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hellfirenacht · 9 months

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Wing Man Part 1

Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Tags: Eddie Muson x reader, weirdo!reader, bestfriend!Steve

You hadn’t planned on becoming friends with Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. In your mind, he was still that cocky freshman who happened to be good at playing Basketball during your senior year of high school. You’d never paid much attention to sports or the popular crowd back at Hawkins High, but word had quickly spread about the new kid.

When Steve and Robin approached you to help hook them up with a job at Family Video you were skeptical at first. Robin was a no-brainer when it came to hiring. She had the experience and clearly knew her stuff when it came to movies. Steve you were more on the fence about, as he seemed less cinematically inclined but Robin had vouched for him, and you were tired of having to cover so many of Keith’s shifts. Even when he was here, Keith was basically useless, always hiding in the back.

At this point, you were desperate for any sort of help, so you hired them both.

You quickly took a liking to them- they were easy to hang out with and were able to quickly pick up on what needed to be done. Robin always knew what movies to show on the preview televisions, and Steve was quick to pick up on any busy work that needed to get done.

“I’m always willing to go the extra mile to slack off.” he’d said once, which had earned your approval. As long as shit got done, they could slack off all they wanted. You hated that ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ bullshit. It’s not like the job was especially hard either.

Eventually you and Steve started talking on the nights where the two of you would close together alone. Tuesday and Wednesday nights were good for that sort of thing, they were your slowest days. You learned that he was floundering a bit after high school, struggling to find a place in the world now that he was no longer King Steve. It was also clear by the way he talked that he was still hung up on his ex Nancy, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

That was probably the reason why he kept striking out when flirting with customers. It was actually kind of sad.

“You know, I really should probably tell you to stop hitting on every cute girl that walks through that door.” you said, taking out some tapes from the VHS re-winder and putting in new ones. “People come here for movies, not to be hit on.”

It was a speech you’d given at least a dozen times over the past four months. You’d said it so many times that Steve was mouthing along the words as you said them, and you gave his arm a smack. Your heart wasn’t in it though, in truth you knew that at least half of the young women who came to Family Video were here to see Steve and flirt, which is why you were so baffled that he was striking out so hard.

He was good with customers, great even. When he first started working here he would get several numbers slipped to him between returned VHS tapes. But as the Summer months shifted into Autumn, he seemed to be running out of steam.

“I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming.” Steve said, with over-compensated confidence. “I don’t even need to think, I’m just that good at flirting.”

“Yeah, I think your charisma stat has taken a hit over these past few weeks dude.” you snorted.

“I still don’t know what that means.” Steve said. “But I have plenty of charisma!”

“You know, if you actually paid attention to what me or your children said every once in a while you’d understand us better.” You couldn’t help but laugh. Over the past few months, so many freshman had come in just to bother Steve while he was working. “How is the single mom life by the way? Am I giving you enough hours to pay the bills? Do the kids need new shoes for school?”

“I’m not the mom, I’m the babysitter.” Steve shot back, before realizing how lame that actually was then he sighed. “I think they’re doing okay. Henderson’s the only one who actively keeps up with me.”

You didn’t miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “It’s hard when they grow up.” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t put you in a home.”

Steve snorted and brushed your hand off. “Says the one older than me.” he rolled his eyes.

“See, I don’t have six kids to raise, so I’m going to stay young and fun forever, Harrington.” you teased. “You’ve got a full brood to look after. Oh look, I think I see a gray hair right there!”

You reached over to touch his hair and he swatted you away again. “Like hell there is!” he said, mild panic in his voice. You didn’t let up and kept reaching for his hair and he kept pushing you off.

“Yup, that’s a gray one, you’re about to go full Doc Brown on me before the end of the year!” You declare as he attempted to push you off.

Despite him trying to push you off, there was a smile on his face. A lot of nights ended like this with you annoying him and teasing him for his relationship with so many kids. It was endearing really.

The door to the front of the store rang and you two immediately jumped apart as a girl came in, looking to be about Steve’s age. She was pretty, and you slipped out from behind the desk to put away some movies. He really shouldn’t be flirting with the customers, you know this. But... well it was Tuesday night and you were bored and this was far more entertaining than reorganizing the movies in the back room. Less sticky too.

“Action!” You heard Steve call from up front and you moved casually between the aisles and cringed. Oh, no. He was doing the bit again. How many times have you told him that it wouldn’t work? “Oh, I’m sorry you’re so beautiful I thought you were an actress.”

You had to bite your hand to stop yourself from laughing. You couldn’t handle this, this didn’t work the first dozen times, why the hell would it work now? Steve’s voice carried easily, projecting around the video store and allowing you to hear every single word that came out of his mouth.

You listened as Steve threw everything at this poor girl. Talking himself up as some sort of cinema aficionado when you knew the last movie he rented was Star Wars for the third time to watch with Dustin. And he called you the nerd.

“So yeah, I was thinking, beautiful girl like yourself might enjoy watching this movie with some company.” Steve said, handing over the movie. The girl in question gave a polite smile and declined the movie, renting the two that she had actually came for and left.

“That... was sad, Steve.” you said, as she disappeared into the parking lot. You walked over to the counter and picked up the movie that Steve had tried to offer her. “‘The Karate Kid?’ Really? That was your big plan?”

Steve’s was leaning over the desk, bracing his hands against the side of the counter looking down. “I panicked ok?” he admitted. “I don’t know what’s going on with me. I used to be so good at getting any girl I wanted and now I keep blowing it.”

You felt for the guy, you really did. He’d gone from the top of the world to treading water in just a few short months. Steve had told you that he had been at Starcourt Mall the day of the fire, and you had a feeling that it affected him more than he let on. You’d seen him get rejected so many times, but he was always able to brush it off. This time it looked personal.

Well, he was your friend now, and as your friend it was up to you to help him out.

“I think you need to learn how to talk to women now that you’re not in high school anymore, Steve.” you said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “The tactics you used before just aren’t going to cut it now. Welcome to “life after high school” where everything you learned over the past twelve years is socially useless.”

“Yeah? And what would you know about social skills?” Steve said. “I haven’t exactly seen you going on any dates lately either.”

“Rude, but fair.” you admitted. He didn’t mean anything mean by it, but the two of you were very much opposites when it came to how you both approached things such as your social and dating life.

Steve was interested in taking any pretty face he saw out on a date. You had not been on a date in months, and had barely tried. Steve had countless tales about his time dating in high school, you went to Homecoming stag with your friends once. Steve talked about a time where he was almost having too much sex. You shamelessly rented porn from the back room and made Steve ring you up as he rolled his eyes.

He’d asked you on a date once and you almost laughed in his face. He was good looking, in a traditional sense but not your type.After thinking about it, you decided that kissing Steve sounded too much like kissing your favorite cousin. You had politely declined and he seemed relieved.

It’s not that you didn’t have an interest in dating, you did. You had tried to explain it to Steve one night, that so many people were into being popular and caring about things that you just couldn’t. You’d tried to fit in, but your interests were just weird. You could have fun at a football game if you were with friends, but that came from the excitement of being in an excited crowd and being with people you liked. You didn’t blame anyone for it, you were glad that people could care about these things. You just wished someone could get excited about the same things that you did.

You and Steve were both fish out of water, you’d just grown used to not being able to breathe.

“Sorry.” said Steve, standing up straight again. “That was below the belt.”

“You’re a dick, but it’s fine.” you shrugged. You’d been called worse for less. “You know, I may not be the pinnacle of normalcy but I do happen to be a woman.”

“I thought you said you were the Creature from the Black Lagoon.” Steve laughed under his breath.

“Only on special occasions.” you replied. “But that’s not the point. Look, you need help getting your groove back. I’m tired of renting movies from the back. I think we could help each other.”

Steve turned to you, brows furrowed. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking we could try wing-manning for each other.” you said. “I’ll talk you up and help you not make a jackass out of yourself, and you can help me get a date too.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something smart, but he closed it quickly with a tilt of his head. He looked to the side, thinking about the proposal.

“You can’t do any worse with my help.” you said. “I mean, that ‘actress’ line was bad. Really bad. Like, horrible. I don’t know why you keep using it.”

“It worked with Linda Mendelli.” Steve said defensively.

“Yeah, I have no idea who that is.” you said.

“She got the lead in the spring musical two years ago.”

“So your actress line worked on a high school actress once.” you laughed. “That explains everything.”

“Like you could come up with a better line!” Steve pouted.

“I can think of a million different lines that would work better than that. And I’ll share them with you, if we have a deal.” you said.

“So you want me to get you a date?” he clarified. “That’s what you want out of this?”

“That’s what I get out of this. Well, that and I can stop nearly puking when I have to listen to you come up with some weird line when a cute girl walks in. It would save me a lot of money on nausea medication.” You smirked.

Steve thought about it for a moment before looking you up and down. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re already not interested in changing anything about yourself to make this easier on me.”

“Again, that’s really rude. That is correct though, you get me a date as I am. No make-over montage, no pretending I’m something I’m not. I spent all of high school trying to be something else, and I’m done with that.” you said firmly.

Steve turned away from you, ran his fingers through his hair, and then turned back, offering his hand. “Fine, you have a deal.”

With a smile, you spat in your hand and grabbed his in a firm shake. “Deal.”

“Ew!” he jerked his hand back as you laughed. Steve wiped his hand on his pants looking disgusted. “That’s so gross, you really are giving me a run for my money.”

“Right then,” you said with an amused grin. “Let’s start with lesson one, and stop with any stupid pick-up lines to get attention.”

Over the next few weeks, in the slow times during work where there was nothing to do but dust the shelves and rewind tapes, you coached Steve on how to talk to women.

“It’s really not that hard.” you explained one night. “It really does come down to just two things; be sincere and be confident. You already have probably too much confidence coming out your ass, but the sincerity isn’t there. You keep throwing these random lines out and hoping something sticks. Fine, that works in high school but not anymore.”

“I’m always sincere about asking them on a date!” he protests. “I’m not just asking every girl I see out on a date!”

“That’s statistically incorrect but I’ll humor you.” you said, as you organized the candy shelf, restocking the skittles. “I believe it when you ask a girl out, but you’re so oblivious about them as people. Newsflash, not all girls are the same Harrington.”

“Yeah, some of them are you.” he said, leaning against the counter, having already given up on pretending to work for the night. “How many times have you seen that Rocky Horror movie now?”

“I see it once a month with my friends at the old Cenimaplex right outside town. Been doing that since I was eighteen.” you confirmed. “I’m hoping to get to be part of the shadow cast at some point.”

“See? That’s weird. Most people maybe go see it once in October.” Steve points out.

“We aren’t talking about me, Harrington. We’re talking about the type of girls you’re into. Also, don’t knock it. I plan on dragging you along this month. It’s about time you lose your virginity.” you smirked as you ripped open a box of snickers and handed him one. “Don’t tell Keith.”

He took the candy bar. “You know I’m not a virgin. I have had sex before you know.”

You shook your head, that’d be a conversation for another day. “Let’s get back to the point. You keep asking girls out but you don’t know them.”

“I get to know them when I’m on a date.” he said.

“That’s all well and good, but you need to be able to see what kind of person they are before you go on the date. Not everyone is like me and wears their personality on their sleeves.” you explained, taking your own candy of choice off the rack. “Okay so today for example. Remember the girl that came in with the brown hair and rented out Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure?” Steve nodded. “So, she also rented out The Breakfast Club.”

“Okay? And what does that have to do with anything?” Steve asked.

“It means she has a kid sibling, and is probably a burnt out older sibling.” you said. “Loves her baby brother or sister but is also very introspective and trying to figure herself out. You came on too strong with her, asking her to a high school basketball game was too high energy.”

Steve gawked at you for a moment. “I hate that you just made sense.” He rubbed his cheeks with his hands. “Shit.”

“Dude, just pay attention to whoever you’re interested in and all the pieces will fall in place.” you said. “Pay attention to the movies, what she’s saying, and if she’s giggling at you then that’s a good sign.”

“Pay attention. Right. I can do this.” he said.

Two weeks after this conversation, Steve nabbed his first date in two months. It had taken a little bit of coaching and some hyping on your end but he got a girls number and had set up a date.

Three days after that he had another date set up.

Two days after that, another three dates.

It was the start of October now, and you were decorating the store for the season. You were standing on a ladder putting up a strand of black garland while Steve held the ladder.

“So I’m taking Shannon out on Tuesday to get ice cream at the new place down the street.” Steve explained.

“We work Tuesday.” you said.

“Tuesday morning.” Steve clarified. “Then Thursday I have two dates with Amy and Marissa since it’s my day off.”

He’d been going on about this for an hour. Steve had been going on dates steadily again for at least three weeks now. It had only been a little over a month that the two of you had agreed to the deal. Now King Steve was back, and you were now subject to every detail of his romantic escapades again. You were happy for your friend, really, but sometimes you’d sneak into the back room and organize the porn just to give you a moment away from hearing about your friends new-found sex life.

It didn’t need to make sense, it just needed to work.

“Do you ever stop to sleep?” you asked, taping up the final end of garland and coming back down the ladder.

“Sometimes I sleep before I have to sneak out a window after I’ve-”

“Nope. No more words, Harrington.” you said, holding up a hand as he laughed. “I get it, I’ll give you more hours so that you can expand your condom budget. Your poor kids must feel neglected while you find them a new mom.”

“I thought you said that I was the single mom?” Steve asked as you both moved the ladder to a new spot. He handed you a bat from the box that held the Halloween decorations.

“Oh, you are. Your kids can have two moms, I’ll allow it.” you said, hopping up on the ladder again. “Hey look, I’m Ozzie Osbourn!”

Jokingly you bit at the head of the bat as Steve looked up at you as if you were insane. “...What?”

You frowned and looked down at him. “Black Sabbath?” you asked. “The guy bit a bats head off on stage?” Now he was looking at you like you were a total psychopath. “Oh come on, you didn’t hear about that? The first time it was a fake bat but then he somehow managed to grab a real bat?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual.” Steve said, shaking his head. “What movie is Black Sabbath again?”

It was your turn to stare at him now. “How are we even friends?” you asked. “You and I don’t have a single thing in common. ‘What movie is Black Sabbath’ be so for real right now.”

“You asked me last week if the Pacers was a marathon I was going to race!” Steve shot back.

“And I stand by that, because that does NOT sound like the name of a basketball team.” You climbed higher on the ladder to hang the bat.

“You’re thinking of the Fitness Gram Pacer Test.”

“Sports!” you cried out, giving the bat a small bap to make it swing. “Movement like that means nothing to me!” you gave a pause. “Unless you’re actually going to compete. I’ll care for your sake if you’re playing. Otherwise I’m just gonna smile and nod. Give me another bat.”

Steve dug into the box again to pull out another bat for you. “So what’s Black Sabbath then?” he finally asked.

“Look at you taking my lessons to heart and asking questions about a girls interest!” You reached down and pat his hair, causing him to swat you away again with a comment about not touching his hair. “It’s a metal band.”

“I didn’t think you were into metal.” Steve said as you came back down the ladder.

“I’m into anything I like.” you said simply. “Why limit yourself, you know? If I like something I need to learn everything about it or I feel like my brain will explode.”

“You’re kind of weird.”

“I know.”

The two of you continued to decorate the store between taking care of customers. You were going a bit overboard, if you were honest. Keith had handed you a pathetic box of a few paper decorations to use, and you had gone out with your own money to buy more. If you were expected to be here to earn a paycheck you may as well get something out of it, even if it was the feeling of being surrounded by cheesy holiday memorabilia.

“So how are the kids, Harrington?” you asked, untangling a fake spiders web.

Steve sighed, messing with the candy counter. “Dustin’s doing good. He’s made a friend at school.”

“You seem tense about that.” you looked over at him. “Care to share with the class how that makes you feel?”

“I don’t feel anything about it.” Steve said, clearly defensive. “Henderson has a new cool older friend who’s into the same nerdy shit he’s into.”

Steve was so jealous, it was written all over his face. How long had he been the cool older figure in that kid's life?

“Should have taken him up on playing D&D with him.” you said with a grin. “Now your child is going to divorce you for a new dad.”

“You really need to sort out whatever metaphor you’re going to use with me and these kids.”

“Nah, gotta keep you on your toes.”

Steve shook his head with a laugh. “It’s funny you know? One minute I’m the coolest guy in the room to everyone. I was king of Hawkins High, had these kids that annoyed the shit out of me but looked up to me, and the best girlfriend I could have asked for. Then I graduated, the kids took over school, and now I’m single even after going on all these dates.”

“Yeah, life’s funny like that.” you agreed. “If it makes you feel any better I don’t think you’re super lame. You’re actually kind of an alright dude.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

“...So speaking of you going on dates.” you started slowly, unsure how to bring this up.

“Right, yeah, so I said I was going out with Amy and Marissa on Thursday-” Steve started.

“No not that,” you interrupted. “Well, sort of but not really. So I’ve held up my end of the bargain, Harrington.”

Steve froze for a moment before looking up at you on the ladder. “Oh, right. So about that, I have no idea what you even like in a guy.”

“Fair enough, I have not exactly been as pro-active as you have been.” The past few weeks had been so busy with the changing of seasons and weeding out old movies that you hadn’t really had time to think about dates. You’d been stuck in a perpetual loop of work and school with the occasional odd movie night with Steve and Robin when they were free.

“So what do you like?” he asked. “If you want my help, you’re gonna have to open up about that.”

“Oh but that involves being vulnerable with King Steve of Hawkins High and that’s not exactly my style.” you sighed dramatically.

“Last week when we got together for movie night you got drunk and cried about how you got asked out to prom as a joke. Is that not opening up or being vulnerable?”

You winced and made a face. “I did that? Yikes. I’m never drinking again.” You did remember renting out Carrie with the others and crying because she had been a very relatable character in your early high school years. Things were a lot better now that you left high school, but you supposed that had struck a nerve.

“Come on, just give me something to work with. I know you’re a weirdo who obsesses over the most random things. You like Rocky Horror and anything with music. But what do you like in a guy?” Steve pressed.

You fiddled with the decoration that had been perfectly hung a moment ago, just to give you something to do with your hands. This was a very good question that you had thought about a lot.

“I guess I want someone who’s as weird as I am.” you finally said. “I’d like to at least meet someone who understood the things I cared about, or was at least willing to learn. I know I’m different, and I’m okay with being different. I want a guy who gets being like that, and won’t make me feel less for it.”

“That’s... specifically vague.” Steve said, thinking. “I was thinking more looks wise.”

“I like guys with long hair.” you said immediately.

That he could probably work with. You hopped off the ladder for the last time and he helped you pack it away in the storage closet.

Steve was thinking hard about what to do about his end of the bargain when the door rang and someone walked inside.

“Steve!” A voice called out, and your co-workers face immediately lit up and ran to the front of the store.

“Henderson!”

You watched as the two boys ran to each other, immediately going into a secret handshake that you couldn’t help but find endearing. The kids that Steve was friends with were always fun, but you had to admit that you had a soft spot for Dustin. That was a kid who knew who he was and wasn’t afraid to be it. You admired that a lot about him.

Deciding to give them a bit of space, you made yourself busy with the horror movie section, making sure that everything was in place. Lucky for you though, those two were still very much boys and you could hear every single part of their conversation.

It’s not eavesdropping if they’re that loud. Probably.

“The store looks great!” Dustin said, looking around. “You guys really went all out with the decorations, huh?”

“Yup, we just got finished. She bought most of this stuff herself.” Steve gestured to you and you gave a wave.

“Hey, Dustin!” you called out, and he waved back.

“They’ve started putting up decorations at school too, but people keep stealing them.” Dustin said. “There are at least three skeletons missing from the science labs.”

“Those aren’t decorations, Henderson. I think those are supposed to be educational.” Steve replied.

“Not when they’re wearing witches hats and cat ears.” Dustin countered. Steve shrugged in agreement.

“So is school going alright? How’s Lucas doing on the team? What about Mike?” Steve asked and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. Steve could deny it all he wanted, but he was absolutely a single mother to these kids. You wished that you had a way to record him so that he could see the way he was fussing over them.

“Lucas is still a bench-warmer.” Dustin said, grabbing a candy bar from the snack stand. You conveniently were too busy making sure that a copy of Sleepaway Camp was properly rewound to notice the blatant theft. “He still goes to practice every week, but he hasn’t been on the court yet. He’s been making a lot of cool and popular friends.”

There was no hiding the disdain in his voice when he said that.

“Well Basketball is the best way to secure your ranking at Hawkins.” Steve said. “I would know.”

“Yeah but it seems like he never has time to even come to Hellfire Club anymore. We’re lucky if he makes it to one or two sessions a month.” Dustin sighed. “He totally blew off me and Mike last week to go hang out with his cool new friends.”

“You know, you have an in with the popular crowd now Henderson. You could use this as a chance to be popular.” Steve pointed out.

“But I don’t want to be popular, Steve! I’m happy with the friends I have and enjoying what I like.”

“Ignore Steve, he’s stupid. Keep doing what you’re doing, kid!” you called out to them, making Dustin laugh and Steve sigh.

