#anyways. this live was something...and that man's low speaking voice...

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[traumainpyjamas]

JOHNNY \\ [231016] JOHNNY NCT 127 WEVERSE LIVE

[machveil]

I can't resist the siren call

Roommate!Simon Riley that low-key enjoys fucking with your friends Y/N

subtle foreshadowing… I suppose I can dip into my nsfw Roommate!Simon Riley thoughts

Roommate!Simon Riley who shares a laundry bin with you, it had been agreed a long time ago that just doing a big load would be easier. you takes turns, knowingly stealing each other’s clothes every couple days when the laundry is fresh out the machine. you know Simon took an oversized t-shirt you owned, but that’s okay, you took his favorite gym hoodie

Roommate!Simon Riley who doesn’t get embarrassed about his underwear being in the bin with yours, it’s all going in the machine anyways. that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow though when his favorite boxers go missing. he was sure he put them in with the dirties, well, the cleans now. he figures the machine ate it, or maybe they’ll show up some day by chance - he shrugs it off and separates his clothes from yours, snagging one of your oversized sweaters to lounge in later

Roommate!Simon Riley who freezes when he sees you on the couch that night. eyes wide and jaw slack, he can’t bring himself to move. sat watching something on the tv - he can’t be bothered to acknowledge whats playing - he stares at you, wearing his boxers as shorts. “Hey, come watch this— I’ll catch you up since it just started. I’m not pausing it though so you better pay attention.”, your words are all in one ear and out the other. suddenly his legs are moving on their own, stopping in front of you. he doesn’t register what you’re saying, telling him to move because you can’t see the tv, but then he speaks

Roommate!Simon Riley whose voice is deliciously deep, a little raspy from how his throat suddenly feels dry, “S’that mine?”, he asks, eyeing his boxers. he’s never had such a hard time swallowing before, heartbeat erratic as you casually respond, “Huh— oh, yeah. They’re really comfy, the fabrics nice.”. fabrics nice, yeah, he knows. “You— ya know those are boxers, right love?”, he asks, hands twitchy as you reply, “Mhm, just borrowin’ them.”

CW: guilty wank, man is hopeless [kisses his cheek]

Roommate!Simon Riley who’s a mess after that interaction. you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking at him, but he’s losing it on the inside. he’s seen you be audacious with stealing his clothes before, taking his loose-fit tank tops that left little to the imagination on you, stealing clothes you knew he favored and parading around in them, but his boxers? that had him stalking back to his room, quick to turn on his heel before you could see his pants tent

he’s sweating, closes the door to his room a little harder than he meant to. god, he wants to go back out there and see you again, get an eyeful of how comfortable you looked - wearing his boxers like they were yours. you wouldn’t know, and he can’t help but think about it, but you had stolen his favorite pair. they’re plain, a simple black pair, something he bought at the store because he needed new underwear. but when you wear them? they suddenly looked different, makes his heart hammer against his chest. it feels like he walked out into the living room and you wearing lingerie, not something he got for fifteen pounds

he feels a little guilty, shoving his jeans down his thighs as he sits down on his bed. you’re home, sat in the living room just down the hall, and here’s Simon fishing his leaky cock out of his underwear. he really shouldn’t, he should sneak into the bathroom for a cold shower, think about war and blood and bullets to get his boner down. but he isn’t, he’s spitting into his palm and groaning, bringing his free hand up to cover his mouth - he’s never been good about keeping quiet. it’s not his fault you were out there wearing his clothes, you were the one that decided to look so— so cozy and content in your makeshift shorts. domestic

when that word settles at the forefront of his brain Simon’s hips jerk, you looked domestic, wanting to watch some show with him. his leg jolts slightly, hand moving to shallowly pump his weeping head. maybe your friends are right, Simon does take care of you - could bend you over and make you sob his name - he’s basically your boyfriend, often mistaken for your husband. his thighs tense when he imagines a ring on your finger— no, his dog tags hanging from your neck— god, holding you at night as an actual couple—

he’s choking out a moan, muffled and hoarse, as he coats his hand. eyes fluttering shut and breathing heavily, all his thoughts fly out the window as his cum drips down his fingers - all his thoughts except for one. he’s going to have to go back out there later to eat dinner with you, and oh, fuck, he sucks in a deep breath as he chubs up again

[strangersteddierthings]

Good People

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

Wayne knows eavesdropping isn't the done thing. He's definitely old enough to know better, and he wasn't going to. He had a plan. He was going to walk directly into the living room, so they'd know he was awake, and after he'd fixed his cup of coffee, he'd plopped into his perfectly worn in recliner and subtly glare at the Harrington boy until he squirmed.

Mostly because it amused Wayne, but also just a little sliver of it was because he wanted the Harrington boy to know Wayne didn't think he was good enough for his boy. But only a little! Lord knows that Wayne couldn't do anything to make Eddie change his mind about Steve Harrington, short of Harrington proving Wayne right. Which he doesn't actually want because he doesn't want Eddie hurt.

He's just... He expects it to happen. That's what boys like Harrington do to boys like Eddie. He's seen it enough times to know that this song and dance leave no room for improvisation. Boys like Harrington play around, get their kicks with the devotion Eddie shows them, and then when they've had their fill, they leave.

Boys like Harrington will never be good enough for Eddie, but they always leave with Eddie feeling like he's not enough. Wayne hates it.

Anyway, his plan wasn't to eavesdrop. It's just that Harrington said his name and Wayne found himself standing still instead of continuing.

"Why doesn't Wayne like me?" Harrington asks.

"This again?" Eddie says dismissively, which has Wayne agreeing. His opinion shouldn't have bearing on their friendship.

A deep sigh from Harrington before, "I just. It's- he means so much to you. And, like, I- nevermind. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"Hey," Eddie sounds a type of serious that Wayne rarely hears from him, "you're not stupid. And you gotta quit fucking saying that. You say it enough and you'll start to believe it and it's not true."

"Hard to quit feeling stupid when people dismiss my concerns like they are stupid," Harrington snaps back, bitchy as can be. The tone makes Wayne bristle on behalf of Eddie. His boy doesn't reply immediately, though. Doesn't bite back like Wayne's used to hearing. Huh. Maybe he's growing up, just a little.

"You're right, Steve," Eddie says when he finally speaks. "That was dismissive. I'm sorry. Explain it to me. Why does it matter to you whether Wayne likes you or not?"

"Well, because he's your family."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, "he is. But that doesn't explain why it matters. I don't care if your parents like me or not."

"That's different!"

"How?" Eddie asks, soft but firm.

"Because their opinion doesn't matter. It's not- It's irrelevant. What they think."

"That makes no sense. Wayne's opinion matters because he's my family, but your parents' opinion doesn't even though they're your family?"

"Yes!"

"But why?" Eddie presses.

"Because they're bad people!" Steve bursts, not quite shouting but close. "Because when bad people don't think highly of you, it's not a fault in you. Their disproval is, like, a compliment. They don't like you because you're too different from them. And that's great! You shouldn't want their approval. It's different, because your uncle is a good person. And when a good person doesn't like you, it is your fault. It's something- it's..." Harrington loses steam here, voice dropping low and defeated, "there's something wrong with me. Something in me that- that he just knows. Senses about me or whatever. Something wrong or rotten or-"

"Steve! That's bullshit. Sure, Wayne's been standoffish, but he'll come around. You're not wrong, or rotten, or whatever else you think you are."

"How do you know that? I was an asshole most of life and what if that's just the real me? What if that's who I'll always be deep down. 'Cause I'm trying so damn hard, man. I'm giving it my all trying to be a better person and it's not enough! Everyone still talks about who I was in high school and even you-" Harrington snaps his mouth closed so hard that Wayne hears the clack of his teeth from his position in the hallway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I'm sorry."

"Steve. This is about more than just my uncle's opinion of you, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I want you, too. I want to know if I've ever done anything to make you feel like you aren't enough."

Wayne really shouldn't be listening. He should back down the hall and into his room. Give them time to talk.

"No, Eddie, you don't make me feel like- that's not what I meant. I just. I'm...."

"Hey, Stevie, you can tell me."

"I'm just so afraid that... That one day everyone will wake up and realize what Wayne already knows. That I'm not good enough for them. For you."

Oh. Wayne really shouldn't be listening.

"I'll admit that Wayne's opinion is important to me, for a lot of things. But not about you. What I feel about you, how I feel about you, isn't dictated by Wayne."

"Sure. I mean, I know that, like, logically or whatever. But it's. I can't convince my brain that you won't just. Hate me one day. And I- fuck, Eddie, I'm already halfway in love with you and-"

"You're in love with me?" Eddie interrupts, sounding awed, starstruck, and Wayne cannot be listening anymore. He backs down the hall silently and back into his room.

Steve Harrington seems to think that he's a good person, but he's not feeling like a good person at the moment.

He's got some thinking to do.

[fairsweetlonging]

( ˚❀˳ ) ERROR_FILE_CORRUPT || shen qingqiu (shen yuan) & yue qingyuan

* . ⊹ synopsis. shen qingqui has not been giving the system satisfactory results. it decides to take matters into its own hands. yue qingyuan tries to persuade it otherwise.

notes: @artsarasp this is all your fault

word count: 774

based on this post and this amazing art

The afternoon sunlight trickles ember and gold through the latticed window, soft and bright and warm as it fills the room. In the stillness between them, it feels distant, wavering, like still water disturbed somewhere below the surface where he cannot see.

Hazy steam curls from two teacups set on the low table, pale porcelain gleaming faintly against the dark grain of the wood. It’s an old blend, something light. A favorite. He doesn’t know why that matters. Maybe because this one has never been rejected. Maybe because he’s grasping for something that is no longer there.

On the other side, Shen Qingqiu sits unnervingly still, as if his body has forgotten how to breathe, how to live, his back straight but rigid, like a figure carved from stone rather than a man of flesh and blood. 

When he reaches for the tea, his fingers move with a strange, stilted motion, like a doll whose joints have rusted with disuse, or the rotten wood of a foundation that shakes the house with every gust of wind, about to collapse. As he leans forward, his robes don’t move along; not even a hair falls out of place. 

There is something profoundly wrong about him, as if he’s not even actually there. 

Yet it follows their rituals, to perfection, moving through the steps of their routine as if they were its own; slow sips, remaining silent as they drink, no idle talk, leaving the only sound to be the soft clack of porcelain on wood. 

Yue Qingyuan drinks faster than he would any other time, faster, even, than is proper. It burns the roof of his mouth. There is no need for formalities, not here, not for that thing. 

It is the same face, the same gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the raven black hair that lies gracefully along his shoulders, but the eyes… Xiao Jiu’s eyes are blue, all of it, sickly, devoid of life; when he stares into that hollow nothingness, it is almost as if something is staring back at him. 

Yue Qingyuan puts down his cup. His voice is deceptively calm. 

"What do you want."

Something flares in Xiao Jiu’s eyes at the question, almost as if it’s been waiting for this.

When he answers it is not in words, but in a cacophony of metallic hollow sounds that reverberate through the back of his mind.

【 this system does not ‘want’ for anything. this system is tasked with helping user002 create a good story 】

It doesn’t even bother opening Xiao Jiu’s mouth as it speaks, keeping that same, placid smile on his face. Somewhere, Yue Qingyuan is glad for its lack of trying—it never seems able to match its movements to the words quite right.

【 your interference caused a plot-divergence too difficult for him to fix. so this system has taken over 】

It’s said that before, when they first caught on, back then, when they thought it was only a matter of time before they had driven the creature out. User. Plotlines. Story. Protagonist. He interfered with something, poked the sleeping bear where he should have let it lay. He doesn’t know when. He doesn’t even know what he did.

But Shen Qingqiu cannot be the only one, not with how the system speaks about him; the number two insinuates the existence of a user one, like how nine insinuates there is a seven. 

Yue Qingyuan isn’t sure he wants to know whether user two has come with user one, or after him.

