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auteurdelabre · 3 days

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A Little Sun part 6 Dieter!Bravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+ words: 8.4k pairings: Dieter x f!Reader

tags: pregnancy, details of body changing with pregnancy, insecurity, mention of family death, mutual pining, idiots in love, soft dieter, fluff, lurve, angst, miscommunication trope, female masturbation, male masturbation, dirty talk (thoughts). summary: You move in with Dieter after the fight with your mom and things get... complicated. a/n: Y'all this thing has turned into such a fuckin' beast. Remember when I wanted it to be a one shot? Anyway, we're nearing the end with these two idiots in love but I think this one ends pretty damn sweet.

Also I think I'm in love with Dieter Bravo?

SERIES MASTERLIST

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

Dieter doesn't even let you step fully into his home before he's got you in his arms, wrapping you in his warm embrace. Your suitcases clatter to the floor as you cling to him, burying your face in his neck and fighting back tears.

"You can stay as long as you want," Dieter promises you as one hand cups the back of your head. "Stay forever."

You give a watery chuckle into his shoulder, not quite ready to let go of him. You only break apart when the smell of European cigarettes wafts into the room.

You swipe at your damp eyes while Dieter turns to greet the tiny woman with a shock of white curls. She wears an oversized green t-shirt and loose khaki pants. She shuffles from place to place in her oversized moccasins.

"You remember Magda, right?"

"I think we've met a few times," you say extending your hand. The old woman gives you a look before shuffling over and placing her hand on your belly. You're in too much shock to pull back.

"A healthy boy," she tells you through a thick Eastern European accent. You and Dieter exchange looks of surprise.

"Uh yeah," you peer down at her shriveled frame, "How did you know that it was a boy?"

"I can tell."

She says it with a sage nod and then with that revelation she shuffles off to the kitchen, the feather duster still firmly lodged under her bony arm.

"She's the best," Dieter says says fondly before turning back to you with a look of expectancy. "Lemme show you where you're staying."

He takes both of your suitcase handles and jerks head to the left indicating you should follow.

You follow him out into his garden beside the pool. A place that you've never really visited much before. Most of your business has been conducted inside in his kitchen or in his office. You've heard about his guest house, how he had so many decorators come in over the years.

When you enter into it now, you're surprised at just how normal it seems. You were waiting for whips and chains and other strange memorabilia to line the walls. But instead it looks like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Crisp White's and Blue wainscotting. Overstuffed chairs and couches surround the coffee table from the photo he sent you. It's strangely tasteful.

It doesn't suit him at all.

Dieter must notice your surprise because he smirks before he rolls your suitcases towards the kitchen bar.

"Remember that Danish woman I dated for a couple months right after you started working for me?"

"Yeah, Lyda something.'

"Right. She wanted to start a career as an interior designer. I let her run the show in this place. Not really my taste."

"Not really mine either," You admit looking around the space. "It is beautifully done but I prefer the place we stayed in Ireland, like, that aesthetic. Old wood and big windows."

"I like that too," Dieter agrees. He sees you yawn and immediately feels guilty for keeping You up after such an emotional day.

"I'm going to have Petra whip you up something for dinner."

Petra is Dieter's chef who stocks his fridge with high end

"Dieter you don't-"

"You gotta take care of you and little Bravo remember?"

Dieter feels something in his chest bloom when instead of rolling your eyes you smile at him, nodding.

"Thanks Dieter."

You wake up the next morning in the plush duvet with your arms stretched above your head before rolling an absent hand down your swollen belly.

"Morning little boy," you whisper to the tiny being there beneath your fingertips. You give a groan as you gently roll yourself off the bed sliding into your slippers and pulling on your robe. Despite your devastation of what happened with your mother, waking up in this beautiful space on this gorgeously sunny day has you feeling hopeful.

This feeling is dampened slightly when you glance at your phone, looking to the calendar and seeing a date in the coming week starred. A date you have been dreading for months. Your birthday. The first one of yours since your father passed. Without your mom around this seems especially painful to consider. You close your phone, not wanting to think about it.

You spot a tall figure out the window and feel your cheeks flush. Something has shifted since Ireland. Something that terrifies you. The whisper of feelings that you're having a hard time repressing when you think of how he supports you.

But you push it from your mind. Your worlds don't match up. You’re serious, you take life seriously, you want to dedicate yourself to science. Dieter wants to fuck and party and grab life by the balls.

Plus he's with Mia and she makes him happy.

Dieter saunters across the backyard, narrowly missing the pool as he heads to the guest house. He's wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants under tattered robe, his eyes hidden behind his sunshades. He's carrying a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a smoothie in the other.

"Dieter it’s ten in the morning," you say as you open the sliding door to greet him.

"I'm still on Ireland time," he says giving you a waggle of his brows before setting the pale

pink smoothie down on the kitchen counter. "Breakfast when you're ready for it."

He sees you eyeing the smoothie warily and gives a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Petra made this one so you're safe. You like strawberries right?"

You take a tentative sip, before giving a soft moan of approval and drinking down the rest.

He rocks back on his heels a moment and despite the dark of his glasses, you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

"So... What're you up to today, Bravo?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"I'm officially no longer part of team Bravo remember?" You remind him with a sad chuckle as you place the empty glass back on the counter. "Diane cut my access to work emails and calendars."

"Shit that's right, I forgot." He looks at you with such a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm looking at this like a real non working vacation," you tell him honestly pointing out the window. "I figure you have a pool, there's a chef, a housekeeper, I brought books, what more could I ask for?"

"Plus you have a recreation staff," Dieter grins, taking you by the hand and twirling you gently towards him. "Dance lessons by the pool, movie nights, anything the customer wants."

"Hmmm an end to global warming?"

"Sorry that's only with the premium package."

You let out a loud laugh as Dieter joins you, spinning you into a hug. His mouth is only inches from yours and when the two of you realize this your mutual laughter ebbs.

Dieter wants nothing more than to press his mouth to yours, to taste you, to fuck you here in his home. But he knows it's not what you want. You don't want that from Dieter. You want somewhere safe to stay and he'll provide that to you.

Besides there is someone who does want his affection, his touch: Mia.

You swallow, your body poised and mouth slowly tilting towards Dieter before he seems to realize himself. He slowly extricates his arms from around you before reaching into his robe pocket, clearing his throat.

"Here's the key," Dieter tells you, holding it out to you. You take it, looking at the tiny Jameson keychain on it. The one that matches the one Dieter got you in Ireland that you wear on your own keychain. You smile at the sight of it before looking puzzled.

"A key?"

"For the guest house."

"I don't need to lock it," you chide even as you take it from him and toss it into your purse. "It's just you and me here right?"

"Yeah," Dieter hides the broad of his grin behind his whiskey glass. "Just you and me."

For the next several days Dieter tries to give you as much space as possible. He brings you a smoothie every morning citing that Magda is too busy. In the evenings he texts you to invite you over to the big house for dinner. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you’re just too tired.

You always go back to the guest house feeling a little bit down. You didn’t realize you missed sleeping in the same house, how Ireland made it almost feel like living together. Dieter’s place is so large it’s like you’re in separate neighborhoods.

Dinners are starting to be hard as well. Knowing you’ll be leaving to go back to the empty guest room. It’s a luxury, that’s for certain with its tall ceilings and plush bed. But it feels quiet without Dieter’s music or loud laughter.

And so you can admit to yourself that every morning he comes by with the pink smoothie and a big grin, your heart leaps a little bit. Like now, seeing him rushing over more frenzied than usual. He smiles, pushing the drink into your hand hurriedly.

“Here. Drink fast, I finished the nursery and want you to come look.”

“When did you have time to do the nursery?” You ask amazed as you follow him to the main house, smoothie almost drained by the time you reach his place.

“I’ve been in touch with this guy Diora from Albania over email since Ireland. He’s all the rage, super hard to get but he was really excited about trying his hand at a nursery. He just finished Criss Angel’s man cave and James Franco’s bedroom.”

Dieter sweeps a hand to the middle of your back, guiding you down the hall. When he opens the door with a flourish it takes everything in you not to gasp in horror. Your hand still rises to your mouth, though when you step into the room.

It looks like a sex dungeon.

Black and white striped walls, a beautifully ornate crib painted a ghastly red.

"Contrasting colors are good for baby’s retinas," Dieter says confidently. "I read it somewhere."

It takes you a few moments of staring at everything before you can speak.

"You have whips hung on the walls."

"Those are vintage skipping ropes," Dieter tells you aghast at your misunderstanding. You turn slowly, taking everything in. Finally you shake your head slowly.

"Dieter, this is totally inappropriate for a nursery," you say. "What baby would be happy here?"

Dieter takes a moment to glance around the space, his previous elation dimming with every word from you.

"This is what Diora suggested. He's the hottest designer right now."

"Of millionaire bachelor pads," you say as you look at a particularly ugly piece of metal hanging from the ceiling. "Not for a baby’s room."

"I'm not gonna have some tacky nursery with stuffed bears and shit,” Dieter defends. “I can't do it. Anyone who comes over and sees that'll think I've lost my edge."

The thought of being a father is immensely appealing to Dieter. The thought of being a loser Dad is not.

“Mia said it was cool,” Dieter shoots out. “I sent her photos.”

Mia is also in her early twenties, you want to snap. But you hold your tongue, trying to see the upsides to this nursery. Unfortunately you can see none. Everything is a safety hazard.

Dieter paces around the room, suddenly sour at the whole thing. He thought you’d be excited to see where the baby will be. Instead you’ve come in with your judgments and frowning face.

"Please let me... Dieter let me help you with this," you almost beg. "I just.... I know he's not mine but I can't stand the thought of him being in this... Baby prison."

I know he's not mine.

This hurts Dieter to hear it. He knows that you face no interest in being in this baby's life or his the week after you've given birth. But he can admit he's fooled himself with you being here.

But this? This is a project the two of you can work on. A potential to have more reason to have you in the house, not in that fucking guest house. He can only think of so many reasons to knock on your door apart from smoothies.

"Okay, sure."

“Okay,” you say looking relieved. “How about a pale blue or green? Then we can get a nice crib and some rugs and gauzy curtains.”

“That’s so boring.”

“And safe,” you emphasize. “You have to think of his safety, Dieter.”

Dieter pouts slightly in thought, trying to see the nursery through your eyes. He has to concede that perhaps this is a bit much for a newborn.

"Actually, you know what would look really beautiful on this far wall here?" You muse, looking at the space. "That painting you bought me for my birthday."

You think of the artwork hanging in your bedroom. The one of the woman looking out over the ocean, her hair whipping in the sea air. It’s the one thing you didn’t bring from home that you regret. There was something about that painting that made you feel relaxed.

"I didn't buy you that," Dieter says with a furrowed brow.

Your stomach sinks at this admission from Dieter and you wish you could take back everything. The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability. He never even fucking bought the thing himself. Diane probably did and here you are pouring your heart out about it.

"Oh, uh-Or Diane or whoever-"

"I painted it for you."

All the animosity that had been brewing behind your sternum drains from you. A smile blooms immediately, your body tingling as you roll onto your side to fully face him.

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dieter is smirking at you from the shadows. "I love painting. You think I'd buy you a fucking painting?"

“I think I just assumed that you got Diane or whoever to ship it to me."

"Maybe if you were someone else," Dieter muses, his gaze wandering around the nursery. "Someone who doesn't do everything for me." He falls silent a moment. "You really thought I bought it?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you think it was weird that the girl in the painting was you?"

Now you're stunned and it must show on your face because Dieter is chuckling softly now.

"You've had it hanging up your room for how long? Did you even look at it?"

"Of course I did, I do," you say in a rush, feeling embarrassed. You look at it every night you’re in your bedroom. "I just ... I never thought..."

"What?"

"I never thought you saw me."

Dieter blinks back at you, his dark eyes searching your face.

"I just mean you never even said thank you before this whole baby thing," you explain. "I've worked for you for a while and you kinda just expected I'd be at your beck and call all hours of the day and night, even on my days off."

"I'm sorry," Dieter whispers. "That was shitty of me."

"Why do you do it?

“I went through so many assistants I just assumed you wouldn’t be sticking around long.” Dieter looks ashamed as he says it out loud. “But then the longer you stayed the more I depended on you. I think… After a while I think it just felt weird to not message you.”

You both lapse into a thoughtful silence.

“You’ll manage just fine without me when I leave,” you tell him, needing him to know. “And if you’re ever feeling really lost and like you just need to talk to someone, you can always call me. Not as an employee, but as a friend.”

“Really? We’re friends?”

“Yeah,” you nod, heart hammering. “Friends.”

Dieter wakes up hard every morning for the next two weeks. He doesn't try to; he actively tries to think of other things before he goes to sleep. He watches documentaries, he reads art books, he meditates. He tries to push you from his thoughts so he can wake up normal.

But he always wakes up aching with the head of his cock weeping, flickering remnants of his dreams still floating around his subconscious. And those dreams are always of you.

Today he wakes up with the memory of his dream still lingering. You on your knees, his cock in your mouth and your eyes heavy lidded. As he shifts in bed Dieter realizes his boxers are sticky with previous release. A fucking nocturnal emission? How old is he?

And what's worse is that he's still fucking hard. Throbbing, actually He groans low in his throat and tries to ignore it.

You're here at his home. You're practically living with him. You're only a few steps from his back door. You're so close and yet so frustratingly far from him. He misses being in the same home as you, like the rental in Ireland. He misses the feeling of coming home after a long day on set and seeing your sweet face on the couch.

He wants that again.

Dieter rolls onto his belly to try and squash his current erection against the mattress. But that doesn't help, it just gives a delicious friction. He shifts again experimentally, groaning at the shiver that travels from the base of his spine to the tip. In his sleepy arousal he imagines that it's not the mattress but you that he's fucking.

"You like that?" Dieter murmurs, eyes closed as he rocks against his bed. "Like feeling me like that, baby?"

He pushes his hips into the bed, starting to rut when the pleasure increases.

You're so big, Dieter.

And suddenly he's thrusting against it, picturing your body writhing under him.

Need it, Dieter. Fuck me harder.

"Yes," Dieter groans into his pillow, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He thrusts furiously into the soft fabric of the bed, hips bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Need your big cock, daddy, your dream self moans. Need it deep.

"Fuck yes, baby. Take Daddy's cock. Take it and-"

His phone chirrups loudly on the table next to him, breaking him from the immersive fantasy.

A name and photo flash up on the screen.

Mia.

Immediately he feels guilty. Here he is humping his mattress to thoughts of you as his gorgeous, talented, funny, sexy girlfriend is calling.

He breathes rapidly through his nose, slowing his grinding movements. He rolls over in the bed, reaching for the phone.

"Hey babe," Dieter says, panting as he answers. He flips onto his back, willing his cock to go down.

"You okay? You sound like you've been exercising and I know that can't be true."

Dieter barks a laugh at that. He's about to reply when he hears a splash outside his window. Mia starts chatting in his ear but he's completely taken with the view outside his window.

You're in a bikini, gliding through the clear water of his pool. Dieter feels his mouth run dry at the sight, especially when you roll over onto your back, your belly protruding from the water like a beacon. Your hair dances around your head, your eyes closed, face tilted towards the sun. You have the sweetest little smile on your face.

You're so fucking beautiful.

"Dee? You there?"

"Huh? Yeah, sorry babe what?"

"I wanted to know how you're getting on? I've been staying off socials for the last little bit of the shoot trying to stay focused. I finally saw the photos from the airport. How is the poor thing holding up?"

"Stressed, but better."

"She must be happy to be at home away from all that madness."

Dieter feels his stomach clench. He knows he has to be honest with Mia, she's his girlfriend, she deserves to know. And yet he hesitates because he knows how it sounds.

"She's staying in my guest house, actually," Dieter offers in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.

The warmth from Mia's voice is immediately gone.

"Pardon me?"

