that way they can pretend they're being rational about the constant hate they're spreading when, truthfully, they're just being miserable.

Kagome specifically is in even greater disadvantage because her critics are, mostly, people who haven't read the source material and are instead basing their takes on a biased adaptation – which they probably watched ages before developping any critical skills – or people who see her as a threat to their ship and therefore are already prone to hate her.

The first group won't ever bother going out of their way to try and get a better grasp of her character by reading a 558 chapters long manga and the second group won't change their minds either way.

That's why they call her out for using the beads of subjugation even if: it wasn't her idea in the first place, it served to balance her relationship with Inuyasha at the beginning – since he was powerful and violent while she wasn't –, the rosary became a symbol of their bond, it saved Inuyasha a couple of times and he was always more annoyed than hurt by it, not to mention Sunrise blowing it out of proportion compared to the manga.

You never see Inuyasha getting bashed for hitting Shippo every other episode or Sango getting any heat for constantly slapping Miroku, because funnily enough people seem to understand it was just dumb, outdated, slapstick comedy, a courtesy they refuse to extend to Kagome.

That's also the reason they call her “annoying” and “whiny”: Kagome’s most important lesson was that it's okay to have feelings, so naturally they twisted that into a bad thing in order to keep hating on her. It's not about how her character was written, it's about people using of bad faith and deliberately mischaracterizing Kagome to pass their internalized misogyny as valid criticism.

I know part of the issue is that audiences nowadays are under the impression that for a female character to be strong, she can't cry or be feminine, but you don't see anyone hating on Sango even though she does cry and she can be as feminine as Kagome depending on the circunstances and on her mood.

The truth is that Kagome is playing a game she can never win, because the refs have decided they want her to lose before the match even starts.

If she stands up and sets boundaries for herself, she's annoying. If she doesn't, she's a doormat. If she feels jealousy, she's a bitch. If she shows kindness, she's boring. If she fights, she's overpowered. If she doesn't, she's useless. If any other character cries, it's heartbreaking. If she cries, she's whiny.

If she goes back to her own world, she's selfish. If she leaves that world behind to live the life she wants for herself, she's a stupid girl who left her family for a boy. If she does something grand, that's only because she's someone else's reincarnation. If she messes something up, the fault is hers and hers alone. She is, somehow, simultaneously a Mary Sue and a toxic abuser.

I've personally seen people slut shaming her because she got hitted on by Koga. I've personally seen people call her a "pick me" girl. Kagome. A pick me girl. Kagome.

And none of this is fair, because she is the kind of character who does her best to see the good in others, to understand the reasons why they act the way they do and to offer them some grace, but she gets very little of that in return, be it in canon, be it in fandom.

They always hold her up to such an impossible standard, but they completely forget to ask themselves: would the characters I stan be able to match the expectations I set for Kagome? Scratch that: would the characters I stan even be able to deal with things the way Kagome managed to do? Would I? The answer is most likely no, so how about cutting her a slack?

You ask me how did she earn this reputation among her rather dumb haters, my answer is: she didn't. They're just incapable of understanding that if a particular nuanced, well written, female character is not their cup of tea, they can simply ignore her and focus their attention on the characters they do like instead of spreading their baseless, misogynistic takes on the internet.

#I also feel like there's this trend of disliking protagonists in general #But I won't elaborate because this is already longer than I wanted it to be #And it applies to most of protagonists so it isn't Kagome specific #It's a dicussion for another day #Inuyasha #Kagome #Kagome Higurashui #Thank you for the ask anon #Sidmailing

[itsjusthockey]

When The Party’s Over - Jack Hughes

I have a problem with writing angst and this is much longer than expected. I'm not sorry.

Big announcement coming soon. Get excited.

I'm needy, so the more love I receive, the more I write. So please follow, comment, repost, and talk to me. I really do cherish this blog and want to be more active

Anyway so yeah, come talk to me. Please, I want to know what you guys think.

Should there be a part two? I don't know

wc: 3,423 (credit to gif maker)(don’t steal my work)

Content warning: Swearing and light NSFW? I don’t know it’s not super explicit but it’s all my first time writing it and I’m not sure

Part 2

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Jack may not be much of a coffee guy, but he is nothing but a weak man when it comes to his favorite bagel place. It’s a regular part of his routine, a constant thing. He goes before practice, grabs his usual order, and then he’s gone.

Usually, he keeps his head down, Jersey isn’t the biggest place, and he likes to avoid attention on his mornings off. Yet, he lifts his head when his name is called and moves to thank the lady handing him his food and walk out when he quickly scans the room, his eyes stopping when he lands on a familiar face.

You’re sitting at a small table close to the edge of the room, surrounded by notebooks, highlighters, and staring hard at your computer. He takes a mental note of your concentrated state, knowing you’re probably in the zone, but he elects to ignore that fact as he makes his way toward your table.

You jump slightly when he takes a seat across from you, only to relax, just barely, when you see it’s him.

“Jesus, Jack,” You breathe out, “Scared the hell out of me.”

Jack can’t help but let a smirk take over his features, and his heart twinges a bit when you let a breathtaking smile take over your own face.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” He teases. “What’re you doing here?”

You look at him briefly, then gesture vaguely to your coffee and your wide range of studying supplies. “Homework, or at least trying to.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiles again, relishing in the company of your presence; it’s been over a week since he last saw you.

“Anyway,” you scoot your chair closer to the table, “Come here often? Their bagels are great.”

Jack lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, almost every morning. It’s pretty close to my place and the rink.”

Once he finishes, a look of recognition crosses your features. “I knew this area seemed decently familiar.”

Jack nods, and he watches as you scan over the coffee shop, then finally rest your eyes back on him. The eye contact doesn’t last long, though, when your phone begins to buzz on the table, and you sneak a quick glance down. Jack can’t help but notice the slight smile after you read the message, and his heart falls ever so slightly.

You snap your eyes to meet his and place your phone face down on the table, leaning back in your chair. “Not that I don’t love this reunion in the daylight, but don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The question is fair, he does, in fact, have someplace to be, but if he’s honest with himself, the last thing he wants to do is remove himself from this chair across from you.

“Yeah, but being a little late never hurt anyone.”

You snort at his statement, rolling your eyes at him.

“Go to practice, Jack.”

He knows you’re right, he doesn’t want to leave, but with playoffs around the corner, he shouldn’t be here, no matter how much he wants to stay.

“You’re right,” As he gets up, he notices your almost empty coffee cup. “Can I at least get you a refill before I leave?”

You glance at your coffee, contemplate his offer, and shake your head. “I’m okay, Jack. Thanks anyway.”

He nods, grabs his bagel, and turns to leave, but not before he pauses and turns around again. “You busy tonight?”

Your eyes dart back up again, but before you answer, your phone buzzes again, and you glance down. You take a few seconds to read the message before you answer him.

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”

You give him a warm smile, but there is also a hint of awkwardness behind it. He chooses to ignore the possibility of rejection and nods your way one last time, and makes his way out of the shop.

As he exits, he glances back to your table one last time, already seeing you consumed back into your schoolwork, forgetting he was ever there.

Jack knows he’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he’s smart enough to know when he’s fucked. The idea was not to fall in love, which is easier said than done. He couldn’t help it; it came out of nowhere. You’ve been sleeping together for a while, longer than both of you could care to admit. He knows that the arrangement is simple, and it works. You’re not his, he’s not yours.

But fuck, does he want you to be.

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin’

But nothin' ever stops you leavin'

Jack gently traces his fingers along your skin, relishing in the feel of your curves beneath his touch. He watches in awe of how your body responds to every move he makes, and he can tell you’re close. Your fingers dig hard into his back, your head falls back ever so slightly, and he slows down his movements to the pace he knows drives you crazy.

To get you there, he concentrates. He knows your body like the back of his hand, but he still tries to watch your face for cues, even though you're not meeting his stare. He didn’t notice it right away when you started sleeping together, but now it’s hard to ignore. No matter what he’s doing, you always look away.

He desperately wants to see you, stare deep into your eyes, and show you, somehow, that when you’re beneath him, it's the closest thing to heaven on earth.

Tonight is different for him, and he needs you to look at him, to see him.

He pulls your face gently to look at him, and reaches down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He makes sure he’s got your attention. Your pupils are blown with bliss, and the soft look goes give him makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world. Before he can stop himself, he presses his forehead to yours and lets himself fall deep into the endless pools of your eyes.

It’s intimate, you both know that, but for a moment, just that moment, you allow yourself to get lost in each other as you meet your highs.

Jack rides it out as long as possible, loving you in every way he knows how and making sure you feel just as good as him. When you both finally come down, your heavy mixed breathing filling the room, reality sinks in.

You’re the first to break, as always, gently pushing him off you. Jack watches silently as you get off the bed, grabbing various scattered clothing items and pulling them on. He watches with a mixture of longing and disdain. He knows you’re going to leave, you always do, but he can’t help but hope this time you’ll stay.

“Stop being a creep.” A playful grin plays on your face as you catch him staring, finishing pulling on your shirt.

He ignores your joke, “Where are you going?”

You shrug your shoulders way too casually.

“Not sure, maybe out?”

His heart sinks, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you’re killing him.

“You could stay? It’s pretty late.” He glances at the clock next to his bed.

