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powderblueblood · 4 months

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For the old Hollywood AU - dealer’s choice & this quote: “And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing."

😘

BABYLON SENTENCE MEME

set in the frenetic grimy screwball universe of BURN LIKE NITRATE, the old hollywood au an: this is 3k words because i am soooo normal about all this. no majorly explicit warnings, just fluff and angst and coarse language and a slight allusion to steve's drinking problem

LOS ANGELES, 1927

Seven frantic knocks on your bedroom door awaken you with a skin-jumping start, and you realize you've fallen asleep with your needlework in hand. Again.

"Oof," you breathe, a hand brushing across your brow as you set the embroidery hoop down on your rickety bedside table. That'll be Pidge or one of the other girls at the door, eye-rolling and telling you it's lights out-- as is the routine racket come ten at night, every night. Bunny Lamelle's boarding house kept strict rules, and they included lights out at ten, no boozing, and no shoes or men past the first floor.

Little do you know, you're about to shatter all three of those sacrosanct commandments.

You barely bother to smooth your nightgown before you crack open your bedroom door-- and regret it immediately.

"Mr Harrington?"

Bleary-eyed and wearing a grin that would knock a nun clean out, Steven Harrington stands in the frame of your bedroom door.

Well, stands is generous. His knees look fit to buckle under the weight of whatever's in that flask he's carrying.

"Evening, Beadie."

"Get inside, quickly! Please!" You yank him in by the crook of his arm, and immediate thrill sparks in you. You'd never think to do that ordinarily! Gosh, you're afraid to even touch the fabric that you drape over the man's frame in a professional setting, and you're his darn costume fitter.

As a precaution, you poke your head out into the hallway, neck swiveling left and right. Clear? Clear. You gently close the door.

"How ever did you get up here?" you question as Steve, as he keeps insisting you call him (but you only ever do in your head-- manners are a girl's best friend!), stumbles a touch before flopping down on your bed.

Your bed. Oh, dear.

"I'm no stranger to the facilities here at Bunny Lamelle's, I'll have you know!" he proclaims, hitching himself up on his elbows. The light in here is terrifically bright, too bright for his liking, and your bed is terrifically soft, but that's just right. "It's no Hollywood Studio Club, but it's not a complete pigsty they keep you girls in--"

The pitch of his voice keeps rising and rising, and you know very well that the walls are thin and the eponymous Bunny can hear everything. Steve is familiar with Bunny Lamelle, having been chased down the stairs of this very boarding house more times than he could count. His early years in Los Angeles were nothing if not, ah, eventful. He knows he ought to be quiet, but he feels mournful tonight. Feeling mournful always leads him down the path to goading, because being sad is a fucking sap's game.

You make a motion, pleading with him to shush-- and sold on the look on your face alone, Steve's voice drops to a stage whisper.

"The back door has a loose lock."

"I know," you whisper back. "I taught Pidge how to jimmy that lock open when we both moved in here."

"That little bearcat lives here too? What a pair you two make."

Steve looks surprised, same as Pidge had looked surprised. A little church girl like you, knowing how to pick a lock. Imagine that. He swears, every time you deign open your mouth, which has become more and more frequent during your little fittings, you threaten to knock the knees from under him. Some turn of phrase, some thread of history he never guessed would be woven into your coat.

You feel a blush flaring at your cheeks, Steve's half-focused eyes resting on you a moment too long.

You force yourself to clear your throat, though breaking the spell of his stare feels like a betrayal.

"What are you doing here, Mr--"

"Bea-die. I insist. I'm in your chambers, for Chrissake."

"Steve." You put a nice fine point on it, finer than your needlework. If he insists.

Ah, yes. The reason for the season. As if punching the air in victory, Steve's right arm thrusts into the air. His movements are like those of a marionette filled with whiskey.

"It appears I have torn a button."

Indeed. A button hangs from a thread, dangling from the cuff of Steve's impeccable satin shirt, part in parcel of his whole satin getup. An outfit designed to make him look the consummate ideal of the American picture star, an image you're positive they couldn't have illustrated without the reference of his good looks and charm.

But now the suit is creased and rumpled and reeking of liquor, and the man inside it, the man you now know to be wondrous and interesting outside of the fascination he inspires onscreen, looks despondent.

This is all getting a little on-the-nose.

"You came over here to... to ask me to mend a button?" You don't mean to let that twinge of disappointment escape your voice.

Steve's mouth gapes and shuts again. He can't tell if it's the whiskey or what, but that feels like flimsy reasoning all of a sudden. "I suppose I did."

You can feel your blood pressure rising. He risked getting you evicted from the only place in Los Angeles you can afford to stay because of some silly button? Well, I never! The gall, the nerve, the-- the vanity! You take a deep, steadying breath and cross the room to the bathroom that you and Pidge share, adjoining both your bedrooms.

"If you'll excuse me."

He starts to speak, but you click the door closed behind you, softly as you can manage. When safely inside, you stuff the shower curtain into your mouth and let out a silent, frustrated scream. So, you'll do the only thing you know to do. You'll consult your most trusted source of a second opinion.

Pidge, how do I go about not murdering the entitled movie star that's currently sitting on my bed?

As if she'd heard you summoning, Pidge comes crashing through her bathroom door, hair mussed and face flushed. Giggling. Until she sees you, that is, and her face drops. She slams the door behind her, and you swear you can hear a muffled, "Ow!"

Louder than is necessary, she says, "Hello, Beadie!"

