#actually no you keep them because they look very good on you

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Teacher's Always Right

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

Notes: Very self-indulgent of me as someone who teaches teenagers for a living and regularly gets questioned on my relationship status. They really do bully you (affectionately).

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You're in the middle of teaching your high schoolers about the fur trade in colonial Canada, mid-speech, arms spread wide as you gesture to your powerpoint when a teenage voice interrupts you.

"Miss, are you married?" It's David, sat at the back, legs stretched out as far as he can reach them. He's ironically enough wearing a Canucks jersey, specifically Number 43...a very, very familiar number to you. As is the question. In your years of teaching this isn't the first time you've been interrupted to be questioned on your relationship status, in fact it happens multiple times a year. Each set of students eager to know why you're a miss and if you'll be a mrs soon and are going to be leaving them to have a baby. When you were single, the questions were usually why?

"No." You've gotten rather good at deflecting or at least not letting slip the reality of your relationship, usually finding out you're not single is enough for them, but there's something about David's attitude that screams persistant curiosity. It makes you wonder why you bother teaching your subject at all when he's more curious about your love life than History itself

"Do you have boyfriend?"

"Yes, does this have anything to do with British colonisation or the fur trade or....?" You lean back on your desk, board pen landing gently on the surface, knowing that you're not going to be free of this conversation for at least another 2 minutes.

"What's your boyfriend do?" You breathe a deep sigh and look around the room, you don't want to get into who your boyfriend is. It's not like its a well known fact that you're dating the captain of the Vancouver Canucks and you try to keep it that way. Not because you're ashamed but because its your private life, school and home, those are as separate as you can make them. It would be impossible to do that if everyone was talking about your relationship, although you know eventually it'll become more public.

Stacy from one of the desk by the windows chimes in this time, curiosity peaked, dragging her away from her current hobby of staring out the window in boredom, "C'mon, miss, it can't be that bad? What? Is he like unemployed or something?" She says while chewing loudly on a wad of gum.

"Gum in the bin, Stacy." Her chewing stops and she slumps as she stomps her way to your classroom bin, spitting the gum in with a roll of her eyes.

"So? Is he unemployed?" You decide to answer the question, only because Stacy actually did what you said this time. You hated gum in the classroom, mostly because it always ended up on the bottom of your shoes and made them stick to the floor as you walked. You wouldn't mind it so much if they could all just throw it away normally.

"No. He's got a job, a good job." A really good job, a ridiculously good job actually. You didn't talk money with Quinn much, but the reality was that he made an amount in a year that you would never make in a life time as a teacher.

"Sooo???" David interjects, leaning forward now in his seat, clearly not happy enough to just know your boyfriend isn't some unemployed bum.

"He's a hockey player."

"Like beer league?"

"No. Like NHL." You watch your classes faces in what feels like slow motion, the series of disbelieving looks, wide eyes and raised eyebrows that are quickly followed by a chorus of objections and claims that you can't be telling the truth.

"Nah, no way! You're not here, teaching us, and dating a guy who makes millions, nah." It's actually frustrating, it shouldn't be. You've literally had students throw tables at you and yet, the idea that they think you are a liar is what makes you frustrated. Is it really that hard to believe that you enjoy your job and don't want to scrounge off of your pro-athlete boyfriend? Or that hard to believe that you managed to snag a pro-athlete in the first place?

"You don't believe me?"

"Nah, like if you are, he's gotta be in some really bad team in the US." You're already formulating a plan to prove to your students that you're not lying and not dating a shit NHL player. Sure, the plan involves a lot more work for you, but the idea is in your head and you can't help but think that it'll be worth it.

"He's a Canuck." You smirk a little, knowing the mention of the local team would get a response. Most of the kids you teach go to at least one game a year or watch it on TV. Some have even seen you at the games, but you always sit in the stands like a regular fan. Mostly because Quinn can't really talk to you anyway when he's locked into a game. You'd serve as more of a distraction if you sat front and centre every game.

"No, no way!" David stands, slamming his hands on his desk, "You're lying!" Half the class echo his claims that you must be lying and it makes you even more determined to prove them wrong. Do you really need to prove to a bunch of teenagers that you're dating an NHL player? No, do you want to? Absolutely.

"Fine, don't believe me, but i'm not lying. I'm dating a Vancouver Canuck."

It takes a little to get them all back on track with the lesson but you manage it. Although you're just as distracted. The moment the bell goes to signal lunch break and your classroom empties, you're on your phone calling your boyfriend, even though you know he's probably in the middle of practice.

He answers on the second ring, the sound of the rink in the background loud and clear as pucks hit the sideboards and skates scratch up the ice.

"Hey, baby, everything okay?" It's unusual for you to call him in the work day and you can hear the worry in his voice, even if he'll pretend he's not worried at seeing your name pop up when you should be working.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry...but...you know how you love me?" You fiddle with a little wooden bear that sits on your desk. Quinn bought you it after finding out your favourite animals were any type of bear, it's left ear is broken off and it's got a little bit of red paint where it fell on a floor one time, but you love it anyway.

"Uh huh?" The worry in his voice gives out to amusement at realising you're after something. On his end Quinn is stood at the bench watching the guys run drills, Tocc giving him a look as if to say 'hurry up'.

"And you know how you want to always make me happy?" He smiles at the faux innocent voice you put on, as if he'd deny you anything.

"What do you need me to do, baby?" There's zero hesitation, typical Quinn really, if you want something you've got it, if you need him to do something he's agreeing before all the terms are laid out. He's lucky you don't abuse that sort of power really, he'd spoil you completely if you let him.

"I need you to help me organise a school trip to see you guys practice and meet you all, so that I can prove to my students that I am actually dating an NHL player because they're calling me a liar and I will not be called a liar by teenagers who gaslight me all the time!" The faux innocent voice gives way to your rapid ramble, annoyance riding your tone as you pace across the front of your classroom.

You're greeted firstly by his loud and genuine laugh, so loud that it makes you pull the phone away from your ear. It takes a solid minute for Quinn to stop laughing, and he can see the looks he's getting from the ice, Brock throws him a questioning eyebrow raise, Petey perks his head up at the sound of his captain actually laughing that hard.

It's the dead silence on your end that makes him stop, "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes! They're telling me i'm lying and I will not be called a liar!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." He runs a hand through his hair, before leaning against the side of the bench, "Your students don't believe you're dating a canuck, so you need me to help you organise a school trip-"

"For free!" You interrupt, knowing you won't get permission for a trip that costs the school anything more than a few buses and fuel costs, school funding being what it is.

"For free, to prove that you're dating me?" There are easier ways, Quinn thinks, to prove this. Like, him posting a picture of you together on the internet or him kissing you in front of the arena at a game, but it's kind of cute how much you're affronted by your students calling you a liar. It also sounds way more fun.

"Yup, is that...is that too much to ask? I'm being silly aren't I?" He hears it in your tone, the way you seem to start second guessing yourself, can hear you tapping a fingernail against your desk, probably messing with the little bear figurine he got you all those years ago.

"A little silly, but for you? I think I can pull some strings, honey."

You know Quinn will say yes to most things you ask, but you hadn't actually expected him to agree this time. It had felt too big, too much. Your normal requests were small, something like asking if he could get you a doughnut on his way home or could he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, i'm serious." It takes a beat before your almost squealing in delight down the phone at him, the realisation that he's actually saying yes hitting and he can't help but laugh even as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

"I love you! Have I told you that today?" Your voice is sweet and happy, brighter than it was before. It makes him want to always say yes to you, the way you light up like a christmas tree.

"Mmm, not since 6am this morning."

"Well, I love you and you are the absolute best boyfriend I've ever had and I will never take you for granted."

He can see Tocc motioning him over, telling him without words that its time for the call to end and get back to being captain. Part of him just wants to keep talking with you, rare as it is to get to do during a working day, but he has responsibilities just like you do.

"I have to go, baby, I have practice...but we'll talk about this later, okay?"

He knows his evening is going to be spent planning out what you want this trip to look like before he goes away and tries to make it happen, but he doesn't mind. Anything to make his baby happy. Even if that is trying to prove a bunch of teenagers wrong.

Between the two of you it takes about 2 months to organise the trip. A lot of that time simply spent getting risk assessments done, approval from your administration sorted and organising parental consent. It also takes you getting the sports teacher on side because it was becoming difficult to find a justification as a History teacher for why you wanted to take kids to meet some hockey players. By the time you've organised it, most of your students have forgotten your claims. You have not forgotten their belief that you are a liar, however.

"I can't believe you managed to get us a trip to Rogers Arena! To meet the Canucks! Best teacher ever!" The hockey boys in your class are especially stoked, many of them playing in junior teams and following the Canucks closely as their team of choice. David is no exception to that rule, arriving to the school bus in so many bits of Vancouver merchandise that you're unsure how he's managing to walk weighed down as he is.

"I told you, my boyfriend plays for them." You remind him, ticking him off the register of kids and ushering him up into the bus.

"Miss, we all know that's not true." He turns to you just as he's about to dispear to find his seat. The scepticism written all over his face.

It makes you shake your head, waiting for the moment the puck drops.

The entire ride to the stadium features your students making fun of you for saying your boyfriend was a canuck, you let it slide simply because you're looking forward to seeing them eat their words. They think its funny right now, but you know you're getting the last and final laugh.

You're met at the entrance by, surprisingly, Tocc, who greets you with a warm hug, "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good, thank you for having us, Tocc." You like Tocc, he's a good coach and you like that he cares about how the guys are as people not just how they perform. You also can see how much Quinn appreciates him as coach, so you have a soft spot for the scary looking guy.

"No problem," You can feel the weight of 50 eyes on you, all varying shades of disbelief as they realise you seem a little too familiar when interacting with the Head Coach and its only the beginning. You can't help but smile simply because they're starting to realise that maybe they fucked up. Maybe their doubt was misplaced, maybe you actually were telling the truth all along.

"Are Quinn and the guys on the rink or in the locker room?"

"Rink, easier to fit all the kids, but we've got to get them booted up first." The famililarity with which you refer to Quinn and the guys, does not go past David and Stacy both of whom share a look that screams 'don't tell me that she actually knows them...'.

It takes a bit of time to get all 50 kids in skates, although at least 20 of them bring their own, as do you. You're not much of a skater, but dating Quinn meant you couldn't avoid him buying you a decent pair for family skate and the few times he manages to drag you on the ice each year.

You're about to put your own on when Quinn makes his way over to you clearly having just come off the ice, guards on his skates and hair messy from his helmet. He waves briefly at some of the kids before reaching you, taking your skates in hand without hesitation.

"Y'know I can do it myself, right?"

"When have I ever let you do your own skates? Besides, I thought you wanted the last laugh?" He nods his head in the direction of your students who stand gaping at the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks putting your foot in a skate and putting said skate between his thighs to help him tighten the laces with care. Not something one does for a strange teacher they don't know.

"I'm really enjoying myself already. The whole ride they were giving me all sorts of hell about it, and now I can see their little brains working hard to figure out if I was actually telling the truth or not."

You watch Quinn work, finishing tying off your first skate before reaching for the other, his hands are sure on your calf as he slips your foot into it. "The guys are looking forward to it, think this might be their favourite practice of the year. You might be their favourite WAG now."

"All I had to do was bring a bunch of teenagers to the rink to get them to love me?" Quinn stops mid lace pull, smirk firmly in place as he looks at you from underneath his eyelashes.

"Y'know they loved you already, right? Pretty sure Petey is your number one fan."

"That's because I bribe him with sweets." Specifically his favourite sour candy which makes his eyes water. The more sour the better.

Quinn huffs out a laugh, tying off your laces before patting your foot and setting it back on the ground. His hands reach out to help you to your feet and linger on yours a little longer than is strictly necessary.

"You ready for this?"

"Can't back out now, so I guess I have to be." There's a slight bubbling of nerves under your skin, the sense that your students might not think this is cool and instead think that you're undeserving of your relationship, but you shrug it off. After all, they're kids, their opinion on your relationship is genuinely not important.

"See you on the rink?"

"See you there." You watch him walk away and try to ignore the buzz of chatter you can hear from students, commenting on the fact that Quinn did your skates for you.

You get them registered, orderly and help them file onto the rink, the less sure of the bunch buddied up with someone who had more experience skating to avoid 50 kids bowling each other over on the ice. You did not want to deal with a pile of kids flat on the ice after knocking each other over, the paper work would be ridiculous.

You stand back and just watch. The clear awe on their faces as they step out onto the ice, the large rink impressive any day let alone for kids who had never stepped foot on a rink that size. It makes you smile, knowing you're contributing to their memories, providing something great even if it all started out of petty spite. Even if they don't believe you, you feel good knowing they're getting to enjoy this experience.

You skate nearer to the front, Brock and Petey giving you a bright smile and wave, a variety of nods of recognition from the others. Little things that once again tell your students you know these men better than they expected you to.

"Hey, guys. Welcome to Rogers Arena, it's great to have you here," Quinn starts the introduction, smoothly sliding forward on his skates and gesturing to the line of players as he proceeds to introduce each them by name and position, before finally getting to himself, "And i'm Quinn Hughes, Captain of the team,"

"And Norris trophy winner" You chime in, arms crossed as you watch your boyfriend do what he's best at. He's good with fans especially kids, even if he's terrible with the after game reporters.

He turns to you with a bright grin, "Hi, baby," You can see the twinkle in his eye as he drops the petname, you know he does it on purpose to get the reaction that he does from your students as a wave of muttering and murmuring goes through the little crowd.

"Hi, honey, thanks for having us." You throw it right back, more sickly sweet than you'd usually be, playing up to your little audience who practically gasp.

"Anything for my girl."

"No fucking way!" "What the hell?!" You watch each face drop, mouths open, eyes wide. Watch David as he swears loudly face aghast, almost horrified at the realisation that he might have been making fun of Quinn Hughes' girlfriend the entire time he'd been calling his teacher a liar.

"Language, David!" You tell him off even as you smirk, watching the murmurs die off as Quinn and Boeser talk the kids through skating techniques and how best to shoot the puck, the different techniques and ways to hit the puck with the stick. Half of it makes little sense to you but its nice to watch how the kids get engaged, how Quinn takes over a leadership and teaching role.

You mostly take a step back throughout, watching your students learn from Quinn and the guys, but every now and then Quinn finds you under the pretense of fixing your stance or giving you a tip or piece of advice.

Like now, as his hands reach out, fixing how you hold the hockey stick, foot kicking yours just slightly further apart to adjust your stance.

"So, think they believe you now?" You look over at your students, the joy they're having learning hockey from some of the best, but also at the looks they keep sending your way. You're certain they've learnt their lesson, the teacher is always right, at least when it comes to her own love life.

"I think I am offically the coolest teacher in school, so thanks for that." You reach up and kiss Quinn on the cheek, quick and chaste, nothing inappropriate considering you're both at work and surrounded by kids, but it's enough to make his cheeks flush red.

He rubs the back of his neck with that boyish smile of his and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, "Well, I couldn't have a bunch of teenagers calling my girlfriend a liar."

You're so stuck in the moment with him that you don't notice David and his friends until they're upon you and calling out to Quinn. The picture of respect when talking to who might just be their new favourite NHL star.

"Hey, Mr Hughes?" Conveniently half the kids surrounding you are the ones who claimed you must have been dating some beer league level player or some guy from the Chicago Blackhawks.

"You can call me Quinn, Mr Hughes is my dad. What's up, dude?"

"So when are we going to be calling teach Mrs Hughes?" It's your turn to flush, face warming harshly as Quinn's practically asked when he's proposing to you by a spotty 15 year old.

"David!" You might never be able to call your future child David at this rate, far too familiar with calling the name in admonishment. Definitely no David's in your future. Add that name to the list of names you can't use.

David looks at you with a wide grin, braces on full display. "What? I'm tryin' a help you get that bank!" It's actually mortifying, you thank your lucky stars that Quinn knows you're not actually after his money because if a 15 year old were to ruin your relationship you might actually become a super villain.

"I do not need a 15 year old wingman!"

"Baby, it's alright." Quinn wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as if that will sooth the embarrassment of having a 15 year old try to help you get a rich husband, "Uh, to answer your question, it won't be too long now, bud."

"So, like 6 months? A year? Next week?"

"Oh my god..." You turn your face into Quinn's shoulder, your groan muffled by his jersey. You're certain you might actually pass away from embarrassment, even if deep down there's a little thrill in your stomach that Quinn basically just said he's going to propose to you sooner rather than later.

"I gotta keep it a secret, sorry, man! Gotta keep Mrs Hughes on her toes." Your toes curl at the way he calls you Mrs Hughes, a small smile on your face hidden by his jersey.

A little back and forth is exchanged before David and his friends decide their bored and skate off towards Boeser who's going over the finer points of 'get to the net' and 'just shoot the puck'.

You mumble into Quinn's shoulder as his hands run up and down your back in soothing strokes, "Are you really ganging up on me with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Hey, I just told you that I want to marry you and you're mad at me?" He's not serious though, grinning as pushes you back to look at him. It's adorable, the pout on your face as you glare up at him for making fun of you. Although, you're always adorable to him, so maybe he's biased,

"Correction, you told a 15 year old that you wanted to marry me."

"Okay, okay, I see the problem." He shakes his head solemnly, hands on your shoulders as he lowers his voice just a touch, "Baby, just so you know I want to marry you."

"Okay."

"Okay?" You watch as he stands, mouth agape at your casual response. You're sure he was expecting you to giggle or squeal, but you're determined to mess with him a little.

"That's...nice to know?" You grin at him even as internally you're screaming because your boyfriend wants to marry you and you definitely want to marry him.

"You're such a fucking nerd."

"You're dating a teacher, that's like my whole thing. I'm a professional nerd."

"Yeah... it's cute. It's why I want to marry you."

"Quinn!" You shove him away with a laugh. Maybe your students won't be embarrassing you anymore, but you think you might have a lifetime of Quinn doing it instead. Somehow that doesn't seem like the worst idea.

[dollishmehrayan]

# CHRISTMAS TREE DECORATING AND CHAOS ── .✦ ( decorating trees with batboys ‘separated’! ⋆౨ৎ

a/n: I literally feel so happy genuinely now, I guess my mental health is getting better && anyways i have 64 requests to get to… i truly need to speed run through these but some I can’t do sadly 😭 so sorryy ᥫ᭡, tags: (batboys x fem!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The king of enthusiasm: As soon as you suggest decorating the tree together, he’s all in.

“We’re going for the most extra tree Gotham has ever seen!” He wants it tall enough to touch the ceiling and glittery enough to blind someone.

He’s the guy who insists on climbing to the very top to put on the star, even though he wobbles dangerously on the ladder.

Sings Christmas songs (terribly off-key he’s also like tone deaf and beat deaf it’s a curse to hear him sing something at karaoke) while you decorate, complete with dramatic twirls and spins around the tree.

Accidentally tangles himself in the lights at least twice. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I was just… testing the durability!”

Insists on taking a million photos of you with the finished tree, calling you his “Christmas angel.”

When it’s all done, he dims the lights, wraps an arm around you, and whispers, “This might be my favorite Christmas ever.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

He pretends to be indifferent. “Decorating a tree? Sounds boring.” But the second you start, he’s invested.

He’s surprisingly good at untangling lights and getting them perfectly spaced on the tree. “What? I’ve got steady hands.”

Jason leans into more minimalistic decor deep reds, dark greens, and gold accents but he lets you take the lead. “You want glittery ornaments? Fine. But I draw the line at tinsel.” (he’s like those sad beige moms but with like dark traditional Christmas colors…)

Complains about how prickly the tree is the entire time but still helps you string popcorn garlands because he knows it makes you happy.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

He’s excited about decorating but is terrible at it. Tim tries, but he’s way better at figuring out the tech side of things (like synchronized tree lights) than actually hanging ornaments.

Spends 20 minutes untangling lights and another 20 trying to figure out why one strand isn’t working. “It’s science! There’s a method to this madness.”

He’s the type to sneak a caffeine break halfway through while you keep decorating. “What? I need fuel to focus!”

Insists on hanging some nerdy ornaments—little Batman logos, Star Wars-themed ones, or even a tiny Robin figurine.

When you get frustrated with his lack of artistic flair, he pulls you close and says, “Hey, at least I’m good company, right?”

After it’s all done, he insists on dimming the lights and turning on the synchronized tree music. “Look at that. A masterpiece.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Initially acts like it’s beneath him. “Why would I waste time decorating a tree?” But he ends up being surprisingly good at it.

Damian has an eye for symmetry, so every ornament has to be perfectly spaced. “No, that one is too close to the red one. Move it.”

If you mention that decorating the tree is a nostalgic tradition for you, he softens immediately. “Fine. But this had better be worth it.”

He refuses to wear a Christmas sweater, but you catch him smiling when you put on a ridiculous reindeer headband.

Titus gets involved, carrying around ornaments and wagging his tail, which Damian pretends to be annoyed by but secretly loves.

When the tree is finished, he stands back with his arms crossed, pretending not to care. But when you beam at him, he quietly says, “It looks… nice. I suppose this wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

(He buys like 40 ft Christmas trees for the main ball in the manor and like that’s almost impossible to decorate without professionals)

The ultimate perfectionist. He has a very clear vision for the tree, but he tries to let you take the lead. “It’s your tradition. I’ll follow your lead… mostly.”

Insists on using the tallest tree that will fit in Wayne Manor and hires a team to bring it in.

He’s all about elegant, classic decorations white lights, glass ornaments, and a tasteful tree topper. But if you want colorful lights or quirky ornaments, he’ll indulge you.

Offers to lift you up to reach the highest branches instead of letting you use a ladder. “I don’t need you breaking your neck before the gala.”

Alfred brings hot cocoa and cookies halfway through, smiling at how relaxed Bruce looks around you.

When the tree is done, he turns to you and says, “It’s perfect. Just like this moment.” Then he pulls you into a rare, heartfelt kiss under the twinkling lights.

[sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack]

Impulsivity

Modern Viktor x Fem! Reader

Your chronic pain has you at the end of your rope as you hopelessly search for something to relieve your pain. Help comes from the most unexpected of places: a walgreens at 9:45 pm.