"She's, uh, in my guest house for the time being," Dieter adds, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

Mia shuffles on the other end before her voice reaches out to him confused.

"I thought you wanted a relationship with me, Dieter. Otherwise why did your agent go to so much trouble to confirm it? To do a splashy roll-out?"

"I do want it."

"But you have the employee you got pregnant living with you?"

"Not with me. In the guest house."

"This is weird, Dee."

He hears the concern in her voice and he feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want to lose Mia.

"Her mom kicked her out," Dieter explains quickly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel?"

The answer is so clear, so obvious. Why didn't he offer a hotel? He has the money. Why had it been so important for him to have you here?

Because then he could see you every day.

The answer is immediate but he won't admit it. Not now.

"The paps have been relentless," Dieter says finally. "They'll camp out outside of wherever I put her up. Not like here where I know she's safe away from the public eye."

"But-"

"She's not like us, Mia," Dieter insists. "She doesn't want fame and all that shit. She's just a regular person who's pregnant and alone. Her mom kicked her out, she's got no one else."

He can almost hear Mia softening over the phone.

"It's just hard, Dee," she says finally. "Especially when I haven't seen you in weeks."

Dieter feels a flutter of panic at how sad she sounds. He wants to make it up to her and has a great idea of how.

"Prague!"

Dieter bursts out with this, wincing when he hears how loud he is.

"Sorry, what?"

"What do you think about Prague?" Dieter corrects himself, rubbing nervously at his beard. "You're flying to LA next week for our magazine spread, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you've always wanted to go to Prague, right?"

"Yes."

"So let's do it. After the shoot let's get away from everyone and everything for a few weeks just us two."

"You'd really want to do that?"

"Of course."

He hears Mia weighing the choice on the other end of the line. He holds his breath until he can almost hear her smile.

"Okay Dee, let's do it."

“Amazing,” Dieter says grinning. “I’ll get Diane to send you the details. See you next week.”

He hangs up quickly, undressing and pulling on his swim trunks.

You’re floating on your back, sunglasses on your face, your body most submerged in the cool water. You hear the sound of a door opening and crack one eye open to see Dieter approaching.

Dieter never uses his pool. He got the house on a whim and didn’t even notice it had a pool until he officially moved in. But right now seeing your tits overflowing out of your bikini cups has him so utterly thankful to his former self.

He shrugs off his robe, sliding into the chilly water with an exaggerated brrrr. He swims over to you, sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Looked so refreshing I had to join.”

“It’s so nice,” you sigh, your arms and legs out as you soak up the sun and enjoy the lack of strain on your lower back. “I never want to get out.”

Dieter paddles near you for a moment, wanting to remember this moment before he recalls his conversation with Mia.

“Well you’ll have the place to yourself the next couple of weeks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Mia and I are going to Prague like you suggested.”

“That’s so great," you say with a tightness in your voice. “When do you leave?”

“Next Thursday.”

Next Thursday.

Dieter stars to drone on about how Mia has all these restaurants and museums she wants to go to but all you can think of is that you’ll be alone on your birthday. The first one since your father passed. No mother to turn to. Nothing. You’ll be completely alone.

A sudden flutter begins in your abdomen and you give an absent smile, hand slowly sliding over your stomach.

Well, not completely alone.

From where you stand in your guest house kitchen you can see into the main house. Specifically into the dining room. At night when the landscape is dark and the lights are on inside you can see it very clearly.

Like tonight.

You can see him pacing inside the house, his tall frame gesticulating wildly. He's obviously going over some lines. He asked you to have dinner and run through them but you’d texted back some feeble excuse.

The truth is you need to separate yourself as much as possible from Dieter because you’re convinced that what you’re starting to feel can’t be explained away by hormones. This desire to be with him.

But he’s leaving with Mia in a few short days on some whirlwind romantic escape. You even showed him the best way to pack his fucking suitcase! The sight of a box of condoms at the bottom of it hidden by the toiletries bag made your throat tighten.

Despite this your eyes sail over to Dieter’s house again, watching him make a note on his script before running through the lines. He looks so sexy when he does it, totally lost in the moment. It reminds you of the character he played in Ireland.

Fuck, that insatiable need is coursing through your body again. The hormones kicking into overdrive as you feel your thighs press together at the memory of Dieter and that regency costume. He looked so good in it. You can almost hear his husky voice in your ear.

It's okay if you want it, baby. Lemme give it to you.

You throw yourself into your plush bed, your hands sliding down under your panties and working frantically against your straining clit.

Uh huh. Just like that. Gotta come on my fingers before you get this cock.

You throw your head back, thighs squeezing as you rut against your fingers. This phantom Dieter plays in your mind, his husky voice full of dark, delicious promise.

Gonna fuck such pretty sounds out of you.

"Dieter," you groan, unable to help yourself. It's pathetic how quickly and easily your orgasm overtakes you. It leaves you shuddering and whimpering, rutting into your fingers and then finally collapsing back as you stare at the ceiling.

What the fuck are you doing?

Despite everything Dieter is still your boss in some ways. He’s still the man paying you to have a child. Yes, he’s sort of a friend, but at the end of the day he still holds some authority over you.

You wish that last thought didn’t turn you on so much.

You’re still groaning when you hear the light tap of knuckles on glass and you jerk up in your bed, face flushed.

You wipe your damp hand on the sheets before slowly stumbling out of the bedroom. Dieter is standing there at the glass door, giving you a stiff wave. You move quickly, tugging the door open. The sound of cicadas and LA night traffic punctuate the formerly peaceful space.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m really sorry to come over here so late but Magda just told me when she was cleaning this place this afternoon she saw a roach.”

“What?”

Immediately you’re moving towards him, glancing behind you in disgust. Your eyes sweep the floor and counters for any trace. Strange, you haven’t noticed anything and this place is kept perfectly clean.

“Yeah,” Dieter nods, looking tense. “So I gotta get this place fumigated ASAP.”

“Of course.”

“But the fumes are bad for the baby so you’ll have to move your stuff into the main house until it’s finished.”

“For how long do you think?”

“Dunno,” Dieter shrugs, motioning to the room airily. “I was gonna call a guy in the morning to get some quotes. Might be a couple weeks before they can get someone out here.”

A couple weeks? Dieter has enough money to have the place fumigated tonight if he really wanted to. You gaze up at Dieter about to say as such when you see the searching nature of his eyes and suddenly the shoe drops.

There’s no roach.

You note the tense way he rubs his fingers together, the way his brows rise and eyes go owlish the longer you stare at him.

“I’m terrified of roaches,” you finally tell him as you start to throw your stuff into your suitcases. “Can I move my stuff in tonight?”

“Would be the safest,” Dieter nods exaggeratedly helping you to pack. It takes no time at all before he’s helping you carry the suitcases across the yard and into his home.

The guest room is just as nice as the guest house with tall ceilings but slightly less homey. Dieter prefers marble floors and gold accents. Things he was taught as a child meant rich. The bed is lovely, but minimalist. You are however very impressed with the large bathtub and even bigger rain forest shower. You put your suitcases to the side, feeling Dieter watch you from the doorway.

“It’s still early you wanna watch a doc or something?”

You bite back the delighted smile that threatens to bleed over your features before you turn to face him.

“Sure.”

“Okay, you got your passport, the tickets are on your phone, your bags are packed,” the young man’s reedy voice lists off things from his checklist as the three of you stand in the kitchen the following week. Dieter is sitting on one of the stools dressed nicely and looking nervously from the paper to you, completely ignoring Rupert.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“Dieter.”

“What if you go into labor?”

“Almost three months early?” you force a laugh from where you stand by the fridge. “Then we have bigger issues than you not being here. Now c’mon. Mia’ll be here any second.”

Today is the photo spread for the movie Mia and Dieter starred in. It’ll run late so the lovebirds have decided on spending the night in a fancy hotel before shuttling off to Prague the next day. Dieter is always nervous about trips away but he realizes this is especially daunting since he’ll have no PA with him.

Diane has sent him someone new over during the week. A young man with bloodshot eyes and a nervous countenance named Robert or Roger. Dieter can’t remember. All he knows is that the kid does his job decently but he isn’t you.

But he promised himself that he would plan this trip for he and Mia. He researched the restaurants and hotels with her and booked it all. He got them the best seats in the plane and the nicest suite in the hotel.

But all he can think is that he’s going to be away from you for two weeks. Away from his son nestled safely in your body.

“I made a new tape for him,” Dieter says, suddenly snapping. He reaches into his pocket and slides the tape towards you. “Make sure he listens.”

“Yes, yes,” you say rolling your eyes.

The doorbell rings and Rupert immediately goes to answer it leaving you and Dieter alone. He watches you peering into the fridge trying to find something to satisfy your current craving of salty vanilla pudding.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

His voice is a quiet hum. Your mouth tries to form the words but all you can think of is Dieters warm eyes, his hands caressing your belly, the sweet timbre of his voice when he reads to you when you can’t sleep.

“I’m going to be okay,” you promise him softly as you glance over to him. “Now go say hello to your girlfriend.”

Dieter nods resolutely before bolting around the corner to see Mia. You hear his excited greeting and you try not to feel upset. Instead you dig around in the cupboard for something salty. You hear your name being called and you turn to see Dieter and Mia entering the room.

Mia’s eyes go round with shock at seeing you waddle towards her. You give a bright smile, despite the pang that goes through you at the sight of them hand-in-hand.

"Oh wow," Mia says when you waddle into the room holding a bag of chips.

"Weird right?"

"A little," she laughs. You join in, knowing how strange this entire scenario is. You feel like a baby hippo meanwhile Mia looks like she just stepped off the runway.

“So nice to see you,” she says, giving you an awkward hug as she avoids the bump. “I brought a little something for the baby,” she hands a wrapped gift to Dieter, “and one for you.”

Dieter unwraps the package, bringing out a first edition copy of Winnie the Pooh. Your eyes widen at the sight. That must have cost her a fortune.

“Thanks babe,” Dieter says warmly, kissing her. You look away, unwilling to watch and unwrap your gift from Mia which turns out to be a delicate crystal flower vase. Arguably one of the most useless things on the planet since you hate flowers. Dieter knows this and you think you catch a curl of amusement in his face.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you falter.

“I know,” she says sweetly. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, careful not to exchange amused looks with Dieter across the room. You shoot a soft smile at Mia. “Thank you so much. I’ll go pop it in my room so it doesn’t get broken. Magda tends to be a little chaotic when she cleans.”

You turn, about to go down the hallway to the bedroom when you feel something like tension in the room. You don't know why you pause but you do.

"I thought you were staying in the guest house?" She asks you but her eyes are scanning Dieter’s face.

“She was,” Dieter explains, hoping his cheeks aren’t red. “But there were roaches.”

Mia’s face scrunches. “Roaches?”

“Yeah,” you finally fumble, rubbing absently at your stomach. "The guest house needed to be fumigated and that’s not safe for the baby. That’s the only reason I’m in the guest room. I’ll be out in the guest house as soon as the fumigation is over."

Mia nods, but you don't miss the lingering look there in her light eyes.

With Dieter in Prague for the next few weeks you have a lot of free time to yourself. The only problem is you have no one to spend it with. You can't be seen in public now without a bodyguard save for your short walks through Dieter's Calabasas neighborhood. Phone calls with your mom are no longer an option. So you spend most of your time scrolling through social media, watching movies and swimming.

Dieter has always been annoying but he's the kind of annoying that brings you comfort now. Without his loud presence in the house you start to feel lonely. A strange feeling you've never really experienced due to your busy lifestyle.

It makes you long for the sound of Dieter's record player in the art room. Makes you long for his brash laughter during a funny commercial. Makes you long for the way your voices worked against one another when practicing lines, the sound of him muttering to himself when he reads something that interests him in the paper, the way he rasps your name when he’s just woken up.

All the sounds of Dieter that you realize have come to be their own comforting symphony to you.

But he’s with Mia and that's how it should be. They're on the same level. And you know that these feelings are from your hormones. This warmth will fade the second this child is taken from you and is likely contributing to this lonely feeling that arises with you each empty morning.

He’s only been gone four days but those days seem to stretch into eternity. Your mind is usually so full and your schedule packed. But you’re almost annoyingly free right now. Dieter has made only one request of you and that is to update the app every day at least once. He says it makes him feel less guilty about leaving, even though you're the one who encouraged it.

So you do.

29 weeks

Cravings

SALT

Vanilla

pie filling

chips

peanuts

Missing

the ability to see my feet

Baby is size of butternut squash

The only thing that tethers you to Dieter are the sporadic text messages he sends you. Where you once found his constant need to stay in touch annoying, now you crave his random messages, re-reading them with a smile.

[1:44pm] D: I hate not speaking Czech. I feel like everyone is making fun of me and I have no proof. [1:44pm]: You're being paranoid. [1:44pm] D: I'm not!!! [1:46pm] D: Okay maybe a little. Mia and I did an edible. [1:46pm]: Dieter! [1:46pm] D: Diane said no hard drugs! Edibles are natural.

You roll your eyes.

[1:47pm]: Whatever. Hope you're having fun.

You wish you could see his face when you recall Mia's instagram. You forgot you follow her. The second you click on her story you wish you hadn't. It's her and Dieter in a gorgeous spot in Prague chatting with the caption: Czech us Out! @BravoitsDieter

Your loneliness hits you on the fifth day quite acutely. And instead of turning to television or swimming you lay on your back in bed and stare up into the ceiling before your fingers fumble for your phone and you type hurriedly.

[6:08am]: I think he has your hair. [6:12am] D: Huh? What?? Why? [6:12am]: They say if the mother has lots of heartburn then the kid will have lots of hair. Right now I feel like my heart has been dropped in acid. [6:13am] D: No way. I thought babies were always bald. [6:13am]: Not always. I wasn't. Were you? [6:13am] D: Dunno. Never saw baby photos of myself. [6:14am]: Why not? [6:14am] D: My mom cared about stuff like that. When she died my dad just put everything in the attic and tried to forget.

You didn't know that about Dieter. You've heard snatches of information from other staff that Dieters dad is a low life, but to not save photos of your kid? That seems cruel.

[6:14am]: I'm sorry. [6:15am] D: NP. [6:15am] D: Mia is taking me to a museum so I gtg ttyl

You frown at the phone.

"What a bitch," you murmur before stopping yourself. You think about how your baby can probably hear sounds outside the womb now and you feel guilty.

"No, actually, she's not a bitch. She's really lovely and she's so good for your dad."

Your hands drift over your belly slowly, subconsciously as you speak and soon your eyes follow suit.

"Strange to think you're just in there all snuggly," you tell your belly with amusement. You gasp when you think you can feel a slight flutter within you abdomen.

"Is that you?" You wonder aloud. "Can you hear me?"

The fluttering continues and you feel something in you shift. Your heart squeezes pleasantly. He rarely moves around for just you. It seems he's most active when Dieter is nearby.

"You're really in there," you laugh to yourself. "And you can hear me."

The lonely feelings begin to dissipate. You're not alone - you have your son to keep you company. You talk to him through the day. You make jokes about bubble having Dieters hair. You talk to Bubble about the book you read on the porch. When you watch a documentary you narrate for the baby.

You update the app with a cheerful photo of you making a heart over the bellybutton with your fingers. You think Dieter will get a kick out of it.

When you go to bed you put the headphones over your belly and hit play on the walkman.

"This is a new one from your Dad," you tell your belly wryly as you position the foam on either side of your bump. "So I apologize now if it's fucking annoying."

With a serene smile you go to sleep with his muffled voice against your skin. And when you wake up on the sixth day you feel good. It's not until you look at the calendar that you're reminded of Friday's date.

Your birthday.

The first one without your father. It makes your stomach drop.

As if all of California has gotten the memo the day is grey and drizzly. You spend most of the day napping and eating whatever Petra has put together. But by mid afternoon you’re feeling restless. You try walking around the block, but the weather drives you back inside. You try to distract yourself but nothing seems to work.