"Pidge..." Something's off in the body language of the script girl.

At a normal volume, "Hello, Beadie." A beat, as she takes you in. "Is everything alright?"

Oh, forget whatever madness Pidge has indulged herself in now! You're having an honest-to-god emergency!

"No!" you flutter, arms flapping, "No, it is not because Steven Harrington is sitting in my bedroom!"

Pidge's eyes flare for about half a second, which is just the amount of surprise she doles out for any occasion. You could tell her that Victrola records were shrinking to half their size and all she'd do is give you the ol' wide eyes and move onto more logical matters.

"The way you're talking makes me think he oughtn't be."

"Of course he oughtn't be!"

"Why oughtn't he be?"

"Well, other than the obvious, Pidge! He-- he's Steven Harrington!" Most recently seen on the arm of the latest WAMPAS Baby, Steven Harrington. Box office darling, Steven Harrington. Object of many a rabid fan letter, Steven Harrington. "And get this, he risked life and limb sneaking up here so I could sew a button back on for him!"

"That's what they're calling it now? Cad," Pidge says, eyes narrowing. Then they flare again. "Oh, hold the line..."

Your breath stitched up in your throat. "What?"

"Harrington's got a premiere tonight. Seven Slow Dances. It ought to be," Pidge checks her watch and you notice her lipstick is smudged. Hm. "Well, gosh, it'll be over by now. After party at The Roosevelt, natch. Warner Jr will have his guts for garters if he doesn't show his mug."

Your bottom lip trembles a tad, hands flapping with the sheer current of nerves and anger and excitement and dread coursing through you.

"Pidge, Pidge, Pidge, what am I to do?!"

Your roommate and friend grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a good, hefty shake.

"Beadie, snap out of it. You know exactly what you're to do. You're to mend that button and you're to send him on his way." She gives you this stare that's kind of wavering at the corners.

That throat of yours is suddenly drier than Glendale. You swallow, roughly. You dare to ask, "And what if... he tries any funny business?"

Pidge doesn't miss a beat. "Well, I have a revolver in my delicates."

This response makes you abandon the followup question of what if I'd like him to try some funny business. You nod, resolute and terrified, grabbing your sewing box from the commode. Pidge stands stock still stationary in the bathroom, arms crossed and eyes bright with curiosity.

You wonder what you'd just caught her in the middle of.

But the door clicks shut behind you and you find Steve lying flat on his back, his head dangling off the edge of your modest single bed.

"Told half of Hollywood I'm here already, huh?" His tone is languid, but not scornful. Playful, even. Like he could really expect such a thing from you. Wide-eyed, innocent you.

A nervous chuckle bubbles from you, Steve dousing the flame of your irritation as soon as he'd lit it. You edge closer to the bed, suddenly very conscious of the way your nightgown is fitting.

"Certainly not. Just, I knocked into Pidge in the bathroom. It happens, sharing and all. I didn't--"

But before you can lie, "Hello, Pigeon!" Steve calls, and you lurch for him-- too loud! He emits something close to a giggle. "She's quite the hard boiled tomato. How is it you two became so close?"

You shrug. That was a story, but not one you were about to regale Steve Harrington with. He needed to be sewn up, given his marching orders. That's that. "Every lady needs her foil, I suppose."

"Good god, don't sell yourself so short," Steve says, and there's a real edge to his voice. He's truly admonishing you. You can't truly see yourself that way, can you? Playing second fiddle to some studio drone workaholic like poor Pidge, when you and your delicate hands and your brilliant mind had the gall and grace to exist on this earth?

Christ, is he drunk.

Though, you can't help it sometimes. You love Pidge, love her true, but can't help but think she stacks up so much higher compared to you; in experience, in nerve, in dealing with men like him.

"You're the genuine article, Beadie."

Steve says this to you. Steven Harrington says this to you. Even if he's corked and ready to pour, he says this to you.

You have to give yourself an even moment to remember the act of taking a human breath and how it works.

When you recover, your voice is tiny. "Sit up, please."

He does as is told, the same as when you tell him so in the fitting rooms. It's the one time that Steve doesn't mind being told what to do; you go about it gentle, careful not to prick him with your little pins. He trusts that you never will. And, you always asks things like, "Well, how does that feel, Mr Harrington?" and then add that adorable shy addendum, "I mean, to move in?"

You settle next to him on the bed, sewing kit in your lap. Steve presents his sleeve to you and you finger the darling little pearlescent button. Feels too violent for your nature to snap it off of its lingering thread-- and yet you do it. And he can't explain it, but it thrills him.

Steve watches you thread your needle with an intensity that does not go unnoticed by you. Your entire head feels hot.

"You're aware I had a premiere tonight, Beadie."

"Oh, of course I am," and you did, having faithfully followed this man's work for years, "Seven Slow Dances, wasn't it?"

Steve swallows, feeling the paparazzi light bulbs crack behind his eyes. The tense silence in the theater that just kept getting tenser and stickier as the preview of the picture droned on.

"It's set to be my biggest picture to date," he tells you, a slur creeping into his voice, "A thoroughly modern romp, catapulting me to as-yet-unforeseen notoriety. Have you heard this?"

A small smile wafts over your lips, daring to break your focus. "Why, that sounds wonderful."

Steve emits a hearty scoff, and you have to place a hand on his arm to steady it.

