#also i move out in two weeks (technically less than two weeks now) and he comes back only a day or so before i leave and he’s gonna be

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

pov ur bestie is in another country rn so u can’t text all the time like u normally do

#TRAGIC FOR ME SPECIFICALLY. #he’s five hours ahead too #we’ve been best friends since 6th grade and we now have the same brain even though we’re very different people #but it works well because we’re not similar enough that anything ever becomes grating because we’re too similar if that makes sense #but our ‘yes and’ skills are superior. who am i supposed to message all my thoughts to who will build on them perfectly #this is mostly joking but also it’s been one day and i miss him #also i move out in two weeks (technically less than two weeks now) and he comes back only a day or so before i leave and he’s gonna be #jet lagged and also bc he’s been travelling i’ll wanna wait to meet up in person just in case #but n e way. putting my thoughts out into the ether #partly because i can’t text each and every one to my best friend

[anyroads]

OK you know what, if we're gonna talk about Bake Off then fuck it, let's do this.

It used to be this wholesome, lovely show! We used to watch it for the bakers! And the learning! And the light banter and occasional bit of coy innuendo! What happened?

Channel 4 happened. When they bought the show they made a number of changes, most of them Not Good™️. Not just in the sense of them resulting in a lot of 😬 and 🫠 moments, but in the sense of how they changed the show's purpose, atmosphere, and brand.

Look, I know most people are just like, "whatever, it's just a baking show," and yeah, sure. But it's one of the UK's most successful TV exports, and where it once shifted the tone of reality competition to being wholesome and supportive of contestants, it's since moved towards creating tension at the contestants' cost. So aside from the fact that most people watching it signed up to watch a nice show, it has also shifted the goalposts of what that even means. And that, lovelies and gentlefolk, is some bullshit.

I decided to break my rant analysis into four main parts: theme weeks, the hosts, the judges, and the bakers. Let's get to it!

Theme Weeks:

If you watch Bake Off, you know the show's always had a specific theme for each week. The staples that come up in most seasons are:

cake

biscuit

bread

pudding/dessert

pastry

patisserie

Less common but consistent are things like caramel and chocolate week.

Then there are the fun episodes! When GBBO was on the BBC, this started out with things tea week, tarts, pies, tray bakes, basically little tangents still focused on emphasizing specific baking skills. In Series 6 (still on the BBC) they had their first nation-focused theme week with French week -- fairly innocuous given that a lot of patisserie is French, France and England share much more culture than either cares to admit [Norman Flag dot gif], and it was a nice change from watching Paul make the bakers do recipes that involved boiling things while talking about how wonderful boiled doughs are (are they, Paul? Are they?).

The show kept mixing it up with innocuous themes like advanced dough and alternative ingredients weeks, European cakes, Victorian week, batter week, and botanical week. And while it was frustrating to watch Paul Hollywood mispronounce things like the Hungarian Dobos Torta and lecture bakers on babka when he clearly knew nothing about it (or about Jewish baking in general, go off Past Me), the show's general attitude was that the judges had their own opinions, which were separate from the immutable facts around the chemistry of baking (more on this later) and shouldn't affect how bakers are judged.

After the show moved to Channel 4, the number of themed weeks increased and more of them focused on specific countries. In 6 seasons on the BBC, there were only two country-focused theme weeks, and in 5 seasons on Channel 4 there have been five. And while they've also had themes like vegan baking, roaring 20s, the 1980s, spice week, etc. the show has really started to go hard on exoticizing other cultures in outright disrespectful and racist ways. There's been Italian and Danish week, German, Japanese (it wasn't, it was East Asian week), and now Mexican week (which doesn't touch on interspersed Jewish bakes that didn't get a theme week, like versions of bagels and babka set as technical challenges that were borderline hate crimes and mansplained by a guy who has no idea how to make either and once wrote in a cookbook that challah was traditionally eaten during Passover). Each time the hosts played up the theme with racist bits and jokes that can be used as evidence in court if your case is "why should shows with scripted content have a professional writing staff."

Which touches on other issues the show has now...

The Hosts:

When GBBO was on the BBC, the show was hosted by ✨Mel Giedroyc✨ and ✨Sue Perkins✨. They encouraged the bakers! They'd hold stuff for them sometimes! They were interested in them! If a baker had a breakdown, they would start singing copyrighted material to render the footage unusable! When the show moved to Channel 4, they left, though I'm not unconvinced that Channel 4 offered them impossible to accept contracts to force them out so they could rebrand the show. They replaced them with Sandy Toksvig and Noel Fielding. Sandy was a lovely host in the vein of Mel and Sue, and she and Noel had a relatively sweet rapport, but she left a few seasons ago and was replaced by Matt Lucas.

Noel Fielding is mostly known for his quirky brand of comedy, a sort of British Zooey Deschanel who's goth from the neck up, an upperclass British gay divorcee from the neck down, and basically an early 60s Beatle re: trousers. Matt Lucas has almost definitely never watched a single episode of GBBO and his most redeeming quality is his thinly veiled contempt for Paul Hollywood.

The two treat the baking tent as their personal playground. Far from the supportive attitude of Mel and Sue, they tend to get in the bakers' way during the most stressful moments, especially when they try to do hilarious "comedy" bits (I can't not put that in quotes) like Noel's talking wooden spoon thing, or Matt talking over Noel to do time calls. During theme weeks like Japanese and Mexican week, they do culture-specific bits that are both racist ("just Juan joke" and "is Mexico a real place?") and unsurprising, given that both Matt and Noel did blackface on their respective sketch shows and absolutely could and should have known better because it was already the current fucking century.

All this to say, there's now a separation between the bakers and the hosts, as if they're on different shows. The hosts are doing their own thing and the bakers are doing GBBO. The show has gotten meaner to the bakers, and the hosts aren't there to support them anymore, they're just there to be comic relief. Because when you refocus your show on stressing the bakers the fuck out, you need a forced laugh I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Judges:

First of all, a sincere congratulations to Paul Hollywood who managed to squeeze I jUsT cAmE bAcK fRoM mExIcO aNd YeT sTiLL pRoNoUnCe PiCo De GaLLo As 'PiKa De KaLLa' and I aM aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS wHiCh aRe MaDe WiTh DiGeStiVe BiScUiTs AcCoRdiNg tO mE, aN eXpErT oN s'MoReS, just two in a giant pile of astoundingly wrong hot takes, into a short enough time span that they all aired within Liz Truss's term as Prime Minister. A true man of accomplishments.

In the interest of fairness, I need to preface this with a disclaimer that, due to the fact that I've been watching Bake Off for most of its run, I'm biased. Specifically, I can't stand Paul Hollywood's smarmy, classist, egomaniac ass because he's proven time and again he's more interested in looking smart than actually knowing what he's talking about. Since the show moved to Channel 4, they've changed the occasional handshake Paul would give bakers to the HoLlYwOoD hAnDsHaKe™️. It's gone from being an emphasis of someone's skill to a goal, a reward, and one that emphasizes the judges' place above the bakers.

The judges used to function as teachers, imparting their skills and insights to the bakers. When the show was on the BBC, the voiceover leading to a judging would focus on the bakers' work being finished, saying how it will now be evaluated based on their skill and how well they met the brief. The voiceovers now, on Channel 4, focus on the judging (literally saying something along the lines of, "the bakers will now be judged by Prue and Paul"). There is a clear distinction Channel 4's producers have made, to mark that the show is now about whether or not the judges approve, not whether the brief was understood and executed well. On the BBC, it was irrelevant whether the judges liked a particular flavor, as long as the bake was well-made. Now, the bakers are expected to know the judges tastes and cater to them, which is frankly bullshit. A judge doesn't have to like a flavor to know whether or not it was executed well, ie. is it carrying a bake and was it meant to etc.

The judges have been turned into a brand. Cynically, Channel 4 knows that by building them up and focusing the show more on them, they can exploit their image more for profit. In the process, they've become much more biased and their own biases have come out as well. Most recently in the flaming dumpster fire that was Mexican Week, Paul Hollywood tried to intimidate a baker by telling them he had just gotten back from Mexico (which must have been a fruitful learning trip if he couldn't even learn how to pronounce pico de gallo correctly). Where do I even start with this? Here's an amateur baker from England (the show specifically casts middle and lower middle class bakers for the most part??) who likely can't afford trips to Mexico, who lives in a country with incredibly limited access to Mexican cuisine, who is expected not only to understand the cooking and baking traditions of a completely different culture but to do so well enough to play with it and do something creative with it. On top of which, one of the judges is now using his privilege of traveling halfway around the world as some kind of leverage, as if this were a bar that any amateur British baker could clear.

Prue, meanwhile, has openly asserted her biases against cultural flavors and textures, prioritizing her own personal preferences over them, as if they were in any way relevant to the skills and knowledge necessary to execute the tasks she sets to the bakers. She has also been consistently elitist, criticizing bakers for choices they made that were clearly informed by their experiences within income brackets that are too low and foreign for Prue to comprehend. She once had a go at a baker on a Christmas special because his Christmas dinner themed bake didn't have a turkey, even though it was clear from the stories he shared of his own Christmases that his family likely couldn't afford one. "It's not really Christmas dinner without a turkey," Prue said into the camera angrily while sitting on a chair made of live orphans and telling the ghost of Christmas Future to come back when he had another museum gift shop necklace for her to round out her collection.

The show is no longer about which baker has the best skills. It's become about which mortal can appease the gods of Mount Olympus, ie. the judges.

The Bakers:

Remember when the show was about them? Channel 4 doesn't! Because this is a reality competition show, the bakers are chosen both based on their skills, as well as cast-ability. They're cast as characters, distinct from each other, from different areas, age groups, ethnicities. All of them are amateurs. All of them are middle or lower middle class. They've ranged from college students to supermarket cashiers to prison wardens to scientists.

Something I noticed when the show moved to Channel 4 is that the baker who goes home in the first week is always wildly behind the rest in skills. I have no proof of this other than my eyeballs and deductive reasoning skills, but I think that Channel 4 deliberately casts a ringer each season who they think will be an easy send-off in the first week, just to get the audience's feet wet.

Anyway, like I said, this show used to be about the bakers - about them building skills and learning, and having walked into the tent with a self-taught foundation and understanding of the processes and chemical reactions involved in baking. When the show was on the BBC, the end of each round had some (often brief) moments of tension - will they finish in time? Will they get their bakes on the plate before time is up? Did they forget to add sugar to their batter and only remember at the last minute? In the end, they usually managed to finish and we'd all breathe a sigh of relief and think, yeah! You go, Bakers Who I'm Rooting For!

Now, on Channel 4, the end of round drama has been stretched to be so much longer that they've composed extra music for it. The bakers often seem out of their depth, whether because the instructions for the technical challenge are too vague (bake a lemon meringue pie??? As if anyone in the UK under the age of 60 has had one in the last decade???), or because they were expected to bake something that required a more than a basic foundation they weren't told of. Often it seems like they just aren't given enough time, a tactic used by reality competition shows to manipulate contestants into giving the cameras more dramatic content. On top of all this, the hosts get in their way, instead of helping them plate their bakes. As has been pointed out before, when everyone fails the challenge, the real failure lies with whoever set it.

In conclusion:

The show no longer exists to teach the bakers - and the audience - skills or knowledge. It now manipulates contestants for dramatic effect and prioritizes showing conflict over wholesome content. Channel 4 sees the bakers as social media content they can churn out season after season, and don't care about them because in a few months there'll be a new batch to exploit. Meanwhile, the judges are also out of their depth, co-opting recipes from other cultures and butchering them horrendously, while the camera gives them nothing but status as they hold bakers to the expectation that they learn how to make things very much the wrong way. If you saw any of the tweets about Mexican or Japanese week, or read my post on how Paul Hollywood isn't allowed to go near babka ever again, you'll understand.

So what would fix all this? Scrap the current judges and the hosts altogether. Bring back Mel and Sue, and replace the judges with expert bakers who have a love of their craft and want to share it with others. The draw of GBBO used to be its warmth and comfort - if Channel 4 isn't going to start its own version of Master Chef For Bakers, then it needs to stop trying to find a balance of how it can insert that vibe into GBBO. It can't. That's not a thing. Stop trying.

#GBBO #paul hollywood #prue leith #the great british bake off

[soullessdianthus]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝!𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

A/N: I picture him in his early 40s in this, daddy is a state of a mind, no? Can you imagine having such an older man as König taking care of you? UNDER THE SAME ROOF??? I WOULD UGH-- (´ཀ`」 )

Also, my requests are open again! You can send it here!

Warnings: manipulation, slight yandere?, naive!reader, dear jesus bunch of nasty smut (voyeurism, somnophilia, fingering, spanking, daddy kink)

Poorly translated German, correct me if needed!

RENDER BY DWISESZ ON TWITTER

✧°.  König’s schedule throughout the months was irregular. Sometimes he would stay at home for a few weeks and then go on a three month deployment. Another couple of days at home and another “work trip”.

✧°.  And his home was left behind unattended, food in the freezer going to waste, dust covering his favorite armchair. König had a guest bedroom, so why wouldn’t he rent the spare room to someone, who would keep an eye on the house while he’s gone?

✧°.  The price and location was tempting, so you reached out to the landlord for more details – you were a college student, who wanted something more independent than living with her parents. 

✧°.  König took a quick look at your profile picture and accepted the deal, because girls like you shouldn’t cause any problems, right? No parties, no boys invited over. You seemed to be a well behaving girl.  

✧°.  But his struggles only truly started when you finally moved in. König would find the return to the house more thrilling than ever.

✧°.  To show your gratitude to the man who took you in, you kept the house clean with no sign of dust or webs. On a regular basis you were baking cakes or cookies, so the aroma of the pastry filled the rooms. Little did you know that it only fed the housewife fantasy of your landlord.

✧°.  König would take less hours at his work and preferred to fill the reports (or any other documentation) from the home office. Just so he could observe you shuffling through the house wearing those sweat or biking shorts. Skimpy material rolling up the curve of your plump, young ass.

✧°.  Each time you passed the living room where he was working, you sent him a cute smile. You were just trying to be polite!

✧°.  König would try to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that meant you weren’t able to finish your homework on time. :( You would watch some movies together or go grocery shopping. Quickly this thing between the two of you became more than just landlord and tenant dynamics. Although you were quite clueless, it was your first ever rental!

✧°.  One evening, when you came back from late classes, you saw him sitting on a couch holding a glass of beer. Large thighs spreaded open as he kept watching the football game on the TV. And before you knew it, König pulled you onto his lap. He wanted you to watch the game with him!

✧°.  “Sit nice and pretty here, ja?” 

✧°.  He pulled you so roughly against him, that you had to prop against his muscular chest, before your face was pushed into it.

✧°.  “König, but I have to –”

✧°.  “Sush, none of that. Now, show some gratitude to your host, schatzi.”

✧°.  König certainly had more than one beer that evening, but you had none of the alcoholic beverages. You were highly aware when he started rubbing your hip and thigh and found it… really nice. Although, nothing more! It was just a friendly gesture, right? 

✧°.  You were so oblivious to his attraction towards you that his hardened length underneath your ass was a pair of keys in your naive mind. 

✧°.  Later that night, when you fell asleep in your bed (technically his), wearing only a shirt and panties, he came into your bedroom and jerked himself off right by your bedside. 

✧°.  König could only imagine how your pretty lips would wrap around his fat shaft, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. And do you know what fueled that imagination? You sucking on a cherry lollipop right in front of him earlier that day.

✧°.  During the next week, he kept peeping at you when taking a shower or changing your clothes with the doors kept ajar. How silly of you, standing just in sight of such a perverted man as König.

✧°.  It would only fuel his fantasies, when he continuously pumped his hips into his own palm covered in precum and his spit. König’s cock would twitch each time, when he imagined how divine it would finally feel to fuck your tight pussy sensless. His special, little guest. 

✧°.  König would welcome you with open arms, when you came back from the university one day, crying, because you didn’t pass one of your classes. But you were working so hard and you felt poorly about yourself now! :( 

✧°.  He would offer you to lay on a couch with him until you calmed down and you accepted, because König was such a good landlord!

✧°.  You didn’t even protest when this innocent act of affection turned into dirty desires. He laid beside you, one hand stroking your wet cheek and the other wandering under your panties. 

✧°.  You gasped loudly, when he slid one finger inside of you, explaining to you it will help you relax. It shouldn’t, but it felt so good! You wanted to press your eyes together in shame, but König patted you cheek with his hand.

✧°.  “Hey, hey, look at me, schätzchen. Yeah, that’s right, you feeling better now, yes?”

✧°.  And you nodded your head, thoughts focused on that pleasurable feeling between your legs, when he added a second finger. 

✧°.  König wouldn’t talk much about what you two did on the couch, but he definitely became more open about his desires. Since you allowed him to fuck you with his fingers, König would place his big hands all over his precious roommate – shoulders, hips, thighs or a playful slap on the ass, when you were removing the cookies from the oven. 

✧°.  One night, you came back really late (definitely after the curfew) and really drunk. He had to help you walk to your bedroom, because you were stumbling all the time, you could have hurt yourself in that state!

✧°.  You mumbled that you wanted to sleep, when König removed your clothes gently (only leaving you in your lacey, pink panties). He couldn’t believe how lucky he got, when you clung to his chest, searching for stability (in his eyes it was a reach for his attention).

✧°.  König helped you get into your cozy bed and slipped under the covers beside you. This time, he didn’t need to do much as your drunken form quickly found the way to his bulky chest. You nuzzled your spinning head onto his warm body and dozed asleep. 

✧°.  König had to take a few deep breaths, when your plump, naked breasts got squeezed between your and his chest. He didn’t want to jerk off right then, perhaps, you might help him, when you wake up?

✧°.  The next time you wanted to go to a club or simply for drinks with your friends, he stood there in the hallway with a strong hand placed onto the doors. König wasn’t letting you anywhere, you were supposed to spend time with him! :( 

✧°.  “I can take care of myself, you know.”

✧°.  “Oh, like the last time? When you pulled me into your bed, schatzi? Naked?”

✧°.  Your extremely tall and large landlord scolded you, twisting slightly the truth about your drunken state. But it was for your own good, why would you seek fun out there, when you had him in the reach of your hand?

✧°.  Despite your age difference, older and more experienced König would definitely take his time with you.

✧°.  “I–I…”

✧°.  You let go, as embarrassment burned like a flame inside, then furiously went back to your room. 

✧°.  Later, König would come to you and offer a bear hug, which you politely accepted, because he was your good host. But still was a bit mad at him for refusing to let you have fun outside the house.

✧°.  Soon enough, when he went for another deployment, you split on unclear terms. The colonel noticed you began acting bratty, disrespecting his house rules. But nonetheless left the home in your hands.

✧°.  When he came back, unexpectedly a few days earlier, you were still at university. You were such a smart girl. <3

✧°.  König couldn’t help himself but to rummage through your stuff. He sniffed your currently worn pajamas, looked at your books and then he opened the drawer with your underwear. To his surprise one specific object caught his attention. Could this be…?

✧°.  You were surprised to see his massive, trekking shoes on the shelf, when you returned home that evening. You were even more surprised, when you noticed your landlord sitting in his armchair, playing with something between his thick fingers. 

✧°.  “My, my… I leave for a few weeks and you already behave so… shamelessly. I thought of you better, schätzchen.”

✧°.  “I–I don’t know, what your talking about, I–”

✧°.  OhmyGod

✧°.  He was holding your bullet vibrator that was so small in his grasp!

✧°.  “You didn’t even bother to hide this thing.” 

✧°.  He lied on purpose, but you played along that lie. Perhaps, because you were so embarrassed that he found your toy! How could you be so silly and leave it on display? 

✧°.  You rushed to take it out of his grasp, but he acted quicker than you. König pulled you into his wide lap, forcing you ass in the air. The hem of your tennis skirt rolled up, exposing your bum to your landlord!

✧°.  “Seriously, a toy, schatzi? Were you really this needy? Maybe that’s why you failed your class, hm?”, he mocked your vulnerability. 

✧°.  Before you could even explain yourself to him, a loud smack echoed in the living room and a stinging pain on your bare ass blinded your thoughts. König continued to spank your plump bum until it turned red and you were sobbing incoherently. 

✧°.  He said disappointedly, “And I thought you were a grateful guest… All I did was for your good, you know that?”

✧°.  He rubbed your irritated flesh for a minute, before continuing the punishment. König licked his lips, already knowing how you would show him how much you missed your caring landlord. 

✧°.  “Are you going to be a good girl for me, ja?”

✧°.  “YES! Yes, I will! ‘m sorry!” 

✧°.  You agreed, face flustered in shame, when you felt how wet your panties had become. The Austrian bear lifted you up from his lap and made you straddle his large bulge, pressing onto the fabric of his cargo pants. 

✧°.  “Ride daddy nicely and I might forgive you, okay? Do you remeber what I told you, when you moved in? If you ever need anything, come to me. You’re a smart girl, you know I’m gonna take care of you, no?”

✧°.  “Y-Yes, König. I know.”, you sobbed, his big palm wiping your tears away. 

✧°.  Quickly you forgot about all of his alarming and obsessive behavior, when he filled you with his fat cock. The delicious feeling of him stretching your little pussy, dwarfed all of your worries.

✧°.  He was merciless that night, König didn’t even give you time to adjust to his size. Colonel’s strong hands gripped your hips and guided them to start moving. So you swayed your hips under that slutty skirt, you bought just for him. <3

#konig mw2 #konig cod #konig #konig x reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x reader #König #perv!könig #perv!konig #perv!roommate!König

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW req if you'd like: while Reader is pregnant with Eliza, she starts getting more prominent stretch marks on her stomach & boobs & stops letting Eddie see her naked. Eddie rectifies that situation hehehehe

This was honestly so fun to write! Love featuring the kiddos but these two also need some alone time hehe 💜 @munson-blurbs and I hope you like what we've come up with

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (she's already pregnant but you should still wrap it up), semi-public sex, pregnant!reader, oral, f!receiving, breeding kink, body image issues, older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 3.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The late June day is sweltering as you step out of the Harrington’s house and into their backyard. The placid blue water of the pool looks refreshing and calm—or it will, until the kids get in. Luke quickly jumps in alongside Theo and Danny, the three rowdy boys immediately splashing each other and then whining about being splashed. Ryan and Natalie are decidedly less hyperactive, taking care to watch baby Amelia where she kicks herself around in her purple mermaid floaties. 

Nancy makes herself comfortable on a lounge chair a few feet away from the one you’re making your way towards. Normally you can keep up with everyone else, still being in your second trimester, but this heat has you moving slower and feeling crankier than usual. 

You can’t help but notice the way Nancy looks in her bathing suit compared to how you feel in yours. Nancy’s had four children and looks stunning as always as she lays back in her black one piece. You feel shoved into your navy suit, like every little stretch mark that mars your skin is on full display for the world to see. 

Trying to shrug it off and enjoy the invitation from the Harrington’s to have a pool day, you make yourself comfortable on your lounge chair and adjust the pale pink coverup you have on. Eddie stands near the foot of your lounge chair, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at the children in the water. Your eyes feel glued to his lithe frame as he strips his shirt off. The pale skin that’s left on display practically has your mouth watering. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him naked countless times, your eyes still roam over his torso and the beautiful works of art he has inked on his skin. 

As Eddie rids himself of the Black Sabbath shirt, he notices the way you’re gawking at him. A smirk quirks up his handsome features and he playfully tosses his shirt at your face. Your hormones this second trimester have been no joke. The moment Eddie walks through the door after work you’re jumping on him. Your husband swore you were going to wear him out before this baby was born. Not the last week or so though, now that Eddie thinks about it. Maybe those particular horny hormones have been fading to make room for whatever new batch comes in for the third trimester. 

The sound of little feet kicking too hard beneath the water of the pool approaches you and Eddie, and you look up to see Luke swimming over towards the edge. He grins up at the pair of you, shaking the water from his curls like a dog just out of the bath. Bright blue eyes land on you and they’re doing a pretty damn good impersonation of the puppy dog look that Eddie gives you when he wants something. You know what Luke is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. 

“Wanna plaaaay with us? Please?”

Giving him a frown as you squint beneath the blazing sunlight, you shake your head. “I’m super tired, bud. Growing a baby is hard work,” you tease. You’re not technically lying—when you’re not jumping Eddie’s bones or concocting weird new food combinations, you’re sleeping— but no one needs to know that’s not the reason you don’t want to get in the pool. 

“I can play with you,” Eddie offers his son. He takes a step towards the pool and is ready to dive in when Luke wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“Nah, I’m good,” the little Munson boy says. 

As you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover up your laughter at your son’s remark, Steve claps a hand on Eddie’s bare back.

“Gonna need some ice for that burn?” Steve whoops. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” your husband grumbles in response. Eddie takes a seat near your legs at the edge of the lounge chair. His hand finds your leg and he rubs up and down your calf, always needing to be touching you in some way. Physical comfort is something you both love to give and receive from one another, which calls for a lot of soft rubbing or absent-mindedly drawing patterns on one another’s skin. Now, Eddie’s touch is having a calming effect on you, though he didn’t even realize there was something you’re uneasy about. Your body language must change as he relaxes you though, because he tilts his head to the side as he gazes at your face.

“You feeling alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired.” 

If Eddie had any follow up for that, he doesn’t get the chance because Amelia kicks her way over towards Luke in the pool and hangs onto his shoulder when she’s close enough. Her hand almost slips from his wet skin, but Luke manages to catch the little girl before she can float too far away. 

“Uncla’ Eddie!” Amelia calls once she’s clinging to Luke again. 

“What’s up, Little Red?” he asks his favorite ginger niece. 

“Come in, come in!” Amelia cheers. 

“At least somebody wants me in the water,” Eddie says with a pointed look at Luke. “Anything for you, my darling Mia.”