Reader is mentioned to be an art/theater kid and is also disabled like Viktor and suffers from chronic pain. No use of y/n. Also not proofread we die like redacted

Word count: 4.6K

High key inspired by @meownotgood and @gaybybirth because reading their writing made me want to write again. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I'm terrified to post it. But I'm being brave! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I may make a part 2 depending on how this does. I hope you enjoy!

Pain makes it incredibly hard to think. Even though you're used to it and it's something you feel every day of your life, the burden is still quite heavy. But there is no pity for Atlas, and his shoulders will ache for the rest of time as he holds up the sky without the relief of Tylenol.

So now, you're standing in a Walgreens at 9:42 pm in the pain management aisle, shifting your weight from foot to foot to relieve the pain radiating from your hips to your ankles, trying to pick a topical pain relief gel that will actually work. You've tried most of them here; Bengay, Aspercreme, Biofreeze, Icy Hot, and nothing. Sure, they work for a few weeks but your fucking mutated joke of a body adapts and grows accustomed to whatever you use. The brace you wear on your left knee is itchy and pokes into you through your fleece-lined tights and it's not helping matters.

Giving up on reading the box of Voltaren you're holding, you crouch down to put it back and pick up something else. Your pain-addled brain is piss-poor at making decisions it seems, as the moment you bend, your knee cracks in such a way that a painful heat spreads through your entire body. It was loud too, you know it was. Eyes are staring at you, burning a hole in your head as you wince and grit your teeth against the waves of pain hell-bent on knocking you down.

You feel the urge to collapse, just sit on the floor, and read the labels and boxes there without having to stand, despite how utterly ridiculous you'd look.

"Are you alright?" Your right knee hits the floor as you shift into a kneeling position to look up at the person speaking to you. A long tweed overcoat, a thick red scarf, a cane, nice Oxford shoes, pale skin, worried amber eyes, and tousled brown hair meet your gaze. A man, a very beautiful man is standing a mere three feet from you, eyebrows pinched in concern. You blink a few times, willing yourself to remember how to act like a normal person and not a gobsmacked fool.

"Oh, yeah I uh…" You swallow and gesture wildly to the wall of products, and then visibly deflate "…no there's no way to make a joke out of this. " A laugh slips out, pitiful. You look back up at the man and the corners of his mouth are quirked up at the sides. Thank god, maybe he finds your misfortune endearing.

"They do tend to keep the best products just out of reach, don't they? Nothing at eye level ever seems to be worth your time. Just another cruel joke the health industry plays on the less abled." He looks between the wall of lotions and pills and you, his smile widening.

You smile too, less self-deprecative now and more understanding, "Ah, a fellow health industry hater, amazing. Damn straight, they bleed us dry and expect us to thank them. Greedy schmucks." With one hand on the metal shelf and the strength of your good (better?) knee, you manage to pull yourself into an upright position, even with every nerve in your body screaming at you and your left hip wanting to jump ship, leaving you alone in this sea of agony.

"Just trying to find something that doesn't stop working after a few weeks and also not develop an opioid addiction at the same time." Ah, maybe you could make a few cute jokes that this cuter man will appreciate.

"As one does." He leans both hands on his cane and nods his head conspiratorially. You giggle, you can't help it. Maybe it's the pain-induced delirium or maybe it's because you find the man in front of you incredibly attractive. But who's to say?

"Might I make a recommendation?" His accent is lilting and thick and it feels like every word out of his mouth is wrapped in a velvetine cloth. That metaphor makes no sense, your brain thinks. Shut up, chimes your heart.

"Please. I was about to start considering just chopping off my leg and being done with it." He laughs out loud at that.

"Ah, we've all been there." His attention is pulled back to the shelves and his fingers twitch as he looks for something. He's focused, insanely so, and it makes you feel important, seen. This random stranger, looking for something that will help you with such fervor.

God, it's been a while.

He bends at the waist to grab something off of the second shelf from the bottom and you definitely don't fixate on the way his long fingers curl around a box.

"This is Arnicare. The main ingredient was only legalized here a mere decade ago, it's never failed me thus far." He hands it over to you with a smile. You take it, a little awestruck and make a sincere effort to not freak out over the fact that your fingers brush his own. They're warm, good god.

"Thank you. This is invaluable insider information." You hold the box to your chest in gratitude.

"Of course. Tiger Balm is my favorite but they don't typically sell it in-store due to popular demand. I usually, unfortunately, turn to Amazon to buy it when it's in stock." he continues, putting one hand in his pocket and leaning onto his cane. You nod, making mental notes as you go.

"You are saving my life and my sanity right now. Truly." You pause, and then, with bravery that you didn't know you had-

"I'm (name)." You stick out your right hand, so that way if he chooses to take it, it won't be with the hand using his cane. He stalls for a moment and you fear you've made a horrible fool of yourself, but then he chuckles and shakes your hand gently. You can't get over how warm his hand is, skin soft save for the callouses on his palm and fingertips.

"Viktor. It is nice to meet you." His eyes crinkle as the gentle smile he wears widens.

There's a charged beat where your hands linger a moment longer than what is expected and you laugh it off before letting go. "Sorry, I uh…have been running on far less than the recommended amount of sleep and have been eating meals that do not classify as meals."

"I don't think I have ever gotten the recommended hours of sleep a day in my life."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "Really?"

"Really. I think my blood is 60% espresso at this point. Such is the life of academia." He shrugs as if to say, what can you do?

You look down at the product in your hands, and then back up to him, mind racing in a thousand different directions that all leave you terrified but at the same decision.

"You know, there's a really nice late-night coffee shop in this same shopping complex. Their coffee is the only coffee I confidently drink after 4 pm. Which, is arguably not healthy but, what can you do?" You blurt out, rather impulsively. He's a little shocked, it's clear on his face, but there is still a smile there.

"Are you asking me if I'd like to accompany you to grab coffee at…9:45 pm?" He tilts his head quizzically after checking his watch.

You nod a few times, "Absolutely I am. And maybe it's the fact that my hip hurts so bad and it's prohibiting me from feeling fear but…yeah. Wanna get coffee at 9:45 pm?" He's staring at you incredulously, but it's sweet and amused.

He laughs again, and it's a low, rumbling sound, "I was already planning on getting some kind of caffeine. Sure. I would love to." He's looking at you so intensely, almost like he's studying you. Self-consciousness washes over you suddenly as you realize you've sort of completely derailed whatever he'd been doing.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping or your night…"

He shakes his head as if it were impossible to interrupt, "Interrupt my night? My night full of no plans other than grading papers until my eyes bleed? Alone and without the company of a pretty girl? Ah yes, how dare you come between me and those plans." his tone is playful, sarcastic and the nervousness fades from you as quickly as it came. Your eyes narrow.

"Oh, so he thinks I'm pretty?" You grab your purse from off the ground and start to move backward toward the register, and he follows, adjusting his cane and bag sheepishly.

"He does."

"Good because she thinks he's pretty too." You venture quickly before your brain can catch up with your mouth. It only takes a second for him to catch up with you, strolling through the aisles of a near-desolate Walgreens.

"Lucky him."

The cashier at the counter looks as though they'll fall asleep as they bag your items: the Arnicare and a bottle of dark green nail polish. "I swear I'm not typically this impulsive." You call over your shoulder as the cashier hands you the receipt and you stuff your things into your purse. Viktor walks up and puts his items on the counter - allergy medication and a pack of multicolored pens, presumably for grading - and turns to you while fishing out his wallet.

"Somehow, I highly doubt that." He pauses, thinking over his next words, "Not that being impulsive is a bad thing. I could stand to be more impulsive." It's an apology where there doesn't need to be one.

You shrug, "No offense taken, because you're right. I was...just trying to save face."

"Why?"

"Well…" Why were you trying to save face? "I feel, maybe a professor wouldn't be so inclined to hang out with someone so uninhibited? Some people call me childish." As he takes the small bag from the cashier, you find his eyes again, and they are full of mirth.

"Firstly, not a professor. I'm a PhD student at the University not far from here. We, as TA's, usually get saddled with grading assignments and papers." He walks forward with you, letting you walk through the automated doors first, probably so you can lead the way to the coffee shop.

"Secondly, I disagree. Impulsivity does not automatically equate to childishness. Some people say impulsive, I say driven, or passionate. Spontaneity is life." You stare at him unabashedly as you walk. This man, Viktor, waxing poetic about the benefits of impulsivity on your behalf. He's smart, obviously, but not in a haughty I'm Better Than You way. It's refreshing. And while you may not be a traditional academic, you understand to some level.

The cold bites at your skin, and you regret your decision to forgo a jacket, so you shiver when you tell him, "You're incredibly good at making me feel better about myself. I bet your students love you." He laughs at that - you're noticing that you seem to be quite good at making him laugh - and shakes his head disapprovingly

Then, guilty, "Not when I'm assigning pop quizzes after returning from winter break and calling them out for using AI."

"Ok the AI thing I completely understand, but assigning a pop quiz after a break is just cold on so many levels." College wasn't that cruel to you, but there had been many a quiz that you bombed simply because you hadn't been prepared for them. One or two that immediately followed a break.

The coffee shop comes up quickly and you move to open the door, but he's faster, shifting his bag to his elbow and grabbing the door for you as he quips, "Ah, so I see you would've been one of the students who failed that quiz." He's teasing you, and it's working.

"I can neither confirm nor deny. Although don't look at my freshman year grades. They force the art kids to take two semesters of stats and…it was just a fucking torpedo into my GPA."

"Fair enough." His laugh is quickly starting to become one of your favorite sounds.

The warmth of the dimly lit shop is nice, especially after just being out in the cold. It seeps into your bones and mercifully leeches out some of the pain in your hip.

The shop is small, quaint, and its setup reminds you of a library. Secluded booths and tables with individual lamps on them, bookshelves lining the walls, and everything made out of dark wood. Viktor looks around in awe for a moment, then, "How have I never stumbled onto this place before?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back. It had been a few years ago that you'd found this place. After a bit of an insane night out cut short by a friend getting you kicked out of the bar, you frantically searched for food places open late. This place immediately popped up leading you and your friends to feast on pastries and sandwiches washed down by the most delicious coffee you'd ever had.

"I was just lucky. When you're drunk and hungry, you can find anything." You walk towards the back of the shop, picking out a booth in the corner, "Is this ok?"

Viktor nods, hanging his cane off the table and shrugging out of his jacket. There is a moment where you feel you might keel over right there, but it is through sheer power of will that you remain standing, because holy hell this man is attractive. He's wearing a three-quarter sleeve black turtleneck that clings to his body in a way that's not loose, nor is it skin-tight. You can see the barest hint of something underneath, perhaps a back brace to help with stability. Sitting down in the booth, you try to avert your eyes to no avail, as they roam over the dark brown slacks sitting high on his waist. It's a miracle you're not drooling. Staring down at the red, long sleeve sweater you'd paired with a deep brown skirt, you can't help but think we match.

He sits down slowly, and you recognize the strategy to minimize pain, then folds his hands in front of him. "So, freshman year statistics? I believe you called it a 'fucking torpedo'?"

"Of course you picked up on that."

"Well, you were rather emphatic about it." The smugness is radiating off of him in waves and it stokes the fire in your gut.

Huffing, "Not everyone can be a whiz at math and science. I mean, what are you getting your PhD in?"

It looks like he's biting back a shit eating grin, "Biomedical engineering."

"Oh fuck off."

He releases the hold over the grin he was hiding and you're blinded by it. It absolutely makes sense, in retrospect. His analytical gaze, as if taking things apart in his mind and putting them back together, even just the way he speaks, so sure and confident. Your mouth opens to say something but a waitress decides that moment is a prime opportunity to get your drink orders.

Viktor orders a Turkish coffee and you order a French vanilla iced latte with cinnamon. As the waitress leaves, he wrinkles his nose.

"You call that coffee? It is just sugar. And iced? It's freezing out."

"Oh so first you critique my grade in stats, and now you attack my coffee order? You hate me and want me dead." Your arms fold in front of your chest as you stare at him in mock challenge. His hands shift to rest on his biceps, fingers spreading over the evidently lean muscle there and you fight to keep your breathing steady.

"I retract my statement, I bare you no ill will."

"Yeah you better, me and my sugar coffee will beat the shit out of your boiled coffee grounds." Now it's his turn to raise his eyebrows.

"You mock my drink, a traditional drink from my home country? Now you hate me and want me dead."

A warmth pours over your cheeks and you feel it heat the tips of your ears, all the way down to your shoulders. Something flashes in his gaze that tells you he definitely noticed.

"Touche." It's only a minute more before the waitress returns with your orders, said minute filled with meaningful glances and sitting adjustments on your part, your hip still aches slightly, but it's easier to ignore at this point.

You're mid sip when he fixes you with a stare, hands wrapped around his own drink, and asks, "So I can rule out anything to do with statistics, but what do you do, miss (name)? I believe you referred to yourself as an 'art kid'?"

Ah, the tricky part of explaining what you do to an academic. Not to say you weren't an academic yourself, just…a very different flavor of it.

"Yeah. In college I dual majored in Psychology and Theatre Arts. So I feel like I play both sides of the field, despite how many of the other scientists refuse to recognize psychology as a science." You spit the word as if it were a dagger, still holding a vendetta against your 11th-grade physics teacher who called it a pseudo-science.

"But my real love is Theatre. Whether it be Musicals or Shakespeare, it's my passion. I dialect coach on the side to make extra money, but mostly I love performing." There it was, out in the open. Would he call you foolish? Tell you to get a real career? Get up and leave? Probably not, but anxiety can lead you to places you wouldn't dare venture with a gun.

Pensive, he sits, staring at you with renewed interest, "Your impulsivity must suit you well in that career path, always having to think on ones feet and remain immersed in the moment." You instantly smile again.

"Exactly! There have been so many times when people have forgotten their lines and I've had to come up with something on the fly. It's…exhilarating." There's a certain sparkle that lights up your face whenever you talk about theatre, it's your passion, you can't help it. You only hope it translates.

"I know it must seem silly, pursuing the arts. Hell you're probably going to go on to change the world in a field like 'biomedical engineering'." You muse, leaning your cheek into your hand as you meet his eyes. It flatters him, you can tell, as he shifts in his seat, puffing his chest out slightly in pride.

"While I thank you for your vote of enthusiasm, I do not find it silly to pursue the arts at all."

"You don't?"

"No. I find it inspiring that you are pursuing your dream. I am pursuing mine. We should all chase after what we want." His eyes are thoughtful, kind, and you want to swim in them forever.

A beat, then, "A lot of people have called me stupid. But I can't see myself doing anything else. I know it's cheesy to say, but it feels fated. Like, I'm supposed to be doing this. It's what my atoms traveled billions of years to do." Staring into your cup, you're hit with the intensity of this confession. It's not something you tell to most people.

"And…" he clears his throat, "I think it is the most admirable thing one can do, to follow what you believe your destiny to be." Good god you like this man, you like Viktor. Not just as an infatuation or a crush, you want to get to know him.

"Thank you, Viktor." Another sip of your drink and the sugar spurs you onward, "Do you happen to like theatre? I'm sure an English lit class somewhere forced you to read at least one Shakespeare play. They did always seem to make the STEM kids suffer through classic literature as some sort of revenge for putting us art kids through math." His gaze fixes you to your spot and you find that even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to pull away from it. It's hypnotizing and has you pinned with the sheer force of it. You were learning that above all else, Viktor had a quiet intensity to him.

"I have read my fair share of Shakespeare as well as a few greek plays, but I admit, I read them mostly from an analytical standpoint, and not for mere enjoyment or to marvel in the artistry. My favorite would probably have to be Macbeth, though." He takes another sip of his coffee that still has steam curling off the top of it.

You nod approvingly, "A splendid choice. Your aesthetic certainly fits the more tragic, macabre, dramatic plays. Though I could see you enjoying Much Ado About Nothing."

"I…thank you?" Eyebrows pinched in confusion, he laughs.

"No, no it's a compliment! You just have a very…dark acedmia, gothic vibe to you. it…it tracks."

He leans back in his seat, "Gothic?"

"Yeah. it's incredibly attractive don't worry."

…

Wait-

"Incredibly attractive you say?" And he's sipping on his coffee again, watching as that all too familiar flush spreads over your skin again. Damn your mouth.

"You…I…hell-" You sip your coffee in an effort to keep yourself quiet. He's making you bolder, making you feel comfortable, loosening your tongue, beckoning you into the sea like a siren and you're not sure if you'll be able to tread water.

"Hey," his voice is soft, coaxing, "for what it is worth, I too find you incredibly attractive. I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you so flustered." The sincerity in his voice has you reeling. Placing your coffee down, you rubs at your cheeks with your hands.

"Somehow, I find it hard to believe you're that sorry when you seem so pleased with yourself watching me flush." You accuse, somewhat parroting what he said about you denying your impulsivity. Now it's his turn to flush, his pale cheeks turning rosey at having being caught.

A comfortable silence washes over the both of you momentarily as you sit with the confessions that have just been made. Well…it's nice to know that the attraction is mutual. Both of your coffee's were near finished by this point, and there was a part of you that regretted how fast you drank it.

"How is your leg?" He breaks the silence after the waitress returns to take away your empty glasses. You roll your hips slightly, testing the tension and how far the pain radiates.

"Mm, better. Could be worse, it's starting to ebb finally, but I'm still planning on slathering that Arnicare you recommended all over my leg and laying in my bed until the pain finally goes away." You conclude, hoping to God that the Arnicare works as well as he's hyping it up. "Maybe go crazy and light a lavender candle."

He's digging something out of his bag as he responds, "I'm glad it is feeling slightly better. I fully endorse the Arnicare, it has helped me immensely over the years and I trust it will help you too." The waitress returns to drop off the check and it's too late that you realize Viktor had been looking for his wallet as he places money in the little booklet and hands it back to her with a soft, "Keep the change."

You stare at him in mock offense.

"What?"

"Don't what me, you didn't even let me attempt-"

"There was no universe in which I was going to let you pay, so why even entertain it?"

"Let me pay? You are evil." But you're smiling as you slide out of the booth.

"Maybe so." Is all he says as he stands up, readjusting his shirt and grabbing for his coat. Checking your watch, you realize it's 10:45 and you've spent nearly an hour with this man, and yet it feels as though it's only been minutes. Bidding goodnight to the workers, you bothexit the shop and are hit with a blast of cold air.

"Why are you…you did not bring a jacket?" Viktor stares at you as if you've grown another head. "Are you…it is below freezing out!"

You pause, and breathe in the crisp cold air, "I like the cold, it's not so bad, I promise I'm ok." But he's already moving to grab the scarf from around his neck and balance his cane on his arm.

"Viktor-"

"Shush." Your mouth shuts and you let him wind the red scarf around your neck. It smells like him, woody and warm and you know you'll be breathing it in later.

"Bláznivá žena." He murmurs in what you can only assume is his mother tongue.

"Well, that didn't sound very nice." You chide. His hands still as he finishes securing the scarf. Whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as he stares down at you. Despite the freezing air swirling around you, everything suddenly feels warm. And you know how cliche it sounds, but truly, it feels as though the world melts away and you are stuck in this little circle of warmth.

He looks from your eyes to your lips, "Can I-"

"Absolutely." You answer far too quickly. He laughs again, and its lighter than the others, as if a weight has been taken off of his chest and the laugh had been filled with air, just waiting to escape.

He wastes no time in bringing his hands up to your wind bitten cheeks and pulling your lips to his. They're slightly chapped, but warm and sure and soft as he kisses you. Your breath is gone and you realize every cheesy thing you've ever read about kisses is true. It is all encompassing and earth-shattering. If you knew anything about physics you would say that it feels like atoms colliding.

Seconds, minutes, hours, you don't know how long it is before you finally detach. You leave your eyes closed for a few seconds more, basking in the feeling.

"Wow." It's barely a whisper when you finally speak, opening your eyes to find him staring down at you, smiling unabashedly.

"My thoughts, exactly." His hands slips down your shoulders before one of them finds your hand, the other taking his cane as he leads you back to the parking lot. It's nice, just walking hand in hand with him to your cars.

"This is me." You murmur sadly as you come upon your car, parked in the handicapped parking spot. He stops and looks at you in disbelief, and you furrow your brows in confusion. His hand detaches from yours, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys, clicking the unlock button. The car parked directly next to your beeps and unlocks. You'd parked right next to one another and you absolutely lose it, doubling over in laughter.

"Oh my god that is crazy."

"Well, given the fact that we both have handicapped stickers-"

"Nope, shush, let me have this." You turn back to him after catching your breath and hold out your hand, "Let me see your phone."

He obliges, even unlocking it for you before dropping it into your waiting hand. With half numb fingers, you input your phone number and contact info before returning it to him.

"To let you know how well your recommendation works." You smile as you head toward your drivers side door, unlocking it and sliding into the seat so quickly, you leave Viktor stunned. He shakes his head in mock annoyance and walks over to your window, tapping on it until you roll it down.

"Yes?" But he's leaning in and kissing you again, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. When he pulls away, you're left just as stunned as he was.

"Nothing, just wanted to say Goodnight." He walks off, gets into his own car, right next to you, and drives off, all while you're sitting in your car, window still down, and processing what just happened as the cold blasts you.

Wordlessly, you roll up your window and smile uncontrollably.

For the first time in your life, you are thankful for your chronic pain.

[chancloud8]

CHAPTER 1

series masterlist

Pairing: OT8 x reader

Word Count: 3,9k

Tags: Intro, bodyguard!ot8, idol!reader

Summery: Meeting your new bodyguards doesn't go as smoothly as everyone hoped..

‘I don’t need a group of bodyguards,’ you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. 

Your manager Yoona doesn’t even look at you anymore and you fight the urge to stamp your feet like a little child to get her attention. You won’t stoop that low though, so instead you place your hands on your hips and glare at the woman who’s been by your side since you debuted about two years ago. 

‘We’re not having this discussion again, y/n,’ Yoona says, her eyes still fixed on her phone screen. ‘Your popularity is growing by the day, you’ve received multiple death threats in the last few months and in case you forgot, last week someone tried to break into your home.’ 