Despite his diligent studies, his upbringing to become the future sect leader, Yue Qingyuan isn’t that well read, not in these kinds of stories, anyway—in stories with protagonists and heroes and villains, the kinds that have overarching themes and conflicts. 

But he knows that though audiences are fickle, they are also easily entertained. After all: the worst crime of a character is not his flaws, it’s being boring. He's heard Shang Qinghua speak of it often enough, how audiences care very little for the quality, but will sing the praises of any story that manages to keep their attention. 

Perhaps there is a different way to keep their invisible audience entertained.

"Does… does it have to be Xiao Jiu?" His fingers curl to fists beneath the cover of his wide sleeves, grasping the fabric until his knuckles turn white. Please. Please, just this once, let him do something right. "Could someone else create this story?"

The system blinks. 

【 someone like –yue qingyuan–? 】

He nods.

【 calculating… 】

Xiao Jiu shakes his head.

【 perhaps the next story… 】

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

A Father’s Love?

Sam Winchester & daughter!reader, Dean Winchester & niece!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You (9-10) are left alone with your dad, who currently is missing his soul, and it doesn’t go well

Update: part 2 is here

“Uncle De, please don’t go.” Your voice was low as you tried to keep your dad—who was in the bathroom—from hearing. “I-I don’t wanna be alone with him.”

Dean felt awful for leaving you like this, but he had no choice. You hadn’t been comfortable with Sam since the moment you’d found out he was back—the same time Dean did. You’d been living with Dean, Lisa, and Ben, and when Sam revealed that he’d been back all along, you instantly didn’t trust him. Dean had been angry, sure, but somehow he just hadn’t seen what you had—that your dad wasn’t really himself.

Of course, eventually the three of you—including Sam, who hadn’t been sure what was wrong with him—discovered the truth: he was soulless. As soon as Dean find out, he felt horrible for not understanding your hesitance before. Now that he knew, he tried to avoid leaving you alone with Sam whenever possible, especially since he didn’t really trust Sam without a soul.

But sometimes it was unavoidable.

“Kiddo, you know I don’t have a choice,” Dean said.

“I don’t like it here with him,” you insisted, refusing to let go of Dean’s sleeve. “He-he’s like daddy’s evil twin or something.”

Dean swallowed. “Sweetheart, he’s not evil, ok? He’s just a little weird right now.”

“Daddy’s weird,” you argued. “This guy is bad.”

Dean ran a hand over his face.

“Baby, please. You know I have to go. He’s gonna be good, I promise, and soon enough he’s gonna be back to regular-old dad, I swear.”

Dean left without another word, and the silence that hung in the motel room was deafening.

“Dean left?” Sam asked as he exited the bathroom. You ignored his question—he didn’t actually care, after all—and you went to sit on your bed. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you as you went. The motel stayed the worst kind of silence as you pretended to read while Sam just stared at you.

“What do you want?” You demanded finally, dropping the book. Your voice was nowhere near as firm as you wanted it to be.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question.

“You hated me first.” Unlike Sam, you couldn’t look at him while you accused him. Even without looking at the shell that used to be your dad, you could feel tears pricking at the back of your eyes as you waited for him to speak.

“I don’t hate you,” he huffed. “I mean, I don’t particularly care about you, but I don’t hate you.”

Somehow, apathy was even worse.

“Just leave me alone,” you mumbled. You shouldn’t have been surprised when Sam shrugged and obeyed. You felt your eyes drifting to him as he pulled a beer from the fridge and took it to his bed. His eyes caught yours and he frowned.

“What? You said leave you alone.”

“Dad wouldn’t have listened,” you mumbled, but Sam heard you anyway.

“Well, I’m not your dad,” Sam shrugged. “I’m not Sam, not anymore.”

“Ok.” You turned to face away from him. “Now I mean it. Leave me be.”

But Sam was suddenly intrigued, and he ignored your request.

“You and Dean wanted me to stop pretending to be him. This is just me not pretending.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like you,” you said, your eyes downcast.

“Exactly, and I don’t like you either. I mean, you’re kind of a brat.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” you said, finally looking up.

“You beg Dean to keep you with him all the time like I’m gonna hurt you or something, it’s pathetic.” Sam seemed to be getting a real kick out of finally saying all that he’d been thinking over the past few weeks.

“I said leave me alone!” You yelled at him, but he didn’t listen.

“I mean, I remember caring about you when I was that other guy, I just…I just can’t remember why.”

“Go away! Leave me be!” You were on your feet now, shoving and pushing at Sam, but the giant man didn’t even flinch.

“I mean your just a little pest!”

“Stop it! Just go away!”

Crying, overwhelmed, and so unbelievably hurt, you started to slap at the guy who used to be your dad, smacking his neck, his face, whatever you could reach. Suddenly, Sam wasn’t having so much fun anymore.

“Hey!” Though your slaps had little effect on him, one harsh blow from Sam had you flat on your back, dazed and breathing hard. You could still feel the impact of his palm against your cheek, and you couldn’t scramble away from him fast enough.

“If you’re gonna give it out, you should be prepared to take it,” Sam muttered gruffly.

You were on your feet in an instant, and you were out the door before you’d even made the decision to leave.

“Hey!” You could hear your dad—no, not your dad—following after you, and you barely made it five steps out of the room before his arms were around you and dragging you back in.

“Stop it!” You were crying now, and you couldn’t remember when you’d started. “Let me go!”

“If I lose you, Dean’s never gonna help me,” Sam grunted, shoving you back into the room and closing the door behind him. “So how about we all just calm down here.” It wasn’t a request; it was a command. “You don’t hit me, I won’t hit you.”

That would’ve sounded reasonable enough, if not for one thing—your desperate smacks to his skin had done nothing to him, they hadn’t even hurt, but you could already feel the side of your face swelling where he’d hit you. But you didn’t argue with Sam. You didn’t even speak. You just sat on your bed and turned your back on him, pulling your legs up to your chest and burying your face in your knees so you could cry in peace.

Sam left you alone for several minutes, but his sudden hand on your shoulder had you flinching back violently and scrambling away from him.

“Would you calm down?” Sam huffed as he let go. He was holding out a frozen bag of peas. “Put this on it.”

You took it hesitantly and slowly pressed the cold bag to your face.

“Look…” Sam’s hand was back on your shoulder, only now his giant fingers were right at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and they were squeezing way too hard. “Dean would kill me if he figured out what happened, ok? And he certainly wouldn’t be helping me anymore. So maybe…maybe you just tell him you fell in the shower or something, ok?” He said it like a question, but the grip on your shoulder and the ice in his eyes told the truth; he expected you to lie to Uncle Dean, and you didn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

“Ok,” you whispered, and his hand was gone in an instant.

“Ok,” he said firmly.

Then he turned his back on you and left you alone to cry.

…

The swelling was down by the time Dean returned, but you’d looked in the mirror long enough to see a black and purple bruise forming along almost one whole side of your face.

You resisted the urge to run to your uncle the moment he stepped in the door—if you acted scared, he would figure it out, and Sam would be mad. Instead, you stayed where you were with your head down, your hair covering most of the bruise.

“Hey,” Dean greeted. “You guys ok?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said simply. You’d been hoping that he would lie for you, so you didn’t have to, but he seemed content to leave things quiet.

“You sure?” Dean was watching you now, noticing your uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m ok,” your voice was hoarse from crying, and Dean wasn’t fooled.

“What’s wrong?” Dean was in front of you in an instant, brushing your hair behind your ears. His hand recoiled when he saw the bruise. “What happened?”

“I—“ you looked up to face Dean, and your voice caught in your throat when you saw Sam staring daggers at you from behind your uncle’s shoulder. “I f-fell.”

“Fell?” Dean frowned.

You nodded. “In-in the shower.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Out. Now.”

“Me?” When had Sam become such a good actor? He looked as innocent as ever. “What did I do?”

Despite his acting, Dean wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Get out! I need to talk to her alone.”

The moment Sam was out the door, Dean was tilting your chin up with a feather-light hand at your chin.

“He hit you, didn’t he.” Dean wasn’t asking.

“I fell,” you lied, the tears in your eyes giving you away.

“Don’t lie for him,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t kick him out,” you pleaded. “We-we have to help him get his soul back. This isn’t him, Uncle Dean.”

“I know it’s not,” Dean sighed. “But I need you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe when my dad is back.”

…

“You stay away from her.” Dean didn’t give Sam a chance to speak when he let him back into the room.

“Fine.” Sam was done lying—it hadn’t done any good.

“And if you ever touch her again, you’re gone, understand?”

Sam didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t argue.

“I understand.”

…

You slept in Dean’s bed that night—you hadn’t shared a bed with your father since he came back soulless—and Sam went out to do whatever it was that he did while you guys slept. Apparently being soulless meant you didn’t sleep.

“Are you ok?” Dean asked. “And don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore,” you mumbled. “I just…I just miss him.”

Dens pulled you into his arms as you started to cry.

“I know, sweetheart. I miss him too. We’re gonna get him back, ok? I promise.”

“Ok Uncle Dean.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel acts like he doesn’t like you until he comes across your rapist.]

TW: MENTION OF RAPE. Angst

“What did he do?” His voice was low, eerie like, suddenly he looked angry as you stood still before him.

Ever since Tess had died Joel became more unbearable to deal with. The two of you had only known each other a couple months before she passed away but never got close to one another, if anything Joel acted like he didn’t like having you around. He barely held any conversations with you unless it involved a plan he needed you to be on the same page with him about. Silently he’d share food with you but that was pretty much as far as he’d go.

“Get up, we’re gonna keep moving today” Joel woke you up out of your sleep gathering his belongings as you sighed.

“I thought you said we’d stay here for two nights-“

“Plans changed. We’re leaving soon” you groaned as you got on your feet and began to pack. This journey to Marlene seemed a lot longer than you thought it would be.

“Are you sure Marlene even has what you want?” You asked with a sigh. He didn’t respond instead handing you your weapon so you could follow him out.

Walking with Joel through the woods your foot accidentally slid down a rock making you gasp loudly. Joel quickly turned with his knife ready to attack only to find you straightening your shirt.

“I slipped” he didn’t respond only looking irritated and turned back to continue walking. You didn’t understand why Joel always seemed so bothered by you, had he not promised Tess that he’d look after you, he wouldn’t have stuck around with you. Tess never shared to him the true reason why she wanted him to care for you but when you first met her you had confided in her the brutal things that you overcame. One of them being that you were held captive for a couple months by a group not far out, one of the men in their group being your rapist, you were always afraid to come across this man again. Little did Tess know, this very same man was running things alongside Marlene.

“Joel, have I done something to upset you at any point?” You asked trying to keep up with him.

“No” he responded without looking your way.

“So what’s your issue?”

“I don’t have a damn issue, now let’s keep moving” you gave up at that point not saying a word. Joel truly didn’t have a specific issue with you, he just chose to not allow himself to get close to anyone ever again, he had lost too much.

Finally making it to Marlene’s you followed behind Joel walking in. You had no idea whom Marlene was or anything about the place but being with Joel you just did as he said. Standing beside him a few feet away you were introduced to Marlene. She seemed like a woman who was strictly about business, she spoke to him of the car she had promised.

Of course, tomorrow it would be ready.

You didn’t speak during their conversation, not thinking much of anything until the door opened and a man walked in. Instantly your heart sunk, your stomach turned as the man stood by Marlene confidently before noticing you.

“This is my right hand man, he does what I say, when I say and can always be counted on” Marlene introduced the man beside her, you found yourself unable to speak. You knew who this man was, how could you not?

Edward….you’d never forget his name, one year ago this man made your life a living hell. Your throat felt like it was closing up, your heart racing-

“Look who it is” Edward grinned towards you making Marlene raise a brow at you. Joel turned to you as you looked down taking a deep breath.

“Small world” Marlene muttered but Joel noticed something off with your reaction.

“Anyways, Joel” Marlene got his attention explaining what would happen.