A few minutes after Eddie’s joined the kids in the pool—who also convince Steve to come in—Nancy comes over to you, noticing how everyone else is in just their bathing suits and you’re seemingly putting on more articles of clothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, nervously tucking your lips into your mouth. 

“Bullshit,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have four kids; I can smell a lie a mile away.”

“Seriously, Nance, I’m fine.” You muster up a small smile, but she sees right through it, and you know it. 

You have your nose buried in a book, unaware that Nancy is reaching over the side of the pool to give Eddie’s ear a tug. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelps, rubbing the affected lobe. “What was that for?”

“Go talk to your wife,” Nancy says through gritted teeth, obviously irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Marco Polo can wait.”

As Eddie attempts to get out of the pool, Amelia grabs his leg and tugs. Your husband lets out a soft chuckle and picks the small girl up.

“I’ll be back, Mia.” He presses a few kisses to the top of her wet, red hair and sets her back in the water. 

Over the top of your book, you see Eddie sauntering towards you. You slip the book back into your bag and tug your cover up tighter across your body. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asks with a smirk. “Besides that bun in the oven.”

“Just relaxing,” you say. 

“If you’re just relaxing, why did Lady Harrington threaten my life to come over here? And why aren’t you in the pool?”

The only answer you have you don’t want to tell him. And you’re not going to make up some lie to get him off your back. Eddie deserves better than that and you would never treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. That doesn’t mean you want to tell him the truth, though. You swallow embarrassment as you mutter, “I gotta pee.”

Eddie doesn’t let you get far without him though, he’s hot on your tail as you walk through the back door into the house.

“Can you please tell me what the problem is so I can at least try to fix it?” he asks once the screen door is securely closed behind him.

Silence is his only reply as you walk up the stairs to the second floor. You’re obviously upset, and your husband can’t relax until he knows what’s bothering you.

“Sweetheart, what’s the problem?” he asks again.

You stop short and spin on your heel to face him. As Eddie tries to read your face, he’s not sure if there’s more sadness or anger there. Either way, he wants to make it go away. He’d do anything. 

“This is the problem!” you say, gesturing towards your boobs and stomach. 

Eddie looks at you for a moment, brain trying to comprehend whatever it is you’re talking about. He shakes his head and gives you his response. “If I keep looking at them, this is gonna be a problem, too.” He motions to his crotch.

“I’m serious!” you yell in frustration. 

“I am, too!” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t forget how I got you pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, so I can blame you for this mess?”

Eddie wrinkles his brows. “What mess?” He knows you would never refer to your baby that way, so he’s even more confused as to what you could mean.

“The stretch marks, Eds!” you lament, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “They look like an angry toddler drew lines all over my body.”

Understanding clicks inside Eddie’s brain. Why you’re so covered up. Why you didn’t want to go into the pool. But how could you ever think anything about your body wasn’t absolutely beautiful to him?

“That’s why you haven’t been all over me the past few days,” Eddie says as the realization hits him. “I thought maybe it was those horny hormones, or whatever they’re called, fading. But you…you think there’s something wrong with having stretch marks? Baby, no. It’s just your body making more room for our little sweet pea to grow. They’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Believing him is easier said than done. You want to believe him, but battling the insecurities in your head is not something you’ve conquered yet. Now you just stand there and fiddle with the hem of your coverup, not knowing what else to say or do.

Eddie sighs and gently takes your hand into his. 

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.” 

Eddie leads you into the upstairs bathroom and shuts the door. He positions you directly in front of the mirror above the sink and stands behind you. Slowly, he moves your cover up out of the way to reveal your growing bump, stretch marks dotting the sides. 

“How on earth could you think anything about this is a problem?” he asks, his hands barely grazing your skin as he admires your tummy. “Look at you. Gorgeous bump. Cute little stretch marks from where our baby is making herself comfortable inside of you. It’s incredible, princess. Your body is literally growing a person and you’re mad at it because there are a few lines appearing on your skin?” He gives an incredulous laugh as he turns you around to face him. “Jesus, I mean, see what just talking about it does to me.” One large hand dwarfs your smaller one to press your palm to the hardening bulge in his swim trunks. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. The wind blows the wrong way and you get a boner,” you rebut. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a small groan. “Don’t say blows when I’m hard like this.”

“Can you be serious for two seconds?” Your temper is already short from the heat and the pregnancy, and his blasé attitude only makes it worse. 

Eddie cradles your cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I love your body. I loved it before you were pregnant, and I’ll love it after, but watching you carrying our baby…fuckin’ does it for me.” He bites his lower lip as he drinks in the sight of you. “Goddamn, you look fuckin’ gorgeous like this.”

You think back to when the two of you first got together, when he’d made what you’d assumed was an offhand remark about knocking you up. Maybe it wasn’t as out of left field as you’d thought. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie’s lips press soft kisses down your neck as he murmurs, “always dreamed about getting you pregnant. Would’ve done it a lot sooner if I’d known you’d be this sexy.” He runs a finger along a stretch mark that curves down your stomach. 

“H-How much sooner?” Curiosity asks the question for you as your back arches slightly from his touch. 

“That night,” he confirms, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate further on what night he means, “but your stupid birth control pills ruined all my fun,” he adds with a teasing smirk. 

“They were so stupid. Sh-Should’ve stopped taking them the second I saw you.” Your voice is still timid from the emotions coursing through you, but Eddie can tell you’re finally letting him in.

Eddie throws his head back. “Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you tease, hands sliding up his wet chest and over the sparse hair. “What should we do about that?”

Eddie whines and leans in, nipping at your neck. 

“You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this bathing suit anyway,” you tell him. “The faster you get it on the floor, the faster you can be inside of me.”

Eddie gets your coverup and bathing suit off in record time. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on. His swim trunks go next and then Eddie is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter. There’s not much time to admire his fully naked body before he gets down on his knees in front of you. You wind your fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he looks up at you with wide, hungry eyes. That look alone has you practically dripping for him. 

Eddie keeps that eye contact with you as his hands force your legs further apart and he licks a broad stripe up your folds. You’re the one to end the staring contest when the pleasure overwhelms you and your eyes flutter closed, throwing your head back. It knocks against the mirror, but you’re too caught up to notice if it hurt or not. 

On the next swipe of Eddie’s tongue, he keeps going up so his tongue is trailing the swell of your belly as well. He presses hot kisses against your bump as he works his way back down again. He repeats the motion, next time taking time to either kiss or run his tongue along the stretch marks. The physical sensation feels amazing, but paired with the way Eddie is making you feel emotionally with his tender touch is making your heart thump even faster. 

Every little movement of his makes you feel more cared for, more cherished, and sexy. He’s built you up so high that you have to give a little tug on his curls so he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Need you inside. Now.”

“Anything for the woman carrying my baby.”

You pull his mouth to yours and moan against his tongue as you feel his hands roam your body. His touch soothes over the areas of your breasts where you’ve memorized the stretch marks before moving down and caressing the ones on your stomach again. 

Eddie’s hands slide up to your hips and give a quick squeeze. He gently lifts you down from the counter and spins you around to face the mirror. You brace your hands on the counter as Eddie trails soft kisses up the side of your neck.

“Want you to see how fucking hot is when I fuck you like this,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout your body. 

You spread your legs, but Eddie wants them farther apart. He nudges them with his knee while he rubs a hand up and down your spine. He fists his cock a few times, making eye contact with you in the mirror as he does so. The way he’s looking at you has you whimpering and whining in anticipation.

Your noises make Eddie smirk, and he lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in, one hand snakes around your body and rests firmly on your baby bump. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “I’ll never get over how fucking perfectly we fit together.” He punctuates his statement by tilting your chin slightly upwards so you have no choice but to see yourself in the mirror. You watch as he disappears inside you, your body obeying his every command. 

When you rock your hips back against his, Eddie slips his other hand around you to rub circles on your clit. His middle finger finds it easily, slipping through your soaked folds and pressing against the sensitive bud. The feeling is too much; you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming out—the last thing you need is the Harringtons hearing your pathetic whines. 

“God, I wanna fill you up so bad, baby,” Eddie hisses, snapping into you furiously as he takes in the view of your body; the view of you watching your body. “Shit, I’d make you pregnant twice over right now if I could.” 

“W-Would you always keep me pregnant if you could?” you manage to ask between gasps and whimpers—both yours and Eddie’s. 

“Fuck,” Eddie growls. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. “I’ll go buy a damn farm right now to raise all the babies I want to put in you.”

His words make you laugh, which has you squeezing around Eddie’s cock. He moans, drawing you impossibly close against his bare chest. 

“They’re babies, not sheep, Eddie.”

“Still need the space to run around,” he muses, making you laugh again.

“I love you so—-oh! So, so much, Eddie.”

 He’s ridiculously hard inside of you, fucking into you like his life depends on it. “Shit, I love you too, princess.” His middle finger makes more frantic circles around your clit, throwing you over the edge. “You’ve got a fuckin’ vice grip today, holy shit,” he breathes, willing himself not to finish too early while still being acutely aware of his surroundings. 

Your fingers dig into the countertop as each thrust brings you closer to your orgasm. “Right—right there,” you pant, fighting back a moan. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.” You come, aided by his magic fingers and your raging hormones, with a soft whine of his name. 

“‘M right there, shit, you’re the best little fucktoy,” he grunts. The hint of degradation has you clenching around him again; of course, he immediately takes notice of it. “Y’like that? Y’like being my pregnant little fucktoy? Knocked up with my baby and still beggin’ for more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter, smiling at the reaction your response brings. 

Eddie’s pistoning his hips into you, whispering directly in your ear, “So good, so fucking good f’me. Gonna come so deep in this little pussy, mkay? Gonna keep you pregnant, just like you want.” 

With a guttural groan, he spills into you. His breath is hot on your shoulder blade as he stays inside, not wanting to withdraw right away. You’re not complaining either, until—

“Are you two finished in there?” Steve’s irritated voice beckons from the other side of the door. Your already sweaty body heats up even more, realizing you’ve been found out. Something about it is also oddly hot, but it’s not the best time to think about that with Eddie still inside of you and Steve on the other side of the door. 

“Just a sec!” Eddie calls back, giving your earlobe a gentle nibble as he pulls out, scooping up the cum that’s dripping down your bare leg and stuffing it back into your pussy. “Had to clean you up,” he murmurs with a salacious grin. 

The two of you put your swimsuits back on and fix yourselves as best as you can before Eddie opens up the bathroom door. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, barreling past you as he mutters, “Dammit Munson; you already got her pregnant. Relax.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS

[underhousearrestblog]

Lost In Translation | Pedro Pascal

(summary) a drunk confession makes things weird between you and Pedro

(warnings) an age gap (oh the horror)

(pairings) Pedro Pascal x reader

(genre/ tropes) angst, lemon-y fluff, miscommunication, mutual pining, friends to lovers

(word count) 7.7k

(also) Pedro’s point of view (of sorts) is in Italics

(also) minors, scram (I’m kidding. Kinda. I was reading these types of things when I was twelve. I’m not the one to advise anything. Just, please, don’t interact. Better for my conscience and your digital footprint.)

(also) damn – I’m actually doing something here now... a step up from my usual one-post-per-six-months activity...

HAPPY READING!

Things around you blurred, people’s faces were distorted and music was giving you a headache. You lost count how many drinks you had about an hour ago and now you were regretting having any.

Your friends – who were more work acquaintances than friends – had ditched you, you had no car that you wouldn’t be able to operate in this condition anyway and not enough money to call a cab. All you had were a very revealing dress with a deep cut up your right thigh and a phone with around twenty percent charge left.

You stepped outside. Evening air did some but still not enough good for you to feel confident enough to walk those two and a half kilometers to your apartment building. Especially not in these knee-high boots. You would probably end up murdered. Or murdering yourself by accidentally stepping in front of a car. Either way, in a ditch.

You checked over you contacts for anyone who would pick up a phone and pick you up at the club at this ungodly hour. Since you had moved, most of your contacts were pretty much useless for this type of shit.

You pulled out your wallet. There were several business cards that you had gotten since you had started to work as a PR manager for The Last Of Us production team. Your eyes scanned over some of the names. Nico Parker. You weren’t sure she even got her license yet. Bella Ramsey. You knew for a fact she didn’t have a car.

Pedro Pascal.

Shit.

Well, from a purely objective stance, he was the best choice. He could pick you up and he didn’t give creepy vibes so technically you should be fine.

The problem was – he probably didn’t even know who you were. You had been on, like, two lunches with him with purely professional intentions. There had been more people from both the cast and the PR team and, even though you had spoken to him one-on-one multiple times, he had these types of conversations every day.

Worst he could do was say no.

To be fair, he could theoretically also cuss you out.

Or look at an unknown number and not even pick up.

Before you let your mind talk itself out of it, your fingers typed in his number and called.

It was quite chilly, now that you were out in dark alley with only your stripper dress on. It was pretty but god was it doing a shit job at keeping you warm.

The phone was calling and after the very first ring, you started to doubt yourself.

Maybe it would be less embarrassing if you just called your boss? Sure, she would know you indulged in an occasional living of your life but she was a woman and maybe would be more sympathetic than most of the men you worked with...

Two-

- Y/N? – unprepared for Pedro to actually pick up, you startled.

Your brain was foggy from all the alcohol and your body was still trying to decipher the sudden temperature drop so it took you several seconds to even put words together.

- Hey, are you alright? – it was actually him.

He really picked up at a quarter to midnight.

How did he know who was calling?

- Hey, Pedro, - up until this point you had used the formal “Mr. Pascal” just like everybody in your team but now it would feel weird. – So I have a bit of a... situation?

What was the term for getting drunk and placing all your trust in people that you had met two weeks ago?

- Are you alright? – he sounded worried. – Where are you?

Not wanting to appear nervous yourself, you tried to put on a smile, hoping it would make your voice sound lighter and careless.

- I’m at the... – you looked over your shoulder at the sign in front of the club, - Sensual Vibes, - you cringed at the name.

He definitely thinks you’re at a strip club.

- It’s a bar downtown. And I’m kinda drunk and I don’t really have any money, and my asshole friends left, and I’m also kinda col-

- Do you need me to pick you up? – he didn’t sound mad.

If anything – he sounded almost careful. As if he didn’t want to push any boundaries by insisting.

You were silent for a second.

Why was it so hard for you to ask for help when it was clear you desperately needed it?

Fucking pride.

You can cringe in shame tomorrow when you haven’t been murdered trying to walk home drunk...

- Yeah, - you said quietly before adding, - but it’s totally fine if you can’t. I’m sure two kilometers of walking will be fine if I can get off these stripper shoes-

- I’ll be there in twenty, - he said in a voice that left no arguments. – Go back inside. I’ll come in and get you.

- Who was that? – Oscar asked, stuffing the leftover pizza back into the box.

- Y/N, - Pedro put away his phone and went to get his car keys.

- Y/N? Who the fuc-

His hand stopped halfway to close the lid.

- Oh shit, - Oscar laughed, turning towards his friend. – Is that the girl from the PR team? It’s that Y/N?

Pedro didn’t answer and went to get his jacket. Oscar, in true friend fashion, followed him into the hallway, while teasing:

- Is that the same girl who still calls you Mr. Pascal even though you corrected her, like, thousand times?

Pedro just rolled his eyes.

This wasn’t exactly new. Oscar had never really met you – at least, in person – though there was abundance of information regarding you given by his friend every time Pedro had a drop of alcohol in his system.

- You know, if you weren’t so famous, I’d think she actually didn’t even know your first name by how much she uses the surname... – Oscar went back to pick up the leftover pizza, before turning back and looking at his friend suspiciously. – Are you sure she meant to call you? I mean, if she called you by your name, the call might have been meant for another Pedro. All I’m saying is-

Pedro threw him a dark look and turned to leave. Could that be true? You never really called him by his name and he was almost one hundred percent sure you didn’t even have his number...

- Lock up before you leave, - Pedro murmured before opening the door.

You were drunk and alone so, either way, you’ll have to make peace with it.

Once Pedro had ended the call, all you could do was blankly stare at the screen. To be fair, you were very intoxicated so... could you had hallucinated this whole conversation?

Either way – waiting inside was probably the best choice here...

You dropped down on a sofa in the foyer. You felt a headache coming on.

God, this is gonna be embarrassing...

After fifteen minutes of waiting and contemplating about leaving on your own, a hand lightly touched your shoulder, making you startle yet again. You had been way too focused on a painting on the wall to notice anybody approaching.

- Pedro? – your eyebrows shot up as if you were surprised that the person who you had called had actually shown up.

- Were you waiting for someone else? – there was a note in his voice you couldn’t quite decipher and your foggy mind refused to cooperate.

- N-no, - you stammered out. – I just wasn’t sure you would actually show up...

Now was his turn to look surprised. He opened his mouth to say something but, when you lightly swayed on your feet, he quickly put an arm around your shoulders to steady you.

When he lightly pressed his palm on the skin between your shoulder blades, a small shiver ran through your body, making you look up at him. He had probably seen or feel you shiver and had interpreted that as you being cold which was technically true. He pulled off his jacket that looked way too big for you.

You were by no means model-thin but the jacket was oversized on him so it looked like it would end up around your knees.

You shook your head.

- I’m not taking your jacket after you drove all this w-

- Don’t argue, - was all he said before lifting your arm, pulling the sleeve over it and then repeating the same on the other side. – And it’s still longer than that pretty thing you call a dress, - his eyes ran over your half-naked body.

Not in a leering way. But he did gulp when his eyes touched on the slit across your thigh.

Great, there’s no getting this out of memory, he chastised himself for enjoying and savoring you while you were very clearly drunk.

Shit, he’s probably uncomfortable, was all you could think about.

His car was pleasantly warm. You managed to climb in on your own but when it came to the seatbelt, you fingers still lacked focus and were stiff. After two unsuccessful attempts at connecting the two parts, Pedro gently peeled your fingers from the belt, reached over and buckled you in himself.

Before he could step back, you placed your hand on his bicep to stop him. The touch itself was innocent enough but you felt your skin lightly tingling as if you had touched a wire with low charge.

Pedro’s eyes followed you to where your skin had touched his. All he could do was stare at your fingers around his arm.

- Shit, sorry, - you decided he was probably uncomfortable and withdrew your hand, - sorry, I didn’t mean-

- It’s fine-

- I just wanted to say thank you, - your gaze held his. – I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.

There was something intoxicating in doing favors for you. He would’ve driven to pick up any of the women he knew if they were drunk and alone but your trust in him made him a bit delirious.

He wanted you to call him if you ever needed to get home drunk but he also wanted to drive you to a meaningless appointment and pick you up after work.

- It’s fine, - he swallowed before stepping back. – You’re welcome.

He could hear Oscar’s teasing voice in his head, telling him how absurdly romantic it was for him to simp after a girl who probably read his number off a business card when hers had been cataloged in his phone since day one. He probably could recall it from memory at this point.

Pedro closed the door on your side and walked around to get into the driver’s seat. He tried to take in some of the chilling evening air before getting in.

- ... and my friend said just go up to him and ask him out, - he heard you say once he got in, - but every time I looked at his pretty face I chicked out... – you hiccuped, - chic... chickened out! And then-

Your words were slurred and half-coherent.

Pedro started the car, pulled out of the parking lot and then threw a glance at you.

- Who were you trying to ask out?

- I wasn’t trying... And he wouldn’t come anyway...

Alcohol had made you braver and in a stupid attempt to rip your own band-aid off, you turned towards Pedro and whispered in an almost broken voice:

- Would you go on a date with me?

You needed his answer. Tomorrow was gonna be shameful but you could, at least, write this off as a drunken mistake. You had finally done it, you had finally gathered all your courage and taken a step-

But it was the way you had said it. With the accent on the word ‘you’. All Pedro heard was your confession about liking another man and how busy he was, and now you looked at him with glossy eyes and it made him wonder if this stupid man you were talking about had said something to make you insecure. You had just confessed about your crush and needed confirmation that other men – smarter men – would still date you.

But knowing that you trusted him enough to take you home drunk, he knew he couldn’t just confess about wanting you for himself. That was a dick move used by every false male friend around the world.

- I... – you watched his throat work, as he was putting words together, then he ripped his gaze away from where you sat in his car, in his jacket, for the first time ever giving him your undivided attention. – I think you’re amazing and any man would be lu-

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. His figure got distorted through the rapidly increasing moisture.

You are amazing.

Any man would be lucky to date you.

Not me though.

Last one wasn’t said out loud but, in your defense, it was usually never spelled out when a person was rejecting someone.

This was a rejection speech.

He was giving you a rejection speech!

You lifted your hand to silence him. He immediately did and you looked out through the window on your side.

- Please, don’t, - your voice broke at the end. – I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

It was said and done.

You had asked and he had rejected you. Work’s gonna be a bitch but PR, thankfully, was a team effort so you could probably take meetings with another member of the cast and make one of your colleague meet with Pedro. Eventually, your stupid little feelings would stop hurting and you would move on.

Eventually.

Until then you probably should avoid Pedro every chance you got.

It was said and done.

Even drunk, you had realized his incurable crush on you and in a very “I’m well-versed in public relations” manner had put an end to his confession. What was it that you had said? I respect you way too much...

Respect you way too much to outright say “no”.

You had a crush on a man you worked with. Probably someone your age. Probably someone who’s life wasn’t constantly dissected on every media platform.

You were a real pretty girl so even if you never gathered the courage to take the first step, that man you talked about would probably do it for you. He would be stupid not to.

Which meant that at some point you would be seen on set, laughing and kissing some other man who probably had no idea for how long you had lusted after him. And Pedro knew that if your crush forgot what he’s got, he would be way too tempted to teach him a lesson or two about not throwing away life’s biggest treasures.

Maybe even way too tempted to put the fear of god into that man. To threaten to never dare to break your pretty little heart.

But you had good taste in most things. And the man you were talking about asking out was probably good. More than good. He probably was respectful in public and would make you scream his name in private. Buy you a nice dress and later rip it off your body. Pick you up to take you places and then wait patiently for you to come back to him.

You deserved the best. And you were probably way too good for that boy you liked. Granted, Pedro thought you were way too good for basically everyone, including himself, but he also wasn’t one of those men that would pass on an amazing woman all because “she’s too good for him”.

Nah. He knew he would greedily accept your love and lust if only you offered. He might have thought you were too good for him but he also knew there were many things he could provide for you. He was successful, had money, a stable job, he was mature and wouldn’t play any games. Besides, he was damn near sure he loved you and even with you reciprocating just half of that love and affection, it still would be perfect.

- What’s your add-

Once he looked over to where you were watching him just a minute ago, Pedro found you fast asleep with your head pressed against the window. His jacket, way too big for you, had fallen down your shoulder, revealing that distractingly little napkin you bravely called a dress.

Shit.

This was definitely not good.

If he had to bring you back to his home, he knew he would see ghosts of you every time he stepped inside his own house. And that would be bad. Right now you were already everywhere at work, he couldn’t afford to let you make yourself at home in his private space too. Damage would take months to undo.

He contemplated waking you up but even then there would be no guarantee that you would even remember where you lived in this condition.

Pedro started driving towards his own home slower than necessary, hoping you would wake up at some point and give him your address.

All he could hope for was that Oscar had already left because, otherwise, Pedro would never hear the end of this...

Shitshitshit.

Your head was hurting even before you opened your eyes. That was never a good thing. Once you did, you were met with a semi-dark room that was vaguely lit by a small lamp left on on the nightstand.

Where the fuck where you?

This looked way too homey to be a hotel and way too impersonal to be someone’s bedroom. You lifted the thick blanket that was draped over you to check out if you weren’t missing any clothes. Or some more important things, like body parts.

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion when you were met with the same light blue dress you had worn at the club with just more wrinkles in it now. All you were missing where the boots that you saw placed by the bed.

You checked the small alarm clock on the nightstand.

5:06 AM.

It was early.

On a day off, you probably wouldn’t have woken up this early but your body had most likely dealt with the alcohol in your system and had woken up naturally once you had sobered up.

Then you noticed the small note placed next to the clock.

I’m not sure how much you remember but I picked you up from a club. You didn’t give me an address before passing out, so I brought you home with me. You’re in my guest bedroom. I’m in the one down the hall. I got you some aspirin and water. And some clothes.

Pedro.

There was something else written on the paper but it was scribbled out. You lifted the note and placed it before the small lamp, letting the light shine through.

Cute dress.

You smiled, however that smile lasted for exactly one second before you remembered the conversation in the car. You had asked Pedro on a date. He had given you the “there’s more fish in the sea” speech.

God.

You had excused your bravery with “you can live today and be embarrassed tomorrow” but now, when tomorrow was finally here, you weren’t sure it was actually worth it.

Thank god you didn’t work closely with Pedro because this would be ten times more awkward if you were an actress.

You quickly changed into the clothes Pedro had left for you. It was a white t-shirt with something spelled in a foreign language you didn’t understand. The shirt reached down to your knees and covered more than your dress had. You could technically leave in just the t-shirt but your sudden sobriety would probably result in you freezing to death so you decided to wear sweatpants as well. You rolled up the ends of the pants that were too long, threw a glance in the mirror and decided that you looked presentable enough.

Once you left the guest room with the dress still in your hand, you tried to find out if Pedro had already woken up. It seemed unlikely. It was very early.

And that seemed to be the truth, as none of the lights were on in neither the kitchen nor the living room. Or in the hallway.

Thank god the key was still in the door and you didn’t have to wake him up to unlock the door. You carefully tiptoed through the hallway and sneaked out through the front door, leaving nothing but a vague scent of your perfume and a note on the living room table.

Thank you. Truly. You have no idea how grateful I am. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

That’s exactly how Pedro found your note three hours later when he woke up. Note had no name. Apparently, you didn’t assume he rescued women every night and didn’t think he would mix you up with someone else.

As if he ever could.

He was quite grateful to have missed you, in case you remembered how he had come onto you in the car. He didn’t want a pitying glance and you saying sorry, as if you had anything to be sorry about.