Your shoulders deflate and your hands fall down beside your body. You can’t really argue with that, but you’ve grown so accustomed to having Faris at your side as your one and only bodyguard, that the thought of eight men taking his place makes you shiver. Who the hell needed eight freaking bodyguards? You weren’t a princess for fuck’s sake. 

Yoona finally looks at you then. ‘It’s very important to us to keep you safe, darling. I know it will be an adjustment, but you’ll get used to it.’ 

‘But eight?’ you argue, trying once more. ‘Do I really need eight men following my every move?’ 

‘That’s why we’re placing some of them around you with other jobs as well, kind of like undercover bodyguards,’ Yoona smiles at you like that makes it any better. 

You slump down in the chair across from Yoona and frown at her. What could bodyguards possibly go undercover as in your team? Woman, sure, no problem, but a muscled man? They’d stand out immediately. 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask carefully, not sure if you even want to know. 

‘They all have multiple skill sets, but we decided on adding three of them as your dancers and one will probably step in as a personal assistant of sorts,’ Yoona explains, her eyes once more on her phone screen. 

‘Why?’ you blurt out. ‘I don’t even need new dancers? We’re not firing anyone are we?’ 

You were perfectly happy with your team as it was and it would kill you to let any of them go because Yoona decided you needed eight freaking men to watch you. 

Yoona sighed and put down her phone. ‘We’re not firing anyone, but Dohyun is still recovering from his injury and Ju-won has asked for a few months off to visit his family. As for why, it will allow them to be around you more casually.’ 

Damnit. That actually made sense. 

‘And you’re sure they can dance?’ you ask, already knowing the answer. Yoona would never suggest something like this if they couldn’t. 

‘Yes, y/n, they can dance. I think you’ll be impressed actually.’ 

That makes you curious. Yoona isn’t easily impressed, so if she thinks you’ll approve, they must be good. Maybe you should give them a chance, or just be such a brat they run away screaming. 

‘Fine,’ you sigh. ‘When will I meet them?’ 

Yoona looks at her watch and your eyes widen at the movement. She wouldn’t do this to you, would she? 

‘They’ll be here in an hour to meet you,’ Yoona says and you let out a relieved breath. ‘You better be back here by then or I will let one of them drag you here by your ear.’ 

‘Bossy much,’ you whisper, but you don’t really mean it. You luckily have a very good relationship with your manager and even though she drives you up a wall sometimes, you know she has your best interest at heart. 

Yoona rolls her eyes at you and waves her hand at the door. ‘Go be bratty somewhere else, I’ll see you in an hour.’ 

You bark out a laugh and jump up from the chair. ‘As you wish, my Queen,’ you say, doing a little courtesy. 

Your current bodyguard Faris is waiting for you in the hallway, a smile on his handsome face as he spots you. 

‘Good talk?’ he asks, following one step behind you. 

‘You knew about this, didn’t you?’ you ask, glaring at him over your shoulder. 

‘I’m the one who recommended them actually,’ Faris says and only his quick reflexes stop him from walking straight into your back as you stop walking immediately at his words. 

‘What?’ you turn around to frown at him. ‘Why would you do that to me?’ 

Faris raises his eyebrows and stares down at you with a knowing look, his arms crossing over his chest. 

‘Fine,’ you roll your eyes at him. ‘I know why, Yoona was so kind to remind me, but I still don’t get why it has to be eight.’ 

‘It might seem excessive to you Nabi,’ Faris says, addressing you with your stage name which he knows usually softens you. ‘But you don’t see all that we see and trust me when I say that once you’re on tour, you’ll be happy to have them by your side. It gets crazy out there.’ 

‘I know that, but undercover bodyguards?’ you make a face. ‘I’m not royalty.’ 

Faris chuckles and with a gentle push on your shoulder, he guides you further through the hallway and towards the studio you were working at before Yoona called you to her office. It was one of the things you really liked about your agency. Nearly everything you needed was in the same building. 

‘You may as well be and I trust Chan and his guys to keep you safe,’ Faris says as he holds a door open for you. 

‘So you really know them?’ you ask, sitting down at the desk you were working at before. Your laptop is still open on the editing program you work with and there are multiple notebooks, paper coffee cups and empty candy wrappers spread all around it. ‘Did you work with them before?’ 

‘I trained 3RACHA actually,’ Faris nods. ‘Chan and I had multiple gigs together after that and I’ve only heard good things about the others as well. I’m confident I’m leaving you in good hands.’ 

‘You shouldn’t be leaving me at all,’ you groan, throwing your head back against your chair. ‘But I understand and I hope that when I have a husband one day, he'll do the same for me.’ 

Faris just smiles at that and gets comfortable on the couch facing the door. He knows better than to get into this conversation with you again. Last time you ended up facetiming his wife in tears and he ended up having to calm down two crying women. 

‘Wait, did you just say sriracha?’ you sit up in your chair when your brain suddenly realizes what he had just said. ‘As in the hot sauce?’

‘No, I said 3RACHA, that’s what they called themselves back then,’ Faris replies, glancing at you. ‘I think they made music together in their free time, before they started their own company.’ 

Huh. Interesting. Why on earth would they go from making music together to becoming bodyguards? 

‘So all eight of them made music together?’ you ask curiously. 

‘No, just Chan, Jisung and Changbin. I think they mostly rapped, but if you’re interested in knowing more, you can always ask. It could break the ice when you meet them,’ Faris suggests, winking at you. 

‘I’ll pass, I don’t want them to think I’m happy about this arrangement,’ you murmur, turning your chair so your back is to Faris. ‘Will you tell me when it’s time to go?’ 

‘Don’t I always?’ he chuckles. 

You flip him off without looking and put on your headphones. Time to edit some more music. 

****

You’re so engrossed in your music, that it takes Faris multiple tries to get you to put down your headphones. He even goes as far as opening the blinds to let the light in, making you whimper and flinch by the intrusion of it. 

‘Alright, alright,’ you yell, your eyes scrunched close. ‘I beg for mercy, I’ll come with you.’ 

Faris laughs and closes the blinds, once again developing the room in darkness, just how you like it. He has scolded you many times before about how bad it is for your eyes to squint at your screen in a dark room, but you rarely listen to him about it. 

‘If you think about telling my new watch dogs this trick of yours, I’ll haunt you,’ you warn Faris when the two of you walk towards Yoona’s office. 

Faris makes a movement with his hands as if he’s zipping his lips closed and you nod happily at him, trusting him to keep his word. 

‘How late are we?’ you ask, having forgotten your phone in the studio when Faris basically dragged you out by your arm. 

‘About five minutes too early,’ he smiles proudly. 

Of fucking course. He’s been working with you for two years so he knows all your annoying traits by now, including having a habit of being late because you simply forget the time when you’re working. 

‘What will I do without you,’ you pout at him, ignoring the nervous butterflies in your stomach as you near Yoona’s office. 

‘You’ll be just fine, Nabi,’ Faris says and you’re not sure if he means it as a reply to what you just said or as a reassurance before meeting your new team of bodyguards. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn towards Faris. ‘How do I look?’ 

‘I thought you didn’t care?’ he grins, but he reaches out to flatten a few wild strands of your hair. 

You blow him a kiss, put on a straight face and turn around to knock on the door before pushing it open. The first thing you’re greeted with is the silhouette of 4 men standing with their back to you. Each of them have broad muscular shoulders that are clearly visible under the black suit jacket they’re wearing, the fabric straining like they’re wearing a size too small. 

The man on the right turns around when you enter and you nearly gasp at his beauty. His hair is styled to show a little v of his forehead and the black strands nearly reach his eyes. Jesus. He could be a model if he wanted too. He raises his eyebrows at you when you just stare at him for a moment, before he nudges the man next to him. 

‘Are you fucking kidding me,’ you mutter under your breathe when the other man turns around and piercing eyes meet yours. 

Of course he’s beautiful as well. What the hell was Yoona thinking? 

‘Ah, Y/N, there you are,’ Yoona says when she notices you. ‘On time, even.’ 

You roll your eyes and stroll forward to her desk, ignoring the four men as you make your way around them. In that little moment you forget there’s supposed to be more of them and when you turn to stand next to Yoona and see the chairs in front of her desk filled with four more gorgeous men, you nearly stumble. 

Yoona grins at you and you narrow your eyes at the woman. 

‘You think this is funny, don’t you?’ you grumble at her. ‘Where did you even find them? heaven?’ 

One of the men snorts before trying to cover it up with a cough. 

‘Don’t mind her gentleman, she’s in a mood today,’ Yoona smiles. 

‘I wonder why,’ you mutter, sending a fake smile in the direction of the bodyguards. 

‘That’s alright, it must be a lot to take in,’ one of them says with such a deep voice that your eyes widen. 

It must look comical, cause the same man that snorted earlier, lets out a giggle. ‘Don’t worry, Miss, it’s how everyone reacts to first hearing Felix’s voice,’ 

You want to focus on him calling you Miss, but the urge to see which face belongs to the deep voice is stronger.

‘Who’s Felix?’ you ask, your eyes searching the men in front of you. 

‘I am,’ the only blonde man of the group says, lifting his hand to show you where he is. He’s absolutely stunning with freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks. 

‘Holy shit, is that your real voice?’ you ask without thinking, slapping your hand in front of your mouth as soon as the words come out. 

He laughs and a few of the other men chuckle as well. 

‘It is, sometimes it gets even deeper,’ he says. 

‘Yeah, Lix actually has like three different voices,’ the man who called you Miss grins. 

It’s getting annoying not to know his name, but you don’t want to ask and seem interested. Luckily one of the men at the back seems to read your mind somehow. 

‘Why don’t we all introduce ourselves, my name is Bang Chan, but you can call me Chan. I’m the leader and head of your security team as of now. So if you experience any problems with our service in any way, I’m the one you can come to.’ 

‘Noted,’ you mumble, ignoring Yoona’s glare at your rudeness. 

So that’s Chan. Faris forgot to mention how beautiful his trainee was and you were so going to punch his arm for that later. 

‘I’m Lee Minho,’ the one with the piercing stare says. ‘I’ll be joining your dance team.’ 

Fuck. Of course he is. 

‘So will I,’ Felix smiles. ‘Lee Felix.’

‘And me, Hwang Hyunjin,’ the man closest to you winks. 

Great. They were absolutely going to kill you. In more ways than one. 

Biting your lip you wait for the last four to introduce themselves and pray to all the gods that Miss guy is going to be your assistant. He already feels like the most easy going out of all eight and if you need to work with one of them closely, you’d rather it be him than anyone else. 

‘Kim Seungmin, I’ll be one of your bodyguards’ the one who noticed you first says, his eyes flicking up and down your body as if he’s calculating how much of a flight risk you are. 

Oh just you wait and see buddy. 

‘I’m Yang Jeongin, but you can call me Innie or Ayen,’ the very cute man in front of Seungmin smiles and you nearly smile back at him. 

Finally the man you’ve been waiting for speaks up. ‘I’m Han Jisung, your new assistant.’ 

You cheer in your head, keeping a straight face as you look at the last man. He’s definitely the most buff of them all, his biceps really testing the fabric of his suit jacket. 

‘And I’m Seo Changbin, also part of your daily bodyguard squad.’ 

‘You’re all way too beautiful to be bodyguards,’ you say, crossing your arms with a frown while tapping your foot on the ground. 

Yoona makes a noise beside you and you don’t dare to look at her. She’ll definitely lecture you later, but this is all on her anyways. 

‘Worried your fans will fawn over us?’ Jisung jokes, winking at you. 

Your lips tip up in a tiny smile, but you quickly straighten your face. It was going to be hard to be a brat to them, but you were nothing if you weren’t stubborn. You’re not going to just warm up to them because they were hot and funny. Nope. Not going to happen. 

‘More like you’d be too busy worrying about your good looks to protect me,’ you say, raising your eyebrows at them. 

‘Aren’t you a ray of sunshine,’ Minho grumbles, placing his hand on Jisung’s shoulder as if to comfort him. ‘You won’t have to worry about that, looking this good doesn’t cost us much.’

You open your mouth to reply, but Yoona gets up and goes to stand next to you. 

‘That’s enough Y/N,’ she hisses before smiling her million dollar smile to the men. ‘As you can see Y/N hasn’t really warmed up to the idea of having this many eyes on her all the time.’ 

‘Don’t you have that all the time though,’ Seungmin says directly to you. 

You glare at him. ‘That’s not the same. 

He just shrugs. ‘We don’t want anything from you like your fans or stalkers. We’re not here to be your friends, we’re just here to keep you safe. That’s all that should matter.’ 

His words hit you harder than they should and you can’t help but flinch. The idol life isn't great for maintaining friendships and since you weren’t in a group, the only people you really had around you to talk to were your bodyguard Faris, Yoona and your dancers. You didn’t have a best friend, or even really friends in general, not since high school ended. 

‘Min!’ Chan calls out, glaring at the man. 

You square your shoulders and tilt your head, putting another fake smile on your face. ‘It’s fine, he’s right isn’t he.’ 

‘No, he’s not,’ Chan shakes his head. ‘Listen-’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you repeat, interrupting him. ‘How about I’ll show Jisung his office and we can go over the schedule for next week?’ 

Chan frowns down at you, sharing a look with Jisung and Yoona, but then he nods. You give him a nod back in thanks and without looking at any of the other guys you make a beeline for the door, hoping Jisung will follow you. 

‘Well, that went great,’ you hear someone say before you step outside. 

Faris frowns when he sees the look on your face, but he doesn’t say anything and falls into step behind you like he always does. It’s one of the things you love about him, he always knows when to not ask questions. You can hear him and Jisung quietly talking behind you, but you don’t mind, they know each other after all. 

‘Well, here we are,’ you say, opening the door of the small office area next to the studio you usually work at. ‘You can arrange everything how you like and if you need anything you can ask Yoona.’ 

‘I wasn’t expecting an office,’ Jisung smiles at you, stepping inside the room to take a look. 

It’s not much. Just a desk with a comfortable chair and a computer, a two person couch and in the corner there’s a bookcase that so far only houses a cactus, your first three albums and a box with documents your last assistant left behind. 

‘Of course you get an office, can’t have you shacking up with me in the studio,’ you say, trying to joke with him. 

‘Hey, about what Seungmin said,’ Jisung starts, sitting down in his desk chair and twirling around. ‘He’s just very serious about his job, he didn’t really mean the part about us not being your friends.’ 

‘It’s fine,’ you shrug. ‘You’re not really meant to be my friends anyways, you’re hired to protect me.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t look too happy about that. Why is that?’ Jisung asks and he sounds genuinely curious. ‘I mean, sure we’re a whole lot, but isn’t it nice to know you’ll be safe?’ 

‘Safe? Yes. Watched by eight, I repeat, eight men? No thank you, I don’t need that.’ 

Jisung tilts his head and purses his lips in thought, like he’s actually trying to see this from your side. ‘I get it, I do, I’ve lived with most of them for the last few years and like I said, we can be a lot.’ 

‘But?’ you ask, falling down on the couch in front of Jisung’s new desk. ‘I feel there’s a but there.’ 

‘You really have no idea, do you?’ Jisung leans his chin on his palm as he looks at you. ‘We’ve seen the threats Y/N, we’ve seen the video’s of handsy fans, we’ve seen the footage of that dude trying to break into your house. It’s a miracle really that nothing has happened to you so far with only Faris by your side.’ 

‘He’s right, Nabi,’ Faris says from his spot by the door. 

‘Okay, maybe more than one bodyguard would be better,’ you say slowly. ‘But eight? I still think it’s a bit much, especially the undercover bit.’ 

Jisung shrugs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. ‘Maybe so, but at least you’ll know you will be safe.’ 

‘I guess,’ you mumble. 

‘Wanna go over the schedule for next week with me?’ Jisung asks. ‘Get your mind off all this for a bit?’ 

You jump up from the couch immediately and walk around the desk to stand next to him while he starts up the computer. 

****

About half an hour later you’re fairly confident Jisung will make a good assistant. He’s written down your interviews and gigs for the coming month and made a list of all the things he wanted to take care of before that. It was cute how he wanted to do it right. 

‘Knock, knock,’ a voice called out from the door and when you looked up you saw Chan and Changbin hugging Faris. 

‘How’s it going here?’ Chan smiles at you as he walks inside, his hands in his pocket. He probably tried to come off less intimidating like that, but it didn’t really work. 

‘Fine,’ you say, looking at the computer screen again. 

If you kept your eyes on him you’d probably drool all over your favorite studio outfit. That man was way too fine. 

‘It’s going great, Channie,’ Jisung says. ‘We’ve been getting along perfectly without the ice kings here.’ 

‘Don’t let them hear you call them that,’ Chan chuckles, moving to sit on the couch. ‘I hope we’ll be able to make this work, Y/N. I take great pride in my work and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel comfortable around us.’ 

Ugh. Why did he have to be so kind too? 

‘Thank you,’ you mutter, your eyes still on the screen. 

‘We’ll promise not to impose your privacy too much when we move in, but–’ 

Your head snaps up to look at him then and from the corner of your eyes you notice Jisung covering his face with his hands. 

‘What did you just say?’ you ask, standing up. ‘Please tell me I didn’t just hear you say the words moving in?’ 

‘Uhm,’ Chan tilts his head in confusion. ‘I thought you knew?’ 

‘Knew. What?’ you growl, your fingers balling up in fists. 

‘Oh boy,’ Jisung whispers and you turn to glare at him. 

‘You knew about this?’ 

‘Uhm, we all did? And we figured so would you,’ he shrugs, looking at you with big innocent eyes. 

You close your eyes, not at all immune to those brown doe eyes. If you keep looking at him you will stop being angry and you can’t do that. Not now. 

‘If somebody doesn’t tell me very soon what exactly this thing I’m supposed to know is, I will scream,’ you clench your jaw and take a shaky breath. 

This can’t be happening. They are not moving into your house with you. Yoona won’t do that to you, not after your talk this morning. Right? You close your eyes in frustration, already knowing the answer to your own question. She will. 

‘Such a drama queen,’ a new voice speaks up from the door and when you turn your head, already seeing red, you see Minho smirking at you. 

Changbin and Faris look concerned and when you look back at Chan, he actually looks like he’s pitying you. Fuck. 

‘Just say it already.’

‘Well, we’re supposed to move into your new house with you,’ Chan says, confirming it. 

Oh hell no. 

a/n: eeeeeeekkk I'm so excited for this series you have no idea!! I wasn't going to upload till tomorrow, but @staylovesmiley made me flip a coin and here I am at midnight, feeding you the first chapter.

Please let me know your thoughts <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @eastjonowhere @stellmeiv @bookishcaptain @flylis @deadpool15 @0325ale @thatgirlangelb @iknow-uknow-leeknow @nchhuhi @shycreationdreamland @readr1221 @beewilko

[subcultureblues]

When I Feel That Something (I Want To Hold Your Hand)

T | Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson | tags : Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship | cw : Period-Typical Homophobia, Discussions of Homophobia

———

It’s late and it’s been a long but lazy day. Eddie and Steve decided to go to that one diner in town that’s open late.

Eddie was drumming along to a nonexistent tune, his fingertips tap tapping away on his lap. He looked over at Steve very studiously reading the menu.

“You’re actually getting something different?”

“Nah.” Steve said without looking up. Eddie grinned. He figured as much. Steve was a creature of habit. Eddie was pretty sure he’d anyurize if they came here one day and they were out of strawberry ice cream for his milkshake.

And then he felt it. The slick bastard…. Without taking his eyes off the menu Steve had slipped his hand onto Eddie’s lap and tangled up their fingers.

He’s tenacious. Eddie’ll give ‘im that. Of course one glance around the diner and Eddie was elbowing Steve between the ribs.

“Hey.” Steve held the same hand against where Eddie had jabbed him as if it actually hurt, the big baby. “What was that for -“

“Heya. I’m Mylene. What can I get y’all tonight?” Eddie gave Steve a fabulously vindicated, ‘I told you so’ look as their waitress materialized.

She must be new or something because Eddie’s never seen her working here before.

Eddie let Steve order for him, because he too, is a creature of habit and Steve knows what he likes. The waitress hadn’t seen anything, clearly - considering she’s definitely flirting with him.

She’s pretty too. Soft, delicate face. A real Miss Indiana.

Eddie pretends to study his rings and Steve pretends not to notice her overtures.

And that’s as good as it’s ever gonna get.

As soon as she walked away Eddie could feel Steve scooting closer.

“Sittin’ awful close there, Stevie.” Eddie teased, smiling casually and looking straight ahead.

“Yeah, yeah…” he heard Steve slide back a few inches down the seat. Eddie snuck a glance and chuckled.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty when you pout.” Eddie whispered, nonchalantly stretching to rest his arms over the back of the booth. For just a second, he let the tip of his thumb brush the back of Steve’s neck.

Softly, Eddie hummed that one song Steve put on when he was feeling corny. I wanna hold your hand-a-aand. I wanna hold your hand. Because Eddie did. Really did.

Steve smiled ruefully, but - He was smiling. As good that was ever gonna get either.

When they get their separate checks, and no she didn’t ask, Steve’s had a number scribbled on the bottom. Next to the waitresses name and a little heart. Eddie huffed dryly, like maybe it was funny.

Steve reached past him and crumpled it. Left it there with the discarded napkins as they got up to leave.

“Can you believe her?” Steve muttered after they had stepped out of the diner and into the dark and cold. Eddie shoved his fists in his pockets to keep them warm.

Steve looked back at Eddie expectantly.

“Can’t fault a gal for good taste.” He shrugged. She didn’t do anything untoward. Eddie knew that. Steve did too. Still he was high strung, his shoulders tensed as they walked up to the van.

“You gotta get your head in the game, man.” Eddie said, opening the driver side door.

“What are you talking about?” Steve said, pausing in front of the open passenger side to look up and bite the inside of his cheek. When they were both inside they closed the doors and locked out the night chill.

“Come on, Stevie.” And then more reluctantly, almost apologetic he said, “You know what I’m talking about…”

“Yeah.” Steve pouted. God, what an adorable, majestic labradoodle of a man. Eddie never stood a chance…

Steve crossed his arms, uncrossed them. Crossed them again. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter though. No, I’m serious. Stop with the face. I’m not gonna risk you getting - “ Eddie huffed. Obviously, Eddie wasn’t upset with him. But honestly… would it so hard for Steve, just once in his life, to not be quite so brave and shining and true. Just once.