"Wonderful? It sounds like bullshit to me. It sounds like the company line," he sniffs, "Do you know why I do all this, Beadie? Why I became an actor? To escape the company line."

You still your needle to an unnecessarily slow speed, taking far longer than you need to with resewing this button. Because he does this, when he's in your hands and you have your points turned towards him. He opens up, to you.

"But it follows you, you know," Steve goes on, voice thickening. That sends a jolt of alarm through you. "Chases you like you've got a target on your back."

You've never heard him sound quite like this before. Cornered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean..." you murmur, eyes leaving the safe reserve of the needlepoint and button to watch him. Watch his profile. Watch the tears begin to well in his scorched sugar eyes.

"I traded being one kind of stooge for another, do you know that?" he sniffs, bitterness putting a bite in his voice, "I rejected the role that was set out for me, the heir to HH Industries, to become an artist! If you can fucking believe that. Because I thought it meant something. I thought it meant I'd finally have control over my own life."

It strikes you dumb. It's an honesty so blistering, you can't quite believe that it's real, that he's sharing it with you. "I..."

"I don't," have any control, he means, "I'm being prodded around like a prize show pony in front of these cameras, preening to Photoplay and acting like it all means something when it doesn't."

Steve turns to you now, a single, screen-perfect tear cascading down his screen-perfect face. But his vitriol feels ugly and ill-fitting, like he feels in this stupid satin suit.

"And you know what, Beadie? You know what's the killer? The bullet aiming straight for my heart?"

Suspended in shock, your needle held aloft. "No..."

Steve clears his gummed up throat, nodding mirthlessly. Of course. How would you know, you poor, sweet thing?

"Once this shitheap of an Al Jolson picture goes to print, the entire company line is going to change. Sound in the pictures, what a gimmick!" he cackles, "But the public loves a gimmick, and that's who we sacrifice ourselves for. And it'll push me, who has given everything to create something out of nothing, and every other dumb sap like me, right out the door. And they'll know - everyone will fucking know that they could never control one goddamn fucking thing. Our fate, our crushable fate in the hands of those dipshit Warner brothers. The company line. Sundown on Steven Harrington."

It completely befuddles you that he could think this way. Of course, the colony is splintering into two and a dozen camps, each different variants of sound is the death of cinema and talkies are the way of the future. You had heard Pidge's diatribes on it, but hadn't settled on an opinion yourself. Pictures with sound would surely still need costumes, but you hadn't thought for even a moment about how it might effect someone like Steve. How it might... frighten him.

"Oh, Steve. Steve, you know that's not true." That hand of yours that rests on his arm tightens some. His head dips.

"It is true, Beadie," he presses and sniffles, "They'll lose any interest they had in me; for Chrissake, I can't stand up to those booming voiced theater types. I've churned my butter in pantomime! I've wasted my life on something completely null."

His words coax you to near tears. This feels as if he's welcomed you into his cocoon, shown you all the ways he fears he'll fail to metamorphose.

But then, you catch another whiff of the liquor on his breath.

You remember that, despite it all, you need to be careful-- Steve may be sweet to you now, in this moment, but Steven Harrington at large is still a documented rake. He's a mess. He'll do anything, say anything, to get what he wants.

You know this. You love this. And you know that you oughtn't.

You finish the last stitch on his errant button and push an encouraging smile across your face.

"Well. All the more reason to get peeling out to that after party then, isn't it? Make sure they don't forget who you are."

A friendly pat to his arm serves as half an encouragement for him to get up and off your bed.

This is not the reaction he wants. With his head tilted toward you, with all his sparkling tears, this is not the reaction Steve was aiming for. He can't even say he wanted to kiss you in that moment, but he did not expect you to tow that very same company line. Buck up, buddy boy. Put on a good show.

But you're a good girl. Of course you think that's the way things ought to be. He shouldn't be confusing you like this. Sullying your mind against the Warner behemoth.

Steve stands, re-buttoning his mended sleeve. You watch him, eyes gleaming and worried. He's gone all silent and sullen again, like he does. Then again, he may not even remember this in the morning.

"Away I go, then," he murmurs, barely coherent, "into the fray."

"Do be careful," you tell him, chest constricted. "Sneaking back out, I mean."

"Not my first rodeo," he reminds you, and it feels terrifically callous for some reason.

And then Steve is gone, slipping through your bedroom door. As fast and furtively as he appeared, and all that's left behind him is the silver glimmer of his flask folded into the plush of your bed sheets.

#powder room talk #whatis-much #published by powder #s. harrington by powder #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #blurbs #SMASH cut to pidge getting head from eddie in the bathroom while still trying to eavesdrop on this entire exchange.#love u so much thank you for letting me be insane #our cee ❤️‍🔥#beadie pike #burn like nitrate

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capybaraonabicycle · 2 months

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I don't want you getting hurt (Henry Castafolte/The Visitor)

Chapters: 1/1

Words: ~ 1000

Fandom: Le Visiteur du Futur | Visitor from the Future (Web Series)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Henry Castafolte/Le Visiteur | The Visitor, Henry Castafolte & Le Visiteur | The Visitor

Characters: Henry Castafolte, Le Visiteur | The Visitor (Le Visiteur du Futur)

Additional Tags: Fluff, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness

Summary:

While walking through the dark corridors in the future, Henry notices something strange in the behaviour of his friend. Why does the Visitor keep making them switch sides while walking?