Don’t hesitate to contact me if you ever need anything.

Pedro let out a bitter laugh. That’s what you sign at the bottom of a work email, in hopes the recipient never truly reaches out for anything. You just felt like you owed him.

three weeks later

Pedro felt somebody brush a makeup brush over his temple to add some last touches before the filming started. People were running around, adding and taking down some props. Camera crew were doing some last check-ups. And in what Pedro thought was a torturosly ironic touch to an already important scene that caused some nerves to resurface, you were there.

In fairness, you weren’t here on your own and by your own wish. Some people of the PR and social media management teams were here, hoping to take some photos of behind the scenes for marketing.

And they were all pretty irrelevant because his eyes didn’t leave you for one second.

Pedro, Bella and some of the others were placed good ten meters from where you were standing by the door of the room that seemed to shrink every second. You were either unaware of his intense gaze or simply ignored it.

Pedro didn’t know which one would piss him off more.

There weren’t many things that didn’t irritate him these days. Oscar had started to call it Y/N withdrawal. As if he was an addict. A junkie who’s been cut off from his favorite drug of choice.

At first, Pedro was understanding. You probably felt weird you had clocked him liking you and wanted space. Fine. He would be an asshole not to give you space. Then he called you but the call always went to voicemail. On week two he had the first PR dinner since ‘the incident’ and when you didn’t show and had sent one of your assistants in your place, it only soured Pedro’s mood. The assistant had lied about you not feeling well but when you were still nowhere to be seen on the next meeting – and the next – he knew it was an excuse.

You were making excuses.

Week three took the crown when at one of the advertisement meetings that was mandatory for all cast and production team members, you had apparently ‘had a doctor’s appointment’.

Now he was pissed at the whole world and especially himself for fucking this up. You were a smart girl and he should’ve expected you to put two and two together that night. And, in addition, he was just a tiny bit pissed at you for not giving him a chance to apologize.

When you excused yourself and went into the kitchen, Pedro quickly stood up.

- Sorry, - he murmured to the makeup artist. – I’ll be right back.

Filming was set to start in ten minutes.

That was all he needed to say the things that needed to be said.

You were facing the open fridge when Pedro walked in. You read something that was written on the side of what looked like a protein shake.

You looked good. There were no signs of tiredness in your eyes. No sluggish movements. No yawning.

That was good, Pedro tried to tell himself.

Would it hurt for you to be a little affected that he was absent from your life for three whole weeks?

Then his eyes caught a thin bracelet around your wrist. It was shiny and had a minimalistic heart charm on it.

Pedro recalled Oscar once mentioning getting something similar to his wife because “the only time women wear heart jewelry is if it’s gifted by a man who’s interested”.

It was quite a big assumption that the bracelet was, one, a gift, two, from a man, and three, that it was the same moron you wanted to date. And yet it only fueled Pedro’s irrational jealousy and anger.

He let go of the door and it fell shut with a loud bang.

You jumped.

- It’s really unprofessional, you know, - Pedro accused. – This behavior of yours lately.

It only took a second for you to go from a startled look to a glare. You put the drink back in the fridge and shut the door. Loudly.

How matching.

- Excuse you? – you pushed back.

- I get that you’re avoiding me and that’s fine but you also have a job to do, - he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. – You’ve missed several PR meetings and allowed your underage intern to replace you.

You chuckled under your breath and looked away.

So that’s what this was about...

- So you feel a bit neglected because an intern – highly skilled, might I add, - was attending a few of the meetings? Is he not good enough for you?

Pedro looked at you as if you’d grown a second head.

- I don’t care if he’s as useless as a toddler – don’t change the subject!

You blew away a strand of your hair that had fallen in front of your face.

God you looked hot angry.

When you tried to side-step him and leave, Pedro followed your movements until his back hit the door, leaving you without an escape. He leaned against it, wrapped his right palm around his left wrist and looked down at you.

- You’re avoiding me, - he was glaring at you.

You glared back.

- No shit.

Pedro had expected more resistance. Or more excuses. He definitely expected you to look at him with a confused stare and say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’. Now that you had done none of that, it felt a bit weird to “confront” you because you had had every right to avoid him.

- I’m just making sure you don’t get a write-up for skipping work, - even though the words were genuine, the tone was rude and you recoiled.

You looked up at him as if he’d slapped you.

- Are you threatening to snitch on me for skipping few meetings?

His eyes widened.

Shit.

- That’s not wh-

- Fuck you.

Now he looked like you had slapped him.

This was going downhill and fast. He had never accused anybody of bad work ethics and you had never cursed at someone for essentially doing nothing wrong, really.

You had spent three weeks, trying to soothe your ego. But rejection still stung. And, for the first time in your life, your personal feelings had affected your professional life. There was no excuse for that.

So you exhaled, counted to ten, got to five and decided to push your emotions down. You didn’t actually believe that Pedro would ever attempt anything to harm your career but he was still a big star and, would somebody come across this very unprofessional conversation, your future job opportunities might be in jeopardy.

- Listen, I’m sorry, okay? – you said, then quickly added. – For missing those meetings.

You didn’t want to voice that you were also apologizing for taking rejection badly.

Even though, you were.

- Won’t happen again.

His eyes softened.

- I’m sorry too, okay? – he lifted his hand to place it on your shoulder or upper arm but decided against it in the last second and let it fall back against his side.

You laughed. Genuinely.

- What are you sorry for?

- For what I said in the car, - he explained.

Your eyes returned to the startled expression that they were in when he first came in. You had wanted to avoid that night but he had brought it up voluntarily. He could see your prey-like expression and shook his head:

- I didn’t mean... – he got quiet for a second. – That would be a lie. I did mean it. But I think I could’ve worded it better. Maybe. Or explained it to you when you were sober...

I didn’t mean... That would be a lie. I did mean it.

His words, even though soft and placating, still grazed your heart like a knife.

You could respect him for not leading you on.

Leading someone on was still worse than letting somebody down gently.

Be a big girl and accept defeat like a champ, you motivated yourself.

- That’s fine. It didn’t mean anything.

It didn’t mean anything.

You had realized he liked you, damn near loved you, and it didn’t mean anything.

His love meant nothing.

Pedro swallowed and nodded. When you gestured towards the door that he was still blocking, he stepped aside, letting you leave.

- Did you feel harassed by me? – he asked before you left.

You laughed. But when you realized he was dead-ass serious, your smile fell.

- What?

- In my car. That night. Did you feel harassed by me?

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Even though it was absurd for him to ask this, you felt warmth engulf your heart.

He’s making sure you didn’t feel unsafe with him...

God.

He’s gonna make a great partner to someone someday...

- God no, - you grinned, trying to put him at ease.

- You sure? – he asked.

- Of course, - you gave him a bittersweet smile. – How could I have felt harassed? Nothing happened.

Nothing happened, as in, I asked you out and you turned me down, simple as that.

Nothing happened, as in, you figured I liked you and that realization meant nothing, I still mean nothing to you.

When week four rolled in, things had went back to normal. The weird kind of normal. The professional kind of normal. You were present in all PR meetings you needed to attend, Pedro went out of his way to treat you like a friend.

He had started bringing these weird mini cupcakes from around where he was living. Every meeting, he would show up and give them out to all, usually five or six, attending persons. He would never skip you, giving you exactly the same amount of pleasantries, sweets and eye contact as to every other person from the cast and PR teams. It was as if he had timed your interactions to make sure you felt identical to everybody else here.

You translated his actions as he’s making sure to drive home the point of “I treat everybody like this, don’t make this weird, you’re not special in that sense”.

He translated his actions as making sure you saw that even after you rejected him, he still wouldn’t be passive-aggressive towards you and wouldn’t exclude you from anything.

“Don’t make things weird” had become a motto for both of you, at this point. This was exactly why Pedro had advised Oscar to also invite you to the party he was throwing in honor of ending the shooting of one of Oscar’s movies. Even though Pedro knew you would show up all dolled up and, most likely, with a plus one, as suggested the invitation.

And “don’t make things weird” was exactly why you had accepted, even though the last time you had attended a formal function, it had ended with you at a club and with no ride or money.

You had showed up in a black sleeveless dress that reached your knees. Pedro had had exactly one drink and he was using the hell out of it as an excuse why he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – take his eyes off you. The dress was simple and maybe exactly because of that your own beauty shone through more than usual when there was nothing to distract people from it.

Then you turned towards the small home bar and his eyes slid over your frame, landing on the dress’ very deep slit. This time it was on the behind of your dress’ skirt.

You and the fucking slits. Making every piece of clothing look like it was designed specifically for you...

- Thank god moods are not contagious because this would be the saddest happy event ever, - Oscar’s hand landed on his friend’s shoulder, as he followed Pedro’s gaze down to where you were standing.

Pedro unintentionally moved to block you from his friend’s eyes which came as a surprise to both. It was very clear that Oscar had no negative or positive intentions regarding you so it was even more weird when Pedro felt small pang of jealousy when he saw the bottle of wine you had gifted Oscar for hosting the party.

Oscar raised his eyebrows, amused.

As if asking, really?

You, on the other hand, were doing everything to avoid Pedro that evening. He looked good. He looked so handsome even though he was one of the very few men here who had chosen to wear a sweater instead of a suit or a dress shirt. You definitely needed a distraction and given how it had ended with drinking last time you got drunk, you avoided alcohol like it was the plague, only drinking virgin cocktails.

The biggest problem with avoiding someone is that that person is living in your head rent free, in order for you to be where they are not. Which meant that before you avoid them in a room, you have to check specifically for them. The biggest support for you in this was the fact that Pedro seemed to avoid you as well, so it was quite easy to keep your distance.

- Is there a guest I’m not aware of? – Oscar humored lightly. – Or are you stalked by someone?

Only the ghost of your best friend.

You smiled, shook your head and asked a few questions about the movie to whose ending this function was dedicated to. After some time he excused himself and said to go look for his wife but before he left, Oscar casually threw out:

- I’m sorry things are weird between you and Pedro right now, - he seemed apologetic.

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Pedro had clearly told him about what had happened.

It was already embarrassing enough for you to realize that Pedro had been sober that night and remembered every word your drunk self had confessed. And, to add insult to injury, the rejection still kinda stung. But he had clearly told everything to another man. And that one made you even more upset because you knew Oscar by reputation only but that reputation was quite good. So he probably felt sympathy for your little groupie act by asking out someone clearly out of your league.

You averted your eyes. How many other people knew?

- Look, he’s a grown ass man, he’ll be fine, - Oscar put his hand on your shoulder in a pacifying manner. – It’s just that this was his longest crush ever so it will take more time than usual...

Because you actively tried to block out his voice, the words didn’t register at first. And, once they did, they still didn’t make much sense.

- But it will-

- What did you just say?

Your tone was harsh and it made Oscar do a double-take.

- I... I’m not trying to pressure you into anything by what I said about being his longest crush, if that’s what you meant. I promise.

Your eyes searched his face for any signs of amusement or humor... or confusion. When you didn’t find any, you put down your drink and turned your full attention towards him.

- What did he tell you happened that night?

Oscar looked at you like you were a child asking to explain the alphabet.

- I’m not sure I should-

- He clearly told you something! – you raised your voice – not loud enough to be heard by everyone but enough to make some of the closest people turn heads.

Oscar nodded:

- All he told me was you figured out he liked you. And you don’t like him back, - Oscar used the tone he probably used with his kids. – And that’s fine. You have every r-

- What kind of fairy tale did he fed you? – your first thought was that Pedro had lied to his friend.

But why would he ever do that? What could he possibly get out of telling people you were the one who rejected him? Letting someone down wasn’t a crime and it didn’t make you a bad person.

- He rejected me! I straight up asked him out and he gave me the whole speech about there being men who would be oh so lucky to date me. And then he kept on friend-zoning me for a month just for funsies. Making sure I knew my place was with all the other people who worked for him!

When you turned to leave – and maybe give that free alcohol a shot or two – Oscar unceremoniously grabbed your upper arm and turned you back.

- That can’t be true, Y/N! You were the one drunk! Are you sure you remember everything okay?

You rolled your eyes, trying to pull your arm away.

- I was drunk, not stupid! I know rejection when I receive one!

Oscar’s grasp wasn’t hurting you or anything but it probably looked like you were fighting from afar, at this point.

- Look, Y/N, calm down, - he lowered his voice so other people wouldn’t hear a thing. – All he told me was that you had confessed liking someone you worked with, and-

- And who do you think that someone from work is, genius?

You could almost hear gears turning in Oscar’s head.

- So... When he said that you had asked if... When you were wondering if he would date you, it wasn’t because...

You waited.

- ... it wasn’t because you were insecure about nobody being interested in you?

- Why would I give a shit if other people were interested in me?

It was a good thing you were sober because it was taking a good amount of time to understand this even sober. Your eyes widened when you finally put the pieces together.

The way Pedro looked almost crushed when you had interrupted him to silence him in the car.

Please don’t. I respect you way too much and don’t want to start saying things I don’t mean while drunk.

Could he had mistaken it for rejection?

You silencing him out of respect so you didn’t have to tell him you didn’t want to date him? Did he thought that you were thinking his ego couldn’t handle being rejected by someone who was not rich or famous?

Shit.

You tried to find his pink sweater somewhere in the crowd. He couldn’t have gone home already, could he? You had relatively little knowledge of the layout of Oscar’s house so your best shot was to run into Pedro somewhere.

Your wish manifested a bit too literally, when you roughly rounded a corner and ran straight into someone.

Pedro’s fingers wrapped around your upper arm in the same manner Oscar’s hand had just mere seconds ago. Just to drive home the point of your attraction to him, a small shot of electricity shot through your arm whereas nothing even similar had happened when his friend had touched your arm.

- Careful, - he steadied you and then removed his hand.

When you looked up, you noticed that he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You thought you had gotten over this awkwardness...

Guess not.

With music still sounding throughout the house, you looked around, grabbed the front of his sweater and pushed him into one of the many guest bedrooms here. Once you closed and locked the door, you turned towards Pedro who was looking a bit thrown out of the boat.

For one moment, nobody said anything. Then you pushed down the dress that had ridden up your thighs while you were frantically looking for him throughout the house, and stepped closer to him.

The height difference was always a turn on for you but right now it did nothing but annoy.

- Sit down, - you commanded.

He took a step back and sat down on the bed.

When he looked up at you, you realized that you probably shouldn’t have asked him to do that. Your foggy brain finally decided to give you back few of the memories missing from that night month ago.

When he had gently lowered you onto the bed and you had finally woken up just in time to see him drop down on his knees to take off your boots. Out of concern, he had looked up at you with a very similar expression as he was having right now. With his lids lowered, eyes dark and pupils dilated.

When his brows furrowed in confusion, unaware of your flashbacks, you snapped out of it.

- Why does Oscar think I rejected you in your car that night? – you demanded before you lost your courage.

Pedro looked away.

You had had a long day at work today and still most of your energy had went into dodging Pedro at every corner, trying to not even look at him, while simultaneously keeping an eye on him at all times to not accidentally get close. Your patience had worn out long before you got here.

You unceremoniously grabbed his chin and turned his head back towards you.

- Look, I’m sorry I told him, - Pedro raised his eyes to meet yours. – I needed to tell someone and you were avoiding me and refused to even look at me!

You shook your head and tried to step back before he grabbed your hand in both of his.

- I’m sorry.

- What are you even sorry for? – you ripped your hand from his. – For lying?

When all he did was stare up at your in confusion, you took a step back to keep some distance.

- Do you get pity points or something for act-

Pedro stood up and you lost any advantage you had due to height. When he advanced towards you and you still stepped back, he caught your wrist, refusing to let you leave.

- Stop running from me! – he demanded. – Talk to me!

Fine.

- Fine, - you still tugged on your arm and he still didn’t let go so at some point you had to give up on it and leave your hand in his grasp.

- Tell me why you were avoiding me for a month, - he used a painfully soft tone as if afraid you would run at the very first sign of confrontation.

You were silent for a moment, trying to find the right words to sound like a mature adult.

- I guess... – you sighed and decided to just get over it. – I was hurt that you weren’t interested in me when I asked you out that night after you picked me up. I was butt hurt and it wasn’t fair to you because you have ever-

You didn’t get to finish when he closed the small distance between you and pressed his lips against yours. You would’ve pulled back by surprise if not for Pedro’s hand cupping the back of you neck.

Your heart seemed to simultaneously skip a beat and stop altogether. After the initial shock, you slid your hand into Pedro’s hair and lightly pulled him back by it.

Amusement danced in his eyes with a light shake of his head.

- To think we could’ve done this weeks ago, - he laughed.

You felt a bit giddy inside, still not really comprehending every piece of this misunderstanding but, in your defense, it probably had been quite hard to catch any love signals that night when you were wasted.

- You want me to ask you out again? – you proposed.

- Nah, - he shook his head. -  I’ll do the honors, - he cleared his throat. – You’re going on a date with me.

You cocked your head.

- Are you asking or telling?

- I assumed you were a sure thing, drunk words being sober thoughts and all that...

This felt a bit too good to be true but you weren’t going to question it. Once you both left the guest room, with Pedro’s hand still wrapped around yours, and turned the corner to return to the party, you found Oscar leaning against the wall in the hallway with a drink in his hand and an amused look in his eyes.

- No freaky business under my roof, - he gave his friend with a stern look. – That’s like the only rule I have.

Only when his eyes found your intervened hands, he chuckled under his breath.

- Love must be hard when you’re both idiots, huh?

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal #imagine #oscar isaac

[genericpuff]

The Kiss Bet Episode 172 - Hot Pot and Venting About How I Want My 70 Cents Back

Okay, look, this isn't a post I was expecting to make today but it's something that just happened and I have to fucking talk about, so let me preface this with some context.

I had to buy coins recently and because I switched to using my iPad for reading comics on, I got a "new reader" type deal from Webtoons for a coin bundle that got me like 100 coins for $5; because technically it was a 'new account' as Webtoons operates their in-game currency model on apps, not on actual emails (meaning if you use the app on an Android phone and then switch to an Apple iOS device, they're technically two separate accounts which you sync the reading data between via the account info linked via the email, therefore they have two separate coin wallets).

So with more coins than I knew what to do with, I decided to start FastPassing The Kiss Bet again, which I had recently stopped FP'ing around the S3 mark, as it's recently devolved back into the "will they won't they" trope, but instead of between Sara-Lin and Joe, it's between Sara-Lin and Joe's younger brother (the "true endgame") Oliver.

Now I don't mind the ship in essence. Joe was definitely not gonna be endgame, it was always gonna be Oliver, anyone who's read any amount of romance before - especially high school romances - knows how this shit tends to go, and The Kiss Bet isn't exactly trying to be groundbreaking or subversive in any way, it knows exactly what it's about and what it's trying to accomplish.

But it's almost become a little too good at this. Because in playing the "will they won't they" game for so long with a character that we know is endgame, it's basically been weeks and weeks and weeks of-

That said, after I caught up on the recent FP episodes, it seemed like stuff was finally moving a little bit. We were finally meeting Oliver's mom and his stepdad who he has a fractured relationship with, Joe was finally getting with his true endgame girl, Vicky (who's totally not an exact genderbent version of Joe lmao) and Sara-Lin was finally realizing she had feelings for Oliver.

And then the newest episode came out, Episode 172 - Hot Pot and Venting.

CAUTION: FASTPASS SPOILERS FOR THE KISS BET OFFICIALLY BEGIN HERE!

Already I was a little petty over the title like "lmao ok clunky title but whatever". I swept it off as not a genuine criticism, just me being a nitpicking asshole over what's essentially Fluff: The Comic.

The episode cost 7 coins, which is about roughly 70 cents, albeit closer to a dollar for Canadian readers (here's something they don't tell you about Canada - our Monopoly game currency is just as fucked as it looks) and that's where I'm gonna get into my second disclaimer that I need to be perfectly clear about (and it'll be what we get more into later on in this post).

I understand the principle of paying for art. I understand fully that many of these webtoons are being produced on tight deadlines by creators who often can only afford 1-2 assistants, if any at all. I understand and fully agree that creators deserve to be paid for their skills, time, and efforts, not just as creators working on the hellsite that is Webtoons, but as artists in general who deserve to make a living the same as anyone else. Anyone who follows my stuff here knows I'm an artist myself so I would never debate the ethical necessity of paying artists for their work.

However.

I can say that, and also agree with the people who have stated in discussion circles such as on /r/webtoons that a lot of the comics that have started charging 7 coins have been suspiciously delivering less comic since. And it's not even so much in the literal panel count, the liquid volume of these comics have remained the same, but the calorie count has dropped significantly. Food metaphors aside, what I mean is that despite many of these comics maintaining their 40-60 minimum panel count requirement, they have in fact reduced the actual amount of content that happens in them, and The Kiss Bet's newest episode is a stark example of what I mean.

I am going to start by posting only post three panels - three panels that literally sum up the entirety of Episode 172 and what it chooses to spend its time on.

That is it. That is literally all that's established in this episode. I'd tell you to go read it yourself, but honestly, this is genuinely one of those rare times I can honestly say that a 40+ panel episode is not worth 70 cents and you'd be better off, and that's saying a LOT when these episodes are only priced at the cost of a gumball. At least Lore Olympus has entertainment in how bad it is most of the time, Episode 172 of The Kiss Bet is just nothing. You will literally get more substance and flavor from an actual gumball.

Literally every other panel in this episode is either repeating the same dialogue (Sara-Lin saying the same thing multiple different times to express how Oliver is holding her hand or how his stepdad is a dick) and then Sara-Lin and Oliver staring at each other. Over. And over. Again.

I am not joking. I did not cut anything out in that sequence. That is where the episode ends. Complete nothingburger, seemingly cut off right as it was just getting started like Cait Corrain's career.

Out of the entire episode, there were 45 panels. So I can safely assume Ingrid's minimum panel requirement is at least 40 per episode, that's me assuming the best that she didn't exactly meet her panel minimum at 45 panels on the dot.

Out of those 45 panels, there were:

Two actual unique backgrounds that weren't gradients or just a single piece of furniture

4 separate panels of Sara-Lin freaking out over Oliver holding her hand and wondering if he even noticed

10 panels of Sara-Lin staring at Oliver either dumbfounded or asking him to repeat himself (or apologizing over nothing)

5 panels of the characters saying nothing

11 panels of Sara-Lin repeating information in different ways that could have been accomplished in half that time

Two separate occasions of Oliver getting Sara's attention from off-panel, literally formatted the exact same way both times (and both followed by reaction panels of Sara-Lin staring at him dumbfounded)

Way too many panels of Sara-Lin blushing in response to Oliver being an asshole tbh like literally this guy's a douchebag, Joe may have been the "out of her league" love interest but at least he was nice and didn't treat Sara-Lin like someone who just bought a Husky as a "starter pet" ???

Again, I don't usually like being a dick about the coin costs, and I definitely don't like being a hypocrite in telling people they should pay artists for their work while simultaneously posting their paywalled content like this, but I think there does come a point where it feels more irresponsible for people to not be aware of what they're about to pay for and how little they're going to be getting. This episode is literally one of the best - and worst - examples of how far the romance genre has fallen on the platform - when it's not being overtaken and oversaturated by problematic series that romanticize abuse and sexual assault, it's being dragged to death with the most boring executions of tropes that everyone has seen before and is only exciting for anyone who's never read a book or watched a romance movie, period.

And here's the thing where I do approach a bit more "hot take" territory, but every time I see this argument come up about episodes not being worth the coin cost, I see others who rightfully argue that 70 cents isn't that much to pay for what you're getting - weekly episodes of work that are usually always delivered on time, with more panels than you would ever typically see in a free to read comic.

But here's where I take issue with that argument, as much as the principle of it is sound, it misses the overall point: readers are paying for entertainment first and foremost, so can anyone who's actually paying for regular refills on their app currency step away from this and truly call it "entertainment"? Nothing was gained. The comic had 45 panels to say something, anything, and managed to not even squeak out so much of a word. Even the silent moments have no substance, they just reiterate information that we already know.

Do we really need another panel of Sara-Lin blushing at Oliver? We've known for weeks now that she has a crush on him. Do we really need another panel of Oliver getting Sara-Lin's attention? What is this actually showing of their chemistry? What is being shown here that hasn't been shown numerous times - with and without dialogue - for weeks now? What does the comic have to show for itself after four seasons?

Another point of the "it's just 70 cents, don't be an asshole" argument that people seem to miss is it's not 70 cents. It's $1. Because if you want to buy a single episode of the Kiss Bet, you can't just pay for the individual episode in isolation, you have to pay for the coins first, and $1 is the absolute bare minimum you have to pay to get 10 coins, which will only pay for one episode of a 7 coin series - of which there are many now, basically any series that's 40 panels or more will cost 7 coins and, shocker, those are the series that WT will tend to promote most, you'll rarely see the 5 coins series in the banner ads, and that's not even getting into how there are more and more series cropping up that have 5+ episodes behind FP rather than the traditional three.

So if you're someone who's (almost definitely) keeping up with more than one series? You can't just pay the $1, you have to pay at least $5 for 50 coins, and that will NOT go far anymore or cut as evenly as it used to when just about every series is now 7 coins. Webtoons knows fully well what kind of game they're playing by making the new coin cost an uneven number while still offering increments of 5/10 in their coin bundles. They undoubtedly want you to be left with an uneven number so that you'll be easily lured into buying more coins so you don't 'waste' the uneven amount you have left that isn't enough to buy the episodes for the series you want to read. Obviously this is more speculation and not fact, but it's a common business model and with the series that have adopted the 7 coin count model (rather than starting off with 7 coins outright) such as The Kiss Bet and Lore Olympus, it's becoming abundantly clear that either the creators or the platform itself is encouraging these series to meet their panel minimums with as little content as possible in order to get more money out of readers who are barely even being drip fed actual entertainment and narrative progression, let alone spoon fed.