The dry laugh you bark out makes him cringe.

“And risk running into the next girl? I’m okay, Jack; I’ll see you later.”

With that and a quick check of yourself, you leave. He’s left with his lingering thoughts and regrets. He knows you’re bad for each other, and he knows that this arrangement will eventually kill him, but he can’t seem to get away.

Jack hears the outside door slam, and he’s truly alone. He decides that his best option is to sleep you off, try to forget the way you felt in his arms and the way you make his heart feel like it’s about to burst. He falls back into his bed, staring at the ceiling. The sheets around him smell like the familiar scent of you, and he hates how it’s comforting. He feels himself falling deeper and deeper into himself, and you didn’t even know he was drowning.

He knows it’s best if he just tries to sleep, flush out any thoughts of you. He doesn’t need to think about where you are or who you’re with because you aren’t his, even though he’d do anything to make you love him as much as he loves you.

He thinks about the last comment you made. About another girl. He knows his reputation and the fact that many people think he’s a player. He’s not, though, and he wishes you knew there wasn’t another girl; it’s only you.

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Jack's eyes are fixed hard on your back, watching almost every move you make across the dimly lit bar. He can tell you’re relaxed, and your head is thrown back, laughing along with your friends. Though he isn’t close enough to hear the laugh that makes him happy and destroys him, his heart clenches anyway. You look like you’re having the best time in the world, and he can’t help but wonder if he’s crossed your mind, even once.

He is nursing a drink that is too watered down for his taste, and his focus is pulled back to you every time he manages to integrate himself back into his teammate's conversation. While he catches a few snippets here and there, he has no idea what the hell they’ve been talking about for the last twenty minutes, and he hopes they don’t notice that his attention has been elsewhere.

He isn’t that lucky, though, because Nico elbows him slightly in the ribs, leaning toward him.

“You okay, Jacky?”

He nods, feeling horrible. “Yeah, sorry.”

He knows he needs to focus, pay attention to the guys, and have a few drinks after a good week. So he tries, his absolute hardest, to keep his eyes off of you.

He lasts about five seconds, and when he looks back toward your table, you’re gone.

He quickly searches the room and sees you making your way toward the bar. It’s honestly embarrassing how fast he moves, and before he can stop himself, he removes himself from his table and makes a beeline toward you.

He reaches you just as you put in your order, throwing the bartender a thousand-watt smile and leaning ever so slightly over the counter. When you finally notice someone beside you and turn to face him, It’s the brief look of unrecognition that practically kills him.

“Jack?” You recover quickly, slipping on a bright smile. “What’re you doing here?”

He stares hard for a second, unsure if you’re messing with him. He knows he’s told you this is his team's favorite bar, but when you’re still waiting for his answer, he clears his throat.

“Uh, it’s the bar closest to the rink,” He hates the sound of his voice. “I’m here with the guys.”

Your eyes flash behind him to his teammates, and a sly smirk takes over your features.

“Well, don’t they look like fun?”

He lets out a light laugh, “They are.”

The bartender interrupts the conversation, setting down your various drinks. You go to hand him your card, but Jack beats you to it.

“It’s on me.” He hands over his Amex before you can protest, and you shoot him a look he can’t decipher.

“You don’t have to buy my drinks, Jack.”

He shrugs his shoulders as if it’s nothing.

You thank him and the bartender as you pick up the drinks.

“Need help?” Jack asks, watching you struggle to get the last glass.

You finally grasp the cup and flash him another smile. “I got it. Thanks again, Jack.”

As quickly as you came, you were gone, heading back to your table where your friend celebrate your arrival as if you’ve been away for years. Jack watches as you all cheers your drinks, and his heart warms a bit when you catch his eye one more time, winking and raising your glass to him ever so slightly.

He nods and heads back to his own table, determined that at the end of the night, he will get to you somehow. He only wants to have you within reach, talking with his teammates or dragging him out to the dance floor. Above all else, he wants you in his arm. So, he texts you, hoping you’ll invite him over and the night will officially begin, and he can be happy. He waits and continues to glance your way.

You never respond.

Call me friend but keep me closer

And I'll call you when the party's over

When Jack's phone buzzes loudly on his nightstand the first time, he ignores it. It’s late, and he has a big game tomorrow. When it buzzes again and continues, signaling an incoming call, he finally shifts his weight and grabs it.

It’s been a week since he saw you at the bar and even longer since you’d texted. You’ve also never called, which causes his heart to beat a little faster than it should. He presses answer.

“Hello?” He asks, hearing some brief static on the other end.

“Jack?”

Your voice sounds small, and he immediately sits up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

He hears your sigh softly on the other end.

“Honestly,” You hiccup, “No. I’m wasted, and my best friend has my apartment keys, and they all don’t want to leave, but I feel sick, and my phone is almost dead, and I didn’t know who else to call in Jersey, and I-“

You continue rambling, and Jack can hear you softly sniffling in between words, and It takes him less than ten seconds to throw on a shirt, pants, and make a beeline toward his Range Rover keys.

“(Y/N)” He finally interrupts you, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

He doesn’t hear you for a moment, and he thinks for a second that you hung up.

“No.” You suddenly say sternly, as if you just realized you called him. “Fuck, I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have called you.”

As you finish, Jack can sense the panic starting to rise in your voice, and he knows that you’re falling deeper into your own head, and he has to pull you out before you disappear.

“Hey, don’t say that. But please, send me your location.”

“No.” You repeat, “You have a game tomorrow. You should be asleep.”

Jack's heart skips a beat when you mention his game. He didn’t know you followed his schedule. His mind begins to run a million places, different places, until he grounds himself and remembers the problem at hand.

“(Y/N),” He says it as hard as he can to force you into telling him where you are. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep until I know you’re home safe. Send me your location.”

It’s silent on the other end of the line, and after a moment, his phone lights up with your pinned location.

“Do not move. I’m about fifteen minutes away. Okay?”

“Okay.” You whisper back to him.

What should have been fifteen minutes turns into less than ten as Jack ignores every driver's safety training he’s ever had. He would do anything to be able to teleport to you, but instead, he goes as fast as he can.

When he pulls up to the crowded bar and doesn’t see you outside, he’s instantly filled with worry. His pulse continues to build until he sees you a small distance away from the entrance, sitting on the curb with your head in your hands.

As soon as he parks, rather badly, he bolts out of the car toward you. When he gets within a few feet of your form, your head snaps up. He watches as a mix of emotions crosses your face, and his heart finally does crumple when he sees a tear slide down your cheeks. It takes everything in him not to wipe it away as he kneels in front of you.

“Can you stand?” He asks softly.

You slowly nod, and he takes both your hands, helping you get to your feet. He watches as you wobble a bit too far to the left, and he catches you in his arms.

The second you’re in his hold, you melt into his touch, and he hates the way that he his entire body finally relaxes, knowing you are safe and in his arms.

Jack continues to steady you, feeling the weight of your body against his. He can smell the alcohol on your breath, and you’re way too cold for his liking after sitting outside. He grabs your shoes and phone and begins walking you toward his car. Once you’re there, he gets you into the vehicle, buckles you in, and hands you a bottle of water he’d thankfully grabbed from the fridge.

“There we go,” he says, making sure you’re set.

Your eyes follow him as he climbs into the driver's seat, and once he turns the car on, you break the silence.

“Thank you, Jack.” You whisper, your head falling a bit toward the window.

Jack focuses on the road as he makes his way back toward his apartment. He knows you’re in no state to be brought home alone, and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you.

“Jack?” You speak again, and he hums. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He means it. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

He turns to face you briefly, and he has never seen you look so sad, and it crushes him all over again. He wants to talk to you, figure out what’s going wrong in that beautiful mind of yours, and do anything to fix it. But he knows that this conversation can be had at a later date. Instead, he turns on a radio, and when he steals another glance at your figure, you are asleep.

Jack drives slowly and carefully to his apartment, knowing he has the most precious cargo to him sitting in the passenger seat. When he finally pulls into the parking ramp and turns off the car, you are still dead to the world.

He quickly unbuckles and moves to get you, gently trying to shake you awake.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he whispers, “we’re here.”

You let out a soft groan and rub your eyes. “Can’t I just stay here? It’s so comfy.”

You snuggle deeper into the seat, and Jack thinks he will die. You look so goddamn adorable, and it’s driving him insane that he can’t kiss you.

“Sorry baby,” the nickname slips before he can stop it. “I gotta get you inside.”

He smiles at your pouty face, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. He lifts you out of the car and sets you down for a second, grabbing your things and handing you his keys before scooping you back into his arms.

You softly hum in contentment as your head lolls against his chest. Jack thinks you’ve dozed off again until you open your eyes slightly.

“You're pretty strong," you slur. “Clearly, hockey is good for a person.”

Jack lets out a deep chuckle as you snuggle deeper into his hold, and after a few minutes of struggle to get through doorways without hitting you on something and teamwork to open his door, you’re safe in his apartment.

Twenty minutes later, he’s helped you take off your makeup because he knows your skin care is essential, he’s gotten you water and Advil, and you're wrapped in his clothes and lying beneath his duvet.

As he watches you breathe, gathering a few things to sleep on the couch, he can’t help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He wants nothing more than to climb next to you, but he’ll resist.