Fluff written for the 'quiet acts of love' prompts: following the sidewalk rule and fixing their clothes a little for them when noticing something is off by @novelbear

Thank you so much to my beta @none-ofthisnonsense for all the support and kind words <3

link again in case the above doesn't work

#visiteur du futur #henry castafolte #the visitor #vdf #renard vdf #vdf fanfics #henry castafolte x le visiteur #And thank you cee for the beautiful prompts!!

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patchesenthusiast · 4 months

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comm done for @slightlydeadghost 👍 yayyyy

#comms #THANK YOU A BAJILLION FOR COMMISIONING #i lauv ur oe cee

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thebumblecee · 1 month

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NICE ASS(K) WEEK IS UPON US!!! 🎉

Cee, my love!! I 💛 you, you’re always so sweet. I have a very important ASS(K) for you!

Tarlos has decided to go to Edinburgh for their honeymoon. What must they do? Where must they go? What’s it gonna be like?? Any places they have to see?

Oooh Lemon my dear I LOVE this Ass(k) because it allows me to think of my favourite things (Tarlos & my home).

Okay, so they’ve gone a bit crazy and decided to give up the Texas heat for the cold of bonnie Scotland and once they get over how COLD it actually is they settle in nicely. (After buying new shoes because you can’t really drive here and it’s on 7 (yes 7) hills)

Firstly they decide to take a nice stroll along Princes Street Gardens. The spring blossom is in the air and they’re clearing the jet lag.

Now, city is great if you like history and well, walking so they can take a stroll around the old town and soak up the atmosphere

If inner city living isn’t for them then they can check one of the many many villages that actually makes up Edinburgh (it’s a series of smaller villages merged together) its peaceful and Carlos (almost) doesn’t feel too homesick in the quiet.

A day of culture and eating ahead of them with hundreds of bookstores, bakeries, pubs, restaurants and shops. A lot of which are independent! TK has to buy a new hold-all for all the stuff he picks up.

If they decide to take a boat ride out then, they’re right on the sea for miles and they can say hey to some local friends (no TK can’t keep one)

If they’re unsure about their sea legs (I can’t see Carlos on a boat) then there’s lots of hikes in the city to take too

Ending the day by locking down their love by the sea

And they take a late night walk through one of the parks that offer night time light shows

And once they’ve had their fill of fresh air it’s to one of the many (many) nightclubs and bars that are here. Most of which are underground! Which makes both of them grimace at the potential fire risks but they relax into it.

—-

There concludes their day(?) tour and they obviously have booked to go up the highlands and they’ve gone ALL the museums and art galleries here (which are all free) and TK spent most of it face buried in a highland cow.

It rained - a lot and because if the cold Carlos went full mother hen on TK (not reliving that!)

I reckon they spend a whole day just in bed though …. To recover from all the walking ofc 😉

#thanks for the ask!#cee speaks #911 lonestar #tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #i am sorry for the quality of the photos. you’re only allowed 10 so I had to play tricks #however all photos except the first one were taken by me #so if you want to see a non blurry version hmu #I had so much more but I really need to do work #but thank you so so much #i had a great time

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kristannafever · 2 months

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Second Chances - 8

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: Explicit WC: 2584

Chapter Index

----------------

A week later, Kristoff had the ring burning a hole in his pocket. He was beyond excited to propose to Anna, only he wanted to make it special. He called his parents to impart their help on that.

The first time they’d met Anna, they were trilled. His Mom was especially happy that Kristoff was in a serious relationship, and as she confided in him later, with someone who seemed better suited to him.

It wasn’t that they didn’t like his ex, they just didn’t realize how wrong she seemed to be for him until they met Anna and fell in love with her. And Kristoff had to agree, knowing the feeling very well himself. He was growing more and more grateful for ending it with his ex and not trying to talk to her to make things work. His idea of a family did not include being a single father of a kid the mother had no interest in. As much as he tired not to think about it, he did know his ex, and if he had mentioned that he was ending it because he wanted a child, she would have told him she wanted the same just to hang onto to something that had been over long before Kristoff put a stop to it.

The family restaurant, like many in the area, was closed on Mondays. Not the most romantic day of the week to pop the question, but one that suited his needs quite well. And as soon as he asked his parents about it, they were thrilled to help him plan.

They entered the empty establishment and the Matre’d, Chester, gave Kristoff a proud slap on the back after he locked the door and guided them inside. He’d known the old man as long as he’d known his own adoptive parents and considered him just as much family as them.

It was all laid out in candles, and with the fireplace alight, the small space had the best mood lighting he’d ever seen. Anna gushed over it, making his choice feel validated that he insisted the only illumination in the place come from a flame.

Their table, the same one they dined at the very first time, the best seat in the house, was decorated by a gorgeous bouquet of red roses. Chester took the liberty of pulling Anna’s chair out so that she could sit, and then offered Kristoff the seat beside her instead of across the small square table. It was perfect, as they both sat at an angle facing the wonderfully warm fireplace.

Chester took his leave to allow them their privacy and Anna looked over at him with shimmering eyes.

He chuckled. “You know exactly what this is about, don’t you?”

Her smile widened, her eyes blinking back tears. She nodded slowly.

Kristoff took a calming breath. He knew this was going to happen right away and told his family to leave them alone until he brought Anna himself into the back office to share the good news.

He shifted his chair back and slipped off of it, sinking to one knee as he pulled the ring box out of his jacket pocket. Anna’s eyes never left his as he moved, and the emotion he saw in them closed up his throat and made the backs of his eyes burn.