Petra and Magda have gone home for the day. It’s just you and bubble and right now it feels like it’s just you. You decide to order a pizza for dinner, and as you wait for your Hawaiian Delight to arrive you can’t help but reach out to the one person you wish was here.

[5:48pm]: How is Prague? [5:50pm] D: Boring. [5:50pm]: Only you would say Prague is boring, Dieter. [5:51pm] D: In the airport now. Gonna go to Germany for a couple days. Mia really wants to see Cologne Cathedral and apparently they’re doing some once-in-a-decade tour event thing. I dunno. How’s the bubble? [5:51pm]: Still here.

You don’t know why you’re both still calling him Bubble. The tabloids have made it impossible not to be aware that you’re pregnant after all. But there’s something sweet about referring to him as your little Bubble.

[5:52pm] D: airport is so fucking noisy and I'm so tired. found coffee though.

[5:52pm]: Make sure not to drink too much. You won’t sleep on the plane. [5:52pm] D: U didn’t update the app today. [5:53pm]: Sorry, been distracted. [5:53pm] D:??? [5:53pm] D: How come?

You have no desire to get into this over text. Besides it’s not Dieters problem, it’s yours. And it’s not a problem it’s just. . . life.

[5:55pm]: Doesn’t matter. Here, this will have to do.

You attach a picture of your hand over your swollen bump and send it over.

You’re surprised when you see Dieter calling.

“Hello?”

“Why are you distracted?”

“Dieter don’t you have better things to do than call me about this?” You say rolling your eyes, but still delighted to be hearing his raspy voice. “Aren’t you in the airport?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Mia with you?”

“She went to get another magazine for the flight. You gonna tell me what’s going on? Is it the Bubble?”

“No,” you say grunting as you lean back against the sofa.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine!”

“Cmon,” Dieter cajoles. “You know I’m just gonna keep calling and texting until you tell me.”

“Its pregnancy brain,” you throw out, hoping this will satiate him.

“Liar. Your voice always does that clipped thing when you lie.”

You can’t help but feel a small smile cross your features. You hear the distant boarding call for his flight and you decide you might as well tell him. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that your dead is dead.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday. The first one since my dad died and ...."

You trail off. You hear silence on the other end of the phone and then a soft fuck.

“Dieter?”

“I thought it was next month,” Dieter is murmuring and you can hear him tapping on the phone. “Fucking calendar. Fuck. I thought it was next month same day. That’s what I have it as. Fuck. This is why I don’t program my own fucking electronics. Fuck.”

“Nope. Today,” you clarify, amused at how frazzled he sounds. “But it’s not your problem. It’s just this is my first birthday without my Dad and, my Mom isn’t talking to me and I realized I’ve worked so hard so long I have no real friends and…. It’s just…”

You break off when you feel tears starting.

“Anyway, not your problem,” you say forcing your voice up an octave. “I’m only telling you because you asked. I hope you and Mia enjoy your trip! I can’t wait to see photos.”

“Hey, wait-“

“I gotta go,” you say, brushing the stray tears that have escaped. “Pizza guy is here. Bye!”

You hang up the phone and then place it on silent. You don’t want to talk with him anymore. You don’t want to talk with anyone. You just spoke to Dieter but that doesn't stop you from missing him. It gets to the point where you pull up old interview footage with him on YouTube just so you can hear his voice and see his smile.

When the pizza arrives you pay the guy delivering it, but then you just shove the box in the fridge. You take a shower, letting the tears mingle with the steamy droplets before pulling on a new nightdress. You grab the walkman and headphones, about to put them on when you pad t the kitchen for a glass of water.

You walk back, about to retire to your guest room, walking past Dieter’s bedroom. You’ve rarely ever been inside it and never when he isn’t at home. But something about today compels you into it, something make you push open the door and walk to his bed.

The room is recently cleaned by Petra, the bed freshly made, the floors sparkling, his clothing put away. The fireplace is off but you switch it on, noticing his tattered green robe freshly washed and hanging on the back of the bedroom door. You don’t even think about it, you just pull it on over your sleep dress and stumble into his bed.

Dieter’s bed is so comfy, even better than the one in his guest house and room. You curl under the sheets, burying your face in his pillow. It smells like his expensive shampoo and the cologne he sometimes wears. It brings tears to your eyes.

You wish he was here.

You turn onto your back, tummy swollen and resting heavily. It makes you long for Dieter in all aspects. Not just to fuck, but to spend time with. He's so different from anyone you know. He doesn't follow rules or social norms. But when you're with him you feel calm and not judged. It makes you feel like you can let go.

"Your daddy really is wonderful," you murmur to your belly, stroking it. "You might hear bad stuff but you need to know what a good heart he has. He's so generous and funny and he loves so deeply. You're not even here yet and he's so in love with you."

You look at the walkman resting beside you, and instead of putting it around your abdomen something inspires you to put the headphones on yourself. You’ve never listened to the message before but tonight you do.

You slip the cheap foam over your ears, rewinding the tape and smiling when his voice sounds out over the tape.

“Hey little Bravo, this is your dad speaking. I just found out you’re gonna be a boy. Woah. My son. Uh, I need you to know that you are so special and that when you’re born we’re gonna have so much fun. I’ve already made a list of places we’re gonna go. And-“

It goes on like this for several minutes with Dieter excitedly detailing all his future plans for he and his son. You hang onto every word, enraptured with the life he has in store for his son. You imagine a future with Dieter holding a baby with his same wild hair. And in this future you see him reach for a woman, but she isn’t you. It’s Mia, and she looks so happy with them. The perfect family.

Dieter’s voice draws you back in.

“You need to know that your Mom loves you just as much as me. I watch her patting you and whispering to you all the time. She told me last week that you were the size of a head of cauliflower. Then she started humming a song about her cauliflower son.”

You laugh out loud at the memory of you swimming a few weeks ago humming a tune about a cauliflower son. You didn’t even realize Dieter was paying attention. You turn your attention back to the recording.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so so much. I’m so excited to meet you.”

You stop the tape, rewinding it.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

You sniffle, rewinding the tape again.

“I just want you to know how much I love you. I love you so much.”

Again.

“I love you so much.”

Again and again you rewind to hear that section. And as you finally drift off into sleep it’s to the gentle sound of the man you desire whispering how much he loves you.

Dieter arrives at home late, toeing off his sneakers as he yawns, scratching his belly before heading for his bedroom. The suitcase is left at the front door, tomorrow’s problem. He’s exhausted from the flight and he needs to get some sleep before he talks to you tomorrow morning.

He opens the door to his room, preparing to throw himself into bed when he notices the fireplace is on. He pauses, seeing you in your bed lying on your side sleepily soundly. A small smile curls onto his lips when he sees the bright yellow walkman in your hand, fingers loosely around it. What strikes him is that you're wearing the headphones; you don't have them around your belly.

Dieter is quiet, looking down at your peaceful sleeping face illuminated by your bedside table. One of your hands is splayed over your belly protectively and this makes him smile. He gently pulls the earphones from off your head, sliding the walkman from your grip and placing both on his nightstand.

He figures he’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, musing that you’re playing musical beds tonight.

You murmur something sleepily, something be doesn't catch. He takes a minute longer to look at you and then his face hovers over yours. He kisses you softly, an innocent press of his lips to yours.

"G'night baby mama."

You shift partly awake, arms reaching out to wrap around his neck. He grins, allowing himself to get pulled into the bed next to you. You’re so warm. You don't say anything; you just snuggle up against him, face nuzzling against his neck.

"Go back to sleep, baby," Dieter tells your sleepy frame. "Just turning the light off."

He presses a ginger kiss to your temple before his free hand clicks the light next to the bed.

"Okay, love you, g'night," you murmur, still mostly dozing.

Dieter is silent, unmoving as your words rattle around in his head. He waits until you're snoring before he finally replies.

"I love you too."

TAGLIST: @getitoutofmymindwrites @manuymesut @whirlwindrider29 @mostardentlypascal @lu62 @missladym1981 @heareball @sptbear @drewharrisonwriter @lizzie-cakes @daddy-dins-girl @moel-jiller @tammythr @guelyury @lilyevanstan1325 @lu62 @sptbear @staywildflowahchild @whirlwindrider29 @pedropascalsbbg @cherrycosmos392

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #series #a little sun

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bteezxyewriter12 · 1 day

Text

After Coachella

Pairing- Hongjoong x Named Reader

Word count- 2.1k

Includes- Coachella Hongjoong, rough and wild sex, wall sex, cock riding, table sex, missionary, dirty talk, squirting, multiple orgasms, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @stephy-nicole13 @mknae-jongho @bykeynote

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist 📝Hongjoong Masterlist

Hongjoong POV

Getting off the stage, I grab my girlfriend's hand, pulling her with me as we're ushered back towards our trailers

It was such a rush being on stage and performing at Coachella and that high hasn't worn off yet

Neither has the desire to fuck my girlfriend

I wasn't able to fuck her before we went on stage

I could tell she liked the outfit I was put in by the way she kept touching my chest, kissing my neck, saying how hot I looked

Unfortunately we had to go on stage and I was horny the whole performance

While performing, I went from being excited, to honored, to awed to horny and back over and over

I was able to keep thoughts of her naked and on my dick out of my head for most of this performance

But the second I was walking off stage, it's all that's been in my mind

Seeing the trailers coming up, I turn to Seonghwa

"Keep everyone out of that trailer for now", I tell him, pointing to the right one that's a bit away from the others

He raises his eyebrow but nods, "Yeah"

Veering off from the group, I lead my jagi to the trailer

"Joongie, everyone is going that way", she says, looking behind her at the group

"Yeah but we're going this way", I tell her

Opening the trailer door, I pull her inside and up the stairs

"Joongie-", she starts but I stop her, pulling her right to me, my lips crashing into hers, heat and fire flooding my body, my head becoming dizzy

Fuck, I love kissing her

She immediately responds, kissing me back, my tongue already down her throat

I pull down her pants and panties as she shoves down my jacket

I let it fall to the floor while she kicks her bottom clothes off

She grabs my belt, undoing it, getting my pants open

I take over throwing my shoes off then getting out of my pants and boxers

"Someone's horny", she teases

"You're damn fucking right", I growl, picking her up and pushing her against the wall, "You got me all riled up right before performing and I had to wait to fuck your sweet pussy"

I pull her shirt off, her bra following, needed her naked, needing to see her perfect body

"It's not my fault, they put you in such a fucking hot outfit", she whines, grabbing onto my shirt

Taking my chin in her hands she moves my head to the side, pressing kisses to my neck, sending shivers up my spine

Her fingers trail down, slowly moving along my chest, lighting a fire in each cell of my skin

"It's not my fault my boyfriend is the sexiest man on this fucking planet", she murmurs

I groan hearing her

It blows my mind she thinks that about me

Honestly San, Seonghwa and Mingi are the members most ATINYs think are sexy

They love their muscles and abs

I don't have that but she doesn't care

From the moment I met her, she's only ever seen me

She doesn't pay attention to San when he's walking around without a shirt

She doesn't pay attention to Seonghwa or Mingi when they're put in sexy outfits

It's only me

No matter what I'm wearing she always says I'm the hottest, is always on me, always kissing me, fucking me, always telling me she loves me

She only pays attention to me

And I'm grateful for that because she is the only girl I ever pay attention to

I don't notice girls like that anymore because no one holds a candle to my jagi

I don't want anyone but her

"It's not my fault my boyfriend makes me horny every second of every day", she whispers in my ear

"Yeah well my girlfriend does the same to me", I growl, turning my head back to her, "And right now, I'm gonna make you scream louder than ATINYs did"

With that I move my aching cock to her hole and sink into her tight pussy

"Joongie", she moans, her head leaning back against the wall, her hands gripping my shirt hard as my cock opens her so widely, so pleasurably around me

She moans louder at every inch that goes in, her pussy drenching, leaking and pulling me into her

"Hongjoong yes", she cries, her legs tightening around my waist, fingers twisting in my shirt, "Fuck baby, oh my god"

When I only have a little bit left of me, I thrust hard, slamming my cock into her spot, her body shaking, her pretty scream reverberating in the room

I stay inside her warm, tight wet pussy for a minute, just reveling in how she feels, how she throbs around my cock

I swear she was made just for me

My dick is big but it fits inside her perfectly

Snugly

I was made to be inside her, she was made to be around me

"Please Joongie", she whines

I give her what she wants, pulling out then thrusting back in

Moving faster, I get a harsh pace going, fucking her cunt wide open, her pussy swallowing my cock and latching on each stroke, intense pleasure exploding in my body

"So good jagi", I moan, pumping my dick into her, smashing her spot over and over

Her pussy waters my cock like a waterfall, leaking all over my cock and my pelvis

Her hand slides up my neck, into the back of my hair, pulling so hard, my head tilts back

She crashes her lips to my neck, kissing everywhere, making me groan as shivers of pleasure run down my back straight to my cock

"Baby, fuck", I moan, banging her hard against the wall

Her other hand pulls my shirt, exposing one of my shoulders, her lips kissing all over, fire racing all over my skin

Her tongue licks my sweat from my shoulder to my neck, moaning as she does, her fingers twisting in my hair

Her pussy throbs hard, so close

"C'mon baby. Cum for me", I urge her, wanting nothing than to feel that pleasure

I crave her orgasms

"Please jagi, gimme", I whine, burying my face in her neck, kissing her skin as I increase the speed of my hips, sliding one hand down between us, rubbing her clit rapidly

Her pussy tightens up right away, feeling unbelievably good

"Hongjoong!", she screams, climaxing, her body shaking as pleasure slams right into me

"Ffff...", I whimper, pulling her away from the wall and sitting down on the bench seat so I don't fall down from how intense it feels

"Good girl", I praise her, "Fuck you're so tight, so good"

As soon as she finishes, I lift my head from her neck and shoves me down on the seat

Her hand leans back on my thighs, her hips moving as she starts bouncing on my cock

"Fuck Joongie", she murmurs, tilting her head back as she moves, "Fuck, your cock is always so good baby"

I watch the gorgeous sight of my girlfriend moving on me, sweat filling her hair, beads of it rolling down between her wiggling boobs

She moans loudly, the sound of her utterly soaked cunt squelching so loudly each time she takes me in

That sound is so erotic and I could listen to it forever

My eyes move down to her gorgeous pussy, her swollen lips spreading open for my cock, her hole straining and leaving a huge mess of cream all over me

Fuck, I live for this, live for her creaming me like a fountain

Her legs move faster, hopping up and down my cock like a sex crazed bunny, my head smashing her spot with each drop down, tears falling down her face from how much pleasure she's in

It turns me on so fucking much that she feels this good because of me

That she wants me this way over and over, every day

I've never had a girl match my desire for her the way she does

She's my everything and I love her with all my heart

She moves faster, her cunt spasming quickly around me, becoming so tight that bliss runs up my spine from pushing through her pussy

"Joongie", she whines

"Mmm baby", I moan, gripping her thighs hard, lifting my hips up, making sure I'm buried deep inside her every time she takes me back inside her, "Fall apart for me jagi. Right on my cock baby"

"Yes Hongjoong", she whimpers, her body shaking as she squirts all over me

I move her up and my cock as she squirts, fucking her through it, her squirt flying everywhere, soaking my lap, my shirt, some hitting my chest

She screams my name over and over, the sight of her coming unbelievably beautiful

"So pretty baby", I praise her, "Fuck, you're always so beautiful"

She slumps against me when she finishes but I'm not done with her yet

Sitting up, I tilt her head up, kissing her hard and passionately, her reciprocating

Her fingers dig in my hair, her tongue down my throat, her body pressed against mine

Standing, I lay her on the little attracted to the wall table, moving quickly, slamming my cock into her tight pussy

God, I just fucked her open and she's still so fucking tight for me

Her hands pull my shirt up and I move my arms through the sleeves, tossing it behind me once it's off

Standing up, I look down at her, watching her boobs move, her cunt cream my cock more as I thrust into her again and again

"Hongjoong, oh god, Hongjoong!", she cries, her body arching for me

"Yes baby", I grunt, moving my hips fast, the feeling of her pussy opening around me so good, the feeling of her cunt clenching, choking my cock phenomenal, chills running up my back

I slide my hands up her body, touching her sweaty skin, savoring the way her skin shivers under my touch

There's red all over her neck and her fingers and I realize that it's the dye from my hair

I sweated it onto her skin and it looks so fucking hot, making me feral

"Louder jagi", I demand, mercilessly fucking her, "I want to hear you louder"

"Hongjoong!", she screams, her body wiggling from how hard she's taking my cock, her little hole completely wrecked

"Louder!", I shout, lost the pleasure, "Scream for me jagi"

She does, getting louder and louder with each hit to her spot, her hands squeezing the edge of the table

The sounds of her screams are so fucking beautiful, I wish I was recording them

I will, another time

Her pussy locks around my cock in a death grip, squeezing tighter with each stroke, bringing both of us closer

She grips my wrists, pulling me down on top of her, my face burying in her neck, her legs moving higher up around my waist

I pound into her, growling, "Scream my name"

She takes me so deep, coming around my cock hard, my name the only thing breaking the quiet

"Hongjoong! Hongjoong!"