For Eddie’s sake if not his own.

“You.” He said, “Do not get to get hurt over this shit. Capiche?” Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw Steve mouth the word Capiche back to himself. Eddie valiantly resisted the urge to roll his eyes back into his skull. The two of them actually do have to take turns being entirely juvenile or nothing ever gets done around here. “I’m not - fucking letting that happen, alright? It’s just not worth the risk. So yeah. It sucks. But you gotta stop - “

“What?” Steve raised a bitchy eyebrow.

Eddie laughed, a bit startled at how just fond that look makes him feel. “Being cute.”

“Being cute?” Steve scoffed.

“Mmhmm.” Eddie said pulling out of the parking lot. “Cute.” He nodded definitively.

Steve rolled his eyes. He quietly waited for Eddie to finish fiddling with the radio, til he found a compromise worthy station, before speaking again.

“Ok, well.” Steve looked around. The roads were empty. It was dark. “What about, now….?”

Eddie lolled his head to look the opposite direction as Steve, biting his lip to hold back a ridiculously satisfied smile. Only then could he bare it - to glance at his boyfriend.

He was so sure Steve could see the big cartoon hearts in his eyes. It was annoying, when he was trying so hard to give Steve the ‘I told you to quit it’ eyes.

Steve put his hand over Eddie’s on the stick shift and locked their fingers together. Made a petulant noise, as if he was in active defiance.

“You’re one to talk about being obvious…”. Steve muttered

Eddie laughed. Steve had him dead to rights on that one.

“You know usually you’re meant to look at the road when you’re driving.”

Yeah usually. But then there was Steve in his car. Which, made it hard. And Eddie was a weak, weak man.

“God Steve Harrington... I love you so much sometimes it makes me sick.” He said smirking. Shaking his head at himself more than anything.

Sue him. He’s got Steve Harrington (yes that one) on his arm. He’s gonna be a little bit love struck for the rest of his life.

But now Steve was just slightly pink and biting his lip. Trying to contain himself, struggle against the upward tilt playing at the corner of his mouth. Still playing at mad while giving Eddie the ooiest, gooiest of eyes.

“Shut up…”

“Yeah. Because you fell in love with me for my strong but silent demeanor.”

“Yeah.” Steve looked out the window and huffed a laugh, squeezing his hand. “Something like that…”

Eddie still has no idea what about his ‘wet rat on the run from Johnny Law’ look had managed to charm Steve, but he refused to question it.

Eddie shifted the car in a higher gear, but Steve hand stayed right there on his. Didn’t move the rest of the way home.

When they got back to the trailer, they puttered around in easy silence. It was familiar. Eddie kind of loved it. That Steve didn’t even ask before raiding his pack of beers. That he had shirts in the dresser and a toothbrush next to Eddie’s and that he left his ridiculous shampoo here even though he knows Eddie’s been siphoning from it.

Hell, at this point he knew what drawer they kept the spatula. It was downright domestic.

That’s right folks. Eddie Munson had officially gone soft.

They were hanging out in his bedroom, Eddie playing his guitar at the head of the bed, one leg hanging off it and the other bent at the knee. Steve crisscross on the foot of the bed tossing a baseball of unknown origin up and down.

“I wish I could hold your hand.” He said, catching the ball just to stare at it.

“Steve.”

“No. It’s - I should be able to. It’s messed up.”

Eddie shrugged. Because such is life, amright? No point getting bent up out of shape about shit so, so very far out of your control.

Steve just sighed.

Because Eddie was used to the uh, - sociological blue balling. Whereas Steve, was not. Because Steve was new to all this.

“You can hold my hand now.” Eddie offered, but then he looked down at his guitar and thought about the riff he had almost perfected. “Ok, well not now.”

He stuck up his leg in the air and offered it in Steve’s direction.

“Here take this.” He said. Steve gave him an unimpressed face. Or maybe he could just smell Eddie’s socks and that look was judgement. Eddie wiggled his leg around in front of him a bit until Steve relented and pulled Eddie’s foot into his lap. Eddie grinned satisfactorily.

The baseball ended up rolling onto the floor and under the bed. Likely from whence it came. Steve barely even noticed. Still looking the wrong side of forlorn.

“Maybe I just don’t know what I’m missing out on.” Eddie shrugged, going back to running scales.

“I wish you did…”

“You wish I knew what I was missing out on so I’d suffer the more for not having it?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty fucked up, Stevie.”

Steve rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

“I want - fuck, man… I wanna just kiss you whenever I feel like it. Put my arm around you when I feel like it. And you know what? Yeah, maybe I want you to know what it feels like to get shown off a little. You… you should be, deserve to get shown off, you know…”

Eddie looked up at Steve. He was staring into space looking wistful. Sad. His hand still vaguely holding Eddie’s ankle. Eddie gently set his Baby down on the floor, propped up against the nightstand. Refocused his attention on his other Baby. Steve turned his neck to face Eddie, head tilted against the wall.

“It sucks. When you’re sitting right there and it can’t be like how I want it to be.”

“How do you want it?” Eddie risked indulging the hypothetical.

“I want em to know you’re mine.” Steve shrugged, picking at loose thread on Eddie’s thread bare jeans.

Eddie flopped back onto the bed, head sinking deep into his pillow. Sometimes it was like Steve was trying to stop Eddie’s heart in its tracks. He glared at Steve down the bridge of his nose.

“I thought I told you to stop being cute.” He pretended to grouse.

Steve’s lip twitched up but it didn’t clear the upset on his face.

“Can’t help it I guess…” Steve said quietly. Distracted.

“No. I guess you can’t.” Eddie agreed. He outstretched his arms, raising them and leaving them suspended in the air. Beckoning for his sweet prince. Waiting for his Steve to come fall into them. “Come on.” He encouraged, with a begrudging tone -one he’s sure was deeply unconvincing.

Steve crawled up the bed, and sunk down on top of his chest. Christ, he was he heavy. And warm. Like the sexiest, most suffocating sleeping blanket to ever hit the market. The last blanket Eddie’d ever need.

Eddie really did love the way Steve used his chest as a pillow. Steve settled so he was mostly not crushing Eddie’s lungs. He snuggled his cheek against his usual spot. Right over where Eddie’s got that screaming face tatt, just getting comfortable.

Eddie ran a hand up and down his shoulder, hoping it did something to soothe this something in Steve. Squeezed his arms around him. Snuggled his own cheek against the top of Steve’s head.

“You think I wouldn’t be running around town screaming about, Steve Harrington, man of my dreams if I could.” He said eventually. He could hear Steve rolls his eyes. “Here ye, here ye! Thine King has the tightest, hottest, most fuckab-“

Steve pushed him away with a hand on his cheek.

“I’ll show you fuckable…” Steve mimicked, muttering nonsense. He looked up at Eddie from his chest. Eddie looked down at him, with a positively lecherous eyebrow.

A look that said, Oh baby. You already are.

And yet… Steve wasn’t preening. Usually he loved how Eddie could lighten the mood. Made light of things because sometimes it did start to make them feel lighter. Said it helped when he got too in his head. But Eddie got the distinct feeling Steve wanted to… talk.

Perhaps counterintuitively… Eddie’s not the best at that. He can never seem to shut the hell up, until something important comes along and his silver tongue leaves him like a filthy deserter.

“This comes with the territory of being little Missus Munson, hey stop it! Stop it! Hmph. Ow…”

Steve did stop trying to poke him to death with his pointer finger. Eddie sighed.

“It does though… It comes with the… me.”

“Eddie. S’not like it’s your fault.”

“Yeah… Doesn’t mean I can do anything to change it.” He said quietly. Staring at the ceiling so he didn’t have to look at Steve. “I remember you in highschool. You always had some girl on your arm.” He said, eyebrows raised and sounding detached.

Steve poked at him again which made Eddie wriggle but it didn’t shut him up.

“You’d be… holding hands in the hallway. Making out against your locker. Under the bleachers… In the lunchroom...”

“Eddie.” Steve frowned. Eddie shrugged the shoulder Steve wasn’t lying on, resigned.

“I - can’t give you that, Steve.” He said simply, though words rose like bile in his throat. “This is… You can take it or you can leave it. But if you ever want to just,” Eddie felt too big for his skin. Felt sick and warm. Felt like his heart suddenly forgot its easy, devil-may-care rhythm. Which is why he tried not to think about it. This. Not to dream of things so far out of his reach. His eyebrows drew together. “You ever want to just - hold hands and walk down the street again… I’m not the person for that. You’re gonna have to um, your gonna need to, uh, find someone else.”

Someone like Mylene, Eddie thought numbly.

“Eddie.” Steve’s head rose from his chest. His face all twisted up. With that unconscionably cute pissed off little frown of his, the one he puts on when he gets all serious. The one for which Eddie had no earthly defense.

God, Eddie hated when his heart did this. Ached.

“Stop it. Don’t - I want to hold your hand. Show you off. Kiss you. Kiss you whenever I feel like it.” He scoffed. “Not just like for the fuck of it. What’s the point if it’s anybody but you, stupid.”

Eddie managed to smile. It was small and sad and he still couldn’t look at him. But it was there - and a lot more earnest than Eddie lets himself be a lot of the time.

Steve moved up his body and pressed his forehead to Eddie’s temple. Grounded them both at that point of contact.

“Hey.” Steve whispered. Eddie did finally face him. Prayed his eyes looked less scared than he felt. Steve put a warm open palm on the side of his neck. Slid it up to rest on his cheek. Stroking his thumb back and forth purposefully. He nosed at Eddie’s other cheek. “Hey. I love you. I really - I really need this. You.” He could feel the warmth of his breath in the shape of the words. Eddie dragged his nose down the bridge of Steve’s. He loved the way their skin on skin felt. Loved the way it made him feel, how it transported him somewhere simple and safe.

Like those ruby slippers from Wizard of Oz. Press them together, and suddenly… you’re home again.

Like magic.

“It kind of scares the shit out of me when you talk like that.” Steve said, quiet and pretending it hurts less than it really does.

Eddie closed his eyes and squeezed Steve in his arms.

“M’sorry.” Eddie mumbled into his neck. “…You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Right?”

“I better be.” Steve ribbed gently.

“We’ll uh,” he cleared his throat, but it still felt like there were like, rocks stuck in there or something. He tried again. “You won’t ever be able to get married… can’t have kids - s’illegal and all.”

“So what? Ya know? So what. I get to have… this, right?” He grinned, reverently running a hand through Eddie’s mess of hair. Scratching his fingernails softly into the back of his neck. “And I’d like to see them try and take that from me. I have a pretty scary bat, you know.”

“I heard about that.” Eddie murmured.

“Yeah? It’s all covered in like, nails and demon blood and everything.” He laughed softly, pressing his face into Eddie’s hair.

“You’re very metal, baby.” Eddie said, placing a kiss on his neck.

“And don’t think I won’t use it.” Now it Steve trying to unsuccessfully lighten the mood.

Eddie uncurled and laid back, just staring at the ceiling.

“You want it though. You’ve always wanted that…”

“Well. Yeah…”

Eddie’s eyes start to sting and somewhere in the back of his head his dad’s voice is there telling him to stop being a pussy, that he’s being a real baby about this, that he’s always been a fucking idiot. He’s too loose limbed and sedated to bother toughen up. Too tired to be impenetrable.

Steve kissed him. On the cheek, softer than anything else in Eddie’s life.

Eddie’s been slowly trying to wisen up to the fact that uh. When he and Steve are all pretzeled up like this, their whole bodies a tangle. When it’s dark and quiet and just them. It’s actually fine to feel like a pussy, and a total baby, and a fucking idiot. It just makes Steve kiss him like that. Squeeze a little tighter. Makes him want to stay folded up like this longer, as long as they can. Even when Steve like really, really has to pee.

Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck he’s gonna do with himself when he looses this too. Steve nuzzles up against him, make a small sound. If, he tried to remind himself. If he looses it.

Pretty please, Jesus fucking Christ - Please be an if.

“I wanna marry you Eddie.”

“Ok.” Eddie shrugged, disaffected. He wants to marry Steve too.

He also wants a million dollars, a 84’ Flying V, to be trapped in an elevator with Gary Gygax for like 30 minutes, because he’s got some serious ideas about the rules alright?

He wants to be a rock star. He wants Wayne to be able to retire.

The wanting is the problem. It’s an indulgence that doesn’t do anyone much good. That just precedes a dull, drawn out ache.

Steve sat up very suddenly, straddling Eddie’s hips. And God, if Eddie’s not a boy because he’s way too easily distracted by Steve sitting on his dick. Steve stretches an arm out to reach over Eddie. He puts his hands on Steve’s hips to steady him as he goes to grab something off the nightstand.

Sweet. So they’re gonna fuck it out. Eddie won’t complain about that. Simple ecstasy? A carnal pleasure? That’s the #1 Munson Recomended method to treat self pitying bouts of despair, baby.

He was great with the words that didn’t matter, really not so much with the ones that did. And Steve always was and would be a man of action. And ok, maybe Eddie was even a little relieved to forget this conversation, this hole in his chest. Just, not have to think about it.

But then Steve didn’t present Eddie with a bottle of lube. Instead he was carefully holding one of Eddie’s rings pinched between two fingers. Eddie had slipped them off and put them on the nightstand (because as cool as they make him look on stage they’re clunky and obtrusive and practicing with them on his fingers gets on his nerves.)

“Marry me.” Steve said, presenting Eddie’s very own ring to him.

“Uh - “ His eyes crossed looking at it held up in front of his face.

Steve huffed.

“Fine. I Steve Harrington, ask thee, Eddie Munson, for your hand in marriage.” Steve said, gently picking up one of Eddie’s hands. He was just staring at Steve trying to figure out the punchline.

“Maybe not today, alright? But like, someday, right? There’s gotta be a a someday. And then I’m gonna marry you. First day they’ll legally let me do it.”

“Sure. We’ll probably be like, a hundred.”

“Ok.” He shrugged. Like for Steve it was that simple. It came that easy for him. “Would you want…?”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, man.” Eddie rolled them over so he was curled on top of Steve. Steve put up a struggle, slowly suffocating under him.

“I want it so bad it’s like a bullet to the chest.” He said, holding the love of his life down in an illegal wrestling move.

“You’f suz a drauma queen.” Steve mumbled under him. Eddie rested his weight his on his forearms, one on either side of Steve’s head, releasing the petulant creature from it’s confines. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And you’re… something else, Harrington.”

“It’ll be Munson won’t it.” And there’s a second round, a clean shot to the heart. He hides his face in Steve’s neck, pretending he’s not squealing on the inside like a teenage girl with a bad case of Beatle-mania.

“Fuck off.” He sighs. “You’re gonna kill me one day, Steve Harrington.”

“Steve Munson.” He sputtered a little, mouth open like he was trying to get a stray hair out of it.

Eddie made a sound like he’s dying.

“God that sounds awful actually.” Eddie said, as if he’s not gonna be writing it in little hearts in the margins of his notebooks. “Just. Does not roll off the tongue. Like at all.”

Steve’s fingers were trailing featherlight up and down his spine. “Yeah.” He agreed. And Eddie could hear the smile on the bastards face.

“Robin can be our incubator.”

“She agreed to that?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Steve snorted. “But I’ll wear’er down. She’s a total sap.”

Eddie snorted. She was a god awful hopeless romantic.

“You’re gonna force that poor lesbian to pump out 4 little Harrington’s?”

“Little Munsones. Munsonses?”

“Munsons?” Eddie raised a condescending eyebrow.

“Besides I don’t need 4, I’ll already have one giant fucking baby waiting for me at home.” He digs his nose into Eddie’s cheek accusatorially.

“You get one.”

“Three.” Steve bargained, eyes squinting in challenge.

“Two.” Eddie said, grinning widely.

“And a dog.”

“You get a hamster.” Eddie said, feeling warm all over. “Final offer.”

Two little tikes running around the house, screaming like banshees. He could read them The Hobbit when they’re all tuckered out and tucked in, to put them to sleep. Use all his silly voices.

He could teach them D&D and they could all giggle and create chaos together as a family, sat around the dining room table.

They could play princes and princesses and Eddie could be the big mean dragon - that they then vanquish in glorious combat. He would fall to his knees and ‘die’ oh so dramatically. He knows he would.

When they’re real little, he could bounce them on his knee like a cowboy. Do stupid shit like play peek-a-boo and blow raspberries on their tummy’s til they barfed themselves laughing. All the stuff he doesn’t remember but had wanted anyways.

He pictures himself up at 2 am with Steve standing behind him, pressed against his back. Having finally gotten the wailing little beast in his arms to fall back asleep; and he gets to hold something small and fragile and full of so much living potential and do it better this time around.

Damn.

He was crying, wasn’t he?

He just noticed. Steve had noticed too. He was quietly kissing up Eddie’s jawline, into his temple. Running those magical hands through his hair in a way that made him want to pur like a cat.

“Eddie?” He spoke softly.

Eddie sniffed. He grabbed at the fist Steve was still holding the ring in. “Gimme.” He said, frowning.

“Hey.” Steve warned. He took Eddie’s left hand by the wrist, slowly coaxed his fingers open. Carefully slid the ring on. Stared at it on Eddie’s hand. Smiling just, way too smugly.

Eddie flexed his fingers, testing his grip. It’s literally the ring he wears on his left ring finger almost every single day.

And isn’t that something. The way Steve can take something that should be entirely mundane. And make it mean everything to Eddie, make it mean the fucking world.

A very serious expression crossed Eddie’s face, then he reached over to the night stand and grabbed a handful of the rest of his rings.

He opened his palm and sorted through them by size. “What are you doing?” Steve asked. Eddie shushed him. Steve clicked his tongue but he went easily when Eddie reached out to grab his left hand.

“Oh.” Steve said, as Eddie went about trying a few different rings on his fingers. Steve’s hands were a lot meatier than Eddie’s. Steve was a fit guy, you see. Even his hands were bigger, more muscular. Eddie had slender guitar player hands. But eventually he found one, a simple silver band with a fleur-de-lis that fit like Cinderella’s glass slipper.

“Mine.” Eddie said, hugging Steve’s forearm tightly and trapping it possesively against his own chest. Steve looked at the ring on his finger. He turned his hand around in Eddie’s grip to press it flat against Eddie’s heartbeat. Then Steve kissed him, rested their foreheads together.

“You’re such a brute, you know that?” Steve said, kissing him again.

“I’ll show you a brute.” Eddie raised his eyebrows suggestively. They kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Have you heard about what’s going on in New York? And like San Francisco and stuff.”

“The big gay revolution? Sure.” Eddie shrugged. Kissed him again. Lots of tongue.

Does it still count as premarital sex after whatever that was? Eddie’s gotta be honest, he’s a little disappointed at the idea of their sex life getting even the slightest bit less actively sinful.

“What do you think?”

“Hmmm? It’s a nice dream. I’ll give em that.” Steve gave him a look. Eddie scoffed.

“I want to… I can’t just sit here, man.” Steve said. Because Steve was a man of action. Because when Steve sees a monster he just starts swinging. He held Eddie’s hand in his own, looking at the ring that was next to meaningless 10 minutes ago and it just wasn’t anymore. “I’m not kidding. I am gonna marry you. I want to be out there. Doing that. Until they have to let me.”

“I dunno, man…. I’m more of a rebel without a cause.” Eddie said, because activism’s an idealist’s game.

“Oh, come ooon. Fighting the power. Sticking it to The Man. Riots in the streets. You gotta admi-t. Pretty metal….” He grinned, knowing each and every one of Eddie’s weaknesses and exactly how to tempt him.

“Yeah. Ok, yeah it kinda is.”

It would be nice. Knowing there’s others people like them is different from actuating knowing other people who are like them. It’s crazy just how much Eddie’s life changed from having two people in the world who could get him the way Steve and Robin got him. They could drag her out there with them. Hit up the lesbian bars, ‘find her Eddie’ as she and Steve refer to it sometimes.

The music scene there is actually… existent. Unlike here. Eddie could… he try and make a name for himself.

They could… it sounds like a fucking pipe dream. That things could ever change. That people could ever change. That some day people like them wouldn’t have to be afraid.

But… fuck if Steve’s optimistic smile wasn’t convincing him of something. Convincing Eddie that hey, it’s at least worth a try, right?

“I wanna hold your hand.” Steve said quietly, even thought he was already holding it.

“That’s not very metal at all.” Eddie teased.

“I dunno… Feels pretty metal to me.” He said, absently playing with Eddie’s fingers.

Eddie huffed a laugh.

“Yeah… Yeah I guess it really is.”

[kaminocasey]

Hey! I'm gonna take advantage of your charity and incredible talent and ask me some Silco stuff, and I will make it very personal.

Im just a sucker for angsty fluff, so I was thinking something in the lines of reader works either in some restaurant where Silco goes or actually works in the last drop. And she's just having a rough couple of days and Silco finds out about it and just wants to help (maybe he gets frustrated because of it all, and goes all Silco, you know what I mean? Damn I'm gonna shut up now). But we all know Silco is not the most affectionate man, or at least shows it in weird (?) ways. I feel like it would be better (?) if they didn't have a relationship yet. But I'll leave it to your brilliance to do as you please, I have complete trust in your skills.

But remember, you don't have to do this if you don't feel like it of course.

Anyway, to much information already. So good luck, love your work, that brain of yours and you in general ❤️💙💛🤍

PS- do not allow me to make more requests, I will make them long, weird and I'll keep remembering more stuff to add and the next thing you know it's a full blown fic 🤣

Take All Your Sins

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, love!!! I was excited to do this one!!! This is going to be a two parter or MORE for SURE. <3 ilysm thank you again for your trust in me!!!

Summary: You work in the Last Drop and very close to Vander. What happens if Silco comes along and ruins that?

Pairing: Silco x Reader

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst, sweet Silco, protective Vander, alcohol

Taglist Form | Arcane Masterlist

“If you have something else to do, I can finish those.” You come into the doorway of the kitchen, nodding toward the dishes that he’s doing. 