“Anna,” he said slowly, pulling in a shaky breath. “I am so grateful for you coming into my life. Despite the first impression not going so well.” He chuckled.

Anna laughed with him, wiping tears out of her eyes with her fingertips. He swallowed, his throat restricting to the point that he just had to let go and cry. He relaxed his fight against it, and tears filled his own eyes.

“I am grateful,” he continued, “that I met you when I did. I didn’t know a soulmate existed, until I met you. You are everything I have ever wanted and needed, Anna. You are the most amazing person I have ever met.” He paused, wiping his eyes and swallowing hard. “My heart, my soul… they belong to you. Will you marry me?”

Anna nodded slowly, smiling and wiping more tears from her cheeks. She offered him her hand and he slid the ring on her finger. A perfect fit.

She looked from his eyes down to it a moment, and then back at him. “I am grateful too, Kristoff. I feel the same way.”

She made the move to slip to the floor with him, only he didn’t want her to kneel with her dress onto the tile, so he stood up, pulling her with him and grabbed her into a firm, gentle, loving hug, as they both broke down into soft sobs of thanking whatever the fuck might be out there to thank that they got their second chances with each other.

-----

As soon as Kristoff kissed her, she forgot about the gorgeous ring on her finger for the first time that entire evening. They were in his truck in the parking lot of his family’s restaurant, going at it in the back seat. She wasn’t even sure who had started it as they walked, full and happy from one of the best and most important dinners of their lives, to the vehicle.

“We can’t do this here,” she said between kisses, thinking that the arc sodium’s in the parking lot were not going to conceal what was happening in the truck should someone come out to investigate.

“I know,” he moaned, and pushed off of her to sit awkwardly in the seat. His eyes flicked around the cab of the truck as if he was trying to figure out what to do next. Then he looked right at her. “You know what? Fuck it.”

He grabbed her and pulled her against him, kissing her forcefully. Anna had to agree with him… fuck it. Because she wanted him to fuck her so desperately that she couldn’t care less if anyone spied on them.

“At least, your back windows, are tinted,” she said between kisses, as her hands worked on getting his pants and underwear down so that she could have access to his glorious manhood.

“And they are fogging up,” he said with a smile, helping her get his jeans pulled down to his ankles.

As soon as she had what she waned, Anna pushed Kristoff’s back against the back of the seat and crawled into his lap, reaching under her skirt and pushing her panties aside. When that was accomplished, she lowered herself down onto his cock, moaning loudly.

Kristoff shifted his hips forward to make more room for her knees, and as soon as he did, she was able to take him in all the way. She shuddered and started to kiss him again, rocking back and forth.

Amid the pleasure, the ring finally popped into her mind again, and she pulled from his lips and brought up her hand to look at it.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” she said, eyeing the gorgeous ring, then looking into his eyes.

“I can’t wait either, Anna.” He smiled, his hands caressing her back as she moved herself against him.

Anna put her left hand on the foggy window behind his head, leaning forward to get a better angle of her body against his. “It still boggles my mind how much I love this,” she muttered, focusing back on her growing arousal.

He laughed quietly. “Probably as much as it boggles mine. I’ve never been this horny in all my life. I swear I think about this almost every damn second.”

Anna giggled. “Honestly, me too. Like way too much. I guess that’s why we have so much sex.”

Kristoff moaned softly. “Yes. And we’re going to have to do this again when we get home.”

She nodded, her breathing becoming heavier as her lower abdomen began to tighten. “Definitely.”

There were no more words between them, just steady breathing and occasional soft moans. It didn’t take Anna long to reach her release, wrapping her arms around Kristoff’s neck and pulling his lips to hers as she came.

It felt so damn good and she was still absolutely blown away by Kristoff. Thinking back to her fantasies about having sex with him before they’d actually done it, weren’t even as close to as incredible as it actually was. She truly had no idea that there could be so much pleasure in making love. And perhaps the fact that it was love was what made it so special.

Her ex and her had said “I love you” to each other, only they sounded hollow in her mind now compared to how Kristoff and her said it to each other. And they said it constantly. A far cry from the occasionality she’d said it with her ex. And it was always her who said it to that jerk first. Not with Kristoff. She’d be lucky if she got to it before he did.

“Fuck, I love you so much, Anna,” Kristoff whispered, pulling her from her thoughts.

She smiled at him. He was too good to be true. “I love you more than life, Kristoff.”

He kissed her again and she started to move with him when he bucked his hips up. It didn’t take long for him to reach his climax, and he moaned into her mouth as his cock pulsed deeply and powerfully within her. Anna savored every one of those strong throbs.

“When are we going to get married?” she asked him, suddenly thinking that as soon as they were wed, she was going to get her IUD removed so that she could get pregnant. There was a sudden and overwhelming need to have his children. How could she not? He was so amazing and incredible, Anna still didn’t understand how someone as wonderful as him came into her life.

“Whenever you want.” He smiled. “We just have to pick a day and plan it.”

Anna grinned back at him. “I want to do it as fast as we can so we can start a family.”

His eyes remained fixed on hers intently. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yes! I can’t wait to have babies with you, Kristoff.”

He stared at her, his eyes starting to shimmer with tears. He swallowed hard.

Anna knew he was struggling with his emotions, so she grabbed his head gently in her palms and pulled him in for a soft kiss, letting him know that she understood.

He hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her shoulder and sniffing quietly. They remained in that embrace for a long time, then separated so that they could go home and make love again.