She's so tight, spasming so hard throwing me into ecstacy

I sheath my cock in her blissful pussy, coming so hard, my mind blanks and I can't tell which way is up

And I'm screaming her name too

She holds me against her as we both ride the pleasure, our names so loud in the trailer

The pleasure starts fading and exhaustion hits me hard, my body slumping into her

Her fingers run up and down my back, my skin shivering as I smile into her neck, then give her a soft kiss

"I love you", I tell her

"I love you Joongie"

Moving my arms around her, I pick her up, her arms and legs wrapping around me, her head laying on my shoulder

I start heading to the small bedroom at the back to trailer, bending down and grabbing my pants along the way

Sitting on the bed with her, I take my phone out of my pants then drop them on the floor

I send Seonghwa a quick text

"Short nap. Call and wake us in a hour"

I move us on the bed, laying down with her, pulling a blanket over us

I shift her so she's half on top of me, her head still nestled against my neck

She's already asleep, her breathing soft and even

I must have worn her out

She definitely wore me out

My phone rings, the text from Seonghwa a thumbs up emoji

Dropping the phone on the bed next to me, I wrap my arms securely around my jagi and close my eyes for a much needed nap

#ateez hongjoong fanfic #kim hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong smut #ateez hongjoong smut #ateez fanfic #ateez smut

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steviewashere · 2 days

Text

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts.

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #3+1 #humor and hijinks #humor #or at least an attempt at humor #mild hurt/comfort

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evanchantingpeters · 3 days

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 1)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Y/N is fresh in East Hollywood, LA. After a major life overhaul, she’s ready to dive into a new chapter. So, when she hits the town for a night out with friends, she unexpectedly crosses paths with none other than actor Evan Peters. Y/N tries to keep her cool and act all nonchalant, but damn, Evan’s interest throws her for a loop. Their first meeting? Total tension and flirtation, hinting at an evening full of surprises.

Disclaimer ─ In Part 1 of the series, the main characters are introduced, setting the stage for the encounter of Evan and Y/N to unfold and the sexual energy between them to build up. Things get super steamy and smutty in Part 2.

Warnings (for Part 2) ─ Obscene language, semi-public, dry humping, oral (both receiving), fingering, overstimulation, handjob, nudes, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you guys know the drill :)

Word count ─ 3.8K

18+ > If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

You step out of the shower, steam stirring around you as you wrap your hair turban-style in a towel. The anticipation of a proper night-out since you made the bold move to quit your job in Europe and pursue another life in the US tingles in your veins. It feels like forever since you’ve let loose, and tonight promises to be nothing short of epic.

Plopping down onto your bed, you grab your go-to jar of coconut body butter from the dresser. You squeeze a generous dollop onto your palm and rub your hands together. The creamy texture blends in as you work it onto your skin, leaving it smooth and oh-so-soft.

As you immerse yourself in your ritual, you hear the familiar buzz of a FaceTime call. Glancing over at your bedside table, you see “Adria,” your friend’s name, glowing on the screen. You pick up your phone, still coated in moisturiser, and her face pops up. A look of desperation is written all over her features.

“Hey, girl! What’s up?” you chirp, propping the phone on your desk to finish off your pampering session.

She lets out a dramatic groan. “Send help,” she whines, her voice tinged with panic. “I’m having a meltdown over here. I swear, I got nothing to wear.”

You can’t help but giggle at her faux-crisis. “First-world problems, brain rot,” you tease, sneaking a peek at the heap of clothes behind her. “I see you’ve got quite a selection to pick from.”

Adria pouts, swatting playfully at the camera. “Nah, these don’t count. I need everyone to be ‘she ate and left no crumbs.’ What’re going for tonight? I need some inspo!”

You chuckle sympathetically, holding the phone aloft as you pivot to show her your fit for tonight laid out on your bed. “I’m going for less is more—my thrifted mini satin dress and racing black leather jacket with my military boots and white tube socks for a touch of sass.”

She gives you a strained smile as she takes in your outfit. “Ahh, you pull off that casual vibe effortlessly, babe.”

You flip the camera back to you, shrugging nonchalantly, “I’m casual and proud!”

Adria rolls her eyes with a teasing glint. “Okay, but what about makeup? You gotta glam it up… you know the LA sparkle! That’s how we do it in East Hollywood, at least!”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m feeling the au naturel look. You know I suck with makeup big time—I’d probably end up looking like Pennywise.”

Rather than rehashing your “Why makeup should be banned” manifesto, you choose to dig further into the evening’s plans. “So, who else’s joining us tonight, Ad?”

She rattles off a list of names, both female and male—some known, others unknown—and you nod along. “Gotcha. I’ll be ready by 10.”

“Perf. I’ll swing by to pick you up then. Buckle up for a wild night, biyyyatch!” she exclaims, wiggling her brows at you.

You let out a choked laugh as you observe her grimacing. “Alrighty, catch you soon!”

Once you hang up, you slip into your outfit and let your hair fall loose, fluffing it up for a bit of volume. No need for fancy blowouts tonight—you’re all about that breezy, air-dried look.

With a spritz of perfume and a final check in the mirror, you grab your essentials and head out into the dazzling city lights.

As you strut into the club with your gang, the uplifting beats hit you like a wave of energy. The nostalgic tunes of early 2000’s R&B thump in your chest, urging you to groove with every step. You all weave through the sea of nightclubbers, the party mode building up inside you like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

“Let’s hit the bar!” Tommy, one of the guys and Adria’s boyfriend, shouts over Missy Elliot. You all nod in agreement, eager to keep the high spirits flowing with some booze.

You slither through more partygoers who dance erratically, all while juggling their drinks. Some move smoothly to the rhythm, while others simply jiggle around out of tune.

Neon lights flash and strobe, casting an electric glow over the bartender as he polishes a row of whiskey glasses with cool confidence. A cheeky smile plays on his lips as you hop onto an empty stool before him.

“What can I get you started?” he roars over the music, his voice cutting through the din.

“Coronas all around,” you holler, matching his tone with equal fervour. You hand him a wad of cash chipped in by everyone.

“Coming right up.” With a flick of his wrist, he expertly pops the cap off the bottle, sliding them your way with a wink.

“Thanks,” you mouth, shooting him a grin before heading back to your friends with a tray.

You take a long, satisfying gulp, the crisp taste of beer quenching your thirst. With your beverage in hand, you pace to the dance floor, your friends in tow only metres away.

Your hips swing in harmony with the melody, and your feet glide effortlessly across the ground. Heads turn and whispers follow your path. Some even reach out, uttering unintelligible words, or brush against your shoulder as you pass by.

Ignoring the distractions, you grab Adria and Jasmine, dragging them into the heart of the dance floor while the rest of the group forms a circle around you. The music engulfs you, momentarily sweeping away the grim memories of your pre-relocation life.

With each song that blares through the speakers, your body twists and twirls with fluid grace, each move perfectly timed to the tempo of the music. In that moment, you feel more alive, more liberated than ever before.

As time trickles by, the music continues to pump and the lights swirl around you. You notice Joseph, the lone blond dude in the squad, inching closer and closer to you as the night stretches on.

“Heyo, Y/N! How’s it going?” he greets you with a tap on the shoulder, his voice rumbling near your ear.

“Hey! All good now. How’s you?” you retort with a tight-lipped smile, bringing your Corona to your lips for another sip.

“Now that I’m chatting with you, much better!” he quips back, a hint of mischief in his tone. “How are you liking the States?”

Just as you’re about to respond, joyous screams erupt from Adria and a couple of other girls from your group, catching your attention. Before you can fully process what’s happening, Adria dashes toward you and jumps into your arms, nearly knocking you off balance.

“Girl! Are you on Molly or something? What’s going on?” you mock, smoothing out your dress on the cleavage before you start flashing whoever’s at close vicinity.

“Omg, you won’t believe it!” Adria squeaks, frantically clapping her hands.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Try me.”

“Ahh, my fangirling is through the roof right now! Evan Peters is here,” she cries out, bouncing up and down, squeezing your hand tightly.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Who?”

“Evan Peters, Y/N! The hottie from American Horror Story… Kai Anderson, Cult? Kit Walker, Asylum? Seriously, don’t these ring any bells? Umm… Dahmer? Come on—you’ve watched that series!” she insists, her voice pitch rising as she tries to jog your memory.

A flicker of recognition crosses your face as your friend’s description sinks in. “Oh, right, Evan Peters,” you concede with a faint smile. “I remember now…And?”

Adria’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “And?? He’s in the same space as us, breathing the same oxygen, Y/N!”

You shake your head, trying to inject a dose of reality into her Hollywood-induced haze. “Okay, but let’s be real here. He’s a mega star, so totally out of league. I mean, we’ve got about as much chance with him as a blue whale does with climbing Mount Everest,” you quip and fold your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “And you’ve got a boyfriend, in case you forgot.”

Adria’s enthusiasm deflates slightly as she’s reminded of Tommy. “It’s not the same,” she protests sheepishly, fiddling with her bracelet. “You know how celebrity crushes work. How can I not crave Evan when he’s graced the world with his Tate Langdon role?”

You can’t help but laugh at her delirium. “Ugh, Adria, it’s giving obsession and borderline restraining order from Peters if you keep this up. Let’s just focus on having a blast tonight and drop the celebrity fantasies, okay?”

A couple of hours melt away, and the energy of the dance floor begins to wane. Most of your friends retreat to a nearby table to freshen up. But not you. With two others by your side, you’re on a mission to keep the party alive, letting the music guide your body with a fierce determination.

Mid-twirl, though, your eyes snag on something unexpected—a figure lingering at the fringes of the dance floor, his attractive gaze burning into you like a laser beam, sending a bolt of lightning down your back. It takes a moment for you to register who it is, but when you do, your heart kicks into overdrive.

Evan Peters.

You try to play it cool, biting down on the inside of your cheek to stifle the grin that’s itching to break free. You try to pass it off as just a coincidence, a trick of the light or a delulu figment of your imagination, but when you steal another glance in his direction, you find his eyes still trained on you. This time around, he offers a timid smile.

Your throat feels like it’s swallowed a golf ball as you sense his eyes fixed on you. Desperate to shake off the sudden self-consciousness, you rummage through your tiny shoulder bag for your phone. Your fingers jitter as you feign interest in your screen, scrolling aimlessly through your main menu or typing out gibberish in your notes app.

But even as you try to stay composed, his stare weighs on you like a ton of bricks. Are you tripping? Feeling more awkward and exposed than ever (you don’t have Evan Peters laying eyes on you every day), you motion to your friends that you’re heading to the restroom. Anything to escape the spotlight, even if it’s only for a sec.

This time, you bulldoze through the crowd, head low, with the toilets being your last glimmer of hope for salvation. Or so you think. Just as you’re about to slip away, a warm, soft hand gently closes around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

Every muscle in your body tenses as you slowly turn to confront the person obstructing your way. And there he is, Evan Peters in the flesh, standing before you with an enigmatic grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you face him, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. Your mind races a mile a minute—Is this real life? Did you manifest this? Is Evan Peters actually in front of you?

Fuck, Adria’s right. He’s hot as hell, you ruminate, feeling your breath clutching in your throat.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he greets you with a seductive rasp. “Hey.” His eyes seal with yours in a way that makes your knees turn into jelly.

I just saw you and heard you in person, Evan! Scrap everything I said to Adria. Forget the restraining order. Just slap the handcuffs on me, and do whatever you want... Erhm, I mean, take me into custody cause staring at you should definitely be illegal.

You freeze, unable to tear your eyes away from his handsome dark brown (almost black) eyes and silky tousled curls. A feeble “Hi” is all you manage, your voice barely above a whisper as a nervous flutter stomps onto your stomach.

“Having a good time?” he checks in, his smile widening by the second.

“The asphyxiation I feel right now must be a sure sign that I’m enjoying myself, right?” you reply, fanning your hand in front of your face for dramatic effect.

His throaty laughter bubbles up from deep within him, the sound instantly cranking up your heartbeat. It’s genuine and infectious, like he’s letting down his guard and inviting you into his world, flashing those perfect teeth like they’re on a billboard.

“If you’re suffocating from excitement, then you must be doing something right. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out on you. If you turn purple, I’ll dial 911,” he teases, gently lifting your chin with his index finger and giving you a full inspection with feigned seriousness. “Nope, we’re good. So far, all I see is beauty, no signs of death.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up with embarrassment, so you instinctively lower your head, hoping to hide your rose-tinted face.

You battle to keep it together, but the fact that his hand hasn’t budged from your wrist since your eyes met screams, ‘fainting spell incoming.’ As if that’s enough, his thumb traces soft circles on your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm. “You make me cringe, do it again,” you joke, and you both share a laugh.

“Alright, let’s see what card I should pull next. Here it comes, drumroll—on behalf of everyone in here, I testify to your: ‘I got some serious moves and conquered the dance floor, but I need a breather now.’” he rambles and raises his free hand in mock ovation, his grin laced with mischief.

You chuckle, a surge of confidence brewing within you. “Well, it takes the greatest of them all to verify this. A lifetime of dancing lessons didn’t go down the drain, I guess. I appreciate your testament, sir, and the panel’s verdict,” you coo, bowing theatrically.

Once again, his laughter fills the space between you, warm and hearty.

After a few minutes of silence and a staring contest that makes it agonising for you to breathe, you finally utter, “I said this would be my night, and, apparently, I meant that,” discreetly eyeing him from head to toe, semi-drooling.

“Yeah? Any highlights of the night?” he inquires, his tone dripping with curiosity, and you can’t resist playing along after letting your thoughts slip out loud.

“Nothing yet. But I’m counting on your highlighter to illuminate my way,” you spill out, playfully tilting your head to the side. A sly grin spreads across your lips as you throw the bait, hoping he’ll keep up with your pun game.

His “strike” is immediate as he edges closer to you. “Believe it or not, I’ve got one on me that can change your night from the inside out,” he shoots back, his smile growing, clearly on the same innuendo-laden wavelength as you. You’re a match made in flirtatious banter heaven, true that.

“I need some inside work, that’s for sure. Glad you’re volunteering,” you reply, feeling a rush of heat flood through you at his words. Then, you quickly transition, turning his wrist stroking into a handshake as you introduce yourself.

He hums, gently taking your hand in his, his smile stretching wide enough to reveal his adorable dimples that only add to his charm. “Evan.”