He stares a bit longer when suddenly your eyes peel open.

“You have a staring problem, Jack.”

Your tone is teasing, but his entire body grows hot, and all he wants is to get the hell out of his bedroom. He tries to make his escape, but not before you speak again, and it stops him dead in his tracks.

“You know, I broke my own heart loving you first.”

#hockey #hockey boys #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey fic #nhl hockey #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #new jersey #devils hockey #new jersey devils #nico hischier #nj devils #devils vs rangers #original writing

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

hiii! maybe one bed trope with Nikolai??? please!!

Don't mind if I do...

One Bed - Nikolai Lantsov

Content Warnings: Suggestive Content. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Nikolai Taglist: @hauntedenthusiasttragedy , @writingmysanity

You stare at Nikolai, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on your face and Nikolai tries not to smirk. "You didn't feel like mentioning this aspect of it all?" you ask, gesturing to the room. He shrugs.

"I said we would be having to pose as a husband and wife for this," he reminds you. "Mrs Sturmhond."

"So you did know this was going to happen," you state looking at the one bed in the room you've been given to share.

"I knew it was a possibility," he says, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

"You are a scoundrel," you tease him, giving him a gentle shove.

"Come on," he gives you a smirk, and you want to do anything to keep him looking at you, "it could be worse."

"Could it now, pray tell," you joke.

"I could have sent Tolya to pretend with you," he offers, "he snores."

"Yes but at least Tolya is immune to my charm," you say.

"Oh is that what worries you love?" he asks. You give him the most convincing laugh you can.

"Not at all Captain," you say, "because you're sleeping on the floor."

"I am your Captain," he reminds you. "Besides if you cannot resist me just tell me as much and I will respect you conceding."

"You wish," you say, not meeting his eye. The look drops from that of a jokester to a more smug look, the longer you won't meet his eye.

"Oh, that really is the reason isn't it darling?" he asks.

"Stop talking," you tell him. "Or I will make you sleep on the floor."

You lay staring at the ceiling, trying desperately to think about anything else, literally any other thing than Nikolai beside you. You can feel the weight of his breathing, the heat of his skin radiating between you. You feel like you're going crazy.

"Love," he says, his voice heavy with sleep. "If you are getting this restless I can-,"

"It's fine," you say. "I just cannot get comfortable."

"Okay," he mumbles, rolling over and snaking an arm around your torso, pulling you closer to him, embracing you in the warmth and sleep. Your breath hitches and you feel yourself freezing up and he pulls his arm away instantly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-,"

"No," you reassure him, "it's fine. It's nice... I just wasn't expecting it."

"May I?" he whispers against your ear, you give a small nod and he returns to holding you. You can feel his heart beating against your back, the gentle exhales of breath against your skin.

"Nikolai?" you whisper into the darkness.

"Yes?"

"You fidgeting," you tell him, feeling the gentle taps of his fingers against the skin above your hip, a soft repeated pattern, soothing in its own right, but right now, with him, you feel like it is setting your skin on fire.

"Am I?" he asks.

"If you keep doing that, I can't promise I'll behave," you say honestly. His hand doesn't still, but you feel him chuckle. You realise he thinks you're joking. "Kolya," you say, voice coming out more sultry than you meant it to, but it wakes him from his sleepy state with a jolt. You turn your head to meet his eyes, a look of seriousness in them.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, a grin threatening to break his poise.

"No," you admit, rolling over to face him, "but I wouldn't advice you continue."

"Why is that?" he asks, nudging closer.

"Because we are in someone else's bed," you remind him. He chuckles.

"Fair point."

The sunlight flits in and the bright orange strips of light catch the dust floating, bringing you back to your consciousness. Nikolai's arms are still wrapped tightly around you, and his hair is all dishevelled with small wisps betraying the natural direction of his hair. You cannot help but smile at how soft he looks, and you gently correct some of the stray tendrils. A quiet laugh breaks through Nikolai's tired smile. "You okay there love?" he asks, not opening his eyes.

"Why do you call me that?" you ask, and his hand finds yours, lacing his fingers between yours.

"Because I like the way you blush when I do," he admits. You know his smugness is half of his charm but right now you want to shove him.

"We need to get up, they will be expecting us," you remind him. He shrugs slightly.

"I mean they think we are newly weds, they'd probably expect us to be a little late," he teases, running his thumb gently under your chin.

"Get up," you tell him, slipping out of bed. He watches you, sitting up.

"Why would I want to get up when I could stay right here, with you giving me that look?" he asks, crossing his arms over the bedsheet.

"Because if you get up, and we get those over with, I might just let you finish what you started," you say. And you're sure you've never seen Nikolai move so quickly.

"What are you waiting for love?" he asks buttoning up his shirt. "I am sure they're expecting us."

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lantsov #nikolai x you #sturmhond x reader #sturmhond x you #sturmhond

[killmongerskeeper]

Crashing Waves // Chapter 1 // Namor

Pairing: Namor X POC Reader

Warning: SPOILERS If you haven't seen Black Panther 2 / Violence

A/N: Time to roll out the Namor fics! Because that man had me in a chokehold!

Chapter 2

You were fuming. Stuck on this stupid military site in the middle of the fucking ocean with two people pole who have no idea what they're getting themselves into. Taking a student's science fair project is one thing, but actually stumbling across vibranium in the middle of the ocean. Yeah that's not good. You have to keep it out of the wrong hands. You promised Shuri. Even if you had to use your powers to do so. 

T'Challa calls it being gifted. You call it being cursed. Being able to manipulate things telepathically. Force fields, mind control and shit. Nothing too extreme like Wanda Maximoff. More of a simplified version. Only difference is you can see through other people's eyes. 

Shuri always wanted to see you do it in person. Wakanda has done so much for you. Saved your life when Killmonger took over, treated your stab wound from battle, and offered their home to you. I made new friends and found a family. You owe them your life. Queen Ramonda, Shuri, T'Challa. The least you could do was help protect what was theirs

"We should leave it alone! You and everyone else heard what the queen of Wakanda said. We can't just go around stealing their resources!" You shouted as the general stood with his arms crossed. 

"Vibranium could be what this nation needs to prevent war. And it's right here at the bottom of the ocean." The other agent spoke and you snapped your head in her direction.

"Taking the vibranium will start a war! Are you guys that dense?" You shouted and then she stood holding her hands out to calm you down.

"Professor. Y/N. Please we are too close to pull back now. The vibranium is right there." She tried to reason with you but you knew the consequences behind this. Especially after hearing the queen's threat. You knew better than to take it lightly. 

"And what if the Wakandans show up. If they decide to take more of a lethal approach? That is a war you won't win." You told her as the general walked closer to the two of you.

"Professor, we brought you out here to help us find and secure the vibranium given your abilities. What we didnt bring you here for was to give us a pep talk. Now if you won't help us, you can go back to that classroom at that university."

It's true they came to you because of your experience with Wakanda and the folklore you grew up on. With you knowing the history of Wakanda and vibranium, you were a perfect pick. You didn't however expect them to actually find it. 

"My pep talk just might save your ass, general. I'm not talking for my health. You wanted me here because I've been there, I know them. Now I'm trying to help you BECAUSE I've been there. This will not end well for you." You sneered in defiance and he scoffed. 

"Fine. We won't need you up here. Take her to her room, and keep her there." You raised an eyebrow as a soldier grabbed your arm, dragging you out the room. 

"Ross will hear about this!" 

After a couple minutes descending the stairs you were now locked in your room with the soldier standing guard at the door. 

"Fucking asshole!" You shouted as you slid your back down the wall to sit on the floor while you held up your hand. The green hue danced around your brown fingers as you stared into the small void it created. You smiled at the memory you had stored away from when you revealed this to Shuri and T'Challa for the first time. How they asked you to stay in Wakanda with them. As much as you wanted to stay, you had to decline because you couldn't leave your younger brother behind. But now your brother is in college and T'Challa is gone. You should've been there. With them. To console them as they did you when your mother died.

"They're making a mistake! War with Wakanda isn't a good thing!" You shouted at the guard and he waved you off. They could be coming for me, you know? I could've contacted them about the vibranium you guys found down there!" You lied through your teeth and grinned when that caught his attention. He turned to you with a horrified stare and you shrugged. 

"They are my friends, you know." You started as you stood on your feet walking towards the door. He went to speak before a couple of gunshots rang out and we both froze. 

"Did you really contact the Wakandans?" He asked with fear laced in his voice. 

"Um no. I was bullshitting you actually. Are we under attack?" You questioned and he readied his weapon before taking a deep breath. 

"Stay here." He said and you shrugged. 

"Not like I have a choice. Wait, don't leave me down here!" You screamed after him as he went to investigate what was going on. You quickly locked the door and shot out a small green sphere into his back as he disappeared up the stairs where you couldn't see him anymore. Closing your eyes your vision was replaced with the soldier's as he slowly approached the top. The general was now a dead man as he hung from the wall by a spear. He looked up into the sky in time to see the chopper get thrown into the ocean.

The soldier's breathing became irregular as he began to panic so you decided to speak to him. "Relax, just hurry up and radio for help." He jumped a bit, startled by the voice in his head and he sighed. 