*****

Anna was tracing little shapes on his bare chest. He laid on the bed with his eyes closed enjoying the feel of her fingertips on his skin.

“How many kids do you want?” she asked.

Only a moment before, when they’d finished making love, she brought up her desire to get pregnant as soon as they were married. It made his heart soar. He’d never been so in love with someone, and she was ready and willing to make the sacrifices of pregnancy to give him his dream of a family. If he lived to be a thousand years old, he would never truly be worthy of her.

“Honestly, Anna, I always just pictured two. You know, so our kids grow up with a sibling and we don’t go broke. How many do you want to have?”

“Seven,” she exclaimed.

His eyes shot open and he looked at her. “Seriously?”

She laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ve never been pregnant obviously, but from what I know about it I don’t want to go through that seven times.”

Kristoff chuckled half-heartedly. “Yeah, I understand. I can’t imagine even going through it once.”

Anna regarded him carefully for a moment. “I see two, definitely. But maybe I also see three or four?”

He rolled over so that he could look directly into her eyes, becoming serious. “Anna, I have to admit that as soon as you said you wanted to start making our family, I’ve kind of been sick with the thought of something bad happening. You know… to you and to…” He swallowed hard. He couldn’t even say it.

Anna reached out and cupped his cheek. “I understand, Kristoff. I know there are risks and complications. But I do not want that to stand in the way of us having the family we both want.”

“Me either,” he said quickly. “I just… I dunno, it’s all so damn real all of the sudden. I just…” he shrugged, “I worry.”

Her sweet smile melted his heart. “Don’t worry, baby. Whatever happens, we can get through it together.”

“While everything is happening to you though.” He frowned. His sudden melancholy was upsetting him but he had no idea how to make it go away. “It’s so much to deal with.”

“I can handle being pregnant,” Anna said softy.

“I know. That’s why men can’t have babies. There’s no way in hell we could handle it.”

She grinned at him. “That is true.”

Kristoff heaved a heavy sigh, unable to match her smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for our wonderful day to end like this.”

“End like what? Having an open and honest conversation?”

“No. For me brining up negative shit like that.”

Anna leaned in and kissed him softly. “I am glad that you are being honest with me, Kristoff. Don’t ever hold back your feelings. And if it makes you feel any better, I am all for doing this in a hospital surrounded by doctors in case something goes wrong, and getting an epidural so that I can be as comfortable as possible.”

Finally, the side of his mouth turned up. There was no one who could lift his spirits like Anna. “No water birth at home?”

Anna chuckled. “Gross. No thank you. And I’ll have you know we are absolutely not doing one of those bullshit gender reveal parties.”

Kristoff feigned a disappointed look. “No party to announce the gender of the baby? Why would you deny me of that?”

Anna laughed harder and smacked his bare chest, making him grin.

She said, “I know for a fact you think they are as stupid and wasteful as I do.”

“Absolute cringe,” Kristoff agreed.

Anna smiled at him, eyes scanning his. “Make love to me again.”

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her. His fears were dissipating in her embrace and he vowed to himself that he was going to do everything humanly possible to make sure that Anna had everything she wanted and needed when she was pregnant.

“I can’t wait to dote on you when you’re all knocked up,” he said between kisses.

Anna giggled and pulled her face from his to look at him. “What if I want ice cream at three in the morning?”

“I’ll go to the all-night gas station and buy all they have.”

“What if you cook dinner and half way through it I start craving mac and cheese?”

“I run to the stove and make that shit for you.”

“What if-”

“Anna,” he interrupted, “I mean it. Anything, and I mean anything you want or need, I am your man.”

She let out a sensual breath. “You are my man. Now make love to me.”

Kristoff kissed her again and didn’t stop until they reached their climax together.

---

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#cee wrote this mess #second chances #kristoff #anna #kristanna #kristanna modern au #okay this is all i have written so far #as I mentioned it's open ended so that I may update when the mood strikes to write something naughty #thank you to those who liked and reblogged #<3<3<3

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hood-ex · 1 year

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Please 😭. I was on a walk and thinking about Nightwing #30 for some reason, and literally right as I was thinking about Bruce and Dick's fight, this part of the song from Kung Fu Fighting started playing in my ear, "Now what would it take to break? I believe that you can bend. Not only do you have to fight, but you have got to win!" And I SCREAMED because:

Bruce: I need to see if they broke you. I need to see if you still have the heart you once had. So, one more time, Dick. But now there’s only one rule… you have to win. - Nightwing #30

#and yes it was the cee-lo green and jack black version of the song thank you very much #bc i'm cultured and a kung fu panda stan #Nightwing 30

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nicolethered · 1 month

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Thank you @imaswellkid for my gift from @fuckyeahpaperco!

The Javi sticker was so irresistible that i put it on the bottom of my laptop.

#I’m out of room everywhere else on the computer #Maddie is the sweetest #and thank you for the stationary Cee I love it #I want to use it immediately and also I want to save it forever

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dependante · 1 year

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Ghost MW2 / Reader

Cee prompt, compt as one might say even.

Simon Riley/reader

CW's: none that I can really think of!

Wc: 2,400+

"You wanna switch?"

You scowl and tighten your grip, refusing to acknowledge the man in the seat next to you. It's only been 6 hours and he's already driving you crazy. The stench of cigarettes has already permeated the small musty cabin of your truck, despite his small mercy of rolling down the windows when he lights another up.