“I got ‘em. Almost done.” The older man smiles at you.

A few years ago, Vander gave you a place to stay when he found you out on the streets and ever since then, you were basically inseparable. His kids were like your own. 

“Rough night, huh?” Vander asks as you lean in the doorway, keeping an eye on the place in case more patrons came in. 

The Last Drop is usually busy this time of night, especially on this day of the week. But it’s like a ghost town right now and you can’t seem to figure out why.

“Rough week.” You sigh, crossing your arms. 

“Do you need a couple days off?” Vander asks, genuinely.

He always made sure you were taken care of, which you appreciate, but sometimes it feels like he does too much for others, and never lets anyone do anything for him. You’re bound to change that though. His birthday is coming up and you’ve been saving up for something special that will be from you and the kids. 

“Nah, I’m-” You start but hear the door open.

“You got it?” Vander asks and you nod with a grin and turn around to greet the customer, letting the kitchen door swing shut.

“What can I get ya?” You smile at the older man, who makes you do a subtle double take.

“Whiskey. Neat, please.” He smiles. 

He’s got dark hair, a partially scarred face, one blue eye and the other dark black with an orange iris that makes him look incredibly menacing. He’s wearing an open, fancy peacoat with a buttoned vest and tie. Who the hell is this guy?

His eyes rake over you as you approach the bar where he sits. 

“Haven’t seen you before.” You smile, politely. 

“I don’t get out much.” He takes his coat off and sits it down on the stool next to him. “I… work a lot.” 

His voice is silky and you can’t help but want to hear him say more. 

“What do you do?” You ask as you pour his drink. 

“I own my own business.” He tells you and takes the drink when you slide it to him. 

The way he says it, makes you think he doesn’t want to answer anymore questions about himself. 

“What’s your name?” He asks softly. 

You tell him and he takes a sip, keeping his blue eye on you. You smile softly, unsure of what to say.

“Pretty name.” He tells you, after he finishes off his drink. 

You go to pour him another but he puts his hand over his drink and shakes his head.

“Thanks.” You put the bottle back down and then take the empty glass from him, sitting it in the sink. “What’s yours?” 

“Silco. Do you like working here?” He asks, not missing a beat. 

You nod. “Yeah, I do.” 

“And you like Vander?” 

You nod. “Who doesn’t?” 

He chuckles, glancing around subtly. “Who doesn’t, indeed?”

“What are you doing after work?” He asks. 

Oh… of course. He thinks you’re going to put out- 

“I’m not trying to fuck you.” He tells you, as if he can read your mind while he stands up and puts his coat back on.

“You’re not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to, but that’s not why I asked.” He smirks.

You both stare at each other for a moment. His eyes fall to your lips before coming back up to your eyes.

“So… the real reason is?” You cross your arms.

“I think you’re beautiful and I’ve not been on a proper date in years.” Silco shrugs, placing a hand on the back of the barstool. 

You go warm in the face before looking down at his slender fingers and immediately can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like inside-

“I’ll be by at 11.” He tells you, snapping your thoughts back to the present as he places a few cogs onto the bar. 

“Um. Alright.” You nod, giving a kind smile. 

He stares at you for another short moment before giving you a smile back and then leaving. Just as the door closes, Vander walks out and sees you staring at the door, breaking you out of the trance that Silco seemed to have put you in.

“Everything okay?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You look up at him, smiling a little dreamily. It’s not something you’re used to. Normally, when customers ask you out, you brush them off and pay them no mind. But Silco… he managed to get you to pay attention. 

“All good. Um… I have a date after work.” You go warm in the face at the word ‘date’. 

It’s not like you don’t date… you do… just not consistently. The last date you went on was a year ago. It didn’t go well so you decided to just focus on work.

“With the customer that just came in? Who is he?” Vander’s eyebrows raise in surprise, knowing that you haven’t gone out with someone in a long time.

“Just… some guy.” You shrug, starting to wipe down the bar. 

Vander chuckles. “Alright. Keep your secrets. I was young once, too.”

You laugh with him, your thoughts immediately going back to Silco’s unmatching eyes and the way they softened at the sight of you. 

“You can go get ready if you want. I can finish here.” Vander smirks. 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. I owe you.” 

“Nah. Get outta here.” He nods toward the door that leads to the upstairs. 

You pat him on the shoulder as you walk past him, heading upstairs to go shower. You look at the clock and see that it reads 9:30. That should give you plenty of time to get ready. You don’t take particularly long showers. 

As you turn on the water, you climb into the shower, letting the water flow over your body as you stand there for a moment before starting to wash your body and hair. You still can’t stop thinking about the older man. He had to be about Vander’s age, right? You wonder if they know each other. Perhaps after you get to know Silco a little more, you’ll introduce them. 

After your shower, you dry your hair the best you can and then settle on a dress that you’d saved up forever to buy just because. What better excuse to wear it than on a date with an extremely attractive, slightly intimidating, man? 

At ten til 11, you make your way back down to the bar. Vander and Benzo both let out a whistle at the sight of you.

“Don’t you clean up nice?” Vander grins. 

You shrug, going warm in the face from the attention. “I guess.” 

You sit up on the bar stool next to Benzo. You glance over at the door and then back at Vander. 

“Do you want something to loosen your nerves?” Vander teases. 

“I’m alright, thanks.” You roll your eyes, amused.

“Who’s this hot date with?” Benzo nudges you with his elbow. 

You go warm in the face all over again, thinking about Silco. “Just some older guy… he’ll be here any minute.” 

They accept that answer and continue their conversation from before about business stuff that you don’t really mind yourself with. You pretty much just show up and do your job and do exactly what Vander tells you to do and then go back upstairs and sleep. And then repeat. 

The door opens moments later, and the three of you look up to find Silco walking in. You can’t help but give him a sweet smile. He smirks at you and pauses by the door.

“Are you ready-” He starts.

“Silco.” Vander growls. 

“Hello, Vander.” Silco’s eyes fall past you to the man behind you. “Lovely establishment you have here.”

You turn to Vander, confused. “You know each other?”

“Oh yes, we do.” Silco walks toward you, wrapping an arm around your lower back, looking you up and down. “You look beautiful, darling.” 

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Vander comes around the bar and starts toward Silco but Benzo gets up quickly from the stool and stops him. 

You look between Silco and Vander, still confused.

“I think that’s for her to decide.” Silco smirks up at Vander who stands almost a foot above him.

You turn to Vander, with furrowed brows. This man is the one who gave you life again, the man who is like a father to you. The man you owe your life to. If he says you shouldn’t go… then shouldn’t you listen to him?

[cressidagrey]

The moment I could see it - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

Warnings: 

GP's POV, mention of cancer, mention of parent's death

Author Notes: I am back to my old tricks...which means I write from the most random of POV's just because. (I once wrote a chapter from a dog's POV so like, GP doesn't even really count.

The very first time Gianpiero Lambiase met Ariel Cane, it was a quiet summer evening in August 2015. 

He had just gotten home from the Belgian GP…and he and his wife Laura had finally closed on a house in Milton Keynes. 

A charming red brick two story, with a bright blue front door, at the end of a quiet street with patch of a garden. Less than 5 minutes away by foot from the Factory and near a daycare for Francesca, their daughter. 

The knock at the door was unsurprising because GP had just ordered Chinese takeout…

But when he opened the door…it wasn’t a delivery driver. 

No, instead there was a teenage girl on his doorstep. With a cloud of bright red hair, a dimpled smile and Tupperware box of… something in her hands that she thrust at him. 

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” she told him brightly. “I am Ariel. We live in the house with the red front door. I made you some cookies!”

This was the last thing he had expected. 

Actually, he could just stare at her for a moment, while Francesca happily clapped in her hands. 

GP couldn’t help but chuckl as his young daughter reached towars Ariel's hair, her tiny hands grasping air as he pulled her back. The toddler's babbling, "Red! Red! Red!" seemed to break the awkward silence that had settled between them.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice roughened by laughter. "That's very kind of you. I'm Gianpiero, and this little one is Francesca."

Ariel’s smile seemed to brighten at the introduction. “It’s nice to meet you. And you too!” she chirped to Francesca, whose little face was peering over her father’s shoulder, still trying to grab her hair.

Gianpiero balanced his daughter on his hip, still a little bemused by the whole situation. With Francesca squirming in his arms, he shifted the Tupperware box under one arm and extended his free hand. "Thank you for the cookies," he said graciously, glancing at the contents of the box.

They looked delicious, that was for sure. Freshly baked and still warm from the oven.

"Did you make these yourself?" he asked wracking his head to come up with something to say. 

Ariel nodded enthusiastically, that sunny smile never fading. "Yep!" she confirmed, as his daughter started babbling ‘cookie’ repeatedly, trying to reach for the box. "I love baking! My mum…she taught me how."

GP hummed in acknowledgement, carefully keeping the Tupperware out of Francesca's reach. He wouldn't put it past his daughter to snatch the cookies and try to eat them all on her own.

His gaze returned to Ariel, taking in the girl's bright, cheerful demeanour. She couldn't be more than…17 or 16, her limbs not having lost their coltish length, but there was a maturity in her eyes.

"You're very young to be baking cookies for neighbours," he remarked, hoping it didn't sound like a criticism.

Ariel just shrugged nonchalantly. "I just wanted to make a good impression," she said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world for a teenager to bake cookies for total strangers.

GP’s amused surprise only grew.

"And you certainly have," he assured her, fighting a smile as his daughter kept trying to snatch the box of cookies. "Not many teenagers would take the time to bake for the new neighbours."

He managed to move the box successfully out of view from Francesca, who then started complaining loudly.

Loudly enough that it pulled his wife’s attention.

The commotion had brought Laura to the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. As soon as she appeared, Francesca instantly held her arms out to her, wanting her mother instead of her father.

Laura chuckled, taking Francesca into her arms and kissing the top of her head. The toddler immediately quieted down, clutching at her mother's shirt.

"What's going on here?" Laura asked, gazing quizzically at their new neighbour.

GP chuckled and held up the Tupperware box as explanation.

"Apparently, we're being welcomed to the neighbourhood with cookies."

Laura’s expression softened, an amused smile on her lips. "That’s so sweet," she said brightly, her free hand coming to gently ruffle Francesca’s hair.

"Ariel Cane," Ariel introduced herself. "My dad, my sister and I live to your right, in the house with the red door," she explained.

Laura smiled, shifting Francesca to her other hip as the toddler reached up to tug at her hair.

"It's nice to meet you, Ariel," she said, the Tupperware box in GP’s hand momentarily forgotten. "I'm Laura."

"Nice to meet you," Ariel said back, then flashed a smile at the little girl on her mother's hip. "And you too!" Francesca let out a giggle and stuck her tongue out at the new neighbour.

Laura chuckled, gently catching Francesca's hand and pulling it down from her hair.

"I just wanted to say welcome to the neighbourhood," Ariel said quietly. "And if there are any stray cats running around, don’t be surprised! Mrs. Higgins, she lived here before, she used to feed them," she explained.

There it was again, that surprising maturity in her voice.

GP and Laura exchanged a glance, still baffled by the fact that a teenage girl had come to their door with baked cookies in hand.

“That’s very kind of you,” GP said. “We’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

"Just bring back the tupperware whenever," Ariel said brightly. "If I am not there, my father's healthcare aid is there, so somebody will probably answer the door."

"And let me know if you ever need a babysitter. I have a younger sister so I am well-versed. And Francesca is adorable," she offered brightly. "I am sorry, I need to get back...Gloria's shift is ending..." she trailed off for a moment. "Ah...and if you ever see a ambulance parked in front of our house, don't worry, it's for our dad...he has cancer, so..."

GP’s expression immediately softened. The mention of her father's condition hung awkwardly in the air, the cheerful atmosphere dampening slightly.

Laura was the first to speak, reaching out to gently touch the girl’s shoulder.

"I’m sorry to hear that," she said softly, genuine sympathy in her voice.

"I hope he'll be alright," GP added, shifting the Tupperware box in his hand.

Ariel's expression didn’t change, but it was clear that the topic of her father’s health was a sensitive one. She forced a smile to her lips, although it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah...he will," she said, her voice just a tad brittle.

The silence that followed was awkward and thick, none of them quite knowing what to say.

It was Francesca who broke the tension, letting out a soft whine at the lack of attention. Laura gently shushed the little girl, before once again addressing Ariel.

"Thank you again for the cookies," she said kindly. "It was lovely meeting you, Ariel."

"It was lovely meeting you both," Ariel replied, her usual cheer returning to her voice. "And you too, Francesca!"

The toddler giggled and made a grab for the bright red hair again. Laura pulled her hand off gently, chuckling.

"Goodbye," Ariel said with a final wave, before turning around and quickly heading back to her own house.

GP and Laura watched her go, both of them quietly contemplating the girl’s words. Her father’s illness suddenly put everything into a different perspective.

Laura let out a soft sigh, readjusting her grip on Francesca.

"That poor girl…"

GP nodded in agreement, the Tupperware box seemingly heavier in his hand than it had been a few minutes ago.

"It must be tough," he mused, turning the corner of his mouth down. “Caring for your dad, while still being so young…”

"And a younger sister, don't forget that," Laura added. "Did she say anything about her mother?"

GP paused, thinking back to the earlier conversation. “Just that her mother taught her how to bake,” he said after a moment, a small frown on his face. “I guess she’s not in the picture, maybe?”

“Maybe a single dad, raising them by himself,” Laura said with a soft sigh, one of her hands gently tousling Francesca’s brown locks.

The toddler let out a little grumble, turning her head away from the touch.

“And taking care of him as well,” GP shook his head. “It’s a lot for someone so young to handle.”

There was a heavy silence as they both silently commiserated over the girl’s situation. GP let out a soft exhale, shifting the Tupperware box to his other hand.

“I hope her dad gets better soon,” he said quietly. “For her sake, more than anyone else’s.”

It took him two days to convince himself that it wouldn’t be weird to bring back the Tupperware – and he certainly wasn’t just using it as an excuse to check in on the girl. 

So he found himself walking up the path to the red front door, the Tupperware box in hand.

He knocked on the door, the Tupperware feeling heavy in his hand. After a moment, he could hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching the door. The door was opened by another red-headed girl, nearly identically to her older sister other than the colour of her eyes. Her were dark brown, her sisters were blue.

"Can I help you`?" she asked him, her eyebrows furrowing. 

GP found himself momentarily taken aback by the unexpected sight of the younger sister. 

"Ah, yes," he said, quickly recovering from the surprise. "I'm returning these," he said, holding up the Tupperware for her to see.

The girl, who he assumed was Ariel's little sister, stared at him through the crack of the front door with a cautious expression. She was clearly assessing him, trying to determine if he posed a threat or not.

"ARIEL!" she screamed loudly.

"Em, be quiet," came Ariel's voice, worried. "Dad just fell asleep. Don't wake him, please."

Gianpiero tried not to chuckle. He was getting the distinct impression the little sister was rather fierce.

Ariel appeared behind her younger sibling seconds later, her eyes lighting up with recognition as she spotted him on the doorstep.

"Hello, Mr. Lambiase!" she chirped with a smile. Her cheerful greeting made him chuckle.

"You can just call me GP," he said. He held up the Tupperware in his hand again. "I just wanted to return this."

"Oh, right," she chimed, reaching for the Tupperware. As she did so, her little sister, Em, gave him a suspicious look, still standing by the door.

Gianpiero found himself amused by the girl’s distrust. She seemed rather protective.

"Thanks," Ariel said as she accepted the Tupperware from him. She gave him another smile.

Meanwhile, Em was still standing a few steps behind, eyeing him intently. Gianpiero caught her gaze and gave her a small, friendly wave.

“And who’s this?” he asked, nodding towards the younger girl.

Ariel glanced back at her sister, who was still staring at him with an almost suspicious expression. She didn’t seem quite as sunny and cheerful as her older sister.

Ariel sighed softly.

"This is my little sister, Emma," she introduced the girl, who just continued staring at him without saying a word.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, addressing Emma directly. “Your sister made some really nice cookies.”

"I know," Emma said seriously. "Ariel makes the best cookies. They taste just like Mom's used to."

Ariel winced ever so slightly, though her smile stayed firmly in place. It was obvious that their mother was a sensitive topic for them.

"Well,” GP said lightly, not wanting to linger on the subject, "they were delicious."

He cast a subtle glance towards Ariel, noticing the way her smile seemed a fraction more brittle.

This poor family really had been through so much, and the kids were paying the price.

"Girls, who is at the door?" the voice was croaky. The man that belonged it to...didn't look very well at all.

His complexion was wan and drawn, and he seemed to be struggling to keep himself upright. Whatever illness he was suffering from was clearly taking a toll.

"Dad you are supposed to rest," Ariel said quickly, abandoning the door, to rush to her father's side.

The man waved a hand at her, a look of determined stubbornness on his face.

"I'm fine," he insisted, despite the fact his voice was croaky and he could barely stand.

"Dad,” Ariel protested, catching him as he stumbled slightly. GP instinctively took a step forward, ready to assist if he needed to.

The father tried to bat her hands away, but his movements were weak and shaky.

"I’m fine," he repeated, albeit unconvincingly. "Stop fussing."

Ariel looked like she wanted to protest again, but instead helped him hobble back into the house, gently but firmly keeping an arm around him to prevent him from falling.

Ariel let out a sigh of annoyance as her father continued to insist he was fine. Clearly, this was a familiar argument.

"You’re not fine," she scolded, supporting him by the arm to prevent him from falling. "You need to rest."

The man opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, he was overcome by a racking coughing fit. GP winced in sympathy, watching as the man struggled to catch his breath.

Ariel’s expression darkened with worry, her grip on her father’s arm tightening.

The coughing fit ended as suddenly as it came, leaving the poor man looking even more feeble than before.

"Who's that?" he managed to croak, his eyes half-lidded and weary.

Ariel looked back towards GP, a slight look of concern on her face. She was clearly reluctant leave her father’s side, but also didn’t want to be rude to him.

Before she could respond, Gianpiero decided to answer for himself. “I’m Gianpiero Lambiase. We just moved in next door,” he said, keeping his voice gentle.

The man's expression turned into one of realization as he pieced the information together. He let out a weak chuckle, which turned into a cough again.

"Ah, the new neighbours," he rasped hoarsely. "I remember my girls mentioning you. I’m Paul Cane."

Gianpiero smiled at the introduction, though it quickly faded at the sight of the man's ill state. His eyes were sunken and weary, the skin around them drawn with exhaustion and pain.

"It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Cane," he said, his voice low and kind.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, though any attempt at a proper greeting was cut off by another coughing fit.

GP fought the urge to wince; the man’s ragged coughing sounded downright painful.

Ariel, meanwhile, continued to support her father, but her eyes were filled with worry. She looked so young and so concerned, it was heart wrenching to see.

The coughing subsided once again just as quickly as it had come, though it left Paul even more breathless than before. He leaned heavily on his daughter, looking as if he was going to pass out.

Ariel’s grip on her father tightened, her expression one of both worry and frustration. "You need to go back to bed, Dad," she pleaded.

"I’m fine," Paul tried to protest again, but his weak voice betrayed any attempt at bravado. He was clearly struggling, even though he refused to admit it.

Ariel, however, was not having it. "Dad, you're not fine, and you know it," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "You need to rest or you’re going to make yourself even worse."

"i just wanted to bring back the Tupperware. Your daughter made some amazing cookies," GP said quickly.

Despite the fact that Paul was clearly struggling, he managed a weak attempt at a smile.

"Ah...yeah, my girls are great with baking," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They take after their mother, she was a great cook..."

Ariel flinched at the mention of her mother, her expression darkening.

GP was quick to notice the look on Ariel’s face, and the way she tensed. It was clear that the topic of their mother was a sensitive one.

He shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure how to navigate this particular subject.

Paul didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s reaction, instead, he turned his attention back to GP.

"Thank you for returning the Tupperware," he managed to say, his voice still weak.

GP nodded, sympathetic. "No problem," he said quietly. His eyes flicked to Ariel again, wondering how all of this must be affecting her and her younger sister. They were both so young, dealing with so much.

"Well, I should get going," he said carefully. "If there is anything I can do to help, just...ring the doorbell?" he offered questioningly.

Paul nodded faintly in response, though it was a gesture that clearly took a lot out of him. "Yeah...yeah, sure," he rasped hoarsely, before lapsing into another coughing fit.

Ariel shot a grateful look at GP, mouthing the words 'thank you' before redirecting her attention to her father, who was leaning heavily on her.

GP took a step back, knowing they had bigger things to worry about than him.

"Take care," he said earnestly. "And please...try to take care of yourself," he added, aiming the comment towards Paul.

This defineitly didn't put his neighbours out of his mind. Actually the exact opposite.

He thought about himself at 17. He couldn't have shouldered that kind of responsibility that Ariel Cane.

But then he thought about the other 17 year old that he had interacted with lately. Whereas Ariel Cane seemingly was mature beyond her years, unwilling to take any risks...Max Verstappen had spent his weekend in Belgium pulling a hat trick on Felipe Nasr and giving everybody on the paddock grey hairs for deciding that overtaking somebody around Blanchimont was clearly something that he could do.

The worst part was actually that he had shown that it was very much possible.

GP had to admit, he couldn't help but chuckle as he thought of the young driver's audacious move.

Max Verstappen was an extremely talented boy, but he certainly wouldn't win any awards for caution or restraint anytime soon.

In some ways seemingly the exact opposite of Ariel...but then they were both clearly having to shoulder a whole lot more responsibility than GP ever had needed to at this age.

The stark difference between how the two teens lived their lives – the cautious, responsible Ariel Cane who took on the role of adult-caretaker in her family to such a degree that it bordered on concerning, and the reckless 17-year-old racing driver Max Verstappen who seemed to have absolutely no fear or restraint for the risks he was taking – provided a rather interesting contrast.

GP couldn't help but compare them in his mind, and it was striking how differently they approached life despite both having to deal with burdens beyond their years.

The more he thought about it, the more he couldn't shake the image of the two of them. They were both 17, yet they seemed a whole world apart.