“I know,” you admit, unable to contain your broad smile. “But just an FYI, I haven’t binged-read your fanfics or analysed our astrology charts to see if we’re soulmates. I’ve gone as far as watching Dahmer. Stellar performance, by the way,” you blurt out, still shaking his hand.

He rolls his lips into his mouth to suppress another giggle. “Okay, chill. No need to prove you’re not a psycho. Wanna grab a drink to cool off?”

“No need to ask,” you fire back with equal enthusiasm, both of you grinning like kids in a candy store. Without hesitation, you just follow his lead, diving headfirst into the moment with a reckless abandon, thinking, ‘I’m all in, no matter what crazy idea you’ve got up your sleeve, baby boy.’

He cups your hand in his, his palm firm and reassuring, as he guides you through the throngs of people toward a quieter bar setup located upstairs in the club. The touch makes your head spin, feeling the familiar sensation of heat pooling between your thighs, leaving your undies all moist. You’ve felt sparks like this before, but never quite so intensely, and certainly not so quickly with anyone else.

As you trail behind him, you can’t help but lightly graze the back of his hand, mapping the pathways of his veins with your fingertips. You love a baby face paired with strong arms—he’s exactly your kind of man.

“Maybe it’s better…” he begins once you reach the bar, but the music swells out of the blue, drowning out the remainder of his sentence.

You involuntarily scrunch up your nose and squint, struggling to concentrate and hear him over the blasting tunes. “Come again, sorry?”

Before you can react, he draws closer to you. His breath is warm and tickly against your ear, causing a tremor through your entire body. Not to mention his voice: husky and velvety, making your cunt pulsate for him already.

Damn, things are moving at lightning speed, and you’re struggling to keep pace.

As Evan gets nearer, you catch a subtle yet alluring whiff of cinnamon and cologne. But, actually, it’s the natural scent exuding from his body that has a chokehold over you. Those pheromones he unleashes are like full-blown intoxication, making you lightheaded, your pulse thudding.

You lean in to mimic his gesture and whisper to his ear, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he gently clasps your hand, signalling for you to hold on. As he removes his earplugs, he explains, “Sorry I’ve got very sensitive ears.”

You chuckle, a wicked spark in your eye as you lift a tuft of hair to reveal your own ear protectors. “Great minds think alike,” you cheer.

“No, you didn’t,” he exclaims, eyes widened as you burst out laughing in sync.

As your laughter subsides, Evan’s expression shifts. His eyes bore into yours with a smouldering intensity as if he’s on the verge of revealing a long-held secret or daring to make a move.

But before you can form coherent thoughts or pluck up the courage to speak, Evan blinks fast, breaking the spell. “Shall we get those drinks at last? What’d you like?”

You clear your throat, trying to snap out of your nasty thoughts with Evan being the main character. “I’m down for another Corona, thanks.”

He flashes a quick two-finger salute to the bartender before turning back to you, his lips curving up in a cute, crooked smile. “So, who are you here with tonight?”

“Just some friends,” you confess, your voice trailing off as he raises his bottle to clink it against yours in a toast. His eyes remain glued on yours as he takes a sip, his defined jawline and slender neck at full display begging for your kisses. The intensity of his gaze makes your legs all wobbly. “A-and yourself?” you stammer, breaking eye contact to nervously trace a circular pattern on the rim of the bottle glass with your fingers.

“Same, I came to visit friends during my break. I’m flying back to Vancouver in ten days to carry on filming Tron.”

Your grip tightens around the cool glass of your drink as Evan drops the bombshell. You feel the liquid catch in your throat as you choke, a sudden surge of panic hitting your chest. You cough, the sound harsh and uncontrolled, your body reacting instinctively to the news.

“Canada?” you manage to croak out between coughs, your voice hoarse. You struggle to swallow past the lump, your throat raw and constricted. Your chest heaves as you fight to regain control.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asks with a sense of urgency, his forehead creased with deep lines of worry. Leaning in, his eyes search yours for any sign of distress. His hand reaches out to steady you, giving you comforting back rubs.

You nod weakly, your eyes watering from the effort of suppressing another coughing fit.

“Let me fetch some water for you,” he offers, his voice soft and soothing. He sprints to the bar, returning seconds later with a glass of water and a concerned frown etched on his forehead.

“Thanks,” you mumble, accepting the glass with a trembling hand, keeping the bottle of beer in your other hand. The cool water soothes your parched throat, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you as Evan tenderly ruffles your hair and massages your scalp to calm you down. Hint: his hands on you work wonders.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, looking up to meet his gaze again, your heart hammering. Everything else fades away, leaving only the reassuring presence of Evan before you.

You can practically sense the sexual tension between you. His stare flickers between your lips and eyes, his own mouth slightly parted. It’s like a silent invitation that hangs between you like a charged wire ready to ignite, daring you to take a plunge and smother his face with kisses. And then suck his dick so hard that his stomach caves in like a Caprisun.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve just met; he has you at hello and you’d spread your legs for this man without a second thought…

You gulp as you realise he’s almost inches away from you. You shudder when his fresh breath—an irresistible blend of mint and alcohol—wafts into my mouth, blowing stray strands of hair off your face. “You’re leaving in ten days?” you sigh, puckering your lips and giving him a puppy-eyed look.

“Yes, but I’m still here,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on your lips as he leans into your stool. With a single knee, he slowly splits your legs and slides in between them.

“You’re here now. Wanna be at my place next?” you suggest, and he stares back at your eyes with a crooked smirk, his lips curled mischievously.

Without warning, his lips brushed against yours, throwing your arousal off the chart. The torturously slow pace that his lips slide along yours makes your sex leap, pop, and drip. Soft moans escape your bodies as he grabs your ass to pull you in, squeezing it along the way as his chest cushions firmly against your breasts.

He smiles against your lips as you tangle your fingers in his hair and part your mouth, giving him the green light to roughen the kiss. His hard rock boner already presses against your wet centre when his tongue invades your mouth with primitive force, swirling and twirling with yours in a passionate dance.

“How long to get to yours?” he grunts out of breath, wincing from the uncomfortable angle his stiff cock has now taken in his trousers.

“It’s roughly a ten-minute ride, give or take,” you pant, adjusting the hem of your dress.

“Off we go.”

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aurumacadicus · 2 days

Note

#27 or #31 please

Steve heard Tony start to grumble and got up from the couch so he could go start breakfast. "Your pain pills and a glass of water are on the side table." The grumbling got louder. "Do not swallow the pills dry. The water is to hydrate you, not to take the pills with."

"Mrgh," Tony said behind him.

Steve paused in his work, waiting to hear anything after. He heard reluctantly gulping and nodded to himself, pleased. He was drinking, at least. "What sounds good? Omelette, or pancakes?"

"Mmmm," Tony answered. It sounded slightly distressed.

Steve immediately turned to look at him, concerned. The pills were gone from the table, he noticed, and the glass of water was empty. The pudding cup he'd left out for him in an effort to bribe him into taking the pills was untouched. He hadn't even moved the spoon. Tony looked just as distressed as he'd sounded, looking around the living room warily, mouth a flat line and eyebrows furrowed down in an expression of distrust.

Steve set the carton of eggs down and made his way over to him. "Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony's head swiveled like a bobble-head's, shaky and slow. He blinked up at Steve, eyes going glassy. "Home?"

It almost punched the air from his lungs. "Yeah," Steve answered, hoping it didn't sound as gruff as it felt as he tried not to let out a sob. He knelt beside the armchair Tony was lying on, taking one of Tony's hand's between both of his own. "Yeah, Tony, you're home. We got back from the hospital yesterday, and your leg is in a cast. I'm here taking care of you."

"Home?" Tony asked again, but this time there was a hopeful lilt to it.

"Yeah," Steve answered again, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his hand. He remembered, suddenly, that the doctor had said Tony could have some adverse reactions to the anesthesia. He'd probably just been confused, and it would wear off more the longer it was out of his system. "Yeah, we're home. Do you want anything, sweetheart? Anything I can do for you?"

"Kiss me?" Tony asked, somehow even more hopeful, as if Steve could ever say no to him. Steve stood again, bending down so he could carefully press a kiss to Tony's forehead. When he leaned back, Tony was frowning at him, eyes wide and liquid. "No lip kisses?" he asked, sounding distressed again.

Steve carefully cradled Tony's face in both hands, thumbs rubbing over Tony's cheekbones gently. When Tony blinked up at him, waiting, he leaned in further and gently pressed their lips together. It was quick, shorter than he'd like, just a firm press-and-retreat, but he was testing--Tony was still obviously out of sorts. He could kiss him again if Tony wanted, but he didn't want to leave him feeling smothered, either.

Tony blinked at him slowly when he pulled back. Steve waited patiently for his response. "Wow," Tony finally said, and Steve couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped in response if he tried.

#aurumacadicus answers #goldenfoot #1-161 stony ficlet challenge #stony

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schemmentis · 3 hours

Text

La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 8

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

Summary: Sunday dinner brings unexpected news.

WC: 2.8k

You practically have to pry both your daughters from Barbara and vice versa after breakfast. You promise the twins they'll see her again soon. Your wife promises Barb to do her best to make it before next Sunday.

You're home for much of the afternoon, unaware of the sudden lack of eyes following your every move. At least, for now. You entertain Cat and Rosie, reveling in the extra bit of twin time as you keep them out of the kitchen and thus out of your wife's way.

Sunday morning means church and breakfast with Barb and Gerald. Sunday evening means family dinner at Melissa’s mother’s. A much different affair than it had been when you'd picked the girls up from there earlier in the week. In the middle of the week, it rivals your own house. Relatively quiet aside from your twins and whatever they're getting into.

Tonight, the house is going to have a small handful of people in every room. Mel's large family is a decent portion of it but plenty of the kind of family neither of you are related to at all will be there too. The kind of family only had by the bond of the life you're all in. In reality, it'll probably be barely a fraction of that type of family too. The Schemmentis don't let just anyone in. A type of attitude that didn't begin with your wife, or even her mother.

Since they had to dress up a bit in Sunday best this morning, you compromise with the twins on their evening wear. You send them off to pick what they want to wear to Nonna's, reminding them that you might have to change a piece or two that they pick if it doesn't match. You mentally correct it to be when they don't match. You know they both will pick things from four different kinds of outfits to make into one. Still, it helps when they have some kind of input when you can let them.

You peek over Melissa’s shoulder as the twins are off in their room choosing. She's still busy packing up what you'll be taking over with you that she's made over the afternoon. As if she hasn't made enough to feed your own family three times.

You wrap your arms around her waist, kissing her cheek. “Lemme guess, the extra container is Sammy's branzino.” You mutter as you rest your chin to her shoulder.

“I ain't gonna let him say I ain't paid him. Not in front of Ma.” Melissa grumbles.

You squeeze your arms lightly around her. “His job ain't over yet, anyhow. I told him to be ready to sue the assholes for tearing up Twelve Tables once everything has been cleared.”

Melissa laughs. “Damn right, amore.”

You smile to hear her laugh. Seeing her a bit more at ease today has healed a bit of the stress and wear you've felt. You steal a kiss or two before you let her focus on making sure she's packed everything exactly how she likes.

“No more business talk, huh?” You say as you pull away. Family might be at the house tonight but Sundays are rest days. The one day of the week you don't have to worry like all the rest.

“Cat, you have to take a coat.” You sigh a few minutes later. Her little coat held in your hands as you all stood in the doorway, attempting to leave. You'd managed to get Rosie's on just fine but her sister refuses.

“Mam, the coat doesn't go!”

You look at your wife, a bit pointedly as you know exactly where this sudden phrase has been learned. Notoriously, Melissa is much more concerned with fashion than you are. You dress well, of course. It wouldn't do to be who you are and not dress well. Still, the phrase your daughter is echoing definitely didn't come with you.

“Sweetheart,” Your wife says, looking at your eldest twin. “You have blue in your outfit, don't you?”

Cat looks down, studying her outfit before looking back up to Melissa. “I do!”

“Then your purple coat goes with it. You don't want to be cold, especially when we leave Nonna's do you?

Reluctantly, Cat holds her little arms out to you to put her coat on. You kiss her small head in affection even if she'd been making you exasperated a few moments ago. “Thank you, A storin.” You whisper before taking both her and her sister's hand to walk to the car.

As much time as it took you to get little coats on is at most half the time it takes for them to be removed and dropped at your feet once you've walked into your mother-in-laws.

“No running!” You call after your girls that already aren't listening as they hurry to join their cousins to play. You sigh dramatically as you pluck little coats from the floor before trailing after your wife who has beelined for the kitchen.

You quickly say hello before putting the girls’ coats in the room that's designated theirs when they stay over. You know better than to linger in a Schemmenti kitchen when you haven't been asked to. Especially with more than one generation of Schemmenti women sharing it already.

You say hello and mingle with those who have beat you to the house already. Business and anything close to it doesn't surface at all. It's only talk of family and what everyone's kids are up to or in some cases what trouble they're getting into for the older ones.

It isn't until after dinner that things really settle. The various rooms of the house with small groups chatting quietly. You're sat on one of the couches in the living room, catching up with Kristen Marie when Melissa reappears, claiming the seat next to you. Instantly your arm wraps around her shoulders and your lips press a kiss to her temple.

“Next week it's your turn to do dishes after dinner.” She says to her sister as she leans against your side.

“It should be Mickey's.” Kristen Marie retorts. “I swear when he gets home I'm makin’ him do it every week.”

“Ya, good luck with Ma lettin’ him. You know she'll catch on a lot faster to him doin’ your chores than me doin’ ‘em. Just like when we were kids.”

“That was only ‘cause he was such a tattle tale, you know.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You look away from the sisters to the figure calling for you. “Hey, Luca.” You greet easily as you look past your wife. “Did you just get here?” Your brow furrows as you realize you hadn't seen him earlier in the night. “You missed dinner.”

“I'm alright.” Luca assures, waving off your worry. “Can I steal ya for a minute?”

You nod, quickly kissing Melissa before you get up. “‘Course ya can.” You say as you follow him toward the kitchen.

You think he's going to fix a plate of the plentiful leftovers while you talk. It isn't unusual for the extended family of Italians to pick your brain about things. Even just for opinion. Melissa tells you it's because you're Irish. You grew up outside of all of this even if you still grew up in the life in your own way. Either way, you've never minded listening or talking things through with any of them.

Instead of stopping in the kitchen though, Luca keeps walking through it and steps into the family room. You trail after him, your brow furrowing. He really wasn't going to eat? That just wasn't normal for anyone in a Schemmenti house.

Once you step through to the family room, you realize you aren't alone. “Uncle Dom,” you greet the older man sat in one of the arm chairs just as easily as you had Luca. “How're you doin’?”

“Good, good, Y/N. I'm sorry to steal ya away from Mel. This'll just take a minute.” Uncle Dominic assures as he shakes your hand.

Luca closes the door that connects the room to the kitchen. Leaving just the three of you in the quiet room. You suddenly don't believe it will only be a minute. Luca remains near the door, his hands crossing at his waist as he stands patiently.

You sit in the other armchair at Uncle Dom's head nodding to it. You don't ask what's going on or what he wanted to speak to you for. You know not to press or hurry. The information is coming.

Uncle Dom sips from his wine glass before setting it back down. “I'll do this quick, like rippin’ a band aid, since you know I like ya, kid.” He says. His hand moves from the glass set down to fiddle with the head of the cane he's needed to start carrying the last two years or so as he's aged. “We're takin’ you off the salon.”

You blink. “I own the salon.” You answer lamely.

“Ya do.” Dom agrees. “But with everythin’ goin’ on right now, it's been decided that it's best if you ain't so…hands on.”

You sit stock still in your chair as you stare back at the older man. You're at a loss for words.

“You're to start actin’ like a…more silent partner from Monday on. Tony’ll take care of the day to day. You worry about your girls.”