"No, we've only got a couple hours of daylight left. I’ll switch when it gets dark." You say.

He lets out a noncommittal hmm at that and takes a drag instead of a worded answer.

You would fucking kill for some new music, the silence of the truck is stifling, but one more repeat of the two CDs you had (Santana's greatest hits- a gift from your dad and boyz ii men) would drive you both insane you think. The radio too staticky to really enjoy out here, and there was only so much npr one wanted to listen to. The last playthrough ended abruptly when the Santana cd was restarting and with more than necessary force Simon had popped the cd out the player and into the back seat, out of reach.

Asshole.

Why you had agreed to drive the man three states over is beyond you.

He’s not bad company, quiet, with a good sense of humor and patience but, you barely know the him and the last minute request from your friend meant you had scrambled into a road trip with an absolute stranger.

–

“Please! It'll be this one time you know I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate!

You sigh into the receiver, looking out the peephole again to the mass of a man currently at your doorstep, wearing a balaclava? You move away from the door before you hiss into the receiver.

"You have this HUGE man at our door unprompted at seven in the morning and asking for you. This is crazy!"

You've begun to quietly pace the small expanse of the living room heart still pounding from the sudden wake you had. You'd rolled out of bed to the pounding at the door only to yelp at the sight through the peephole. Apparently, he had heard you as the man paused before gruffly calling out for you to call your roommate.

Should've called the cops instead, you think grumpily.

"Simon's cool I swear! He’s military, we’ve been talking for a year now, I just didn't know he’d be coming in. He's got no transport and flights are bad right now-"

What him being military had anything to do with trustworthiness was beyond you but she certainly had a type it seemed.

"No shit, it's right before the holidays." You say.

"Exactly! Listen you can call John, he's a friend of his- he’s the one that introduced us! He can vouch I swear."

You sigh, pausing in front of the door again. You liked Johnny, you trusted his opinion. He was a new addition to your roommates' roster but he was at least tolerable.

Sans the mohawk.

"Alright alright, fine, but if I die it's on you."

"Thank you! We'll be waiting for you guys to get up here. I'll Venmo you the gas total."

You hang up before opening the door to the man behind it. The man, Simon apparently, stands in your doorway, backlit by the early morning oranges of the rising sun. He's tall, and you crane your neck up to look him in the eye, trying to appear stern.

"You almost gave me a heart attack."

His eyes scan you slowly, burning through you and you suddenly remember the little amount of clothing you sleep in.

"I assumed she would've called to let you know." He says monotone.

"Well you assumed wrong."

“Can I use your bathroom?”

–

"Between the mask and the smoke I don't know how you even fucking breathe."

You see his jaw flex out of the corner of your eye. He wordlessly rolls down the window farther and tosses the half-smoked cig out the window.

Not very eco friendly but you decide not to comment, having already obviously pushed his buttons.

The mask was interesting. He had partially pulled it up in the apartment before you both left to formally introduce himself but had quickly pulled it back down as you left the apartment. A bit nerve wracking as you considered the fact he was most likely hiding his identity, but in for a penny in for a pound and some change you guess.

It's boring and the drive is long, your eyes fight to stay open as the cross state backroads you're taking seem to stretch on and on forever. The occasional jolt of a shitty road or bout of convo is the only thing keeping you present. No aux in your rust bucket unfortunately and now no Santana.

Upon seeing your lovely ride Simon had in fact not been impressed. Even less so by the mile meter.

You've asked Simon several questions so far. How did he know John, how long had they been in the force together, what was being British like, everything. All of his answers entertaining but vague with details, particularly the questions pertaining to his job which made sense, but only made you more eager to prod much to his annoyance. You learned he was a part of a special ops group high up in military and that they were currently both on leave, unplanned. John had flown out first to see your roommate and Simon had only decided last minute to join, having told no one and unaware that they had gone states over.

You couldn't quite get a straight answer on how the man knew your roommate. Oh so subtly you were trying to figure out if you were in the clear to flirt with him without potentially crossing a line, but again, he was frustratingly vague with the exact nature of their relationship. You really should’ve just outright asked if they’d fucked but you weren’t quite sure you wanted to hear that answer.

Finally, the sun had begun to set and as you pulled into a gas station for a quick refill of gas and a moment to text your travel status. You swapped positions and Simon settled into the driver's seat.

It didn't take long for you to nod off, kind of worrying considering that you could always be murdered by the man in the seat next to you. (He had brought his gun, you’d seen it briefly before he pushed it under the passenger seat of the truck, emptying the clip and setting it beside the gun. State laws and all.) But what could you say besides that you were an idiot and bored. Plus vote of confidence from John and location tracking makes it probably less appealing to murder you.

–

You sleep fitfully, never fully falling asleep but still managing to let hours pass by in an unconscious state before you’re finally and fully awoken by the rising sun. You groan and stretch, popping the ligaments in your feet before reaching for your phone in the glove compartment. You note the faint playing of the radio. He must've gotten lonely, or bored.

"I'm hungry," you state, not looking up from your phone. No new developments to be seen, just a stray email and message from your mother.

"Slim jims in the back, picked 'em up last night while you snored away."

"I don't snore and gross? Why would I want to eat that."

"Go hungry then."

He's teasing, you can hear the smile in his voice and as you finally turn to look at him disapprovingly you realize you can also see it. See him. Huh.

"You took off your mask?" You can't help but ask. You wonder what changed.