“Tomorrow before the evening I should have a car for you, for now you two can stay in a room I have prepped” Joel didn’t like the idea of staying an extra day but silently nodded and took the offer. Thankfully Edward and Marlene left the room before someone else led you to the room you would both stay in. Your heart felt like it would come out your chest but you couldn’t find it in you to speak. Joel walked ahead of you opening the door to the room. You stood by the door closing it behind you watching as he placed his backpack on the bed without looking back. Your body felt as if it would collapse any moment, you couldn’t stay here, you couldn’t be around Edward yet you knew you couldn’t say a thing.

That night Joel noticed you seemed a bit fidgety but he didn’t say a word. He lay back on his bed and watched as you double checked the locks on the door twice before laying down.

“You know we’re safe here right?” You looked up not noticing Joel had been watching you.

“Y-yeah” you nodded before turning over and facing the wall. That night you didn’t sleep, if anything you hoped Joel would sleep so he wouldn’t hear you crying in the middle of the night. Of course that didn’t work, at one point Joel opened his eyes thinking he was hearing something but he couldn’t make out what it was until he looked over and noticed you seemed like you were trembling. Quickly he sat up unsure of what to do, slowly he got up from the bed and noticed you were whimpering in your sleep. He didn’t know what the hell to do, he’d never seen you like this before but he knew damn well what it felt like. Delicately he placed his hand on your shoulder and tried to wake you.

“Hey” you continued to whimper but wouldn’t open your eyes. Joel cleared his throat and leaned in closer to you prepared for you to be startled.

“Hey wake up” he shook you a little harder making your eyes quickly open. You gasped unaware who was near you, unaware that you had even been dreaming, raising your hand ready to hit whoever it was Joel caught your wrist in mid air.

“Easy, honey”

You looked up at him confused, you hadn’t even realized you fell asleep now here was Joel looking down at you with concern. Once he was sure that you knew it was him, he released your arm as you tried to catch your breath.

“I’m sorry” you whispered.

“It’s alright, just havin’ a bad dream is all” he looked at you for a moment curious to ask you what was it that made you so upset but didn’t say a word.

“I’m right here if you need me” he motioned towards the bed on the other side of the room. You quietly nodded and watched as he got back into bed. Turning away from him you could feel the embarrassment from what had just happened yet you were surpsied by how gentle he handled it. It was a new side you both had seen of each other.

The next day you did your best to stay clear from wherever Eduardo could be, and so you decided to stay in the room.

Just one more day of this, one day and you’d be gone. Joel explained to you that he would be going over something with Marlene leaving you by yourself. You assured him it was fine and sat on the bed reading a book you always carried around after making sure the door was locked. Sometime had passed when you heard the door unlock and you figured it was Joel. Laying comfortably facing the wall you flipped the page hearing the door close behind you.

“What happened with Marlene?” You asked when you felt the touch of a hand on your arm making you turn to see it was the very person you had been trying to avoid.

Edward

Quickly you jumped up, your back against the wall as he smirked at your reaction.

“It’s been a while” you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t believe he was right in front of you.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost” he chuckled placing his hand on your thigh. If you could move any further away you would’ve, he could see how anxious he made you.

“Relax, sweetheart I’m not gonna do anything” he licked his bottom lip pushing his hand further up your thigh.

“I just wanted to say hi to an old friend”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek as you tried to turn away.

“It’s a shame you’re leaving tomorrow, thought we could’ve had some fun” he laughed walking back out of the room and closed the door shut.

In shock you sat there with disgust, the simple touch or his hand on your thigh making you sick to your stomach.

You couldn’t do this, you didn’t care about a damn car no matter how badly you both needed it. Quickly you got up running to the door locking it shut once again afraid he would return.

Where the hell was Joel…all you wanted to do was leave.

After what felt like forever you finally heard the door begin to unlock, your heart jumping at the sound.

“Joel?” You called out worriedly to see his face as soon as the door opened.

“Yeah, it’s me” he walked past you not noticing the panic attack you were feeling in that moment.

You watched as he fold a paper and placed it in his backpack, a knot in your throat you struggled to speak.

“Joel” you finally were able to utter a word in a soft whisper. Going through his backpack he didn’t respond not having heard your voice. You struggled to speak again, stomach turning just at the thought of your rapist knowing where you were…the fact that he came to you when you were alone..

“Joel” you spoke a little louder where he was able to hear you.

“Yea” he responded as he zipped up his bag.

“Joel…I can’t stay here another night” you blurt out.

“What?” He asked confused with your statement still not looking back.

“We’re fine here, it’s just till the afternoon’” he assured you making your panic rise.

“No, I…Joel I can’t stay here” he noticed how your voice trembled and slowly turned to you. His eyebrows furrowed once he noticed the worry in your eyes.

“What’s the matter?” He stood straight fully facing you.

“Can we just go?” You didn’t want to give the reason, you didn’t want to speak of it.

“We’re getting the car tomorrow, its just one more night-“

“Joel please” you whispered taking a deep breath making him take a step closer. He stood silent, he could tell something had terrified you.

“Somethin’ happen while I was gone?” He asked making you quickly shake your head.

“No, no just please-“ you began to hyperventilate.

“I can’t, I can’t-“ you struggled to breathe when someone knocking on the door made you run into Joels arms. Confused he looked down at you slowly placing his hands on your back sensing the true horror you felt.

“Hey, hey it’s alright, it’s alright” he whispered feeling you shake in his arms. It was like the night before, all over again only this time something in your waking life was scaring the shit out of you. The sound of another knock making you grab onto his shirt.

“Give me a minute!” He called out feeling you hide your face against his chest.

“Hey” he whispered low looking down at you but before he could say another word Edwards voice heightened your fear.

“It’s me, Edward” your eyes widened as you silently began to shake your head.

“What is it, darlin’?” Your panic not allowing you to realize the softness Joel had in his voice with concern over you. The door suddenly opening sending you rushing behind Joel.

Edward appeared at the door.

“I was just making sure you guys had what you needed” a smile Joel didn’t trust appeared on his lips as he leaned over to get a peak at you. You felt Joel’s hand reach behind you holding you against him.

Edward could see the defensive look in Joel’s eyes and wondered if you had told him anything.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked testing what he would say.

“I got her” is all Joel responded with as Edward looked at him curiously. Not saying another word Edward took a step back giving Joel a nod before leaving the room. Joel waited until he disappeared from his site before giving your thigh a tap behind him.

“He’s gone” he assured you making you slowly peak over his shoulder to see the empty hallway that led to the room. Quickly you ran to the door shutting it closed and locking it with each lock it had.

“We need to get our stuff and get out of here now” you ran to grab your bag and his before he tried to stop you.

“Wait a minute, wait-“ he grabbed you by your arms stopping you before you grabbed anything else. Joel was struggling to understand what exactly had you so afraid of this man.

“Joel, we need to go-“

“Talk to me for a minute”

“No! There’s nothing to talk about, I am not staying here!” You screamed trying to break free from his hold.

“What the hell did he do to you?!”

“Nothing!” You tried to shake his hands off you once more but failed.

“We can’t leave without that car, we need that car if we wanna make it-“

“I don’t care! I’m not staying here with him!”

“He’s not gonna do anything to you, darlin’ I promise you that-“ you shook your head in frustration that he wasn’t understanding.

“He won’t lay a finger on you-“

“He already has!” You suddenly blurt out silencing Joel. An intense look in his eyes as he took a deep breath looking down at you.

“What did he do?” His voice was low, eerie like, suddenly he looked angry as you stood still before him.

“It was long ago” you whispered.

“Doesn’t matter” he quickly responded.

“I had told Tess, I never thought I would see him again….it was a year ago…I had nowhere to go and he said he would help me. He’s the man who raped me.” you looked down as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Did he come in here while I was gone?” He leaned in closer. You looked up and hesitantly nodded when he abruptly walked out past you charging down the hall.

“Joel!” You called out for him trying to keep up but all Joel could see was red.

“What are you doing?!” You yelled as he kicked the door open where Marlene and Edward both were. Without warning he yanked up Edward by his collar throwing him against the wall as Marlene stood up.

“Joel what the hell are you doing?”

“Stay out of this” he looked at her with a look you had never seen and grabbed Edward once again as he struggled to get on his feet.

“Whatever she said she’s a lying bitch!” He tried to poorly defend himself causing Joel to punch him repeatedly. In shock you stood in the doorway watching it all play out, Joel had lost complete control until Edward was a bloody mess.

“Oh my god-“ you whispered.

Joel stood up and walked towards Marlene who backed up not knowing what he would do.

“Give me the fucking keys” he spoke out of breath. Not even trying to fight him she opened the drawer and tossed him the car keys before he looked back at Eduardo.

“Should be more careful of who you have workin’ for ya. Got a rapist on your hands” Joel walked out of the room without looking at you in the eye, taking your hand he led you out.

In disbelief you walked alongside him trying to keep up, at one point looking behind you.

He still wouldn’t say a word.

Joel opened the car door for you and quickly got in the drivers seat before driving off.

Speeding down the road he didn’t take his eyes off it before abruptly pulling over. You could see him though the corner of your eye turning his body fully toward you, you didn’t know what to expect.

“You don’t ever keep somethin’ like that from me again. We clear?” You nodded in silence looking down at your lap.

“We would’ve never stayed there for even one night had I know what he done to you. You ever feel unsafe again I need ya to tell me and you tell me right away”

“Yes Joel” you whispered.

Turning back towads the road he pulled off feeling he came off kind of harsh towards you which wasn’t what he wanted. Unexpectedly you felt him place his hand on your lap bringing you a sense of calmness. He slowly entangled his fingers with yours without looking your way, you had no idea what this meant but one thing was for sure..

Joel made you feel safe.

[rayveneyed]

cw; suggestive / softcore smut, alcohol consumption (possibly dubcon), inappropriate workplace relationships, cisfem!reader

nanami kento is too old for fucking.

he tells you this at 1 am — in not quite as many words — a few too many somaeks in, lethargic and slow from the length of the workday. there’s enough alcohol in his system to have him silk-loose and soft, cursing more freely and allowing vulgarity (or what he considers vulgarity) to grace his ever-so-polite tongue.

you’ve never heard him like this before; you’ve never heard your straight laced coworker utter anything more than a family-friendly expletive (drat being a recurring character — old-fashioned, but endearing). but his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and his hair is mussed, and the blush of intoxication is rising to his sharp cheekbones — and yes, he curses. it almost sounds elegant when he does it. rolling over his tongue in his poorly-lit living room, where he’d only bothered to turn one lamp on; gathering with his voice like balls of cotton wool deep in his chest.

you yourself have had one too many drinks — that is why you find warmth pooling in your stomach at the sound of his confession, at the sight of his face illuminated in honey-soft light. after all, you’d never let the barrier of strained, charged professionalism drop otherwise. you’d never accept kento’s sudden invite for a nightcap after a night already filled with drinking, surrounded by tipsy coworkers at a local izakaya; you’d never let him help you slip your heels off, deft fingers unbuckling the strap from your ankle and lingering just long enough for you to notice. you’d surely never sit so close to him on his fancy 1.5 million yen couch — and you’d never, ever entertain the comment he’d made, one that he never intended for you to hear in the first place.

“what was that?” you say, coy, as if the comment hadn’t twisted something horrid in your gut. (as if you weren’t imagining him flushed from top to bottom, panting against your neck. it’s the alcohol, you’re sure of it.) “you’re too old for all that crazy stuff? like what?”

his adam’s apple bobs. he’s sitting slumped low next to you, his head hanging backwards against the back of the couch and his gaze somewhere on the high ceilings above your head, like he can’t face you. pretty. handsome. “sorry. i was just thinking out loud.”