“Thank you.” Dustin said before turning to Steve again. “Anyway, Eddie says that conformity is overrated. He says it’s better to be a freak with a few friends than some weird version of normalcy and be miserable.”

“Right, because ‘the freak’ is so wise.” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“He is!” Dustin frowned. “You know, he’s the only person who’s been nice to me and Mike since we started school. And last session he had us-”

That was when you started tuning the conversation out. You looked up at the clock and swore, you had some work to do in the back before your shift is over.

“Steve, watch the front for me. I’ll be finishing up in the back.” you called out, and Steve only waived in response.

Once you were out of earshot, Steve held up a hand to Dustin to signal him to stop talking.

“What?” asked Dustin. “You told me that I get at least five uninterrupted minutes to talk about the campaign when we hang out.”

“Yeah, and I’ll let you have seven minutes if you help me out.” Steve said.

“Seven? An extra two minutes? Make it ten.” Dustin crossed his arms,

“Eight.”

“Deal. What do you need?”

Steve stares at Dustin for a second. He doesn’t want to ask this question, as he never had any interest in knowing anything about Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. Eddie had been a stagnant 2 years ahead of him and somehow still hadn’t graduated. Steve couldn’t comprehend being 20 and still in high school, and he almost felt bad for entertaining this thought. Then again, you had also spent an extra semester at school, so maybe that wouldn’t be a deterrent.

“I need you to tell me more about Eddie.” Steve finally managed to get out. Dustin looked like Christmas had suddenly come early.

“You want to know more about Eddie?” Dustin had a shit-eating grin on his face that Steve hated. “Since when do you have an interest in Dungeons and Dragons?”

“I still don’t.” Steve said firmly. “I never have and never will understand your game. And I’m not asking about him for me, I’m asking about him for her.” He motioned to the door to the back room.

“Her?” Dustin looked at the door, as if he could see you through the flimsy wood. “Is she wanting to play?”

“I don’t know, probably? She’s made enough references to playing before. Listen, no, that’s not what this is about.” Steve sighed. “We have this deal going on. She’d help me get dates if I helped her get a date. And she followed through, and I still have no idea how to get her a date.”

“She wants to date Eddie?” Dustin had a look on his face that was a mix of surprise and confusion. “How does she know him?”

“I don’t think she knows Eddie.” Steve said. “But she wants someone weird and as much as I hate to admit it, your new friend might actually fit her criteria.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Dude, come on.”

“Fifteen uninterrupted minutes, and you let me rent an R rated movie.”

“Jesus, Henderson.”

“Deal or no deal?”

Steve turned and looked at the door that you had disappeared behind. You had been a good friend to him over the past four months, a really good friend. You and Robin had been able to keep him grounded and going after the Starcourt Fire. You’d more than held up your end of the bargain.

“Fine, deal.” Steve agreed.

Dustin smiled and seemed content. “So what do you want to know?”

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile

Part 2

Dividers by @strangergraphics

#eddie munson x reader #nacht fic #wing man

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

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A Little Sun pt 1 DieterBravo x f!Reader

rating: 18+ (future chapters)

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x f! Reader (no detailed physical descriptions, no use of y/n)

summary: As a PA to megastar and mega man-child Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way. (plot prompt inspired by 'Daddy Dieter' by @absurdthirst on Ao3 - read their story, its really wonderful!)

warnings/tags: Unplanned Pregnancy, Surrogacy, Family Issues, Sweet!Dieter, Drugs, Alcohol, Getting Drunk, Boss/Employee Relationship,

a/n: I am actively tryin' to make everyone a Dieter Bravo stan. He is slept on in this fandom istg.

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Part 1: First Trimester

"With every newborn baby, a little sun rises." - Irmgard Erath

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Being actor Dieter Bravo's assistant comes with many boons. You get to hob-knob with celebrities, attend galas and parties, get to travel the world and you get paid decently. The downside?

You have to work for Dieter man-child Bravo.

He's an impossibly immature, inconsiderate man who's flakier than your mother's pie dough.

When he isn't being a walking hypocrite who won't eat processed foods but has no problem taking copious amounts of coke, he's making your life a living hell. He loves to party and experiment with whatever drug is in vogue. Too often you're scraping him off a club floor and dragging him home.

One memorable experience was flying by private jet over to Moscow to bring him home for the Academy Awards (which he fucking won because some people have all the luck) after he'd followed some hot Russian male model there and Dieter was convinced he was going to give up his citizenship and stay in Russia forever.

Your mother cannot stand him. She reads about his exploits in the tabloids. She thinks your job is a waste of your talents.

She's not wrong.

But this will all be worth it when you have enough to pay off the mortgage on your family home. As soon as you can your mother can stop working herself into an early grave pulling double shifts at the hospital.

You'll be able to move out into your own place and then you'll be able to finally go back to school and finish your Masters program. The one you had to quit so you could help support your mom after your father unexpectedly died.

You'd been lucky to land the gig with Bravo. Plucked from the group of giggling models who whispered how excited they were to have Dieter Bravo as their boss. You held your resume and reference letters tightly, your mind focused on the salary listed.

When you walked into the office to be interviewed with your long sleeves, high neckline and impressive resume his manager had been intrigued. When she asked what your favorite Dieter Bravo movie was and you had replied "Uh, I don't think I've seen many of his movies" she had given a wry smile and declared you a perfect fit for the job and hired you on the spot.

Dieter had been disappointed. You remember the way his eyes roved over your body in your frumpy clothes and your serious face. He had been looking for fun. You weren't fun.

You were a planner. You were someone who liked doing her job well. And your job was him. Getting him to set on time, organizing his appointments, dropping him with his publicist Diane so she could stop him from saying dumb shit to the tabloids when they cornered him and asked about his ex boyfriend or girlfriend.

You put up with a lot of his shit.

You also listen to a lot of the shit he says. The theories he has about the Hollywood elite, the creative outlets he wants to pursue, the scripts he has to read. You've learned to tune out his really stupid ideas.

The idea of fatherhood comes to Dieter after his latest relationship crashes and burns. In typical Bravo fashion it's a spur of the moment event. A decision with no forethought. He mentions it casually over breakfast as you run through his schedule for the day.

"I'm gonna be a dad."

"Oh yeah? Who's the lucky lady?" you reply drolly, bringing up his schedule on the tablet in your hand.

"Dunno. Haven't decided yet." He leans back in his chair, serene smile on his face.

You keep in the eye roll and go over what he's doing that day. He continues looking dreamily off into the distance, not paying attention.

You assume that this baby thing is similar to the goat therapy sanctuary: an amusing idea that strikes him as fun and that will exit as quickly and quietly as it arrived in his brain.

But a month later Dieter comes home in a foul mood slamming the door to his large home behind him.

"I thought you women wanted commitment!"

You look up from your desk. You've been busy all morning managing his socials. "Huh?"

"You remember my ex? Annika?"

"Yeah."

"We broke up because she wanted kids and I didn't," Dieter says throwing himself dramatically into the chair opposite you. "So I figure she's perfect for this! I went to see her and told her I wanted to settle down and have a baby."

"And what did she say?"

"To leave her dentist's office and never contact her again."

"Wait," you lower your phone. "You went to her dentist's office?"

"That's where her fiancé said she was and I couldn't wait!"

"Her fiancé told you that?"

"Yeah," Dieter groans, not seeing how it was inappropriate. "I'm getting older by the second. I don't wanna be too old to be a dad."

You hold in a sigh, seeing that he's beside himself. Dieter is a successful actor, this is true. But he's just as famous for his hard-partying and wild sex-capades. No woman in her right mind would willingly have a child with such a man.

"If you're that desperate to be a dad then adopt," you say trying to hold in your disdain. You don't think Dieter Bravo should be anywhere near anything to do with a child. And you know he won't be approved for adoption so there's no harm in suggesting it.

"No. I want to pass on my genes."

You give him a raised brow in return. The same genetics that give him his impossibly luscious hair and beautiful brown eyes are also responsible for his love for drugs and spontaneous decision making.

"What did your friend Becky do again?" Dieter asks sitting cross-legged in his chair. "The one who couldn't get pregnant with her husband?"

You're shocked he remembers this tidbit of your life at all. You kind of just assume he's not listening all that closely when you talk about a topic that doesn't directly involve him.

"Surrogacy. She paid someone else to carry her kid."

"Amazing," Dieter says slapping the desk in delight. "That's what I'll do! Obviously I want them to have all my hot characteristics. But I need the ying to my yang so the kid's balanced ya know?"

You don't mention that this is dangerously close to playing with eugenics. Instead you just nod, reading your work phone and then typing in more info onto the tablet.

This is a Bravo phase. It'll pass.

He gets like this about projects that initially interest him, but sooner or later he'll be pulled back into the lure of partying and drugs and easy men and women to warm his bed.

Dieter is watching you, studying you as you work. You've been his assistant for a year and you're good at what you do, despite your personality clashes. He drums his fingers on the desk, eyes narrowing on you.

"I need someone educated."

"Mhmmm." You're really only half listening at this point.

"Where did you go to school again?"

"Stanford."

Dieter nods, bringing a knee to his chest and balancing against it. He reminds you of a bored child.

"Right, that's what I thought," Dieter nods, watching you type quickly away on the keyboard.

You're very good at your job, very organized, very sharp. When he arrives at galas you're always there at his elbow to remind him of everyone's name in a whisper. You've never let him down.

You're good looking, even if you try to hide it under ugly clothes and hair you don't give a second thought to. He tilts back, trying to imagine you pregnant. Would your tits get bigger? The thought is very enticing.

"Cancer or heart disease run in your family?"

This draws your attention up from your phone which you now lower to the table and fix him with a dark look.

"If you're suggesting what I think you are, you can stop right there."

"Why?" Dieter asks, eyes wide and pleading. "Our baby would be perfect! My looks, your brains!"

"Or your brains and my looks," you scoff, although you don't think you're that bad looking. "Besides, I have no interest in having children."

Especially with you.

You've never understood the appeal of children, especially babies. But if you were to be fooled into thinking that it was a wise venture the last person on the face of the planet you would do so with would be the man seated across from you.

"I'll pay you!"

You lower the cell phone to the desk, trying not to come off too judgmental. He is your boss after all and you need the work.

"You really think you're ready for fatherhood, Dieter?"

He looks affronted. "Of course I am."

"You think doing coke, partying and jetting off to different sets to film all over the world is really the best thing for a child?"

"Lots of actors have kids and-"

"You think a man who relies on his staff to keep him fed and his house clean could really understand the responsibility that comes along with raising a child?" You scoff. "Have you ever even changed a diaper?"

"I wasn't born into this life," Dieter says between clenched teeth. "I know how to make a fucking bed and change a diaper. I've changed diapers before. Remember that Mister Mom reboot I did?"

You do all you can not to burst out laughing at that. He's talking about the "parent boot camp" he and his co-star on the film had to go through in order to play parents convincingly. It included a two-day workshop on diaper changing, bottle feeding and basic child development.

Apparently it had been a little too convincing because after that movie his female co-star had claimed to have no interest in having children ever.

"You think a man who has to have a full time personal assistant and two publicists just to keep his image decent Is the kind of person who should be bringing a child into the world?" You scoff. "You think-"

"I get it!" Dieter erupts, throwing himself from his chair. "You think I'm a piece of shit that should never have children! Thanks. Message received."

You watch him stalk off, a pit in your stomach.

///

Another month rolls by, one marked by strain on your end. Ever since you're heavy chat with Dieter he's been a little colder to you, a little more withdrawn.

At least once a week before his outburst Dieter would insist you stay for dinner to run lines with him. He doesn't do that anymore. Before your fight he'd order your favorite meal from the Pad Thai place nearby and you'd spend a few hours going through the lines with him.

You liked having a front row seat to the Dieter Bravo show because he's a good actor. He likes red wine when he's running lines. He always offers you a glass and you always decline because it's unprofessional to drink on the job.

On those evenings you find it easier to chat with Dieter about life. Those evenings you don't have to worry about getting him to interviews or fetching him coffee.

He asks you about your friends and family and you tell him surface level things. He doesn't know about your mom's long hours and a mortgage you can barely afford. He doesn't need to know.

You never realized how much you enjoyed those nights until they stopped

///

You're in his town car driving with him to a Vanity Fair interview the following month. One where they hook him up to a lie detector. You're very thankful that you're not his publicist on days like this because you can only imagine what they'll be asking him and what his answers will be.

Today will be spent grabbing him coffees and making sure he doesn't pass out in the green room. For his last BuzzFeed interview he'd been so out of it you'd had to pretend he had a dental emergency and cancel at the last second.

"Okay so after this then you're meeting that French director about the Regency piece," you tell him as you check his schedule. It's packed full of things he needs to accomplish.

"Mhmmm."

Dieter has his sunglasses on despite it being overcast today in LA. He's got his black crocs on underneath striped socks and he taps them gently as he stares out the window at the passing LA landscape.

"And then we need to go for your tux fitting for the-"

"I know you think it's a terrible idea," Dieter interrupts sullenly. "But I found someone to have my baby."

You pause what you were about to say, glancing over to him in interest. He's staring at you, sunglasses tipped down his nose so he can fix you with an intense stare.

"She's a model," he tells you like a petulant child. "Stunning. My child will be beautiful."

"Congratulations," you say after a beat. Dieter gives a scoff.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Do you want me to organize a flash mob?" You say with a curl of your lip. "I hope she signed an NDA."

"Of course she did," Dieter sneers. "And since I'm paying her $75,000 for it she won't say a damn thing."

"Well then, good luck," you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. "I hope you and your future child are very happy."

"We will be. I'm going to love that kid to death," he tells you ardently. "My kid is never going to go without."

You can see Dieter narrow his eyes before pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. He leans back in his seat, looking sour.

Despite everything you feel a stab of regret go through you. There are plenty of worse people in the world that have children. Because yes, Dieter is immature and yes he has his vices, but you've seen him with his young fans. He's a natural, more at ease with them than the adults who try to get too close for photos.

"I'm genuinely happy for you," you tell him. "Your child will be very lucky to have a father that loves them so much."

It never takes much to thaw the ice from Dieter Bravo. He likes being liked too much. He flashes you his megawatt smile that you return before turning back to his schedule.

"Alright so, after the tux fitting..."

///

You give a sigh, shrugging off your jacket and padding to your kitchen later that evening. Your mom is there, sipping her nightly tea. She looks more tired than you, despite you working a fifteen hour day.

She gives your forehead a kiss, telling you there's leftovers waiting for you in the fridge before brushing the hair from your eyes.

"You're home late."

"Busy day," you yawn, grabbing dinner leftovers from the fridge and nuking them in the microwave. "He had a bunch of meetings, fittings, had to run through his script a few times."

You sit down with your dinner, taking a forkful and eating quickly. You're exhausted and tomorrow will be much of the same. It's always like this around award season.

"Shocked he didn't get you to read him a bedtime story too," your mother scowls. She's never hidden her disdain for Dieter.

You smile, thinking that if Dieter knew a bedtime story was an option he would probably take it. You know he hates being alone.

The ping from your phone draws your attention. You have an alert set to Dieter’s name, just in case you and Diane need to work overtime on a Bravo-related catastrophe. But when you click on the link it goes to a Reddit thread from the Dieter Bravo subreddit. You glance and see its just one of the run-of-the-mill tabloid photos.

Every so often you're caught in them, listed as "Bravo employee". The first time it had happened you'd been mortified by the unflattering photo of you reading out Dieters schedule as he smoked a cigarette, looking off into the distance.

In these photos today much like the others you're on your phone mid-sentence. Dieter is smiling at you, hand holding his coffee by the top. It's fairly innocuous as far as photos go but the comments are anything but.

Do u think he's hooking up with his PA? Look at these photos.

It's called a job people! She has to be with him all the time.

He looks so fucking hot

Gross no.

I think he's hooking up with Luke Evans??

I will now be identifying as a coffee cup

She's literally looking at her phone. How is this anything?

It's giving secret romance look at their body language

Omg his hands are so big.

I bet he's crazy in bed.

They've totally hooked up

He's so into her look at how he's looking at her!

You roll your eyes and try not to laugh out loud. Your mother glances over at you and shakes her head.

"When are you going to quit working for that loser and go back to school?"

Your mom doesn't really understand why you quit school. She would feel like a burden if she did. But every month you pay off more and more of her mortgage, the better and freer you feel. It’ll be a few years more, but you can manage.

"Soon," you tell your mother with a small smile. “Soon.”

///

"Fuck I hate these things," Dieter says in the back of a limo a few weeks later. You're all headed to a film and theatre awards show.

"Since when?"

"Since I have to present an award and I'm sober."

“You are?”

This surprises you. Rarely has Dieter Bravo ever been sober during awards season. Even the year he won his Oscar he'd been flying high before his name was even engraved on the statuette.

You go to grab your second phone, wanting to check something about scheduling when you realize your purse is back at Dieters. Fuck. You'll have to stop there on your way back tonight.

"You look nice," he tells you offhandedly as he tugs at his bow tie. He usually sees you in jeans and a t-shirt. Tonight your hair is sleek, your makeup glamorous and your dress feminine and lacy.

"Yeah well I heard Robert Pattinson will be there tonight," you say with a small smile. "Gonna shoot my shot."

Dieter rolls his eyes dramatically at this before his publicist Diane draws his attention to some talking points.

"You need to return the watch before you hit up the after parties," she says, motioning to his wrist where he wears a diamond encrusted timepiece from Cartier.

"Aye aye captain."

When the limo pulls up to the red carpet surrounded on both sides by groups of screaming fans you see Dieter swallow.

He loves a lot about acting, but this? The rabid fans, the constant screaming of his name? It stresses him out. He's told you this many times before.

Despite your irritation with Dieter most days, there is a part of you that genuinely enjoys his company. He's creative and funny and blunt in a way that you appreciate.

"You've got this Bravo," you tell him, squeezing his hand reassuringly before pulling back. He smiles at you, slipping on his sunglasses and taking a deep breath.

You and Diane exit out the left side doors as Dieter exits out the right onto the red carpet. Screams at ear -splitting volumes begin the second his boot hits the carpet.

"I LOVE YOU DIETER!'

"OMG ITS HIM!"

"He's so hot!"

"Do you think he's gonna do something weird?"

"DIETER SIGN MY BOOBS!"

Dieter waves and smiles, ignoring the more bizarre requests. His publicist warned him if he is serious about having a kid he needs to work on his image. You wonder how long this will last.

"Dieter Bravo have my baby!" One woman of about fifty shouts holding a hand towards him in desperation. Dieter waves at her and she looks as if she might faint.

"There you go," you whisper to his back as he moves to the next photographer. "If the model doesn't work out at least you have options."

He smirks at you before going to pose for the litany of flash bulbs and photographers.

Inside the auditorium you and Diane guide Dieter behind the stage. He's paired up to present with an up and coming actress who makes moon eyes up at him. Her name is Mia Rowe and she's as gorgeous in real life as she is talented.

"Hi Mr. Bravo," she says batting her eyes up at him.

"Hi beautiful," Dieter purrs. You hold in an eye roll, sure to take note of this woman. Odds are you'll be calling her a cab from Dieter's place later this evening.

"Bravo! I was hoping you'd be here!"

A tall blonde man with perfect teeth walks over, dressed in a form fitting tux. It makes Dieters bright pink checkered tux look cartoonish, but that's kinda what you liked about it.

Corey Brigham, the UK's answer to what would happen if you created the most handsome yet unlike-able person on the planet. He and Dieter go way back, both big in the party and drug scene.

"Was hoping you'd be here," Corey says with a wink, tapping his breast pocket. "I was just heading to the bathroom if you'd care to join."

"I'm not uh, doing that tonight," Dieter says to his friend. "Just sticking to booze."

You overhear this, surprised. You wonder if this is to do with his desire for fatherhood. If so you're a little impressed. Mia looks up at Dieter with a curious expression. As if she's impressed as well, or perhaps that she's surprised Dieter isn't what she expected.

The alcohol is flowing backstage and since you're a lightweight it takes very little to have you giggling behind your hand.

You never drink at these things, but once Dieter is done presenting your off for the night. You can enjoy yourself a little bit, especially when the booze is high end and free.

When Dieter presents the award with Mia you're very proud to see him sticking to his lines and being professional.

"Fuck, I have to go," Diane announces to you midway through the show, clutching her cellphone. "My kids in the hospital, the nanny just texted."

"Oh my gosh," your hand goes to hers. "Is everything okay?"

"He's had an allergic reaction," Diane says, her eyes wet. "I'm supposed to make sure Dieter returns the watch-"

"Go!" You insist, pushing her gently. "I'll make sure he returns it."

"I couldn't-"

"Go!"

Diane shoots you a grateful smile before tucking herself when you to her purse and making a mad dash for the exit. You watch from behind the curtain as the awards ceremony starts.

You decline further drinks after the midpoint, but you're still more than a little tipsy when you walk over to wrangle Dieter at the end of the show. He usually loves to hit up the after parties and you need to make sure he returns the Cartier watch before he goes.