[puck-luck]

Note: welcome to beaquinn hammock hookup! I'm formatting this on my phone bc I already put my computer in my bag, so I apologize if it looks wonky :)

Warnings: fingering, public & outdoor sex, handjob

WC: 2225

SMUT UNDER THE CUT! (I don't have my normal graphic for that since, yet again, I'm on my phone.) Minors, do NOT interact. Thanks!

Bea feels remarkably like a cat who is napping in a sunlit window. The moonlight doesn’t actually warm her all that much, but the red wine in her stomach and Quinn’s body heat does. They’re stargazing, but Bea has curled up into Quinn’s side and started to breathe him in. It would probably be expensive and unrealistic– try impossible– to bottle him up like a perfume, but with her nose pressed into the side of his chest, she would like nothing more.

Not only is he keeping her warm and smelling good, but he’s also so fun to touch. Quinn’s bicep is acting like a pillow for Bea, her knee is thrown over his leg, and her hand is on his stomach. Bea could fall asleep right here, on the ground, so long as Quinn is touching her.

Her fingers are a little bit cold, though. It’s the middle of summer, but since the sun has set, there’s a slight chill in the air. She’s already wearing Quinn’s Palm Angels Creative Services sweatshirt, which is big on Quinn and massive on Bea, but she’s cold.

There is a solution– the human hand-warmer beside her.

Just as Bea is snaking her hand under Quinn’s t-shirt and flattening her palm over his happy trail, she’s wrenched out of the moment by Honey’s cross voice.

“Stop that,” Honey chides.

She’s probably talking to Jack or Cole, or even Trevor, so Bea doesn’t pay her any mind. She continues her motion, finding the slight dip of Quinn’s v-line and tracing it.

“Seriously, Bea, stop it or go,” Honey adds, indignant.

Now it’s clear that she’s directing her complaints at Bea. Ugh. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t have Quinn underneath her, with these lovehandles that she just wants to bite and pinch and love on.

Quinn shifts underneath her and catches Bea’s hand, halting her movements. “We’ll go to bed,” Quinn decides for them, holding Bea’s hand and dragging her up to a seated position. “C’mon, Bea.”

Bea groans, scrunching up her face. Moving is so hard. She raises her arms petulantly and blinks up at Quinn, doe-eyed.

He chuckles and shakes his head at Bea, smiling down and gathering her up in his arms. “Needy girl, did all that wine stop your legs from working?” He teases good-naturedly.

Bea’s stomach flutters. “I would just rather cuddle you,” Bea replies. She snuggles closer to Quinn and buries her nose in his chest, inhaling deeply and obviously and making Quinn laugh.

“Seemed like you wanted more than a cuddle, baby,” Quinn says knowingly. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling like I want my boyfriend to touch me,” Bea sings, flattening her palms on Quinn’s chest and dragging them down his torso seductively once he sets her down, her feet against the ground so she's standing, but there's still very little space between them. His nostrils flare a little bit at his title, which is still fresh enough that it evokes a reaction from Quinn.

Jack and Honey can share looks all they want, but Bea and Quinn should be allowed to soak up the honeymoon phase as long as they’d like. It’ll all end at the end of August anyway, so what’s a month of mushy, over-the-top PDA?

“Oh, yeah?” Quinn asks. “What should your boyfriend do to you? He’s not going to fuck you in the hammock, F-Y-I.”

Bea frowns and digs her fingers into Quinn’s waistband, inching them down. “Why not?”

Quinn looks at her, unimpressed. “Because the hammock will flip over and we’ll fall out if I fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”

Bea hums. That sounds enticing. “Maybe we should sneak into Honey’s room,” Bea jokes. She wiggles her eyebrows and laughs. “You can fuck me to your heart’s content.”

Quinn looks off to the side, back toward the group, chuckling with Bea. “I think if we fuck in Honey’s bed, then she and Trevor will fuck in our bed.”

“Hm, good point,” Bea says. “We don’t want that. Not Trevor, at least.”

“Exactly.” Quinn pecks her forehead. “But, the sooner you get in the hammock, the sooner I can make you come on my fingers. Does that sound okay?”

“Better than okay,” Bea agrees. She hops into the hammock and tries to keep the swinging fabric steady for Quinn. Once he collapses on top of Bea’s body, she kisses his temple. “Once you make me come, I’ll get my hand on you, too.”

“So generous,” Quinn murmurs. He seals his mouth over hers and coats her tongue with his taste.

He tastes just the same as she does, probably. Her tastebuds are coated with red wine and Quinn’s kisses are slow, tinged with sensuality. Bea could kiss him all day and all night, if she’s being honest. Given how little time they have, she never wants to part from Quinn.

The pads of his fingers inch between her legs, rubbing Bea’s core over her shorts. “You wanna take these off?” He asks.

Bea nods. “Mhm,” she agrees. “I kind of like the idea of being exposed like this.”

Quinn groans, swooping in to kiss her again. “Fuck, I love you,” he tells Bea.

He’s been saying that a lot lately. It’s not like she told him to stop, but she also hasn’t said it back. It makes her… anxious, maybe, to hear Quinn say that he loves her? Not always in a bad way– in moments like this, it makes her giggle and remember that they’re a great match, but other times it just reminds her that things are going to be really difficult at the end of August. The real reason that Bea doesn’t stop Quinn from saying he loves her, though, is because he always says it so earnestly. He truly means it and she doesn’t want to stop him from saying what he means. She doesn’t want to silence him.

Luckily, he’s kissing her again, so she doesn’t have to reply. He usually does that. He’ll smother her lips before she can think of a response to his statement. Bea suspects that he knows that she’s not quite there yet and that’s why he doesn’t give her a chance to hesitate.

He’s so… good. If Bea was to make him in the Sims, she’d almost certainly put “Good” as one of his three personality traits.

She loses her shorts and Quinn shifts her panties to the side, baring Bea’s pussy to the summer air. He intertwines their legs, able to press his rapidly fattening length against the top part of her thigh. As one of his hands slips between her folds, prodding at her entrance, his other cups the back of her neck and keeps their lips slotted together.

His tongue fills her mouth again as two of his fingers bluntly push into her heat. He’s only just started to thrust them in and out when–

“Hey,” Honey’s soft voice hisses, sounding like she’s already grinding her teeth together and grimacing at the idea of interrupting.

Bea barely holds back a snort when Quinn flinches away from her. This isn’t the first time Honey has interrupted her in the middle of something– after all, they did live together for a year. There were only so many times that Honey was willing to be sexiled from the house that she was paying to own.

Quinn’s face goes from a ‘deer-in-headlights” expression to one that is more calm. He turns back to Bea, looking down at her. “Do you want a blanket?”

Bea sits up, leaning on her elbows to do so. She looks over the edge of the hammock at Honey. “You can just drop it there,” she says. Then, she grins, seeking to make Honey just a bit more uncomfortable with her next words. She always makes the funniest face when she doesn’t want to hear something about Bea’s sex life. “Quinn’ll come get it in a second. His hands are a little busy right now.” For good measure, she clenches down on his fingers, which surprises Quinn and makes him blush.

The blanket hits the ground with a muted thump. “I didn’t need to know that.” Honey deadpans before turning on her heel and walking away. “Have a good night!” She wishes in false cheer.

Bea thinks quick on her feet. “Just trying to cross something off my Rice Purity Test,” she calls after Honey, laughing to herself. Honey flips her off without looking back, which effectively ends their conversation. Bea lifts her arms and curls them around Quinn’s neck, bringing him back down to kiss her lips.

“Are you actually?” Quinn asks between kisses. “For the Rice Purity Test?”

“Nah,” Bea says. “I think my score is low enough. Plus, I’ve had sex outside before. It just wasn’t quite like this.” She tilts her head up and pecks his lips again. “But, I have crossed a few items off because of you. Kissing for more than two hours consecutively? That was all you, Q.”

“What’s your score?” Quinn inquires, sounding interested.

“Uh, 40, last I checked,” Bea says. “Definitely not too shabby, but not too slutty.”

Quinn has begun moving his fingers again, bringing waves of pleasure with his movements. “Definitely not slutty.”

“What’s yours?” Bea asks.

“42, but I guess I’m knocking off ‘public sex’ and ‘outdoor sex’ right now,” Quinn teases. “So we’re the same. Not slutty at all.”

Bea giggles. “Hmm, if you’re good, I’ll give you the $5 bill in my wallet and we can both get down to 39?”

Quinn snorts out a laugh into her mouth and brings his thumb to her clit. “Quiet, you. You get to come free of charge today.”

“Oh, thank you, Quinn Hughes,” Bea simpers before locking lips with Quinn and keeping him close.

Their kisses are as sloppy as his crude thrusts, sounding similar as well. Their lips smack quietly as they come together and part, breathing into each others’ mouths before diving in for another round. Quinn’s fingers move in and out of Bea at a leisurely pace, savoring her slick and working in tandem with his circling thumb.

It’s only once Bea shoves her hand into Quinn’s shorts that he starts to speed up. It’s a race against each other, with Bea stripping Quinn’s cock until his hips are twisting away from her grip and Quinn pulsing his fingertips against Bea’s g-spot in a way that has her whimpering against his tongue.

Quinn pushes a third finger past Bea’s entrance, doing everything he can to bring her to the peak before he comes in her hand. His effort is for naught– when Bea twists her fingers in his hair and tugs slightly, causing that burning ache in Quinn’s scalp that he likes so much while he eats her out, he shudders on top of her and begins to spill in her hand.

Bea catches what she can, doing her best to make sure there will be no cumstain on Quinn’s shorts when they rise and greet the others in the morning.

When he finishes quivering under her touch, Bea draws her hand from his shorts and brings her hand to her mouth.

Quinn draws back and, eyes hooded, watches her lick his cum from her palm and fingers. He looks slightly more drunk than he was originally, intoxicated by the view in front of him.

Bea smirks as she sucks, taking her time with Quinn’s cum.

Quinn grips the back of her neck and draws Bea forward, trapping her hand between their bodies and crashing his lips against her own. He’s greedy and insatiable, pressing his hips and softening cock against her thigh as he thrusts his fingers inside of her.

“Wish I could get my mouth on you,” Quinn tells her quietly, but rushed like the world will end if he doesn’t say it. “I’d suck your clit ‘til you’re coming all over my face, baby. Nothing in the world tastes better than you.”

“Shit,” Bea replies, blinking hard at his words. Her hips jump under his touch, thighs shaking with his insistent bullying of her inner walls. “Y’re gonna make me come, Q.”

“The whole point,” Quinn says with a little laugh. “I want you to. Come on my fingers, Sweet Bea. Make a mess for me, give me something to lick up just like you did.”

Bea moans into his mouth when he kisses her a final time, the seal inside of Bea snapping and allowing endless shocks to overtake her body. He fingers her through her climax, laying kiss after kiss on her lips.

When she comes down, he withdraws his fingers and makes good on his promise. Quinn overexaggerates his satisfied hums and even rubs his stomach like her cum is the tastiest thing in the world, which has Bea throwing her head back in laughter and popping him good-naturedly on the head. She also tells him that he’s acting weird, which is when he chills out a bit.

Bea smiles fondly at Quinn as he cleans his fingers, fisting his t-shirt and pulling him closer, although her tugging really only results in rocking the hammock. They’re quick to fall asleep, with Quinn replacing Bea’s shorts and venturing out to get the blanket Honey left them. It keeps them nice and warm, legs still intertwined, for the entire night.

[twstfanblog]

Has Yuu told the boys about Krampus?

The story is actually pretty fucked up, he was an evil butcher that killed, chopped up, and salted 3 children hanging out by his shop. St. Nicholas found out and performed actually fucking necromancy to bring the kids back to life, and then God cursed the butcher to follow St. Nick around every December 5 as a punisher and the demon of Christmas :D

Anyways I think Kalim and Riddle would have the best reactions but what do you think?

In my Christmas fic last year, I had wanted to add in a little thing on Krampus and Santa, but it didn't end up fitting.

Honestly Leona is the first who came to mind about wanting to know about Krampus. I do know Yuu'd talk about Santa to the kids because like 'Yeah if you're really good all year round, a man will bring you a really great gift.'

But Leona takes great pleasure in looking Cheka in the eyes and telling him he's going to call Krampus to take him away in his sack if he keeps yelling in his ears. (He then has to deal with a terrified Cheka clinging to him later that night).

Riddle would like the idea at first but then hearing the whole tale, I think he'd be distressed like. Wait, the actual children DIE? They're taken away forever? To that hell place??? The children are eaten???? He's got a few concerns at the very least. He feels more comfortable with Santa's 'naughty children get coal' than Krampus's 'naughty children are beaten with sticks and eaten in Hell'.

Kalim is DISTRESSED. No! His little siblings are in danger enough with kidnapping attempts! Now he's gotta worry about a magic man taking them!? He will fight Krampus to the death honestly. Gathers up all his little siblings and has them sleep in his room. Stays away all night to guard them with Jamil's help. (Jamil calling Yuu and asking why she hates him enough to tell Kalim about a demon that's entire MO is EATTING AND KIDNAPPING CHILDREN????).

Yuu 100 tells her children about Krampus before they even KNOW about Santa. All of her children are naughty lil brats 😅

[demon-country]

I agree wholeheartedly with the vast majority of all of this, but I do have two small points of contention. 

1) I do think Stolas could have learned about the gravity of his classism if Blitz (or someone else he knew, like Millie or Moxxie) had sat him down and explained it calmly to him. He wants to learn, he's willing to learn, and he's been trying to learn, he just doesn't know how or where to even start looking for answers. He wasn't in a good state of mind to listen to it the three times it was brought up - first while being tortured by Striker, then while being yelled at by Blitz after getting triggered twice in quick succession, and then by Blitz again the very next morning when Stolas was still feeling raw and didn't want to talk yet in the first place. But you can tell from All 2 U that he understands that Blitz wouldn't keep bringing it up for no reason and there's something Stolas has been missing that genuinely hurt Blitz.

If, at that point, he had someone willing to actually teach him, I really do think he'd be receptive to it. Sure, he wouldn't be able to empathize with it, having never experienced it himself, but as long as someone is willing to truly put in the work of learning then they can be taught to understand the different facets of systemic oppression and unlearn their own biases and behaviors that contribute to it. Of course, you're right that that wouldn't be nearly as entertaining, and in any case Stolas did need to get out from the Goetia's clutches because they definitely make him worse on pretty much every level.

2) I'm really unsure where you got the idea that Stolas somehow doesn't know Moxxie and Millie, but there's only a 50% chance that Stolas was even taking about the rescue (or at least, was primarily talking about the rescue) anyway. It's equally as likely that he was instead referring to the aftermath. He said "you couldn't be bothered to come help me", not "you couldn't be bothered to come save me", and that's much broader. After all, Stolas did need help in the form of support after being tortured, and extended an invitation for Blitz to come see him during his extended hospital stay. Which was ignored without any contact at all afterward. Like, we know why Blitz didn't come (shame, guilt, then-unresolved trauma related to Fizz supposedly refusing to see him, etc), but since Stolas has no idea about any of that his feelings of abandonment are clear even at the end of Western Energy and they would've only grown the longer that Blitz ghosted him.

And even if he was talking about the rescue, I really don't think Stolas is ungrateful that Moxxie and Millie came to save him and stopped him from being mutilated just because they're not Blitz??? There was no reason for Stolas to bring them up in the garden. If he was just upset with Blitz about Blitz not coming to his rescue, then of course he's only going to address what he feels Blitz didn't do. He can be extremely thankful for what M&M did for him while still being upset with Blitz, they're not mutually exclusive by any means. Plus, he heard Moxxie on the phone, and there's really nothing that says Blitz was the one to send them when they just as easily could have them sent themselves.

In either case, Stolas was upset at a lot of different things - both old and new - by that point in the conversation, and lots of people say things they don't necessarily believe or phrase their words in a way that doesn't convey their full depth of feelings when they're upset. Like we can agree that what Blitz yelled at Stolas in The Full Moon was him lashing out with something he probably knows isn't entirely true but is still very hurt by anyway, right? It's the exact same thing Stolas did with that line. It was him lashing out, because he was upset and Blitz wouldn't stop pushing, and to Stolas' very recently traumatized mind what Blitz yelled at him the night before sounded too close what Striker had said so all his feelings surrounding his kidnapping were close to the surface.

Does Stolas deserve to lose everything?

The answer is a simple: No! Of course not!

What happened to Stolas in Mastermind was horrible, he essentially lost everything he ever knew in a very cruel and unusual way, and the real kicker is the fact that the punishment is rather light in comparison to the punishment Blitz would have gotten if he hadn't stepped in.

But why did it happen? Simple.

It happened for the sake of Stolas' future character development.

It didn't happen to "punish" Stolas when the man really only has the best of intentions.

Surprise! Surprise!

I want to highlight this specific statement Apology Tour's description states: Stolas still not being quite self aware enough at times.

Stolas genuinely does not know what is wrong between them, he genuinely can not understand the issues

If there is one thing Stolas has always wanted to know, it's the why...

Why is Blitz so guarded with me? Why does Blitz accuse me of looking down on him? Why does Blitz always mention my Princely status when talking about our relationship?

And here's the thing, even if Blitz were to sit Stolas down calmly and explain the why, Stolas will never get it. He will never understand it.

Stolas will never understand the struggles Blitz went through and still goes through just by living as an imp.

Blitz is an asshole, but you can't say he isn't determined.

When Blitz wants something so fucking bad, he'll get it, it doesn't matter who he needs to steal from, who he needs to fuck, who he needs to kill, lie, and cheat with... He's going to get it.

Blitz wants to be his own boss, he doesn't want to be like any other imp who works for someone else, so he'll do whatever it takes to make that dream a reality.

And the thing is Stolas wants to do better and understand Blitz's point of view... he states it time and time again.

Unless it's me And no matter what in this world I could give It's not enough To get through the walls you've conjured up to live