"I forgot you could do that." He mumbled as he went for the general's radio. "Mayday. We're under attack at the vibranium site. Send a strike team now."

"Copy that. Do you recognize the assailants?" Another voice asked and he looked around. "Wakandans."

"No. These aren't Wakandans." You said and the soldier frowned. 

"Then who-" Without warning your vision came back to you causing you to fall over. The soldier is dead. You sat up to catch your breath as you stared at the door.

"Who the fuck-" you started before the sound of the steps reached your ears. You quickly stood with your arm stretched out aiming at the door ready for whoever it may be. The knob turned once before complete silence engulfed the room. You held my stance as some curls fell in your face. Whatever it is, you're ready for it.

#black panther imagines #black panther reader insert #black panther #black panther 2 #wakanda forever #namor x reader #namor x you #namor #namor imagine #crashing waves fic

[cafecourage]

That lack of requests is criminal. Don't mind me while I churn out a couple more. (this is actually helping with my brain-deadness so I'm gonna alternate between studying and dropping stuff in your inbox lol)

Hyrule with an s/o who is also good at magic (but can't heal worth a damn) and is able to give themselves fairy wings while maintaining full height. Like they can just become a hylian-sized fairy.

And maybe he finds out because he fell off a cliff and they saved him?

- Glitter ✨

Is is gonna be similar to another ask I got. But first some random Hc’s that I don’t think go together with the story I wrote but still is fun to think about.

- Hylians could gain the abilities to have magic through other means. Hyrule, himself, being an example of that. While I am all up for half fae Hyrule, but Changeling Hyrule, and Battle Mage Hyrule is also up there. Either way how ever you look at it, Reader and Hyrule are 100% covering each other’s backs.

- If Reader is bad with healing, I am going to assume they can do more specialized magic like defense up, shielding, etc. Not actually healing but it’s still something. I imagine that Reader and Hyrule are like a sword and shield combo, though who is who is ether or as you can shield the both of you and he can heal.

- Imagine if Hyrule was the one that taught you the fairy spell? You are just more adventurous with messing with it to change your height so it can stay the same. You guys just teach each other since you’re the only two that know how to even do magic in the first place. These are just some idea’s though. If Reader was half-fae they would probably already be able to do it and can teach him too.

When your mother, Great Fairy Mija, offered your help to the Champion on his latest adventure. You didn’t expect much to come from it, nor for Link to say yes in the first place but that was beside the point. Honestly it didn’t phase you to much that there was more Link’s in the group. If anything you had heard it before from other Great Fairies that a bunch of heroes have gotten together before. And you can assume it wont be the last time this was going to happen.

What you didn’t expect was how fast they clicked and adopted each other. Though living in a Fairy Fountain you were kinda used to quick adoptions, so it wasn’t a big deal just surprising.

You were a lot slower to integrate into the group as you weren’t a hero for courage so less predictable compared to all the Link’s. Which was fine as you knew the champion, now known as Wild, had the same issue with trusting people too.

So having eight more insane semi impulsive guys to befriend wasn’t too difficult. Especially when you did openly used magic to help them in battle though you made sure to get consent before hand. You heard the stories you heard what happened to some of them it is only fair. The Hero of Twilight and Legends you were especially careful around. Rather be safe than yelled at.

You quickly noticed that the traveler who was given the title of Hero of Hyrule, was similar to Wild. It felt easier to befriend him than anyone else. Which was fun. You, him and Wild typically tended to stay together as giving your home Era’s wandering was commonplace. Hyrule did tell you about his magic when healing was needed, “You’re half fae though.” The Vet pointed out as Hyrule took over bandaging the Captain. “Wouldn’t that be natural?”

The answer was actually longer than it needed to be but that wasn’t a story for now, “well. Yes, but no.” It was also convoluted to explain and honestly with the fight everyone just went through, again it was a story for another day. “The short of the answer is that I don’t have the ability to do it safely to others… or myself.” That only earned them a quizzical look but before the conversation could be continued it was side tracked. Which was good for you.

You would of explained once everyone was better and relatively settled as it was a weird and long explanation of Magic not really being something Hylians could do in the first place with out items. Of course there were acceptions, Princesses, Gifts from the Goddess, etc. You at least wanted to tell Hyrule what you knew as he seemed to get his magical abilities in an unnatural manner. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that it was on purpose for him to find these things but, the guy literally held on to the triforce for years before secretly giving back to the princesses to hide it away.

Monsters are still after him for his blood after all.

The horror you felt when you heard him whisper that can be still felt to this day. “Why?” You asked.

“Because, thats where it was.” He whispers softly as you two walked through the path around the canyon heading into hebra mountain. The idea was to find Zelda who was near the stables waiting. Honestly there was a voice in the back of your mind that was telling you to go see your Aunt who was by Rito Village but that was probably a week trek out on foot.

“Still that magic isn’t really information that would typically be spread.” You commented offhandedly as thats not how blood magic worked. You think. It’s not like you tried. Forbidden magic is forbidden for a reason. “But Monsters are Monsters I guess.” You shrugged looking to the side into the snow. The path to hebra wasn’t the safest as it was the hardest reason.

“Well it just did…” You looked back at Hyrule there is slight movement in the snow. Unfortunately you couldn't get out the words "Lizalfos!" Before everything was in disarray.

It was quick to lose yourself in battle, but you tried to keep your calm as you fight back. Making sure that those who need it get their buff. Typically stronger people get defensive buffs, those who work better with speed gets a tad boost for that. You look to your left where Hyrule was.

Only to see him get pushed back loosing his footing. That alone made you dash forward as you feared the worse. The worse being what happened.

Hyrule fell into the Tanagar Canyon.

Just to spite that monster you sent a lighting spell his way before diving off the Canyon after the Hero. You reached out to grab him as you focused on your own magic again. Transforming your form slightly to a more natural state for you. Wing's sprouting behind you as you slowly pull him in your arms. You didn't know if you were strong enough to fly the both of you up. However you aimed for a better landing as you turn up and a slow descent.

It wasn't a soft landing but nether of you were hurt. "Are you ok?" you asked setting Hyrule down as you had to hold him a bit strangely.

"Yeah... Just surprised." He said calming his heart, he looks up at you "thank you." His gaze shifts up to the Canyon wall. "How do you think we can get up?"

"Uhhh..... Magic?" You suggest as you look at him. "You have that fae spell right?"

Hyrule made a face like he really didnt want the other to know about it "yeah... I guess."

"I can carry you in that form! Don't worry."

"That's... some how worse."

#twilight (not lu) speaks #linked universe x reader #luxreader #linkeduniverse x reader #fairybread

[appocalipse]

ask nicely | steve harrington

summary: you had your fun teasing steve, so it's only fair for him to do the same, right?

pt 2 to this drabble, but you don't really have to read it to understand this | 3.6k words

this content is intended for 18+ readers only!

The very moment your eyes fall on Steve's figure, standing in the parking lot and leaning against his BMW with his hands in his pockets, you know you are in trouble.

You let the door slam behind you and straighten the bag on your shoulder, hopping over to where he is patiently waiting with barely concealed excitement— which makes him laugh all too sweet, all too lovesick, shaking his head as if not believing his own eyes.

"What are you doing here?" you ask once within ear-reach, genuinely curious.

He pretends to be offended, hand over heart.

"What, can't I pick up my beautiful girlfriend after work?"

Before you can reply, Steve hooks a finger around the strap of your bag and pulls, making you trip forward and straight into his arms. He rests a hand on your hip then, the other moving up to your cheek, thumb gentle when it runs over your skin.

You squint your eyes at him. “I won’t sleep at your place tonight,” you already did the night before. It's an unspoken rule.

He squeezes your waist.

“I know,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But maybe I could sleep at yours?”

Damn, he's pretty.

You look up at the sky for dramatic effect, leaning in just a little to press your body closer and pretend to consider the idea. As if there was something in this world or the next that this boy could ask and you'd say no.

“Maybe,” you tease, “if you ask nicely.”

Steve leans down to kiss the tip of your nose lightly, his smile terribly sweet. “Don’t be mean.”

"You're still not asking nicely, you know."

“What do you want?” he nuzzles your neck, pressing a soft kiss on that spot he knows never fails to make you shiver. Then he brings his lips right up to your ear and murmurs, half playful and half trying to make you blush, “Should I get on my knees for you, baby?”

It works. You gasp, shoving his chest lightly, but Steve doesn’t let go, and when his face comes back into view he’s displaying the biggest shit-eating grin ever.

“There’s people around, you know?” you whisper, more flushed than you care to admit.

“Then get in the car,” he steps away from the BMW — where he'd been leaning — and opens the passenger door for you.

When Steve sits behind the wheel and beams at you, you finally gather the courage to ask, “What are you up to?”

He has the audacity to feign innocence.

"What do you mean?"

You're trying not to grin from the memory alone — it's hard. “This morning?” you offer.

"Oh," Steve says, pretending — in an exaggerated manner — that he's only now remembering what you're talking about, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “You mean when you gave me a boner and then left?”

You press your lips into a thin line, trying to hide a smirk that wouldn't help your situation at all. You look down at the hand he's just slid down your thigh. He gives you an affectionate squeeze and you let out a breath, kind of expecting his hand to go higher and higher and exact some sort of revenge…but it doesn't.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

Steve chuckles. "No."