You tap him on his broad shoulder, interrupting what seems to be a very intense (flirtatious) conversation with a redhead with the best pair of fake tits you've ever seen.

He turns irritated at first but his face quickly blooms into amusement as you stare up at him wavering slightly on your feet.

"Well, well, well," Dieter says smugly. "Miss Professional is drunk."

"I am not!" You insist, trying as hard as you can to keep the slur from your voice. "I'm just... I just had a little."

"You're slurring."

"Am not."

"Sure," Dieter laughs. "I bet you can't even walk in a straight line."

You immediately put one foot in front of the other, making a straight line from one side of the hallway floor to the other. You shoot him a victorious smile as he claps.

"My mistake," he drawls. "You’re obviously sober. I must have just overlooked that you always walk around with your eyes half open."

The redhead, irritated at being ignored gives a small sigh through her nose before bidding Dieter a sharp goodbye. You watch her walk off and grimace.

"Well you just cost me a date for the after party," Dieter laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders and walking towards the entrance where photographers have gathered.

"Don't do that," you grumble. "Someone'll take a photo and get the wrong idea."

Dieter straightens immediately, but the amusement is still there in his features.

"So I guess you're gonna have to be my date," he teases, knowing full well how much you hate parties and that you'd never be invited in.

"Yeah right," you sneer. "I'd rather slide down a banister of razors into a pool of lemon juice."

"Guess I'll just have to find someone to keep me company then," Dieter says before winking at you. "I'll be at the Chateau Marmont if you change your mind."

He's out the door and in his limo before you remember why you needed to talk to him.

The fucking watch!

Cartier will have a fit if it's not returned this evening and Diane will be so disappointed in you on top of a very stressful night for her.

You have to run about three blocks in your heels to find a taxi to drive you. Traffic is majorly backed up thanks to the award ceremony and it takes you over an hour to get to Chateau Marmont.

At first the front desk won't let you past the entryway even when you tell them who you work for. You collapse onto a chair and try in vain to call Dieter. Not shockingly he doesn't pick up.

It's not until Mia Rowe arrives amidst screaming paparazzi and sees you near tears that she takes your hand and cites that you're with her. You thank her profusely and make a mental note to see every one of her movies in theaters for the rest of your life.

She's walks with you into the bustling party before releasing your hand and wishing you good luck. It doesn't take long to find Dieter in the crowd, you simply have to go to where there's the most noise.

He's in the middle of the group regaling them with one of his stories about the horrors of filming cliff beasts 5. He's got his arm around a young, very good looking Latin man you think is a singer. You watch as Dieter breaks off from what he was saying to kiss the young man thoroughly, tongues dueling as the music pulse around you.

Shit that's hot.

You don’t often see Dieter in the throes of passion but you’ve walked in on Dieter with his fair share of men and women waking up after a rowdy party or two. Seeing him here though with the club music like a heartbeat in your abdomen and his full mouth pressed to the handsome man’s makes you feel… something.

The two break apart and Dieter is about to say something more to the group when his eyes land on you.

"You made it!" Dieter slurs happily when you make your way towards him. "Take a shot!"

The crowd around him cheers as he produces a shot glass for you. Everyone is either coked out of their minds or massively drunk. It makes you jealous that your job has no glamour whatsoever.

"Here! Take a shot!" Dieter insists. "It's called the Bravo because uh... I forgot. But it’s good!"

You stumble over to him, not wanting to draw too much attention to the million dollar piece he's currently wearing on his wrist. Your mouth goes to his earlobe, lower lip catching the cool metal of his earring and the young man at his left shoots daggers at you.

"Dieter no, I need to return the-"

"The watch, I know," Dieter says with a smirk, his whisky tainted breath huffing along your cheeks. "I knew you'd have to come here to get it."

That asshole.

"You think I have nothing better to do than chase you all over this fucking city?" you shout, barely heard over the thrumming music.

Dieter just looks down at you amused and drunk. "Oh loosen up. I'll give you the watch."

"Good." You hold out your hand which he promptly places a shot glass into.

"As soon as you have a drink with me."

"I can't-"

You want to deny him this, to just get the watch and go to Cartier. But you're still tipsy and you're at a Hollywood after party and wait-

"Is that Robert Pattinson?" You croak pointing to a handsome figure entering the room. Dieter squints over before nodding and smiling crookedly.

"Twilight himself."

Holy shit.

"Okay," you say, smoothing your hair back. "One drink."

///

You're both absolutely obliterated by the time you head to Dieters limo and you're not sure who is worse.

You think you must be decently in control of your faculties because at least you remember to tell the limo to stop at Cartier where a very angry employee is waiting.

"So sorry," you slur at him as you pass him the watch in its box over the counter sheepishly. He makes you sign something before you clamor back into the limo next to Dieter who is drinking straight out of a whisky bottle.

He offers you the bottle and you take a sip. Just to be polite.

Then another sip to be extra polite.

"Robert Pattinson was so nice," you tell Dieter for the third time since you left the party. "And so handsome."

"He's not that handsome," Dieter says, sounding like he's underwater. "Where d'you live?"

"Over there," you say pointing in the general direction of your house. Dieter nods, telling the impossibly patient driver to go left.

"Wait my keys are at your house," you slur, eyes only half open. "How m'I gonna get in my house?"

"You need your keys," Dieter says loudly. "Less'go! My house!"

You're both barely able to walk when you come back to Dieter's place, dropped off by his limo. Like two chums you wrap your arms around each other's shoulders and trudge up his steps.

He drops his keys twice before opening the door with a groan.

"I hate wearing this stuff," he complains, pulling at the bow tie. You want to tell him that he looks nice but your mouth doesn't seem to be keeping up with your brain.

Dieter pulls off his bowtie, letting it drop to the floor. You do the same with your shoes, hating how they feel after hours on end.

"Want a drink?"

"Yes!"

"Me too!"

You both look at each other, waiting for the other person to pour the drink before collapsing into giggles. When you finally stop Dieter trips over to his bar and pours two shots of expensive vodka, spilling all over the bar top. You clink glasses and throw the shots back.

In habit Dieter turns the sprawling television on. The first thing that pops up is the discovery Channel and a documentary on giraffes. You both make a cooing sound when the camera pans to an unsteady baby giraffe just starting to walk.

"Awww I love baby animals," you say feeling oddly emotional at the tiny creature.

"I want one so bad," Dieter hiccups beside you.

"A giraffe?"

"No a baby-baby," Dieter pouts. "Want to give it everything I didn't have as a kid."

You've never really understood why Dieter wanted a baby until recently and in this moment you find his reasoning to be impossibly sweet.

"That's so nice!" You enthuse, finding it hard not to shout. The liquor is soaring through your veins. "You're so nice!"

Dieter smiles crookedly at you. "You think so?"

"Yeah!"

"Then why are you so mad at me all the time?" Dieter sways on his feet. "I'm so nice to you."

"You are not," you say plainly. "You're obnoxious. You do drugs so often you forget you have obligations. So then I have to babysit you so you don't get sued. You make my job stressful!"

"Oh."

Dieters head pitches forward and you can see that his eyes are closed. You've hurt him. That makes your drunken brain panic.

"But you're also really nice," you slur, gripping him by the forearm and shaking. "'Member you got me that really nice painting for my birthday?"

Dieter nods. The painting in question is of a beautiful woman overlooking the sea from behind, her stance filled with determination and her hair drifting in the breeze. It's as beautiful as it is vibrant and you'd been shocked when it arrived on your doorstep the morning of your birthday. Diane had mailed it, you recognized her handwriting.

Your mom had been amazed at it when you brought it in and opened it, citing that you needed to hang it somewhere you could look at it all day. So you had, hanging it on the wall opposite your bed. It's the first and last thing you look at every day. The woman in the portrait

"That was so nice!" You pause as your fuzzy brain tries to recall. "Did I ever thank you for that?"

"You gave me a thank you card and then told me to get ready for my BuzzFeed interview," Dieter shrugs, but that's your answer right there. He pours you both another shot of vodka which you both drink quickly.

"I have it hung up in my house," you tell him honestly. "It's in my room. I look at it every day. It's so beautiful. And nice of you!"

Nice is the only adjective that your addled brain can come up with tonight. Dieter smiles at you, a sweet little smile that has you smiling back at him. But then his handsome face crumples.

"If I'm so nice why does no one want to make a baby with me? Why do I have to pay that model?"

"I dunno," you answer honestly because right now in your drunken haze you don't really get why Dieter is single. He's handsome, rich and talented. Sure he likes cocaine and partying but there are worse things, surely!

"I know why," he says in a sad rasp. "S'cuz I'm unlovable."

"That's not true," you interject with a gasp before throwing your arms around his neck. "You're wonderful!"

You've never embraced Dieter before in all the time you've worked for him. The most you've ever done is gripped his hand in yours as you guided him through a bustling club to get to an interview he was late for or squeezed his hand like in the limo.

He's warm and he smells really good like expensive cologne. He'd dressed up well for the party tonight and you can't help but nuzzle your nose into his neck. You're both so drunk you lean against each other, not noticing when Dieter's nose glides along your neck as well.

"I think it's true," he whispers softly.

You feel impossibly sad for your boss because Dieter is so nice! The painting! You wish you'd been kinder to him. Wish you'd thanked him properly.

But wait, maybe you can?

"Dieter! I'll make a baby with you!"

You can hear Dieter's heartbeat pickup under your ear pressed against his chest.

"Really?" Dieter says, swaying. "That's what I was trying to ask before but you were so mad remember? You're always so mad at me!"

"I wasn't!" You reply sulkily, pulling back from him. You don't like being told that. You cross your arms, irritably.

"Yeah you get this lil' line between your brows when you get mad at me," Dieter says, clumsily pulling off his jacket and dropping it on the ground. "It's so cute and oh- yeah just like that!"

He's pointing at your frowning face.

"I wasn't mad," you insist, feeling the need to defend yourself. "I was just..."

You trail off as Dieter grabs you by the hips and pulls them to his. He looks down at you through his thick lashes.

"You're really pretty," he tells you through a whisky-laced hiccup. "I always thought so but I couldn't tell you."

"How come?"

"You're intimidating."

You giggle because you've never seen his face this close up and his mouth is so pouty. His eyelashes are so long you've never noticed.

"You're pretty too."

He kisses you then, his full mouth warm against yours. You kiss him back, making little whimpers when he licks into your welcome mouth.

"You kiss good!" You tell him in shock when you eventually pull back.

He smiles broadly, proud of himself. You can see the dimple in his cheek poke out. You decide that this is as good a time as any to get started. Your hands go to his belt.

"Let's make the baby now."

"Okay."

///

When you wake up the next morning hung-over and still dressed in Dieter Bravo's bed you don't automatically assume the worst. His arms are around you and he's snoring against your neck and if you weren't feeling so wretched you might have enjoyed how his warm body felt wrapped around yours.

It's not until you pad to the bathroom and begin to retch in his fancy toilet that you realize your panties are gone.

Having heard the noise Dieter stumbles into the bathroom, shocked to see his normally composed assistant kneeling over his porcelain toilet.

He leaves a few moments as you continue emptying your stomachs of its contents. When he returns he's holding two cups of what look like a disgusting green concoction. You take one from him, leaning against the counter.

"Do you remember anything?"

"Uh, I remember dropping the watch at Cartier," you say before dropping your mouth under the sink to swish some water into your dry mouth before spitting. "I remember we came here to get my keys I think? That's when it all gets blurry."

"Did we see giraffes?" Dieter asks, blinking through puffy eyes. "I feel like I remember giraffes."

You groan at your aching head before you remember your missing underwear. You glance to see Dieter is wearing his ratty green bathrobe cinched at the waist and from what you can see nothing underneath. His bulge is prominent under his bathrobe, you can't help but notice.

Dieter is staring at you, looking concerned.

"Last night... Did we?" He makes a circle with his thumb and pointer finger before making thrusting motions into it with his free forefinger.

"I...I don't remember," you croak, eyes blinking against the light streaming in from his bathroom window. You sip the green drink slowly, surprised that it doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks.

"Me neither."

"I need a Plan B just in case," you murmur, splashing cold water on your face. "You have a lot of guests stay the night... Any chance you have a box lying around?"

When he doesn't answer right away you glance over your shoulder to see Dieter has a funny look on his face. He's staring at you, blinking.

"What?"

"What if you are pregnant?" He asks quietly. "Would you consider keeping it?"

You laugh out loud. "Of course not!"

"Not even if I paid you?" Dieter asks, his voice hinting at desperation. "I'll pay you double - no, triple what I was going to pay the model surrogate."

You're about to loudly deny this request when you remember what he was offering that model: $75,000. Triple that is over $200,000. Yeah your life will be hell for nine months but then you'll be able to start a new one debt free. Your mom will be able to retire. You'll be able to go back to school.

And it's not like you ever wanted kids in the first place so you wouldn't even get attached. All that money for an inconvenience. A blip.

You can see the hunger in Dieter's eyes, the desperation, the deep need.

He does feel an aching need for this. Because drugs are awesome, making movies is fun, the money is amazing but with no one to share it with he feels lost. It feels pointless. He's fucked his way through the Hollywood elite: men and women alike. It's boring.

He tried making a real go of it with Annika but he'd fumbled it poorly and now she hated him and moved on. She was with her old co-worker and she was happy.

In truth Dieter is terrified that he cannot make another person happy. But a miniature version of himself? He could do that.

"Three hundred thousand," you say, not thinking he'll accept it.

"Deal."

Fuck why didn't I go higher?

Dieter sees you thinking, his mouth hitching into an excited grin. "So it's yes?"

"IF I agreed to the higher price point you'd be willing to honor the agreement if I got pregnant?" You venture. "The same one you were giving to that model? The one about covering all medical expenses and taking over sole custody and all that?"

"Yes."

"And I'd get the money when?"

"As soon as the baby is born. Just like the contract states."

"And the baby would never know I was its mother?"

"Never."

You pause, blinking rapidly. This all sounds too good to be true. And in all honesty, if Dieter takes this baby and forgets it on a park bench, that's none of your business or your responsibility. As far as you're concerned, this baby is a job. A very well-paying job.

"Okay fine," you say with a shaking breath. "I'll have your baby, Bravo."

///

You can't be pregnant from one night of drunken sex you both can't remember, right? Surely not. People try months if not years to get pregnant. Just look at Becky! Plus, you're not even sure you even had sex! Sure you'd woken up feeling a bit weird, but that could have been because you were waking up next to your boss.

You're thankful your mom works erratic hours at the hospital and didn't notice your late arrival this morning. You spend most of that day pacing around your house, doing laundry but mostly just feeling fuzzy. Not hung-over fuzzy (although that's part of it). It's an overwhelmed fuzzy that makes your head feel like cotton.

Your day feels impossibly long and short all at once. You want it to hurry up so you can go to bed but at the same time you want it to stretch ad finitum because you dread seeing Dieter tomorrow.

You'd left in such a rush that morning, not taking him up on his offer of breakfast. You needed to get away from him and that bed and that house. Needed to think about your next steps.

When you mom arrives home later that night you've made dinner that you both eat in front of the TV. Your mom chooses some bad hallmark romance movie that makes you want to throw a brick through the screen.

As you sit there bored your mind can't help but begin drifting back to Dieter and that night. You wonder what the sex was like if you actually did it. Was he tender? No, you think he'd be like a jackhammer. Despite his reputation for marathon sessions you think they Dieter would be a selfish lover.

"Mom what was it like being pregnant with me?"

Your mom raises her head curiously from her palm braced against the couch arm.

"Why do you ask honey?"

"I dunno, I guess after Becky did that whole surrogate thing it made me wonder why people go through it," you lie. "It seems like so much effort for so little pay off."

"You think you were little pay off?" You mom asks with a sleepy smile. "I disagree."

"I think kids are really hard," you smile back. "And I don't really get it."

"Well you've said you're not having kids so I don't think you need to worry about it," your mom says kindly.

You know as an only child there's a lot of pressure on you to have kids. You know your mom is aching to be a grandparent, especially after your dad's death.

But she's never pressured you. When you told her you had no intention of having kids even if you found the greatest spouse she had simply hugged you and said she respected your choice.

But you don't miss how she eagerly listens to stories about Becky's babies or asks to see photos. You don't miss how her eyes linger in the baby section at Wal-Mart. You don't miss the way she smiles at the trick or treat-ers that crowd your doorway on Halloween.

"I felt wonderful being pregnant," she says suddenly. "Loved every second. Felt like a fertile goddess."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

A ping sounds on your phone and a headline from a tabloid catches your eyes as you swipe up.

Dieter Bravo signs on for period piece alongside Hollywood darling Mia Rowe.

"Oh good he booked it," you murmur to yourself. He'd been beside himself working on his British accent, desperate to land this role that would take him from goofy villain to serious, romantic leading man.

"What was that honey?" Your mom asks, now slumped over sleepily on the couch.

"Just Dieter stuff," you explain. "I have an alert set to his name."

She grunts a reply before turning back to the television.

You read the rest of the article delighted that his co-star is Mia Rowe. That's amazing news! You love her! You only hope he can keep it in his pants long enough to keep production from falling apart. You can't help but smile as you send him a text.

[10:44pm] Congrats! I just heard about the Regency drama. You must be so excited! 🎉

You rest your phone in your lap before second guessing and placing it on the couch arm next to you. You look at your stomach, amazed that you of all people could potentially be carrying life.

[10:44pm] D: I am thank u. Do u feel pregnant?

You roll your eyes so hard you're convinced you can see your brain. Is he fucking serious? Does he really not have any clue about how pregnancy works? Is he not aware that Google is free?

[10:45pm] I won't know for weeks.

[10:45pm] D: I thought women knew early?? That's what Magda says.

Magda is his ancient housekeeper. A woman who has worked for Dieter since he hit it big. She does a terrible job keeping his house tidy but there's no way he'll ever fire her.

You turn your phone off irritated. You'd been trying to be kind and supportive and he managed to overlook it entirely.

You watch your mother fall asleep on the couch, her head tilted in her hand. And for a fleeting moment you do hope that you're pregnant. You want to give this woman everything.

$300,000 would change both of your lives and it seems insane that Dieter won't even miss that amount from his bank account. It'll be a drop in the ocean for him. It makes you feel prickly and resentful by the time his next text message comes through.

[11:02pm] D: Are ur breasts tender?

[11:02pm] Fuck off.

///

Living in the fantasy of having all that money had been fun. But a large part of you hadn't really believed that you'd be pregnant.

So when the two pink lines show up on the pregnancy test that Dieter has bought you three weeks later, you shake your head and take another one.

"Well?"

Dieters muffled voice calls to you through the bathroom door. He's been sitting outside the door leaning against it for the last ten minutes.

"Gimme a second!" You bark out over your shoulder.

You take another test.

And another one.

Pregnant.

Yep. You're fucking pregnant.

You are carrying Dieter Bravo's child in you at this very second.

You pull up your t-shirt, standing and looking in the mirrors reflection. Your stomach looks exactly the same. Nothing has changed.

And yet everything has changed.

Dieter is waiting for you outside his office bathroom pacing back and forth. When he sees your wide eyes his own go owlish in his face.

You swallow before thrusting the three tests into his hands. He looks at all three, delight blooming over his face.

He falls to his knees, raising his hands in victory over his head before bellowing.

"We're having a fucking baby!"

///

After a multitude of tests by Dieter's private doctor the next week, the confirmation comes through.

You're six weeks along.

Dieter jumps on the couch, shouting excitedly as the news is announced. You simply sit stiffly in your chair as the doctor smiles at you and offers you congratulations.

"It's still early," he warns you both and that causes Dieter to stop jumping on furniture.

There's a lot of paperwork to go over that following week. Dieter has brought in his lawyer and on top of the additional NDA there's also a mountain of certain clauses, exceptions etc. Dieter offers to pay for a lawyer for you but you deny him.

You take the paperwork to a cheap lawyer in town who gives it back a week later citing that "it's thorough but fair."

No one besides you, Dieter, his manager Mark and his publicist Diane can know. Diane is handling the roll out of the birth nine months from now, laying the groundwork for a successful launch.

She talks about your future child like a product or commodity. It makes both you and Dieter wince.

"No hard drugs Dieter, I'm serious," Diane warns him over coffee in his living room. She's got a checklist to go through with him and you.

"I've been off 'em for weeks," he assures her. "Just stickin' to weed."

"No big parties, no orgies," she says checking notes off her phone. "No ridiculous ranting on the red carpet."

"Fine." Dieter nods although you can see that he's going to miss those. He's always enjoyed the attention that goes along with a good party... Or a good orgy... Or rant.

"And you," Diane says turning to face you seated beside Dieter in his living room. "Obviously you signed an NDA so if people ask, you got pregnant from a one night stand and due to religious reasons you're keeping the pregnancy and giving the kid up for adoption."

Partially accurate.

"Won't it look kinda suspicious for his PA to be pregnant and then him suddenly have a baby?" you ask, suddenly concerned.

"You won't be his PA after this conversation," Diane informs you. "It would be a massive conflict of interest."

You feel your heart lurch. "Wait, I'm fired?"