And then there's the waiting. The goddamn waiting. So many of these series guilty of siphoning their content off through a hose that they're deliberately standing on are designed intentionally with the most egregious cliffhangers in mind to keep their audience hooked so they'll undoubtedly FP next week. Do you know what that amount of waiting does to a comic? To its readers? First off, it artificially extends the actual pacing of the comic to make it feel longer than it is, when in reality, many of these plotlines are happening in a vacuum of very short bursts of time. Case in point, Lore Olympus is commonly confused for having a plotline that takes place over the course of months, when actually when laid end to end in order of cause and effect, many of its subplots - including the romance of Hades and Persephone - takes place over the course of days. This over-inflates the plotline's actual depth and, even worse so, it makes it harder for readers to keep up with information that's being delivered, as it often takes weeks for that information to actually go anywhere - so by the time it does, many readers have straight up forgotten about it.

It's absolutely not okay that so many of these kinds of series are normalizing literal slow burning for an audience who's paying to be entertained. It's not a "slow burn". It's just slow, and deliberately so. It's absolutely NOT FUN to follow a comic that does not go anywhere week after week. It's frustrating. And before long, it starts to feel like gambler's fallacy, where readers have to essentially gaslight themselves into paying into it more and more convinced that it has to pay off eventually, based on a promise that was never actually made, only assumed in good faith. And readers should not have to fill in the bulk of the content that isn't happening with their own imaginations, which is something that happens a LOT in these series that spend so much time on the characters just staring at each other and saying nothing. It's not 'plot' to just draw characters blushing and have your audience fill in the rest of it entirely on their own. This is certainly a technique in writing, but in the case of The Kiss Bet and other comics like it, it's much less of a valid technique and more just flat out manipulating your audience into falling so hard into the sunk cost fallacy trap that they don't notice they're being robbed blind by the plot that hasn't actually happened - and they've been paying for that financial and emotional robbery out of their own pockets and brains every step of the way.

Again, I do not care about the coin cost in and of itself, seventy cents IS still an incredibly cheap price for weekly updates of a series that has to put out so many panels each week. But as a reader and a customer, I should not be leaving these updates with less information than what I started with. And I'm someone who's incredibly old school by webcomic standards, there are comics that I follow that have updated 1-2 pages a week for over a decade that manage to do more with their limited pages than Lore Olympus and The Kiss Bet manage to do after entire hiatuses filled with pre-production time.

Why does this page of Alfie manage to move both the intrinsic plot of the titular character as well as the external plot that's going on around her in one page made up of 5 panels better than what The Kiss Bet can do in 45?

Why does this page of Tamberlane manage to convey more information about the world's lore and the people in it in a way that's emotionally driven and clearly affecting the characters without outright info-dumping than what Lore Olympus has managed to spit out onto its plate since S3 started over a year ago?

How does Tales from Alderwood manage to be more entertaining and convey more meaningful storytelling through its characters in a single page consisting of zero dialogue than what The Kiss Bet can convey in its silent panels of staring, blushing, and repetitive stuttering?

Why are the creators who are relying entirely on their own efforts, resources, and ability to generate income through community interaction and support putting out better work with less panels and on slower schedules for FREE than what we're seeing from professional creators on a professional publishing platform who are being paid to do this as their job?

There's this saying in the tattooing industry: good work isn't cheap and cheap work isn't good.

At this point, 70 cents is not a 'bargain' as many people like to argue in defense of the creators. And while I do want to have good faith in the creators who don't pull this shit, the creators who clearly go above and beyond to do what they do in the pursuit of storytelling and polishing their craft to be the best piece of work that it can be - the comics that are worth paying 70 cents and beyond for - are not the comics that Webtoons is promoting to people. The creators of the works that genuinely deserve more than 70 cents per update are being left to fend for themselves without support from the platform, while those that aren't worth the price of even a flavorless gumball are consistently winning the Wonka Golden Ticket lottery.

The cost of 70 cents is relative. For some works it's a genuine bargain. For others like the The Kiss Bet and Lore Olympus, 70 cents is not a "bargain", it's not a "good deal", it's exactly the value of what you're paying for - cheap work that isn't good.

#so yeah i'm done reading the kiss bet fr now #i figured if i had 100 more coins than i needed i may as well use them for something that i didn't need to start from scratch on #but i literally feel ripped off LMAO #webtoon critical #the kiss bet #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #Youtube

[supernovafics]

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k words

summary: in which during the summer of ‘84 steve visits family in chicago and meets you at a record store. the two of you immediately have a sort of pull towards one another and decide to start something that’s only meant to be a summer fling. as the end of summer nears, you realize that you may be in way too deep, and you take a step back from it all. however, maybe things can actually work out in the end for you two? or maybe not

warnings: explicit language, implied smut, some fluff, a lot of angst

author’s note: very much inspired by the song “end of beginning” by djo (the entire decide album fully makes me wanna sell my soul lmao) this started out as such a small idea and then somehow expanded to being over 5k words…. hope you enjoy! lol ((already working on a part two so don’t hate me for how this ends :0))

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was pretty obvious that you were avoiding Steve like the plague. Phone calls to your home were left unanswered, messages from him that were relayed to you by your parents were left unresponded to, and when he showed up at your house looking for you, you told your parents to tell him that you weren’t home. 

However, if anyone were to call you out on your current behavior, you would deny it. 

Because technically, everything was completely fine between you and Steve.

There was no defining moment that made you start avoiding him. In fact, the day before you stopped talking to him, the two of you had spent the night watching a movie at the tiny old theater in the next town over. Well, actually, “watching” was an overstatement because you two mainly did other things that did not involve really paying attention to the two-hour movie. 

And although that entire night had been good, great even, you still spent the next three days avoiding Steve. It was an impulsive decision, but it was also one that you knew, or at least felt like, was the right one.  

You were starting to like him too much, and that concerned you because he was leaving Chicago in less than a week to go back to Indiana, which meant that what you and he had going on was going to be over. 

It was a fact that both of you were well aware of and had agreed upon at the start of the summer. 

However, as it got closer to that date, the thought of actually having to let him go and end things felt painful. Therefore, you decided that the “going cold turkey” idea was the best way to protect yourself. And although a part of you missed Steve, you forced yourself not to think about him. 

However, it turned out that not thinking about someone was much easier to do when they weren’t standing right in front of you, which Steve currently was. 

Now that you truly thought about it, you could see that it was only a matter of time before he showed up at your job. The record store was where you met him in the first place, and he practically knew your schedule as if it were his own since he had picked you up at the end of almost all of your shifts for the past month and a half. 

Your mind and heart felt conflicting things at this specific moment. As much as your heart wanted to see him, your mind knew that he was only making things harder. A tearful, heartbreaking goodbye was what you truly wanted to avoid. 

It was then that you wished that the store was much more crowded than it actually was because since there was barely anyone browsing around, it made it easy for Steve to walk up to the front counter, which you stood behind.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and instead of meeting his gaze, you busied yourself with grabbing the Hall and Oates vinyl that someone was going to buy, but ultimately decided not to, and moving to place it back on its rightful shelf. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You ultimately told him, still evading his eyes and beginning to pick through the shelf even though there wasn’t anything to organize or fix on it. 

“I think there’s a lot to talk about, actually.”

You finally looked at him, and when you saw the look on his face that was a mix of confusion and sadness, for a moment, you finally felt bad for not talking to him and giving him no explanation as to why. 

“I have to do some stocking in the back,” You told Steve, knowing that he would be able to easily read between the lines of what you said. 

He knew exactly what that “code” meant, but with what had happened the last few days he wasn’t sure if he should follow you to the back room. The last time the two of you had been there was a week ago, and in Steve’s mind, things were much clearer then, than what they were like now. 

You placed a bell and sign on the counter that said, “Ring if you need help,” and then began heading to the back. When Steve didn’t start following you, you looked at him. “You coming?”

He gave you a small nod and finally moved, following you the few feet to the room that said Employees Only. He softly shut the door behind you both, and you flicked on the light switch that turned on the one light bulb hanging in the middle of the room that did almost nothing to provide the space with any light. 

Maybe coming back here wasn’t the best idea because being in the place that surprisingly held pretty fond memories of you and Steve made it feel way too easy to fall back into the dynamic you’d become so used to with him. It almost felt like second nature to slot your lips against his in the barely lit room, and you really wished you could allow yourself to do it. 

“Where have you been these past couple of days?” Steve asked, pulling you out of your conflicting thoughts.

A silence lingered for a brief moment as you thought of what to say in response to that. Ultimately, you settled with, “I’ve been… busy.”

“I leave in four days,” He said, reminding you of a fact you truly wanted to forget about. His face softened, and you had to pull your eyes away from his. “Is there any way you can be not busy?”

“The fact that you’re leaving in four days is exactly why I’ve been making myself busy,” You muttered, but Steve heard you clearly. 

A confused look crossed his face.“What do you mean?”

A small sigh fell from your lips, and it was funny because, at that moment, you wanted to tell him nothing but also everything circling your mind. “I– I know what we agreed on at the beginning of the summer, but it’s just… I don’t know. It just feels so hard now? In the beginning, it was so easy, and I honestly liked that we had an “expiration date” set for this, but it all just feels so different now. Because I can feel myself liking you way too much, and I simultaneously love and hate that because you’re the first person I’ve ever truly liked. But you’re leaving, so obviously, I can’t allow myself to like you too much because I would be an idiot if I did, and I would just end up hurting more than I already do right now. And the thought of having to say goodbye to you makes me actually wanna throw up.” 

You knew that you were rambling at that point and that you should stop because what you were saying probably wasn’t making a lot of sense. But Steve had always been insanely easy to talk to, so it was pretty understandable why you were word-vomiting all over him. “So yeah, that’s why I’ve been avoiding you like the plague for the past few days, and I would’ve continued if you hadn't shown up here.”

During the entirety of your ramble, your eyes were looking everywhere except for Steve, and when you finally let your gaze land on him, you noticed a certain look on his face. “Why the hell are you smiling right now?”

Your incredulous tone only somehow made Steve smile wider. “Because for the past three days, I thought you hated me for some reason. But now I know it’s the exact opposite.”

“Honestly, I wish I hated you,” You told him. The statement was mostly a lie. “It would make things so much easier for me.”

“Well, I’m really glad you don’t,” He said softly and moved a bit closer to you, placing his hands on either side of your waist. 

You almost leaned into his touch, as you’d done what felt like a million times before, but you refrained from doing so and instead backed up a bit. “Steve…”

You could feel yourself slowly falling back down that hole of wanting him, and although it was a path that could only lead to heartbreak, your motivation to push him away and never talk to him again was declining. 

Still, you managed to find your voice at that moment. “You should go.”

Steve disregarded your words because he could hear how much you didn’t mean them and instead asked a question of his own. “Am I really the first person you ever really liked?”

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, and you suddenly felt annoyed by all of your previous honesty. But you also wanted to roll your eyes at the question because Steve knew the answer; he knew pretty much everything about you. “You know how I was before we started this.”

For most of your life, you had always been completely content with being alone romantically and having only a handful of friends you loved and would die for. There was never anyone that made you want to step out of the bubble you created for yourself. Somehow Steve was the exception. 

However, the immediate pull you felt toward him wasn’t enough to change you. Instead, it was your best friend Vanessa, who also worked at the record store, that noticed how you were around Steve and gave you the much-needed nudge to actually attempt to pursue something with him. Because just the idea of you having feelings for him had felt utterly foreign to you. 

“You randomly came into the picture and changed everything for me. And I think I’ll probably always be grateful for that,” You said after a brief stretch of silence. “But, I can’t allow myself to see you again after we leave this room. It’s too fucking hard for me.”

In the beginning, you convinced yourself that a situation like this couldn’t lead to heartbreak because of the fact that the ending was set. However, now you thought that maybe that made things worse because everything you felt for Steve was still right there, and it also wasn’t gonna go away any time soon. 

“I don’t wanna end things.” 

“Me neither, but you leave in four—”

“I don’t want this to be over,” He interrupted you. “I want to make it work with us when I go back.” 

You were rendered speechless for a brief moment at his words. Too many things started running through your mind, and although your immediate thought was to let yourself smile at his statement, there was a question that you knew you needed to ask. “What about Nancy?” 

Her name felt foreign on your lips because, for the entire summer, you kept her pushed to the back of your mind. 

Steve told you about her, and the fact that they were on a break for the summer, once you and he grew closer, which was something that happened insanely fast. And that was where the arrangement between you two started. 

Nancy was a big reason why you now saw the “summer fling” you agreed on with Steve as doomed from the start. 

The life Steve was living with you while he was in Chicago for the summer wasn’t his real life. He was always, always going to go back to Indiana and pick things up right where he and his girlfriend had left them off.

That is what you kept telling yourself, and that upsetting thought only aided in your need to avoid him for his last week in Chicago. Maybe that assumption was wrong, though. 

“I’ve barely thought about her the entire summer,” Steve said, and you could hear the honesty dripping from his words. “And when I have, it’s only been about how to end things for good with her because I only want to be with you.” 

His words contradicted everything you convinced yourself of, and you didn’t know how to respond to that. Your mind was running in a million different directions, allowing no coherent sentences to form. The only thing you could say at that moment was, “Oh?”

“Yes, and I know that we’ll be able to make this work,” Steve began explaining, and you forced your mind to shut off for a moment and solely listen to him. “We’ll both be seniors, so our schedules with school won’t be too bad, and we probably won’t have a shit ton of classes. Also, the drive is only three hours, which will be like five for you to do since you’re a bad driver, but that’s still not too crazy. I’ll happily drive up here most weekends. And then there are the holidays too.”

For the first time since the conversation with Steve started, you smiled. Not at the bad driving comment; in fact, you gave him a light shove for saying that. But, it was endearing hearing how certain he was of the fact that the two of you could actually make things work, even though you’d be in two different states.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, huh?” You asked, a smile still planted on your face as you shifted closer to him and let your arms circle loosely around his neck. 

His hands found their rightful place on your waist and squeezed lightly. “Yes, and I wanted to say it that night at the movies, but you just wanted to make out with me the entire time, so it was hard to get a serious word out.” 

You could hear the jokiness in his tone, but you still rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up. You were the one that initiated it right when the lights went low, and the previews started.”

“And then you just couldn’t get enough of me, baby,” He said before fully closing the space between you two and slotting his lips against yours. 

You had wanted to laugh at his previous words or give your own sarcastic comment back, but you let all of that melt away, and instead, you simply kissed him back; something that had been done many times in that back room. 

One of Steve’s hands was cupping your cheek while the other slipped under the t-shirt you were wearing, and feeling his cool hand against your warm skin sent a slight shiver down your spine. Your hands found a home in his hair, and you loved hearing the low groan erupt from his throat when you gave it a light tug. 

The two of you were so lost in the kiss and making up for the time lost since you hadn’t seen each other in days, that neither of you heard the door open or saw Vanessa open it.  

“Y/N, what do–” The rest of her question stopped short when she saw the two of you. She had known that you had been avoiding Steve for the past few days but refrained from calling you out. However, at that moment, she gave you a look that said, “You better explain everything when we’re alone,” and you gave her a small nod before shutting your eyes in embarrassment. Surprisingly, in the many times you’d brought Steve back there, something like this had never happened before. “Oh, um, sorry to interrupt… this. As you were.”

The door softly clicked shut, and when Steve leaned in to kiss you again, you immediately pulled back, detaching yourself from him and letting your hands fall limp at your sides. Your body was on fire at that moment, but you refrained from doing anything about it.

“Nope. No more of this right now,” You told him. The embarrassment from the situation had yet to wear off and allow you to continue kissing him, even though you had been thoroughly enjoying it. “I’ll see you tonight, though?”

“You’re not gonna start avoiding me again?” Steve asked, and you knew he was mostly kidding, but you could also hear a tad bit of seriousness behind his words, which made sense to you. However, things were completely different now. You actually surprisingly felt hopeful about what was to come instead of dreading the next four days before he left. 

You looked up at him and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Never.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t surprising that you were the first one to wake up. For some reason, your body would never allow you to sleep too far past nine o’clock, no matter what you’d done the night before. 

You carefully detangled yourself from Steve’s warm body, not wanting him to wake up just yet, and headed to your bathroom. Once you finished brushing your teeth and showering, you slipped the grey t-shirt that Steve had shown up in last night back on your body because you loved how it looked and felt on you. 

When you walked back into your room, you mentally saved the image of Steve in your bed. It wasn’t the first time you’d snuck him into your room, but it would be the last for a while. And you were glad that your parents were gone for the weekend at some business conference so that you didn’t even have to sneak him in this last time. 

Steve looked peaceful, and you didn’t want to have to wake him, but it was his last day in Chicago, and you wanted to make every hour count before he left that night. 

You slipped back into the bed and faced him on his side. You ran a hand through his hair and pressed soft kisses on both of his cheeks, his nose, and then his forehead before finally landing on his lips. 

He was surprisingly quick to kiss you back, and you smiled, which allowed Steve to deepen the kiss further before he abruptly pulled back. “Mm, minty.”

“I wish I could say the same for you,” You joked, and he immediately poked your side, which made you laugh. You leaned in to kiss him again to show him that you really didn’t care about his morning breath.

Steve’s hand trailed under your, his, t-shirt and began rubbing your bare side in small circles. You sighed contently into the kiss at the feeling of his warm touch, and you wanted to move even closer to him, but you had to force yourself to pull away before things moved further, as they had last night.

You pushed some of his hair away from his eyes, and then your hand lingered on his cheek. “You leave tonight.”

He gave you a small nod. “Yeah.”

“So, we need to get up now,” You told him. “I have a lot of things I wanna do with you today.”

Steve let out a soft groan before turning his head a bit so that he could kiss the inside of your palm. “Why can’t we just do more of this?”

“Because I want to be disgustingly cheesy and sentimental with you today and just drive around and go to a bunch of the places we’d always go to this summer.”

He smiled at your words. “You’re never cheesy and sentimental.”

“You bring out this cute side of me, Harrington,” You told him and pressed a quick kiss to his nose. “Also, I’m gonna force you to finally try deep dish from my favorite place.” 

“You’re evil,” He said before finally sitting up in the bed. His gaze suddenly shifted away from you and instead focused downward as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “But, um, last night… Last night was good, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness. “Yes, very good.”

During that summer, you’d done everything else with him, so last night was kind of the final piece of the puzzle. It was honestly a bit surprising that it'd taken this long. And although you never necessarily cared too much about your virginity and losing it, you were glad that your first time had at least been with someone that you truly cared a lot about, and you knew he felt the same way toward you. 

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” Steve said with a nod as he continued to expertly avoid eye contact with you. “Because I know we’ve done a lot of stuff, but I just wanted to make sure that last night was good and everything, y’know? And that it was great for you and how you wanted it to be for your first time and–”

You stopped his rambling by pressing your lips against his. “I know. Everything was great, don’t stress. And I’d happily do it again with you right now if you weren’t leaving tonight and there wasn’t a bunch of other stuff I wanted to do with you today.”

He smiled at that and muttered out a soft “Okay,” before giving you a kiss on the cheek and getting out of bed to head to your bathroom. 

You slipped on a pair of dark denim jeans and your old pair of black Converses. When Steve exited the bathroom, you silently admired him and the fact that he was only currently in his boxers, and you resisted the urge to go up and wrap your arms around him and kiss him for what felt like the thousandth time that morning. 

“As great as you look in my t-shirt, I need it back,” He told you as he pulled on his jeans. 

You were quick to shake your head. “Nope, it’s mine now. But…” You walked over to your dresser and started rummaging through the second drawer until you found the band tee you were looking for. The shirt was pretty oversized on you, so you knew that it would more than likely fit Steve just fine. “You can borrow this.”

Steve slipped the shirt over his head. “This is also mine now. Although I do feel like a fraud since I’ve never listened to the band before.”

“If anyone asks your favorite song from them, just say, ‘Anything from their first album. I can’t decide which one,’” You said as you moved toward him, now allowing yourself to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Got it,” He nodded and smiled as his arms circled around your waist. 

You pressed your lips against his, giving him a quick peck, before finally forcing the two of you to leave your house. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Although it was one of those days that you knew you’d remember forever, it saddened you how quickly it all flew by. 

From going back to the park where you and Steve played basketball during one of your first few hangouts with each other (and you surprisingly beat him, but you knew that he let you win) to laughing at how much he hated the deep dish pizza you finally convinced him to try. And then next thing you both knew, it was night, and you were sitting in the driveway of the house he and his family had been staying at for the summer. 

A comfortable silence that felt sad, at least on your end, lingered in the car as music softly played, and Steve held your hand in his lap and traced mindless circles on your palm. 

When he looked over at you, he intertwined your hand with his and pulled it up to his lips to kiss it. “Don’t have that look. Remember, this is only the end of the beginning. I know I’m leaving now, but we’ll have so much more time together. Once I’m back in Indiana, we’ll figure out the best time for us to see each other again, okay? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You smiled and laughed at his last statement before leaning over the center console and pressing your lips against his. The position was entirely uncomfortable, but at that moment, you didn’t care.

“I have something for you,” You told him when you pulled away and then reached into the backseat and grabbed the brown paper bag that you had been looking for, which was folded at the top to hide the contents inside. It was upsettingly the only thing in your house that could double as a last minute gift bag. 

Steve eyed the paper bag for a moment before his eyes lifted to yours. “You packed me lunch?”

“Shut up, no,” You said with a small laugh. “Just open it.” 

He unfolded the top of the bag and looked inside. His gaze met yours again for a brief moment before he pulled out the five cassette tapes that were inside the bag. “No, these are all your favorites.”

You could only smile at him. “Yes, I know and I’m not giving them to you, just letting you borrow them for the time being until I see you again. Mainly because you told me you never listened to these albums before, and I have a feeling you’ll like most of them. And when you do listen to them, you’ll think about me, which is a small plus.”

He placed the tapes back in the bag and then leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll always be thinking about you. Also, I now feel like an idiot because I didn’t get you anything.”

“I don’t care. This was a last minute thing I thought of anyway,” You said with a small shrug. “But, I’m now expecting a really big gift when you come back.” You kissed his lips. “And I’m only slightly kidding.”

He laughed, and you smiled, wishing that you had a camera to take a picture of him and the two of you at that moment. It was that right time when the sun was starting to set and made everything look just perfect. You desperately wanted to have so many more perfect moments like that one with Steve, and the only thing that could curb your sadness at that moment was remembering the fact that, eventually, you would. 

You glanced at the time it said on the dashboard. “You should go before I get sad again, and I want this goodbye to end as happily as it can.”

Steve nodded and then leaned in to slot his lips against yours one more time. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You nodded back and watched as he opened the car door, grabbed the paper bag, and stepped out. “Wait.” 

You quickly got out on your side and rushed over to where he was now standing by the shut passenger side door, staring at you curiously. You wrapped your arms around him almost immediately, and Steve didn’t hesitate to hug you back and hold you tight against him. 

No words were said, mainly because no words needed to be said as you simply held each other and let the tender action speak for itself. Your eyes screwed shut, and you forced yourself not to cry because even though it felt like it, you knew that it wasn’t goodbye forever. 

You pushed up on your toes and kissed him for what you knew would be the final time for a while. It was a slow kiss that was long and drawn out, and you would’ve kept it going forever if it wasn’t for you needing to catch your breath after about a minute. 

“Okay, I just needed to do that real quick,” You told him, still pretty breathless.

“I’m really glad you did,” Steve said softly before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You returned to your car and watched as he gave you a wave and smile and then walked inside the house. You sat idly for a moment, simply looking at the red door he just stepped into and closed behind him, before forcing yourself to drive away. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Hours later, you were sat on the couch in your living room, mindlessly scrolling through television channels, unable to settle on anything, when you heard the phone ring. You almost didn’t answer because you weren’t necessarily in the mood to, but you decided against it when you realized it was probably your parents.  

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Steve said, and you could hear the smile in his tone. “We’re stopped at a gas station right now, and I just wanted to hear your voice real quick.”

“That’s very disgustingly cheesy and sentimental of you,” You told him, letting a smile take over your features. 

“You bring out this cute side of me, Y/L/N,” He said, and you laughed a bit. “Okay, I gotta go, my mom’s giving me a look. I’ll call you when I’m home.”

And when the phone rang a few hours later, around two in the morning, you were smiling as you answered it on only the second ring. You talked for over an hour about nothing but also everything, and the only thing that made either of you want to hang up was the fact that you both were insanely tired and could barely keep your eyes open. 

You both said your goodbyes, which lingered longer than expected because neither of you truly wanted to hang up. And finally, things ended with Steve saying, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

That “tomorrow” call never came, and you let a week pass before you allowed yourself to get worried and nervous. It didn’t take long for you to want to start overthinking things, but you tried your hardest to refrain from doing so. However, you failed miserably. 

You called his house on the ninth day, and when the call connected, you immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. However, when a male voice that wasn’t Steve’s, and instead it was his dad’s, said, “Hello?” your immediate relief was wiped away. 

“Hi, is Steve home?” You asked. You were sat cross-legged on your bed and nervously playing with the phone cord. After a week of radio silence, you were essentially questioning everything that you had just felt so certain and sure of. Even though, when it came to Steve, you had almost never been nervous, right then, you truly couldn’t help it. 

“No, he’s out right now,” His dad answered, and you were about to simply say “Thanks” and then hang up, but you could hear the phone being pulled away a bit as if he was talking to someone else but still wanting to keep you on the line. “He’s out with Nancy, right? Was it this? Their third date this week?”

You assumed he was talking to his wife, Steve’s mom, and you couldn’t hear her response to his questions, but you knew it didn’t matter; you had heard everything you needed to, which was actually more than enough. You hung up without saying anything else, mainly because words couldn’t form in your throat right then. 

Although you’d never gotten in a fight with anyone, what you were feeling in that moment felt equivalent to a punch in the gut. You truly wanted to pretend that none of this was happening while simultaneously screaming and crying.