Your house isn't far from work — in fact, you usually walk from one place to the other every day — but in Steve's car, it takes even less, of course. He makes sure to open the door for you when he pulls up to your driveway; a perfect gentleman, one could believe.

He is still grinning and it's odd; not that Steve doesn't usually smile at you, he smiles all the time, but this smile is different. It's that smile. The trouble smile. The you-are-so-screwed smile. You know what to expect.

You get out of the car and give him a little kiss on the chin, suddenly all innocence and kindness.

“You're gonna torture me, aren't you?” you croon.

Steve laughs. Yes. Yes, he will.

“Just a little bit,” he pats your head — as if you both weren’t thinking of extremely dirty things half a second ago, for God’s sake — and asks, sweet as ever, “Are you hungry?”

Turns out Steve really is nice, even when he's sort of mad. He can’t help but be — especially to you — and not only does he make spaghetti for the two of you while you take a hot shower, but he also sets the table and waits patiently for you to return to the kitchen so you can sit down and enjoy your meal together.

“Was it good?” he asks as soon as you finish eating, brown eyes shining with something that looks like innocence but can't be.

You smile. The food was pretty good, though you're certain you'd be capable of eating dirt if Steve said he'd made it just for you. “The best. Thank you, baby,” you reach across the table for his hand and kiss it softly — which makes him chuckle, the sound warm and soft in your ears.

“Since you cooked, I'll wash the dishes.”

You get up and take the dishes to the sink. Oddly enough, Steve doesn't say anything.

You're wondering if he'd left the kitchen when an arm wraps around your waist and- oh.

A surprised yelp escapes your lips as you're thrown over his shoulder, ass in the air, sink and dishes definitely out of reach.

“Steve!”

He is laughing. Bastard.

Well, to be fair, as he carries you upstairs, you start laughing too — it's hard not to laugh in a situation like this, and Steve revels in the sound of your laughter reverberating against his skin, playful and sweet.

“Steve,” you yell again, this time patting him on the back lightly. “What are you doing? Hey-”

It happens fast. Your skin is suddenly tingling — did he just slap your ass?

“Shut up,” Steve admonishes, but his tone isn't rude at all; is playful and loving and full of intimacy he only had with you. And God, how you love him.

Your room is small; a dresser, a small dressing table, a bed that can barely fit two people. Steve's been here a hundred times — he doesn't even turn on the light before tossing you into the bed with little care, and you gasp as you sink into the fluffy mattress.

“Steve-”

Two seconds and he's on top of you. His breath on your neck makes you giggle, ticklish, and you can feel his gaze on your face even in the dark, hot and full of adoration; but then he grabs one of your legs, hitching your knee up to your hip, and presses down against you, rock hard, squeezing the skin of your thigh into his hand with strength enough to bruise — and you lose it, biting down on your lower lip to hold back a moan, then a louder one when he does it again, even harder this time.

“Oh, fuck,” he hisses, nibbling on your throat.

The fabric of Steve’s jeans is rough and he’s very, very hard under it. He presses your thighs further apart and pushes his weight into you, leaning down to kiss your jaw and neck, slow and open-mouthed, teeth grazing your skin every now and then. Too much and not enough.

You try and remember to breathe. “Take those damn pants off.”

He could. Instead, Steve smirks and runs one hand slowly down your body, though — between your breasts, down your tummy, and even lower…he slides his hand into your shorts, brushing his fingers against your clothed clit and pressing gently down over your panties, slowly, painfully slowly.

He knows exactly where to touch, exactly how to touch.

You moan and his smirk turns into a full-on laugh.

“You like that?” he teases, touching the same spot again, very pleased when your mouth falls open. “I'll take these off now, okay?” he tugs on your shorts, and you nod, arching your back, desperate to be touched again.

He's quick to get rid of it. Looking down at the black lace panties you're wearing with big brown eyes, he asks, momentarily distracted, “is that new?”

“Maybe.”

“I like it,” Steve takes it off too, flinging it across the room, then bends down and kisses your hip adoringly. You don't even realize he's dragging you further to the edge of the bed until he's kneeling on the floor between your legs, holding your thighs tightly on either side of his head….and then he drapes them over his shoulders.

You try to sit up. He pulls you by the ankles, forcing you to lie back down.

“Steve,” there's desperation in your voice. Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.

He kisses your inner thigh first, in a tender way that doesn't quite match the smug look on his face. You throw your head back and sigh, squirming and squirming a little more in anticipation, unable to move an inch as he holds you down firmly, lips moving higher and higher, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind.

Head between your legs, he hums quietly — smiling like the devil — and the sound seems to travel up your body, resonating across your skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Maybe you shouldn't have left him like that this morning.

And then he drags the tip of his tongue over your clit — slowly, once, twice, then again and again. Your legs tremble under his hold, eyes fluttering closed, and Steve seems to find your desperation very endearing, because he chuckles, amused, and his hold on your thighs tightens to keep you in place.

Out of nothing but sheer instinct, one of your hands finds its way down and threads through his hair, trying to bring him closer, to set the pace, to do everything at once.

Not very bright of you.

As if a switch has been turned off, Steve stops altogether, taking your wrist into his hand in a firm grip and smiling; too smug. “What do you think you're doing, hm?”

Even when he scolds you, he smiles. More like smirks, but still.

“Baby,” you sound a lot more desperate than you’d like. “You’re not leaving me like this, are you?”

Still holding onto your wrist, he moves higher to hover over you, pinning both of your hands above your head in one of his, lips finding the sensitive skin under your ear, again and again. 

“I should,” he muses, his free hand slipping under your shirt, fingers moving slowly towards your chest. “That’s what you did to me.”

“I’m a terrible person,” you say, your grin a weapon you use with intent. “You’re better, Steve, baby.”

He laughs. You gasp when his hand slides back down, between your legs and – oh.

“Am I?” he murmurs, biting down your shoulder lightly, then running his tongue over the spot to soothe it.

A thick finger slides inside of you — met with barely any resistance, if the wet sounds filling your ears are any indicator, and still, Steve pumps his finger once, twice, way too fucking slow.

You squirm — both hands locked above your head, helpless. So your legs close on his hand instead. Steve chuckles.

“Can't move my hand if you do that,” he croons, clearly having the time of his life being in control.

You can still feel his finger inside of you — Steve has a devilish grin when he curls it up, hitting the right, right spot and forcing a gasp out of your parted lips as you clench around him; he moves to kiss your mouth then, swallowing a loud moan that would certainly be heard outside of your bedroom window.

It's convincing enough for you.

His eyes trail down when your legs hesitantly move away from his hand, spread over the mattress, knees bent, and he's staring when he inserts a second finger and starts pumping in and out, in and out, picking up the right pace in no time.

“Oh. Oh.”

“Oh?” he encourages, grip still firm around both of your wrists as he searches for your reaction. “Like this?”

You arch your back and… oh fuck; he takes the opportunity to suck on your throat.

“Yes, yes, I'm gonna-”

His fingers slide out of you; wet and warm.

"-come?" he teases.

Fucking hell. You could cry.

Above you, he brings his hand to his lips, sucking on his wet fingers right in front of your face, eyes never leaving yours.

You watch – big, pleading eyes, maybe angrier than you should look considering your current position. He seems to enjoy it — both you and the desperation in your eyes — all too much.

“I take it back,” you whine, somewhat playful and entirely too desperate. “You are a terrible person.”

That turns his smug smile into a soft and fond one. You know you've brought this on yourself. Steve leans down and kisses you, nice and slow, lips brushing yours over and over. But you don't need sweet right now. You need fast and hard and bruising. This is frustrating and he's all too aware of it.

“Steve?” words pressed against his mouth. A kiss, then another.

He kisses you yet again before managing a reply.

“Hmm?”

“At least let go of my hands?”

He sighs and kisses the corner of your mouth. “I really need to learn how to say no to you.”

When he lets you go, you touch him; his face, gently on the lips, his neck, his chest, fingertips tingling with each touch, more so when he giggles; he allows you to discard his shirt without any hesitation. When your hands get closer to his belt though, you look up at him, asking for permission. Steve smiles and kisses your chin. Resounding yes.

You undo his belt with shaky hands, sliding the front of his pants down just enough for his length to spring free. When you reach out to touch him, though, he holds your wrist, breath caught in his throat.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” you ask nice and slow, and his hand holding yours falters for a moment.

One moment is enough. He doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late — your hands are on his chest, a thigh on either side of his waist. You lean down and kiss a line from his happy trail — he holds his breath — to the side of his neck, barely a hint of your teeth brushing against his skin as you trail open-mouthed kisses, love bites, anything in between.

You straddle him, arms raised over your head to discard the shirt you're wearing. You're naked and you're wet when he reaches between your legs again and finds your clit, drawing a small circle over and over with his finger.

You're pretty much panting. “Are you- oh. Are you gonna tease me all night?”

“Well…”

“I swear if you don’t fuck me right now-”

Steve laughs full of fondness and pushes you on your back, climbing to be on top once again, his mouth quick to find your throat, his hand holding behind your knee to set the right angle. Reaching down to grab a hold of himself, he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, just barely, barely brushing against your skin, slick and hard and ready.