“i know.” you take a sip of your own somaek. “but we’re both adults here, right? i mean, i agree. i’m not as flexible as i was at 20.”

his laugh is more of a surprised huff — like he’s just as surprised as you are that your conversation has steered into such uncharted territory. perhaps he’s surprised that he’s even responding to it — but he does, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. his thigh presses against yours through those infernal khaki slacks. “mm. me neither.”

you shoot him a cheeky grin. “you were getting folded like a pretzel, i presume?”

another laugh, tinged with incredulity this time. “mm. something like that.”

you both sit in silence for a moment. his apartment really is lovely — the kind of apartment you only get when you’re as diligent as nanami, putting aside money for years and steadily working his way up the hierarchal corporate ladder. high ceilings and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite his couch; a kitchen with a granite island; fancy furniture straight from an interior designer’s wet dream. it’s all neutral greys and browns, cozy and elegant and refined, and suddenly you wonder what his bedroom looks like. you take another sip of your drink.

“getting older’s not all that bad,” you say, almost offhandedly, speaking more to the tokyo skyline than your drinking companion. (you bet he has a double-king with fancy 500-count cotton bedsheets. probably some trinkets. man stuff like shavers and cuff links and aftershave.) “i like it slow anyways.”

a strange, choked sound leaves your drinking partner, and your eyes shoot over to him. you’re suddenly mortified at your careless blabbering — but drunk enough for your embarrassment to be eclipsed by a prideful ignorance. “huh? nanami-san, are you okay?”

he stares up at the ceiling once more. his throat bobs again. a slight blush has dusted the tops of his ears — but before you can linger in it, his eyes suddenly flicker to meet yours. you’re almost taken aback by it — the intensity with which his brown eyes suddenly bore into you, the sullenness and modesty from before pushed aside for something newer. something rawer. “…forgive me for my forwardness—”

“you’re forgiven.”

“—but, i…”

you swallow. he still hasn’t looked away. your breathing has stilted, stagnant and pressing, in your lungs. you fight the urge to press against the point where his thigh meets your own, already on the verge of squirming under his heady stare. “but…?”

straight-laced nanami kento breathes deeply, his chest moving with the force of it, and as his breath shudders out of him, he bites out: “i really want you, right now.”

your heartbeat rushes in your ears.

“but we’re coworkers,” kento continues, like he’s been sitting on it for a while — like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. his hand — the one not clutching his glass, the one laying on top of his thigh, flexes. “it’s unprofessional — completely inappropriate. i should be written up for simply confessing this to you.”

“but we—” you swallow around a dry throat — all moisture in your body seemingly gathering between your legs, hot and thrumming and nowhere to go— “we’re not working right now.”

a beat of silence.

kento finally looks away from you, and you can breathe again. you grapple with the sudden influx of air in your lungs, the anxiety of misstepping broiling in the pit of your stomach. while you internally struggle with yourself, nanami sets his somaek on the coffee table, before slumping back again.

“i suppose we’re not.”

unsurprisingly, kento does not make the first move. he just sits there, one arm behind his head and the other laying limp at his side, his chin tilted towards the sky and his eyes shut as if to sleep. it’s not in a way that might be construed as arrogance — this isn’t your high school boyfriend sitting back and waiting for you to pull down his pants — it’s pure and utter indulgence. climb over him if you want. kiss him when you want. cross the imaginary line drawn in the sand when it suits you — regardless, he won’t ever touch unless you explicitly make it clear that you want him to. desire curdles in your stomach, almost painful, and it's all you can do to scrabble onto your knees beside him.

before your anxiety takes control of your faculties — before you allow your cowardice to seize your limbs — you swing a knee to the other side of his hips. you're straddling him, close enough that you're sure you're sharing the same air, and — fuck, he's much bigger than you'd anticipated. he doesn't have the wiry, lean stature of the average salaryman — somehow, between sleeping overnight in the office and drinking at izakayas almost nightly, kento's frame is sturdy and large, muscular. like he works out often. you don't know how he does it with the long hours he puts in, but your thighs almost ache with the stretch of his hips between them — and pressed right against you, right where you're sensitive and aching and perhaps a little too needy, is his clothed cock. the slacks do little to camouflage the shape or hardness of it — in fact, you swear you feel it twitch when you seat yourself against it.

kento's eyes flutter open. his cheekbones are slowly reddening, his glasses hooked low on his nose bridge. his arms twitch where they lay, like he was about to move to hold you and thought better of it. you wish he didn't think better of it. "hi."

you give a little smile, hopefully looking less like you're brimming with excitable energy than you actually are. his lips really are quite close to yours. if you just leaned forward... "hi."

they're not chapped, his lips, but not shining with lip balm. they're soft looking and slightly pink, naturally down-turned in a way that makes him seem grumpy most of the time. but they're quirked up in a little smile, now, and all you can think about is how they might feel against yours. your lip gloss has long since rubbed off, between drinking and eating and drinking again, but would the remnants of glitter smear against his lips? would he come away tasting cherries?

kento clears his throat.

"i have to be honest with you," he says. he adjusts his glasses smartly, the way he does at the office, the way that has all the your female coworkers swooning. "i'm… passed the age of doing things no strings attached — that is to say, if—”

heart suddenly swooping in your chest — delighted at being indulged, of having your affections returned — and brain whizzing along like a child who's had too much sugar, you connect your lips with little fanfare. you're perhaps too enthusiastic — prodding his mouth with your tongue as soon as he'll let you, leaning forward until your chests press together and you can almost feel his heart beating through his skin. his lips are soft, after all. soft but weathered, moving so pleasantly against yours — and then his hands squeeze at the plushness of your hips, his teeth take your bottom lip between them, and—

you're panting when you pull away. panting and flushed and hot all over, barely an inch between you for fear of distance. you’re hot where you’re connected, so filled with nervous, excitable energy you think you might wither; nanami’s grasp on you, steel-tight and warm, does little to help. it’s all you can do to give yourself a second to recuperate, chest heaving — and nanami seems just as bad off. the usually well-kept salaryman looks a mess underneath you, with his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing uneven — even then, though, his eyes are far too intense for you to calm any.

“to be honest,” you say, "i’m — i’m a little too old for that, too, kento."

another small smile. the gap between you is filled once more. you both call in sick that morning.

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

______________________________________________________________

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[moonstruckme]

hi mum can we get more dr rem PLEASE :3

Always pookie <3

cw: implicit nausea and vomit, no description

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” 

The sound of his voice makes you smile even in your sorry state. “Hi, Remus.” 

“Hi.” Something softens in his tone; you like to think he’s smiling too. “I’m not late to pick you up, am I? I’ve only just got home from work.” 

“No, so did I.” You lean your forehead on the cool ceramic of your toilet tank, thanking your past self for having cleaned it just yesterday. “I actually…I’m sorry, I think I’m going to need a raincheck.” 

A pause. “Oh.” You wince at the disappointment in his voice. “That’s too bad. Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, I think I’ve just caught a bug,” you say. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much fun.” 

“You’re always fun,” Remus replies warmly, and you smile. “Are you not feeling well?” 

“Not great,” you hedge. You’ve been dating Remus long enough to know how he worries, and you don’t want that. “I’ll live, though. Maybe we can meet later in the week?” 

“Or,” he says, low and coaxing, “I could come over now and make you some soup.” 

You almost sigh, it sounds so nice. What you wouldn’t give to have him rub your back, carry you to bed and press a kiss to your brow. But you’re a mess right now, and you’re trying to save him from it. 

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” you say reluctantly. “Anyway, it’s not that kind of sick.” 

“Tell me your symptoms.”

“Ew,” you laugh. “Take me to dinner first, Lupin.”

“Well, I did try,” he says, and you can almost hear his smile through the phone. It catches just as easily as it does in person. “Seriously, love, how do you feel? Do you know what it is?” 

“Not necessarily, but it’s really not bad. I just don’t want to infect you.” 

“I could probably help.”

“But when you got sick I’d feel awful,” you tell him sincerely. “Thank you, but really, don’t worry about it. I’ll give you a ring when I’m no longer a biohazard, okay?” 

Remus harrumphs, but when he speaks his voice still crackles with fondness. “Alright.” 

“Thanks. Bye.” 