But maybe it's all on me For missin' every sign and every glance And every turn

Maybe there's somethin' here for us to glean For you to teach, and me to try to learn

~~~

The sad part is that Stolas is just going to have to learn it the hard way because where's the fun in just giving Stolas a book to read...

[vorfreudevortex]

just for you!

how the jjk boys handle christmas gift wrapping (headcanons, crack, fluff)

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

masterlist

satoru would think he's just sooo amazing at wrapping gifts, but in reality, they're just a complete mess. he buys super expensive paper, like the really thick ones with gold foil that don't rip. he does make sure to get whatever ribbon and bows match his paper, but they still fail to hide the fact that there is tape everywhere, mostly in places they don't even need to be.

suguru secretly loves wrapping gifts, and is pretty damn good at it. he's very meticulous and matches his paper with his bows and ribbons. he doesn't buy the most expensive paper, nor the cheapest, but somewhere in between. he does try to find clear tape to use instead of the white-ish kind as well.

kento is obviously the king of gift wrapping. he always buys the nice, thick wrapping paper with the lines on the inside so he can make sure his cuts are as straight as possible. he even makes sure to fold the edges of the paper over so the ends are neat. only uses double sided tape, because he wouldn't be caught dead with visible tape on the outside of the gift. his gifts could be taken straight out of a christmas store display case and you wouldn't know any better.

toji doesn't even try fucking around with wrapping paper anymore. he stuffs whatever his gift is into a gift bag and staples it closed. he's has been known to wrap gifts using newspaper or duct tape in the past. when he's the one unwrapping gifts, however, he is surprisingly careful. he doesn't tear the present open, but will pry open one side and slide the gift out to keep the paper intact.

choso tries really, really hard. he definitely watched a few youtube tutorials as well, but couldn't quite catch on. he buys his wrapping paper at any regular store, and only buys bows to put on the most expensive gifts he bought. the paper is gonna be crumpled for sure, you're going to be able to see every point where he messed up and refolded or retaped. the bows are always going to be slightly sideways, but it's endearing nevertheless.

sukuna will actually wrap presents even though he thinks it's stupid. there is tape everywhere and the paper isn't even properly folded, just pushed down wherever he needs it to be. he's grumbling and complaining the entire time. also, he makes uraume get him blood red wrapping paper. don't expect any bows.

yuji is actually pretty decent. he always gets fun and silly wrapping paper and only has to refold a couple of times. there's usually only a few imperfections, like an awkward extra fold somewhere or a small patched area where he mis-measured the size of his gift. he will draw a really bad doodle of whoever the gift is for directly on the paper with sharpie.

megumi gets straight to business with gift wrapping. he buys plain brown paper, but makes sure it's thick enough not to tear. there's minimal tape and mistakes, and the folding is always neat. yuji will ask why he didn't want to buy "jollier "wrapping paper, and megumi will respond with something like, "it's just the gift that matters."

noritoshi treats it like a formal ritual of some sort. the paper is always only one solid color without any fun patterns. his gifts are almost wrapped too perfectly, with double-sided tape hiding beneath the tightest folds. he might buy a ribbon or two to decorate the gifts he bought for the very few people he genuinely cares about. he knows wrapping paper produces a lot of waste but secretly enjoys these careless christmas festivities.

takuma is awful. it takes him hours just to finish wrapping a handful of gifts, just for them to look like he did them in 5 minutes. he made sure to buy thicker wrapping paper this year after tearing all the paper from last year to shreds in his attempts, but it doesn't help at all. there's somehow too little tape and too much tape, all in places they shouldn't be, and every bows is threatening to fall off. his cute, giddy smile when he hands out his presents make up for his lack in skills.

toge loves gift wrapping and does a pretty decent job every time. he makes sure to order goofy paper, usually something with sushi rolls or onigiri on it, even if he has to pay more and wait longer for them to be shipped. only messes up a few times and tries to use clear tape. he tags each person's gift with a different rice ball ingredient to confuse everyone, just because it's funny.

yuta is good at wrapping but overthinks everything. will buy a different pattern of wrapping paper for each person, and spends days on end thinking and rethinking about which one fits them best and if they will like it. he buys clear tape and loops it over to stick under the folds to make them neat, because he was so busy choosing paper that he forgot to buy double sided tape. will retie bows over and over until it's centered and symmetrical. he'll definitely get flustered and a little embarrassed when someone compliments his neat wrapping.

merry christmas and happy holidays!

© vorfreudevortex // all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost my work.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Second Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: edging and overstimulation

Genre: smut

Summary: Some things are not self explanatory, and Steve has decided he's going to fill in the gaps by coming to you to ask his questions about sex and some of those questions have more involved answers than you'd expect

***

You hear a knock at your door while you're looking for something in your closet.

"Coming!" You call, taking a moment to contain the hurricane that you've created in there. You open the door to find Steve in the hall.

"Are you busy?" He asks.

"Not particularly, what's up?"

"I have another question."

"Shoot." You say, gesturing for him to walk into your room.

"Edging. What it is?"

"It is pleasuring yourself or someone else until the brink of orgasm without letting them actually have an orgasm."

"That sounds like torture." Steve frowns.

"Sometimes it is. It can be used as a punishment, some people enjoy it though, it can also be about increasing endurance- you know- training to last longer in bed, it also usually makes the orgasm more intense when you do eventually get to that point."

"Huh, have you done it before?"

"Been on both sides." You shrug. "Oh also I should mention that like most kink terms there is an equal yet opposite complementary term. For edging its complementary term is overstimulation."

"And that is?"

"If edging is about restraint when it comes to pleasure then overstimulation is a hedonistic indulgence in it. Orgasming again and again and again, sometimes to the point of pain this is where a safe word can be useful because you may say things like stop or I can't take it especially because post orgasm sensitivity can be a bitch but the whole point is to keep going and if you've already talked about exploring either edging or overstim, your partner will probably ignore you saying stop because again the point is to keep going even if you are sensitive, but if they're going to ignore you saying it's too much, you need to be able to stop them if it actually is too much."

"Are all aspects of sex so- severe?" He asks.

"No. Sex can be incredibly soft and gentle and sweet, it can be slow and tender in many ways. I mean, you saw some of that last time. You just- happen to have coincidentally questions about the other end of the spectrum today." You shrug.

"It just seems very, intense. Like maybe too intense? I don't get why you would want to put someone through that. It seems like a slippery slope, sex should be about love not some form of- torture."

"Well calm down, you sound panicked and it's not like I'm going to strap you down and force you to experience it. It's not for everyone Steve, different people have different preferences, this is why it's good to have those conversations before you sleep with someone so nobody gets put in a stressful situation they didn't sign up for. Plus there are a lot of ways to express love you know. If your person wants you to do these things then that absolutely shows that you love them, especially if you do them with the care you're meant to."

"I just don't understand it I guess." He shakes his head.

"That's fine Stevie, no one can force you to do it or enjoy it or even comprehend it really. Like I said, it's a personal preference. Just- be honest with your partner when the time comes." You shrug.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you... like this stuff?" Steve asks.

"I do. With the right person."

"Really?"

"You have your ideas about sex, I have mine." You shrug.

"What's that mean?"

"You said sex is about showing love and I agree with that to a point but to me it's also about pleasure. It's about exploring yourself, sometimes through someone else. It's about learning and adventure. The heat and intensity, passion that is borderline all consuming, sex can be many things. I like to experience all of them."

"Oh." He breathes.

"Of course that's just me. I'm not here to change your mind about anything." You hum.

"I have to try this edging thing."

"You don't. The hands on lessons are an option not an obligation, you don't seem interested in that and that's fine! You can just take the verbal explanation and proceed with your day as long as it makes sense to you, there's no reason to force yourself to try something that don't appeal to you." You shake your head.

"Well, it's hard to understand something if you're not open to experiencing it right?"

"I mean, I guess sometimes."

"So I want to experience it. That way I can understand it." He insists.

"As long as you're sure about this."

"I'm sure. Let's do it." He nods.

"What? Now?"

"Do you have time?"

"Depends on what time it is now."

"Three seventeen."

"I've got til six, I have another engagement later this evening."

"Is that enough time?"

"Plenty. Get comfortable, I would recommend getting naked, you do need to at least take off your pants or you'll likely stain them but it'll probably be more comfortable to take off everything because there's a chance you'll get hot. I know you run pretty warm already but I don't know how much you'd enjoy your shirt sticking to your back after twenty minutes." You say.

"Right, yeah." Steve hesitantly shuffles out of his pants and underwear and then, after seemingly debating in his head, he also pulls his shirt over his head and places all of them on your desk chair before sitting on the bed.

"Alright, I'm going to treat this like I would a real situation. Of course, the expectations are different, I know so don't worry about performing a certain way. Just like last time if at any point you have a question or something makes you feel uncomfortable you can simply say so assuming you can focus. If you can't focus use your stoplight. Yellow, or red, just like we discussed before." You tell him as you pull open the drawer by your bed and grab the bottle of lube.

"What's that for?" Steve asks when you squirt a generous amount into your hand.

"It's a lubricant. It might be a little cold at first, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it, especially the longer this goes." You say sitting beside him. "I'm going to touch you now, is that alright?" You ask.

"Yes." Steve nods with more conviction than you'd expect. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick and he takes in a large breath. His exhale is shaky as you drag your hand up his length with a pressured grip. You circle his tip, slowly massaging it, watching his reactions, enjoying the way his abdomen seems to flex sporadically. His breathing is coming out harsher now and you begin to pump him. Last time you made a point not to stare at him since he was clearly rather nervous about the whole thing but not looking is rather impossible with this 'lesson' so you take the time to really get a look at his dick as you stroke him. The tip is a reddish pink and there are a couple veins running very noticeably along it. You already knew he was big, he's been inside you for fuck's sake, but looking at it unobstructed, boy was he... endowed.

"So how this works Stevie, usually, is that you'll tell me when you're close, ask me, beg me if I tell you to, ask me to cum and I'll tell you if you've earned it. Of course I won't demand all that from you, I'm rather good at reading people's bodies." You explain to him, stroking faster, holding a little bit tighter.

"W-what do you mean usually?" He asks wearily.

"When I do this with partners. There's a bit of power play that comes with this, if you hadn't noticed, having control of how much pleasure your person receives at any given moment. It's a very powerful feeling. But this is more about teaching you than my own enjoyment, so it's a bit different, I'm just offering you more details about the appeal of it all." You explain.

"A-and you- you like that? The p-power play?" He asks. You can tell he's really starting to struggle with his focus, his body is twitching, and he's gripping the sheets, blinking rapidly as he speaks. You watch his whole body tense up and take that as your cue to ease up. You slow your wrist to almost a stop, relishing in the groan Steve lets out.

"I find it can be intoxicating." You smirk.

"So that's how this works?" He pants.

"Pretty much." You nod, picking up speed again. Steve moans as his body jolts again. You can't help but imagine how nice he'd look with a couple of hickeys. You won't be giving him any of course but the idea does captivate you for a brief moment. It's clear that Steve is trying to control his reactions, but the shaky breaths and strained grunts give him away.

"My god." He whispers, tipping his head back. If it was anybody but Steve saying those words, you'd affirm that you are their god and they should worship you as such but it's not somebody else, it's Steve and you'd best keep it simple. When his body tenses up again, you slow your hand accordingly, and Steve lets out a strained groan.

"You know Stevie, you don't have to try so hard to keep quiet. I like your little noises. They're hot." You say.

"I'm not- r-really used to... making n-noises like that." He pants out.

"Well, a bit of advice, most girls like to hear that you're enjoying yourself."

"Really?"

"Yep." You say, stroking him faster, again. You continue your game with him, slowing down when his body tenses up and speeding up when his shuddering breaths quiet. With each denied orgasm his restraint on his vocalizations seems to slip, by the fith time you're slowing down he's an unending string of moans and grunts and even a few whimpers when you squeeze in just the right place.

"This is torture." Steve grits out. His entire body is flushed and his skin is glistening.

"I know but you're doing so well. Just a little longer and I promise I'll reward you. Don't you want that?" You ask with a mocking sweetness in your tone.

"Please." He says breathlessly.

"Oh that sounded nice." You smile. You're not even trying to break him like you would under usual circumstances but the sound him whimpering please to you almost makes you want to.

"Y/n- I feel, like I'm on fire. Please I need to cum." Steve huffs through clenched teeth and you start to wonder if he's reaching his limit. Gripping his chin you gently tilt his head to look at you.

"Checking in Stevie, gimme a color please." You say softly.

"G-green, this is insane." He says shakily.

"You haven't tapped out yet." You smile slightly.

"Is that the goal?"

"Not today." You wink at him. You decide it's probably best to stop here, so you pick up your speed again watching for the telltale signs of his orgasm but this time you finally let him peak and you can't decide if the sound or sight is more dazzling. Either way, you work him through it as evidence of his release spurts over your hand and his thighs in thick ropes. There's an impressive amount of it and you wonder if this is a super soldier thing or if he's just really pent up. When nothing else comes out and he hisses against your touch you let him go. "I'm gonna get a wash cloth, hang tight." You tell him standing from the bed and walking into your bathroom. You rinse your hand first and then soak a washcloth with room temperature water. When you pop back out his arm is draped over his eyes but he otherwise hasn't moved. You start with his neck, wiping the sweat that's probably made his skin sticky. You do a quick swipe across his chest too before moving on to cleaning the remenants of his orgasm from his thighs and recovering dick. "How are we feeling?" You ask him once he's clean. You toss the washcloth in your hamper and grab a water from your mini fridge before sitting beside him on the bed.

"That was- intense." He says.

"Yes but you knew that going in."

"I mean- when you finally let me, you know. It was intense- probably more so than I've ever felt." He says and you giggle at his avoidance of saying orgasm.

"We should really work on your comfortablilty with some of these terms. But yes that intensity is a high some people crave."

"Wow."

"Was it worth it?" You ask.

"What?"

"You said it was the most intense orgasm you've ever had, would you say the payoff was worth the buildup? After all you called it torture."

"You're not even nice about it."

"I was actually very nice, I didn't wait til you were crying to get you off which- is usually what I'll do."

"You make people cry?" He blinks surprised.

"Sometimes." You shrug.

"That's- further than I-"

"I know, that's why I didn't make you cry. Although crying is way more likely with overstimultion anyhow." You shrug.

"Is it?"

"Wanna see for yourself?" You ask opening your bedside drawer again.

"Well I'm not sure I can hand-"

"Here." You drop one of your toys in his hand.

"What's this?"

"A vibrator. I figure it's not fair if every lesson is just me doing things to you like some sort of lab rat so I thought you might want to try overstimulating me. The only other way for that to happen is for you to learn my body but who has time for that? This is efficient and pretty much idiot proof it'll get the job done regardless of your personal experience." You shrug.

"You- want me to use this on you?" He asks wide eyes watching you quickly take off your clothes.

"Yes I do. It's simple, I promise. It does most of the work for you. If you have the energy for it that is." You say.

"Depends on just how simple it is." He says. You sit on the bed next to him and grab his wrist, placing the vibrator in his hand against your clit. It's not on but your insides still clench in anticipation when it touches you.

"Put it here, small circles or wiggling it up and down is fine but keep it in this general area, start with light pressure and press harder as we go. I'll be using the same stoplight system, so here's a couple of preliminary warnings, if I squirm away follow me or hold me down, if I cry that's fine, if I scream let me, ignore me if I ask you to stop or say it's too much. In fact, no matter what, you keep this against me until I call red and I will call red. Sound simple enough?"

"You might cry and that's a good thing?" He frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. It probably won't happen anyway I'm just covering my bases no need to look so terrified." You chuckle.

"How do I turn this on?" He asks after a moment.

"The last button."

"What are the other two?"

"One controls the rhythym and the other controls the power, don't mess with those buttons. For the sake of this lesson they are off limits."

"Last one turns it on?"

"Yes." You nod. Steve stares at the buttons for a moment before a sharp click fills the silence and you jolt from the sudden stimulation. He moves the toy in tight circles, his face pinched in focus. Your hips grind against the vibrator and it doesn't take long for your first orgasm to hit you with a soft moan.

"Oh." Steve says, as if he's surprised.

"Keep going, add pressure." You huff out. Shuddering pants indicate that Steve's done what you asked, your muscles tensing from the continued pleasure post orgasm. The thing with this particular vibrator is that it works quick and you hardly manage to calm down before your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Steve trades the circles for little up and down motions that draw a couple sharp moans from you. 

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Fine Stevie, I'm fine." You say shakily. Your third orgasm comes with a cry through your closed mouth. You know it's impractical to be so mindful of your sounds but you've got to remain at least semi-composed to be of any help to Steve. More and more your body spasms as the stimulation continues, practically twitching from the pleasure. Small whimpers begin to escape with more frequency as you quickly approach orgasm four. On this one your eyes roll back and you allow an obscene sounding high pitched moan to fall from your lips. Steve makes a sound somewhere in his throat which you barely hear. You're starting to feel that bite of overstimulation layering under the pleasure and it makes you squirm. You jerk against the toy, hoping for a reprieve from the buzzing and Steve, the dilligent student that he is, places a hand across your stomach, holding you in place and all you can do is cry out as he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. You grip the sheets tightly as he starts to make little circles around your too sensitive bundle of nerves, your whole body is shaking as another orgasm quickly creeps up on you with a squealing noise and string of curses. You can feel your brain getting fuzzy, that familiar hedonistic haze threatens to blanket your thoughts, you know if you don't stop Steve soon you'll be far too blissed out to do so and Steve is not equipped to handle that sort of headspace.

"Okay, red. That's enough Stevie." You say breathlessly but firm. Steve quickly moves the toy but struggles to turn it off so you take it from him and turn it off yourself. You take a couple of moments to recompose yourself, ignoring the phantom buzzing and overwhelming wetness between your legs when you sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

"Are you alright? Do you need water? Can I get you something?"

"I'm fine Stevie. How are you feeling?"

"Me? I wasn't the one-"

"The whole point of this was to see if you enjoyed either edging or overstim- having tried both, do you feel like you at least have a better understanding of them like you wanted?"

"I- guess I have a better understanding."

"Well what're you thinking?"

"I thought I would- hate the edging thing but, as... intense as it was there was something, freeing about it? Like getting on a ride at Coney Island and the ending was, worth the build up."

"And overstimulation?"

"It's incredible watching the way your body reacts to such an onslaught. Plus the idea of bringing your lover imense pleasure like that is undeniably delicious, I can see how that kind of thing can be so thrilling."

"Well there you go. Questions answered. You're free to leave." You say.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm fine Steve I'm just going to hop in the shower you've got nothing to worry about really. I've got other things on my schedule of today remember?"

"Alright- if you're sure. I'll see you around. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. See ya." You say. Steve seems hesitant to leave but without a reason to stay, he has to shuffle his way out. You let out a sigh after your door closes. You've got a couple hours before your evening plans, good thing, you'll need it. Hopefully one of these days Steve will ask a simple question with a simple answer that doesn't a demonstration.

***

Tagged Users: @chososg1rl

[ethereal-blossom]

Ikevil in an amusement park!

Includes general headcanons and romantic ones at the end.

General headcanons:

- Victor is the parent. He carries the heaviest and biggest backpack which is truly the emergency kit. Harry is showing withdrawal symptoms due to lack of sugar? Elbert forgot to put on sunscreen and is now at risk of looking like a walking lobster? You forgot your water bottle? No worries, Victor anticipated everything! He knows his beloved children so well.

- He walks with the map as well and if you split into groups, he becomes the one who you need to call if something happens. Also the one who plans where and when to meet, mostly at eating places so you can refill your stomaches together.

- William is the backup parent. He enjoys to mostly silently observe and is quick to notice the things like Harry being low on sugar and Elbert having forgotten to put on sunscreen. If you split up and it's time to meet but a group isn't back yet, his guesses of why are extremely accurate. Like hm, the ride Elbert and Alfons went to is fairly popular so the line must have been long, and isn't there a souvenir shop on its way here? Elbie must have gotten distracted by it.

- Elbert refuses to go in the big roller-coasters. He goes into visual focused rides and will often be seen in the souvenir stores. Does not care about the ridiculously expensive price tags and tires himself out by carrying so much bought stuff. If you happen to be someone who doesn't like roller coasters that much, Elbert is the one to hang around with and he'll surely buy you any souvenir you want.

- Alfons is everywhere and nowhere. One moment he is with Elbie telling him that the mouse ears aren't beautiful but overrated money grabbers, then he is joining Liam in thrilling roller coasters, and at times even Will shrugs when asked where he thinks Al is. Seriously, he has Victor panicking when it's time to go home and Al is nowhere to be found.

- Victor will bother/manipulate/pester/whatever works/does it really matter when you're that attractive Roger into using his ability to see if he can hear his beloved boys and robin from time to time.

- If you like to ride the wildest roller coasters, Liam is your guy. This man has no fear; only curiosity begged to be satisfied. Might actually get high on it and is tempted to use his ability to cut the line. It's his mission to ride the fastest and highest roller coasters this park has to offer.

- Some of the crown members are great at making friends in lines! Liam's enthusiasm is contagious and he's so easy to love. With his charisma and excitement, he easily starts a conversation which is needed with such long lines. Ellis is very gentle and caring, so when he sees someone needs help in the line or appears nervous he does what he can. Victor is a social butterfly with a joyful grin so that man will definitely start small talk. All three would entertain the kids who are in front or behind them if it's a long line, especially when the kids are getting annoying and the parents look tired. Victor is immediately in his element by performing magic tricks, Ellis would play with them, and Liam would start making the kids laugh with his acting. But this makes them immediately beloved by the people around them.

- Imagine Jude in the line with annoying kids who are bumping into him... The only reason he's there is because Victor promised him a good sum of money and he's either getting convinced by Ellis or you to go into rides or it was part of the deal with Victor, and then these kids keep bumping into his back. Doesn't yell at the children but sends a few nasty glances and let out some damn loud tch's directed to the parents who are too busy with their phones before he snaps. Will demand payment from the parents as compensation for this public disturbance.

- William will randomly walk up to people he sees are surpressing their desires to try a ride. Free Willam therapy sessions don't pause for no amusement park.

- Roger isn't interested in the visual rides; he doesn't find them exciting so you'll find him in roller coasters a lot. But also is a little bit like Victor and makes sure everyone stays hydrated and gets to rest when they need to. Like oh I see, the lil' lady wants to go to the next roller coaster even though her legs hurt from standing too long. He threatens to throw you over his shoulder if you don't comply, which he actually does and then sits you on a bench to treat you with a snack despite being a disobedient girl.

- Ellis, Victor, and William are everywhere too. They are in for every ride!

- Harry is the chillest. He mostly follows Liam and makes sure the curious cat takes a break every now and then. He doesn't join Liam in the extreme rides but will grab his Sherlock book and read while waiting. Will ask for a lot of sit breaks.

Romantical headcanons:

- William could not care less what rides you two are riding as long as you want to be in them. He has a fantastic time discovering which rides you prefer and will absolutely convince you to go into ones you want to but are also scared of. Same with finding snacks and good places to eat. It's a wonderful experience where you get to know each other even better, making this amusement trip feel weirdly intimate. I can see Will having a content and happy smile on for the entire day, and when you walk through the park together, I don't think he has his arm wrapped around you but he does have his hand on your farthest shoulder in a way that feels loving, supportive, and encouraging. When buying matching accessories, you both choose each an item after a minute of "What do you want, my little robin?" "I want what you want! " "Oh, what a coincidence. I want what you want" "... Well, I want what you want me to want-"

- It's so chill being with Harry. There are some rides that secretly excite him but he got to say, this amusement park is more amusing with you next to him. He'll complain sometimes about how you're dragging him through the park, but when you ask if that's really how he feels he'll say he doesn't mind (translation: he enjoys it). Whenever you see a food place and it sells something sweet, you two are on it! "Let's get matching accessoires!" "Whatever, if that's what you want" (translation: he's flustered). Harry would like to simply hold your hand and stroll through the park, talking about everything and nothing. So simple but so serene. On the way home you'll ask him how it was to explore the amusement park together to which he answers, "not bad." (translation: he ducking loved it.)