However, you didn’t do any of that because the only thing circling your mind right then was one of Steve’s final words to you. “Remember, this is only the end of the beginning.”

Turned out he was wrong and a liar; more so the second one. It wasn’t the end of the beginning for the two of you. Apparently, it was only just the end. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know ur thoughts<333

(((part two here!)))

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #joe keery x reader #joe keery x you #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Two independent terrorist attacks against Israelis took place over the last 24 hours. Yesterday, a Hamas terrorist stabbed in the back a 49 years old Israeli reserves soldier, who stopped to buy something at a shop in a gas station, on his way home. The soldier turned around and, despite being injured, pursued the terrorist, shot and wounded him. The terrorist was later arrested, he had a permit to work in Israel. In the second one, a terrorist started shooting at civilian vehicles passing by, and ended up injuring a 27 years old woman. Thankfully, a baby who is 1.5 months old, who was in the car with her, was not injured, despite at least 10 bullets being retrieved from her vehicle. The IDF is searching for the terrorist.

Israeli soldiers have found and confiscated suitcases with 5 million shekels in cash from the home of a senior Hamas terrorist in Gaza. I want everyone to understand that this sum is currently 1,369,507 $ (yes, I checked with professor Google), and that most Israelis will never see that kind of money. I imagine a majority of "privileged" westerners never will, either. And this kind of money was just lying around in this terrorist's home...

The IDF has exposed and is now in control of what is likely the biggest Hamas terror tunnel. It is about 4 kilometers long (roughly 2.5 miles), and it is wide enough for vehicles to comfortably drive through it. Israeli soldiers have also found footage showing Muhammad Sinwar, the brother of Hamas leader in Gaza Yahya Sinwar, doing exactly that, in addition to footage showing the construction of this terror tunnel...

I don't post every single day about the Israeli soldiers injured and killed in Gaza, because the truth is that it has become technically difficult and emotionally painful to keep track. Yesterday, five more soldiers were confirmed as killed, one of them having been injured last week, and he has now succumbed to his wounds. So far, 128 soldiers were killed in Gaza.

Last month, there was a cyber attack on Israeli hospital Ziv, trying to derail its medical activity. Israel has confirmed today that it has traced Iran and Hezbollah as responsible for the attack. If we count the cyber war (and in terms of requiring manpower and resources, as well as in terms of the potential loss in human life, there is no reason not to count it), then Israel has been defending its citizens on no less than six fronts.

The Iran-funded terrorist Houthis in Yemen have been attacking ships unconnected to Israel, for simply passing through territory close to Yemen. A lot of shipment companies from around the world have announced they will not be sailing through this area for at least a time, which means they would have to sail all around Africa, to pass goods between the far east and the western world. This will hurt the entire world's economy, as shipment prices are expected to rise (think of the Evergreen ship blockade of the Suez Canal... these ships will not be trying to get anywhere near the canal. Symbolically, Evergreen is one of the companies announcing they will no longer sail through the Red Sea due to the threat of the Houthis). This will financially hurt so many countries, including Egypt (which operates the Suez Canal), the US and China (this means Iran's move has created a rare moment when American and Chinese financial interests align). The biggest question is, when will the world fully take in the fact that the biggest threat to world peace is the Islamist regime in Iran, and start acting accordingly?

This is Haj Amin al-Husseini.

Out of all of the people who helped shape the Israeli-Arab conflict, he's probably the most influential one, an antisemite, a Nazi collaborator, and a believer in pan-Arab nationalism (he didn't want to fight Jews to establish a Palestinian state, he wanted to exterminate the Jews and establish a greater Arab Islamic state, a new chaliphate, if you will. There is a FASCINATING docu series in Israel, dedicated to the Arab and Muslim leaders who have fought Jews and Israel, interviewing intelligence agents from many countries. The ep dedicated to al-Husseini is unbelievable, and I wish everyone could watch it. It's available online, but sadly, only in Hebrew. The truth is, I don't think anyone can understand the Israeli-Arab conflict without understanding the role of al-Husseini in it, and how different things could have been, if only the more moderate Arab leaders in the Land of Israel at the time had managed to squash his influence, or if the British hadn't tried to "tame" him by appointing him to the position of Jerusalem's grand mufti.

This is the Belchassan family, 31 years old Yuval and Ofir, and their two years old son Tai.

On Oct 7, Yuval left Ofir and Tai to hide in the bomb shelter, and went out to fight off the Hamas terrorists. He and his friends saved their kibbutz, but now, as Ofir is due to give birth to a daughter, they have no home to bring her back to.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #Youtube

[thesamoanqueen]

Personal Hell

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: SMUT; First time; Bodyguard!Roman( a real body-guard); hit of past non-con/food disorders so please dont read if you’re not comfortable.

A/N: I don't know how it turned out in the end. I wrote the fic at different times due to personal commitments, but I still hope it's not a total mess. Requested by @romanmydaddy , hope you like it dear~

He mumbled something under his breath, a red trickle down his chin from the slap she'd given him, and his eyes snapped up at her, sending her into a panic. She had to do something, she had to push him away, come back down, she had to call-

- Trash. - said a voice to her right and neither she nor the man who held her by the arm had time to turn around.

The impact that pulled him down was sudden, as if a car had hit him full-on and thrown him to the end of the hallway. She crouched against the wall with a choked cry, but she was more surprised than scared at that point, she knew who that voice belonged to and when she turned to look, Roman was already on top of the dude. She felt his knuckles slamming into his face, shoulders crashing into the carpet, and when the crying stopped, a slimy, wet sound reached her. The carpet was getting dirty…

***

Sitting in the back seat of the car, she listened to the noise of the dinner – or party? – which was being held at that home. It echoed between the walls of the spacious garage, a distant echo, but as always the matter did not concern her. She felt panicked, confused, it had all happened so fast. She didn't tremble, she was safe there, but her hands were cold on the dress that her mom had forced her to wear. She looked up hesitantly, watching Roman finish cleaning his own hands with what was left of his dress shirt. It was dirty with that dude’s blood and now he was wearing a gym shirt taken from the trunk that made him look even more imposing, she had the impression that every muscle in his body was still tense, ready to spring against anyone and reduce him like that man. Just the thought of him made her look at his hands, they were clean now, but his knuckles were red, scratched and she felt the urge to do something, anything to get them back to the way they were before.

She didn't move though, she couldn't and honestly she wasnt brave enough. Roman had been her personal bodyguard for months now, one of those big city contractor had recommended him to her father when things for the family had gone badly and he had placed him behind her without thinking twice. She was sure her father wasn't as sure now as he was then—Roman scared him—but she was and she wasn't going to trade that bond for anything else. Assuming that theirs was a real bond, which led to that stalemate and having a head full of wishes that she didn't know if she could ever grant. Yes, he had defended her, technically he had acted as a shield for her, but…

Roman was a grown man, he was from a big city, he had a life in Florida as far as she knew and this was not a teen novel. He had opened up to her, talked, seemed to appreciate her company unlike anyone else in that city, but it was also true that her father paid a salary into his bank account for each week spent with her. Theirs was an off-balance relationship and in that moment, seeing what happened to his hands because of her, Y/N realized it more than ever. He was angry, probably regretting the day he had agreed to babysit her. He could have been elsewhere, with his hands intact and a beautiful woma-

- Who the fuck he was? Why were you two together? – she heard him growl in an interrogative tone.

She wished he hadn't thought about this guy because surely what had happened would have repercussions. The dude had worked a few times with her father, bringing his mining machinery to their establishment and now he would never do it again, perhaps he would never work with anyone again, in the condition Roman had reduced him. But that scared her less than it should in that moment, in that moment she could only think of something else.

- We weren't together, I... I wanted some air – she specified quickly and Roman's eyes widened for an instant.

She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. She wasn't that kind of woman, she wasn't like the mayor's daughter or her schoolmates. Maybe to some people she was just a sad, pathetic and a bit too round-headed fool, but she still believed in that sort of thing and would never allow a stranger such confidences. Roman shouldn't have known about her food disorders, she would have been too ashamed to admit the real reason she had locked herself in that bathroom in front of him, but she didn't want him to think badly of her. That would have been even worse than getting caught with your head on the toilet.

- Did you run away from me to get some air in a hallway? Do you think im stupid? - he almost yelled at her and she grabbed the edge of the seat, her legs banging on the bodywork.

She was used to being treated badly, but Roman was on another level. He was creepy and it was the first time he had spoken to her like that, she wasn't ready.

- What? No-

- He was touching you. - he insisted, his forearms resting on the car door and his entire figure to shade her.

Her head jerked, heart pounding and stomach tightening. She didn't understand the meaning of that conversation, she didn't understand why he was giving her so much. It hadn't been her fault, she hadn't voluntarily gone to that guy with the rat eyes. She had gone away without being seen, taking advantage of his moment of distraction to inflict yet another useless torture on herself and she knew she shouldn't have, she had risked his job out of selfishness and she was terribly sorry, but what had happened after that wasn't her fault.

-I didn't want to-he had smoked, I don't think he was fine. He spoke strangely, it was all strange, it was him. I wanted to go back, I was coming back to you. I'm sorry to cause you trouble, but really, I didn't mean to and your hands are full of scratches now- she began to rave with eyes watering, looking everywhere but at Roman who crouched down to be face to face with her.

But her feat failed and her words died in her throat with a strangled cry of terror, when she felt one of his reddened hands, take her by the throat. Roman had never tried any approach and she herself had never really been surprised by it, after all they were two worlds apart. It was the first time it had happened, it was the first time she had felt his hands on her for anything beyond helping her into a car or down a ladder. Her eyes widened, feeling a slight pressure and she swallowed hard, he was as serious as she'd ever seen him.

- No one can touch you. Nobody.

His voice was rough, deep as if came from the bottom of a well and a shiver made her spine tingle. She had the urge to run or barricade herself behind the tinted windows of the car for the rest of her life, but she wasn't sure if her body agreed and Roman was holding her with no intention of letting go. Heat emanated from him and she felt it on her, her stomach was crumpled again yet this time it wasn't painful, there was no empty feeling, at least not here.

- … y-yes. - she murmured softly as his fingers tightened a little tighter and his brown eyes invited her to reply.

Maybe she should have added something, given a true answer, but she didn't really trust her abilities at that moment and honestly didn't know what to say. Having him so close, feeling him on her was confusing in a way she had never felt before and Y/N was certain that if her skin and the shadow of the cockpit hadn't prevented it, she would have been red as a tomato.

- Yes what? - Roman urged her and she swallowed again.

One of his knees had forced its way between her legs, demanding space without her noticing. It was an awkward position, her body seemed at the point of self-combustion and for a second, in the chaos that was inside her head, she felt like crying thinking about her mother's insistence on that dress. It was so tight, it didn't fit her and now that Roman was so close, she felt even more uncomfortable than when she’d worn it.

- Yes what Y/N? - Roman asked louder and she jerked suddenly, as if he had thrown a bucket of ice water.

- Nobody has to touch me – she repeated like a good student, lowering her gaze for a second on the hand with which he was holding her.

It had moved up a little, just below her jaw and his thumb was now rubbing against her skin, forcing her to tilt her chin to his liking. It was hot and every stroke made her body itch, she was almost certain she was shaking at that moment, but Roman didn't seem to mind so maybe it was just a feeling, maybe she was so confused that didn't even understand what was going on. She wasn't good at that stuff, she didn't have the slightest experience and as far as she knew, maybe it wasn't even what she was wanting to imagine. But Y/N felt his other hand caressing her bare arm, up and down to then move elsewhere, to the side and her eyes widened, bringing them back to Roman's. He was no longer busy piercing her, his magnetic gaze had drifted lower, to her lips, as well as his thumb and Y/N let out a heated breath that was all too loud.

He didn't seem to care about her soft cheeks or the curve of her hips or all the extras her body had and that she fought so hard. No one had ever touched her like that, no one had ever looked at her that way, not even the one and only boy she had ever dated, but he wasn't worth it, they were just two kids then. The pastor of their community would have told her that she was behaving like a lamb when faced with the devil’s temptation, but for the first time in her life, she liked that danger. She suddenly realized that she was willing to be eaten by him, that she was willing to give him anything as long as he didn't stop that temptation, as long as he continued to look at her that way.

- I don't care who the fuck they are, no one will come near you as long as I'm around. You are not for them. Y’understand? - Roman established in a low, hungry growl.

- Yes sir – she nodded as if in a trance and he lifted his gaze from her cleavage, from her neck, to point at her again, this time with a pleased grin at that answer.

- Good girl.

From what dark hiding place that part of her had crept out, it wasn't clear, but she didn't even have time to investigate. The speed with which Roman moved took her by surprise. She felt him pull her against him, bullying and slamming his lips against hers, in a kiss that swallowed up not only her cry of pure terror of hers, but also the last shred of lucidity left of hers. Rookie and flustered, she just grabbed his shirt as he pushed his way into her mouth without asking permission. Y/N felt him explore the inside of her mouth, force her tongue and his taste, so inexplicably good, he wrested another noise from her, this time awfully like a moan. She didn't know what to do, how far she might go, and for a brief moment she feared she'd done something wrong, when at her moan, at her awkward attempt to reciprocate, Roman answered with a hungry growl. She felt him vibrate against her, his chest heaving, his muscles tensing under her fingers, the kiss growing even more ravenous.

She was out of breath, her lungs were about to burn and shrink to two deflated balloons, but she didn't want to stop, she didn't want that moment between them to end just because she wasn't used to that kind of attention. For some strange reason, Roman was intent on devouring her alive and all she wanted was to let him do it, help him in that endeavor and burn that enveloping feeling into her mind. Just the idea that he could do that to her after putting up with her all those months, when he could have had thousands of other women…

Thoughts, doubts striving to take control of her mind, suddenly seemed to rumble in her head and when he eased her back into the car seat, in an awkward pose to say the least, she fidgeted. It was really happening and as good as it was, panic, reality assaulted her and Y/N tried to wriggle away, but Roman just didn't seem like the type of man to give up. His hands, so large and still red, forced her to stay still and when one slipped under her buttock, lifting the dress without too many talking, a moan shook her body to the tip of her feet. She was terrified of being seen by someone, being seen by him… but everything outside and inside of her seemed on fire, her mind was foggy and the pressure of his body left her no way out. When his mouth pulled away from hers, she gasped, but the break didn't last more than a second and the contact of his full mouth along her neck, brought out another scream which she tried to disguise, her eyes closed to shield herself from shame. Roman must have found it amusing because a noise, maybe a laugh, shrugged his shoulders and in another circumstance she’d have worried since that was usually how jokes against her started, but his mouth against her cleavage made her squirm like a possessed animal. She kicked, not caring about the heels she was still wearing and the confined space, waved her arms, pushing palms against his shoulders and Roman barely opened one eye, slipping his hand under the fabric of the dress. She felt his mouth suck, bite, try to mark her without the slightest care of what anyone might think seeing her and that was enough to distract her as he worked his way between her legs. When one of his long fingers dug into her walls, where no one had ever gone before, Y/N grabbed him by the hair, pulling with all her strength as if her life depended on it.

- Easy babe, easy…- he said from her breast, but she wasn't there anymore.

She knew it was only a finger, yet the intrusion was giving her the impression of being suddenly split open, as if Roman had found the exact spot where her body had been glued together and ripped away the duck tape that kept Y/N from crumbling. She felt her eyes tingle, breath catch and her stomach turn completely, she was on the verge of something she didn't know and it terrified her. She broke free from the grip of his hands and covered her face, holding her cleavage with her other hand, heart pounding loudly as Roman blew his skin against her.

- Dont cover your face- he growled dangerously – I want to see you hot for me – moving his finger.

She felt it rubbing inside her, sinking lower and lower, a wet noise filling the car. She tried to squeeze her legs, but he was applying pressure and the movement was slowly killing her, she was sure of it. She had no idea how anyone could be capable of so much with just one finger and when after a while he added another, her ragged breaths turned into something else. She screamed, unable to hide well and ended up biting into her palm, nails digging into his dark hair again, back arching as the pace increased.

- No… dont hold back. I want it. – she had no idea what he was saying, she didn't even know what her name was or where she was anymore.

He was sinking and turning and touching parts she didn't even know she had and when his thumb landed on the outside, pressing against her clit, Y/N exploded completely shaking under his weight. The insides of her lids went white, mouth dropped open in a noise she never thought was capable of, and the insides of her folded around Roman's fingers, who persisted in drawing them in and out of her, smearing her moods everywhere. She was convinced that at any moment she would lose her senses, sinking who knows where with her sins and her broken heart.

Roman was the kind of man any sane woman would want. And wasn't just his looks, though that played a significant role. He had always been perfect with her, nothing like the men who had surrounded her growing up and as much as Y/N always reminded herself that this was part of his job, her stupid heart couldn't help to fall into the trap. She had fallen badly for him and that, that moment, was something she had never been prepared for even in her dreams. Maybe wasn't real, maybe that dude with rat eyes had convinced her to actually smoke and now she was imagining it all because of some drug, but she didn't want it to stop. She didn't want it to end.

She looked at him, breath ragged and almost desperate, she gripped his forearms, leaning in to kiss him. Roman smiled, she was probably ridiculous, but he reciprocated anyway and that was enough to make her gain some courage, pushing her to reach out more to him. She gripped his broad shoulders that had so often shielded her from the rest of the world, felt his muscular chest where Y/N always wished she could hide and held on to his neck, feeling his blood pressure pulsing. His growls shook her to toes and ignoring her own sanity or her soul, Y/N opened her mouth, allowing him to invade again. She moaned against him, his tongue torturing her again and her flustering continued to rummage everywhere, up his hips, up his back, until she felt him thrust his whole being against her. The contact with his boner, badly hidden by the pants made her squeal and Roman bit her mouth, tugging at her so she wouldn’t run away.

- R-Roman I…- she tried to explain herself, but she didn't really know what to say or what to do.

- Stay still – he ordered and Y/N trembled silently, seeing him undo the belt.

Just the sight of his hard cock, stiff and already wet, would have been enough to set her on real fire if only a human could. She was tempted to close her eyes once more, but that wasn't what she wanted, she didn't want to run away and when she felt his hands gripping her legs, it felt like a dangerous beast was making its way over her. She curled up against the seat, half of her hip already jutting out and her mouth opened and closed silently as he nuzzled the tip against her soft center. A moan shook her and Roman moved his head to one side, his expression focused and his lips pursed.

- Dont push me babe or I won’t be able to be gentle - he warned her, slipping slowly inside her folds with a terrifying verse.

A sudden burning ripped through her and a feeling of fullness filled her almost to the belly. She didn't understand how something that size could make room inside her, but she didn't care anymore, at that moment she was just trying to survive herself because had suddenly forgotten how to breathe and didn't want to give Roman any more problems. She tried to move, trying to find relief, but he planted his hands on top of her head and held her still for what seemed like an eternity. She felt it pounding inside her, his forehead pressing against hers, breath slamming into her face. As Roman backed away and sank again, something wet followed and a new noise welled up from her chest in a tone she didn't even believe belonged to her.

- Ahh! – a slow stroke and then another.

- Hm, you take me so well… so good beneath me - Roman gasped on top of her and her walls tightened.

That simple spasm was enough to drive him crazy and the burning was soon replaced by an unknown pleasure, as in the grip of a blind fury, he pounded against her. The tip slammed somewhere inside her, relentlessly and forcefully, threatening to rip her soul out with each lunge. Y/N felt her body writhe, the same heat felt thanks to his fingers filling her and rolling eyes behind her head, Roman who undeterred pulled her against him in a flood of soggy noises that came from their bodies. Something was leaking down between her legs, onto the car seat, but she had no perception of anything other than his stiff cock throbbing inside her. He was spreading her, increasing the pace stroke after stroke and for an infinite time, between continuous tremors and moments of white pleasure, Roman continued to ruin her until his thrusts became sloppy, deeper and suddenly he came out of her without a single word. Unprepared for the lack her body felt, Y/N leaned over to look at him, makeup ruined like everything else, and saw him tighten his grip on his boner, giving it a couple more strokes before emptying himself onto the garage in long whitish streams. She bit her lip and instinctively squeezed her legs, watching him catch his breath, leaning all his weight on the car door and then running a hand through his dark soft hair, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

He was so inexplicably awesome he took her breath away and the sight pushed her one last time over the edge. She shivered bumpy, empty, against the dark fabric of the car as the wave of yet another climax passed through her and hands tightly against her chest, listening to the sound of her own heart echo. Gasping, Y/N lost track of time, enjoying that sense of unnatural peace and when she opened her eyes again, she was amazed that was still lying down looking at the roof of the car and not burning in the flames of hell.

If only her parents had found out… the thought, made her straighten up, looking around anxiously, but her eyes didn't travel far. Roman was flawless again as always and he looked at her with an amused smile from the door he had leaned against, shielding her from the rest of the garage.

- It's a mess, first your hands, now this... your job, they'll be mad at you, I-I-! – she tried to speak, but panic struck hera gain.

- Breath. Ain’t going anywhere - she heard him reassure her with a dangerous look and his soft, red hand slid on her cheek, caressing her with the same fingers that had managed to bring her to the edge of abyss.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyanross @wickedsunfire @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @thiccc-rider-mcintyre @keybladeofsteel @iovereigns @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @raidenandreigns @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @itjazzbicch @ichdrachenfrau @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @mariamheeeeee @vintage-pvssy @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @helensanders92 @niknakbucks92 @wrestlezaynia @reignsx @reigns-central-blog @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @josphinna @thedonsfactory @snowpanda18 @nestorsgirlfriend @brattyfics @wanna-be-dominated @kitanasposts @namjoonspinkytoenail @tribalchiefreigns @2baddies2furious @vebner37 @raeluvshammett

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x female reader #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction #roman reigns one shot

[prettyrealm]

taylor swift & travis kelce dynamic reading

this reading is a paid commision, thank you so much for trusting in me! <3 celebrity commissions • personal commissions

overall:

honestly, this dynamic is giving PR-adjacent, it doesn’t feel like it’s technically solely PR but that at the same time, the media and their reputations are basically the sole reason for being together (and they likely do a lot of things for the media too, maybe even calling the paparazzi on themselves and stuff similar to that). both of them (taylor especially) entered this relationship with the media and optics in mind. taylor felt she needed an image boost (almost in a desperate way, she really wanted people to see the good in her and liked this opportunity). taylor and travis are not happy together at all. they take this “relationship” day by day and it feels painful, not painful as in gaslighting or infidelity, but painful as in the feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and you know you have to clock into your terrible job in less than an hour and you don’t know how many more weeks you can realistically handle it. they’re both just waiting for this to be over but for some reason don’t think they can leave yet. they feel drained and both feel they could be doing better things with their time. at first, they thought this would be easy but now they’re just terribly bored. they have nothing to talk about or (anything fun) to do together, they have zero of the same interests and find it hard to even hold basic conversations with the other person. not only do they not have anything to talk about, they can actually leave the conversations they do have feeling pretty bad at times, travis has a way of accidentally triggering taylor (and he may even tease her at times which she doesn’t appreciate, though she also seems to not say anything about it either). she has a long term plan with this relationship though, so she’s okay with dealing with temporary discomfort if it’ll make her future brighter. while they both entered this relationship with image in mind, taylor was more calculated about it and travis saw more actual potential in it (and still sometimes thinks so), when it ends it’s likely that taylor won’t be hurt at all, but travis may feel a bit slighted. zero romantic feelings here. they are definitely not each others soulmate, that’s for sure.

how travis kelce sees taylor swift:

travis sees taylor as the greatest pop star in the world right now, and he has a hard time seeing past her image (blonde all american girl, songwriter that writes about her exes) and viewing her as an actual person. i think he only ever really sees two sides of her, pop-star taylor and business woman taylor. so when he isn’t stuck on her image, he just sees a strong, powerful (but bossy) woman (who’s friendly enough and good at networking). he thinks she’s a true business woman and really gets to see the extent of how business-oriented and career driven she is behind the scenes (he can tell she has a lot of knowledge here and knows what she’s doing). travis definitely wants the relationship to keep going more than she does because he knows she’s the most famous and powerful person out right now (he sees how much money her name moves), he likes being tied to someone so famous.

how taylor swift sees travis kelce:

taylor sees as on the same page as her when it comes to their overall goals (for ex. it’s not like she calls the paparazzi on them unbeknownst to him, he knows exactly what’s going on). overall however, she thinks he’s super stupid. she’s had problems explaining things to him because he just doesn’t understand it and she doesn’t get why. she thinks he’s super immature and literally acts like a teenage boy, which is super unattractive to her - this is not her type of guy at all. she thinks he’s weird and the things he thinks are funny are bizarre and strange to her (it’s like someone belly laughing at a comedy movie you think is extremely corny and bad). she’s shocked that someone can even be this way, he leaves her baffled often. she also worries about him saying the wrong thing to other people in case it reflects badly on her (since she thinks he isn’t a smart or tactful speaker). she’s often shocked at how relationship-y and coupley he tries to act with her at times and she thinks it really crosses the line (for ex. if they do call the paparazzi on themselves he might really play up the affection or something and she’s like, “ok you know you don’t need to be doing that much”). but this can also even happen behind the scenes, which confuses taylor even more, for ex. say they’re at an event and she’s talking to another guy, later he’ll be like, “so who was that guy?” and she’s like “??? why are you even asking me that when you know what this is? are you really trying to act jealous right now?”. he frustrates her often.

#tarot #celebrity tarot reading #celebrity tarot #piano tarot #dynamic reading #taylor swift tarot #taylor swift #travis kelce #commission

[sensei-venus]

@gemini-sensei

This is just random and I don’t think I will keep it as a main going idea, but what if Robby ends up shearing a birthday with his tiny little daughter?