"Not at all," Diane explains patiently. "You're on paid leave. You'll be given your weekly paychecks as usual."

The thought of nine months stuck at home for your mother to fret over (or worse once she finds out the dad is Dieter) makes you wince. Dieter squirms in his seat next to you, scratching absently at his ankle. A trait he does when he's agitated.

You've been his PA the longest he's ever maintained one. Usually he sleeps with them or burdens them into quitting. He feels safe with you, you're good at your job and you make him feel stable. Plus you’re carrying his fucking child. He doesn’t want you gone.

"No," Dieter finally insists, his voice strong. "I need her. I'm going to film in Ireland and I need her with me."

"Dieter-"

"She can wear baggy clothes when she starts to show," he reasons. "And when she gets too big she can do office work."

"Dieter-"

"No negotiating," Dieter insists. "I want her to work for me as long as she wants to." He turns to you at this point, brow raised. "Only if you do."

You smile brightly at him. "I do."

"So do I."

"Great," Diane says rolling her eyes. "I now pronounce you both totally fucked."

///

When you finally hand your completed contract over to Dieter and his lawyers that following week his smile is so wide you think that his face will split.

Immediately his broad hand goes to rest against your belly, eyes wide with anticipation.

"Hello little thing, I'm your daddy," he tells your stomach.

"Okay rule one," you tell him, pushing him off of you with a look of disgust. "No touching me without permission. I am not going to be one of those pregnant women that let strangers touch her belly."

"We're not strangers," Dieter pouts.

"Besides all your touching right now is my stomach fat," you say flatly. "The baby is the size of a poppy seed."

Dieter looks amazed. "How do you know that?"

You show him the app you've downloaded to your phone to track everything from fetal development to dietary suggestions. It's called BabiEDucate.

"You can make an account too," you tell him. "Parents can link up and access the same files."

Dieter is already downloading it before the sentence leaves your mouth. Parents. He's going to be a parent. He's going to be a dad! He's fucking giddy.

"I'll make sure I update it with everything," you promise. "Photos, cravings. It'll keep you involved even when you're working."

"Oh right," Dieter says, deflating. In all his excitement he'd forgotten the film. Several months of filming a period piece over in Ireland. "You're still coming right?"

"I'm still your PA aren't I?" you say bringing out the schedule. Ireland is only a few weeks away and you wonder if you'll be showing.

The nice thing about being a nobody in the world of celebrity is that no one will think it's strange if you suddenly start to show. You're Dieter's PA, not his friend or co-star. Your pregnancy won't be fodder for tabloid headlines or the rumor mill.

"When we're in public I'm still your employee," you remind him. "So no talking to my stomach or talking about the pregnancy."

Dieter looks thoughtful before snapping his fingers, inspired.

"We'll have a code word! How about... Broccoli."

"No."

"Lube?"

"Dieter-"

"Bubble? that's even a fun word to say!"

"Fine," you say with an eye roll. "Bubble it is."

///

By the end of your second month you feel like absolute shit. Morning sickness has hit you bad. Your mom is usually out of the house before you in the mornings but she catches you hovering over the toilet one morning and you have to pass it off as food poisoning.

You're thankful that filming will take you over to Ireland for a few months. That's a few months that you can put off telling her that you're carrying your boss's child.

Dieter has been as annoying as he is helpful in that regard. When you're with him at his place or driving to an event he's his usual self. Well, except all he wants to do is talk about the baby. But at least he does his job and can be redirected.

When you're not with him though? It's another story.

[2:06pm] D: you didn't upload to the app today. 🍼🍼🍼

[2:07pm] Too busy puking.

[2:07pm] D: I saw an article that says ginger tea helps.

[2:08pm] 👍

When you come out of the bathroom wiping at your washed mouth an hour later you're surprised to hear knocking.

You open it to find Dieter standing at your door with a cardboard box.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyes blown wide. "It's my day off and you're supposed to be at a promo photoshoot for-."

"I know," Dieter interrupts before placing the package into your arms. You glance inside to see heaps of ginger products: tea, honey, biscuits, candies.

"What’s all this?"

"For your morning sickness," he says glancing down at your stomach as if he's expecting you to have magically popped since he saw you yesterday. He's disappointed that you still look the same.

He gives you a quick smile and wave as he heads back down your driveway towards the waiting cab.

"Don't forget to update the app!'

#dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #dieter x reader #pedro pascal dieter #The Bubble #pedro pascal smut #Pedro Pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #eventual smut #romance #love #pregnancy

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buckets-and-trees · 11 months

Text

Perfectionists

Title: Perfectionists Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: SHIELD Games is behind one of the best MMORPGs on the market. SHIELD stays on top because of the super employees they have across the board from the tech innovation department, to the story writers, to their game engineers - including one Bucky Barnes. It's his perfection that has pushed him into this position at an elite place in the industry, period. But one game tester always seems to find the most frustrating things to send back to him.

Content/Concept Warnings: Gamer AU; strong language; explicit smut: oral - male receiving, mild dacryphilia, vaginal fingering, genital sex, voyerism, masturbation

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK THREE of Hot Bucky Summer: "Where do you want me?", my fifth square of @buckybarnesbingo B5: "Playing Games," and my third square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C1 "Gamer."

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Bucky looked up as he heard Steve’s telltale footsteps – not the normal ones – the trepidatious ones.

“No,” he said, tone stone cold.

Steve stopped a few steps away and sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

“How long is the list?”

“Buck.”

Bucky shook his head and pushed away from his desk. “You know what? No. I don’t even want to see it.”

He stormed out of the engineering and design lab, and Steve dropped his head back to look at the ceiling.

Sam chuckled. “I told you, man, you should wait until he’s out of the room to bring in new lists of purgatory for perfection.”

“He never takes a break. None of you take breaks,” Steve said.

“'Attitude reflects leadership, Captain.'"

"Don't quote Remember the Titans at me."

“Barnes just needs to fuck her.”

Steve’s head snapped over to Nat. “You know what, Romanoff?”

“She’s right,” Joaquin added without looking up from his screen, but a smirk on his face none the less. “His blood has been boiling for her for months, it’s about time he stops ignoring that.”

“Shit, Barnes!” you yelped, clutching your heart with one hand and an energy drink in the other. “Anyone ever tell you not to lurk in the dark?”

“I’m not lurking,” he groused.

“What else do you call lying in wait to confront someone? Especially in the dark? Alone? Leaning up against the wall, no less.”

You knew you were far from the only person in the building, but this late at night, you were the only tester still around and usually had this wing of the offices to yourself. This was a side gig for you, you only did it because you loved the game and loved getting to preview things before it was even sent to the beta test group of users, but that meant you usually only crossed paths with the handful of other official tester employees for SHIELD Games like ships passing in the night who basically clocked normal business hours.

“I don’t see you turning on any lights,” he said as you returned to your preferred spot on the couch.

“I prefer to play by glow of television,” you responded with a dramatic tone.

If Bucky rolled his eyes, you didn’t see it. “It’s how I’d be playing at home, keeps me focused so I can help you do your job.”

Which is why he was here confronting you, as you had so aptly noted. “I’m damn good at what I do.”

“And the only reason you hate my lists is because you’re already a god damn perfectionist so you can’t stand when I point out the flaws you missed or suggestions to make your work even better. But that’s why Maria hired me. Your community manager knew the user feedback I was giving when you launched the game was excellent.”

Bucky scoffed and shook his head, crossing his arms.

“Your game is only perfect after they put it in front of my face, Barnes.”

“Shut up.”

It was your turn to scoff. “Make me,” you said and took a swig of your energy drink.

Bucky pushed off the wall and in three swift, silent steps was in front of you. With your head tilted back as you drank, you only saw him when he leaned forward, looming over you. You spluttered a little, and he smirked.

“You won’t be able to talk with this in front of your face,” he said, opened the front of his jeans, and pushed the denim and his boxers down his thighs in one go.

You would have roasted him for saying something so cliché in any other circumstance. But your brain was short-circuiting, and you were trying to rapidly re-establish the connections.

His right hand took the can out of your grasp and set it on the side table next to the couch, and his left hand cradled your chin, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

You looked up at him. Your heart was racing, and your pussy was thrumming. You were not certain this was real. He’d been the quiet one, a bit surly, but you had been surprised enough he’d come to confront you about the feedback in the first place and never would have put a penny on the odds of something like this happening with the gorgeous game designer you’d harbored a bit of a crush on but decided after the first week wouldn’t come to anything.

This was an unexpected side quest.

You nodded.

He pushed the tip to the edge of your lips, your tongue slipped out to circle the head. In one swift motion he gripped the back of your head and thrust his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and your hands flew up to hold onto his hips.

He used your mouth with abandon, and the hold of your hands on his hips was firm, encouraging. When you choked on his thick member, he slowed for a moment, then you squeezed his hip, and he speed up to his brutal pace again. This happened twice more, you having taken him deeper in your throat each time. Tears streamed down your face now, and he groaned when he looked down at you.

“You look so god damn beautiful,” he couldn’t help saying.

You whimpered, and he swept a thumb over your cheek, wiping away the tears, then brought them to his mouth.

He could feel the build of his climax at the root of him, and pulled out of your mouth abruptly, knowing he was too close to finishing and not ready for this to come to an end yet.

You fell forward, but he was instantly kneeling in front of you, ready to catch your lips with his. The kiss was hungry, and your mouth full of the taste of him made him groan again. Your hands tangled in his hair, slotting in despite being pulled back in a low bun. His hands had returned to hold your head as commandingly as they had when he was fucking your throat – one in your hair, one along your jaw.

When you were absolutely breathless, you finally pulled away.

Foreheads planted against each other, breaths still mingling, you licked your lips.

“Why don’t I show you what these hands can do?” he asked, one hand falling to your hip, rubbing his thumb down the crease of your thigh toward your core.

“Don’t tease.”

“Oh, no,” he agreed. Then with both hands, he pulled your hips to the edge of the cushion, hooked his fingers into the top of your pants, and peeled them down along with your panties. You pushed up to raise your hips so he could remove them completely, but your efforts were hardly needed as he used one hand to push you up, and the small show of unexpected strength made your insides squirm. He was built – you had seen it – but you hadn’t experienced the reality of it.

Bucky didn’t leave you a second to think about it any further as his fingers slid up and down your wet slit, he spread your outer folds and stroked your soft inner folds, and you moaned. Your eyes slipped shut, but you felt him watching your face. He was watching for how you reacted to each of his ministrations. He pinched your clit, and you yelped.

Your eyes flew open, and you saw his were filled with a mischievous glint. “Just testing all the possibilities,” he said.

You hit his shoulder. “I said no teasing!”

“You always want the experience to have more unexpected elements for the user to play with.”

“Bucky!” You did not want to hear one of your recent lines of feedback recited back to taunt you.

Except you did.

He was playing this game so well.

He slipped two fingers from that large, warm hand of his inside your cunt and began to pump. Your eyes melted closed again, and seemingly satisfied with his study, you felt Bucky claim your lips for more kisses while he pulled you closer and closer to an orgasm. It built steadily, his thumb at your clit, fingers in your channel, but when he curled those fingers and found the spongy spot against your pubic bone, it hit you instantly, and you cried out his name. He pulled your head into the crook of his neck while his other hand slowed in your cunt but helped prolong riding out the waves of your pleasure.

“Satisfactory experience?” he asked once your breathing started to return to normal.

You laughed against his shoulder, then pulled back to look at him. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, and he smiled.

“You know, I wasn’t afraid to poke the bear because you’re brilliant, I knew you could take it. You want to be the best, and I help give you that.” You reached down and took his still hard, leaking cock in your soft hands, and Bucky’s breath hitched. “Now, do you want to let me take you? I’m aching for you to fill me up.”

He groaned. “You can’t say shit like that.”

You nipped at his bottom lip and smirked. “Yes, I can. This company values my direct and honest feedback.”

He huffed a laugh.

“Where do you want me?”

Bucky quickly shoved his jeans all the way down his legs and settled down next to you on the couch, legs spreading wide. “In my lap.”

“Sounds just about right,” you said, straddling him.

His eager hands pulled your slick cunt flush against his groin, and you both moaned. You planted your hands on his broad shoulders, and rocked your hips just a little bit. Even that short back and forth of friction, his cock stroking your engorged clit, had your head falling back. Bucky pressed his lips to the column of your throat, not wasting an opportunity so inviting in the moment. You sighed and held his head to your neck where he continued to explore and mark you with slow, hot kisses, finding the places that made you shiver.

While you were lost in those sensations, Bucky reached down and lined his cock up with your slit, but that brought you back to the thrumming need to be filled by him, and you sunk down while he thrust up into you. He was thick, and he filled you more than you were used to, but not to a point of pain -far, far from it.

“Feel so good inside me,” you keened.

“No feedback?”

“Just fuck me until I can’t breathe, Buck.”

“With pleasure,” he growled.

After passing through two intense first levels of play, climbing to the final peak did not take long. One of his hands remained anchored at your hip to control the punishing but desired pace of thrusts, but his other steadily slid underneath your shirt and up your spine in a delicate way in contrast to everything else happening in the moment, including your lips returning to his in another kiss designed to devour.

Bucky felt you hit that crest of the climax, your muscles seizing in a moment of bliss, your pussy clenching hard around his cock. As you came down, he maneuvered you both to lay your back on the couch while he did just as you asked and continued to thrust into you hard, you boneless but in a blissful haze, unconcerned with trivial things like breathing, while he pursued his own pleasure. Then all at once he groaned and began to spill his hot seed inside of you, pausing for a second with the first ropes of cum, but then continued with deep, slow thrusts until he was completely spent.

It was a snug shuffling, but the two of you managed to get so you were both laying on your sides on the couch, your back up against the cushioned backboard, Bucky’s back to the glow of the giant television screen so all his muscled angles were sillhouted for you to admire in the afterglow. His legs were bunched up – possibly uncomfortably – and you tangled yours with his. You pushed some hair that had escaped from its knot at the back of his head off of his face, and he grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm.

“I think we’ll need to continue testing this,” you whispered against his lips.

You felt them curve into a smile before he said, “Thorough testing, absolutely. Need to explore all potential scenarios.”

“I’m glad you’ll be more amenable now to my feedback.”

“Oh, I never said that.”

You poked him in the ribs.

“Come on, you love the complex storylines. You don’t want me easily conquered.” And before you could protest, and claimed your lips again, this time in a long, slow kiss, no intention of leaving any time soon.

Too caught up with each other, neither of you heard the approaching footsteps, the gasp on discovering you, the moans they bit back when they gave over to touching themselves there in the dark, watching you, or their nearly silent retreat.

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #hotbuckysummer2023 #connect4au #gamer au #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x y/n #female reader #reader insert #x reader #x reader smut #x reader stories #aspen wrote something

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r3starttt · 4 months

Note

Can you do something about drummer Abby and makeup artist reader?

Thank you, I love the ellie in an interview ❤️

make it up to me

> Drummer! Abby x makeup artist! reader

a/n: this took me so long and for what? 🙄 I gotta confess that I wanted to make this longer but got no inspiration at all so the last part is based on a tik tok I saw a while ago that had me giggling and kicking my feet

You’ve always loved makeup, a lot. Your biggest dream was to become a professional makeup artist, and you were determined to. So when you finally got a job you felt like your life was solved.

But it wasn’t, apparently if you don’t work on your own there’s always gonna be people that cause trouble in your life. You got fired because some jealous coworker which you didn’t even get to know the name, said some shit about you.

And you thought it was all over because apparently no one hires people if they don’t have enough experience. And you stood jobless for a while, until your best friend, Nora, helped you get a job.

And now you’re here, on your fifth concert, doing makeup to an apparently very famous band that pays you more than enough. Most of them would ask you for very extravagant makeups, especially the main singer of the band, so you had to take a while with each member due to the details.

So when it was time to get to the drummer you mostly ended alone with her, which you didn’t mind at all because she’s hot and really nice to talk to. Also it’s been pretty helpful because you’ve get to be closer with the band as well that way.

“Gosh people’s so loud today” you could hear the fans screaming outside. The place they were doing today’s concert was pretty small, like a local theater kinda “yeah… we’ve been getting a lot of support lately, hopefully soon we’ll get to perform on bigger stages” Abby’s eyes were closed as she spoke. You were doing a type of messy look, smudged eyeliner, some dark eyeshadow and a bit or mascara.

“You’re planing on performing maybe in other states?” you grabbed the eyeliner and started to apply it on her eyes, smudging it with your finger “we’d like to, but it doesn’t really depends on us. But if we do you’re definitely coming with us” you couldn’t help but smile, she’s just being nice but when you’re almost on top of her, while she has her eyes closed and her voice sounds so pretty to you, what else is there to think?

“I’d love to, thanks” you can see her smile widening a bit “you’re ready abs, tell me if there’s anything else you want to add” you step aside, allowing the blonde to look at the mirror in front of her and check on her makeup “all good” she says, standing up from the chair. And you can’t help but stare at her tall and strong figure which totally hides whenever she sits for you to do her makeup.

She’s wearing a black tank top and some gray military pants with a pair of black boots, and the contrast it does with her skin and hair as well as the makeup is killing you because how does she look hotter than any other day? However your thoughts get interrupted by her voice.

“You’re free tomorrow? I’d like to take you somewhere” she says it so casual, as she puts on a baggy jacket, and you can only stare at her in shock “I’d take you out tonight but we got plans already and I’d like to do something better than just getting drunk and talk about the show with you” she finally turned around and it would be a total lie to say you don’t look nervous because you can see her laughing a bit as she stares at you.

“Yeah, just…. send me a message tomorrow morning” you said trying your best to sound as confident as her. she just nodded and walked out of the room. later that night when you were with the band as usual, celebrating another show, you two could only stare at each other. She always sat besides you, but that night she was touchier than usual and fuck you needed to see her again, alone.

Just as you woke up you checked on your phone and gladly, a message from Abby was the first thing you saw. She just remind you to not go out since you had plans with her. You two kept talking most of the morning, planing where to go and what to do. Finally you two decided to go to some quite fancy restaurant to have dinner.

And the day felt eternal, even though you had to work that day you could only overthink about the whole situation and the date you had later with Abby. And it was the same for her because as confident as she looks and acts in front of you she was almost dying yesterday when she first asked you to go out and you wouldn’t answer, she was also overthinking, a lot, an repeating the scene in her head over and over.

Abby had offered to pick you up and drive you home as well because “it’s dangerous for you to be alone” so when night came and your phone vibrated you got shivers all over your body.

The date was way better than you expected, you feared it might be awkward but it was the total opposite. Maybe it helped the past weeks of pure tension between both or the fact that most of the time you were flirting with each other, but whatever it was it doesn’t really matter as long as you get any chance with her.

Once she drive you home she ask you to stay just a bit more, so now you’re both outside your apartment’s building, just sitting in the car, staring at each other in silence.

“Can I kiss you?” you see her eyes wandering over you as her hands cup your face, and suddenly you’re pressing your lips over hers for some seconds that feel eternal, until she pulls away.

“you’re so fucking pretty you know that?” her hands are still on your face yet she moves them rapidly and turns her face to her window, to which you laugh “what’re you doing?”the light from the outside reflects on her as she turns her face back to you “doing what?” her eyes move to your lips once again “look away” you reply.

“Because” a nasal chuckle comes out of her and her smile wides a bit. her arm moves again to your face and as her fingers touch your lips you open your mouth slightly “I gotta go abs” as you speak her thumb goes slightly into your inner lips “why?” you notice how she furrows her eyebrows slightly and her eyes finally meet yours.

“It’s too late already and I have to work tomorrow, all day” a small chuckle comes out of your mouth “Come here then” she moves her arms to the back of your neck and pulls you again for another kiss.

“Thanks for today, I swear I’ll make it up to you” you grab your bag and open the door, looking at her one last time “you better do”.

#lesbian #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby fluff #abby headcanons #abby x you #abby anderson fluff #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #ren masterlist ᵎᵎ ִ ۫ ּ ⊹

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drdemonprince · 2 months

Note

Do you worry about being so open about your sex life under the same name you use professionally? How did you settle on your current approach to talking about kink/fetishism publicly?

That's my question. Below is some background but feel free to ignore it.

I'm asking because, like many people, my kinks are integral to my sense of self and engaging in BDSM has been significant for my psychological wellbeing. I don't like keeping these important aspects of myself separate from the rest of my life and I'm jealous of the people I meet at munches who share openly kinky stuff on their regular Instagrams. But I also have relatives on all of my socials, including a few adult family members who take any opportunity to create drama or get on their high horses, and teenage cousins who obviously shouldn't be given information about my sex life.

I like using social media to connect with people, and it feels harder to do that when big parts of me are walled off. I'm so worried about sharing anything 'inappropriate' that I'm only presenting this bland, watered down version of myself and it makes me feel alienated. Making side accounts is one option, but it feels like compartmentalising and involves more 'personal brand' management than I care to juggle.

That's without even touching on in-person disclosures. How do I embrace these aspects of myself without acting like they're shameful, but also without being obnoxious or unfair on other people who might not want to know?