You hear him echo you as you lower the phone from your ear, setting it on the bathroom floor before following it down. You don’t feel secure enough in your stomach to leave the toilet just yet, so you curl up on the small mat by the shower and succumb to the exhaustion that’s been chasing you since lunchtime. 

~~~

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

You wake to a warm hand on your even warmer shoulder, startling a bit as you pull your face from the rug. Remus is looking down at you with an awful little crease between his brows. 

“Remus?” you ask, just to be sure. 

“Hi,” he says softly. “You didn’t sound this bad over the phone, you know. I’d have rushed if I knew you were about to take a nap on the floor.” 

You blink, trying to clear the fog from your brain. “How’d you get in here?” 

“You showed me the spare key when I took care of your plants, remember?” Remus looks a bit sorry, wedging a hand underneath your ribs to encourage you sitting up. “I did try to call, but I think you must have slept through it.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, getting upright and crossing your legs underneath you awkwardly.

He smiles thinly and sets a hand to your forehead. The gesture feels oddly intimate. You’ve slept with this man, met his friends, shown him where you keep your spare key, and somehow this feels intimate.

Remus makes a terribly lovely cooing sound. You think you might just die right here. 

“You’re burning,” he says worriedly. “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

“Since about lunch,” you admit. 

“Yeah?” He frowns, cupping your face in the basin of his palm. “How’d you fare at work?” 

“I got sick in the bathroom, but then I just finished out the day.” Remus’ frown is starting to look mortifyingly near to a pout. “It wasn’t this bad then, I don’t think. It got worse once I was home.” 

He hums. “Do you know how you caught it?” 

You glance at the toilet, horrified at the sight of your unflushed sick inside. “Some of my coworkers went home sick, but…look, Remus, it was really nice of you to come, but you don’t have to be here.” You say this with your cheek tucked into his palm, soaking up the feeling of his touch. “It’s way too early for you to see me like this.” 

“Oh?” One corner of his mouth twitches, but he keeps his expression curious. “Why’s that?” 

“Because…because.” You try to imbue your tone with some sternness. “It’s the standard progression of things. Peeing together, saying I love you, then you see me when I’m sick.” 

Remus nods, humming pensively. His thumb strokes at your cheek. “You want to pee together before saying I love you? That’s interesting.” 

You feel your face heat, which you didn’t know was even possible at this point. You thought surely you’d maxed out. “I’m serious.” 

“Alright,” he says. Soft, pacifying. “All that notwithstanding, I’m afraid I can’t leave you like this, lovely girl. I’ll avert my eyes if you want me to, but I’m really not too worried about seeing you any way you can be, so I think it might be easier on you if you didn’t worry about it either.” 

You wither. “But I’m gross.” 

He frowns. “You’re not. You’re just not feeling your best right now, and that’s fine. Let me take care of you.” 

You look at him for a few moments, and Remus looks back. His amber stare is steady. Finally, you give in to your more pathetic urges and nod. 

“Alright.” He gives your cheek another tender stroke. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again now?” 

“No,” you say meekly. It feels weird to discuss these things with him, but Remus acts like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

“Perfect. Think you can make it to bed?” 

You definitely can, but Remus still walks you the whole way, one arm around your waist and his attention cautiously on your feet should you stumble. He gets you situated under the covers, forbidding more than one blanket until your fever comes down, and goes back into the bathroom to get the supplies he’d brought with him. 

You hear the toilet flush and cringe, but he comes back out like nothing happened. 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring since you wouldn't tell me what you had on the phone,” there’s a bit of light admonishment to his tone as he sits on the edge of your mattress with a paper bag, “so I brought most of my medicine cabinet. Do you want some anti-nausea, or are you still alright for now?” 

“Yes, please,” you say in a small voice. Remus passes you a cup of water before shaking a pill into his hand. He watches as you take it. 

“You’re going to want to keep taking small sips of that,” he tells you. “It sounds like you’re right and it’s just a stomach bug, so we’ll probably keep you off solid foods for a little while. You just let me know when you’re feeling up to some crackers or something, okay?” 

“Okay,” you echo him. Your heart suddenly feels as warm and tender as if your fever were affecting it, too. You’re enamored with the idea that you could go to sleep, right now, and Remus would still be here to take care of you when you wake up. He’d probably hold your hand if you asked, or read you something, or just sit with you if that was what you wanted. It makes you feel pathetically teary to think of being so cared for. 

Something shifts in Remus’ expression. He looks at you more closely, pushing a piece of hair away from your face. 

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Just, thanks for coming.”

Remus smiles. “Changing our minds about the standard progression of things, are we?” But before you get a chance to hide under your covers and never come out, he leans forward, kissing your cheek. “Don’t mention it.”

[antimonyandthyme]

Wouldn't it be crazy...if carcar in the situational prompt list no. 60... one/both of them being hit with truth spell/serum

They’ve all been through it. Oscar isn’t special, or any more special than the nineteen other people who share a track with him. On the cusp of breaking into Formula 1, every one of them had someone who sat them down, acted all nice, like a friend they hadn’t seen in years, then pried them open to get a glimpse of anything rotten. Oscar’s just thankful it was Mark. Someone who Oscar knew cared for him, for real, and this way he could look past the interrogation and assign it some form of kindness. In true form, Mark had gone about it in the most awkward way possible, as only someone who hated doing the questioning as much as he hated doing the answering could, and that at least hadn’t made Oscar’s skin crawl.

Hey, uh, kid. Is there anything you think I should know? Uh, romantic, or otherwise?

Even then, he’d been defensive. His past life wasn’t for sale, newly minted F1 driver or not. The girl he dated for longer than he should have, the guy he kissed in maybe too public of a place. Even in the face of Mark’s sincerity, he’d been torn between honesty and mortification.

He doesn’t know why the memory’s popping up right now. It’s Vegas, and so many things happen in Vegas that outside of the race, not a single other thing bears significance anymore. Oscar doesn’t question it when she gestures him over, or when she points to a deck of cards, laid out on a low table like a trap. Something in the air here shakes out his sensibilities, loosens his tongue.

“Will you tell me who will win?” He pauses, backtracks. She might not even know who he is. There are no cameras around. “I could place a bet if you help me.”

“You aren’t a gambling man.” Her voice is strong, rich like an anchorwoman, completely unlike how he’d expected her to sound. “And anyway, you’ll live it out, tomorrow.”

Oh. So she does know.

The furrow between his eyebrows he cancels out with a bland smile. He gets the impression he should leave.

“I could tell you other things.”

“What other things?” It’s good to keep his mind distracted on the eve of a race. He’s always said that. Has he always said that? Well. He’s saying it now.

She draws a card. “The Fool.”

“Not a good start,” Oscar says. “I think I’m gonna—”

“Inexperience and improvisation,” she says. Her teeth are wondrously bright, straight like gravestones lined up in a row. “Not bad, all things considering.”

All things considering, being how this season is going? What does she know.

“I’ve read this somewhere before,” Oscar says. If it’s a fight she wants.

“The Suit of Swords,” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard him. “A logical mind and a spoken word.”

“You have a preplanned deck, for anyone who walks pass.”

“The Tower. Misery, distress. Unseen catastrophe.”

Oscar grits his teeth. “And then you use the same cards, in the same order, for every person. You’re purposely vague.”

“The Three of Wands. Stepping outside of comfort. Persevering.”

“Everything you say can apply to anyone,” Oscar says. This is as combative as he gets. “It’s all a trick.”

“Ah,” she says, and for a second, Oscar thinks he’s broken through, that she’ll snap at him, shoo him away. “But the Seven of Swords, reversed. A turning point. Starting anew.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says. Getting distracted on the eve of a race is folly. He’s always said that. Said that to Carlos, only a month or so ago.

“Only one remedy, for someone as recalcitrant as yourself.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says again, tongue like cotton. His feet stay right where they are.

She presses the last card into his hands. That video that had gotten viral years ago, the one where you could hand literally any item off to someone who was speaking on the phone. A shoe, a burger, a baby. This feels weightier than a baby. Oscar’s fingers open and close around the card, a wind-up doll dancing along to someone else's tune.

“Norris is winning tomorrow,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

--

They both went into it with the exact same intentions: to come out of it perfectly intact. It was such a foolish notion from the beginning that they were unwilling to allow any heartbreak over it. So stubbornly, wholeheartedly, they worked their damnedest to come out of it perfectly intact.

If he can look past the way his heart wobbles in his chest whenever Carlos so much as looks his way, Oscar will say it’s been a success. He goes to bed, wakes up, races, while forgetting the intimate press of Carlos’s lips against his. They have a renegotiated new normal, the distance between them adjusted to a boring meter. Just close enough so as not to appear frosty, but far away enough that their shoulders can’t possibly accidentally bump.

“Oscar,” George greets cordially. “Feeling good about today?”

“Like hell I am,” Oscar says, with all the earnestness of a puppy still learning how to use its paws.

Multiple calculations flicker across George’s face. Like how much he actually wants to get into it, and how best to weave his way out of it.

“Chin up,” George says, then turns to Alex.

Oscar rolls his eyes. Catches himself doing it, and makes a concerted effort to pull his eyeballs back down into place. It isn’t like him to be so careless with expression. People act like honesty’s a virtue, then jump back like it could scald the moment it pops up in conversation. He sidles away, and finds himself waving at the crowd, a painless armlength from Carlos.

He suddenly, fervently, hates night races. He’s exhausted. It must be why. When Carlos opens his mouth, says something entirely cordial and normal, like How are you, Oscar’s tongue wriggles itself and lets loose.

“I miss you,” he says. The words are out before Oscar can clap a hand over his mouth. “I feel like shit and I miss you.”

“Right,” Carlos says. Still waving at the crowd, but with his shoulders pushed all the way up to his ears. “And I’m Cleopatra.”

“You’re more beautiful than—aw fuck.” He actually bites his tongue. To stop himself from talking. He needs to stop talking.

“Oscar,” Carlos says. He looks a second away from bolting, except there’s not much place to go, being on a moving bus. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Recalcitrance,” Oscar recites. “And an inability to be honest. Fuck. Fuckkkkk.”

“I’m serious, Oscar. If this is some mind game, you can drop it, yeah? We’re both adults. We can be adults about this.”

“I can’t,” Oscar says pleadingly. “I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t stop wishing it could be different even though I know I was the one who—”

“Enough,” Carlos says, more hurt than Oscar’s ever heard him. This is what honesty does? Oscar should have burned those cards in front of that woman. “You can’t do this now, it’s not fair. After all you said before, you don’t remember that?”

“I lied, I’ve been lying,” Oscar says. “But I can’t now, apparently, you have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything,” Carlos says. “I don’t need you fucking up my race.”

“Lando’s going to win,” Oscar says miserably.

“You’re an asshole,” Carlos says, then goes to shoulder his way into some other group, and return to waving at the fans, leaving Oscar now a very painful one, two, three, four, five meters away.

--

Lando—wins? Then gets his win stripped away because of some penalty, moving Max up into first, Oscar into second, and Carlos into third.

She’s right, but only on a technicality. Oscar doesn’t want to give her that. And anyway, second place is pretty damn euphoric. He also gets to spray Carlos with champagne. Soak Carlos with it. Pretend the crinkles on Carlos’s face are for him.

He’s not thinking about his lack of filter when there’s a mic shoved up into his face.

“Obviously, I feel for Lando. It’s never a nice experience when you think you have something, but you don’t.”

Behind him, Carlos is waiting to give his interview. In front of him, the reporter’s face is suitably sympathetic.

“I mean, obviously, sometimes. It’s not even your fault. But sometimes—it is?”

“Right,” she says. “About the penalty, right?”

“Uh huh, the penalty. Sometimes it’s totally your fault. When you push people away.”

“You mean off the track?”

“Yeah, off the track,” Oscar nods fervently. He needs to buy this lady a bottle of wine, bless her. “But Lando will recover, the team will come back stronger.”

“Are you happy with your podium today?”

“Of course,” Oscar says. “I’m happy Carlos was up there with me. He deserves it. I’m happy he’s getting these podiums with Ferrari, so they can see—”

What they’ve given away, what they’ve pushed away.

Carlos is suddenly closer, behind him. Hand on Oscar’s lower back, subtle enough that no one else can see. Chiding, but gentle.

“—see him celebrate with this team.” Safer, but no less true. “I’m. Uh, very happy.”

“Right,” she says. “Just one more thing.”

“Ay,” Carlos says, in that lovely, good-natured way of his. “Is my turn now, no?”

“Of course,” she laughs, utterly charmed. “Oscar, thank you for your time.”

Carlos’s hand on his hip feels almost protective, the way he nudges Oscar away from the pen. Go, go. Button it up. You’re not for sale. Go.

--

Carlos examines the card under the neon glow of the strip. The waxy paper’s almost see through when he holds it up. You stare too long and in the end, you find you’re just looking directly at the lights, hurting your eyes. Unsurprisingly, when Oscar took him to where the woman had her little table set up, she wasn’t there.