Maybe everyone is so excited about Robby’s birthday, mainly Reader who is so excited to be throwing him a party. Technically it’s not only just his normal birthday but also his last “I’m not a dad” birthday. Their daughter is due in a little less than a month. She’s so excited to be throwing him a birthday party because she knows he never really had them as a kid.

She spends all day getting things set up for his party. She makes a cake, blows up a few balloons, orders a really nice gift that she knows he will love. Something he has been eyeing for a while now but never bought.

Though out the day she is so busy that she just brushes off the occasional pains that come up. Every once in a while a pain goes up her belly and back but it’s nothing to worrying about. Their baby tends to move a lot now so it’s not a surprise that she’s might be stepping on a sensitive area like she sometimes does. She just waits and lets the pain pass before going back to what she was doing.

At the end of the day she makes a delicious dinner she knows Robby will love. She makes all of his favorites. Setting everything up on the kitchen table before he gets home. She makes it all nice for him.

She stands in the kitchen with his birthday cake in her hands, a simple “Happy Birthday Robby!” Written on top in pretty cursive. A smile rolling onto her lips as she hears a car pull into the driveway. She’s so giddy, giggles spill out as she waits.

The door handle tunes to the front door and Robby walks in with wide eyes.

“Happy birthday Robby!” Reader yells while holding up the cake. Robby is in shock but a grin plasters on his face. Seeing his pretty little wife all dolled up, carrying his baby, smile on her face and a birthday cake in her hands. It all so much just for him. He walks over to her with a grin and the pretty little laugh she makes has him cooing on the inside.

But before he can get a few steps in front of her, a very loud splash is heard. It echos around the room making both of them look around. It isn’t until Reader feels her feet getting wet that she lets out a small gasp. This makes Robby look at her with question. She takes a step back and sets the cake on the table.

She slowly holds her belly, cradling it. Looking at the floor and then Robby she gives a half hearted smile.

“Well um maybe happy birthday to you and your daughter? Looks like someone couldn’t wait another two weeks to meet you.” Her voice is telling that this was definitely not something she wanted to be happening.

Robby is quick to realize the puddle and slowly dripping fluid on the floor is actually Reader’s water breaking.

He try’s to avoid the small mess of fluid and hugs his wife as gently as he can. He chuckles a little trying to get her a bit more relaxed.

“Hey it’s okay, you and her are just giving me an extra special present this birthday, aren’t you?” Reader laughs a little into his shoulder while they hug.

Robby was right when he said this birthday present was special.

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai confessions #robby keene headcanons #robby keene fluff #cobra kai robby #robby keene imagine #robby keene x reader #robby x reader #robby keene #robby keene x chubby reader #pregnant reader #pregnancy headcanon #pregnant!reader #pregnacy #pregnant #chubby reader #chubby!reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x reader

[gurugirl]

The Scientist & the Stripper check-in

Summary: Harry Styles is your scientist neighbor who you've been fucking for a while.

A/n: This has been requested over and over again and I'm just now getting to it you guys - please enjoy!! 1.4k words

based on this one shot

Pairing: Nerd!Harry x Stripper!Reader

Warning: FLUFF, some mentions of sexy time

Harry was cute. He was quite shy in general but every time you got him in the bedroom he transformed into a man who knew what he wanted and he loved to give and he was good at it.

You'd been sharing your bed with Harry (and Harry'd been sharing his bed with you) for a couple of months now. It was nice to have someone to sleep next to, have sex with, and talk to. There were some days when Harry was gone all day and then by the time he'd return to his apartment (you could always hear him coming and going) you'd be stepping out for work.

Your schedules were opposite, which was normal for you. Most people worked during the daylight, while you worked during the twilight. But you'd gotten used to your schedule. And you didn't work five days a week like many you knew. Usually only on the weekends and one or two nights during the regular week. It was nice in all honesty. It wasn't what you'd planned for yourself when you got into stripping, but the money you brought in was nothing sniff at.

You'd also tried to get Harry to come see you at work a few times but he always declined. One night after you'd both had sex he admitted to you that he'd be jealous watching you dance for other men. It was a bit of a turning point for you to have Harry admit that. Because it meant that he felt he had some kind of claim over you. Even though you both were technically just friends with benefits. Nothing was official.

But Harry was so different than anyone you'd ever dated. His work was always first for him. He was obsessed with it in such a way that you found him even more irresistible. He was ridiculously smart and sometimes the conversations you had with him turned into you just trying to keep up with him. He was shy, but he was a little bit possessive and could be the tiniest bit dominant in bed. He was passionate when he spoke about the things that interested him and he was just as passionate in the sheets.

He was the best lover you'd ever had. He was a bit odd at times, but he was very genuine and he loved eating your pussy. And really, what's not to love about that?

You watched Harry from his bed as he moved around his room. He slid his boxer briefs back on and picked up the clothes that were tossed to the floor. His hair was a mess of curls and he had light scratch marks on his back, all from you of course. He was so well built and broad with a cute ass and the best smile complete with dimples. You found him very attractive. It also didn’t hurt that he had a big dick.

You sat up and yawned, “Are you in a hurry to get to the university?”

You’d had a nice morning quickie and you knew he needed to leave soon but he still took the time to give you two orgasms.

Harry pulled a sweater over his torso and turned to you as he put his glasses on his face, “Yeah. Running late already. You can stay if you want,” he gave you a soft gaze and then his eyebrows shot up, “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

He walked out of his bedroom and returned less than a minute later and held his palm out to you. You looked at the key that lie in his hand and reached for it, “What’s this?” You asked.

Harry laughed as you took the key between your thumb and pointer finger and held it up, “It’s a key. To my apartment. I trust you. Keep it.”

Harry was so unbothered and unaware of the implications or the meaning behind this gesture. He had just casually given you the key to his apartment without a second thought and you sat in his bed dumbfounded by the idea. Should you give him your key? What would that mean?

Harry had left his room again and you could hear him gathering things and then when he reentered his room he moved into his bathroom in a rush and began brushing his teeth. You put the key on his bedside table and climbed out of his bed.

In the bathroom you stood behind him and looked up at him in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He gave you a look of question.

“You just gave me your key Harry. Do you understand what that implies?” You asked him.

Harry’s brows pinched together as he continued brushing and then once he spit he turned to you and looked down over your bare skin, you still hadn’t put anything on. Harry put his hands at your hips and pulled you closer as he tilted his head, “I think you like to overthink things, but tell me what it means to you so I can understand.”

You laughed and placed your hands at Harry’s biceps, “It’s kind of like the next step in a relationship. Most of the time. It means kind of a commitment of sorts. I know maybe you don’t think of it like that. Like maybe to you it’s just a practical thing given the circumstances but…”

Harry’s expression was pensive. He was unsmiling as he moved his hands from your hips up to your waist before he spoke, “Well, I do really like you. And it was just purely for practical purposes but would it be so bad if that’s what I wanted? A commitment? Like me and you?”

You rounded your eyes and searched his face. Did he mean he wanted to be more than just fuck buddies?

“I think… yeah… I like that idea,” you bit your lip and paused before you continued, “you want to like start dating? Or?”

Harry’s serious expression finally broke and he smiled at you, “Yeah. I would prefer you didn’t see anyone else. Just me. Is that okay?”

You nodded and brought your hands up from his biceps to his shoulders and pulled at him so your lips could reach his.

Harry lowered his hands to your bare bottom and he pulled you in closer, slowly increasing the pressure of his hands as his lips softly kissed over yours. Harry was always so physical and expressive even being as shy and inexperienced as he was. But you felt like you were partly to thank for that, because you'd shown him what you liked and he really dove in head first with it. He never seemed embarrassed by the way he expressed himself with you, always sure and aware of himself in a way no man had ever been with you.

When Harry broke away from the kiss you could feel him hard in his pants, pressing into your thigh. The look on his face was that of conflict. It was clear he wanted to bring you back to his bed right then but he also had to go.

But then he smiled and looked down between your bodies, his clothed, yours not. He looked back up to you and put his hands onto your face, his palms cupping at your jaw on either side, "Okay. So, does that mean you want to be my girlfriend?"

You breathed out a laugh as you squeezed his shoulders, "I guess. I mean, we could just start off dating but if you want to jump right into being boyfriend and girlfriend that's okay. I like you, Harry."

Harry nodded, his dimples poking deep into his cheeks from the big grin on his face, "Yeah. Let's be boyfriend and girlfriend. But I do have to go now."

Before he left he dragged you back into his arms and kissed you for a few more minutes and then spoke against your mouth, "My girlfriend," with a smile.

The moment you were left alone in his apartment you squealed and jumped around like a lunatic. You didn't realize you'd be so happy to be able to call Harry your boyfriend. It felt so juvenile but you liked it. You liked the way you and Harry progressed and how he treated you.

And yeah, you liked that you were his girlfriend and he'd given you a key.

Feedback/Thoughts | Support Me | Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

Tags: @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @dancinsunflowerkiwi @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @harrys-foxy @dirtytissuebox @closureesny @lhharrylilpumpkin @evelynlarue @chaptersleftunwritten @sunflowerhssss @anothermannharry

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#harry styles smut #harry styles #nerd!harry #stripper!reader #check in #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #firstpost

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Ten: Co-Stars With Chemistry @rowaelinscourt

Find Part One Here Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Thanks for all the kind words on part one! I hope part two lives up to your expectations! Part three, and the conclusion, will come later this month. Bonus points if you spot the "against the tide" reference ;)

Warnings: None, right around 4k words

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

The Words We Share-Part Two

<<Welcome to Terrasen!  I’m your host Aelin Galathynius and this week we’ve got a special episode coming your way.  We’ll be live with none other than Rowan Whitethorn to discuss his new book.  Dead Man’s Game is his first step into fantasy and a twisted tale of pirates, curses, and of course a dive into Scottish history.  Join us next week in a special LIVE episode.  Until next time, readers.>>

It wasn’t the worst promotional Aelin had ever done in her life.  But it also wasn’t the best.  She’d written and scrapped over a dozen and so far, that was the one that hadn’t sucked the most.  Somehow.

Aelin stared at the blinking square on her computer that asked if she wanted to publish the message or not.  Technically she could still turn down the interview.  She could tell Dorian off and ignore Whitethorn for the rest of his existence and move on with her life.  And then she’d probably lose her job and end up homeless.

Wincing, she clicked the button and immediately spun away from her computer.

Her office, big and bright and vibrant, had a large window that overlooked downtown.  In the distance the mountains were shrouded in a thick layer of clouds, not surprising but a little disappointing.  She much preferred her summer months warm and clear.  Still, she let herself admire the view and took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the day.

Until her gaze landed on her phone.

There were a handful of messages from Sam that she’d left unread.  He’d tried calling her after she’d returned home, but she didn’t pick up.  Rowan was still on her mind.  Rowan and his stupid accent and his stupidly large hands.  How was it that someone she hated (and who hated her in return) could treat her to the best date she’d been on in months?  Years?

She didn’t know.  And she didn’t want to call Elide to talk to her about it because Elide was a meddlesome little minx.

Now as Aelin stared at her phone, she found herself wondering if there was anything Sam could say that would have her forgive him.

Whoever stood you up is an idiot, Rowan had said.

And…maybe he was right.

A knock at the door was the only thing that snagged her attention.  She looked over to see Dorian leaning against her doorway.

“Aelin,” he greeted.  He had his usual grin in place, black hair in an easy disarray.  His blue eyes shone with too much placating humor.

“I hate you.”  It wasn’t an exaggeration either.  He was really good at being annoying.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m doing you a favor,” Dorian insisted.  He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I guarantee this’ll get your viewership up.”

“Not even Chaol is this mean,” Aelin said.  She slumped down in her seat, tilting her head back against the chair rest.

“You only like him because he brings in chocolate cake,” Dorian said.

“Yeah and he isn’t an ass like you.” Aelin continued glaring at her boss and friend, picking up her pen to scratch at the pad of paper beside her desk, just for something to do.

“Aelin, Rowan’s our best-selling author, not to mention the demand of getting more events from him like this.” Dorian picked an invisible piece of lint from his shirt and shrugged. “Hate him all you want, but our readers and your listeners have been begging for this.”

Aelin had seen requests forms on their website, she’d been to plenty of conventions and heard the reviews—she knew that Dorian was right.  But…

“I like Whitethorn even less than you,” Aelin said.  Though, the words sounded hollow in her own ears.

Dorian didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, yeah.  I’ll take you out to dinner to make up.”

Aelin had had enough of men propositioning her for dinner.  She waved Dorian off.

“Go be the big CEO man, I’ve gotta write this script and get the general outline to Whitethorn,” she said.

Dorian left with a wave of his hand.

Aelin rolled her eyes and pulled up a new document on her computer.  A small notification bar in the corner of the screen indicated views on the recent upload.  In the span of three minutes there were already over two hundred views and the number was rapidly rising.

She glanced at the large stack of paper still sitting in the corner of her desk.  She’d gotten it just last week—the tell-tale mysterious new novel Rowan had written.  Even Dorian said it was remarkable.  Aelin had yet to view it since it was no longer a part of her job description to edit and critique manuscripts.  But since she’d be interviewing Rowan, she got early access to the novel.

In truth, she’d enjoyed Rowan’s work.  There was always something about it, even if she did mark up every page with as much red as she could manage.  But, really?  Most of the comments weren’t negative.  Often, she even found herself praising the way a sentence worked or the callbacks he gave to earlier chapters. 

Now, having the manuscript before her, Aelin couldn’t help but feel a little excited at having the book before her.

At least this would be enough of a distraction for her.

It wasn’t until the sun began to set and shadows crawled across the walls of her office, that Aelin finally looked up from the manuscript.

And to her phone that lit up with another message.

Cursing, Aelin opened the chat with Sam.

>>Sam: you can’t keep ignoring me.

<<Aelin: I told you I needed time.

>>Sam: It was one night. we’ll have dozens more.

Aelin scoffed at the surety in his words.  Shaking her head Aelin sent one last message.

<<Aelin: I’m done.  This is over.  I can’t keep playing games and being a placeholder.

>>Sam: We’ll talk in the morning.

He could try calling her, but would find it difficult considering she was blocking his number that very moment.

It felt good to set that boundary, to tell him no, to feel like she was in control. 

In all honesty, she was still caught up on spending time with Rowan Whitethorn and not tossing her wine on him.  He’d been a gentleman, an ass, but respectful all the same.  She would have to thank him for helping her that night despite how much she didn’t want to.  He didn’t need to step in and give her an excuse to use against Kaltain.  And he certainly didn’t need to pay for dinner and make sure she got into a cab safely.  He hadn’t needed to do any of it and she hadn’t expected him to.  But he had.

She wanted to be irritated at him for it.  She wasn’t a damsel in distress for him to take care of or who needed help to begin with.  She would have dealt with Kaltain on her own just fine.  

Still, it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

Shaking her head, Aelin flipped through the manuscript to the first page once again.

She had a dream, once, years ago, where she would stand out on a rocky shoreline and stare into the ocean as she wondered just how far she could sail before the world swallowed her whole.

…

Between screaming Fall Out Boy lyrics, two impromptu dance parties, and chugging half an energy drink in the parking garage of the publishing building—Aelin finally found herself ready to face the inevitability of the day.

“It’s going to be fine,” she told herself one more time as she fixed her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Everything is going to be fine.”

It had been her mantra that she prepared for the live podcast she would be filming that day.  For the first time in a very long time, Aelin found herself nervous for the day.  And she did not get nervous.  No, Aelin prided herself on being confident, capable, and being able to keep her head on straight.

That was before she’d read Rowan’s book, though.  

She got out of her car, energy drink and manuscript in hand, and headed up to her office to prepare for the interview.

She hadn’t had any issue in reading Rowan's book.  In fact, she’d stayed up the entire night just to finish it.  Everything about the book had captured her attention.  From the magic to the world building to the romance—it had all been just what she loved most in a book.  Even if the book wasn’t as spicy as Aelin preferred to get in her books, there had been something real about the way Rowan chose the write this novel.

And now she’d have to tell him.

She was not looking forward to it if she were being honest.  For as much as she loved gushing about novels and diving into different worlds and characters…she’d never done so about one of Rowan’s books. And this book was so different from his other books.

Aelin felt far too jittery as she waited for the elevator.  The usual crowds all milled about her, all too concerned with their own issues to give her much credence.  She didn’t know if that was better or worse.  

She hadn’t felt this way about an interview in ages.  Only her first real podcast session had been as bad and that was only because she’d gone into in on no sleep and four shots of espresso.  

The elevator slowly lumbered up to the proper floor while Aelin paced the small space.  Thankfully no one else was in here with her.  That would have just been icing on the cake.  

“It’s going to be a great day and everything is going to be fine,” she told herself as the doors slid open to the proper floor.  Dorian of course was standing right there, leaning against the far wall.

His black hair was styled perfectly out of his face, his smirk ever present. He gave one last twist to the new wedding band on his finger as Aelin stepped out of the elevator and began walking to her studio.

“You ready for today?” he asked, keeping stride with her easily.

“Of course, I am,” she replied.  Her confidence was deceiving, but it was something she’d practiced ever since she was a child who wanted to get out of trouble. “It’s just like any other podcast.”

Dorian made a noise in the back of his throat. “This is potentially the biggest release our company—”

“I know, Dorian.” Aelin stopped outside her studio and handed Dorian the mess of energy drink and notes she was carrying so she could unlock the door. “I’m not an idiot.”

Dorian followed her inside and she caught a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry.  I know you know.  And I know you’ll take this seriously.  Just…try not to hate on him too much, yeah?”

It was no secret really that Aelin and Rowan had a slight rivalry going on.  At least, Dorian was the only one really aware of it.  And Elide.  But Elide was the best at keeping secrets herself.

“Can I tease him about the fated mates trope?” she asked.

“No.”

“Boo.”  Aelin took her things back from him and rolled her eyes. “Do you want to read through my notes?  Give me your approval, oh great one?”

He was already walking back out of the studio, waving a hand overhead. “Behave!”

Aelin snorted a laugh; she’d been granted honorary approval to go to his bachelor party three months ago; if anyone needed to behave it was him.  She wondered partially if his wife actually realized what she’d gotten into.

No matter.

Aelin settled into her usual routine upon arriving at the office in the morning.  If she kept things as normal as possible, they were bound to work out, right?

So she bounced between her actual office and the studio for the next hour, running through her questions and side comments she could make about various points and ideas she’d highlighted from Rowan’s book.

Elide stopped by a few times to give her a countdown to when the podcast would air.  The other woman was technically an acquisitions editor, but Aelin was going to try and steal her to be her assistant.  That would piss Kaltain off.

When there was ten minutes left until they were slated to begin.  Aelin went to the studio to make sure everything was ready.  She usually made sure the couch and chair were angled properly first with microphones at the ready before ensuring a blanket and a few pillows were easy to reach.  Not that she thought Rowan would want to snuggle up with a puppy studded fleece blanket—it was the thought that counted.

She was just organizing her desk with her notes and her copy of Rowan’s manuscript when she heard Elide’s voice down the hall.

“She’s just down this way.”  

Aelin gave everything one final look in the studio before deciding that was just as good as it was going to get.  After all, everything was neat and organized.  Except the bookshelves.  Those were pure chaos.  But in Aelins opinion, keeping bookshelves looking perfect was a useless task.  

Elide rounded the open door, looking far too amused by what was about to unfold.

“Hey Aelin,” she said, leaning against the jam.  Her black hair hung in loose waves and her expression was carefully impassive—though that gleam in her eyes was hard to miss. “I found your next interview in the halls.”

Sure enough, standing behind her was Rowan.  He was dressed casually, far more casual than she’d ever seen him before.  No dress shirt or tie, no slacks, no fancy shoes worth more than her car.  It was a startling contrast to when he’d saved her at the restaurant.  Even his hair was different.  Not that it was bad.  The man had good hair.

“Thanks, Elide,” Aelin said with a smile.  She hadn’t been staring too much, had she?

“Let me know if you need anything,” Elide said.  There was no mistaking her brow raise as she departed.

Oh, Aelin was certainly going to be interrogated later this afternoon.  She stuffed that away far in the back of her mind.

“Come on in, Mr. Whitethorn.”  Aelin gestured him into the room and swung the door shut behind him. “Have a seat on the couch, we’ve got a few minutes.”

She was going to keep this professional and dignified.  All she had to do was get through the next forty-five minutes and then this would be over.  Fifty if she took in time for ads and brief intermission in the middle.

“You can call me Rowan, you know,” he said as he took up an easy position on the couch.  His silver hair was, as usual, perfectly styled and left his handsome face on display.  “After the restaurant and everything.”

Aelin had to fight to keep from glaring too much at him.  Though she did end up pursing her lips tightly enough that her lipstick was definitely going to smudge.

“I think we should agree to never talk about that night.  Ever.”  True nothing that embarrassing had come of it, other than a hit to Aelin’s pride, but talking about it would only lead to more people hearing about it.  And she really didn’t trust Whitethorn not to tease her about it.  Besides, talking about getting stood up by a guy she’d wasted too much time on, to Whitethorn of all people, was not something she wanted to do.

Especially considering she’d spent a great deal of time in the last week thinking about how handsome Rowan actually was.

Rowan only smiled as he watched her shuffle her notes and papers.  Aelin knew if she met his gaze that she would let something slip so she avoided eye contact.  She'd gotten good at that. 

"If you need water, there's a mini fridge under that end table,” Aelin told him.  “Or I can get you a coffee real quick?”

“Water’s fine,” Rowan said.  He reached for the fridge and pulled out one of the plastic bottles chilling. “I'm curious though, did you forgive the man who stood you up?  Or did he have a reasonable explanation?"

"It's none of your business," Aelin replied stiffly.  This was a mistake.  Maybe she could call Elide in here to act as a buffer.  "Do you want a look at some of the questions I have planned or are you okay going in blind?"

Rowan shrugged. "I'm always up for a bit of fun."

Aelin didn't have a response for that so she spent the last few minutes until airing explaining to Rowan how the microphone worked.  He could mute himself if he needed to cough or anything like that, but ultimately, she had control over sounds volume and everything along those lines.

"Do your worst," he told her as she opened the podcast.

"Welcome to Terrasen, listeners and readers alike," Aelin said, still glaring at Rowan. "As you know, today's session is going to be extra fun and special as we have Rowan Whitethorn with us for the first time.  I know many of you have asked about having him on the show as well as have been interested in what he's been working on recently, so here we are."

She paused for a brief moment in preparation. "Rowan, thanks so much for taking the time to join us today."

"Thanks, Aelin," he said, leaning into the mic just a little.  His accent lilted in that familiar way and he looked far too at ease sitting across from her.  His watch clicked happily along on his wrist catching the light as he clasped his hands together. "It's good to be here.  I've been a long-time listener."

Liar.  "Really?  What have been some of your favorite episodes?"  She'd catch him out and not feel the least bit sorry for it either.

"Well, the series about what makes a romance book was rather interesting, I have to say.  Especially your comments on smut," he grinned at her and Aelin flipped him of.  At least this wasn't a video session too.

"I like a bit of fun," she dryly, throwing his own words back at him. "Good to know what keeps you entertained."

"Oh, I like hiking too."

"Right," Aelin snatched on to that with the sole goal of getting out of the current conversation. "Which is something you grew up doing a lot of right?  You grew up in Scottland?"

"Aye, just outside of Edinburgh," Rowan said. "Moved to America when I was seventeen, but most of my summers I went back to stay with my cousins."

"Do you miss it?" Aelin asked. "From what I've read in your books the landscape the history, the people, it's all so beautiful and wonderful and rich."

"Aye," Rowan ran a hand over his chin. "It'll always be a part of me.  My da taught me everything about the outdoors and nature and adventuring as he could before he passed, that's why I moved to America.  So my mum could be near family.  And growing up without him just left a hole in my heart, y'know?  So writing and research just turned into a way for me to remember him.”

Aelin tried to ignore the effect of his words.  She knew what that was like exactly.

“Right,” she agreed, “sometimes telling stories is the best way to remember someone, or something.”

Rowan met her gaze again and something flashed in his eyes as he nodded his agreement.

“Plus, it’s an easy way to relieve stress,” he added. “With all the research I’ve done, y’know I spent every day for three months training with a group of tae kwon do specialists just to learn how to describe one fight scene properly?”

From there, it was easy for Aelin to continue asking him about writing and research and why he’d chosen non-fiction to begin with.  Just like the night at the restaurant—it was far to easy to talk to him.  Far too easy to have this simple, easy-going conversation with him.

In fact, it had been a long time since she’d been able to talk like this to anyone.  Which, maybe wasn’t a good thing.  Most of this was scripted anyways not to mention Rowan had done plenty of other interviews and certainly had many of these responses memorized.

Hell.

She’d started reading too much into this.

“So,” Aelin said as they were nearing the end of the segment. “I’m still surprised you actually made the leap in to fiction—fantasy no less.  And with a lead character like Celaena Sardothien.”

“You’re surprised I can write a female main character?”  Rowan chuckled.  He’d rolled up the sleeves to his shirt a while ago, one of his arms in a full tattoo sleeve.  She couldn’t understand whatever language the majority of the tattoos were in but she did recognize a few Gaelin words and symbols in the mix.

“Well, yes.”

“C’mon, Galathynius,” he said, ���even you have to admit you liked my book.  I did a good job.  Especially with Celaena.”

“Do I though?  You should see all the marks I made on the manuscript.”  In truth there weren’t very many, at least not as many as she had given in the past.  But she would add some if it would shut him up.

“The book hits all your favorite tropes,” Rowan said.  He wore that all knowing smirk of his that had been infuriating (and fine, fascinating) her for the last forty-five minutes.

“How do you even know what I like?”

Rowan chuckled, a sound that hit Aelin like a shot to the heart. “We’ve been friends for five years.”

“We’re not friends,” Aelin corrected, but there was no malice in her words.

“Please Galathynius,” he insisted, “you like me.”