I know "authenticity" can be an unattainable ideal, especially on social media platforms that necessitate curation, but I do want to stop tying myself in so many knots over this (in the figurative, unsexy way).

Sorry for venting in your askbox.

Yeah, I have a lot of thoughts on this.

I don't worry about the potential of my speaking openly about my sex life ruining my professional life because I hate my professional life and professionalism in nearly all forms. I have nothing but contempt for the academy, social psychology, my employer, the publishing industry, 99% of the organizations that hire me to provide workshops, and a decent-sized subset of my readers who are of the more liberal end of things. Alienating myself from these institutions and people and making myself incompatible with their viewpoints feels as necessary to me as breathing air.

when I was very young I was concerned with making myself palatable to academia and shucking off everything that was unprofessional and hillbillyish and childish and weird about me, but then I learned what success within the academy really entailed. I heard faculty members shrug and say they "didn't really care" about the topics they were studying (topics like racism, sexism, transphobia, etc) and were just publishing work on these subjects to further their own careers. I was trained to use questionable research protocols that generated false positives and specious results. Nearly all the research that I worked on for three years of undergrad and five years of graduate school would eventually be discredited due to failure to replicate. And I realized that I was being taken advantage of all the while, mined for cheap labor on meaningless projects that meant nothing scientifically, making $14k a year in a field where there were no future job prospects.

by the time i finished my PhD I knew that I wanted to be nothing like the people that had trained me and taken advantage of me, and that I had useless skills in a dying field. I was plenty happy to cut the shit by then and be real about who I was, what I believed, and what was and wasn't a virtuous use of my time. This only became more pronounced after I was screwed over by even more employers as a part-time instructor, and then finally hired full-time in a department that was doing good work, but which was constantly getting undercut by those in higher up administrative positions.

My entire career I have essentially been daring people to fire me and they never seem to do it. No matter how much shit I talk about the university and my profession and no matter how much I bear about myself, I just keep getting rewarded for it and allowed to float along relatively unbothered. There's a power in having a lot of audacity. I am not ashamed of who I am and I don't worry about how my employer and colleagues see me because as a whole I have zero respect for any of them or their opinions. (I have some individual coworkers who are great! but they dont represent Psychology or Academia as a whole or its values. my coworker friends are supportive of my freaky trans kinky self).

It's much the same dynamic in my family. I have no respect for the majority of people in my family and I don't concern myself with how they might react to the things I have to say. When I first started writing openly about Autism some relatives found it deeply offensive and talked a lot of shit about me behind my back, saying that I was embarassing all of them by associating us with a disability they found shameful, but my mom communicated to those relatives in no uncertain terms that I was gonna just keep doing whatever the fuck I wanted and they'd have to find some way to deal with it.

My mom had already learned that about me firsthand. I complain about her sometimes but I do have immense gratitude to her for just accepting who I am, even if there are elements of it she can't understand and probably does not feel good about. She learned a long long time ago that I was on my own separate planet and that there was nothing she could do to stop me from running my mouth and living my life, and I'm thankful to her for that. My actions have set the tone with my family pretty clearly: i came out as trans publicly before I told them, I started hormones and changed my name/gender marker without consulting them and then told them it was a fact already and they'd need to get in line. I approach most things about myself that others might take issue with in the same way: it's a fact, it's fucking happening, and you can't tell me shit about it that is going to keep me from doing it. and if you're too much of a dick about it I might end up writing about you in a book or essay so watch out, I guess.

That sounds more vindicitive than how I actually feel most of the time, of course. I just don't think about the opinions of people I don't respect. I care about what my friends think of me, and the people I look up to, and I try to rise to a level that is worthy of them. And of course I do experience fear of ostacism and failure in those respects and have not always coped with it in a confident, principled way. But with my aunts and uncles or my boss? Fuck them. I have no desire to win their approval because I've seen what they approve of and it sucks.

All of this is possible because I am not financially reliant upon my family, of course, and because if I lose my job I would have a back-up plan. I've always done freelancing and side writing gigs, even back when I was a part-timer with really insecure teaching jobs, and so the loss of any one position has never felt that catastrophic to me. I was already released by my PhD program into economically shaky ground and I never had a prayer of having a successful tenure track academic "career", so I'm not afraid of losing that. that's already gone. I feel generally pretty confident in my ability to scratch by making a living doing this or that even if somebody fires me, and I won't have to ask relatives for money so it really does not matter if I alienate any of them. that is an IMMENSE PRIVILEGE and someone not in that position shouldn't compare themselves to me or expect themselves to have that same degree of confidence. sometimes you have to just keep your head down to survive and there's no shame in that either.

as for the question about "authenticity" as an idealized end state and how to reconcile it with social media, here are some of my thoughts: it's not authenticity if it is focused on how other people interpret you. authenticity is letting go of trying to manage what other people think about you. that means you dont ever have to broadcast everything about yourself to the public or on social media, you dont ever have to share something that you dont want to, the pursuit of being perfectly understood is one that will never be fulfilled and there is no need to make oneself unnecessarily vulnerable just for the sake of appealing to people who might not ever understand and accept you anyway. authenticity is more about an energy than about revealment. it's an energy of self acceptance, not necessarily self love, and it's not something that one broadcasts, it's something one cultivates by developing secure, supportive relationships, improving one's self knowledge, and by working through one's baggage.

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harrystylescherry · 1 year

Text

A/N: i am finally back from the pits of...my life, where all i do is work and complete grad school homework. i have like 15 fics started but not finished--but this one got done in 2 days!! look, girls (me) just wanna have fun (erotic fantasies) okay? thanks

*warning: spanking/paddling, mild pain

what this is: pure smut tbh

word count: 7.1k

let me know what you think :)

MASTERLIST

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your insides melted and heat spread between your thighs–but you weren’t in the mood to play the part of the submissive today. Although your boyfriend would argue that it wasn’t a part you were playing at all, but who you were deep down. And you hated that he was right. Because underneath your frustration was the need for him to not be upset with you, to please him, to ask for forgiveness.

But you had had a shitty day, one filled with pointless meetings that kept you from doing the work you were actually hired to do, and then got chewed out by your boss for not having met a deadline–one she told you not to worry about in favor of attending those stupid meetings. So you had worked late, hammering out a piece on the benefits of vitamin C, which was really just a regurgitation of all the other info that existed on the internet.

Harry had tried to comfort you, to rub your shoulders as you typed as fast as you could, sighs slipping so fast from your lips it sounded like a single, never ending sound. It was when he suggested, or more-like commanded, that you take a break and eat something that you snapped at him. At the time, you hadn’t really been thinking of the consequences. Especially since he brushed it off with a light squeeze of the back of your neck.

After you sent off the piece (along with a very fake but very polite apology to your manager about missing the deadline), you slapped your laptop shut and finally took a seat across from him at the table.

You didn’t even acknowledge him as you dug into the pasta he had made, realizing for the first time that you hadn’t eaten since ten that morning, despite working from his home office. You were wound tight, your shoulders still tense even after Harry had attempted to relieve some pressure.

“You really need to quit.” He said, his eyes on you.

“I know,” you sighed. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him again. It happened once a week. He just didn’t get it–he was older (only by a few years, teetering on the edge of his twenties) and was already established, already successful. He was already a partner at an ad firm, already proved he was worth something. You, on the other hand, were a struggling journalist who wanted into the music industry–but freelance was hard and you needed money. This job paid a lot. Probably because they needed to make up for the fact that the company itself was a shit show. But it was fine–and you were applying. You were trying to quit, but you needed a net. And Harry didn’t understand that.

“You work ridiculous hours and your boss is insane.”

“I know.”

“It’s killing you, and–”

“Jesus Christ, I know,” you snapped. “Do you really think I don’t know? I hate my fucking job, but I need it, okay? And no, you can’t help me so I can quit and not have to worry while finding something new. I don’t need you to take care of me. So stop.”

His shock morphed into irritation. “That’s strike two.” His voice was hard. “And only because I know you’re having a bad day, and that you didn’t mean it.”

“And what if I did,” you mumbled as you moved your food around your plate.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up from the table. “Finish eating. Then we’ll talk.” It wasn’t a request. On his way to the sink, he dropped a hand into your hair and scratched softly. “I’ll be in my office.”

Even in a shit mood, Harry in Dom mode was hot. This wasn’t something new to either of you, but you two weren’t very hardcore either–no whips or masks, or gags. You were more of a bondage and mild pain kind of girl and Harry respected that, though he did sometimes push your limits.

When you two were out in the world–on dates, at parties, with family or friends–the dynamic was normal, but in the evenings, after you were both home from work, and over the weekends he got to order you around, punish you and take you however and wherever he wanted. So, really, you should probably apologize before you got yourself in trouble.

You weren’t in the mood to give up control tonight, not entirely. You didn’t even think you could if you wanted to. The stress was at an all time high and you were gripping tight to whatever control you had, since at work lately, it felt like you had none; at the whim of everyone you worked under. The late nights, the Teams messages at random hours of the day–your control was slipping in a way you didn’t like. There was no way you could give up whatever semblance of it you had left.

It seemed your boyfriend knew that, and was giving you opportunities to relax in a way he didn’t do very often–ever, actually, up until a few weeks ago when you started shutting down from stress. Instead of bending you over his knee or edging you until you were close to tears, he’d let the disobedience slide and curl you into his lap or side instead. Still, he’d demand you tell him how you felt, talk through your stress and frustration, refusing to let you disrupt the free flowing communication that needed to exist between the two of you, or keep yourself closed off from him.

Opening up to him wasn’t hard. It never was, and it’s what made him the perfect Dom for you. That and he was really fucking hot, lean but strong. And the way he looked in a suit? Jesus.

Your muscles clenched at the thought.

You finished your plate and drank the rest of your wine. After dumping your plate in the sink and refilling your glass, you made your way up the stairs and down the hallway where Harry’s office was. You paused to the right of the doorway and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to talk. It wouldn’t do any good. Why couldn’t he just let you stew and drink. Why did he have to know everything?

Something inside you flared. That was bad. Anger wasn’t good–anger meant a biting remark that would surely get you in trouble. You took a long sip of wine and another deep breath before relaxing your shoulders and walking into the room.

Harry was sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop. He had cleaned up all your work stuff from the day, piled your notebooks neatly on top of your laptop, recapped all your pens and fastened them back into their case.

You stood next to him, and he didn’t even look at you. You tried not to tap your foot or sigh with impatience, but it was hard.

“Plan on behaving now?” He asked with his eyes still on the screen.

You bit your tongue and counted to three. “Yes.”

He raised his eyebrow and peeked over at you.

You swallowed the annoyed sigh. “Yes, sir.” You ignored the way your cheeks flared when you said it.

“Better,” he said before going back to the document on his screen.

Oh my god. Couldn’t you two just get this over with so you could take a bath and go to sleep? The thought of having to wake up and work tomorrow made your jaw clench. You closed your eyes and told yourself it was fine.

But it wasn’t fine. You were miserable and so stressed out that you woke up every morning with a sore jaw. The anxiety bundled in the pit of your stomach before making its way up your throat. The thought of logging in tomorrow, being met with at least seventy emails and your submitted draft hacked up by your manager–who had never written a thing in her life, by the way–made your cheeks burn and chest clench.

If Harry noticed, he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t tell you to sit down or go to sleep or…literally anything. The anxiety morphed itself back into frustration as you just stood there, waiting.

He pulled his hands from his keyboard and rubbed them over his face before motioning to you. You took a step closer and he pushed the chair back slightly and pulled you to stand between his legs. Harry took the glass from your hands and put it on the desk. He planted his hands firmly on your hips and squeezed until it was almost painful.

A rush moved through you.

He dropped his head against the spot right under your chest and kissed over the t-shirt you wore. Before you could drop a hand into his hair, he stood up.

He walked towards the small love seat that sat next to the tall bookshelves and pulled you after him. You worked hard not to shuffle your feet.

Harry sat down and pulled you into his lap with ease. “Talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You were met with narrowed eyes and a stern look. You crossed your arms protectively over your chest and his eyes narrowed even more. When you wouldn’t relent, Harry squeezed one of your thighs harshly. You jumped and resented the heat that returned below. You dropped your hands into your lap and Harry’s big hand fell over them. Holding them here.

“Try again.”

You stretched your neck, trying to expel some of the frustration and anxiety you felt. You didn’t want to talk about it. Why did you always have to talk about it? Maybe if you just apologized, it would be fine and he’d let it go. Maybe. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You morphed your face into something that you hoped looked sincere and sorry. Even though you weren’t. At least, you weren’t sorry [enough]. You didn’t want to upset him, ever. You wanted his praise, for him to be proud of you–but there was only so much succumbing to power a girl could take. You were taking it enough at work. Succumbing at home wasn’t as easy these last few weeks. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t be lying to me either.”

“I’m not–” Another harsh squeeze to your thigh. When you saw the disapproving look on his face, a part of you yearned to fix it. And you fought that part of you away. Keep your control.

“We don’t lie, love.” The softness seeped back into his voice. “If you’re going to apologize, you’re going to mean it.”

You raised your eyes to his, a rip of fire going through you. You didn’t want to apologize to him–not when he started it. You had dolled out enough apologies for one day–to your manager, mostly, after taking the blame and fixing problems she created. “Well, then I guess I’m not apologizing.” A pause. “Sir.”

Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval and gave a laugh devoid of any humor. “Strike three, then.”

You rolled your eyes and he caught your chin between his fingers roughly. “You and your fucking attitude lately. I’ve been patient.” His eyes darkened. “Not anymore.”

He put you on your feet and tugged your hair before walking wordlessly out of the room.

You knew you were supposed to follow him, that he [expected] you to follow him–a shiver ran down your spine. The urge to follow him, to relinquish your control started to consume you and you fought it.

If you don’t go, it’ll be worse. If he has to call your name, the punishment will be worse.

You squeezed your eyes shut cursing yourself for being stupid, for forgetting your restraint; for thinking that Harry would allow you a little power, that you could hold onto it.

By the look in his eye and the tone of his voice, he hadn’t been joking. His patience was spent and you were in for it.

Your thighs clenched at the thought and a little apprehension mixed with the thread of thrill that laced through your stomach. He wouldn’t be too harsh, would he? It had been a while. A few weeks at the least–maybe even two months since you had been punished, since things had hurt just a little more than they pleasured.

You realized you were still standing in the middle of the office and hurried after him down the hallway, not wanting to give him another reason.

His back was to you when you stepped into the room and he was taking off his tie in front of the mirror. “Strip,” he ordered.

The deepness of his voice was welcome, though your nerves spiked just a little.

You pushed your jeans down your legs and slipped off your t-shirt. Then, your bra and panties. When he turned, his gaze was disapproving and your heart sank.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to look at me,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

You dropped your eyes immediately. Christ, he was serious. You were in more trouble than you had been in in ages.

“Turn around and bend over. Hands around your ankles.”

Your face heated. Immediately, you did as you were told and chastised yourself. So much for keeping a semblance of control.

“What’s your safe word?”You heard him open the wardrobe in the corner of the room and then rummaging.

“Red,” you said, your uneasiness evident. His movements paused. “Red, sir.”

You heard him hum, satisfied. “Good.”

Your heart rate increased as his footsteps grew closer and you heard him tap something against his leg. You peeked around your legs and your breath caught.

“It’s been awhile so here’s a reminder: the safe word is only to be used if absolutely necessary; when you physically or mentally can’t take it anymore. Not because you’re nervous or scared. Not simply because it hurts. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You made sure not to forget that time. His taking a moment to clarify left you shaking slightly. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. He didn’t try to assuage your nerves either.

He held the crop at his side while he ran a hand over your ass. “Soft,” he said, his voice anything but. The crop smoothed over your ass before tapping lightly against your skin. When he brushed it over your exposed pussy, you forced yourself to hold back a whimper. “I’ve been nice. More than nice. And you’ve taken advantage.”

The crop came down on your ass and you flinched. It was only a sting–one that morphed into pleasure quickly.

“I’ve been patient, letting you speak to me in a way that would usually have you bent over the table in less than a second.”

It came down on the other cheek, harder. You released a small sigh at the sensation.

“It’s my fault really, for encouraging it. For letting you get away with it.” His voice told you that he didn’t really believe that. “Or maybe it’s your fault for continuing the behavior, knowing I would disapprove, knowing you were being disobedient and doing it anyway.”

The clear disapproval in his voice made your chest ache and cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Another swat to your ass–and then another, quick on the other cheek. Hard. Your body scooted forward involuntarily and you whimpered. Harry grabbed you and held you in place. “Don’t move.” The growl in his voice sent heat straight to your core.

“This fight for control, it needs to stop. I don’t know where it’s come from because you refuse to talk–another rule broken–but it’s got to end. You need to understand your place, sub.”

Your cheeks flamed. He hadn’t called you that since the early days of your relationship when you tested his boundaries, when the two of you were still getting used to one another and your dynamic. You didn’t like the typical nicknames like pet, or kitten. They made you feel inhuman and a little gross, so Harry tended to call you ‘love’ even when he was angry, when you did something wrong, or were being punished. It was never about what he said, but the way he said it–the fact that he had pulled that out meant you were absolutely fucked.

He swatted your ass a few times in succession, giving you no time to recover between. The stinging sent shocks straight to your clit. You knew you were wet. You could feel it drip through your folds.

“I won’t stand for the disrespect any longer. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice wavered. You wondered if his approval showed on his face, but you were still folded over.

His fingers grazed over the sensitive skin of your ass and you inhaled. They trailed down between your cheeks and circled your clit once. You moaned. His fingers moved up and he pushed one slowly inside of you. Pleasure always came after the punishment–so was it over? Was that it? That was nothing, thank–

“Seems you’re enjoying this a little too much, huh, sub? Not much of a punishment if you’re soaked but not begging. Right?”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

“Ah!” You shrieked when the crop made contact with the sensitive spot where your ass met your thighs.

“When I ask you a question, you answer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stand up.”

When you stood, all the blood rushed back down from your head and you stumbled. Harry caught you easily with a hand on your arm. Once you recovered, he dropped his hand.

“On the bed on your stomach. Ass up, knees apart.”

You kept your eyes down and didn’t move. Nerves filled your chest. It had been so long.

Harry stepped in front of you and tilted your chin up towards him, but you kept your eyes down, not wanting to disobey again.

“Look at me.” When you lifted your eyes, there was a slight smile pulling at his cheek. Approval. Your shoulders relaxed and a small amount of pride swelled in you. “Good girl.” He brushed his thumb over your lips. “It’s gonna hurt. It’s a punishment. You remember those, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

The warmth in his eyes returned for a moment and he brushed his knuckles over your cheek. He dropped his hand. “Get on the bed, sub.”

The check-in was over and your all demanding dom was back.

While you got situated on the bed, Harry returned to the wardrobe. You couldn’t see what he was getting, but what you heard lit your nerves on fire. It wasn’t the jingling of the restraints, but his knuckles against the paddle that sent your heart into your throat.

You liked mild pain. Last time he used the paddle, it was a little more than mild. The last time–your skin paled when you remembered. The last time he had used it was during a punishment.

“Hands above your head,” He said as he made his way to stand to the side of the bed.

Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it reverberating off your ribcage, but you obeyed–slowly. He took cuffs from the bedside table and secured them onto your wrists. The coolness of the leather sent a reminder of want straight down to the spot between your thighs. Harry’s fingers brushed over yours unintentionally as he attached the cuffs to one another, and then to one of the restraints attached to the headboard, and you stopped yourself from reaching for him.

Roughly, he pulled you back by your hips until you couldn’t move your arms from where they were above you. Silently, he looped similar cuffs around your ankles and attached them to the restraints at each corner of the bed. There was nowhere for you to go.

In a small moment of panic, you attempted to tug at the restraint keeping your hands above your head, and felt the heat of fear in your cheeks. When Harry heard your small whimper, he came to the side of the bed, placed one big hand over your cuffed wrists and the other on the small of your back, warm and reassuring. Immediately, you felt your heart rate slow.

“Relax. It’s okay.” He paused while you took a deep breath, but your face was still hot. “Do you trust me?” He asked with a voice full of caring.

Of course you did. Harry wouldn’t ever give you more than he knew you could handle; he would never actually make you feel unsafe, or the kind of fear that wasn’t linked to pleasure and excitement.

Speaking of which, as he rubbed the spot on your back, you felt the heat pool at your core.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He smiled before disappearing from your view.

From somewhere behind you, he knocked his knuckles on the paddle once more, almost as a warning.

When it came down the first time, it was nothing more than a sting–one that, you admitted, you quite liked. The next few continued like that, the stings turning into a warmth that had you on the verge of moaning.

Once you finally let one slip, the next spank came down harder. You flinched and sucked in a breath each time it came down.

“Does that hurt?”

You whimpered in response.

You attempted to move forward, away from the paddle, when it came down even harder across both of your cheeks.

“Does that hurt, sub?” His voice was low, hard.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Do you like being punished?”

“No, sir.”

Your ass stung--a burning kind of sting that would have you wincing until tomorrow. And yet, you felt your arousal drip down your leg.