You take a deep breath. “I own the salon.” you repeat, slowly leaning forward in your chair. Until your elbows rest against your knees. “And you're tellin’ me to act like Tony does?”

“For now. There's a lot of eyes, kid. It's better if you just stay home, worry about the twins.”

You bite your tongue, hard. You want to argue. You want to fight. Except you know better than to. It won't get you anywhere. This decision comes from higher than you and from more than one person, no doubt.

You push yourself up from the armchair. You don't bother saying anything else to Dom. “Oh, fuck off, Luca.” You mutter when he moves to open the door for you. You throw it open yourself as you storm past him.

You take your spot next to your wife again, as she watches your little girls play with her cousins, and she can immediately feel the tension radiating off of you.

“Mi amore?” She looks to you sharply, your nails just digging into her hip slightly as you take up your position again.

“We need to go, or I’m going to flip my God damn shit,” you whisper into her ear. “I don’t think you want me doing that in front of everybody.”

Melissa gathers the girls, and the four of you attempt an Irish goodbye- running out and leaving without anyone noticing. Somehow, someway, the only person that you run into is Dominic. You glare daggers at him and all but dare him to stop you. He raises his hands in surrender, and the four of you are in your car no sooner.

You absolutely blast the Disney songs through the speaker as you begin to curse in Irish at a rapid fire speed.

“Y/N,” Melissa squeezes your thigh as you drive. “What has you up in arms?”

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill ‘em,” you seethe.

The redhead rolls her eyes. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“I’m going to,” you hiss. Then you switch to Italian, having run out of cuss words in your own tongue. And finally, you let out a, “Mother fucker!” as you slam your palm on the steering wheel.

Your wife’s brows raise as you continue to curse under your breath. She knows she’ll have to talk to you once she gets the kids to bed- because tonight you are clearly off of parental duties with the attitude you have now. You’re one minor inconvenience away from taking one of her baseball bats to someone’s car, and with the trouble you’re in right now you can’t afford it.

As you pull in, she sets a gentle hand on your upper thigh. “Let me take care of the girls tonight while you simmer on the couch,” she tells you. “Pour yourself a glass of wine, and try not to explode from your rage.”

You kill the engine and storm into the house, not even bothering to help your wife get the girls into the house.

“Mommy?” Rosie asks as you stomp into the house.

“Yes, my little love?” your wife asks as she climbs out of the car.

“Why didn’t Mam get me out?”

“Mam is a little frustrated,” the redhead tells your daughters. “She just needs some time to cool off.”

“Mam is more than a little frustrated,” Cat notes softly. “Mam is really mad.”

“Just let Mam be for now,” your wife tells your girls. “It’s time for the two of you to head to bed anyway.”

“But Mam is home, and I want her to read a bedtime story,” Rosie whines.

“Mommy can read a bedtime story,” Melissa tries to placate as she ushers the girls into the house and up towards their room.

“But Mam reads better!” Cat groans. “You don’t do the funny voices as good!”

Out in the kitchen, you can hear your girls moaning and groaning, and you sigh heavily. If you can’t have control of your business right now... Dom is right- you should focus on your girls. You do end up reading them a story, tucking them in with a few extra kisses for the night, and then you’re out in the kitchen downing at least two glasses worth of scotch.

“Honey,” Melissa wraps her arms around your waist as you throw the last of the liquor down the hatch, loving the way that it burns. “Slow down. You haven’t even told me what’s happening.”

“Dom and Tony are takin’ the business out from underneath me.”

“What?” Melissa asks, sounding as incredulous as you felt when you were first told. “They can't do that! You own it.”

You laugh as you pour yourself another glass. “The fuck they can't. You know as well as I do they can do whatever the hell they want.”

Melissa's hands reach from your waist to your own hands, still trying to get you to slow down. “Amore.”

You put both the glass and bottle down on the kitchen counter a bit harder than necessary. “I have done everything they asked.” You grit through your teeth. “From day one. Even when Bobby was still there. They trusted me more than him at the end of it. And this is what they pay me back with, huh? The hell do they think this is gonna solve? You think the Feds ain't gonna notice I'm all of a sudden not there?”

Melissa sighs at your shoulder, her hands rubbing along your arms to try and calm you. “You know they have some sorta story to feed them if it's asked about already, honey.” She says softly. She isn't trying to give more fuel to your fire, but it is true. You know it is. Nothing is done without being thoroughly thought through.

“Fuck.” You curse once more as you close your eyes. You let your weight lean back into your wife. Her arms wrapping around your waist again. “Is this what we chose?” You ask, your voice much quieter than it has been in the last hour aside from reading to your girls and kissing them goodnight. “We get taught and spout all this shit about family. You're family. You do it for the family. Nothin’ comes over the family. This don't feel like fuckin’ family.”

Melissa doesn't answer you. There isn't a clear cut one. It's a complicated life for even the average person. Add in the mix of mafia and mob and all that comes with them both and complicated is an understatement. Instead she keeps you close to her. One hand letting go of you in order to cap a bottle of scotch to carry as she guides you with the other back to your couch.

You curl in with her on the cushions. Trading the bottle back and forth. The silence of your home cuts only when your mind whirs back to life, and you're ranting your thoughts at her again. In turn, Melissa just pulls you closer to her each time, humming the confirmation of her listening.

Eventually, you end up laying down with Mel on your couch, tangled up together beneath the throw blanket. You raise your head, blinking at your wife for a few moments. You're definitely drunk. Even still, you think she's the most beautiful woman you've seen. “You're family, y’know? The kind everybody in this damn neighborhood wants to keep talkin’ ‘bout. That you do anything for. Nothin’ else above it, all that. It's you and the girls. That's it. The rest of ‘em can get fucked.”

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction

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wosoluver · 2 days

Text

To undo a mistake

Part 13/? - previous - next

Lena x Bayern Player!reader

Lena's pov

I couldn't get it of my mind. From the moment those words came out of her mouth. Goodnight schatz. Even if she only let it out while slightly drunk. And the end of the day, it's always the same question. What we say while drunk, should count as nothing or should it count double?

In anyway it felt so sweet hearing that once again. And in the morning while catching the plane, it was everything we had shared that lulled me into sleep.

Summer break had finally came. And I started the process of moving to Munich. I would stay at Lea's while I went apartment hunting.

Tonight we were going clubbing. The girls had organized everything, apparently my job was to just show up at Klara's for a pre game.

When Lea and I went into the apartment, there was a big welcome home sign.

"This is so cheesy. But thank you guys."

As I hugged everyone, couldn't help but notice Y/N wasn't there. And Syd had noticed.

"She'll meet us at the club with the others. Now how about we do a round of shots to get the party started?"

Arriving at our booth at the club, I had instantly let my smile grow at the sight of her.

"Hey, welcome! Sorry I couldn't be at Klara's, I had to pick Ana up." - She gave me a awkward hug, just like the last time we'd seen each other.

Funny enough, I hadn't noticed the girl next to her, until she brought up her name.

"Good to see you." - I tried to say it in the most friendly way I could manage, while greeting Ana.

"You too." - She said with a tight lip smile.

Despite being seated next to her most of the night we had barely talked. And then she had decided to go to the dance floor.

Which is where we stood now.

Me sitting down, drinking up, while she was up on the dance floor, dancing against someone else.

The sight of her dancing with anyone was enough to make me red. But the fact she was once again with Ana made me boil.

"Hey don't look so grim, this whole thing is for you!

I know the reason behind that face, and all I can say is go for it. But without causing a mess, please." - Said the older woman.

But once again I only followed half of the advice.

Getting to her through the small crowd was the hard part.

At least it's what it felt like after a couple drinks. She had her back turned, so as I came close I put a hand on her hip.

"Hey, it's just me." - I said into her ear as I noticed I made her jump. But she only gave my hand a squeeze not even turning.

readers pov

I was just fixed on enjoying myself, until I noticed Ana had stopped dancing.

"I'm going to rest a little." - She said as she left for the booth.

Finally turning to face Lena. Her checks were already tinted from the heat and the drinks.

"I don't like the way she thinks you belong to her." - She said into my ears.

"No need to be jealous." - to say I was a little devilish when drunk, was a fair statement. - "I can be friends with everyone."

"Friends huh?"

"Can we do a chugging contest like we always used to?"

"Only if your ready to lose."

"You wish, let's go."

I pulled her through the crowd, straight pass the booth and into the bar area.

"Ready?" she asked and I only nodded. "Go."

"How does it feel to be proved wrong?" - I asked as I finished my beer.

"Quite nice actually." - by now she had a stupid smile on her face. - "I'm ordering something else. Want anything?"

"I'll share with you." - I said without even asking her if she was okay with that. It was just automatic, like the feelings the two of you shared. It was automatic, every time you were around each other they would just resurface.

You guys finished the liquid before heading back to dance some more. But this time Lena had all your attention to herself. And it was good while it lasted.

"Ouch my feet hurt."

"That's why I never wear heels."

You were already pouting at her.

"Fine, let's get you home."

You stopped by the table to say your goodbyes, and let everyone know you were leaving.

"I'm taking this one home." - At this point yes you were both drunk, but it was easy to tell you were a little more intoxicated than her.

"You can't drive!"

"'m not planning on it. We're ubering. Just want to make sure she gets home safely."

"Here's my car keys. Please don't crash it! Ana are you getting a ride with the girls?" - You spat everything out without even taking a pause.

Lena was desperately looking at the girls so one of them would take charge. She deserved this win, and they all knew it. You would never leave Ana if it meant she would have to go home alone.

"I'll take her home. I've barely had anything to drink." - One of them said grabbing your keys, much to Lena's relief.

#woso x reader #lena oberdorf x reader #lena oberdorf #dfb frauen #fc bayern frauen

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wehangout · 3 days

Note

7 for the prompts ask!

Send me a number prompt and I’ll make it smutty

7. holding their hand under a table

"And then we had to go back again because we got the Chadwick cherry tomatoes instead of the Sweet Million tomatoes!"

Ian laughs, and it sounds genuine, but all you can do is frown at Jill and Alan and wonder why the fuck Ian agreed to this bullshit dinner. Jill and Alan. Ugh. Fuckers have been judging you since you threw the chairs into the pool, which, sure, not you're best move, but mostly fuck them.

And fuck Ian for agreeing to this ... whatever the fuck this is. Double date? Casual get-together? No fucking clue. Definitely not a casual get-together, though. Ian made you wear your good jeans and fuck him for that, too.

You shift in your chair and try not to make it obvious. Ian likes this shit and you love Ian. It's that simple. If he wants to go to a nice restaurant with your shitty neighbours, then you go to a nice restaurant with your shitty neighbours.

But when Jill and Alan - seriously, fuck those guys - start talking about Jill's crazy cousin who spent a month in a nut house because she's a fucking psycho ...

Well, fuck those guys.

You literally feel every moment of your body tensing up. You get tight and your hands curl into fists. You want to hit Alan and yell at Jill, but Ian. Ian won't want you to make a scene. Ian doesn't want everyone to know his shit. Ian can fight his own fucking battles.

Slowly, trying to keep your rage from showing, you pull your hands beneath the table and let them curl into fists.

And Ian - fucking Ian - knows exactly what you're thinking and how you're feeling, and his hand follows, reaches beneath the table, grasps one of yours in his own.

Squeezes.

It's not a calm-the-fuck-down squeeze, or a don't-fuckin'-think-about-it squeeze, or even a let-it-fucking-go squeeze. It's an I-got-you-we're-fine-I-love-you squeeze.

It's reassurance and it's grounding.

You grip his hand right back, thankful that the subject quickly changes to some artsy fucking movie Jill and Alan want to see. Ian asks questions about it, his thumb stroking your knuckles the entire time, and it's good. It helps. Ian helps.

You give his fingers one last touch and go back to your food. Everyone else is almost done because you've been too pissed off to eat the shitty portions of shitty food, but you need to catch up. You need to pretend everything's okay.

Kinda hard when Ian's hand stays beneath the table, when it flattens against your thigh, when his long fingers stroke along the inner seam of your jeans.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, and the smile he gives you in return is totally calm, shows nothing but love, and considering the way he moves his big hand to cover your crotch as he does it, it's a fucking contrast.

You turn back to your food, hands gripping your utensils a little too tight, and, for once in this stupid double date bullshit, try to pay attention to the conversation. You listen to the words and take in the subject matter, nodding along at appropriate times, because if you don't you'll focus solely on the way Ian's hand slowly massages at your hardening dick and that would just be - be ...

"Shit," you mutter.

Everyone stops talking and looks at you - Jill with mild disgust, Alan in confusion, and Ian in concern - even as his hand keeps moving behind the tablecloth.

"Everything okay, Mick?"

You swallow and nod. "Yeah, just thought I forgot to do something."

Conversation continues and Ian doesn't stop. He doesn't stop and he doesn't stop, and he continues to just not stop until you grab his wrist and force him to because you're close to coming in your pants like when you were teenagers and would rub up against each other because that's all you had time for. Only then does Ian stop. He lets you breathe. He waits until you've had a sip of your beer and then moves in again.

You glare at him. He ignores you. He moves his hand up and down your hard cock, using his nail to trace the tip through the denim of your jeans, and it's good, it's so fucking good that whatever the fuck yoga bullshit Jill's talking about doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Because Ian's rubbing you through your jeans and it just doesn't matter.

But then you stop him again. You have to. Fuck. You're literally panting at the table - quietly, but panting nonetheless. And they just keep talking. Even Ian, his voice calm and smooth, and that - the contrast of everything he's doing above the table and the filthy shit he's doing to you below the table is too much and not enough.

He moves back again and you look at him, face slack, eyes wide, because he can't be, he can't -

Fuck.

You still have to get through dessert.

He meets your gaze, and even though his smile is still soft and warm, his eyes ...

You know that look. Jill and Alan won't have a fucking clue, but you recognise the heat and want and command in them.

He is. He's going to keep going. He's going to take you to the brink again and again, right at the table, knowing the risks, knowing you could possibly make a fucking fool of yourself at the shitty dinner table at the shitty restaurant in front of your shitty neighbours, but also knowing that it won't happen because he won't let it. He won't let you come until he's good and ready and you - shit - you won't come until he lets you.

You pick up your beer with shaking hands and down it in one.

It's gonna be a hell of a fucking night.