“Shut up Whitethorn.”  Aelin muted him as burst into laughter and she had to fight to keep her own voice even as she addressed her listeners. “We’ve just had a great conversation with novelist, Rowan Whitethorn about his upcoming high fantast adventure Dead Man’s Game which will be released on November fifteenth.  Thanks for listening friends, we’ll see you next time.”

She made all the necessary clicks and flicks to shut the mics down properly and just like that the segment was over.  Looking up, Aelin scowled at Rowan.  She’d been doing that a lot hadn’t she?

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Are we really not friends?”  Rowan finally leaned back in his seat.  Even that small bit of distance was enough that Aelin felt she could finally take a breath of air.

The table between them wasn’t even that big but being close to him had put her heart in overdrive and made her mind feel like a pile of mush.

“Whitethorn,” she said, ignoring his small eyeroll at the use of his last name, “we both know the extent of our “relationship” has been insulting each other.”

That made him pause and another look flashed across his features, one Aelin couldn’t identify.  But it made her squirm all the same.  So, she launched herself out of her seat.  She didn’t want to think about anything beyond being done with this segment and maybe having some peace of mind.

“It was a live session,” she told him, “so you can listen to it whenever.  I think Dorian had a few extra things he needed to get you relating to your edits.”

Aelin needed to shut down whatever emotions were cutting through her.  It wouldn’t do good to dwell on them or Rowan longer than necessary.  This was just a passing occurrence.  Eventually he would leave their publishing house—or get so big as a name that he couldn’t be bothered with her silly little podcast.

Not that she cared.  Or that it mattered.

Slowly, Rowan stood from his seat, his eyes trained on her. “Do I get your edits?”

Aelin blinked. “What?”

“Your edits?  All the notes and thoughts you had on the manuscript?” He didn’t move to leave like she expected him to.  He just kept waiting for her answer.

“I—” she paused. “You really want them?”

“Of course,” he said, “your thoughts have always been invaluable to me.”

She’d never really understand that word: invaluable.  Oh she knew what it meant and that Rowan said it as a compliment, but it had always struck her as an asinine and bland way of describing somethings true worth.  Rowan regarded her with such sincerity that Aelin was already reaching for the giant stack of papers from where she’d left it on the edge of her desk.

For some reason, she was hesitant on giving him the pages.  It wasn’t like she’d struggled with this before.  As she held the manuscript out for him, however, she felt shy.  And Aelin damned Galathynius was not shy.  Mala above.

“Ignore what you don’t like,” she said, just as she always did.

“Thank-you,” Rowan said.  He tucked the papers into his arm and, finally, retreated for the door.

“Wh—” Aelin paused mentally cursing herself, “Rowan?”

He turned, hand on the doorknob.

“Where did Celaena’s character come from?” she asked, it was the one question they didn’t get into during the interview, but the one that intrigued her most. “She’s brilliant, strong, and has to be inspired by someone.  Who?”

A small smile quirked one side of his lips as he pushed the door open. “I thought it was obvious.”

And then he was out the door, swallowed up by a shout from Dorian calling him into his office.

Aelin could only stare after him.  And just like the night of that insufferable date—she was left confused and uncertain about what his words actually meant.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Tumblr is not allowing me to tag anyone right now, so if you could reblog to increase exposure, I would so very much appreciate it! <3

#rowaelin #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan

[hikarry]

Some people asked me for a fanfic and, welp, your orders are my command. This is just a "quick" thing, not even sure it can be considered a fanfic, but what is done is done.

It's technically my first time writing a one-shot (or any type of proper fanfic, really) for Good Omens, so be nice. I'm sensitive and have a fragile heart.

Alas, welcome to the angst zone.

Crowley has heard Aziraphale's True Voice once and only once. Many many centuries ago. It was loud and spiky like nails in a chalkboard. A terrified and desperate yell that pierced through him like a sword. Ran through his bones like a sudden wave that punched the air out of his lungs. Never in all those centuries had he heard anything more disturbing than it.

He had been in Peterfield for a few weeks now, in the middle of a long job, tempting a priest into the pleasures of gluttony and the flesh. Both of them were in a tavern, debating religion in between glasses of wine when Crowley's head snapped up and he fell quiet, just like a dog when they heard a suspicious noise.

"Mr. Crowley?" Father Brown stopped sipping his glass and looked at his companion. "You've become pale all of a sudden, son. Are you feeling quite alright?"

The yell lasted less than a couple of seconds, but it was echoing inside his head. His body moved without his permission, and before he knew, he was on his feet, glass of wine half full tumbling on the table. His hands shaking beside him and his heart racing inside his chest.

Crowley had never heard anything like it, but he knew it was Aziraphale. He just knew.

"Mr. Crowley?" The priest tried again, this time also getting up, and just then the demon registered his presence again.

"Apologies, Father. I have somewhere else I need to be and I'm afraid It's getting late." Crowley pulled a couple of coins from his pocket and threw them on the table. "This one's on me. Shall we meet when I'm once again free?"

"Of course. You always know where to find me."

He nodded and tried to leave the tavern as fast as he could without running, slithering through tables and patrons until he reached the door. He hadn't brought a horse. Satan knows he despises those animals. Not very gentle on the behind, they are. But right now, he was in need of one, desperately so.

Last he heard, Aziraphale had been in Sussex meddling around with some noble family, so that's exactly where he was going to go. Father Brown could wait. It's not like Beelzebub gave him an expiring date. Even if they had, bless all of this. He could handle a week or two in a pit for failing the mission. His priority right now was the angel.

Crowley stole the first horse he saw and galloped in the general direction of Sussex. It would be a long ride, no under three hours, but he would do everything to get there - wherever "there" was exactly - as soon as he could. If he hears Aziraphale's True Voice once again in that state of agony, he might as well lose his mind.

To prove God was really against him, it started raining heavily halfway through the journey. Crowley brushed his hair back, away from his forehead, with one hand while the other held the reins. With all this, he hadn't brought his cape, and now both him and the horse were soaked to the bone and quite exhausted. If it wasn't for a few miracles, he was quite sure the horse would have stopped to rest a while ago.

He snapped, and an invisible shield covered them, keeping the freezing rain away. The road was turning into mud, which would slow them down considerably, but he had to keep going. There was no way in Heaven he would stop until he reached Sussex.

Through forests and small villages, they were like an arrow. Supernaturally fast and focused. His hands had somewhat stopped shaking, but his heart was still hammering, replaying the noise over and over again in his head. He had saved the angel before. For some reason, he was prone to get himself in a spot of trouble every 200 years or so, but the danger had never been enough to force his True Voice out. True Voices were only used in cases of extreme urgency. For humans, it sounded like a screech, but angels and demons could understand them. Something said in your True Voice was like a command, and yet Aziraphale hadn't said anything, he just yelled. Whatever it was that was happening could only be bad. Very bad.

When he finally crossed the line into Sussex, he pulled the reins to stop the horse. Looking around the forest, he pooled his senses to try and find Aziraphale's essence. The last thing he needed was Aziraphale not to be in Sussex anymore and for this trip to have been useless, but no. Right at the edge of his vision, there was the brightness he has been mingling with for millenia. Crowley pulled on the horse again and followed the angel's essence into the other side of the city, deep into the forest.

Both of them came to a stop at the mouth of what appeared to be a small cave. It was covered with some greenery, but nothing that could stop him.

Crowley dismounted and tapped the horse on the side of his neck for the good job, partly unconciously. With a hand, he pushed the greenery to the side and stepped carefully into the cave, the useless invisible shield breaking over him. He stopped for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the darkness and kept silent, trying to hear something. Anything. He was sure Aziraphale was here. His essence was very close, and he could feel his distress rolling out of him in waves. Crowley took some steps forward, as silently as possible, until he started hearing what sounded like multiple voices. He stopped, laying his hand against the wall of the cave, and tried to discern whatever they were saying, but the cave was making it difficult. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached with his senses once again. Indeed, there was the angel, and with him 8 demonic presences. Low ranking demons.

He took a deep breath, punching the wall. Whatever they had been doing to the angel to cause him to lash out with his True Voice, he was going to kill them.

No. Okay. If they were humans, yes, he wouldn't shy away from a little murder, but demons is a more tricky situation. If he attacked them, it would be suspicious. He had to figure out a way to send them packing without giving his hand away.

Another deep breath, and he kept moving, this time trying to make his steps echo on purpose. As he got closer, the voices got louder.

"Try again."

"It's useless! He's out of it, they won't come out!"

There was some light at the end of a tunnel to the left, and he followed it, the voices suddenly going quiet.

The scene he saw as soon as he turned the corner iced his blood and boiled his anger at the same time.

Aziraphale was pinned to the wall by some silver chains, his feet a few centimeters off the ground. His head was hanging down, and his shirt was shredded, soaked in red blood, just like his trousers and his blond hair. His corporation wasn't breathing. He was probably very close to discorporating and Crowley was running out of time.

"Here you are!"

The 8 demons turned towards him, their eyes widening somewhat comically.

"Crowley?" The smaller one muttered, taking a step back from the angel.

Crowley took a few more steps inside, approaching the group while pretending to look around, his hands behind his back.

"I heard some demons had invaded my territory." He looked up at Aziraphale, willing his heart to control itself. "And I've seen you've captured an angel."

"Yes. We've been tracking him for weeks." A woman shaped demon said, quite proud of herself, pointing at the angel. "Took us a while, but we managed to poison him so he would fall unconcious and brought him to the circle." Just then Crowley's eyes fell to the floor where, indeed, there was a circle drawn. He took a step closer, to inspect it. A circle to drain energy. With Aziraphale's sigil. They were really trying to kill him.

Crowley swallowed and closed his hands into fists. He had to control himself and get Aziraphale out of that circle soon. He had been there for over 3 hours, at the very least, and Crowley didn't know how much more energy he would have left to keep himself alive. This wasn't about discorporation anymore.

"You sound very proud of yourself." He finally looked at the demons, stopping between them and Aziraphale. "But I ask you: who ordered you to do this?"

"He's just a principality. It's not like there aren't plenty in Heaven to replace him. No one would miss him up there and, besides-"

The demon took a sudden step forward, taking the sunglasses away from his face and pinning all of them down with his yellow gaze, no white whatsoever to be seen there, pupils barely but a black thin line.

"I'm here, am I not?" When the demons didn't answer, he leaned forward, fangs growing on his mouth. The group took a step back. "This is my jurisdiction, and you have no permisssssion to be here." Another step forward, another step back from the group. "If someone is going to kill an angel, it's going to be me and not some lowly bottom of the barrel demons like you."

"But that's not fair! We had-" Crowley hissed and brought his hands to the side of his body, all his fingers morphed into claws, urging the demon talking to jump back.

"You're very mistaken if you think Hell issss fair." He looks at every single one of them. "Do you even have permisssssion to be upsssside?" The demons looked amongst themselves, but no one answered. "That'ssss what i thought." He took a final step forward, coming face to face with the closest of them. "Get the fuck out of here before I inform Beelzebub you uselesssss piecessss of flessssh have been sssscrewing around in my territory without permisssssion." Everyone stared at him, but no one moved. "NOW!" He yelled and the group trembled before being swallowed by the earth and disappearing.

Not losing time, Crowley walked the few steps that separated him from the angel and broke the circle with his boot, reaching up to the chains to free him, carefully using his own body to support Aziraphale when his limp corporation toppled forward.

With a snap of his fingers, he miracled a blanket and carefully lied Aziraphale on it, kneeling by his side to assess the situation. His wounds needed to be tended to but most of it was normal red blood. His nose and his mouth were the only ones running ichor, which wasn't a great sign. Crowley Looked at Aziraphale and was met with a less bright than usual light, but bright nonetheless. With a sigh, he let himself relax. Aziraphale was going to be fine. He just needed to rest while Crowley fed him some of his energy and get his corporeal wounds tended to. He would be fine. He wasn't too late.

Aziraphale was going to be fine.

But now here they were, centuries later, in the same position: Aziraphale laying unconcious on the floor of some basement in the middle of nowhere in Scotland and Crowley kneeling next to him, hovering his still figure with his hands on the angel's face.

Aziraphale had disappeared for a week and a half while he had gone back to London to check on the bookshop and Muriel and bring some more books to the cottage.

Crowley had searched for him everywhere as soon as he didn't come back home at dinner time, and after he went to check the bookshop where Muriel told him Aziraphale had never showed up.

He had used his senses to try and find him, but he could barely feel him. Something was masking his location, and this was driving him up the walls. After 2 years of pure peace and quiet, chaos had to follow them again? Was it Heaven again? Was it Hell? He didn't know, but he would tear them apart if any of them had anything to do with this.

Crowley had no other choice but to reach out to Anathema for help. With a map, a few herbs, one of Aziraphale's bowties, and a liquid that honestly smelled like a cadaver, she managed to pinpoint his location to a small town near the frontier with Scotland.

He didn't lose any time.

In the Bentley with Anathema and Adam (because both insisted on coming and he had no time to convince them it was a stupid and useless idea), he sped from Tadfield to that middle of nowhere as fast as demonically possible without discorporating himself and killing the humans. It took him roughly 5 hours and a lot of law breaking, but they eventually arrived and found a house in the middle of a village with a very weird and heavy aura, or so Anathema said.

After a couple of hours of observing, Crowley lost his patience and invaded the house, consequences be damned. If Anathema turned out to be mistaken, he would wipe the humans' memories out, but, by luck, she wasn't.

The house was the headquarters of some slimy cultists with a bit too much knowledge about supernatural forces and ambition. As soon as he stepped through the main door, he smelled the ichor, and his vision went red. He ran, following the smell and shoving anyone who tried to stop him out of his way.

He kicked the door of the basement open and that's where he found Aziraphale unconcious, laying on the ground in the middle of a summoning circle with two men around him.

Crowley hissed, and his wings appeared out of the eather. With a snap, both men were tossed against the wall with such brute force both fell unconcious.

"Angel!"

Just like all those centuries ago, Crowley almost ran to the angel and broke the circle with his boot, tossing himself onto the floor next to him. This time, there wasn't red blood anywhere, and his clothes were almost as pristine as always, but there was ichor running down his mouth, his nose, and his ears. Confused, Crowley looked around at the circle, and his eyes fell in a couple of markings that should not be in a normal summoning circle. They had turned it into a draining circle at some point.

Back in the 6th century, Aziraphale had only been inside the circle for around 3 hours, and he recuperated in less than a week. His corporations' wounds had been the biggest problem, really. Crowley had to play nurse to keep him from discorporating. But a week and a half? Satan knows what that would do to an angel's essence.

Before he could check, he heard steps coming down the stairs, and soon enough, four other humans showed up at the door. Crowley positioned himself on top of Aziraphale, knees and hands on each side of his body, allowing his fangs to grow on his mouth as he hissed and used his wings to cover the angel the best he could.

"A demon?" One of them said, giving a step back.

Before any of them could say anything else, Crowley watched as Adam and Anathema appeared at the door, the kid punching one of the man in the face and the Witch using a frying pan to knock another of them unconcious. With a wave of Crowley's hand, the last two remaining were tossed against the window and fell unconcious as well.

"Are you okay?" Anathema asked, stepping closer, and Crowley hissed, out of instinct.

Adam joined her, kneeling a few feet away from the demon.

"Aziraphale?"

Crowley looked down at the still unconscious angel, and his wings disappeared. Carefully, he kneeled on the other side of Aziraphale and finally Looked at him. Part of him wished that he hadn't because what he saw wasn't pretty. Aziraphale was barely a flicker of light, and he was flickering like anything. Crowley gasped involuntarily, and now here they were: the demon leaning over the angel, holding his face between his hands.

"What's wrong? Did they hit him?" Adam asked.

"No..." Anathema carefully leaned beside him. "They turned the summoning circle into a drain. They were draining Aziraphale's energy and essence and probably planning on using it to power up spells or rituals or something."

"Is that bad?"

They kept talking, but Crowley was not listening anymore. His heart was ringing on his ears and his whole body was shaking. It was very hard to breath at the moment. This bloody basement didn't have air enough.

"Angel?" Now, with his fangs also gone, he reached out with his demonic essence, but nothing reached back. Closing his eyes, he tried to poor some of his energy into the angel like he had done all those years ago, but the essence kept flickering, maybe even more than before. "No, no, no, no. Aziraphale, you bastard, don't do this to me." He opened his eyes again and shook him. "Wake up." Nothing. "Wake up!"

"Crowley-" Anathema tried to lay her hand on his shoulder, but he slithered away from her touch.

"Come on, Aziraphale. I didn't come all the way here for you to keep flickering!" He stopped shaking him for a moment, Looking once again. The light appeared to be slowly dimming. "Angel, it's okay. I found you. Just wake up so we can go home!" He kept pouring energy into him, both hands now grabbing handfuls of Aziraphale's waistcoat. "Aziraphale!"

"Is there something you can do?" Anathema looked at Adam, and Crowley's attention fell momentarily on him as well.

Adam shook his head.

"I don't have any more powers. And even if I did, I don't know if I could actually do something about an angel's essence."

Crowley held Aziraphale's clothes more tightly and looked back at him. He didn't know what to do. Giving him energy worked last time, but now it was doing close to nothing. Aziraphale couldn't be too far gone. He refused to believe that. They couldn't have stopped the Apocalypse and the bloody Second Coming for it to end like this. Because of some stupid humans.

Slowly, a few more drops of ichor fell from his lips, and his chest stopped rising.

Crowley held his breath as he felt moisture take over his eyes. This isn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't going to lose him like this.

"Aziraphale, open your eyes! Open your fucking eyes!" His True Voice slipped through and both Anathema and Adam got up with their hands on their ears, taking a few steps back. "I'm not going to lose you like this!" He pulled on his clothes, slightly lifting Aziraphale off the ground. "Wake up, Aziraphale!" He could feel the tears escaping from his eyes and running down his face, even under the glasses, but at the moment he didn't care. "Wake up right now!"

Suddenly, Aziraphale's eyes sprung open and the angel took a deep breath, coughing up some ichor in the process. Crowley quickly but carefully let his back lay on the ground again and leaned over him, both his hands on each side of his face. Adam and Anathema didn't move from where they were, watching from afar.

Aziraphale tried to talk but choked on ichor, and Crowley ran his thumb down his cheek, wiping some of the ichor from the corner of his mouth. It burned, but he didn't care.

"Don't speak, angel. It's okay." He leaned his forehead on the angel's and felt him pushing up to try and meet him halfway. "I found you. You're okay."

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Crowley looked up to the two humans that he forgot were still present for a moment.

They needed to leave this place and go back to the South Downs, but he was afraid if he let go of Aziraphale and stopped feeding him energy, he would lose him again. For that, he needed one of them to drive the Bentley so he could go on the back with Aziraphale, but...Crowley didn't like the idea of anyone else besides himself or the angel driving his car.

He looked back down at Aziraphale, his eyes now half lided, but clearly still trying to keep himself awake.

Crowley pulled the keys to the Bentley from the pocket of his trousers and tossed them to Anathena, who barely caught them.

"I need you to drive us back home. I'm going on the back with Aziraphale to try and keep him stable through the trip."

"Are you sure that's wise? Isn't there anything else we can do to make him somewhat bett-"

"If there was, I would be doing it right now, Book Girl!" He snapped, when he felt Aziraphale's hand on his forearm, squeezing it. He looked back at him before looking up at the woman once again. "Last time resting and sharing my energy with him solved it. I don't know what else could help."

"Maybe one of your books has a spell to speed up the process?" Adam asked.

"We will only know if we check." She swinged the keys on her finger. "Alright, let's go back to England then."

And so they did. The journey was somewhat uneventful. By now, it was the middle of the night, and Adam ended up falling asleep on the passenger seat. Aziraphale, laying in the back seat with his head on Crowley's lap, fought sleep as best he could, keeping his eyes open mostly for Crowley's sanity than anything else. He managed to talk somewhat at some point during the trip, saying Crowley's name, but the same told him, once again, not to talk while running his fingers through the angel's hair.

"You will be okay, angel. I promise."

And he did, almost 2 months later and after a lot of resting, energy sharing, and a couple of spells, courtesy of one Anathema Device. At the end of the day, it was quite the scare, but Aziraphale was once again strong and full of light, and Crowley intended to keep him that way.

#good omens fanfic #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #adam young #anathema device

[andtheafterglow]

Little Rebel (18+)

Chris Evans x f!reader (reporter) 2K words

Summary: Your first encounter with him left you needy for more. But are you just another fling for him? Part 2 of Troublemaker. (Though you can follow along without having read it).

Warning: This work contains sexual content. Please use discretion before reading.

Disclaimer: For entertainment purposes only! Please do not share or reference this work in public. Also, please do not copy or translate without my permission. Enjoy!

The film studio definitely knows how to throw a party. The lavish event hall is decorated from top to bottom with balloons and floral arrangements that definitely cost more than your rent. People congregate in clusters, chatting and laughing as the DJ plays a remix of the latest pop music.

Many of the guests are familiar faces, both because it's your literal job to know but also because you've interviewed them many times. Many are friendly and smile your way as you pass. You're not sure where you're going, but hovering by the door, looking hopefully around the room is starting to feel weird. Eli, the photographer the network had sent to accompany you, is already throwing you a funny look.

“Make sure to get many shots of the cast,” you tell him, hoping to dispel any awkwardness. “The happier and livelier they look, the better.”

“Document all the phony,” he repeats diligently with a nod. “Got it.”

You laugh appreciatively.

“Hey, if you want to take advantage of the open bar to help you get through it, I won't tell your boss.”

He smirks at you and it hits you then that he's actually quite handsome.

“Technically, tonight you're my boss.”

"Then get to it, Thompson,” you return playfully, without missing a beat.

Eli salutes you. “Yes, boss.”

You both break into laughter before he disappears into the crowd, camera at the ready. 

Now, all there was left for you to do is document enough details to write a piece for the network's magazine tomorrow morning. Frankly, it was a piece of cake. You could leave now and still have enough material to churn out an article in less than thirty minutes.

But you don't want to leave.

You shift nervously on your high heels, glancing around the room again. Part of you hopes to catch a glimpse of that devilish, handsome face—the very same that has occupied your fantasies since that last time you saw him. Another part of you, a more rational part, hopes he's not there and you can finally move on.

The amount of time and effort you put into getting ready for tonight is embarrassing. And though you will never admit it out loud, you picked the sinful, body conforming red dress hoping he would see it. You could just imagine the way his blue eyes would darken as they traveled along the scandalous leg slit.

“... wonder who that is?” someone is saying nearby.

“A girlfriend, maybe?” another person in the group speculates.

“Please! Chris Evans doesn't do girlfriends.”

“He does fuck buddies, though.”

“You know that from personal experience?”

“Yes, ma'am. Best two weeks of my life.”

With a sickening feeling in your gut, you follow the neighboring group’s line of sight to the bar. There, leaning casually against the expensive mahogany, looking much more handsome than you remember, is Chris. His hair is styled neatly for the occasion, his beard meticulously trimmed. He wears a simple blue suit with no tie that has no business looking that good on him.

That roguish smile he gave you through the mirror's reflection as he made you moan is present on his face. Except this time, it's directed at a willowy blonde in a black dress. Her perfectly manicured hand reaches across the bar and rests on his forearm.

You look away, stung.

Something cold clamps your stomach unpleasantly as you turn on your heel. And all at once, you feel like an absolute idiot. Both for your body's reaction and for thinking he'd be waiting here for you. Why does it matter that he's openly flirting with a beautiful supermodel?  That's what he does. You knew that.

Did you really think you were special?

You bump into something hard.

“Whoa. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

It's Eli.

You don't reply, your throat too tight.

“You okay?” he asks, his smile vanishing when he takes a good look at your expression.

“I'm fine,” you assure him. Mustering your best smile, you nod at his camera. “You got everything we need?”

“Almost. I still need to track down the main cast. Maybe another twenty minutes?”

“Perfect, then we can get the hell out of here.”

He laughs. “A-fucking-men to that.”

Despite yourself and despite your insides feeling like stone, you laugh. Eli watches you, hazel eyes lingering on you thoughtfully. The lighting casts the sharp angles of his face into contrast.

“After this, do you want to go get a drink?”

“You want to hit the open bar?”

“Nah, not like that. I know a really good bar a few blocks from here. My treat.”

You consider him. He's a nice guy and handsome beyond belief. Definitely your type… 

Before you can stop yourself, the memory of Chris laughing with his blonde companion flashes before you and your mind is made up.

“Sure.”

“Great. Meet you here in twenty?”

You nod.

Eli gives you a charming smile that you return before he disappears again.

When he's gone, you feel strangely alone in the crowded room. 

Before you know it, your feet carry you to the restrooms. The respite from the music feels like bliss as you step into the desolate room. It's perhaps the nicest restroom you have ever seen, appearing more like a lounge with the plush, leather sofa and mahogany oak coffee table. An ornate mirror hangs above a ceramic sink and the actual toilet is house in a separate room.

It is the perfect place to sit and kill twenty minutes on your phone.

Before you can plop on the sofa, however, there is a knock at the door.

“Busy,” you call back.

Another knock.

“Someone's in here!”

You know for a fact there are many vacant restrooms lining the hall. Whoever this was could just fuck off and find another—

More knocking.

“There's other empty—” you say as you swing the door open angrily. You stop abruptly when you catch sight of his face.

“You hiding from me?” Chris says by way of greeting. The insolent smirk he reserves for you, however, is nowhere to be seen.

“You think you're that important?” you return.

Again, no hint of humor. Instead, something dark lurks beneath his serious expression. Vivid blue eyes stare over your shoulder, as though looking for something.

“Where's your boyfriend?”

This takes you by surprise.

“What boyfriend?”

“That golden retriever who was following you around all night.”

“Eli? He's—”

You stop, remembering you don't owe him anything. Besides, he has some fucking nerve when he was the one openly flirting with that beautiful blonde at the bar. Your annoyance returns in full force and you straighten, staring him straight in the eye.