“I think you got sold some snake oil.”

“I didn’t buy anything,” Oscar says.

“But you’re being made to pay,” Carlos says, grinning. “I’ve never heard you like that before. I’m happy for Carlos, just like that! To the media too. Impressive.”

“Go on,” Oscar says. “Kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry,” Carlos says, sounding like he means it. Oscar’s heart does that pathetic quiver before it rightens itself. Carlos is always so quick to retract his claws, the moment he thinks he’s drawn blood. “It’s just, you know, kinda nice, having you like this. You’re never like this.”

“You could.” Oscar swallows. Prays that he has it in him to be brave. “Ask me anything now. I wouldn’t be able to lie.”

Carlos looks at him, before looking down at his feet. “That’s cheating, no?”

“For you?”

“No,” Carlos says. “For you. You’re cheating, like this.”

Ah. If Carlos had been anyone else, maybe he could have just asked and spared them both the trouble. Something like, Hey, hey. Be honest. Do you have feelings for me? Instead, Carlos hands the card back. Unwilling to go for the jugular. Classic Carlos.

Oscar wants so much to take his hand.

He clears his throat. “Do you remember. Uh. Before you started in F1. Did you ever have to. Like. Go through all of your past with anyone? Tell them who you dated and stuff?”

“Ah,” Carlos says. “Eh. Well. My Dad mostly already knew everything.”

“I think Mark wanted the ground to swallow him up, asking me.”

Carlos giggles. “I bet you were very embarrassing.”

“I, uh. Wasn’t very honest with him.”

“Good,” Carlos says.

“Good?” Oscar says, like some lost puppy.

“Yes, good,” Carlos says seriously. “It’s not for anyone else.”

Oscar waits for Carlos to ask, even while knowing Carlos never would. Not like that. Ball’s in Oscar’s court, as they’d say. For when he finally works through his recalcitrance and inability to be honest. I don’t want to reveal you to the world. Risk you in the slightest, Oscar wants to tell Carlos. That’s why I said all that I said. That’s why.

The card’s not strong enough for that. Not when Carlos, who’s equally as stubborn, refuses to invoke its magic. He’s protective like that, Carlos. Oscar offers him a wobbly smile, an olive branch. All that he can give right now. Generous that he is, Carlos allows the distance between them to shrink to something almost friendly, almost enough to bump shoulders.

--

Just for the fun of it, Oscar goes back, a couple of hours before he’s due at the airport.

She’s there now, of course.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he says, placing the card back onto her table.

She tuts at him like she’s disappointed, but shuffles the card back into her deck anyway.

“Also, Lando didn’t win.”

“Boy,” she says. “Do you think I actually watch Formula 1? Run along now. Do this your own way.”

“I will,” he says. “Thanks, I guess?”

She laughs. Grins at him in a way that’s both sinister and encouraging. Were her teeth always gleaming gold? “Your flight’s going to be late,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

[skipper19]

Imagine this...

When a movie about the number two hero was announced, you immediately called your husband. After all, how could he not have told you there was a movie about him coming out!? This must have been an unofficial trailer. Surely, this wasn't true.

Lo' and behold, your husband didn't even know about it. But one thing was for sure, he was very angry. Keigo called his assistant, asking him why, in the hell, he did not know about this movie? His assistant didn't really have a good answer, something about low budget and "Keigo being too busy to worry about such matters." You, on the other hand, were so excited about this.

Sure, your husband didn't even get to play himself in his own movie, but you thought it was still so amazing that there was a movie about him at all! You begged and pleaded for Keigo to come watch it with you. It was in theaters right now. Everyone is talking about how awesome it is, and you have to watch it.

Keigos' pettiness was holding him back. For a while, he denied you. Absolutely not. He wasn't even in it. His own ego was bruised, and he just refused to go and watch that trash. Eventually, he did cave in. Keigo was never able to deny his pretty wife for a long time anyway.

Keigo wasn't mad, so to speak, he was very hurt. He worked so hard every day to save lives. He earned the respect and fans he's gained in his hero career. In his humble opinion, he did deserve a movie. He's been through some shit anyway, that's ought to get some views. Not that the movie could possibly be accurate to his life, no one but him, his wife, and the hero committee knew of his past.

But Keigo wished he would have at least been offered a cameo in the movie. And why in the world did the director not reach out and ask permission to make a movie about him? Keigo felt salty, for sure, but he sucked it up for you.

Keigo granted himself a day off and finally took you to see this movie. He hadn't even seen any of the trailers. He had no idea what this could possibly be about. But that didn't seem to stop you from bouncing in your seat as the lights dimmed. A large bowl of popcorn sat between you and Keigo as you also shared a drink.

Despite the lingering pout on his lips, a spark of excitement buzzed deep within Keigos chest. They made a whole movie..about him. Even his insanely good poker face broke from that pout as a smirk itched itself into his lips.

That excitement quickly faded away. No more smirks or happy giggles. No more playful banter. You and Keigo were in shock as you sat through this nightmare.

You should have watched the trailers.

Keigo was now very happy that he didn't star in his own movie because that was horrible.

You were both speechless as you exited the theater. Silence followed you both as you settled into the car. Neither of you could really say much. In summary, the movie was about Keigo, hurray, but if Keigo was a man whore douchebag that only became a hero for fame. Want a spoiler for the end of the film? He meets you (big yay) and becomes a better man after learning how to keep his cock in his pants.

At least you were in it...right?

Wrong. The actors who played your and Keigos' characters looked nor acted nothing like you. The acting/graphics were ass, and they somehow got your quirk wrong. Obviously, they couldn't mess up Keigos' quirk, but Keigo was still quite upset with how they portrait you as a helpless damsel in distress. The woman's boob's didn't even look like yours..though Keigo supposed he was glad no one else knows what exactly your boob's look like.

But as you both sat in the car, silent and awkward, a mumbled laugh broke the silence. Keigo glanced over and saw you, hiding your smile behind your hand, as you kept your face towards the car window. "What the hell are you laughing at?" He mumbled, a smile tugging on his lips. You could only shake your head and cover your face with both hands.

"Stop laughing!" Keigos voice turned to a whine. This made you burst out laughing, leaning over in your seat to clutch your stomach. Keigo crossed his arms and pouted. "I'm sorry honey, I really am. But that was the dumbest movie I've ever seen!" You cackled, tears forming in your eyes. Keigo couldn't stop himself from laughing as well. "It's not funny when it's about us -" He tried to sound stern. "- no, I know, I know! But the look on your face throughout the entire movie was priceless." You looked back up at him with a smirk. "My face? You should have seen your face when that woman started to strip -" Your smile fell, and you poked Keigos chest. "Hey, that's not fair! She didn't even look like me!" Keigo busted out laughing as you went on and on about the inaccuracy of the characters.

It wasn't long before Keigo started the car up and began to drive you both home. Sure, there would probably be comments and concerns about this movie in the future, but Keigo could feel the worry and pettiness wash away as he listened to your rant about the movie. Good and bad reviews.

Although, in the end, you settled on the bad reviews.

[volturissideslut]

First interraction with Marcus volturi and any character you want please 💗

𝕸𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖚𝖘 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

It was winter in Italy, and the coldest one yet. At least in your short lifetime. Visiting family and friends who lived here was always such good fun, though there wasn't as much to do here in the small town of Volterra in comparison to home. Yes there were markets and cafe's, but it still wasn't home.

The thought was shaken from you by the cold icy breeze. When you were a child and thought 'Italy', you were surrounded by the ideas of tanning and boats, gelato and galleries. Not the current minuses in temperature and frost, nor the redness of your nose and jutter in your shoulders. Just two weeks, and then home you shall arrive. But for now this pond isn't too bad a view.

"Cold, Tesoro?" A voice shakes you from your stupor, low and gravelly. Wizzing your head around to meet his gaze, you find eyes almost as black as the depths of the murky pond, onyx in a way unseen until now.

"A little, sir." As you speak you notice him begin to remove his cloak, a black that blends in with the midnight, looking as if it were a colour sample from the night itself. Your hand somehow raises itself, a motion attempted to stop him. And yet it does not. "I'll be fine. Really."

"Doubtful" is all he gives in return, taking a place by your side as if it was the most natural thing in the world - instinct. Your brows furrow and our heart quickens just the littlest.

"Who are you, anyway?" It comes out brash, rude almost despite you not having meant it this way. It would be understandable, though. A strange man wrapping his cloak around you in the middle of the night, and staying silently by your side. Luckily enough he chuckles, obviously finding something humorous about the moment.

"Who am I?" Though you cannot see his face as you both gaze upon the pond, you can hear the grin in his voice, the amusement he finds in this little interaction. "My name is Marcus. I occupy and own the castle grounds you are trespassing on, as well as the water and fish we are watching, tesoro."

"Trespassing?" You can almost feel life itself draining from you in dread of the trouble you might have accidentally caused. Who was he? Hopefully you hadn't somehow angered the man who owns a bloody castle. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I can lea-"

He stops you from removing the cloak he had draped over you, halting your voice with a simple hand raise. Figures it works on you and not the other way round. Finally, he turns his body toward you fully and allows you to see his full face. Pale yet inviting. Old and wise, yet young and hopeful. "There will be no need for that, dearest. You are welcome here. In fact, do you wish to see my library? Perhaps it shall be yours one day too."

And though every bone inside of you should be screaming stranger danger you cannot help but trust him somehow. Somehow, when your arm links with his you can do nothing but melt into his touch. Somehow, when you enter inside him warm and inviting home and learn of it all, you can't help but bare your neck and entrust yourself. Damned Italian winter.

Though you and your husband are now eternally colder.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART IV

************************************************************************

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER WARNINGS: major character death (?), more plot-driven smut, strong language, anxiety-inducing themes, panic attacks, co-dependency, hot n heavy but low-key emotional s*x. MINORS, DNI. 18+

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

When you do manage to get yourself out of bed and dressed for the day, which consists of an oversized long sleeved shirt that you stole from your uncle (because you liked it) along with some leggings and long white socks, you tell yourself to take a deep breath and accept whatever fate awaits you.

You've made your bed (literally, and figuratively speaking) so now you have to... well, not lie in it...

Anyway.

You walk downstairs to smell Steve at work in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious. Eddie sees you first, on the couch.

He grins and waves. "Mornin’, princess.”  

You smile and give him a little wave. "Howdy."

Robin walks in with a first aid kit to give him fresh bandages, visibly sagging with relief when she sees you.

“Oh thank God, you’re up. These kids are already on one...”

You can’t help but snort a laugh at that, taking in her frazzled state, and you ask her what you can do to help but she just says in a desperate voice, “Coffee, please, I love you.”  You grin and nod, hearing her and Eddie fussing over his dressing as you make for a hot cup of coffee.

You can hear the kids all around the corner, chirping lively from the kitchen. Even El is in there participating. Hopper’s voice is in the mix somewhere, grunting something about “indoor voices.”  Your uncle is arguing over something with Erica, balls deep in a heated debate.

When you round the corner, your eyes first land on Nancy. She’s sitting at the bar with Jonathan. She smiles at you shyly. Jonathan greets you out loud.

“Bauman Squared is up.”

The kids all get in a tizzy of excitement. Erica’s excitement is short-lived, given her intense debate with your uncle. But Dustin is rushing over to you, blabbering about something pertaining to the lifespan of canned goods, and Mike is chiming in from the table saying, “No, Dustin, hold up, okay?  So, Bauman, this is actually how it started.”

But your uncle cuts him off, asking them why they call you that when you both share the same last name. Joyce teasingly points out that he’s Murray and you’re Bauman.

Hopper adds to that, “yeah man, get with the program. Your niece is our favorite.” He shoots you a wink, and you give him a finger gun of approval.

Your uncle is rolling his eyes, but shoots you a desperate look — “Coffee. Black. Strong. Gracias.”   Erica resumes her debate with him.

You grin as you move to go get your uncle a much needed cup of coffee, finding that Steve has stopped flipping the pancakes to look at you with a soft smile and scooting over a hot mug of coffee to you. 

But it’s not for your uncle. It’s for you.

“Two sugar, light cream, right?”   

The way that Steve murmurs the question to you makes you weak in the knees. You settle for giving him a tight-lipped grin and nod.

“Yeah, thank you,” you murmur back.

Steve moves to grab another mug, moving to pour another cup of straight black coffee for your uncle. You can’t help but notice the curve of his biceps as he does, secretly admiring his face while the coffee pours from the pot. The way his white t-shirt fits him just right, his gray sweatpants sitting at the jusssst right point of his hips.

You swallow. Fuck.