Suddenly, Harry’s fingers were at your core, swirling in the slickness that coated your folds.

“Lying again, are we?”

“No, sir.” And you weren’t lying. You didn’t like being punished, who did? It wasn’t your fault that your body enjoyed the pain, the stinging.

He sighed. “I was going to be nice and only go for ten more, but bad girls don’t get ‘nice’.” He swiped his thumb over your clit and you moaned. When he pulled his hand away, you tried to push yourself towards him, but the goddamned restraints wouldn’t allow it.

“Ah!” You cried when the paddle came down so hard that it more than stung. The pain thudded through your muscles. Twenty of that? The worry prickled over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The harsh pain faded, leaving a stinging that you could handle.

“Count them.”

Whack

“One.”

Another.

“Two.”

Another.

You whimpered. “Three.”

By ten, your voice was shaking and your eyes had begun to water. He wasn’t feeling very accommodating anymore, which was fair considering how far you had pushed him and the rules, and wasn’t giving you a second to recover. Wasn’t giving the sharp pain a chance to dull before coming down again.

By fifteen, you were tensing in preparation for each spank and your ass felt like it was on fire. The heat extended down to your clit, where it ached with need. Each hit sent a vibration straight past your core and to your clit, which was swollen and aching to be touched. You hadn’t let a tear fall yet, but you weren’t sure you could hold them back for much longer.

Your grip on the restraint was tight, your knuckles clenched in desperate need of something to hold onto.

Whack

“E-eighteen.”

Again.

“N-nineteen.”

Again.

“T-twenty.”

You released a breath of relief. It hurt. It really fucking hurt, but you were keenly aware of how turned on you were, at the ache between your legs.

Harry rubbed his hands over your skin and you flinched. “S’okay,” he said. You whimpered and he kissed the small of your back.

He released your ankles from the restraints and then did the same with your wrists, but you didn’t move. Your heart was still racing, even as your body untensed. Your muscles felt sore from useless tugging at the restraints as you blinked the tears away.

Harry walked around the bed and sat down.

“Come,” Harry’s voice was low, demanding, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands gripping the end of the mattress.

Your body immediately tensed again.

When you didn’t move, he sighed, annoyed. “Fucking hell.” He twisted, gripped your hips and pulled you over his lap like a rag doll. If you weren’t so worried about what was coming next, you would’ve enjoyed his manhandling a little more. Not to say that you didn’t enjoy it at all.

He positioned you so that your ass was directly over his lap, where you could feel his erection dig into your hip through his dress pants. Your upper body hung off one side of his lap, and your legs hung off the other. He ran his hands over your skin and you began to squirm.

“When are you going to learn.” It wasn’t a question and so you kept your mouth shut. He shifted you so that you were folded over his left thigh. He lifted his right leg and placed it over your legs so you could kick them or wriggle off his lap. He swiped his tie from where he discarded it on the nightstand and expertly twisted it around your wrists before tying it to the nightstand’s leg. When he sat up, he laid an arm across your shoulders.

Once again, he had rendered you immobile. And once again, heat seared through you at the idea of it–the way it always did. You had been trying to hold on to your control, but this is what you liked. You liked being commanded, ordered around, at Harry’s will and mercy. You ached at the idea of relinquishing it all and letting him do whatever he wanted. Take you however he wanted. And you needed this, you thought. After all the stress and frustration, you needed to just let go.

You relaxed against him and his cock twitched against your leg. He ran his hand over your skin that still burned and a soft whimper escaped you.

“Talk to me.” a hint of softness seeped into his voice. “What’s going on with you lately? What’s this need to disrespect and disobey?”

“Nothing.”

You cried out when his hand landed harshly on what was starting to feel like bruising skin.

“Why are you still trying to lie to me?” He ground out.

You didn’t know. There was no reason to, but you were stubborn. You always had been.

When you didn’t say anything, he pushed a finger inside your dripping center. A long, low moan escaped your lips. He moved it in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

When he pulled his finger out, you squirmed in protest.

“Stop.” You stilled. “If you want more, you’ll talk.”

You took a deep breath. “I’m just stressed out.” You flinched slightly as he dragged his nails over your ass. “And frustrated.”

“With me?”

“No, sir.”

“With work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you to quit.”

Immediately, you went rigid and you knew he could feel your back tense beneath him. He massaged his fingers into your muscles. “See, there. What happened just then?”

“Nothing.”

You cursed when his hand came down. Right after, his fingers moved to your clit and you moaned while trying to push yourself further into his hand, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You want a reward, huh? Don’t know what makes you think you deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“If you’re sorry, you’ll talk. So talk.”

He took his fingers away and you whined. He was going to hold you there until you gave him what he wanted, until you let him have all your control.

“Stop being stubborn, sub.”

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Another swat to your ass. And fuck it burned. Tears sprang to your eyes.

“I’ll stop once you learn your place. Once you’ve earned back my affection.”

Your heart sank and your cheeks heated in shame. After two deep breaths, your body relaxed.

“I feel like–I feel like I have no power at work.” His fingers traced up and down your slit. “I get ordered around all day; blamed and chastised for stuff that isn’t my fault. I spend my whole day feeling degraded and out of control.”

“When you’re used to being your own boss,” he said in understanding. He traced his fingers over the hood of your clit, refusing to make actual contact and you whined in anticipation. “Go on.” The timbre in his voice was back.

“And you telling me to just quit–” He squeezed your clit between his fingers as a warning to lose the attitude. You adjusted your tone. “I want to quit and I know I need to, but I can’t. And when you make it out to be so easy, it makes me mad.” He trailed his fingers through your folds, running them over your labia, spreading your arousal until every piece of you was wet. You gave a shuddering moan. “It felt so defeating–giving up all my control after a day of having it just taken from me.”

“It is easy. If you’d just let me take care of you.” The frustration in his voice was clear.

“I-I can’t.”

“You can, you’re just being stubborn.” He sighed, releasing some of the hardness from his voice. “Bottling up on all that stress and frustration hasn’t done you any good, has it?”

“No, sir.”

“I could’ve been helping you get rid of it, let it go.”

“But–”

He dipped his fingers into you. “You’ve got to let it go, love.” Your chest warmed at the pet name. “Just let me take care of you.”

You attempted, again, to push yourself into his hand when he brushed his knuckles over your clit.

“If you want to come, love, you’re gonna have to relinquish control. You’re gonna have to let me take care of you.”

You moaned in frustration as his fingers ghosted over you.

“Please.” He pinched you again. “Please, sir,” you corrected.

“Let me take care of you.” His voice was soft. “Will you let me take care of you?”

When you whimpered in agony, he shoved two fingers deep inside of you–and pulled them out just as quick. Your breathing had sped up and your nipples hardened as they brushed against the fabric of his pants.

“Will you let me?”

Fuck, you couldn’t take it anymore–and he wanted to, so why wouldn’t you let him?

“Yes, s-sir.”

“Ask me.”

Of course he was going to make you ask him.

He circled around your clit, but didn’t touch it. You felt yourself begin to pant with need.

The embarrassment began to encroach on your chest but you pushed past it. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, take care of me.”

A slap to your pussy sent you reeling.

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Please, take care of me, s-sir.”

“Since you asked nicely.” The smirk was evident in his voice.

He pushed two fingers into you, curling them in the way he knew you needed. A moan broke from deep in your chest and you tried to grip onto his thigh, but the tie held your hands firmly in place. As he fingered you deeply, he leaned forward and kissed the skin of your back.

“If I untie you, will you be good?”

His fingers still moved in and out of you, and with the sounds falling from your lips, all you could do was manage a nod. Your boyfriend chuckled. He held his fingers inside of you and bent over to tug at the knot to release you. Your wrists were slightly red from writhing against the fabric and the sight of them sent a shameful spark of excitement through you.

Easily, he lifted you up and placed you so you were sitting up, your back against his chest and your ass on his lap, rubbing against his erection. He stretched one arm across your chest and placed his hand on your breast, holding you against him, while the other opened your legs, lifting each one up and draping them over his open knees.

“You’re not going to try and close your legs, are you, love?”

“No, sir.” You placed your hands behind your thighs, onto his, working to hold yourself up. Your body was tired. Even if you wanted to close your legs, you weren’t sure you had the energy.

“That’s my good girl.” You melted at his approval. He dropped his head down and nipped and kissed along your neck and shoulder while the hand that wasn’t holding you to him landed between your legs.

He traced slow circles over your clit and your head dropped back against him. You were so ready, that it didn’t take much for the tightening in the pit of your stomach to start; as it did, your moans increased and your chest began to heave. His pace was agony. When you tried to increase the pressure by lifting yourself to his fingers, he held you back.

“Please…” you breathed. “...faster.”

“No.”

You groaned and he laughed softly against your skin.

The build up was almost painful and your ass stung fresh each time it rubbed against him, but soon you saw white and a loud cry escaped you as your hips bucked against him and your chest shuttered in his hand.

“Good girl,” he whispered, holding his pace as you came down. You were swollen and shaking, each stroke of his finger bringing through a new aftershock. “You’re not done, love.” He whispered.

Before you could question him, he lifted you and laid you on the bed on your back. When you went to sit up, you were met with a glare. You lowered yourself back down and waited, legs open, for him.

He tugged you to the edge so that your toes barely touched the floor and your ass hung off the edge. Harry leaned over you and for the first time all night, brushed his lips against yours. When you whimpered, he grabbed your jaw and deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth, swirling it over yours. He was warm and still tasted like the wine the two of you drank with dinner. Your body reignited, your nipples rising to peaks and your clit throbbing for more. He rubbed his erection against your thigh and indulged in a moan.

When you tried to loop your arms around his neck, he grabbed them and held them against the mattress. “I don’t want to restrain you again, so don’t make me.” It was a warning–one that sent a jolt straight to your core.

Not looking for a response, he pushed himself up and went to the nightstand. He pulled out a vibrating dildo and kneeled down in front of your open pussy. He kissed the inside of your thighs, the spot between your thighs and your lips, and just over your clit. Each time his breath hit you, you shuddered.

The tip of the dildo touched your core and you shivered against the cold silicone. He dipped it into you slowly, allowing you a moment to register its size, before he pushed it into you entirely. It curved, scraping against the spot inside that sent your back arching off the bed. It was big–and thick. You felt yourself stretch around it, filling you entirely.

It clicked on and your muscles tightened around it. “Oh, my god.” You gripped at the comforter beneath you as your hips began to roll.

Harry squeezed the inside of your thigh and began moving it in and out of you again. Your breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to keep your legs open, to keep your toes touching the floor.

“Does that feel good?”

“Ye–yes, s-sir.”

He kissed your clit before increasing the vibrations. You cried out as your hips bucked, your clit searching for any kind of friction. Harry hummed and you felt the slick of his tongue against you. You struggled to keep your hips down as pleasure rolled through you, hot and intense.

“Oh, my god.” Your hips began to buck–and suddenly you were empty. Cool air replaced Harry’s tongue. You whimpered and lifted your head. “Wha-”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come, did I, love?” His voice was thick, his pupils blown out in desire.

“N-no. I’m sorry, sir.”

Without warning, the vibrator was inside you again, pushing against your walls, while Harry flicked his tongue quickly over your bud. Your grip on the comforter was deadly and your chest heaved as you attempted to stave off your orgasm.

It continued to build and moans slipped through your lips unallowed.

“Sir…” You groaned.

“Not yet.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t.”

A sweat broke out across your forehead and dampened your chest. You tried to focus on anything other than the way Harry’s tongue lapped at your clit and how well the dildo filled you. But it was hard. You could feel yourself losing control.

Harry nipped at your clit in warning, but you were so far gone it didn’t hurt, only added to your pleasure.

He was holding out, but you weren’t sure for what. He had already punished you–what more did he want?

Relief filled you when you realized: he wanted you to beg. He wanted you to give up control, to beg him to help you come undone.

“Sir, p-please.”

He ignored you.

“Please, can I come.”

He hummed against you.

“Please–fuck–please, can you help me come…”

He kissed your clit. “Go ahead, love.”

You relaxed and let your orgasm rip through your body. The pleasure was so good it was blinding. Your cries mixed with curses and you had the comforter balled so tightly in your fists you were surprised it didn’t tear.

After its peak, you had a moment of contentment before searing pleasure sent your skin on fire. He had upped the vibrations–and not just inside you, but against your clit. It seemed he had been hiding the vibrators rabbit attachment from you, saving it to send you over the edge one last time.

He rocked the dildo inside of you, hitting your g-spot while the points of the rabbit pressed against your already swollen clit. He reached his free hand up and pinched your already erect nipples, while kissing your hips and mound.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered against your skin. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. Teetering on the verge of coming undone for the third time, he lessened the vibrations and came to lay next to you on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at you.

He started moving the dildo inside you and bent down to give you a hard kiss.

“You need to let go. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m n–” Your argument died in your throat when you realized how tense your body was. You tried to relax, but it was too much. It would be too much. You were sore and swollen and so sensitive that a few tears had already slipped down your face.

He dipped down and rubbed his nose against your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You looked at him and saw only tenderness and love. “Yes, sir.”

He changed the vibrator’s setting once more and you cried out.

“Keep your legs open,” he commanded while you writhed against the bed and he watched you.

He licked at your now tender nipples.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

You wanted to please him–and you wanted the release.

You breathed through the unbearable pleasure and the second your body relaxed, an orgasm unlike any other tore through your body. You let out a scream as Harry rocked the dildo against your g-spot and continued his assault on your nipples with his tongue.

Your cries grew hoarse as he forced you to ride out the entirety of your orgasm with the vibrations set to high and your body shook with the aftershocks as your muscles tightened around the toy still inside you.

He pulled it out and kissed you softly, as your body continued to shake with the aftermath. He wiped tears from your cheeks that you hadn’t even realized had fallen and pulled you tightly into his chest. Your breathing was ragged as he ran his hands over your back. When he brushed his hands over your ass you flinched.

“That might hurt for a bit,” he whispered. You cuddled closer and he kissed the top of your head.

When he started to move, you whimpered. He sat up and pulled you with him. You groaned in protest and scratched down your back. “Just moving us under the blanket, love.”

As he settled against the pillows with you between his legs and your head on his chest, the relief pooled in your chest. The stress was gone, as well as the frustration.

Then, just as quickly, an emptiness moved in–an embarrassment at the fact that you had been punished. This always happened afterwards and you hated it every time.

When he heard you sniffle, he tilted up your chin to look at him.

“Oh, poor baby.” He said when he saw the tears in your eyes. He hugged you tighter and you burrowed into him, though it was impossible for you to get any closer. “I’m sorry I had to do that. I know you’re not a fan of the paddle.” He rubbed his hand up and down your arm.

“It’s okay. I mean, honestly, I probably should’ve been punished weeks ago.”

Harry’s chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “That’s exactly right.”

“I’m sorry, sir. For being mean.”

“It’s not about meanness. It’s about disrespect, love–disobedience. You know how this works.”

“I know–”

He pinched her side. “Don’t interrupt. It’s unnecessary, so it’s willful. All I ever ask is that you talk to me.”

You looked up at him, asking for permission. He smiled and your heart swelled.

“Go ahead.”

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful,”

“S’okay. I think you’ve learned your lesson” Desire flashed in his eyes and suddenly you were reminded of his still very hard cock pressed against your back.

“Oh–do you want–”

He smiled and shook his head before guiding your head back to his chest. “Not tonight. Sweet of you to think of me.”

Your body relaxed further into him. “My butt hurts.”

You felt his lips against your hair. “Proud of you for taking it so well. You did a good job, love.”

Warmth filled you, knowing you had pleased him. “Thank you, sir.”

The comforter shifted off your shoulder and you shivered.

“How about a warm bath–for the two of us? How does that sound?”

You hummed your approval.

He nuzzled your cheek with his nose. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles writing #harry fic #hs fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles au #harry styles fic rec

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stxrmylxve · 1 year

Note

I loved the jealousy headcanons! Can I get some for Mikey, Rindou and Koko as well?

of course!! i might make a whole series because everyone seems to like them 😭

Rindou:

jealous!rindou isn’t one to show a lot of emotions, he’s just sitting in the corner brewing up a storm internally

jealous!rindou isn’t afraid to vocalize his feelings, though, and very well will within a few days of the flirting from Ran towards you

jealous!rindou will most definitely fight, regardless if it’s his brother or another person, to prove that he isn’t messing around when he says that you’re his.

jealous!rindou will fight on his own without even telling you. he will come home completely exhausted, but to himself he knows it was a job well done and he can rest peacefully that night

Mikey:

jealous!mikey reminds me of a kid tbh. he huffs and puffs when the person is talking just to spite them; he dares them to say something about it too

jealous!mikey doesn’t give two shits about the person, mikey could easily overcome them in one punch and therefore has nothing to worry about. he also knows that you swore your loyalty and realize the shit you were associating yourself with

jealous!mikey doesn’t want his hands dirty with something that could make you mad, therefore he gets someone to deal with them. but he might throw a few nasty glares and punches, but only if he has to

jealous!mikey is a mysterious one; you never know how he’s going to react. and especially after he confronts the person, he is like a nutjob. which… makes the person back off so it’s not the worst

Kokonoi:

jealous!kokonoi has his connections and will hire someone to go with him and talk to the person. it’s a subtle conversation, and money obviously comes up at least once. however, it’s all part of a scheme

jealous!kokonoi knows his power, he works under taiju, and at the time, taiju had gone undefeated and had plenty of anger to boil over from.

jealous!kokonoi took advantage of the person and struck them, unbeknownst to you, and shooed them away. he has many connections, and they can be useful.

jealous!kokonoi shoots them a grin as he leaves, knowing damn well they won’t be back to bother his s/o anytime soon. he leaves his men along with the person in the room and walks away, a new wad of cash shoved in his pocket to shower you with later

jealous!kokonoi is a sweetheart with a dark side, and he knows he a snake himself too.

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amooo1023 · 1 year

Note

Romantic headcanons for Bill Cipher x a assassin reader!

I love this idea so much- YES YES I WILL WRITE FOR THIS ANON Please enjoy-

Bill Cipher x assassin reader ROMANTIC HEADCANONS

Bill finds you very amusing and interesting! Most humans would be entirely against murder of any kind. You however? You get REWARDED for killing people. You were mostly hired by rich people or people with power. Which really intrigued Bill. I mean, aren't they usually the ones that control the law? Why would murder even be illegal if they themselves participate in it?

Luckily for him, you recently got your target in Gravity Falls. Maybe he might finally get to meet you. And maybe, just maybe potentially force a deal upon you just so that you can stay a bit longer.

This moron will make you stay a bit longer than needed. Which would later lead to your romantic relationship.

I have a feeling he would adore an assassin reader. He's so used to humans being scared or straight up appalled by murder. That's what makes him like you. You treat murder as if it's a job, which it is for you at least. It's not that he doesn't like fear driven humans. In fact he even enjoys them (in a sadistic way) it's just that, seeing an actual human being treating murder like an everyday thing and not even flinching or hesitating while taking another person's life. Is VERY intriguing for him.

Considering your knowledge in killing (especially quick and quiet) he will take advice from you when he wants to know certain ways to be either sneaky or murder another human being. Safe to say he will take your advice at heart. Also maybe he'll be a bit snarky (and maybe affectionate) throughout the conversation.

He absolutely relishes in your killings. He will watch, there is no doubt of that. What he may find a bit boring is that you won't torture your targets or make it slow and painful. You're quick and fast, you just get the job done. He gets why but.. Why won't you at least try to enjoy yourself while you kill someone? He's personally in for the reactions and you're in for the money.

He'll try to get reactions out of you, constantly. Wanting to scare you or surprise you. Anything to catch you off guard. The only reason he has to doing this is because you're an assassin. Since assassins are always on guard and killing target with ease at the main goal being swift and silent. He thinks it'll be fun to catch you off guard.

These acts are very random. Sometimes he randomly tackles you, sometimes he pops out of the ceiling, IT CAN LITERALLY BE ANYTHING. Romantic acts included. And if he somehow does catch you off guard he will be laughing his nonexistent ass off. Making small jabs and remarks towards you and etc. He will boast about it until the day you die. Sorry not sorry.

If he could, he would join in your assassination sessions. He is your partner IN CRIME. But, if given the opportunity he will probably make your situation worse when killing your target. Maybe he gets a bit too excited and fucks the job up. Giving out your location and making the whole situation messy. Sometimes you just have to bolt at the target and slice their throat immediately just because of his "bafoonerey". But again this is IF he could intervene. And that doesn't happen often considering his position.

He might stop you from getting to your target at times just to spend some time with you. He gets bored and lonely easily. Seeing as you're his only person he can talk and interact with in the "physical" 3D plane. Besides annoying Dipper or Mabel or whoever else he decides to wreak havoc upon. Anyways, expect a lot of bored Bills to hug you suddenly or grab your hand. Incredibly touchy or just being a brat to get a reaction out of you.

Bill doesn't think of your job as a big deal so it doesn't really come as a surprise when he all so suddenly appears in front of you. Maybe he's asking you shit and is just in general being an annoyance. Or he'll be incredibly cute. Obviously hinting at physical affection but being "vague" about it.