“Ask nicely,” he bends down to murmur into your mouth, straightening out once again afterward, kneeling between your legs.

Then something happens — you're not sure what exactly, it's possible you've moved your leg inadvertently, a spasm of pleasure that was his fault anyway — and then Steve is falling, falling right on top of you.

He stretches out his arms, palms down in an attempt to save you from taking his full weight at once. It kind of works — when his body touches yours, bare chest against bare chest, one hand on either side of your head, you feel nothing but a light pressure, far from any discomfort — actually, his skin is warm and it feels good; very good.

"Ow," he grumbles, letting his face fall into the crook of your neck. He kisses your jaw, suddenly all sweetness and concern. "Are you okay, baby?"

The answer he gets is a giggle; an adorable sound that makes your chest vibrate against his. Steve, surprised, lifts himself up on one elbow to look at your face, his kisses growing meaner along your neck to the corner of your mouth, his free hand splayed over your tummy.

He's grinning, caught up in the sweet sound of your laughter when his eyes meet yours. "What's so funny, huh, lovebug?"

"Nothing," but you're still laughing.

He's about to do the same when you give him a bear hug. There's no other way to describe it — you place your arms around Steve's neck and sigh, inhaling his scent before running your hands down his shoulders, down his back, squeezing him tighter and closer to you, feeling his warm skin between your fingers.

The intensity of your embrace has him losing his balance and landing on you awkwardly again — and it's his turn to laugh, a sound husky and deep and full of love. Then your legs are wrapped around him too, knees bent, heels crossed just below the waistline of his pants... and Steve's laugh becomes a half-exasperated sigh, almost a groan.

“Baby,” he moans, lips on your neck, jaw tense. “You’re so– fuck– so wet.”

He moves his hips slowly, up and down, examining your face for a reaction; the length of him slides over you, hot and hard, and oh God, why must he be so mean?

You tighten your legs around him.

“Please,” you don't even have to say what.

He should make you beg more, he knows; that was the plan, after all. But Steve can't. He looks down at where your bodies are almost, almost coming together, at your flushed skin, at how wet you are, the way your hips desperately try to reach for him.

Then he pushes in — slowly. His mouth hangs open immediately, a desperate sigh of pleasure coming out as he slides inside as slowly as he can, one hand on your hip holding you in place.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately not to come undone right there and then. “You feel so good.”

You do too, you wanna say. You feel fucking perfect. But you can't; he's only halfway inside and you're already losing the ability to form coherent sentences, any thought other than him quickly evaporating from your mind as his skin slides against yours.

Your lips part and you try to mumble an answer, but what comes out is just an incoherent moan that probably inflates Steve's ego a dozen times over.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” he's smirking, far from trying to hide it.

Not wanting to yield, you giggle. You are too fucking much; Steve's head is spinning as he pushes all the way in and the two of you sigh together, bodies as close as possible, his hand squeezing your hips tightly. Slowly, very slowly, he pulls out and pushes in again, and then again, so unhurried it's barely a rhythm. You moan, his firm grip preventing you from lifting your hips to meet his, eagerly taking whatever he wanted to give you instead.

Your nails trail along Steve's back in response. He lets out a deep sound from the back of his throat, furrowed brows, hips thrusting into you just a little bit faster, filling the room with nothing but wet noises and breathless moans as his thighs slap into yours again and again and again.

"Steve-"

You tighten around him, squirming as he moves faster and deeper. It's good, too good — the word doesn't even seem like enough to describe this, doesn't even come close.

Steve's hand lets go of your hip to move up to your chest, squeezing your flesh eagerly. He brings his face back to the point where your neck and shoulder meet, lips on your skin as he murmurs, “Say please.”

It's almost a question, far from an order or a way to tease you this time, voice low and slightly desperate. He starts placing featherlight kisses on your skin, taking his time with each one. “Say it, say it again.”

Not much convincing is needed.

“Please,” the word is sweet in your mouth. He shudders and you hug him, wanting to bring him even closer, wanting to disappear within him, toes curling and stomach tightening, “Please, oh, fuck, I’m-”

You can feel everything, everything inside of you; every inch of warm, wet skin, every slight movement as he thrusts at a more desperate pace, hitting that gummy spot inside of you just right, over and over until you can't take it anymore, walls clenching around him, legs beginning to shake.

Steve can tell. “Are you…shit, are you close?”

“Oh. Yes, very close.”

“Good,” he looks relieved when your eyes meet his and he leans down to kiss you — or to try to, because it's hard without slowing down, which he refuses to do.

You gasp, eyes fluttering closed when one of his hands reaches between you two and finds your clit, drawing quick, rough circles that have you moaning louder than you probably should.

“Look at me, baby,” he pleads.

You do. The only light comes from the corridor outside your door, and under this one faint light you still find him very pretty, very perfect when you two reach your high almost at the same time, bodies together, hands everywhere, his lips ghosting over yours, chasing a proper kiss.

You're quite bewildered this man is real.

Steve collapses on you without pulling out, all too sensitive, all too tired to do so.

Still, he smirks. “How funny do you think teasing is now, sweetheart?”

a/n: idk what this is. i'm half asleep right now, so maybe go easy on me 😭

ly 💞

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things smut #i swear if this doesn't show up in the tags now-

[back2bluesidex]

Enchanted - KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

Theme: Angst with a happy ending, exes to lovers au.

Request:

HIII i want to make a request for the TS song drabble game Can you do Namjoon x Enchanted the genre maybe angst? fluffiest Its one of my favs ..this idea came to mind while remembering the lyrics.. what if Namjoon lost his memory and reader was a museum crying staring at Nam´s favorite works and then they meet and maybe they fall in love again.. leaving an open ending if he ever got his memory back or not. or maybe he did! whatever you want is fine :)

Song: Enchanted

Word count: 1k+

Warnings: Major character accident, partial amnesia, angst, pining, crying, suffering, reader gets called a bad luck.

Minors and Karens Are Not Allowed in this Blog!!

A/N: A huge thanks to you, anon, for offering this brilliant idea. I changed the storyline a bit so that it fits within a drabble length and I hope you like it.

also, a very happy birthday to our best boy Kim Namjoon. I hope he is happy and healthy just as he deserves to be.

"What are you doing here?"

"eomeoni, I- I"

"Didn't I tell you to keep your distance from now on? Didn't you ruin enough?" 

"Please.. I will - I want to see him once. Please. I promise I won’t even step near. I will just take a look. Please eomeoni?"

"No! You - You are bad luck. Look what you did to my poor son. He was rushing to see you just because you fainted and look who's laying on the death bed now!"

"eomeoni.."

"Stop calling me that! You are no one to me! you are no no one to Namjoon. Leave right away or I'll have to report you." 

The conversion reels in your head as you stare at the man from afar. 

It's been a year since that dreadful night, the worst night of your life. It's been a year since you last saw him, heard his voice, until today. 

Your heart rips apart seeing him standing so gracefully with practiced elegance. Nothing has changed. He still looks the same. It feels as if it was just yesterday when he took you to the art fair and bought you that handmade clay-framed mirror. 

But you know things are far from being so simple, if anything then everything is much more complicated than ever. 

While you still stay awake each night, spending a fair share of time shedding tears for him, he doesn't even recall your name. He doesn't remember who you are, what you sound like, how your touches feel, or the time you two shared being so in love. 

You had vanished from his life long ago, vanished from his memories leaving absolutely no traces behind. 

He forgot you, even if you know he never intended to, even if you know it was a cruel decision of fate, he still forgot you and you can't change a thing about that. 

Silent tears fall from your eyes as you stare at him. Only you know how much you want to run to him, hold him tightly in your arms and tell him that you have waited for him, tell him that you have never stopped loving him, tell him that you love him more than anyone ever can. But you can’t.

And even if you do all these, what will be Namjoon’s reaction? He will just shove you to the ground thinking you are a crazy woman trying to throw herself at him. So you decided to leave. Meeting him unexpectedly here in the gallery should be more than enough for you. You can’t ask for more. You have no right to ask for more. 

You turn your heels to leave but you hear a faint voice calling you from behind. 

"Excuse me.." it's his voice. It's Namjoon. 

You start to panic. Contemplating whether you should run away or give in, you stay planted at your own place. 

"Hey. Um.. I am sorry to bother you but I- uh saw you staring at my direction and you seemed to be really familiar.. So, do we know each other?" Namjoon's voice is unsure and filled with confusion.

Your heart breaks. You know you should have not expected him to remember you but his confession still makes you weak on your knees. 

Blinking several times and gathering some strength, you turn around and face him. 

He's just as handsome as he used to be, if not more. 

Seeing you silent, Namjoon clarifies, "Sorry if I seem weird with my questions. I actually got into an accident last year and lost some of my memories. So I tend to ask people who they are if someone seems familiar to me. And you.." he pauses, his eyes raking through your face as if he's trying to find a clue "you seem to be someone very close to me." 

"I- I think you got the wrong idea. I mean - I, no, we.. we knew each other through some common friends but weren't exactly close." Your words fumble over each other much more than you would like. 

"oh- sorry then." A sheepish smile takes over Namjoon's face. 

His dimples make you sick and you want to run away from him. 