You get a hold of yourself before he’s handing it over to you. He winks. “It’s strong. I promise.”

You smirk back at him, raising the glass in thanks before walking it over to your uncle.

You don’t notice the way that Steve tries to hide the overwhelming thoughts in his brain, signaling his evolving feelings for you.

And you also don’t notice now Nancy catches it, or how it uncomfortably makes her heart seize...

But you do notice your uncle staring at you with those damn all-knowing-eyes, while Erica incessantly jabbers on about whatever the hell they’re debating. You and Murray exchange the quietest but most intense glares.

And Hopper's got half a donut hanging out of his mouth as he happens to catch the tail end of this. He wants to ask, but decides it’s best to hold off on that.

***

The day goes well. The house is always staying busy, so it keeps you all that way. Hopper is calling for a family meeting in the living room, which gets everyone in a tizzy.

The boys will always, at some point, try to take over. It takes both Joyce and Hopper to set them straight.

Your uncle makes sure to throw in his usual statement: “peanut gallery hours will follow the meeting, thank you.” 

This meeting is no exception, and it goes exactly like that.

Will makes great points, as always — and he is allowed to, along with El, given their ties to the supernatural.

Jonathan and Nancy always listen the best. One of them takes notes.

Normally, you sit next to your uncle or Eddie while Steve always takes a seat next to Robin. 

But this time, as you sit next to Murray at the end of the couch listening to Hopper try to push through his conference lecture while Dustin interjects like crazy, your heart flutters as Steve moves from the staircase over to sit on the arm of the couch -- next to you.

You sit still, not letting yourself react or look up at him. But you also forget to breathe. Thankfully, he’s too busy telling Dustin to can it so he doesn’t notice.

Robin is slowly shifting back in her seated position in the large loveseat, having been prepared to make room for Steve. She’s too grateful to have it to herself to feel suspicious yet.

Eddie, however, clocks it. What “it” is, necessarily? He doesn’t know.  Like honestly, he’s not even in the ballpark.  But still, he notices so yay gold star.

Nancy does know what “it” is, though, when she catches it.  Or at least she has an inkling.  She’s not the note taker today, so she’s able to catch it. She wonders to herself if maybe she is just overthinking it, given her conflicted feelings for Steve while still with Jonathan.

Steve is actively participating in the conversation with the adults, and you chime in as well. Once you’ve gotten a grip on yourself.

Something is being said about needing to go on a supply run, but also how they need to get over to the main field and see what is happening at the lab — which is now squared off with all electric fencing. The kids are LOUD, demanding it be them. Hopper shuts that down real fast.

“So help me Goddddd, listentome.” — Hopper

“Kids, shh, calm down…” — Joyce

“FETUSES, SILENCIO.”  — Murray

The kids relent with rolled eyes and groans of displeasure. Hopper rubs his temples, resetting.  Then speaking —

“I will be assigning roles. You will hear them, and you will accept them.  Deal?”

Everyone nods, agreeing. Even the kids. Great, you think, so they’ve learned to know better than push their luck that far…

Hopper is assigning 4 separate groups to 4 separate tasks. 

In one group: Robin, Nancy, Will and Joyce. They will be making the supply run.

In the 2nd group: Dustin, Erica and Murray will be staying here to run the command center. Murray’s the boss. He grins, but also wants to jump off a cliff for the fact he has been assigned the responsibility of managing the two loudest kids in the group. Lucas will also stay with Max, while on lookout at base.

In the 3rd group: Hopper, El, Mike and Argyle as the driver. They’ll be assessing the damage done, pertaining to the gate re-opening. They’re on Vecna patrol.

In the 4th group: Jonathan, Steve, you and Eddie. You’ll all be venturing over the fence to spy on the lab and get a look at what is happening over there, while reporting back to Group 2.

This sends Dustin to a fit of determination, as he insists that he joins your group so that he can help with the walkie-talkie communication since Lucas and Erica can man the fort. (Murray definitely takes offense to that.)

Hopper huffs but doesn’t disagree with the suggestion. “Don’t let this give you any sort of false pretenses, kid. This is the one suggestion you’ve made that is sensible.”

Dustin just grins like a dopey idiot. Then he looks at Steve. “Yay!”

Steve rolls his eyes but honestly, he’s cool with having his buddy.

The plan is to go into effect early tomorrow morning. Meaning, everyone needs to get some good ass sleep and tuck in early.

You’re in your room now, having just showered and put on your pajamas with freshly brushed teeth. You’re putting together your combat outfit for tomorrow when there’s a knock at your door.

You expect it to be your uncle, since earlier he was going over strategies with you for an obscenely long time — which is his very awkward way of indirectly saying, “hey, you’re my niece and I love you and I’m worried about you because that’s what family does.” So you figure he’s drawn up another 10 plans to run by you, and you're happy to humor him on them.

But it’s Steve on the other side, looking shy and like he might’ve had to talk himself into doing this in fear of how you might react.

You give him a surprised but pleasant smile. He stands there, returning it timidly. There is a silence that falls over both of you. Then finally —

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

You have to literally restrain yourself from jumping at that question with a way-too-eager oh thank god, yes. Instead, you just give him a polite grin.

“Yeah, of course,” you say.

Steve lets himself in, and he looks over to see your outfit set aside for tomorrow. He nods at it as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Tryna look badass?”

You smirk. “I am a badass. I’m a Bauman.”

You expect Steve to scoff. To roll his eyes. Make some snide remark. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, with that same look on his face that he had this morning while you two laid in bed together. You can’t break away your gaze for a moment, almost hypnotized.

God, he is so beautiful. Why the fuck is he so beautiful?

Finally, you break the stare down by moving to get your combat boots out from the closet and place them beside the clothes.

And that’s when you feel it. His fingers brushing the edge of your t-shirt, hooking onto it so that you turn around. You do, letting him turn you to face him. He’s looking at you intently, and slowly he pulls you towards him to cage you between his spread legs as he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s half shy, half confident. Gentle but assertive. You stare down into his doe eyes, and you hold your breath when his fingers splay across your hips as they grip onto you. You’re so close to him now, too close yet somehow not close enough. You can’t breathe.

After soaking you in, Steve reaches one arm up to pull your neck down to his face so that he can brush the tip of his nose against yours, just like you did last night. Ever so slowly, be nuzzles. Eskimo kiss.

And then his lips are finding their way to be against yours.

Steve kisses you softly, taking his time and just breathing you in. Then he sighs into your mouth as he stands so that he can lift you up, making you swing your legs to wrap around his waist and hold yourself to him there. He turns you both around, effortlessly walking you over to sit on top of the chest of drawers. Damn, he's strong. Steve places you there, lips still on yours, before he finally pulls back.  His hands glide down to the bottom of your shirt. Please, his eyes ask. But this time, he wrenches your shirt off of you with more vigor than last night. It’s urgent, and it’s still urgent when his lips crash back into yours before wrenching himself back again so that you can tug his shirt over his own head. He grunts impatiently, wanting to not be apart from you yet needing to be skin to skin. He paws and grabs at you, needy and greedy, but something about it feels a whole lot more like love than lust.

Steve tastes like summer. Sunscreen, popsicles and June. He smells like pool water and boyfriend. And he looks like a dream. 

You wonder how in the world he would have felt if he’d been told during his King Steve era that one day, he’d be having sex with that one student who graduated a year early and didn’t belong to any niche crowd or group or clique. You wonder if he would scoff at that, wave it off. Say, nah, that girl? Never.

But the way that Steve keens into your neck right now, murmuring sinful names for you like angel and baby, makes you wonder if King Steve wouldn’t be able to understand that the new and improved Steve Harrington might just happen to be into things he never was into before. Maybe he’d gotten close with Nancy. Maybe you were a rebound. But he didn’t kiss you like that. Or treat you like that after your first time, for that matter...

And the second time was just as euphoric as the first time, just different. Steve was more in control, clinging to you and unafraid to go for it.

Before you know it, you’re up against the wall with your bare chest against it and your legs spread widely and his mouth on your ear. Tugging at your earlobe with his teeth and his shaky breathing, infused with his pleasured grunting humming inside of your eardrums. You pant and bite back the screams that you so fucking badly want to release. but you don't, not wanting to wake the entire household or get the attention anyone awake.  However, you made sure that he knew you were in pure fucking bliss with the way you arched your back into him and dripped all over his girth.

“Been wanting to be here inside you all day,” he rasped, thrusting against you. “Didn’t wanna leave this room.” His words break up as he pounds himself deeper into your guts. “Needed to — to — n-n-need you —”

You throw your head back against him, climaxing at his words for the second time in a row tonight. His arm linked around your waist tightens, gripping you like a lifeline, and he chokes into your ears — which only sends you into an orgasm unlike anything you’ve ever felt in your life. And Steve shares the exact same experience as you do when he ejaculates inside of you.

You both pant and gasp for air, your heart rates racing at lightning speed and trying to level out. You’re both slick with sweat and sex, and as Steve rests his head against your shoulder it sends chills up your arms when his hair flops and tickles your bare skin.

Steve pulls out of you, and you shiver as you feel him leave your body, inch by inch. The loss of him is overwhelming, and your legs shake. But before you can even move to catch yourself, Steve is already turning you to him with a steady grasp on you.

The way that Steve strokes your hair, moving it out of your face as he stares into your eyes again, is priceless. You can’t help it…

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington.” You breathe it against his face, still catching your breath. The corners of your lips twitch, almost like you want to laugh or smile. “I can’t stand you.”

Steve looks at you like you’re all that matters in this world. The pads of his thumbs stroke the skin under your eyes, softly, gingerly. He moves to press his lips to the corner of your mouth, breathing against it, “I can’t stand you either.”

Feather-like kisses are pressed to the corner of your mouth and cheek, and you revel in the glory of it, pressing your skull into the wall with your eyes fluttering shut.

Steve falls asleep first that night, with you tucked underneath his chin and with his arms holding you protectively. You let the sound of his steady breathing lull you to sleep.

***

The next morning comes sooner than you’d like.

You feel someone squeeze you tightly to them, pressing their lips to the crown of your hair before they roll out of bed. You watch as Steve’s back muscles flex while he tugs his sweatpants back over his boxers, then throws his shirt back on and heads to your little en-suite bathroom for a few minutes. You force yourself to sit up, knowing that it’s time and you’ll need to get ready.

Hopper would be so mad if he knew about the 5 hours of sleep you got, versus the 8.

You’re pulling out a pair of socks to go with your boots when Steve emerges from the bathroom, and before you can stand up and move to switch places — he’s cupping your cheeks to kiss your forehead in two lingering pecks. You smile under his touch.

You give him the shyest of looks before going to brush your teeth, re-shower and get changed.

Steve quietly murmurs to you the promise of coffee as he leaves. And he is all you think about in the shower.

You get changed into your army pants, combat boots, and fitted t-shirt. You grab yourself a windbreaker and throw your go-bag over your shoulder, ready to face the day.

Dustin is securing the command center with Murray and Erica, while Mike comes over to you carrying snacks.

“Here, I set extra aside so that you have plenty.”  Mike always treated you more like a sister than Nancy, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her. You ruffle his hair and give him a quick squeeze, grateful.

Lucas and Will are asking you questions about the trip, along with Mike, and you assure your kiddos that you’ll all be fine.

Hopper comes over to you with Murray, entrusting you with one of their guns. “You’re the group's team lead today, along with Steve.”

Steve’s got his nail bat, along with a pistol.

Murray is going over the inner workings of the lab’s field layout with you and your group.

“The break switch is in this building,' he's saying. "But thanks to Erica and Dustin, we’ve got a way of hacking into it at exactly this time. You’ll have this much time to mount the electric fence and get to the other side. Seize. Those. Minutes. Haul ass. Get to the other side.  No asking why the chicken crossed the road. Capiché?”

The way that Jonathan, Eddie and Steve repeat the word back to him makes you visibly bite back a laugh.

Joyce is giving everyone the nurturing mama bear talk, hugging everyone too many times — especially Jonathan. She has Will in her group, so she’ll be a little more sane in the head thankfully.

Nancy and Jonathan are giving each other an affectionate goodbye that Steve doesn’t even notice. Nancy wonders if he does. Silently, and selfishly, she hopes he does. But he doesn’t.

Robin is rambling about something having to do with a jump-ship plan in case the jump-ship plan doesn’t work, and if they need to establish not only a 2nd abort —

“— but maybe even a 3rd abort? and wait is there really enough backpacks that they’re taking to fit all the supplies and can goods that they — ”

“Oh my god, Robin, please breathe,” Steve cuts her off.

“Wait, what’s the jump ship plan?” Argyle’s question makes everyone whip their head in his direction with incredulous looks on their faces.