Look, he really loves you but is a little shit when you're doing your job.

Sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoyed.

#bill cipher x reader #bill cipher #x reader #gravity falls #headcanons #gender neutral reader #reader insert

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yaboyhoney · 1 year

Note

Last time I asked for some emmet with goth reader, but now I come begging for ingo with a buff n tough reader

Just an absolutely intimidating beefcake of a man that goes all soft and gooey over ingo, just the idea of two normally strict and intimidating men getting all soft over each other is making me go all 👀👀

Especially if reader is not only physically strong but is also a tough pokemon trainer,power couple shit right there

Ingo x BUFF Reader

You're head of the security at the Nimbasa Gear Station. You take your job very seriously as there seems to be a fight or some sort of incident every day. With this in mind, you take you duties with the utmost care to ensure the safety of everyone. There will be days where you get into physical altercations, so you became stronger by working out and by taking fighting lessons.

You were hired before the twins became the Subway Bosses, you two are roughly around the same age. Sometimes the two get involved with your work which is normal, considering they're technically your bosses now.

Sometimes the subway station gets promoted to do battling tournaments, it'll happen in the central lobby of the Gear Station as opposed to taking place in the trains. This is a very rare opportunity to battle Ingo and Emmet without having to take on the train challenge.

But events such as these require a lot more security guards. To ensure that everything runs smoothly, you decide to be present as well, just in case.

After Ingo was done battling a trainer, the challenger gets pissed off having lost to him. He and his colleagues began to berate Ingo in front of everyone, causing a scene.

You swiftly make your way over there, to try and take control over this situation. Ingo can't be distracted in this tournament, he's playing a vital role. But with your presence, it only angers the challenger even more.

When you turn your head a smidge to talk to Ingo, you see his eyes widen as he looks behind you. You quickly turn and catch the man's fist in your palm, preventing him from punching you. You glare at him with a frown as you twist his arm and kick him in the knees, making him fall to the ground.

But after you take this first one down, his companion tries to challenge you instead, running up to you. You easily deflect his punch and by using his own momentum, you swiftly knock him to the ground as well.

The third knows he can't win a fight against you physically, so he throws out his pokemon instead, thinking he's outmatched you. But you being head of security secretly meant being just as strong if not stronger than your bosses. You summon your Pokemon and finish him off in a 1 vs 3 battle, your ace taking all of his pokemon out within 1 to 2 rounds. The crowd explodes with applause and cheers.

You call over your security agents to swiftly handcuff the three that attacked you. They're swiftly being escorted away. You scoff as you watched their backside, for it being three against one, they were wimps. You turn around and give a two finger salute to Ingo, ready to apologize when he suddenly claps his hand and praises you, "BRAVO! SUPER BRAVO! That was incredible!" Your eyes widen at the sudden praise, blood rushing to your cheeks. Ingo begins to asks excitedly why he has never seen you battle prior to this point. You tell him it's because you usually end fights with your fists, you joke as you flex your muscles. His face turns bright red.

You tell Ingo that you'll come back to make sure that the rest of the event goes smoothly after you ensure that the three attackers are taken into police custody. You needed to gather the video footage of the incident as well in order to press charges, which would take some time in the security office.

But after this incident, Ingo starts to take more note of you. He's enamored by you. You were physically strong and handsome, along with being a wonderful trainer? It's almost too good to be true.

You typically only battle out of necessity as opposed to opportunity, but on your day off you decided to pay Ingo a visit by challenging his train. The two began to talk after the tournament and an interest for Ingo grew inside of you. You make it all the way to him and his eyes widen when he sees you. You playfully act and pretend as if you have never met him before to which he plays along, pretending the same, implementing a rule that whoever wins gets to pay for dinner, should you agree. You never fought a battle so hard in your life but ultimately you won, cheering when your Pokemon was victorious. Though he's sad he's defeated, he loved the fight you just had and the two of you sit down to discuss where to go eat. You officially start dating after that.

During work hours, the two of you are strictly business professional, taking both of your jobs seriously with a dedicated passion. But as you grow to spend more time together, you two start to dissolve behind private doors in a tender bashfulness.

You and Ingo are somewhat alike in how stoic you tend to be. You have to be a strong and stern person due to your job and Ingo naturally is the same. But when you two are in private, it's as if you're two different people entirely.

Ingo is much more reserved than you are and you accommodate to his pace in terms of romantic intimacy. Not to say he dislikes you, but rather he feels the need to prevent drawing attention towards you in public, due to the estranged fans he has.

But in the privacy of either your offices or homes, he's much more needy. He practically melts into your loving muscular arms as you nuzzle against him, you help ease the tension he has by giving him back massages. He fell in love with how rough your hands are oddly, as he likes to hold it tenderly.

Ingo does get worried at some point, thinking he's too weak physically to care for you, so he asks if he could join you at the gym.

Though the circumstances weren't the greatest as to how you two met, through that event, you found one person that was your rival, your gym buddy, and your boyfriend.

#ingo x reader #nobori x reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon ingo x reader #my writing

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illylli · 2 years

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Bite My Tongue (Pt. 3) | Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

→ After the successful launch of Eddie’s original DnD campaign, you convince him to take you on a late-night drive. You reveal hidden fears and hopes, and bond over your shared desires. Eddie gets too comfortable and takes things a step too far.

→ 3.5k words: including mentions of abuse, an emotional heart-to-heart, eddie singing in the car and generally being an incredible person

→ a/n: i sincerely apologise for all the heartbreak, i promise i’ll make it up to you guys in the next part ♥️

♫ mood: ‘dionne’ by the the japanese house

→ read part 1 | → read part 2

A couple weeks and countless nights spent planning in your room later, Eddie was ready to launch the Hellfire Club into the greatest DnD campaign they’d ever, and possibly would ever, play in their lives.

He had gone all out: decking the classroom they hired out bi-weekly in set pieces he’d convinced the drama department to let him borrow, along with some things he’d made himself out of a bit of cardboard and sheer determination.

The look on his friends’ faces was well worth the effort. Dustin and Mike were especially impressed, sharing a slack-jawed look, taking in the mystical elements that transformed the space into a medieval-inspired dungeon. Plastic torches flickered with fake fire; the space surrounded by cardboard castle walls accompanied by hanging plastic skeletons, the long table adorned with daggers and jewels and chalices filled with fake blood.

If anyone walked in now, it’d be near impossible to convince them DnD wasn’t satanic.

It was when all the guys had taken their seats, Eddie clearing his throat to put on his most theatrical voice as he raised his arms, when you burst in.

“Shit, sorry,” your voice hushed, and you began backing out of the door “I’ll come back when you’re done.”

Eddie dropped his arms with a wide smile, “We haven’t started yet. You wanna watch?” He walked towards you, hand sliding up the door, holding it in place, “It’s just as much your story as it is mine, you know.”

“I came to return these,” you placed your closed fist onto his palm, transferring the collection of silver rings, “You left them at my place again.”

It was becoming a habit. He had started leaving them there after he’d forgotten them that first night, on your bedside table. He figured it’d give you an excuse to come see him, if you ever needed one.

You picked up his hand, brushing a tender touch over the rose-bush cuts that had healed into white slivers on his fingers, then slid his rings on.

He raised an eyebrow at your wrist. “My bracelet.”

You clutched it to your chest. “It matches my outfit today.” It was the only piece of jewellery of his that fit, so you’d decided to steal it.

Mike cleared his throat, and Eddie flipped him off without looking away from you.

“So,” he smiled, “You’ll watch?”

Eddie had already felt giddy, knowing this was to be the first day of his campaign. But now that he had your eyes on him during it? It was like floating on a cloud of pure bliss. Every time something dramatic happened he’d glance at you, totally entranced, your elbows on your knees as you sat on the edge of your seat.

No, not seat. Throne. Because Eddie had given you the head place at the table, the omnipresent goddess of the world you’d helped him create. You were haloed in gentle light, a real-life angel blessing them with your presence.

You shared in the excitement, cheering along when someone rolled for a successful action, and hiding your face during tense encounters. During the session you teased Mike and Dustin endlessly, and Eddie could see you were close with Mike, which wasn’t surprising.

The kid kept looking to you for advice on how to progress when the road diverged into different paths. Unluckily for him, you had no stakes in the game and only wanted to pursue the decisions that would land him in the most trouble.

You’d laugh whenever your choice backfired, and Eddie could scarcely do his job as Dungeon Master because he felt his chest go all fluttery whenever he heard the sound, his breath stolen from him and steeped in your mirth.

By the time the session came to an end, he felt slightly relieved, because he wasn’t sure how long he could go on pretending in front of everyone that he wasn’t totally head over heels for you.

You stayed back to help him pack up all the décor, which he appreciated endlessly.

“I didn’t know you get super into it,” you said as you reviewed the session, “You’re really passionate.”

Eddie felt a pang of embarrassment, rubbing his neck as he replied, “Yeah, I can go a bit overboard with the voices and stuff.”

“No,” you stopped, turning to him, arms filled with the skeleton he’d stolen from the biology classroom, “No, it’s great! It makes everything feel more immersive.”

He chuckled, “You think so?”

You ducked behind the skeleton, making it wave. You put on a ghoulish voice and said “I knooooow so.” Eddie just about burst a lung as he laughed.

“Fuck, you’re precious.”

You’d never cared much for the phrase about feeling butterflies in your stomach, but when Eddie said that, his head tilted and his eyes full of adoration, you felt as though your body had become a butterfly sanctuary, fluttering wings replacing the marrow of your bones, replacing the beating of your heart.

He went back to cleaning up like nothing had transpired, but you stood there for a couple more seconds, wondering why Chance had never called you precious before.

With an extra set of hands, packing up took half the time setting up had, and Eddie was left wondering how he’d spend the evening, as it was still young by the time you’d almost finished loading up the van.

There was only really one thing left.

“You want it back?” you asked as he threaded his hand underneath the chain bracelet, fingernails scraping gently against your pulse.

Eddie shook his head. “Keep it.” It would be fair that you carried a reminder of him, since the heart in his chest was a constant reminder of you.

“Hey Munson.”

Chance’s voice startled you apart, and you felt guilty without really knowing why.

“What’re you doing here, honey?” He greeted with a kiss to the side of your head, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Just helping Eddie pack his things,” you explained, “Did you win your game?”

“Nope. We sucked. Let’s get out of here.”

A group of rowdy jocks passed by, headed by Jason. He let out a low whistle at the sight, “Mingling with the freaks now, Chance? We didn’t lose so hard that you’re looking for new friends, right?”

Chance chuckled, not noticing how tense you’d gotten next to him. Eddie could see the distress clear in your body language. You did not feel comfortable around Chance’s friends.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, “C’mon, Jason’s giving us a lift.”

You rolled out of his grip, “I’m not finished yet.”

Eddie was about to interject and let you know he could handle the rest when Chance rolled his eyes and asked “You want a ride home or not?”

The impatience paired with his flaring nostrils annoyed him way too much.

“I’ve got her,” Eddie retorted, a little possessive.

Chance looked like he was about to reject the offer, but Jason called out his name, and he let it go.

“I’ll see you at your place later,” he told you, slipping back to catch up with the others.

You let out a loud sigh, rubbing your eyes with the edge of your palms.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, and you looked surprised he was asking.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He led you to the passenger side, opening the door for you, wincing as it creaked. When he started up the van he opted for the safe option of the radio, not trusting his hands to be steady if he loaded up a cassette. It was tuned to the local alternative radio, and he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove the route to your house.

He could see out of the corner of his eye how dejected you’d become, sinking into the seat, eyes following the landscape painted in black under the moonlight as it passed by.

“You okay?” He asked again.

You sat up a bit, glancing at him. “Yeah, I just…” You played with the sleeve of your shirt, “don’t really want to go home yet.”

“You hungry?”

That turned out to be the golden question, and you soon found yourself sitting in the parking lot of a burger king, eating crappy food with a satisfied smile. Eddie spilt mustard on his Hellfire shirt, and despite rubbing at his profusely, it wasn’t going to come out without a good wash.

You almost choked on your drink as he pulled the top over his head, balling it up and throwing it into the back. He pushed up and hovered between the two front seats, the guitar pick on his necklace dangling as he searched for something to change into.

He was so close you could feel the heat of his body; smell the hint of cigarette smoke mixed with cheap cologne. You tried not to stare at his chest, but to your credit, it contained a few interesting tattoos to ogle.

Then your eyes drifted elsewhere, towards his back, and you were stunned at the scarring there, evidence of past lacerations across his spine.

He caught you looking when he sat back in the driver’s seat, a Metallica shirt in his hands. You decided not to say anything, not wanting to drudge up past trauma if he wasn’t ready.

“What do they mean?” You pointed at his tattoos, hoping he didn’t think you were staring because of anything else.

Eddie looked down at his chest, tracing his tattoos. He looked up at you with a goofy smile and said, “They don’t mean anything. They’re just cool.”

You huffed a laugh at his response, watching as he pulled the new shirt over his head. Now dressed and clean, he wrapped his hand around the handbrake, but paused, looking over to you.

“You wanna tell me what’s got you so bummed out?”

It shouldn’t have shocked you, his attention to your mood. He somehow always knew what you were feeling.

“It’s stupid,” you said, and he gave you a look that said no it’s not. “I guess I kinda feel trapped.”

Eddie turned his body to you, listening intently.

“I’ve been in Hawkins my whole life. I want to leave so badly, but Chance wants to settle down here. I know this is a horrible thing to say, but I honestly can’t think of anything worse than raising a family here. I don’t want to be relegated to some baby making machine, I want to travel and do amazing things!”

You dropped your hands from where you’d been waving them in the air to accentuate the graveness of your matter. “It’s easy for people like Chance. Highschool has given him his best years. But I’m not like that. I feel like I’ve barely even lived.”

You looked back at Eddie, a small smile on his face. “I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” he said, pushing the handbrake down, “Put your seatbelt on. Let’s get out of here.”

‘Here’ had apparently been in reference to Hawkins, and you noticed as soon as he missed the turnoff that would bring you home. Excitement filled you, and you shared a wordless smile as Eddie got onto the highway, driving North, away from town.

There’s something about the highway late at night, most lanes empty. The darkness of the enveloping trees and the navy sky above a comfort despite their monotony as you watch it all fly past through the window. Eddie sung along quietly to the radio, and though you’d heard his voice before, you never got sick of listening to it.

Just as you thought he might never stop, the road stretching on forever, Eddie flicked his indicator to the off ramp, a big sign indicating that he was heading for Kokomo. It wasn’t anything special; a sleeping town similar to Hawkins, but at least it was somewhere new, somewhere you could watch pass by through the window and wonder about the people who lived here, and what stories they’d lived out.

Eddie had obviously never been here before either, looking down every street, slowing down at every turn to see if there was anything interesting to discover. Eventually, he pulled onto a dirt road that led to a park, and he parked the van atop a bridge. A lazy river flowed underneath it, moonlight glittering on the calm water.

The air somehow smelt fresher here, and you took a lungful, feeling cleansed when you exhaled. Eddie knelt next to the van, motioning for you to take a step up. He hoisted you onto the roof and joined you shortly, the van bouncing slightly as he settled beside you to take in the view.

“Know any constellations?” he asked, reclining onto his back to take in the sky.

You shook your head, looking up. “I don’t.”

“Then we’ll make our own.”

Eddie pointed out a collection of stars that looked like a smiley face. You struggled to point out one that looked like a dog. He said it looked more like a cat when he finally found it. His arm kept brushing yours as he gestured to the star he liked most; one that was flashing.

“It’s probably been dead for millions of years.”

Eddie popped up onto his elbows, “Is that right?”

You smiled, eager to teach him anything you could. “More than half the stars in the sky that we can see right now have probably gone supernova ages ago. Light travels pretty slowly, and because they’re so far away, their light only reaches us after they’re gone.”

He frowned, “That’s sad.”

You shrugged. “It’s just what happens. The one that’s flashing is probably going supernova, millions of years ago, but also right now.”

Eddie laid back down next to you, the edge of his pinky brushing against yours. “Like you.”

You turned your head, looking at him for an explanation.

“You’re this brilliant, amazing person, and whenever anyone looks at you all they see is light,” Eddie wondered if he was being cheesy, but he’d already begun his little spiel, so he didn’t dare stop now and keep you wondering. “I’m just worried that they’re convinced you’re fine when in reality you’ve been, and you are, breaking down.”

He was giving you an invitation to either shoot him down or give into the topic. He knew he’d managed to pull it off when you nudged his pinky, wrapping yours around his.

“It’s not their fault. I’m too good at pretending everything’s fine.”

“What’s on your mind?”

You looked back up at the stars, your eyes glassy, reflecting their shine. “Everything feels so stagnant. My job, school, my family, Chance.” You swallowed before continuing, “All I’ve ever done is work hard to make everyone happy. I know I’m lucky, and I shouldn’t complain. My parents have sacrificed so much for me, including their happiness.”

“And I know they don’t expect anything in return. All the pressure is self-enforced. But I need to be the dutiful daughter. The perfect girlfriend. The diligent student. I have a duty to be the person they need me to be. To surpass them and prove, to myself more than anyone, that all the pain and frustration was worth it. I should feel honoured, but I just feel stuck. I carry the burden of everyone’s problems and the moment I try to focus on mine, it’s like no one’s listening.”

“Hey, I’m listening.”

You turned back to him, stars trembling in your eyes.

“I’m sorry for ranting. You and Nance are the only people I feel like I can really talk to. But with Nancy, I feel like I can’t tell her everything. I don’t want her to worry. She’s been through enough.”

“Don’t ever apologise for getting things off your chest,” he reassured you.

You nodded, gifting him a small smile. “Are you doing alright?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Eddie teased, “But yeah, I can definitely relate to that kind of pressure, in a different way.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “The part about wanting to surpass your parents, become a better person to prove that the pain was worth it? Though, I think your folks are a lot nicer than mine were.”

You’d never brought it up, but you knew there had to be a reason Eddie lived with his uncle and rarely mentioned his parents.

“Can thank my dad for the sick scars on my back,” he sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “It was a relief when he got addicted, because uh, at least then he was too dosed up to give a shit. That’s why I'm always careful when I get high. Don’t wanna end up like a zombie, like he did. And I owe it to my uncle to be a better person.” He picked at the tears in the knees of his jeans. “I understand how it gets tiring, trying to do right by those who’ve supported you, especially when they can’t really understand you. At the end of the day that’s all anyone wants, right? To be understood.”

“Not loved?”

Eddie shook his head, “Nah. Anyone can love you. But love feels different when it comes from someone who really knows you. Someone who sees all the bad as well as the good, and still wants you.

You sat up then, and slowly pushed your hand up his shirt. Eddie’s eyes met yours as you felt the raised flesh of his back, valleys of suffering he had kept hidden right beneath the surface.

Moving your legs, you slid up behind him, wrapping him up in your arms as you pressed a kiss to his back. Eddie sunk into your embrace, feeling deeply safe and secure.

“I promise,” he spoke, and you could feel the reverberations of his chest, “We’re going to get out of Hawkins. I’ll buy an old camper or something, do it up reeeeal nice. You can write while we’re on the road, and I’ll play a few gigs, and when we get sick of it we’ll leave it at the airport and fly away to wherever you want.”

“Eddie.” There was a warning in your tone. Fantasies at a time like this weren’t going to help.

“Even if we do stay trapped in Hawkins for the rest of our lives,” he reached up and squeezed your hand, “I’m glad I’m trapped with you.”

He was baring his heart to you now, bleeding and on a silver platter. You wished he was the answer to all your problems. What you would have given to tell him you wanted him to take you away forever.

But reality was still only a 50-minute drive away, and it wasn’t going to go away. You had a Chance waiting for you, and you had to remain loyal to the man who had fallen for you a year ago, because you’d chosen him. Even though your heart ached for Eddie, and over the past few weeks it had become impossible to ignore the fact that you wanted him more than anything.

You’d just gotten too used to ignoring what you wanted in order to provide what other people needed from you.

“(Y/n)?”

You moved away from him, swinging your legs over the edge of the van’s roof. Eddie knew then he’d fucked up. He’d revealed too much, and you saw him for the reject he was. Or worse: you truly did care about him, but had realised his feelings for you were a lot deeper, and now he was just another person pressuring you to be someone he needed, when it wasn’t what you wanted.

He bit down on his tongue, wishing he could take back the last few minutes, rewind to when he was in your arms.

“Should get you home before your folks start worrying.”

“Yeah,” you wiped at your face, like you were crying. You were. “Good idea.”

The radio filled the silence on the way home, playing dionne warwick’s ‘walk on by’. You watched the roads become familiar again with tears in your eyes, and you felt like you were suffocating despite breathing just fine.

Chance was waiting by your front door as Eddie pulled up, his arms crossed as he saw the van. Eddie could see that your cheeks were wet in the reflection of the glass. He wanted to reach out, to comfort you in some way, but by the time he’d worked up the nerve you had already opened and closed the door, making your way to your boyfriend.

He couldn’t hear, but he saw the start of an argument brewing like a storm as you walked into the front door with your head hung low.