His lips thin in a line before he shrugs.

"Got gross. No reason to cover up out here."

"Ah."

You almost wish he'd cover back up. Simon had already been attractive with just his sharp eyes and mouth and now? You can't help but subconsciously try to make yourself look a bit better, sit a little taller. God-god, get a grip. First man you've been slightly interested in for months and you're losing it. Not to mention the non-answers you had received about his connection to your roommate and their relationship. You hoped to get there soon.

"I'm looking up a place and we're stopping. Gotta give you the full americana experience don't you know?" you say smiling.

"Right, no proper British breakfast here. You yanks couldn't even replicate if you tried."

"Oh my god yanks? Are you all trapped in the 1800s?"

"Just pull up somewhere already."

"Aye Aye Cap'n."

"Lieutenant."

"Whatever you say sir." You laugh.

A slight shiver and adjustment at that.

Oh.

Yes, you hoped you’d both get to your destination soon.

–

You end up stopping at a travel stop -slash novelty store -slash restaurant which works out incredibly well as you send Simon to fill up the tank while you change in the bathrooms and peruse the small gift shop. Everything is old and gimmicky, trying to sell you on a western fantasy with belt buckle fridge magnets, small boot shot glasses and of course, mood rings. You're debating getting a keychain pocket knife or ring when a hand grabs your shoulder and you startle.

Simon.

He towers over the racks and you in the store and looks down in amusement. His mask is back on you notice.

"Are you going try to make me jump as much as possible."

"Yes."

"It's not that funny" you say.

"Neither was forcing me to get the gas."

"Aw boo hoo, here put on this mood ring" you grab the largest size and yank Simon's hand up from his side, pulling it into your palm as you shove the ring down on his pinky. His other fingers are too large. It definitely hasn't caught your attention at all. Especially not the way his hand dwarfs yours or the way he'd pull the stiff wheel of your truck. Definitely not.

"What does purple mean?"

"Huh?" You tune back in.

"The ring is purple."

"Oh let's see, it means"- you turn to the chart.

"It means you're buying breakfast."

"Bullshit."

"No seriously."

“Lemme see” he says, slipping off the ring and trying to peer at the small chart behind you.

“Nevermind that, you owe me some fucking breakfast for a multitude of reasons. Besides aren’t you loaded or something?”

He looks at you incredulously.

“When has working for the government ever made someone a rich man.”

“Yeah yeah, fair point” you say, “Go look at the menu I’ll be over there in a second.”

“Don’t make me wait too long or you really will end up paying for yourself.” Simon says before stalking over to the door that separated the store from the dining area of the travel stop. You grab two mood rings and head up to the counter to pay before a CD wall catches your eye.

Oh yeah, there will definitely be some new music added to the next leg of your journey, Simon be damned.

—

The food’s ok.

Average breakfast for a good price. Despite his earlier shit talking, Simon had damn near ordered half the menu. Made sense, he was a big man after all. His earlier chattiness seemed like a fluke now in the midst of the general public, and by chatty you mean not intimidatingly silent as he was now across from you.

You finish eating before he does. Occupying the time on your phone and occasionally glancing up to look at Simon before quickly going back to your endless scrolling.

He would watch the doors and people as he ate you noticed, scanning them before looking at you awkwardly everytime. No such thing as subtle glances with him.

His jaw flexed as he ate, mask pulled up only enough to reveal his mouth. He had a strong chin, stubble, he must not have shaved the last couple of days.

"Have you texted and let them know our eta yet?" Simon asks offhandedly, still scanning the room as his jaw works.

"Uh yea, when you were getting the gas."

"Good, you have Johnny's number?"

"No, just my roommates, why?"

"You should have his number just in case, tell me your number and I'll text it to you"

You tell him your number and wait for his slow thumbs to send the message. His phone is something other than Samsung or Apple and it amuses you.

"I'm surprised you have a touchscreen phone at all."

"I like pictures, this phone is better for that."

"Oh yea? What kind of pictures?" you ask, leaning closer and raising a brow conspiratorial. He chuckles.

"All the kinds you can imagine, gets real lonely in the field."

"You've got Johnny haven't you?"

"Who said I wasn't sending beautiful photos of the country side as well?" He leans in, matching your position.

He's close enough that you can feel a slight bit of warmth emanating from him, the smell of drip coffee strong on his breath.

"Fair, I'd also be sending pictures to Johnny if I were you. He's a handsome man and fun to boot" You state.

He chuckles, staying just as close as before.

"Well you've got his number now don't you?"

Your face feels hot, whether it's from the proximity or line of conversation who's to say.

"Maybe I should, mind giving me some privacy in the truck so I can take some photos?" You ask.

"Hard to imagine one needs privacy to take a couple photos of trees."

"You'd be surprised."

Simon gives a nonverbal response, a small hm while his eyes burn through you. You swear he takes a split second glance at your lips but you aren't sure. You look away and it feels like losing.

He leans back, the trance broken and leaving you flustered in its wake. Time to cool off, you think.

A moment of hesitation, before you lean across the table to pat your hand on top of his.

"Why don't you go change, and I'll go ahead and start the car."

He clears his throat and agrees, you get up and grab your bag before turning back to him.

"Oh, I picked up a new cd for us by the way. It's top country hits." You smile and head out the door before he can react.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 ghost #ghost x reader #cod ghost mw2 x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ooc? idc #thanks for the prompt my unknowing victim #cee is denied access to this acc HAHA

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