"I gotta go-"

"May I know your name?" 

You two speak out at the same time.

"Y/N. It's Y/N." You say hurriedly. 

"Yeah... Y/N" Namjoon whispers. 

You don't know if you're imagining things or not, but a flash of sadness passes through Namjoon's features. 

"I don't wanna sound like a creep but-" he hesitates.. "I would love to have a cup of coffee with you." 

"I am so sorry but I kinda have to go." You reply with your heart breaking into a thousand pieces all over again.

"oh.. then, can I at least have your number? Please?" Namjoon pleas. His voice quivers a bit or maybe you're just hearing things. 

You don't know what you should do. You don't know why life is playing these games with you. You don't know where this will go but what you know for sure is that you're enchanted to meet Namjoon again. So you give in and take another chance. 

"Sure." You murmur. 

Namjoon pulls out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it and gives it to you. 

As soon as you take his phone in your hands, your world starts to spin, eyes start to blur, hands start to shake because it's you. It's your picture saved as his wallpaper, the one from the art fair, under cherry blossom, wearing the same hoodie Namjoon is wearing right now. 

When you look up at him you find that his dark eyes are full to the brim with tears, which may start falling anytime. He looks as broken as you do.  

"The story line didn't end there, Y/N. It was the very first page. And... And I was enchanted to meet you. I would do anything to meet you again." 

"You- y-you remember me?" your words get choked.

"How could I not? You are deep-rooted in my heart. My brain may have forgotten a period of time but heart kept on trying to make me remember you. And it was successful." Namjoon smiles through tears, so do you.

"I hope you are not in love with someone else, you don't have someone waiting on you." he whispers, stepping close to your body.

"No- I don't." you reply, taking a step towards him.

Namjoon comes closer, cups your face and connects your forehead with his as you two intertwine your lives again standing in the middle of the gallery.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

#bts angst #namjoon angst #rm angst #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #bts x you #namjoon x you #bts fanfiction #namjoon fanfic #bts fluff #namjoon fluff #bts namjoon #bts #bts drabble #namjoon drabble

[auteurdelabre]

A little Sun part 3.2

part one / part two / part 2.1

rating: 18+ (MINORS GET OUTTA HERE OR I'M TELLIN' YOUR MAMAS)

Story Summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way.

tags: Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Body changes re: pregnancy, Mutual Pining, Idiots in love, P in V, Dirty talk, Unprotected Sex, Romance, Oral (f receiving), Cigarettes, Drugs, Mentions of Parental Death, Vulnerable Dieter, Vulnerable Reader.

a/n: y'all I'm really annoyed because tumblr won't let me post the entire chapter in one post because of whatever reason. So if you wanna read it all in one go, I'm posting it to my A03 or just click the parts above.

dividers by @silkholland

Most days if you’re distracted you can forget that you’re pregnant altogether. That is, until Dieter comes home with a strange food from set that makes you run to the bathroom to vomit. Or when you try to fit into your favorite CCR t-shirt and break down into tears when it won’t go over your now fairly swollen belly.

Dieter is gone for the night tonight; he and Mia are at some fundraiser for one of the folks on set’s hospital bills. You know that Dieter will end up paying whatever the guy needs; it’s just in his character. He’s brash and annoying and childish, but Dieter is always the first person to pay for something.  Magda needed surgery for her cataracts and Dieter paid for everything, plus a month long vacation so she could relax.

And here you sit on your sofa because you feel like you’re carrying a watermelon strapped to your stomach and you feel like shit. The only good thing is your hair looks amazing; silky and shiny and beautiful.

You decide a bath might be just the thing to turn your mood around.

You’re just settling into the large claw foot tub, bubbles up to your collar and closing your eyes when the door bursts open.

“Hey I need advice.”

You immediately start, almost splashing half the water out of the tub in the process. You cover your breasts with your arms, shooting your uninvited guest a glare.

"Dieter I'm having a bath!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says with a shrug before sitting next to the claw foot tub. He brings his knees to his chest before he crosses his ankles. "I want your advice."

"My advice is you get the fuck out of here."

"I can't see anything from here," he tells you with a pout. "But if it makes you feel better I'll turn around."

You watch him shuffle until his spine is kissing the side of the tub. You peek over to see his hands are nowhere near his cock and you relax back. 

"Better?"

"What advice do you want Dieter?" You sigh, accepting that this relaxing bath will be anything but. 

"It's Mia."

"Mhmm?"

"I...I really like her."

"She's very likable."

"She is, isn't she?" 

From where you lay all you can see is the back of Dieters head, his full locks shifting as you imagine he smiles. 

"So what do you want my advice on? If its relationship advice you're out of luck," you laugh humorlessly. "I've never had a relationship that lasted more than a year."

"Me neither," Dieter says, head tilting to the side. 

You ponder on this for a moment. How two people with such opposing walks of life could end up similarly situated in terms of romance. You know why Dieter gives people at a distance, concern that they're only after him for his money or his fame. Concerned that they're only after him for some cache at stardom. 

But in all this time, you've never taken the time to reflect on why you yourself shy from intimacy. On why school and working eat up so much of your time and your thoughts.

As you sit here now, stomach's swollen with child you're forced to accept the fact that perhaps you haven't just been shying from intimacy. You might have been running away from it full tilt. 

Will your child be like this? Have you created a life in you and capable of finding lasting connection with another human being? Have you already saddled this child with a fate of loneliness? Guilt, this terrible guilt suddenly overtakes you. 

You want to talk to Dieter about it, you want to question him and see if he has the same fears. But his thoughts are (as they so often are) frenzied and landing in an area of pleasure. His thoughts are of Mia, of her sweet face and even sweeter personality. He thinks of how she makes him feel, like he's capable of anything. 

 "I'm just.... I wonder if I should tell Mia about the baby."

You feel your heart skip in your chest and your fingers creep along the edge of the tub before curling.

"Why would you do that?"

Dieter shrugs. "Things feel like they could get serious."

"You haven't known her very long, Dieter."

"So?"

"So I think you want to play house with a girl that has stars in her eyes.”

You see his shoulders tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's a beautiful young woman at the start of her career," you sigh, popping some of the nearby bubbles. "Being attached to a single dad right now isn’t fair." 

Dieter straightens at this. Single dad. He never really thought of himself like that. The concept makes him wince. He thinks of the nights here when you're busy or sleeping. The nights when his bed feels colder. 

"I'm tired of being alone okay?"

"That's a shitty reason to do that to someone," you bite back. "Mia has her own life, her own career."

"She can still have that-"

"Not when she's playing Mrs. Bravo," you tell him, cheeks heating from the water and your irritation. "You think the media isn't going to be all over this? Hollywood’s Good Girl caught up with Hollywood’s Bad Boy? You think her career won't be in jeopardy when the tabloids find out she’s fallen into bed with her costar?"

Dieter goes quiet. You wish you could see his eyes. His eyes never lie.

"I think you're doing this because you finally realized the giant undertaking it is to be a parent,” you say softly. “I think you're hoping that somehow she'll be your partner in all of this and help ease your load. But this was your decision, not hers. You wanted to be a dad. You wanted to have this kid."

“I know I did!” Dieter snarls and now he whirls around to face you. “And I can do it by myself!”

“Then why-“

“Is it so wrong to want someone else? Someone who wants me?”

Before you can answer he’s pushed himself from beside the tub and gone from the room, slamming the door behind him. The force of it knocks one of the paintings from the wall, denting the wood frame of it.  You sigh and lean back in your tub, wishing you could understand the pit that’s begun in your stomach.

You find it impossible to fall asleep later that night, not just because of the horrible way you ended things with Dieter, but because he’s been blasting his music all fucking night from his art room.  He’s been in there since he left you in the bathroom, the scent of cigarettes and what you assume is one of his fancy whisky bottles seeping from under the door.

You eventually manage to catch a few hours of sleep but are awoken to a loud thump from the art room and Dieter’s muffled fuck this! The music is still going full tilt and this sends you into a fit of pique.

You manage to roll yourself out of bed with a huff before you march down the hallway and push into the studio, flinching when Dieter screams over the music at you before you've even made it past the threshold. 

"You're supposed to knock!"

Since when?

He looks crazed. His hair is even more wild and unruly than usual, his t-shirt is covered in paint. You glance around to see the entire room is littered with papers, charcoal, pencils, paint tubes and more. It's like an art store exploded all over the room. He's standing behind an easel, his body blocked mostly by the large canvas he’s working on.

He moves to the door, quickly ushering you backwards out of the room before you can see what he's working on that has him so upset. 

"Dieter what the hell-"

"That's my private sanctum," he tells you, pulling the cigarette from between his lips, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth as he glares at you. "You stay out."

"Sorry sorry," you say rolling your eyes at his hysterics. "I'm just trying to sleep and your music is so loud."

He blinks as if only realizing now that the sun has gone down. He scratches at his chest absently, eyes drawing to the darkened windows. 

"What time is it?"

"Three in the morning. Don't you have work in a couple of hours?"

Dieter has a faraway look to his eyes and he finally nods. "Yeah, yeah I do. I should sleep."

He makes no move to leave the doorway. You roll your eyes before holding out your hand to him. Instinctively he moves forward taking it. 