Eddie pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, simply breathing, trying to think of nothing. When he lifted his head, the light was on in your room, and though he’d been in there dozen times by now, the place now looked foreign to him.

Forbidden.

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floosies · 4 months

Text

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

steve harrington x poc!fem reader

summary: always the babysitter, but has the father figure found the mother figure to help put up with the nonsense?

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, fluff, cursing, (p.s. despite mentions of s4, eddie is still alive here)

a/n: stevie deserves the world and if a fic is how to do that then so be it. merry xmas to my favorite golden boy ❤🎄☃️

tagging: @reidsbtch for the beautiful moodboard 🤍

The holiday season in previous years for the Harrington's meant trips to Australia or Florida, anywhere else where there isn't midwestern cold air blowing around them. Steve would begrudginly string along, forgotten in a hotel room or given spending money and told to have fun in the resort.

It was 1990 now though, and at 23, he was spending this Christmas at his own place with his own traditions now. One of which was choosing a Christmas movie or show to watch as a group. Though his and Robin's place was considerably small they always made it work. This year however Home Alone had just come out and the plan had been to get tickets on a night everyone could make it.

Only scheduling was becoming hell, everyone had plans or work. The Wheelers were planning a family trip with the Byers, Eddie had gotten a new job with more hours so his uncle could have some more rest time, Robin and Vickie as well as Lucas and Max were planning family centered stuff, which left the always trustee Dustin to promise Steve he would go with him.

It was all he would talk about to her, how everyone else had basically ditched him and here he was again relying on Dustin to step in. She heard him intently as they shelved vhs tapes onto the tinsel topped displays, "how do you think I feel? This is my first Christmas away from home. Although I do enjoy being able to hear Wham singing and not my folks yelling over it." She quipped as he sighed, his eyes rolling, "at least your parents hung around for the holidays, I think mine are in Florida right now." She shrugged, "oh Steve lighten up tis the season and you have little Dustin to cheer you up." She further taunted him by throwing him one of the candy canes from their small tree they had on the check out counter.

She'd moved to Hawkins earlier in the year with the only goal of surviving on her own away from her previous situation. Within a month she was hired at the Family Video and met both Steve and Dustin in the middle of a heated debate about batteries and star wars. It was Dustin who vouched for her to join their friend group especially after seeing her homemade twilight zone pin and weird al cassette in her car. However he only ever regretted it when he got into trouble, because now he wouldn't hear the end of it from her and Steve.

Considering Dustin, he had come in before the store closed, ever thankful he ran into her first and not Steve. His face worried and guilt ridden, "what'd you do this time dusty? Am I going to have to talk to your mom again?" She joked as he mocked back, "that was so not cool, but no. It's about the movie night with Steve...I messed up." She was curious now but before she could ask what he meant, Steve had come up from the back of the store, "Henderson you better be ready to get all the snacks dude, we are going in heavy this year since-" catching a glimpse of Dustin's sour face he stopped his ramble, "do we need to talk to Higgins and your mom again?" Rolling his eyes he shook his head, "again totally uncalled for and embarrassing. You guys didn't need to be there" She quipped back "Then why are we on your emergency contact list?" He groaned, "whatever anyways no, that's not why i'm here. I'm sorry dude I royally screwed up my schedule -" "No. No. No! Not you too!" Steve cried out in frustration, "I literally had to beg Keith to give me Saturday night off." Dustin felt like shit about this, "I'll make it up to you I promise. It's just Suzie is coming down from Utah with the whole family and my mom has this whole dinner planned. I'll bring her by so you can meet her!"

She really felt bad for Steve now. He was genuinely hurt by now, it was written over his face. In the back of her mind she knew better but before she could regret it or overthink it, the words flew out of her mouth, "I'm free Saturday night if you still wanna go see that movie? I still haven't been to the theatre here so it would be cool to see the rest of Hawkins?" Steve looked at her about to decide whether to shoot down her kindness or ask if she's serious when Dustin speaks, "problem solved! Thanks so much! You guys'll have all the fun in the world. I got run." He started for the door with a 'merry holidays!' as he ran out and back into his mom's car.

Steve took his hands into his face with a loud sigh, "I was being serious Steve you literally said you did this every year, don't let the tradition fade out because those gremlins can't make it." He looked up at her, "well I guess it couldn't hurt." She smiled at him nudging his side with her shoulder, "see theres the holiday spirit. I'm going to start getting the store ready to close now though." He watched as she walked off to start turning off the window lights while thinking about how happy she seemed at his approval. He didn't want to read too much into but could it be that she might like him?

What was she thinking? Sure he was cute but from what everybody had mentioned so far, he was some sort of big shot around the area. He did say yes though, but it was probably a pity yes, still she could always say it was some christmas kindness is all. That's what she told herself for the rest of the week, because deep down she wasn't sure what to make of him entirely.

He spent the rest of the week pestering himself with the notation, the very idea that maybe he had missed something entirely or he was so full of himself that he was misinterpreting the whole thing. Robin was tired of hearing the same ramblings at work and as he dropped her off at home, "don't be a dingus, dingus. She literally said she wanted to go with you, she even brought up having zero plans." He shrugged as he pulled up to Robin's house, "I mean what if she just feels bad for me?" "Oh I think we all feel bad for you." She said opening the car door, he rolled his eyes, "ha ha laugh it up." Slamming the car door behind her she looked back through the car window, "it's gonna be fine Steve."

Saturday came by way too quickly for both of them. After multiple outfit changes and hair stylings they both found themselves waiting for the other. Well Steve found himself waiting in front of her apartment door with flowers in one hand and the other in his pocket where he was fidgeting with his car keys.

When the door opened and he saw her in a black mini skirt with sheer tights and a red knit sweater. She had clearly done something right based on the look he was giving her, "hey Steve those for me?" She asked pointing to the bouquet in his hand. He suddenly came to again, "yeah. Yes! I mean yeah, got these for you, I umm...I didn't want to come empty handed?" He was messing this up already, but in her head it was cute how nervous he seemed, She took them gently from his grasp, "well that was very kind of you. Now I feel bad I didn't get you a gift." She stepped back waving for him to enter. He shook his head, "no no, you tagging along to my misery parade is gift enough." This made her giggle, "c'mon it won't be that bad. Plus everyone is saying this movie is really good." He groaned out in frustration "yeah which was why it was so hard to get some damn tickets." She had placed the flowers on a coffee table behind her, "well lets get going then. Don't wanna miss those trailers." Before they could step out he stopped her, "think you need a coat first." Shit, there went the cool look she was going for, "oh yeah. One sec."

For two adults, they both seemed to come off like thirteen year olds, while they did enjoy the movie, they were sneaking glances at each other much than they were paying attention to kevin mcallister's boobytraps. Still they found themselves laughing at the mayhem the kid was making. She hadn't heard Steve ever really laugh like how he was laughing now and it made her smile, no wonder all the girls of Hawkins were into him. Which just made her that much more nervous. He had felt just as nervous since their hands had accidentally touched while trying to get popcorn at the same time.

The movie was great, as expected and they left the theatre in happier mood even arguing about which trap they could make while they walked around the town. It had happened gradually that their arms were linked together while he showed her around adding small stories here and there. Despite the cold and the dark of the night, it was still fairly early but Hawkins was small enough that all the nice scenery could be seen in a half hour or so. They headed back to his car when he suggested the idea of food, "we could get some burgers or a pizza." She perked up at the idea of spending more time with him, "I just got this new christmas record and a new tin of hot cocoa mix?" He smiled at the idea, "take out?" She nodded.

They got the food and headed to her place. The conservation continuing on about both the movie and the stories he'd told her. It'd been a while since he'd felt this comfortable with someone. Maybe it was the hot chocolate or her very decorated home, but he felt good around her. She felt the same way though, he hadn't made her feel the need to keep her guard up. Into their second mug of cocoa she quipped, "you know, you sure do know how to show a girl a good time." He let out a breathy laugh, "I sure hope so. I was worried I was going to bore you to death. By the way you looked great tonight." Her eyes widened in a playful manner, "is that so? Well so did you, that sweater is pretty cute." He smiled at her, his eyes linger onto hers.

The moment grew while the christmas music played in the background, her hand reaching for his as they sat on her couch. His hand also inched closer towards hers, in a soft voice she spoke up "so...christmas tradition saved?" Matching her tone Steve replied, "oh totally, in fact made even better." There it was again, the laugh he was growing to love more and more. They looked at each other a bit more, his thumb rubbing circles over her top of her hand, in the same hushed tone he mustered up the courage to ask, "am I reading this moment right?" She simply nodded, he leaned in closer towards her "got any mistletoe in here?" With a small shake of the head she spoke, "oh I don't think we need that now." Closing the gap their lips met into a tender kiss they didn't pull away from for a while.

#steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things #christmas fic #imagine #steve harrington fic #happy holidays!

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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Anonymous asked: I used to be in British Army (I did two tours in Afghanistan) and then I joined ‘civvie street’. I found it hard because I couldn’t keep my anger in check at how shallow and self-centred some of the guys I worked with really were. They really felt sorry for themselves. I’m in a better place and a different job with great positive people. I know you’re an Afghan vet and you now work in the corporate world full of pyscho shit bags so how have you handled anger at work?

Thanks for sharing and I have to say I totally understand where you’re coming from. Yours is a common theme amongst many returning veterans from war or indeed anyone who’s served in the armed forces and then makes the jump over to the civilian world. There’s always going to be an initial disconnect between how we did things in the army - or at least how we were trained to - and how things are done in the civilian professions (corporate other otherwise).

I don’t think we should be glamourising army life too much as we all know the crap that goes on within our regiments and the senior army brass in general. I don’t think we should be saying one is superior to another, it’s just different. Where they are the same is human nature which can bring out the worst or the best in people. As one vet friend, now a corporate lawyer, told me once, It’s a matter of sussing out what the ‘rules of engagement’ are. I’m glad though that you landed on your feet and you have found a second wind.

I can empathise with you about the anger part. But I’m not quite the type to get overly angry. I can have a cold fury but rarely does my anger boil over. I’m just not built that way. Of course it doesn’t mean I don’t get frustrated or super annoyed at people.

I remember very well after leaving the army world behind and never setting foot in a combat helicopter again, it was painful because of the camaraderie forged through shared adversity ( courage and cock ups, mostly). After going back to grad school I remember well the interviews I had lined up with corporates in the City I was interested working for. Nearly all of them would ask me questions like “have you had any life enhancing experiences?” Or “can you give an example where you handled a project under pressure?” Or “How do you handle stress?” I would look at them and think ‘are you kidding me? Have you properly read my CV/resumé?”

As annoying as I found such questions, I bit my tongue and smiled, ‘Yes, flying missions over a battlefield dodging a missile attack aimed at my arse whilst also avoiding lethal Taliban ground fire attack. One could say that was fucking life enhancing.” But I didn’t. I would point to something else from outside army life that they could relate to. I must have said something right because I got hired. But yes, I was a little annoyed by the disconnect.

But the anger still there isn’t it? I can empathise with that too.

Homer warned us that xόλος νόον οιδάνει. (anger inflates the mind). But the rage can be real, especially in the pressure world of work. Working in highly competitive corporate environment with people who are super smart and over-credentialised - and therefore prone to neurotic mood swings and power trips - can be a stressful place to work.

From time to time all of us will experience great rage. The question is how can we deal with it effectively?

Anger at work typically surfaces when we feel vulnerable or exposed. It shows up when we feel under attack, or when something we valued or hoped for is at stake. It is sometimes posited as a protective emotion, arising when we feel threatened. According to neuroscience, this triggers the amygdala which overrides rational thought and causes strident action and reaction. The “amygdala hijack”, as it has come to be known, is evident when you see a colleague “acting out”. Slamming down a phone or shouting at a direct report is nature’s way of externalising anger by venting aggression.

A common alternative is suppressing anger. This has a pressure cooker effect and can lead to explosive results later on. Thus, both venting and suppressing anger has negative consequences and can be injurious to our relationships, career and health.

But where does it all come from? The best I can suggest is to look at at the origins of anger. Our relationship to this most primal emotion is formed early in life.

Our parents are the first “leaders” we encounter, in the sense that they give us protection, provide for our needs and model the way to behave. Their reactions to anger when we were children shape our own anger responses.

A good hypothetical example might be if a father becomes incandescent when a child is late for dinner for the umpteenth time, the child probably reacts in one of three ways: returning the anger (acting out), taking a neutral response (sulking or passive aggression), or moving away from the source fearfully (especially if Dad is a big fellow). If returning the anger was permissible in your household, then storming around the workplace later in life may seem quite natural. If you were neutral, you may have been suppressing your irritation.

If you were scared, as many children are, then you probably built coping mechanisms to avoid making people angry, or if the anger was unavoidable, capitulating and backing down. If this was the case, you probably make an easy victim for a workplace bully today.

I’ve read stuff by leadership development scholars at INSEAD business school who’ve done some research on this. They started by figuring out which of the primary negative emotions - anger, sadness or fear - each of us is most subject to, by asking what happens when things don’t materialise the way we want. They found that more than 60 percent of male respondents in their studies chose anger over fear or sadness. For women it was more evenly split.

Problems are exacerbated when anger is combined with authority. Both men and women resent angry bosses. They often feel helpless and unable to exercise their own authentic emotions as a response; the result of this “bottling” is a kind of anger turned inwards, which shows up as a loss of self-esteem. Sometimes this can lead to the person kicking down the frustration to his or her own direct reports or trying to buffer it. I often discover that suppressed emotions are leaking out somewhere else, either at home, or worse still through self-destructive behaviour like alcohol abuse (I was never an alcoholic but I did lean into it heavily but thankfully got yanked out by those close to me).

Interestingly enough these same researchers found another unexpected corollary in that conflict avoidance is value destruction. Business is business: Tough conversations or disagreements need having. Being passive, or even worse passive aggressive, leads to wrong decisions being made by overbearing bosses. In most cases, we have a responsibility to confront. This is easier said than done of course given how power works inside modern corporate structures.

In this context I would go further and say not all anger is destructive but can actually be productive. I’ve seen research evidence to back up this claim for the professional benefits of anger which are mostly in relation to negotiation and leadership situations.

In studies of negotiation, people who expressed anger had better outcomes. However this is usually only when the angry party has the greater power, or when the recipient of the rage has poor alternatives to negotiating.

A 2016 INSEAD business school study found anger in leaders can make them appear more powerful, yet less effective. Intense anger in leaders motivates their subordinates to increase their effort but also means they will be more deviant. Another study found that anger enhances performance, but only when followers have conscientious and agreeable personalities. More generally, research finds anger has positive consequences at work when it’s expressed verbally, is of low intensity and when it’s a ‘mad man’ rather than a woman (yeah, it’s that time of the month seems to be the dismissive and condescending excuse given by men). But I think that’s changing now as more women enter business leadership positions than ever before. Certainly I use anger in a very low key way and I use it strategically to motivate those under me of the high standards I expect - of course your greatest anger is reserved for yourself by holding yourself to a higher standard of performance and example.

Still, I have always wondered if some people just have a low boiling point? It’s not my temperamental nature to get over-heated, quite the opposite in fact. But I look around and I see colleagues, brilliant and hard working but seem to be constantly on edge. Although most people will occasionally experience anger at work, some people seem to have a low tipping point for anger. For example, people who usually blow their top as opposed to getting only a little angry will be more likely to experience ongoing anger at work. These people are easily provoked. People who are neurotic at work are also likely to be more angry because they have poor emotional regulation. People who show traits of psychopathy and low agreeableness are also more likely to express their anger at work, than others.

However these people tend to be more successful at work. But I think anger is probably not the cause of their success. It is more likely that anger is a side-effect of adaptive characteristics. For example competitive people are likely to be both successful and express anger more often.

But there is reason to suppose to use anger as a strategy, selectively and carefully. I have it in my tool box. Since anger is beneficial in some instances, it raises the question: should we strategically act out anger to bring about positive outcomes? Although some research supports this, other studies suggest caution. For example one Harvard study demonstrated that faking anger in negotiations is detrimental to resolving the conflict. A better strategy than faking anger is actually to communicate it when it is real, but do so in a controlled manner (for example not being abusive but telling someone you’re mad).

There’s only one type of person who seems to be an exception to this advice: those high in the personality trait “machiavellianism”. Machiavellian staff are those who operate strategically and manipulatively at work in order to achieve their goals. They can be highly angry and are likely to use it, and aggression, strategically to enhance their success. Machiavelli gets a bad rap that even his very name is a byword for amoral behaviour. I think he’s much misunderstood because he never condoned being a weasel.

But what to do?

I can only share what works for me at work. You don’t have to be a zen master to learn to regulate your emotions through mindfulness and emotional intelligence training. One simple strategy involves reducing arousal through deep, slow breathing. Take a moment and re-centre yourself.

You can also go straight to the source of your rage and see if that can be changed instead. This is not easily done, depending on the power differentials at work, however it can be best in the long run.

I think both strategies are in keeping what research seems to be saying. In other words, there is merit to both expressing and controlling anger.

Many people I know try and take their anger out of the work place. In other words, do outside activities to blow off steam. Some go all in doing a punishing gym work out. Others find it at the bottom of a Vodka bottle (not to be recommended). I’ve even known some work colleagues who train and go a few rounds in mixed martial arts (MMA) to really blow off their anger issues.

I always go for a 5 km run in the morning to clear my ahead. It helps me to see the lay of the land and plan my day like it was a mission operation and so I can see where the stress tests would be.

I also regularly fence after work - at my club in Paris - with others who can give me a good work out. It’s a great sport and I can deflate any unresolved anger with a few puncture hits to someone else. I even teach a class to children on the basics of fencing and it’s incredibly therapeutic because you need patience and empathy and there is no room for anger.The best way to melt away personal anger is to serve others and see the difference you make in their lives.

Music is another way to detox. I listen to it a lot to and from my commute to work or when I travel a lot to other countries. Trust me when you listen to opera you quickly find others are having a worse day than you.

Take Lucia from Donizetti’s comic opera, Lucia di Lammermoor. Lucia is having just about the worst week ever. Lucia’s mother has just passed away. She is in love with Edgardo, the political rival of Lucia’s brother Enrico, but Enrico has arranged for her to marry Lord Arturo in an effort to save their family from financial ruin. Lucia and Edgardo resolve to keep their love a secret in an effort to avoid confrontation with Lucia’s brother. Suspecting that Lucia still loves Edgardo, Enrico and Normanno procure a forged letter from “Edgardo” purporting that he loves another woman. Enrico shows the forged letter to Lucia on the day on which she is to marry Arturo. Distraught and betrayed, Lucia agrees to marry Arturo in order to do her duty to her family and to her late mother.

The wedding ceremony commences. Lucia is signing the wedding contract when suddenly Edgardo bursts in and declares that he and Lucia are to be married. Upon seeing the signed contract however, he flees, utterly distraught. Overcome by her misfortune, Lucia kills Arturo, leading up to an iconic mad scene, which Lucia sings while covered in her late husband’s blood.

After an exchange with her brother, Lucia collapses and dies. And you thought you were having a bad day.

Or take poor old Leporello from Mozart’s Don Giovanni. Don Giovanni is pretty much the worst - and he reminds me of a wealthy corporate client of mine. He’s a serial seducer who prides himself on the thousands of romantic “conquests” he’s made and then lies and weasels his way out of trouble. And poor Leporello is the unfortunate servant to the reprehensible Don Giovanni. Leporello is a pretty good humoured chap and tries to make light of the Don’s deeds.

However, all the good humour in the world can’t save him from being dragged down by Don Giovanni. When Giovanni tries to pull the recently married Zerlina aside during a party that he has thrown in his home, Zerlina cries out for help. And who does Don Giovanni blame? Poor, unfortunate Leporello. When the Don decides he wants to go off to seduce an unsuspecting maid, he forces Leporello to dress in his clothing and go for a walk with Donna Elvira so that he does not have to deal with her.

And what happens to our friend Leporello? Donna Anna, Don Octavio, Zerlina, and Masetto (all previously affected by Giovanni’s misdeeds) find him disguised as Don Giovanni and threaten his life. When Don Giovanni and Leporello are confronted by the haunted statue of the deceased Commendatore (father of Donna Anna, killed by Don Giovanni), who is forced to invite the terrifying statue to dinner? Yes, you guessed it. Good old Leporello. But in the end, at least it’s Don Giovanni who is dragged into the fiery flames of hell and not good old Leporello!

There are plenty of poor Leporellos cleaning up the messes of the rapacious Don Giovannis in the corporate world. At least, you can take a hot shower to wipe away the stains and comfort yourself in the knowledge hell fire damnation await the Don Giovannis of this world.

Anyway, I digress.

My concluding thought would be to say everyone has their own speed. You have to find yours.

One helpful article I recently came across was in the Harvard Business Review. It’s worth a read.

https://hbr.org/2022/04/how-to-manage-your-anger-at-work

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #anger #therapy #work #corporate #army #military #civilian life #army life #british army #stress #culture #society #personal #opera #fencing

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