#ian and mickey #gallavich #gallavich fic #captainjowl #this one got long #my fic #smut prompts

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darkestmad-er · 15 hours

Text

Continued "2

We were about four feet from one another. I could tell she was nervous but eager, slightly swaying. I wanted to grab her and throw her on top of the table but thought what was the rush. I had this one chance to make this week perfect. I was confident but cautious. We've had many conversations and was given permission to take her anytime and anyway I wanted. However this was real life and I needed her to be sure. To hear her say the words. If I'm being honest I wanted her to beg, craving it actually. We had time and I was determined to make it so perfect that she would never forget how she deserves to be treated. I believed people should continually court their person in a way that shows they're more than just sex. All of this and more was going through my head for what seemed longer than the seconds that had gone by. My goodness she looked so sexy. I bit my lip and tapped the lighter I had in my hands a few times before putting it in my pocket. I stepped a little closer. Noticed she had a big grin on her face. I said, "what?". She replied, "you're so fucking cute". "Cute"....."Cute"... I rolled my eyes and smirked. "I guess, but stop that". (just what a domme wants to hear.. but I was so she got me there). Her reply was, "make me", haha fucking brat. She went there, I loved it. She knew what that did to me.. I looked her up and down, and walked towards her. She stepped back and her brattiness seemed to have melted away the closer I got. I could see she was holding her breath. We were less than an inch apart. I reached out towards her lightly touching her legs with my finger tips lifting her dress up. Grazing my finger across them, "mmmm" I could see she was wearing my favourite panties. Those white lace ones with the cute bow. Mmmm damn... I looked up to her smiling. I moved closer softly placing my hand around her throat, pushing her up against the wall.. Simultaneously sliding my leg in between hers. She instantly started to move her hips onto my leg. Damn she was so needy, perfect. She smelled so good. I tilted her head to the side exposing her ear grabbing it with my lips,. " I'll show you cute", . I heard her finally exhale, a beautiful sound of release left her lips. Her hands grabbed onto my shoulders. I continued kissing down her neck to her chest. My aggressive demeanor kicked in. I could feel her letting go. I wasn't going to but I couldn't help myself. I lowered my knee and slipped my finger inside her panties just to get a taste, "mmmm wet already are we". She turned almost in shame. I thought how adorable and smiled.. pulled her dress down revealing her chest. She gasped and held her breath again as I took her nipples in my mouth. Showing both a little attention (you know they get jealous). My hand was still around her neck, I lifted my head from her chest and leaned into her ear, "breathe". Kissing her on the cheek. Her hips started to pick up rhythm every minute that went by. I could feel her nails dig into the back of my shoulders. Growled a bit before I let go and stepped back. She was still propped up against the wall with this look more deshelved than when she came in with her bags. She looked so delicious I took a mental picture. Bit my lip bent over and grabbed her bags. "I'm going to put these in the room". "I set a bath for you, figured you'd like to relax after the long flight", "head to the bathroom get undressed leave your panties on the chair there". "Don't get in I want to take a look at you." As I walked away, I could hear her clear her throat and take a few breaths, I'm pretty sure there was a woah in there. I set her bags down and flopped onto the bed, "woah". Running my hand through my hair I took a few breaths.... Sat up and walked out of the room and there they were. My favourite panties hanging over the top of the chair just for me. Not ashamed to admit I had the biggest grin. I walked over. I picked them up, put them to my face as I headed to the bathroom...

To be continued

#spilled thoughts #part two #m.a.d #hope you all like this one as much as the first #criticism welcome #be nice it's been a while #enjoy the blog #writing #what will happen next #((nervous 🫣))#wlw #bisexual #something for the ladies

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lyn-js · 1 day

Text

Dancing under the Moonlight | Chapter 1. Sparks Ignite

Bradley Bradshaw x OC Reader (Nickname Honey)

Summary: After the Uranium Mission, Bradley Bradshaw decides he wants to settle down. Maybe even start a family at some point in time. But he felt so tired (and old) to be in the dating scene. That's until he sees a beautiful new bartender at The Hard Deck. Not only that; turns out she's Penny's niece, Beatrice. They both hit it off amazing, but for some reason, Beatrice isn't letting her walls down yet. But Bradley is going to get to the bottom of what Bea's big secret is.

Word count: 6.3K words. Yea, this chapter was a little longer than I anticipated. But I promise it was worth the wait. Hope you all enjoy it!!❤️❤️

Warnings: Swearing, angst, drinking, mentions of past abuse, fluff, eventually smut 18+, age gap (24 & 35)

You're dancing, swaying with the music, feeling your body finally letting go of the stress, pain, and loss from the real world. Once you get on that stage, everything melts away.

Once the dance was over all of you moved seductively off the stage getting some whistles from the guys in the audience. After you made your way off you all giggled and waiting to change for the next dance. You lock arms with your Best Friend Chantal trying not to get separated from each other until you reach the dressing rooms. You both unlock from one another and sit down in your space. Luckily your seats are next to each other so you both can still talk while getting ready. Suddenly you hear a ping from your phone that was on the table. You drop everything you're doing, and see it was a text from Bradley.

B🐓: Hey Bea, what are you up to on this fine evening? You: Oh, ya know, just sitting down reading a good book. What about you? Jamming out with Jerry Lee Lewis. 🙂 B🐓: Hey J.L.L. happens to be a classic. Thank you very much. And what if I did tell you I was?

You laugh out loud when you read the last text, you knew he was an old soul when you two were talking about music the other night. You want to reply, but the backstage assistant Sean said curtain time was in 5 minutes. You drop your phone and finish your eye makeup. You look over and see Chantal looking at you with a smirk on your face.

“What C?” you stand up to get changed into another costume, looking at her in the mirror“Oh nothing, are you talking to loverboy again?” she tries to say innocently. But she says it loudly, to make sure everyone can hear. Everybody around you keeps making “oohs” and loudly whistles. Your cheeks burn up at the thought of actually being together with Bradley. But you try to wipe that from your mind. How could he ever possibly be with you after you tell him you're basically a stripper? You get paid to show off your body and dance on a stage. He wouldn’t want you, he would never go for you. “He doesn’t know. Does he?” Chantal asks while getting up to come stand next to you. You don’t answer and just look at her. She just wraps her in her arms so you can let some tears fall down your face.

You and Chantal have been best friends since you could even remember. You both met in junior high when she was the new girl at school, one day at lunch she was getting picked on, making fun of her for what she was wearing, and what she looked like. One of the idiot students decided to be bold and yank on one of her braids. With one broken arm, two bloody noses, and one big lecture from the principal, you two were glued to the hip ever since. You both know each other like the backs of your hands. So she knows what's going on with you all the time.

You let out a sigh while trying to put on your outfit, but she cuts in and helps you finish zipping up the back. “Why don’t you tell him? You are obviously into him,” you just nod at her. “Then why don’t you go for it, Honey? What’s the problem?” After she finishes zipping you up you turn to her. “He deserves better.” But your conversation was interrupted by Sean sneaking his way through you and Chantal. “Honey, we all deserve better. But right now you both need to get your little buns on stage.” You both roll your eyes and kiss him on the cheek, after you walk back to the table, you put on a final coat of lipstick, grab your police cap making sure it fits snugly over your volumed and curled-out hair, you go walk on stage and get in your stance with the rest of the group. The next thing you know, the spotlight is turned on you.

It’s Showtime.

(Bradley’s POV)

God, I can’t get enough of that girl. As soon as we started talking I wanted to know more about her. What does she like to do in her free time, what’s her job, her favorite hobby, and what she likes to do for fun?

Now you sound like a crazy stalker right now.

But every time you think of her, you want to know more. You’re being pulled in. You gravitate towards her, and you can’t get enough. You never really opened up that much around a person at all. Not even the squad, but she feels so different from everyone else.

After the first time you met Bea, around those last couple of days, she would come by The Hard Deck, and sit at the bar wanting to be near Penny. As soon as you would see her walk in, you would ditch the group to go see her and chat a little bit. You wanted to get to know her, wanted to see what she was like. We both talk about where we grew up, and what our families are like. I even talked to her a little bit about my mom. With the other relationships, I’ve had over the past couple of years it was always a tough subject to bring up. They would always pressure me and make me talk about what happened, and every time I would always get emotional and put my walls up and never want to talk about it again. That was the deal breaker in why they never lasted, but when I was around Bea, she would never force me to answer the questions, she let me take my time with what I was going to say. She made me feel comfortable for who I was, and I knew she would never put that against me. And over those past couple of days, the group caught on when I would leave, and ditch them to go hang out with the “mystery girl” at the bar. Eventually, I told them about Beatrice, and they knew for a fact that I was smitten with her. Any chance they would get, whether it was at work, in the air, or even when we would hang out for a movie night they would always make fun of me(Mostly Nat)for having a crush, and not telling her how I feel.

But I wanted to give Bea some space. I knew she just got out of something traumatic, and I didn’t want to force anything onto her just yet.

Plus She was young. She would move on to the next young, good-looking guy she sees and leave me in the dust. She deserves more. She also wouldn’t know how to deal with me being on deployment, always being gone for weeks, maybe months at a time. I know she wouldn’t want to wait for someone like me. You snap out of your mind when putting the Bronco in park, and making your way into The Hard Deck.

When I walk in I immediately spot the group at the pool tables as usual, and make my way over. When I got there I made my way over to sit next to Bob who was chewing on some peanuts. We make casual conversation until Phoenix comes over with her pool stick. “Bradshaw, whaddya doing hear? I thought you were staying in?” She asks in a curious tone. “Oh, ya know. Wanted to get some fresh air, might stop in here for a little bit.” But I know this woman can see right through my bullshit, and really knows why I’m here.

“You're lying B.” she tells me straight forward, not really giving me anytime time to make an excuse. But I do anyway. “What are you talking about? I wanted to come see you guys. Is that a problem to see my friends, Nat?” “She hasn't texted you back!” she sing songed the words to me. I just wanted to tell her off saying it wasn’t the problem. But that was the problem.

“Dude she’s probably at work, or she’s at home.”Payback chimed in, and then Fanboy “Yeah, she’ll text you later probably, don’t get in a fret.” now I’m starting to get a little annoyed. But, they might be right, she probably is at home doing something. The question work for Beatrice was always a little rocky when I tried to ask her what she does daily. At first, she didn’t answer, so I didn’t want to push her since she didn’t do it to me. But I asked her again and she gave me a made-up answer. “Oh yeah. I work at a bar. Not far from here.” But I know that she just got hired by Penny to work at the Hard Deck part-time. I just wanted her to tell me the truth. But I’m not that type of guy, I’m gonna give her space until she wants to tell me.

“Does everyone want to be in my dating life, and give me advice?” “well, technically you're not dating her.” I look over to see the one and only Hangman. “To be honest it’s none of your business, okay?” you tell him with an annoyed tone, not really in the mood to speak with him.

“ All I’m sayin’ Rooster, if you don’t make a move, I might have to go after her myself?” When the words fall out of his mouth, my fists clench at my sides and I flare my nostrils. “Back off Man.” You try and walk over to where he is standing, just to give him a piece of your mind, but Ruben, Mickey, and Bob are holding you back. Not letting you get near Jake. When he sees you try and move over towards him he backs up and puts his hands up in surrender with a smug smirk on his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rooster. No need to get your feathers ruffled. It’s not like you're dating her.” That’s all you hear from him, then he walks away to go over to the dart board. But you see javy gives you an apologetic look and walks over to where Jake is now. You just give him a silent nod and let him walk away. After that guys back off of you a little bit and I start to sit back down, but I see Nat walking over to me.

“Hey, why don’t you tell her how you feel? By the way, you two are texting, she might feel the same way?” She tries to say in a sympathetic tone. But it doesn’t work, and she knows it.

“She deserves better,” was the only thing I could say to her. She just gives me a sigh and turns back to her game of pool with the other guys. I sit back with Bob again just making light conversation with everyone, but trying to think if she actually would be interested in me. So I’m sitting here, thinking about the one person I can’t be with just yet.

(Back to your POV)

Chantal dropped me off at Aunt Penny’s house an hour ago, I’ve just finished getting out of the shower trying to get all of the glitter, seat, and hairspray off my body and just trying to unwind and maybe watch a movie with Aunt Penn and Amelia. But I realized I forgot to text Bradley back when I was at the club. He might think I don’t like him anymore. What?? STOP it, Bea?!?

So you decide to just skip the text and just call him. Within the second ring, he picked up the call. Your heart was beating so hard you thought he could hear it over the phone. “Hello pretty girl, what do I owe the pleasure this evening.” the nickname sent child throughout your whole body, with little butterflies in your stomach. “Oh, nothing. Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner. We had a busy night at the dinner.” I wish I wouldn’t lie to him. But this is the nicest guy I’ve met in a long time. I don’t want him flying for the hills when I tell him I’m a stripper. I don’t want to lose him just yet so for now. Just put on a show like you normally do.

“Oh, no worries Bea, I had some time to distract myself at the bar.” Another chill was sent through your spine, but not the fun, happy kind, the worried and a little bit jealous kind. I mean, you’re not even together with him so it’s okay for him to flirt with other people. But for some reason, you don't want him to flirt with anyone else, you want him for only you-

“What I mean by distraction, I meant hanging out with my squad. So don’t worry about your pretty little head. Okay?” You just give him a quiet “okay” and continue with your flirtatious conversation. Before you could say anything else he spoke up again, “So, the squad wanted to bowling this weekend, and I was wondering if you were free, you could come with. Maybe I can introduce you to them?” There was a growing smirk on your face, “They can’t shut up about us, can they?” on the other end you heard him let out a hardy laugh, then that made you giggle. You hear him die down from your comment and hear them speak again. “Well, my friends would like to know who is taking up all my free time pretty girl.” You flop down back on the spare bed that Penny let you borrow, and just smile from ear to ear. “I am working at the bar in the afternoon, but maybe we can all meet up there and make our way out? I’ll also try and see if some of my friends from the dinner would come to?” “Yeah, that sounds like a date. I’ll let ya go and talk to ya later.” You both say your goodbyes and get off the call. The next second you start kicking your feet up in the air and scream into the pillow that was next to you.

You try and collect yourself when you walk back downstairs to have a little movie night with Aunt Penny and Amelia, you gather all of the junk food that you can and pile it onto the coffee table. When the movie starts me and Ames curl up next to Penny so that she is squished between the two of you with blankets all around you getting nice and warm. When the movie starts your mind drifts back to your conversation with Bradley. You knew he didn’t me to say “It sounds like a date,” it might have just slipped out, and he probably might not remember saying that to you when you see him at the bar this weekend. But a part of you wanted to feel like he meant it. For real. You could only imagine what I would be like to date Bradley Bradshaw.

You could only Imagine.

A couple of days later, it was finally Saturday!! Even though this was gonna be a group outing, you wanted to try your best to dress a little nice for Bradley.

Chantal was with you when you were getting ready, even your Aunt and cousin were a little worried about you. You changed three times in 5 minutes. You changed your hairstyle so many times your hair could probably stick up with all the hairspray you have in it. But you just went with a simple top and some jean shorts. You finally come jutting down the stairs, and everyone's eyes are on you. Chantal gets up from the couch and makes her way to the front door with her bag and keys. “You finally decided on something?” you just give her a little nod, while also grabbing your bag and keys. But when you turn back she is giving you a sympathetic smile. “We are going to have fun tonight, Okay? Stop worrying about what he’ll think of you. Plus, if he doesn't like it, you can drop his ass.” you both let out a chuckle. But you're stopped when you see Penny walk up to you both. “Yea listen to C. Don’t worry so much about how you look. Go and have fun, pulse you are already beautiful. Since the day you were born.” She gently caresses your cheek, and then gives you a small kiss in the same spot. You try and hold back the tears that were welling in your eyes. You remember your mom always saying that to you when you were feeling down, or sad. She would always know how to make you smile again. But, now that she’s gone you never really heard those words again. Ever since then, your Aunt Penny has tried so hard to be a mom to you, and you will always be grateful for her doing that. You kiss her back and hug Ames, also promising her that you will try and get her a prize from the bowling alley. So, you and Chantal make your way out, budding goodbye to your Aunt, and make your way over to The Hard Deck for your shift.

Before Chantal starts up her vintage cherry red Mustang, “Hey C, are the girls still on to join us?” I ask when I finish buckling into my seat. She chuckles and gives me a warm smile, “Hell yeah girl! When I told them we were having a girl's night, while also spotting some cute aviators by our side. Honey, I could even get the question out fast enough without them saying yes. She puts on her sunglasses, starts the car, and off The Hard Deck, we go.

Just as when Chantal is pulling into the parking lot you spot the infamous Blue Bronco, and you’re practically jumping out of the moving car, trying to get in the bar as fast as possible so you can see the one person you've been dying to see for days now.

(Bradley’s POV)

When I hear the doors open at the front I whip my head around and see the girl I’ve been waiting for all day. Nat pauses her game of pool with Bob to come see what I’m losing my head over. But, she looks in my field of direction and sees a brunette girl, who seems to be with her friend looking around for somebody. When they look over in our direction she sees the brunette face light up when she looks at Rooster. That must be the “mystery girl” he keeps talking to. So, they make their way over.

I see Beatrice come crashing over to us, and she gives me a small wave, and says a small “Hi.”

“Are we still on for tonight pretty girl,” I ask her. But the next second she freezes up, like the wind got knocked out of her. Why the hell would you say that? She probably thinks you're crazy for calling her that!