- It really doesn't matter how curious about a roller coaster Liam is, if you don't join him this clingy cat will not go in it either. Being around you calms down his curiosity for thrill a lot. So don't worry if you're not into thrill because there is still so much to be curious about! You'll not be bored for a single second and because of that, his touches are very versatile. One time he'll hold your hand to excitedly lead you to a cool souvenir shop, then he'll wrap his arm around your shoulders as you walk through the park, your waist when it's crowded, your arm during rides... Almost the entirety of your upper body will have been touched by him. Very much in a similar boat as Will when getting matches accessoires so you both choose an item each :)

- Nobody takes matching accessoires as seriously as Elbert. You'll have visited every. single. accessoire store at the end of the day. Your eyes could have lingered on a wristband for one second and your man goes "Do you think that's beautiful? It'll look beautiful on you. I will buy it-" It's so much worse when Alfons makes his cameo cause he'll point at anything and be like "now this, my dear Elbie, this is beautiful" all to tease you. Elbert enjoys going into the visual rides with you! And I bet you could convince him to go into the tamer roller coasters. Has a hand on your lower back the entire time (at one point you guys had too many bags and Elbert was ready to leave three behind purely so he could keep touching you).

- Now Alfons is turning this into a freaking game. He makes you chase him through the entire park, slightly out of your reach but you know he's there. Why he enjoys you stubbornly following him throughout the park? He doesn't even have a clear answer himself... or so he likes to think. But, Al leads you to all places he thinks you will enjoy and he always stay at a place long enough for you to find him and enjoy the ride, shop, café, or whatever he thought you'd like together. During the times Alfons and you walk side by side he'll place his hand on your back which will slowly move lower and lower. Another man who pretents like he doesn't care about matching accesoires but once he wears it he'll randomly touch it with a hard-to-read expression (cat pretending like he's not THAT attached to his owner). Guys I swear this is not me but I'm 99,9% Al will try to finger you in a ride at least once even if it's only to get a reaction out of you no but if a ride scares you he'll definitely try to distract you in whatever way works.

- "Is this ride going to be scary?" "I promise it's not, Lil lady." Spoiler alert: it was scary and now Roger is saying how cute you look with teary eyes. He's not a fan of visual rides but will go into them for you and you know what, turns out he quite likes them because of your reactions and how easy it is to touch your thighs. The type to put his arm around or behind you in roller coasters! He definitely checks up on your heartbeat regularly to see how nervous you are for a roller coaster. If he thinks you got peer pressured into riding a roller coaster he'll get you out of there. Now, Roger's hand is either in your back pocket, on your ass, your hips, or your lower back. Roger didn't think he'd be into matching accessoires but again finds himself quite liking something because it's you. Love makes things glitter.

- Jude will be like "tch, look at how these people are bunched up together and... Lil' birdie where do ya think ya standin'?" *Proceeds to wrap an arm around your hips to pull you into him*. Jude only goes into a ride when you go into it. Literally, he doesn't leave you alone and will follow you everywhere except the bathrooms. You're the only who makes this trip bearable. If another crown member tries to sit next to you in a ride, let alone a stranger, Jude is like I ain't on this ride for nothing except my woman. Move or give me everythin' that's on ya bank account. Especially if it's Victor that bill will be through the roof. Also another man who pretends to not care about matching accessoires but funny how you'd have to rip it off of his dead body. Jude would walk with his hand on your lower back and maybe on your hips or waist.

- Ellis will let you take the lead and often ask what you want to do next. As long as he gets to hold your hand, he's happy. Really, Ellis is going to hold your hand the entire time. Especially when it gets crowded you feel his grip tighten. You two have the biggest fun trying all of the food and you immediately make recommendations for the other guys. "I want what you want" (matching accessories version part 3). Please he'd look so cute in matching accessoires, having a mischievous smile on his face cause he definitely sees this as a way for other people to see you belong together. He feels slightly bad for letting his selfishness get the better of him but that melts like snow in the sun when he sees how happy you are. Also secretly enjoys when you get scared in a ride because he loves it makes you clingy and depending on him, and it's an excuse to hold you tight in his arms.

- If Victor doesn't have an arm around your shoulders he's holding your hand and you'll be skipping to the next ride. He's also very flexible in what you'll be doing but he does like the occasional thrill of a roller coaster! But your comfort is his number one priority. Victor loves to see you so carefree with a child-like spark in your eyes as you explore the park together and he'll do anything to protect it. One time you accidentally bumped into someone and when they turned around annoyed and ready to shoot with words, Victor went "whoopsie daisy! I am so clumsy. Please forgive me." And when you want to tell him he shouldn't have, Victor picks you up and twirls you around, kissing you on the nose and ask what you should do next, unless you have something naughty in mind...? What a dirty mind his darling has, he's obviously talking about eating snacks that'll make your teeth rot with the amount of sugar that's in it. Loves the idea of matching accesoires so much that he can't choose and approaches you with 12 different items; it's a live-or-die situation for him. He dealt with loneliness before he met you and so wearing matching accesoires is a physical sign you're connected. Plus, he loves giving and could not care less about the price tag.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Three: Chrysanthemums - Joy

Summary: You and Andrew meet outside of your workplace for the first time for a completely platonic coffee on him.

Word count: 2385

Author's note: i am so sorry that this took so long 😭 last week of school combined with finals combined with life i guess hindered me from writing. but i'm back on track!!! hopefully you all enjoy and if i don't update again soon happy holidays <3

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3 (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

This is not a date.

That was your affirmation all of Friday morning, repeating it to yourself.

You muttered it under your breath as you fixed your hair. It was mumbled as you laid out your outfit, specifically chosen to be fashionable but casual: your favorite sweater and a nice pair of jeans. You whispered it before spraying your perfume, a scent you had to dig through your closet for five minutes to find. Ironically, the scent was nothing close to floral. You said it to each of your houseplants as you watered them. They remained unconvinced.

Slipped on your shoes. Locked up your flat. Walked down the stairs. You repeated your mantra every time, because maybe if you said it enough times, it would become true.

By the time you made it to your car, you had said it so many times it felt like breathing. Your hands gripped the wheel. You locked eyes with your reflection in the rearview mirror and whispered your phrase of the morning one more time for good luck.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, you began to drive.

On the drive there, you prepared yourself for all possible scenarios. This kind of thinking came naturally — it always did, especially in situations like these. You ran through what your reaction would be if he showed up, what it would be if he didn't. What you would do if he had an insanely complex coffee order, or if he ordered a drink with six shots of espresso. What if he tried to order for you, or if he made some backhanded comment about another woman at the cafe? You doubted he would do any of these things, but you believed it's better to be safe than sorry. This thinking only paused when you parked in front the coffee shop and caught a glimpse of Andrew waiting inside. All of your previous repetition and fretting had made you ten minutes late, a fact you weren't fond of and hoped Andrew wouldn't chastise you for.

The moment you stepped into the coffee shop, all of your previous affirmations were thrown out the window. It wasn't a date. But after seeing Andrew you wished that it was.

It wasn't any particular factor. It wasn't the black denim jacket he was wearing, or the way he'd tied half his hair up, leaving the other half down. It wasn't even the smile on his face, reserved like he wasn't sure how to react properly when he saw you. It was a combination of everything; his presence alone was enough to make you flustered. So flustered that you were very close to forgetting to say anything when you walked up to him. Thankfully, at the last moment, you actually spoke.

“Hey! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” you greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I just got here, too. You're alright.”

You walked inside together, and you looked around at your new surroundings. It was a small business, quaint and cozy, with framed photos of artworks by local artists; it was exactly what you would imagine a coffee shop that Andrew picked to be.

Because all of your overthinking (or what you preferred to call planning) on the way there, you ordered your coffee with ease. Andrew recited his order, a black americano, a surprise to you. You watched as he paid and gave his name for the order, the barista already recognizing him. He turned his head towards you and offered an explanation:“I’m a regular. I always come here whenever I need a pick-me-up.”

“I’ll have to come here more often, then,” you replied.

You found a small table in the corner and sat down to claim it for the both of you while Andrew stood by the counter, waiting for your coffee. What a gentleman.

You had yet to notice any flaws in him, only making your self-imposed rule of this not being romantic harder to follow. There had to be something about him that was off. There was no way he was so caring and endearing and funny all at the same time; he had to have an imperfection eventually. You didn't find it in the few minutes you watched him stand around, occasionally fiddling with his hands or putting them in his pockets. Your efforts grew even more futile as he walked over with the coffees in hand, setting them down on the table.

He shedded his jacket and carefully placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down in the chair opposite you. This simple action caused the fact that you barely knew Andrew to pop up in your head. Despite how connected to him you felt already, you had only met him twice before. On both occasions he wore long sleeves, so seeing him without a jacket for the first time gave you a much appreciated surprise.

His right arm had an entire sleeve of tattoos.

He had turned his arm into a mural for myths and legends. A portrait of a falling Icarus, wings disintegrating beneath a red sun. A tortured Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his back. Dante and Virgil arm in arm wandering through a circle of hell. Writing in script filled the empty space, seemingly verses from poems. It was all centered around two words placed across his bicep: Noli Timere. You’d be lying if you said it didn't make you even more attracted to him than you already were.

You could've spent hours just looking, analyzing every line of ink. It felt as though you did, though it's much more likely it was only for a few seconds. You were brought back to Earth by the sound of his voice.

“It's rude to stare, y’know?”

There was no real annoyance in his voice, but it caused you to attention like you had been caught. An explanation mumbled its way out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I like your arm. Tattoos. Your arm tattoos. They're…”

Beautiful? Enticing? Very attractive?

“…cool.”

You took a sip of your coffee, finding it the perfect time to cover up your embarrassment, as well as the flushed face that came along with it. Luckily, Andrew didn't notice (or if he did, he didn't mind) and continued the conversation, accepting your compliment with a crooked smile.

“Thanks. I try to put a lot of thought into them, give them some meaning, so they're all based on these stories that are important to me.”

“Makes sense. I’d hate to get a tattoo just to regret it a few years later. Even worse, a few months later.”

“Too many of my clients have had that exact issue. Come in a year after and ask for a coverup. Makes me question my work sometimes.”

“Clients?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, right. I never mentioned it.” He paused to take a drink from his cup before continuing. “I’m a tattoo artist. The parlor I work at’s only a few blocks away from your shop, believe it or not.”

“Wow. Small world, I suppose. Maybe I could stop by someday and say hi.”

The boldness of your statement didn't fully process in your brain, and you quickly backtracked.

“If you’d be okay with that, of course.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You can come by whenever I don't have a client.”

“Call me over if anyone gets a tattoo of a flower and I’ll be there to explain everything it means. There is always the very dangerous possibility of someone getting a flower that means jealousy or a rejection.”

He didn’t reply, just flashed a smile, and the silence between you seemed… awkward. Combined with the way he was fidgeting with his hands, it almost made you think he was nervous.

“I’m actually thinking about buying a bouquet to put on the front desk,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people, they get nervous before their appointment, whether it's their first tattoo or their tenth. Having flowers right when you walk in might ease some of the tension.”

“That's a great idea. I know I’m biased, but flowers do tend to brighten my day."

“Do you have any ideas?”

You bit at your bottom lip as you thought, finally speaking again once you racked your brain for what could work.

“Chrysanthemums are a favorite with customers. Those mean joy and optimism. I could start with those and build from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“That's all I’ve got right now, but I’ll see what else I can come up with later. After coffee, I’m much more… insightful.”

As if to prove your point, you took another sip of your coffee, a longer one that left only a quarter of the cup left.

“So… this is official? You're placing an order?”

He nodded.

“If that's how this works, then yes. I’d like to place an order of one chrysanthemum bouquet for the purpose of making my customers happy. Please,” he replied genuinely.

“Your order will be marked down as soon as I get to the shop.”

“Feel free to take your time, by the way. I don't mean to pressure you. It's not like I have a deadline, and I know you probably have a million other things you have to do.”

You considered reaching for him, your fingertips flexing in his direction, but you restrained yourself, choosing words instead.

“You're not pressuring me at all. You made your order. Now you're asking me to do my job. My job that I love, by the way. If anything, I’m thrilled that you're so interested.”

The real question is whether you're more interested in my job or me.

You weren't bold enough to say what you were thinking, but you never had been. You had gotten so used to biting your tongue it was a miracle it was still in your mouth. You spoke again, but selected a much safer option of what to say.

“It's gonna take a few days since there's some orders before yours, but I have your number on file so I’ll call you when I finish it up.”

“I’ll be there. With my wallet, this time around.”

You thought about your proposition before realizing there would be a much more effective, though maybe you just wanted to visit Andrew’s job for a change.

“I mean, you said your place is only a few minutes away, right? I could always deliver it. Gives me an opportunity to get some fresh air during my day. Besides, you're probably much busier than I am, so it might be harder to find the time. Meanwhile, I can deliver it as soon as it's done, and everything works out.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I want to, though.”

He sighed and shook his head, a reaction you originally feared was out of annoyance, but you felt a small amount of relief when you noticed the smile that accompanied it.

“You need to stop doing nice things for me. Otherwise I’ll go bankrupt from buying you so much coffee to compensate.”

“I also accept gratitude payment in compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks.”

“What about credit cards?”

“Ooo, sorry. Compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks are your options.”

He chuckled, a deeper and richer laugh than before.

“Fine. You want a compliment? You're incredibly kind for doing all of this for me, and I sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.”

Another sip from your cup to hide the flush of your cheeks, though no amount of caffeine could calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“That covers your gratitude payment for now. I still need real money, of course,” you muttered. “And you're not getting your way out of it this time.”

“I would never. You can't pull the same con on the same person twice.”

“Oh, so it was a con? Did those flowers even go to your mother?”

“Nope. Underground flower smuggling ring.”

“Ah, I should've guessed. Tell your flower-loving crime boss that I’m thankful for all that you've done for me, but I unfortunately need to get going, because it's 9:30 and the shop opens at 10.”

Andrew complied. You two wrapped it up, and he put his jacket back on, covering up his tattoos much to your dismay. Your coffee cup, now empty, was discarded by the door.

“Thank you so much. For the coffee, for the company. Everything. Especially for the coffee, though, considering you barely even drank yours,” you commented, pointing at the half-full cup still in his hand.

“You’re welcome. And trust me, I was going to drink it, but I found myself much more engrossed in the conversation.”

Andrew grabbed the door and held it open for you, and you walked past him and thanked him. Both of you stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, unsure of how (or if you even wanted) to say goodbye.

“This is where we must part ways,” he said with a sigh.

“You say that like we're never going to see each other again.”

“A lot can happen in a few days, Y/N. You have no idea what the universe has up her sleeve.”

“Do you have some kind of knowledge about an apocalypse that I don't? Because when it comes to that kind of stuff, sharing is caring.”

“Just… prepping for the future, I suppose. If there is no apocalypse, I’ll see you when my bouquet’s finished.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

You walked to your car, only a few footsteps away, the smile slowly fading from your face as he walked in the opposite direction. You sneaked a glance over your shoulder at him before opening the car door.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath to bring yourself back to reality. Your mantra had been proven right: that was not a date. It just felt like one. A very successful one at that. He was a gentleman, listened to what you had to say, gave you a compliment, and you even set up an incentive to meet again. This not-a-date went better than most of your actual dates, and it was with a guy who, to your knowledge, had no romantic interest in you.

You were totally and utterly screwed.

[catbolt]

— FLORIDA KILOS

[SOUNDTRACK] Florida Kilos - Lana Del Rey || ▶︎

Business trips with Sylus are atypical.

[TAGS] sylus x female mc, angsty fluff?, smut, canonical sylus but he also sells drugs

[A/N] written very topically in key west cause my vacation would have been sm better with sylus (i need to touch grass)

[WC] 1.2k

songfic 2/?

They touch down in the late afternoon, the sun barreling down over the horizon dramatically like a ball of hellfire, sending ricocheting red tongues of flame out over a turquoise ocean. She feels the ground rumble as the wheels kiss the pavement, Sylus’ strong hand wrapping around her waist to secure her as they roll to a stop. 

They step out into the Florida sunset, deplaning onto his private hangar. His arm remains around her waist the entire while, the only sound other than the whirring plane engines being the clank of his rings against each other as he hoists their bags over his shoulder. They descend onto the tarmac. She looks up at him, his face inscrutable behind a pair of dark sunglasses. 

She doesn’t get Sylus, not really. Every time she thinks she does, he does something so unexpected that she has to rework her entire understanding of him. Like when he takes extended time to pet the stray cat outside the hotel, or makes casual conversation with the bellhop with a broad and genuine smile on his face. A smile that falls immediately the second the door falls shut behind them, and he proceeds to immediately check the entire room for bugs and arm himself with a gun from his luggage. 

Still a business trip, sweetheart, he murmurs softly as he sees her eyes trained on the way he tucks the pistol onto the stomach band holster beneath his t-shirt. Need to make sure I’m keeping you safe.

She knew about the protocores and weapons. What she didn’t fully grasp until now was that when Sylus once told her he had his hands in a lot of pies, he also meant drugs. That was why he'd taken her to Florida. She catches him on tense calls late at night, tapping into security feeds to scrutinize black cars carrying god knows what illicit substances and paraphernalia through back alleys, even rifling through miscellaneous vials and baggies that are shoved into a suitcase he tells her not to open. She ignores it for the most part. She’s learned to push down the moral ambivalence that stirs up whenever she thinks about what Sylus actually does for a living, the mix of guilt and confusion and frustration at her complete inability to reconcile two halves of the man she loves.

When they’re on the beach together, she just pretends they’re just a normal couple on vacation. She relaxes in the warm ocean, feeling Sylus’ eyes on her all the way from their cabana where he sits, preferring the shade. The corner of his mouth quirks into a barely-there smirk as she exits the water, taking in her swimsuit-clad form as he sips on a glass of dark rum. The second she’s close enough, she’s in his arms, his thumbs rubbing circles into the salt still lingering on her skin, his sun-flushed nose nuzzling into the place where her neck meets her jaw. He murmurs unintelligible nothings into her soft skin, more for himself than for her to hear.

He doesn’t tell her details of the business he's here on in an effort to keep work time separate as much as possible, though she can see it weighing on him each time he gets back to the hotel room after one of his “meetings." HIs face always look tired, but quickly softens into a gentler expression when he sees her, and he envelops her in his arms, peppering fluttering kisses over her face and neck. He deftly sidesteps the majority of her work-related questions to ask about her days instead. It’s not because he underestimates her– he’s just unshakably devoted to her protection, and the less she knows, the safer she is.

She doesn’t get him when he insists repeatedly that it’s just a business trip, but makes a continuous and purposeful effort to make sure she’s having a good time, that she’s enriched and well taken care of. The days he’s gone early in the morning, she wakes up to notes on the nightstand: Got you tickets to the museum, if you want to go today. Or I think you should visit the beach while I’m out. I’ve set up a driver to take you at noon. He insists on private charter planes, private drivers, private security, private beaches and excursions for her, ensuring she’s fully surveilled every second she’s out and about while he’s away.

Only when he’s back at the hotel with her does he ease up a bit, dismissing security detail for the night, taking her out on the town holding her hand tightly all the while. He buys her all the mai tais and mojitos she asks for, walking her home with a protective hand on her as she stumbles giggly through the streets, hands toying in the strings of her bikini beneath her cover-up.

When he lays her on the bed, French balcony doors blown open haphazardly by the wind, the sound of the waves battering softly against the shore and the chirp of cicadas are the only sounds other than their breathing. He removes each piece of her clothing slowly, tantalizingly, not with the intention to tease (though that is inevitably the resulting effect) but more because he simply cherishes each millisecond he spends uncovering another sliver of her body, each inch of her he reveals sending a shiver through him like he's discovering a secret. He worships her with slow wet kisses, his hands following close behind everywhere his lips have touched, soothing the skin that blooms purple and red with gentle caresses. He grips her hips softly when he enters her, exhaling a deep and heavy sigh, rocking back and forth achingly slowly with his eyes closed in bliss. He holds her securely in his arms with one hand on the small of her back and the other behind her neck, fingers pressing into her skin, each fingertip of pressure sending hot spears of desire deep into her body.

She doesn’t quite understand the loving things he whispers into her ears in times like this. She doesn’t get where it comes from, the rare, delicate softness in his words so strikingly absent from the way he talks to anyone else— so beautiful for me, my dove, I worship you, my gorgeous girl…

Afterwards, he stands on the balcony, cigarette clamped between his lips as he stares out over the ocean, hair damp from the shower and towel slung low over his hips. He swirls a glass of whisky in his other hand, tendrils of smoke clawing their way into the tepid night air through his teeth. Faint music from the nearby bars mingles with the sound of gentle waves upon the shore, so soft it sounds almost like ripples, like rain.

When he’s in his head like this she knows better than to ask him what he’s thinking. Instead, she just comes up behind him, standing not too close or too far, resting her elbows on the banister. They both watch the starlight freckle the surface of the ocean outside. 

I love you, Sylus mumbles. It’s what he always says when he doesn’t know what else to. The utterance is so quiet it’s nearly drowned out by the sound of the water, but she catches it, just barely.

I love you too.

[thebroccolination]

STOLAS AND BLITZ'S CURRENT RELATIONSHIP IS A TREASURE TROVE

Helluva Boss is the ideal source material for fanworks in so many ways. Especially because of where Blitz and Stolas's relationship is right now.

One of the show's more obvious issues is the pacing, and while I don't know a ton about animated productions, it's always seemed to me like they're creating an enormously ambitious production on a pretty limited budget, so they kind of have to power through these episodes at a hundred miles an hour without the luxury of going at the slower, more nuanced pace they deserve. But that's where fanfiction and fanart can really elevate what canon gives us, because the show is creating so much potential to explore, and we have time in between episodes to play!

Basically: I love it here and this episode was a buffet of goodness.

Following Mastermind, Stolas and Blitz are discovering that despite their physically intimate relationship and their feelings for each other, they don't actually know each other.

In Sinsmas, we see Stolas and Blitz discovering so many new things about each other, to the point where you wonder what they ever talked about until you remember: sex. When they reunited as adults, they never re-learned who each other is now. Instead, they jumped past personal intimacy to physical intimacy.

And now that they're working on their personal intimacy, I love that Blitz has flipped completely from acting cold to Stolas out of uncertainty and self-defense to committing to him, unrelentingly loyal and affectionate. The way he is with Loona.

So we have them learning each other in doses:

• Blitz's horse thing

• Stolas's secret medication

• What Stolas eats

• Social norms Stolas didn't have to know when he was part of the wealthy ruling class

• Hellborn culture

• Blitz's genuine love for the company he built, not just pride

• Just how different Blitz's way of life is from the one Stolas is accustomed to

• And the real Blitz as opposed to the idealized version Stolas invented in his fantasies

In Mastermind, Stolas has that line, "Why am I throwing my freedom away for this idiot?" in part because he was still mad at Blitz, but also because Blitz has been knocked off his pedestal, and Stolas has to relearn him from nothing.

But the thing is: this idiot loves Stolas.

He's not ashamed to eat with Stolas in public, not ashamed to protect him from the other Hellborn who hate Stolas because of the trial.

He's genuinely delighted spending his time with Stolas.

He'll hunt rats in an alley just to make sure Stolas is eating what he likes.

And he champions Stolas's very first secretarial attempt in very characteristically giddy flavor.

He risks his life to save Stolas's, a flip from Mastermind.

He wraps Stolas in his own jacket to keep him warm, even though Blitz just complained about Earth's winter topside.

And he wraps Stolas in a blanket, then eats hot coals/brimstone(/whatever those rocks were) to become a hot water bottle for Stolas.

Because ultimately, what Blitz wants and perhaps realizes he wants in this episode is that he wants to be a complete family with Stolas and their daughters.

And they'll get there in part by talking to each other about what matters.

Not fighting, not yelling, not walking away, just talking to each other. About their vulnerabilities and their fears and what hurts. About their past hurts and their worries for the future.

And they've never done that at length before.

The trial gave Blitz the wakeup call he needed, and now the season is ending with Blitz completing another curve of his character arc. Does he believe he deserves Stolas? No. Does he have the family he wants? Nope! But to get there he has to make things right with Stolas, and he's (mostly) done that.

What comes next for them in season three will be up to Stolas.

Blitz has embraced Stolas, but it's not quite reciprocal yet.

So I look forward to aaaaaaalllllllllI the fic and fanart along the way. :>