“Is there anything you needed?” you ask impatiently.

Chris laughs darkly.

“Waiting for your golden retriever?”

“Yes,” you lie.

“Bullshit. You're not that much of a rebel.”

"You don't know a damn thing about me.”

“You're wrong.”

You're practically staring each other down pressed nose to nose. If you wanted to, you could kiss him. 

Despite yourself, you wanted to…

Especially when his eyes darken even more, his smile turning dangerous.

“I know you would never be quiet enough to fuck in public,” he informs you in a heady little whisper.

Your body reacts at once, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your dress.

“Those little moans of yours would let everyone here know you're getting fucked like you deserve.”

“By Eli?”

Anger flickers in his eyes.

“By me.”

“Prove it.”

He kisses you. 

Hard.

Devilish hands grip your waist as he claims you with his mouth, pulling you close. Bodies pressed together, he pushes you into the room, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it. The smell of his luxurious cologne floods your senses, leaving you drunk and needy as he kisses you.

“You look—” he starts between kisses. You bite his lower lip and he grunts.

“Good?” you supply.

“Beautiful,” he says, moving down to kiss your neck, his hard body pressing you further against the door. His needy hands move down to the slit you had hoped would drive him crazy. It does more than that because he groans, his hips pressing flush against yours. “This dress. Goddamn.”

Already, he's deliciously hard for you.

“Mmm, Chris,” you moan.

“For you, baby,” he assures you breathlessly, kissing the tops of your breasts. “No one makes me this hard.”

Your hand reaches down to grip him through his trousers. He's thick and hot through the fabric, pulsing for you. Your pussy clenches at the thought of having him inside you, stretching and filling you.

“I need you,” you tell him. “I've been thinking about you since the last time.”

“That so?” he asks, arching a challenging brow at you. For some reason, that makes you wetter. God, how you wanted to ride that handsome face of his.

“Mmm-hmm. I think about your fingers inside me when I touch myself at night.”

This unravels him. With a dark groan, he guides your body away from the door. Seconds later, you're falling on the couch, Chris kneeling before you.

“You're a goddamn tease, Y/N,” he tells you, his fingers bunching the fabric of your skirt. “You've been teasing me for months.”

You arch your back, impatient.

“And what are you going to do about it, Evans?”

His response is kissing your inner thigh, softly at first then with hungry abandon. His tongue flicks out, teasing the skin, moving higher and higher…

“Chris,” you beg when he stops right at the apex of your thighs.

Your hips quiver, ready to have his face buried between them.

“Chris,” you moan again, more desperate.

He's teasing you with his fingers, getting you ready for his tongue. Masterful swipes move your wetness up to your clit and then back down. He watches you, enjoying your pleasure.

"Enjoy it, baby. Enjoy how I make your body feel.”

Then, when your hips buck desperately against his hand, his own restraint vanishes. Lush lips find your clit, teasing it. His tongue laps at you, making you clench in ecstasy.

“Oh my God,” you whimper as he adds his tongue.

“Shhh,” he says against you, taking your clit between his lips and sucking gently.

You grip the cushion on the couch behind you with one hand. Your fingers cling on to his hair with the other, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out.

He's eating your pussy like an expert, making your thighs clamp around his ears. His gruff hands pry them apart, opening you more for his eager mouth. Between muffled cries, you grind against his face.

“That's right, baby, ride my face.”

You cum right there, quivering against his beard.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

With gentle little kisses, he helps you come down from the high.

“That was—”

There are no words that come to your mind.

Chris smirks, understanding. He presses one last kiss to your thigh before he straightens. He moves to the mirror, fixing the tangled mess you made of his hair.

“You're leaving?” you ask, sounding disappointed.

“Someone will come looking for me any minute now,” he tells you, straightening his jacket.

Your heart, not fully returned to its proper rhythm, sinks. Stupidly, you realize you were hoping to spend more time with him, maybe even reciprocate or finally have him inside you. You fix your clothes as growing resentment boils in your gut.

“This was nice,” he tells you, turning away from his reflection. “We should do it again some other time.”

The words, meant to be teasing, hit you like a slap.

“I don't know, Evans,” you return coolly. “You think you can pencil me in between all your other fuck buddies?”

He blinks.

“Fuck buddies?”

“Isn't that what they are? What we all are?” you retort, unable to stop yourself now. “You fuck them for two weeks with no titles and no commitment. Then you move on to the next one.”

“That's not what you are, Y/N.”

You laugh—a humorless cruel laugh—as you finish rearranging your dress.

“You're right. In order for me to be that, you'd have to at least be seen with me in public. Instead, I'm your dirty little secret.”

“Y/N.”

Fully incensed by now, you storm out.

****

Note: There will be a part 3

#chris evans x y/n #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x f!reporter #chris evans x f!reader #chris evans x reporter #chris evans one shot

[440mxs-wife]

The Country Doctor, Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

Pairing: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy x F!Reader (eventual). Other Characters are the usual suspects: Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura. Spock, Montgomery Scott, Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov (to be introduced in later chapters.) OMC's Travis Myers and Miles Cooper.

Word Count: 4530

Warnings: Divorce, break-up, ruthless businessmen, mentions of infidelity, but mostly fluffy (for now)

Summary: Fresh off of his divorce, Dr. McCoy receives word that he has inherited a 5,000-acre farm and home in Logan, Montana. Finally, he has an opportunity for a clean slate and to start his own clinic out west and leave his ex-wife behind. Along the way, he'll meet a cast of unique characters, each with a place in his new small-town life. But there could be trouble ahead in the form of a powerful CEO hell-bent on acquiring Leonard's property by any means necessary.

A/N: This idea was posted by @hailbop1701, with a specific list of plot points/dialog to be included. I won't put the list here, because it'll give away too much. Not sure how many parts there'll be, but I hope you like where I take the story.

A/N 2: If you’ve been tagged here, it’s because you’ve interacted one or more times on a McCoy story of mine, or we’re moots. Whether you like or reblog, I am eternally grateful for your support. If anyone else would like to be tagged on any future Karl Urban character postings, or would rather leave the Crazy Train, please let me know. Thank you, and enjoy the show!

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"Court is adjourned."

That was the declaration eight weeks ago, when Dr. Leonard H. McCoy sat at a table with his attorney in the Fulton County Courthouse in Atlanta, Georgia. The Honorable Judge Michael Simmons had just pounded his gavel on the bench to signify an end to the McCoy v. McCoy divorce proceedings. Unfortunately, his now-ex-wife, Jocelyn, had the better attorney, which resulted in a somewhat less-than-equitable division of their assets.

At least Leonard was able to keep his vintage pickup truck and the 4-bedroom, 2 bath, ranch-style home he had lived in with Jocelyn. She basically got everything else in the settlement, though, including most of the furniture. She didn't technically need the furniture, since she was moving in with her new boyfriend. However, he had a rental property that needed furnishings, so that's where they went.

Two weeks after the divorce was finalized, Leonard received correspondence from a law firm in Montana, with a request for his presence. The letter did not specify the reason for the request, and when he called the law office, no one was authorized to divulge any information. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong side of the law and besides, he was more than a little curious. Luckily, the law firm had a satellite office in Atlanta, so that's where he attended the meeting.

An hour or so after the meeting ended, a slightly dazed Leonard walked out of the attorney's office with a file folder and a property deed in his hand. The meeting was for the reading of the will for his distant uncle, Walter McCoy. Around 5,000 acres of land in Montana along with an old craftsman-style farmhouse were bequeathed to him to do with as he pleased. There were also various outbuildings on the property, such as a machine shed, a barn with a hay loft, and horse stables.

He had options. There was an Eastern conglomerate, NorthStar Corp, that was willing to pay a more than fair price to buy it from him, lock, stock, and barrel. With what they were offering, Leonard wouldn't have to worry about money for the foreseeable future, if ever. Or, he could make the break from Georgia and his ex-wife with her boy-toy to make a go of it in Logan, Montana. Although Leonard wanted to stay near his mother, Eleanora, he had to consider that this was his chance to start over somewhere else.

When he told his best friend, James T. Kirk, about his inheritance, Jim could hardly contain his excitement. He considered it to be the start to a great adventure and was more than willing to accompany Leonard.

Jim had no family ties to speak of, preferring to live a sort of nomadic existence. He even offered to take turns driving the moving truck the 1,900 or so miles to Montana. "Good music, good snacks, and good company are all we need to get us to our destination, Bones," Kirk told him with a wide grin.

The more Leonard thought about it, the more he warmed up to the idea of starting somewhere new. A place where he wouldn't have to worry about running into someone who knew about the divorce and wouldn't hesitate to share an opinion about it. So, with Jim's help, he cleared his house out of any remaining items, put them in storage, then contacted a realtor to list it for sale.

After only a few showings, a deal was quickly closed, with a $30,000.00 profit in his bank account to show for it. Leonard and Jim loaded up his remaining possessions into the moving van, hooked up a car trailer with Leonard's pickup truck on it, and headed west to Montana. The pair made a few stops along the way, renting a hotel room to rest for the night before hitting the road again the next morning.

The more miles Leonard put behind him, the more comfortable and free he felt with his decision. He wasn't too keen on leaving his mother behind, but she assured him that she would be fine, even encouraged him to take this leap. He made a note to send her a plane ticket so she could visit once he got settled.

Nearly four days and more than 1,900 miles later, Leonard turned into the gravel driveway that led to his new home. It was a charcoal gray with white trim craftsman-style farmhouse with a tall, red brick chimney on one side. The wooden wrap-around porch was accented with white, tapered columns, set on top of the slotted railing framing the area. He appreciated the large windows, which would bring in a good amount of natural light, as well as soft breezes on lazy summer days.

"Well? Is it everything you expected?" Jim asked.

"I didn't exactly know what to expect, Jim. I don't even remember either of my parents ever mentioning an 'Uncle Walter McCoy'. He isn't someone I knew well enough for him to leave me something like this, but I'll do my best to make the most of it. From what I've seen so far, though, at least the outside looks fine," Leonard replied.

"That's the spirit, Bones! Let's go have a look at the grounds, then inside the house. After that, we can start unloading your stuff," Jim grinned as he scrambled out of the truck.

Leonard stepped down from the driver's seat and closed the door. "Sure, Jim. Why not," he muttered to himself. He fished the house keys out of his pocket on his way up the porch steps. The front door was made of solid oak with a dark finish and leaded glass panels arranged in a geometric design. He inserted the key into the lock and tilted his head back. "Here goes nothin', I guess," he murmured, pushing the door open.

***

At just after 2:00pm, you stopped by the post office to retrieve your mail that had piled up over the last couple of days. Before you left, you strolled up to the counter to chat with your best friend, Nyota Uhura. Her shift was almost over, so she suggested the two of you meet for coffee and a snack at the Java Station Café on Main Street.

While you waited for her at the café, you thought about how you met her and what brought you back to Logan, Montana. Your now-ex-boyfriend, Travis Myers, had convinced you to move with him from Logan to Bozeman. He'd landed a lucrative position as in-house counsel for a large and powerful corporation. You found work at a tech company doing data entry work for a medical office. Not too terribly taxing nor was it what you wanted for a career, but it paid well.

Around the six-month mark of living together in the big city, Travis started coming home later and later in the evening. Missed date nights and other outings were becoming more frequent, with him coming to bed late and leaving before you woke up. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it, he always chalked it up to working late on a big case or project, so you let it go.

The last straw was when the two of you were supposed to meet a few of your friends for dinner. Since he was late picking you up from home, you asked one of them to drive you to the restaurant. From the lobby, you called Travis and told him to meet you there.

Just before you said your goodbyes, you heard, "Come back to bed, baby, I'm cold" in a woman's voice. You were furious, demanding to know who the woman was and how long he had been seeing her. After first denying everything, he ultimately confessed it was his assistant and it had been going on for about six weeks. You felt your world collapsing around you at his admission. Dinner was forgotten while your friends drove you back to the apartment to pack up your belongings.

You couch-surfed for about a month before finding an apartment back in Logan, where you had previously lived with your parents. Because Travis paid for most of the expenses such as rent and utilities, you were able to save up quite a nest egg to cover your new living situation. However, you weren't sure how much longer your savings would hold out, so you decided to look for a job to make ends meet.

The bell above the door tinkled, and Nyota rushed over to your table. After a brief hug, you both sat down and waited for your server to appear and take your order. Uhura was practically vibrating with energy, which meant she had something exciting to share. A few minutes later, with your order submitted, she spilled her secret.

"You'll never guess what happened today!" she exclaimed. "Two men came in today to file a change of address card."

You snorted. "That sounds like something that happens every day around here, Nyota, not that interesting. You're nearly jumping out of your skin about this. What is so compelling about them that has you barely able to sit still long enough to tell me?"

Uhura made a face at you to show her displeasure. "If you can keep from insulting me, I'll tell you," she pouted. You held up your hands in surrender as her cue to continue. "They moved here from Georgia, and one of them has the most tantalizing Southern accent. They were both tall, one blond hair with striking blue eyes, and the other dark hair and hazel eyes. He seemed a little grumpy at first, but Blue Eyes was the more charming of the two," she explained.

"Did you get a look at their new address, the one here?" you asked.

"The one with dark hair listed his name as Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, and his address matched the one for Walter McCoy's place," she replied.

Now she had your attention. Every so often, you drove by the farm, wishing you lived there instead of your small, one-bedroom apartment. You had thoughts about what it would be like to buy the place one day so you could fix it up and return it to some of its old glory. You'd heard through the grapevine that the owner passed away a few months back. It was also mentioned that ownership would pass to his only other living relative.

"I've always thought about that place, what it looks like inside, how I would spruce it up. Wait a minute, did you say Doctor McCoy?" you squeaked.

"And her brain has finally caught up with her mouth," Uhura joked. "I was wondering when you'd catch on to that tidbit of information. That house has a separate office space, ideal for treating patients. Word travels fast in this town, and once folks get to know there's a doctor in town again, Dr. McCoy is bound to need help. You know, with paperwork or coordinating treatment of his patients. Know anyone with those kind of skills?" she grinned.

In addition to your data entry job, you had acquired some basic medical training. The town had a couple of paramedics within the Volunteer Fire Department for the more serious cases. For now, it was enough, but it would be nice for the vacancy to be filled, especially by a handsome doctor. "Hmm. Maybe I should head out that way, introduce myself, see if he needs any help." Beg him for a job, you silently added.

"That's the spirit! If you're done with your coffee, we should drive out there and check things out. You in?" she held out her hand for you to shake.

After draining the last of your cappuccino, you nodded and shook her hand. "I'm all in," you declared.

***

Leonard and Jim wandered the property, taking in the condition and contents of the outbuildings. Many of the machines and tools were left behind. They noted which items were and were not still functional, to determine what could be easily returned to service or sold for parts. The good news was, the buildings themselves were structurally sound, although at least in need of a new outer coat of paint.

As for the house itself, Leonard was pleased to find a side entrance that led to an office, set apart from the main house. It was perfect for starting his clinic, with a small area that could function as a waiting room, and enough space for a reception desk. He made a note to check in town for a secondhand store to pick up a desk, some chairs and other furnishings.

Jim joked and told him that all he needed now was a pretty receptionist who could also perform nursing duties. Leonard glared at him in response, reminding him that after the way divorce went, he wasn't at all interested in dating. "Just doctorin'," he affirmed. "Maybe fishin', if the winds are just right," he added with a smirk.

A tour of the home's interior revealed hardwood flooring in the bedrooms and living room, while ceramic tiles covered the floor in the eat-in kitchen. There was a separate dining room space between the kitchen and living room. The centerpiece of the living room was a fireplace made with gray bricks and had a dark wooden mantle above it.

Before his arrival, Leonard contacted the utilities and asked for them to be turned on and transferred into his name. That gave Leonard and Jim a chance to determine what worked and what needed repaired. For the most part, the electrical system was in good working order, except for a few outlets that may need replaced or updated.

The water situation was another story. At first, when Jim turned on the high-arching faucet in the kitchen, the white farmhouse sink reflected a light brownish tint to the water. The pedestal sink and clawfoot tub in the main bathroom, plus the sinks in the half-baths were the same shade of brown. However, the more they let the water run, the clearer it became, which helped ease their minds a bit.

Leonard walked back out to the porch to make a mental list of what he'd need to bring the old house back to life and working order. The hardwood floors were in good condition, though they could use a bit of polish applied to them. There were a few non-working electrical outlets that would need an electrician's expertise to chase down the problem. In the bedrooms, there were spots where the wallpaper was peeling away from the wall. Not exactly a fan of wallpaper, Leonard decided it would be better to tear it all down and paint instead.

Overall, the pluses outweighed the minuses, such as the updated appliances in the kitchen and quartz countertops. Leonard could definitely see himself cooking up a Sunday dinner of his mother's chicken and dumplings with a peach cobbler. As an avid reader, he also loved the built-in bookshelves to showcase his personal library of classics. And the side-door entrance to the office space provided a break between his professional life and his personal life.

Jim joined him out on the porch and gazed out over the mature trees that dotted the property. "So now that you've taken the grand tour, what do you think, Bones?"

Leonard thought for a moment before answering. "Think I'm gonna like it here. Let's start unloading the truck," he directed. "Good thing we hit those consignment shops on the way here, or you wouldn't have a bed to sleep in," he jested.

Jim was about to unlatch the door on the moving truck when he noticed a car turning into the driveway. "Welcoming Committee?" he wondered. Leonard shook his head and rolled his eyes while he walked over to stand next to Jim. They both watched as the car rolled to a stop near the front of the truck.

***

The drive to the McCoy place only took about twenty minutes, which you spent silently reviewing your qualifications. Uhura could tell you were worried about making a good impression, which she was sure you would. She told you not to worry about it, that you were the best candidate for the job, if Dr. McCoy was hiring. "What if he's not hiring, though?" you asked.

"Then we'll have to convince him that he'll need your help, being the only doc in town. There really is no way around it, he will require an assistant," she reasoned. Her response sounded logical, so you accepted it and kept driving out to meet your prospective employer.

Soon your car was pulling into the driveway, where a large moving truck was parked. Upon seeing the two men standing to one side, you had to admit that Uhura was right. They were both strikingly handsome men. The dark-aired man carried a stern look on his face and his arms were crossed over his chest. The blond seemed a little more easygoing, self-assured, bordering on cocky, as if he knew what a good-looking man he was.

As you exited your vehicle, the men had started walking in your direction. "You ladies lost or somethin'?" the dark-haired man drawled. Ohhhh, that accent was enough to make you weak in the knees, you thought. You held on to your open door for balance.

"Yeah, can we help you?" the blond man wondered with a smirk.

When your brain finally rebooted, you responded, "Actually, we were hoping to be of assistance to you, since you're new in town." At this, you introduced the two of you and learned that the blond was James T. Kirk, or "Jim" he offered with a waggle of his eyebrows. His grumpy companion with the dark hair was the Dr. Leonard H. McCoy who now owned the property.

"I think we can manage fine with just the two of us. Good day, la--" Leonard was interrupted by Jim, who pulled him aside.

"Wait a minute, Bones, let's not be too hasty. I mean, these are a couple of gorgeous women who showed up out of nowhere to see us," Jim pointed out. "It wouldn't hurt to hear what they had to say, now would it?"

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation. He was here to be a physician, to take care of people who need help, not dip a toe in the dating pool. When he looked up, he noticed that Jim had left his side and was talking to Uhura, while you had stepped up in his place.

"Excuse me, Dr. McCoy? I understand that my friend and I just turned up unannounced on your doorstep, and you don't know anything about us. But this is a pretty small town, and I should tell you, it won't take long for people to learn that we have a new physician to replace old Doc Thomas. Therefore, I'm offering you my services. I have some basic medical training, and I used to do data entry for a medical company back in Bozeman," you explained.

"Bozeman? Why on earth would you ever leave there to live here? Not to say that what I've seen so far of Logan isn't simply charming," Leonard added with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll be glad to share that little tidbit of information once we've gotten used to working together," you shot back. "By hiring me, you'll have a well-organized appointment calendar, along with accurate patient files. You'll also have someone who knows how to take and record vitals, which leaves you free to do the doctorin'. So, do we have a deal?" you asked, your hand outstretched.

Leonard took a moment to consider your offer, bold though it was. He had to concede that in a town of this size, word would get around about a new physician and spread like wildfire. He'd probably end up with a huge influx of patients. Even if it was only at first, he might become easily overwhelmed. Patient care was of the utmost importance to him, and if you could make things easier for him, who was he to reject such a proposition?

His lack of response translated to you as a decline of your offer of assistance. As you started to withdraw your hand, he quickly grabbed it and clasped it between his own. "Whoa, hold on there just a minute. All right, you have a deal, but we'll do this as a trial run. A three-month probationary period, take it or leave it," he bartered, fighting the urge to smile.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy! Three months? That'll be more than enough time for you to decide you can't live without me! In-in the office, I mean," you clarified.

Leonard couldn't help but smile at your blunder. "All right, now that we have that settled, I hope you'll excuse me and Casanova over there with your friend. We have a lot to unload, and I'd like to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than the couch," he stated.

"We can help, if that's okay with you? With four sets of hands, we can be done in no time. Besides, I've always been kind of curious about what the inside of your house looks like," you admitted.

You are one interesting woman, Leonard thought to himself. "Okay, let's get started then. Once we get everything out of the truck, I'll take you on the nickel tour," he winked. He whistled to get Jim's and Uhura's attention, then opened up the back of the truck.

***

"There, I think that's the last of it," Leonard declared after he removed the final box from the moving truck and placed it on the lawn. He jumped up to grab the leather strap, then pulled down the rolling door until it was flush with the deck. He latched and locked the door, picked up the box, and brought it into his new home.

 Jim and Uhura had taken your car into town to pick up something for dinner, which left you alone with Leonard. During the unloading, you didn't get much of a chance to stop and look around. But now that most of the heavy lifting was done, you seized the opportunity to take in your surroundings.

You were so caught up in admiring the home's features that you didn't hear Dr. McCoy slide up next to you. "If you have your nickel, I'm ready to start the tour," he grinned. You dug in your pocket, which luckily contained the right coin for the price of your ticket. "Ready when you are, Dr. McCoy," you replied, handing over the 5 cents.

***

Video Conference Call -- Bozeman, Montana

Travis checked his watch to see that he had another ten minutes before his conference call was scheduled to start. He opened the blue file folder in front of him, which was sent from his employer regarding a property they wanted to acquire in Logan, Montana. He sat back in his chair as he thought about how you'd moved there after breaking up with him. Before he could stroll any further down Memory Lane, his alarm beeped to let him know it was time to start the call.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Travis greeted. He could see the CEO, Miles Cooper, at the head of the table, surrounded by other members of NorthStar Corp's Board of Executives.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Myers. I see you have the file in front of you, so let's begin. We understand that the principal owner of the McCoy property has passed away. As such, we want to move forward and make the new owner an offer to purchase the parcel of land and whatever's on it. The house, barn, stables--everything, down to the last shingle," Mr. Cooper explained.

"My source tells me that the new owner drove all the way from Atlanta, Georgia to check out the property. He is also a doctor, and the town has been without one since the last one died. In my opinion, this could present a problem. He may decide to stay and 'hang out his shingle', as it were," Travis pointed out.

Mr. Cooper leaned back in his chair and rested his steepled index fingers on his chin as he contemplated his next move. As he considered this new development, conversation buzzed around him among the other executives. According to one of the scientific reports he received, there were plenty of reasons for encouraging the good doctor to sell.

The report mentioned the discovery of several veins of copper and silver running beneath the surface. The financial gains from mining those resources would more than cover the initial investment paid to acquire the property. Whether the new owner was aware of these precious metals was unknown, but Cooper needed to act fast before the doctor learned of their existence.

With a wave of his hand, silence returned to the board room as Mr. Cooper had made a decision. "Mr. Myers, I suggest you do your best to convince Dr. McCoy to sell the property to us. I will have a new purchase offer drawn up that's more than fair, and you should strongly encourage him to accept it."

Travis carefully considered Mr. Cooper's words that carried the barest hint of a threat behind them. "Sir, I will present your offer; however, we should be prepared for him to turn it down and decide to become the town's doctor."

"You worry about getting a signature on that purchase agreement, Myers, and I will worry about whether or not a contingency plan will be needed. Before the previous owner's death, this was a working farm, right? Lots of tools, machinery? Farming is considered to be one of the most dangerous professions, you know. Accidents can and do happen. It would be unfortunate if an accident should befall the good Dr. McCoy," Mr. Cooper replied darkly.

There was no mistake in Mr. Cooper's intent this time. "Absolutely, sir. I will find a way to present your offer that will make it difficult if not impossible to decline it."

Mr. Cooper's eyes brightened and a smile graced his face. "Excellent, Myers, I knew I could count on you. I'll send that new offer over to you as soon as I have it and we'll go from there," he stated. "I appreciate your cooperation, Myers, I certainly won't forget it."

"And thank you, Sir. I welcome this opportunity, and I will not let you down," Travis concluded.

"Let us hope not, Myers. I'd hate for you to experience any....negative fallout, should you be unable to close this deal," Mr. Cooper remarked ominously before disconnecting the call.

Travis relaxed in his chair and began to formulate a plan in his mind. A sly grin crept across his face as he thought of the perfect way to get an inside look into the doctor's life.

Of course, it involved a trip to Logan and should he happen to run into you, so much the better. For him, anyway. Though there was a near 100% chance that you would want nothing to do with him. If that was the case, his plan may be a bust before it even gets started.

Especially after the way things ended between you discovering his infidelity. For that reason alone, it was likely your walls of protection against him and his crap were nearly guaranteed to be sky-high. But it was a chance he was willing to take, because he did not want to disappoint his client. Something told him that with a failure of this magnitude, Mr. Cooper was capable of making his life a living hell.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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