But I see her take a deep breath and try and speak to me. “Y-yeah… I’ll call the rest of my friends to come meet us here.” She seemed to snap out of whatever daze she was in to see the person next to her nudging her in the ribs.

She looks over at her friend whom she finally introduces. “Oh, everyone this is my best friend, Chantal. Chantal this is Lieutenant. Bradley Bradshaw, Lieutenant. Robert Floyd, and Lieutenant. Natasha Trace.” She gives a silent wave to me and Bob. But, when I look over to see Nat, for some reason I see a little glimmer in her eye. I know for a fact that she would kick me in the balls if I said anything about it to her. So, for now, I just keep my piece and focus my attention back on Bea.

We have a light conversation for a couple of minutes until she has to be on the clock. But as soon as she leaves, I already miss her presents, even though she is right up at the bar a couple of feet away. It feels like she’s miles away from me. I just want to be near her all the time. Within the hour more of the squad makes its way into the bar, and when they do, Bea makes her stops to introduce herself along with Chantal. Who I might add has taken up all of Natasha’s attention by talking each other’s ears off. So, for the rest of her shift, I would come up from time to time, seeing if she was alright, and watch her over from the pool tables. I stop focusing on the game of pool to see Hangman making his way over to

(Back to Your POV)

After some grueling hours wiping down tables, making drinks, and trying my best not to crack. I’m finally done tonight. Luckily Aunt Penny came in an hour later, so we wouldn’t be swamped with so many people at the bar.

Just as I’m about to head out from behind the bar, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone come up. I wanted to assume it was Bradley to come check on me for the fourth time tonight. But when I turned around to see a tall, blond, cocky-looking man leaning over the bar top with a toothpick in his mouth. For some reason, I walk back over to see what he wants. I don’t even get the question out of what he would like when he starts to speak up. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing behind a bar?” “I’m getting off my shift right now,” I tell him.

“Well, why don’t you come out with me and my friends tonight? Probably hit the town. I might even take you somewhere we can go in private.” He gives me a mischievous smile while raising his eyebrows at me. He probably doesn’t know that I’m with the group tonight.

“I’m sorry…” “Hangman. But you can call me Jake darlin’,” he says to me while he flicks the other end of the toothpick around in his mouth.

I’m sorry… Jake. But I don’t feed off of protein powder, and small dick insecurity,” I smile back at him. He falters a little but comes back in seconds.

“Oh, I like em’ feisty. How about I leave you my number and call me sometime?” I just give a little chuckle and seize up to him so he can also stand up straight.

“Yea, I’ll call you when you can let me know that you can satisfy a woman in bed.” Just as he was about to say something else, Bradley came up to the bar top and stood next to Jake. I smile ear to ear when he arrives, and I can see the same expression on his face.

“H-hey Bradley,” you tell him with a little bit of weariness in my voice. “Hey Bea, are we ready to go?” he asked back. I was about to say that I needed to ask Penny first if I could go. But she already beat me to it, coming up behind me to answer his question.

“She’s all yours Rooster. Just bring her back home in one piece. Okay?” He just gives a little salute back to her which of course makes me laugh. After that, I get out from behind the bar and go right into Bradley’s side. But all of a sudden we stop and he pulls me closer to his body already giving me more chills down my spine and leans down to whisper to me, “He wasn’t giving you any problems was he?” He asks in a curious tone.

“Don’t worry B, I straightened him out a little bit.” Out of the blue, he pecks my temple with a little kiss and mumbles “That’s my girl” to himself. He probably didn’t mean it. You think to yourself.

So, after everyone wrapped up with their pool and darts games it was time to go bowling.

After Chantal and Natasha convinced me it was a good idea to ride over to the alley. We knew what their tricky little sleeves was up, so me and Bradley told them they should ride together also. That’s how you ended up in the passenger seat of Bradley’s Bronco when pulling up to the bowling alley. After he parks the car, we see Chantal and Nat pull right in next to us and then comes the rest of the squad. When you try and open the door, you’re stopped by Bradley who’s moving closer to you while closing the door. I just look back at him. “What are you doing pretty girl?” he asks me with raised eyebrows. Opening the door… What are you doing?” He looked dumbfounded at this point when I was answering that question. “Bea, my mother would be rolling in her grave if she found out I let you open your own door. Ya know I can feel her right now telling me off for not being a gentleman. Now I was dumbfounded. I did want to ask him about what happened, but I didn’t want to pressure him into talking about stuff that was hard for him. So, I’m not going to get into it with him. He rushes out of the driver seat and comes running over to the passenger side to be a gentleman and open my door. As I’m unbuckling I see him open my door, and give the fanciest bow he could give, and so I just play along. “Oh, ever the gentlemen!” I put my heart on my chest. But then jump out and follow everyone in.

When you get in you and Chantal, go ahead of everyone to see your friends Jesse, Georgia, Scarlett, Coco, and Rose. We all walk them over to the other group to introduce them to each other. When you get a good look at the other guys from the group, it almost looks like their eyes are about to fall out of their sockets. But you let the girls get to introduce themselves, and they seem to be enjoying it. Maybe enjoying themselves a little too much, but we all make our way to the front to get our lanes ready.

Once we got into our lanes, we decided to split the girls and the guys. Then we were paired up, Javy and Coco, Micky and Rose, Ruben and Jesse, Bob and Georgia, Jake and Scarlett, Natashe and Chantal, and finally Bradley and Beatrice. We went into three different lanes, and of course, there was an odd number of people that left me and Bradley in one lane by ourselves. I even see Chantal and Nat in the lane next to us giving lovely Dovey looks at me and Bradley. But I can see the same feeling when Chantal is with Nat.

A couple of years ago Chantal came out to you as bisexual, You asked her why she hadn’t told you sooner. Her answer was that you wouldn’t want to be friends with her if she told. That made you want to slap her silly and tell her she was completely wrong. At the end of that night, you both ended up in your bed cuddling while eating junk food, with lots of tears and telling her if she ever gets her heart broken, you will hunt that person down to the end of their days. So you can truly believe Natasha was a good person, and you truly believed she would love Chantal till the end of time. You could only wish that could happen to you.

And Hour goes by and you all are having a good time, eating drinking, and laughing our asses off. You don’t know who, but someone started a bet with each lane, if someone misses the lane, and the ball goes in the gutter. That lane would have to do 50 push-ups. I feel really terrible for me and Bradley because every time I would go up I would miss.

Every single time!

You can’t really remember what count you’re both on. It might be 150… or 60. But you would just always look over at Bradley and feel really bad that he was also doing this punishment with you. After you both are finally done with that count, you walk back to the seats, sit down, and finally get some air. You look and your face in with his arm, his muscles look so defined and huge. You just want to wrap your arms around them and never let go. We are out having a good time. Now stop thinking about him like that Bea!

I finally spoke up and said something. “I’m really sorry we’re making us do push-ups. Not really expecting work to come follow you.” I put my head down. Shying away from him looking at me. “Hey, Bea… look at me, pretty girl.” When I look up, he takes his finger and puts it under my chin, so we are making direct contact with his hazel irises. “You don’t need to apologize. It's just bowling. Plus, at least I can be able to do them with you and not Jake.” We both giggle, but that stops when we see Chantal and Natasha making kissing noises at us. So, together you and Bradley, both flip them off and return back to your game.

Once again Bradley makes a strike on his turn, he comes over to give you a high five and sits next to you. When you look up to see your name highlighted on the monitor telling you it is your turn, you just let out a sigh and brace yourself to get down on the floor and do another round of push-ups.

But all of a sudden when you are about to swing your ball back you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders stopping you. You turn around and see it was Bradley, he comes down so he can talk to you. “I think you might need help instead of just wracking your ball in the gutter,” he tells me while pointing to our lane. “Well, teach me. See if I’m really any good,” I give him a little smirk, and Bradley copies the same expression on his face.

He stands behind you, and your back is flush against his front. And wrapping his arms around your own, almost looking like he was holding the bowling ball himself.

He bends down a little so he can talk to me again, “What you want is a good stance.” So he moves you to the same position he’s in. “Then, bring your arms back” he puts his burly hands over you and you both swing the ball back and then down the lane it goes.

It feels like you’ve been holding your breath for an eternity, feeling like the ball was going down the land so slowly and just waiting for it to hit the pins. Then you hear the pins fall. You finally got a strike. When you see all the pins disappear, you start to freak out with excitement. Squealing and jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store. Then you turn around to give Bradley a big hug, and he wraps his arms around you and spins you in circles.

“Did you see that? I got a strike bitches!” You yell at the top of your lungs. You see everyone from the different lanes cheer for you, even the people from the other lanes whistle for your lucky shot. You look up at the monitor and see the little animation for the strike. It stops and tells you that your turn is still up. So you turn back to him, “I didn’t think I learned the first time. Can you show me again?” you ask him with a cheeky grin. “For you pretty girl, anything.” So you get your ball from the ball return, and wait for Bradley to come up behind you, and help you get back in your stance.

This night can’t get any better.

Once we were all done with the bowling alley, there was a beautiful sunset, and there was a boardwalk nearby. So we all got in our cars and made our way over there.

When we all got there we decided to split up for a little bit when some of the group wanted to go on rides or go play some carnival games. But, you and Bradley just decide to walk around not to do anything, and just wanting to be in each other's presence. While along the walk, you and Bradley kept brushing your hands together, not knowing how were going to initiate the first move. But before you can think, you take a leap and pick up Bradley’s hand and interlock your and his together. He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable so he keeps looking outwards at everything around him. But you could feel him give your hand a gentle squeeze, and a couple of seconds later he brought your interlocked hands up to his lips and gave your knuckles a light kiss. Your heart was about to explode out of your chest you were so happy. So, you wrap your other hand around his bicep and continue on your quiet stroll.

You almost forgot to get Amelia a prize from the arcade at the bowling alley, so you dragged Bradley over to one of the games to try and win a small prize. And of course, you have no luck when trying to win any games, so you let Bradley try. And of course, he wins the first time, and the second, and third. Now, you were carrying a giant teddy bear and two smaller prizes to his Bronco. How is he so fucking good at everything? I wonder if he’s this good in bed-

“Would you care to have a walk with me on the beach?” he closes the door to the backseat where the bear was occupying his giant, fluffy frame. “Don’t mind if I do Lieutenant.” You both take off your shoes, interlock your hands again, and descend to the sandy shoreline.

You both walk in silence for a little bit before you both speak up at the same time. But he lets you go first. “Bradley… what is… what is this thing between us?” you ask him. But I cut him off. “Well, I know what it is… maybe. I just don’t want one of us to get the wrong signals, and in the end, someone gets hurt-” his finger cuts you off on your lips to make your stupid ass stop rambling. “Listen, Bea, I definitely know what this is, and trust me, nobody is going to get hurt. By the looks of it, we both know something is here between us.” “I… can we just take this slow for a little bit please?” “Absolutely pretty girl.” Without a second thought, you see him grab something out of his back pocket and unravel a cord. You see him offer you an earbud. And hold up what looks to be like a very janky iPod Shuffle. Your mouth is agape when you see him put the opposite earbud in his ear. “Care for a dance, m’lady?”

I’m still in shock, but I let out a hardy laugh. “Bradley Bradshaw I know for a fact you did not bring an iPod on the beach to slow-dance with me!” I’m still laughing when he starts to sway from side to side. My laughing dies down, and I eventually give in. I grab the unused earbud place it in my ear, and see him press play. Some 80s hit play, even though they were super upbeat, we swayed in silence. One part listening to music, the other listening to the waves crash on the shore.

‘You’re Gonna Miss Me’ by Connie Francis starts playing. you look down a little, to see a gold chain peeking out of his shirt. You don’t know why but you reach up and touch the cross. You look up at him finding he already had his eyes on you. “It used to be my mom's. But after…” Now I’m the one to cut him off. “Hey, if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not gonna force you. Plus, I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything-” You're being cut off again when he steps closer connecting both of your lips to his own. It wasn’t a harsh kiss, to say the least, it was soft and gentle. But you know there was so much more behind it. But you are not getting into that right now.

So, keep kissing this really attractive guy it is.

You both break apart and connect your foreheads, both trying to catch your breath. “That was… fun,” you both chuckle. You suddenly speak up, “Honey.” you move away from him a little bit to see his eyebrows raised. “My nickname is Honey. I only let people call me that if they’re close to me.” he just nods and gives you a soft kiss on the lips. “Okay, Honey.” then he wraps you into his embrace wanting him to never let go.

Finally, for once in your life, you’re wrong for the right reason. And you're pretty damn happy about that.

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @shanimallina87 @angelbabyyy99 @callsign-magnolia @nerdgirljen

Once again dividers are by @saradika

#bradley rooster bradshaw #tgm fic #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #tgm oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun fanfiction

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teaboot · 1 year

Text

One of the best parts about working at a sex shop is the employee discount, and yeah that means excellent deals on sex supplies but that's not the big brain part.

You come to my house. Something is cooking in the kitchen- it smells wonderful. What is it? It's novelty dick-shaped pasta. I've set up a sensual sexy Italian dinner. There are candles set up on the table. They're melting too fast, dripping everywhere- they're low temp waxplay pillar candles. For dessert, I serve you a delicious ice cream topped in penis-shaped rainbow confetti sprinkles and strawberry body paint drizzle, and afterwards, serve coffee with roasted hazelnut warming lube.

We play a board game while we drink. It's sexy monopoly. It's your turn. You roll the dice. They come up as 'whisper into' and 'butt'. I lost the original dice. We're using the sexy dice. You move four spaces.

After dinner, I run you a bath. A bubble bath. The bubble gel? Sensual ocean breeze. There are candles lined up around the tub. The scent is overpowering. Why? They're three-in-one fruit flavored massage oil candles. I'm using so much. It's so wasteful. Do you want to shave? I have conditioning shave cream that smells like limes. And an electric body razor, but you can't use that in the tub.

How about a bath bomb? You toss one in. It's cherry blossom scented. As it dissolves, three sexy bath sex suggestion cards fall out. They're all variations on doggy style, probably because fucking in a bathtub is probably the easiest way to break your hip.

The water cools. You get out an dry off with a novelty towel. If you wrap it around your chest, it looks like you have gigantic tatas bursting through the fabric like the Hulk.

You walk into the bedroom. I'm there, reading an instructional book titled "The Housewife's Guide To Every Day Stripping". I'm wearing a neck pillow designed to look like a massive curved weiner. Also a pair of fake leather bondage leggings and an oversized men's christmas T-shirt that says "Jingle My Bells" across the front.

I see you come in. I put down the book, take off the pillow. Offer you a massage. You accept. I already burned up all the massage candles so I pop a new bottle of CBD massage oil that says something wrong about Chakras on it. It's very gritty. That's because there's little chunks of amethyst in it for some fucking reason. It's fine, though. You say you don't mind.

I don't do massages very often. It's bad. You end up more tense than before. One of your muscles starts to cramp- it's okay. I whip out a bottle of Lidocane topical masculine performance numbing spray. You immediately feel like your shoulder went to the dentist. It's not ideal, but it's better than cramping.

You're not in the mood to bone after that. Which is good, cause I'm actually pretty asexual, but it hasn't come up yet so I'm relieved to avoid the conversation. Instead we get ready for bed. (The weather is terrible, and I insist you stay over.) I set up the futon, then realize it smells like cigarettes from the previous owner and shyly ask if you wanna cuddle in my room. You're down.

I crawl under the covers, placing my penis-shaped pink glitter pride bottle on the side table in case one of us wakes up thirsty. Once you're settled in, I turn off the glowing bare ass night light and the room goes black.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you look up at the ceiling. It's dotted all over with little green flourescent lights. Are they plastic stars? No. I've pinned up a thousand glow in the dark condoms. God bless

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gallusrostromegalus · 6 months

Text

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

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#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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