"C'mon Bravo. Let's get you to bed."

Hand in hand you make your way to the hallway, guiding him through the grainy darkness that your eyes are more adjusted too. You stop in front of his room, dropping his hand gently and turning away, ready to pad to your own bedroom down the hall. 

"Will you sleep in my bed? With me?"

You're about to laugh at him at the suggestion but when you glance over your shoulder you see his eyes are glazed. They have that little boy lost quality that peeks out every so often. When you can see past the bravado of too cool for school Dieter and see the scared boy from South America who got teased for having an earring. 

"Yeah, sure." Your eyes drop to his paint-splattered shirt. "Take off the shirt unless you want your sheets ruined." 

He strips it from him without question, watching you enter into his bedroom ahead of him. His heart pounds painfully as he watches you slip under the covers as if you've always belonged there. 

He clamors in, trying not to stare at the soft mounds of your breasts underneath your sleep shirt. Before his courage leaves him he tilts forward onto his palms towards you. He sweeps a kiss across your brow bone before retreating back to his side of the large mattress.

He rolls facing away from you, thankful that you're here with him in his bed. He feels so much calmer with you here near him.

He doesn't want to crowd you and he knows if he sleeps facing you he'll be unable to keep his hands to himself. Every day you look more and more pregnant and it makes him want you so badly his stomach aches. 

He thinks of earlier, and the way you’d called him out on his every insecurity. Sometimes he hates that you know him so well. Most days though, it warms him from the inside out to be so known and seen.

“I’m sorry I yelled before.”

He's shocked when he feels your body press up against his back, your belly pressing tightly against his spine. When your arm slings itself over his waist he has to swallow the unexpected tears. And then he feels it, the soft whisper of your lips against his shoulder. 

"I know. Go to sleep, Dee."

The weather is unusually warm when you wake up the day of your ultrasound. Dieter has been bouncing off the walls all week, desperate to "see his child". He wanted to do a 3D ultrasound but you begged him to just stick with the normal kind.

Because the truth is you're sort of terrified to see the kid. 

A lot of your time is spent trying to forget that you're pregnant, despite the evidence that makes you take out the waistband of your favorite sweatpants. The thought of seeing him or her in 3D freaks you the fuck out. You don't want to know exactly what's growing in there. 

Dieter fights every instinct in his body to take your hand as the two of you pull up to the private clinic. You’re taken to a large exam room filled with sterile equipment and plus seats. You’re instructed to lay back on a chaise that probably costs more than your first apartment.

Dieter looks down at you looking so frightened and feels a pang of care go through him. He sees you absently stroking at your stomach and feels such affection for you in that moment it takes everything in him not to kiss you.

“Can you pass me my bag?”

Dieter nods, handing you the purse on the chair.  He watches panic cross your features as you dig around in your ridiculously oversized purse. He’s about to ask you what’s going on when a serious looking woman with white-blonde hair enters the room.

“Bravo family?”

“Yes,” Dieter replies before you can explain that you’re not a family. That you’re just a surrogate. But you’re still digging around in your bag growing increasingly stressed by the moment.

"Fuck I forgot my headphones, did you bring yours?"

"No." Dieter is distracted by the implements this woman is pulling out. He's eager to see his child. He takes the purse from you, placing it back on the seat and out of your reach. You fix him with a desperate look.

“Dieter I need-“

“I’m pushing the shirt up,” the woman orders.

Your shirt is tugged up officiously, exposing the round swell of your stomach. Dieter is fucking feral for it, his eyes raking in the naked flesh with a mixture of desire and a pride that nearly buckles him.

This woman isn't patient like Judy was back in the states. She doesn't wear a name tag. She doesn’t care about you being comfortable or wearing headphones. She's just squeezes the jelly as you and Dieter bicker about the headphones and the wand is quickly pressed against your belly.

You make sure your head is tilted as far from the screen as possible, not wanting to see anything. You still want to pretend that there’s nothing in there. That you’re a rented womb. That this thing growing inside you has nothing to do with you.

"Do you want to know the sex today?"

"Yes," Dieter nods and you wish more than anything that you hadn't forgotten your headphones. Learning this will make it more real, more tangible. Then he looks down at you, eyes soft. “Is that okay?”

You consider plugging your ears with your fingers but it won't do any good. Dieter won't be able to stop talking about it until you give birth. For a moment the severe woman pauses, cocking a brow in your direction before you finally give her a short nod. She looks back to the ultrasound, confirming before telling you both.

"It's a boy."

Dieter is sure he can feel his heart overflowing. He's going to have a son. This will be the only performance he cares about: that of good father. Without thinking he clutches your hand in his, overcome.

You go to pull back, to pull away and then you hear it. This steady, soft thudding that makes you pause. A strange hypnotic sound as ancient as time itself.

Your son's heartbeat.

Dieter watches the way you slowly blink. Your head which is always tilted away from the monitor now slowly drags to look over at it.

Your eyes are wide, and your body tenses as this being, this life becomes real to you. He’s right there. As you see his coiled, sleeping frame in the monitor and know that this life is inside you now. That you are his home, his protector, his love.

"Hi," you whisper to the tiny being on the screen. "Hi little boy."

That's your son onscreen. You made that child together with the man clutching your hand.

You made this. You made life.

It's so real. He's there, this child you thought of as a commodity, as something you were merely the vessel for. How could you have been arrogant enough to think you wouldn't grow attached? How could your hubris have convinced you that you could separate yourself emotionally?

That’s him. He’s right there. You look at your stomach, amazed that while you were busy pretending he didn’t exist, he was there growing so close to your heart. He was there sleeping and eating and living. Tears dot your lash line and you turn to Dieter, his face so close to yours. You see the tears glossy in his eyes. Affection deep and abiding fills you and you can't stop yourself from pressing your lips against his. He’s immediately receptive, his hand going to your cheek.

The previously stern nurse smiles softly before excusing herself to get a copy of your ultrasound.

At the sound of the door closing behind her it’s like you both remember who you are – boss and employee. Surrogate. You’re being paid for this. His eyes go wide as you abruptly pull back, realizing too late that you've stepped over the line.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "That was-"

"It's okay," Dieter says warmly. "It's emotional."

A short while later you're still mortified about what just happened inside. Dieter is uncharacteristically quiet as you both hear towards the towncar. The day is beautiful, sunny and its like the world just got brighter because of what you’ve just learned.

"I can't... I can't believe," you say softly, your mind still back in that room.

"I know," Dieter says, smile wide. "Fucking unbelievable. I'm gonna have a son."

I'm. Not we.

"Yeah, you are."

You walk slowly back to the car, taking your time to bask in the warmth of the day. He longs to take your hand in his but he knows that’s not what you want.

The kiss inside hadn’t been romantic. It had been emotional, the result of sharing something few would. You created life, even if you weren’t together you were forever tied to this tiny being within you.

He can see your eyes are distant, unfocused. He has a pretty good idea about what.

"Got regrets?"

"What? About giving away the... Bubble? No." You shake your head forcing a laugh. "Never wanted kids."

"Yeah you've said that a few times," Dieter observes, eyes stuck on you. He carries his coffee cup loosely in his fingers as you stroll towards the car. "But I mean, people can change."

"Not about this," you tell him. The tone is frosty, but you're holding your mouth in that way he recognizes now. The same look you had that first night in Ireland when you talked about your dad. You're trying not to cry.

Dieter feels his chest constrict.

"Listen, yes I'll have sole custody. But if you wanted photos and shit? I'd understand. It could be like the app. I'd send you updates. Photos, videos anytime you want. I know you’ll be busy with school, but maybe I could bring him up for visits if you feel like it?"

Your heart leaps at the thought.

Yes.

But that's what you say to a hormonal woman, you reason. You tell her what she wants to hear. Not what's practical. Dieter is going to be a father to this child and if he has it his way, Mia will probably be sticking around to be the mom. You’ll be a third wheel, a confusion for your child.

"That's not necessary," you say with a shrug. "This is just all hormones. I'll be f-"

You break off with a gasp, your hand balancing against the towncar for purchase.

"What?" Dieter looks terrified.

"I... I think he just kicked!"

Before Dieter can stop himself his wide hand is over your hand on your belly, cradling it. You both wait a moment and then yes, Dieter feels it, a tiny flutter against his palm. His eyes fill with tears.

"Holy shit!" You both exclaim in unison.

Then you both giggle like schoolchildren that have just learned a new swear world. A breathless giddy laughter that seems to go on forever. You let Dieter keep his hand on your belly, the other over his mouth in disbelief.

"Thank you for doing this," Dieter finally offers thickly, staring at you in a way that warms you from the inside.  "You're changing my life. I feel like the money isn't enough."

"Just don't name him Lemon-Pillow Bravo and we'll be square," you say with a laugh that he returns, eyes crinkling in the corners. He stares at you, looking at the softness in your face pregnancy has brought, the sweet way you’re smiling at him. The position your hand is in resting gently over his on your belly.

Dieter can’t help himself, his head tilts towards yours precisely the same time yours moves towards his. His mouth finds yours, kissing you softly as he cradles your pregnant belly. Your hand goes to the back of his neck, holding him loosely there as you kiss him back, eyes shut, tongues dabbing gently.   The cameras catch it all.

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