Hopper looks ready to slug someone but also like a nervous dad. After he goes back over the plan for everyone, giving the bullet points, he tells you all to eat your breakfasts and be by the front door within 30 minutes or else.

Lucas takes his plate up to sit with Max. El comes over to talk with you about the day, saying that she’ll send a signal if she sees anything dangerous headed your way at the lab. She gives you a tight hug, which tugs at Hopper’s heart. He and Murray share a very rare, quiet moment with an exchange in their eyes. Our girls.

Steve is telling the boys and Erica to follow him upstairs to Max’s room to join Lucas for a motherly pep talk, and they all follow him like chicks following a mother hen.

Eddie is being given strict instructions by Robin to follow orders and not rip his stitches that she’s worked hard at keeping in tact by mounting the wall --

...“and be on the damn lookout only so help me god or else I’ll rip them back open myself,” she threatens him.

Eddie visibly swallows and nods at that, believing her.

Suddenly Nancy is walking up to you, as you stand there still hugging El while looking over Murray’s shoulder at his computer system setup. She looks nervous as you turn to her.

“Hey, umm, keep an eye on them, will you?” she asks shyly, sheepishly. “I worry about them. Especially Dustin.”

You know she meant Steve. “Yeah. Of course.”

Nancy nods awkwardly, grateful you didn’t correct her and a little embarrassed. She points to the gun on your back, giving you a tight-lipped grin. “Glad it’s you handling that bad boy.”

She flashes the same one across her back. You chuckle lightly, agreeing with her. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for Eddie to get his hands on this or else he’ll murder the whole town.”

Nancy giggles.

Eddie snickers at the joke, appreciating your dark humor. He gives you a wry smile. “Thanks princess, but I only prefer bone crushing, eye sucking curses.”

You all eat some whole wheat eggos (even El) and some scrambled eggs. Plenty of water, plus some coffee.

Steve walks in to scoop up his plate during the last 10 minutes, and Hopper takes pity on him — given that he’s been with the kids.

“You get an extra 5,” Hopper tells him.

“Appreciate it, Hop.” 

Steve carries his plate over to the table, moving to sit by you and Murray — who does his best to just stare down at his coffee and ignore catching this in his peripheral vision. Sip, slurp.

It’s a quiet breakfast. Tense. Stiff. Everyone is nervous. This stuff never does get easier…

***

The kids all boom back down the stairs, loud as ever.

And everyone is out the door on time, minus the extra 5 minutes that Hopper secretly gave for Steve’s benefit. Thankfully, it goes unremarked but the kids.

You all put their hands in a circle because Dustin insisted a while back that you cannot all part ways without a group huddle. So it’s now become tradition. Everyone fist bumps in unison, and the four groups embark on their separate journeys.

Group 1 does well, making it into town. They have the bottom tier level of risk, which Hopper did intentionally for Joyce and Will's sakes because those are his hearts. He also adores the two girls, Nancy and Robin, of course. They carefully fill up Joyce’s car in doses, trying not to attract attention as everyone has a strict evacuation mandate that goes into place next week along with a food supply limit. They’re ahead of the game, doing everything not to give away what Dr. Owens warned them about.

Group 2 is in full swing, back at Casa Harrington. Erica and Murray bicker like a married couple, but they also high five. Lucas makes sure that Max is safely tucked in, giving her a kiss on the forehead and a promise to be back upstairs in a few hours.

Group 3 is cautious. They have to calculate every single move, given the risks. El uses her senses to tap in, blindfold on and static on the van's radio ringing throughout the car. Mike keeps watch, along with Argyle at the wheel — and Hopper navigates.

Group 4, your group, is en route. You have the longest journey to make on foot, making sure to keep their strength. Jonathan keeps watch of time, and Dustin hangs into the walkie-talkie to keep contact. You scan the area, and so does Steve, as you all walk. Eddie sings to himself to keep from wigging out, and it’s definitely giving mumbled panic.

You are telling everyone the ETA, using the compass. Steve tells the gang to keep the same pace so that they make sure they aren’t there too soon or too late, wanting to time it right with Group 2’s orders.

At some point, you gesture for everyone to pivot directions, and when Steve steps in your direction — he instinctively reaches out to brush the small of your back. It’s so subtle… yet so telling.

Eddie cocks an eyebrow mid-song, ceasing the mumbling altogether for about 2 solid seconds, before resuming as he walks. Even Jonathan raises an eyebrow, silently smirking.

Dustin misses it entirely.

Then Dustin starts communicating back and forth on the walkie-talkie with Erica, and as they start to bicker Steve interjects.

“Hey, dingus, cool it and listen to what she’s saying, please.”

Dustin huffs, whining, “but she’s wronnnng...” 

You squint in the sunlight as you look back at him, saying simply, “Listen to your mother.”

Steve doesn’t even flinch. You both just look back at your son expectantly. Dustin sighs but obeys.

Oh that definitely makes Eddie and Jonathan share a look.

Back at base, Murray is struggling to access the switch for the electric fence closest to where Group 4 (you guys) is approaching. He and Erica work hard at it, and Lucas helps as he keeps open the line of communication with Dustin via the walkie-talkie.

“This east side gate is a bitch,” Murray is griping over the channel.  “Hang tight, just pause when you guys make it there.”

Dustin and Lucas are going back and forth, while Jonathan tries to keep up with what they are all saying. 

You can see the fence up ahead, and so does Steve. 

Eddie’s singing gets louder.

Nancy speaks over the walkie-talkie channel: “Group 1, reporting.  Over.” 

Dustin speaks.  “Group 4, tuned in.  Over.” 

The other groups tune in, too.  Nancy continues in a hushed voice.  “Food supply is running low so we’re going to double up.  The mandate will be really strict.  Can’t take chances.  Over.” 

Jonathan tells her to keep them posted with the ETA.

El comes onto the walkie-talkie, asking for you. 

You take it, speaking: “Bauman squared, I copy.  Over.” 

Eleven tells you that she can see you all headed there to the lab, and that no one is nearby.  You’re safe. 

Hopper adds: “But Eddie, make sure that you stay tuned into this channel and relay it to Dustin just in case.  Over.”

Eddie’s song of woe dies on his lips with an anxious exhale.  “Roger that, over.”

Steve speaks up, “Alright guys, we’re here.” 

Dustin signals Murray, right on cue.  You all stare up at the looming electric fence in front of you.  It’s tall.  At least 30 feet up.  You gulp.  So does Jonathan.  For Steve, it’s easy.  For Dustin, well, it’s exciting.

Jonathan adds to the relayed info, addressing Murray, saying, “Yeah, uhhh, it’s pretty high up man?” 

Murray’s tone comes through, crisp.  “How high is high?” 

Jonathan visibly shrinks back as he squints in the sunlight. “Like...25-30 feet?”

Murray curses on the other side, frustrated.  “Alright, hold please.”

Steve turns over to face you all, starting with you.  “It’s gonna be a helluva climb.”

You nod.  “We’ll have to double up the speed, guys.  But for safety, let’s just do two at a time.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  “Why?”

You tell them it’s safest this way.  This way, two people can gauge the timing of it just in case.  Dustin immediately demands to go in the first group, which Steve shuts down promptly — like all good mothers would with their favorite child.  He starts to onboard Jonathan, but you’re already saying you’ll go as you tighten up your bag.  Steve looks at you, hesitant. 

You look back at him, giving him a nod.  “No arguments.”

Steve sighs through his nose.  “Yeah, I figured as much.” 

He’s so sexy when he isn't actually hating you, and instead just consistently miffed with you…

“Group 4, listen up,” Murray’s voice comes over the walkie-talkie.  “I’m signaling the switch now.  On my mark, it will take exactly 3 minutes for it to activate.  You’ll have 60 seconds to climb it.  Up and down.  That’s it.  Remember what I said: haul ass.”

Dustin responded back with a sigh, “Steve and Bauman Squared insist on going two at a time so…”  He dreads the next question, cringing before asking.  “Any chance you guys can…do it…twice?”

You turn around, waiting to hear your uncle’s reply and wondering if you’ll need to step in.  His befuddled response confirms, yes you will, and you walk over to take the walkie.

“Uncle Murray, it’s not very sturdy.  It’s too big a risk, four at a time.  If you can’t do it, then just me and Steve will go.  What can we do?  Over.” 

You speak matter-of-factly, which Steve appreciates.  He stands with his hands on his hips and tongue between his teeth, all hot and mom-like.  Even though for you...he’s giving daddy.

Eddie has been pacing a trough into the grass.  Please let me have company, he thinks.

Jonathan’s just quiet, wondering if now is a good time to tell everyone that he’s actually afraid of heights. 

Dustin just wants to fucking climb already.

“Workin’ on it.  Standby.”  Your uncle’s monotone voice makes you all wait. 

You stare up at the fence while you do.  Then, turning your face over in Steve’s direction, you find that he’s already gazing over at you.  That fondness in his eyes is back, and you feel your cheeks flush under the sun.  But it’s not the sun making you blush.  Steve's hands are still on his tips, and he gives you a tiny wink before turning to look back at Dustin with the walkie-talkie.  He tells his kid not to stress about it if they can’t come, which only starts a back-and-forth argument between mother and son.  But Erica’s voice cuts through it over the walkie.

“Group 4 nerds, listen up.  We found a way to do it.  Over.”

Dustin pumps his fist in glee.  Jonathan doesn’t.  Eddie realizes he’s doomed, back to being there all alone. 

Steve takes the walkie, asking, “Same timeframes, Murray?  Over?” 

Your uncle confirms it, but then Lucas is in the background saying, “Wait, are you sure this will give them 60 seconds?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at that.  But you’re looking at the top of the fence.  The end of the other side of the line is quiet for a hot minute.  No doubt, Murray and the kids are beefing.  Re-calculating.  Beefing some more.  Getting attitudes.  Then finally —

“Erica to group 4, confirming.  Timeframes are exact.  Wait for us to signal the 2nd climb.  Standby and brace for 1st climb.  Over.”

You and Steve look at each other.  Here we go.  He fastens his backpack, reaching out a hand to you and telling you to hand over yours.  You go to protest, but he’s just insisting without budging and reaching anyway.  It isn’t until his hand starts to slide the strap down your shoulder that you huff and relent. 

“30 seconds to climb.”

“There’s a ledge up there, wide enough to stand on.”  You nod up at it as you tell Steve.  “If we run low on time, we hang there until the 2nd climb.” 

Steve nods at you, agreeing.  He turns and relays that to a very anxious Jonathan and a very antsy Dustin.  You gesture over to Dustin, telling him to toss you his backpack.  Steve goes to argue but you hold up a hand. 

“Better me than him," you say quickly. It’s a parental thing that he would insist on too, so he lets you win that one. 

Dustin obeys after seeing mom agree with…um…dad? Are you dad?

“10 seconds to climb.”

Steve talks fast, in position to pounce.  “Eddie, on go, toss that branch to hit the fence.  Double check for sparks.”  Eddie nods, picking up the large branch nearby.  You get in position with Steve.

“5…4…3…2…1…climb!”

Eddie tosses the branch.  No electric shock.  All systems go.

You and Steve hop as high as you can, climbing up like champs.  You both hustle, swiftly making the climb like pro climbers.  Steve is faster, planning to reach down and lift you the rest of the way if he gets to the top first.  But you’re almost right at the same level with him, almost at the top.

…until your bag catches.

The strap of Dustin’s bag pulls you back down.  Air catches in your throat, no scream escaping your mouth as it swings you around, unhooks and makes you fall back some feet.  But you latch back onto the wall, back down to midway.  Fuck. 

Dustin gasps, Jonathan shouts your name.  Eddie starts his shit-shit-shit chant. 

You look down, realizing that it’s way too far of a drop to just fall back down and start over.  You are literally back to the mid-way point. 

You make up your mind within a few seconds: keep going.

Steve is hoisting himself up onto the thick ledge as this is happening, and when he turns to see you lower his heart stops. 

“Bauman, what happened??"

But you keep climbing, shouting, “Steve, just keep going.” 

But Steve is not having that.  He’ll fucking wait.  Hell, he’ll wait for Dustin too.  He’s staying put.  He shakes his head, clapping his hands and reaching for you even though you still have another fourth of the wall to mount before you reach him.

“30 more seconds.”  Oh thank God, that’s plenty.

”You got this, Bauman, c’mon...” Steve’s ready to hold you again.  Anxious.  So fucking anxious.

Dustin is cheering too, along with Eddie and Jonathan.  You’re fine.  Almost there.

You look at Steve at the top, leaning over the side looking down at you. You can see the anxious anticipation in his brown eyed gaze.

“20 more seconds.  Group 2, don’t forget to wait for our signal.”

But right as Murray stops talking — the wall buzzes. 

Everything happens in slow motion.  One second feels like a whole minute for all 5 of you in your group.  Your ears perk up at the sound.  That wasn’t an insect.  That’s mechanic.  That’s —

“Was that —”  Eddie barely started to ask the question you were all wondering.

“Fuck, Bauman — !!! ”  Jonathan’s voice is panicked with realization.

Steve’s brow furrowed, alarm and horror sweeping across his entire face.

You feel a scorch so hot, fire itself couldn’t have burned as badly as the electric shock that shot through your entire body did. 

In that single second, you felt your brain short circuit.

You felt your hands get shoved away from the wall, throwing you off with blinding force.

You felt your throat snap, and you felt your heart rumble inside of your chest...

And then you felt it stop.

*****************************

:( im sorry, Steve.

author notes: I am sure that the fence thing might be weird and not accurate, but it helped my vision for how this chapter goes down. so I hope you all will be kind and not find it too "unrealistic." had to watch some stuff like the OG Jurassic Park, and get ideas for it.

tag list: @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @xprloki @eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hai um, can you do like, Rengoku x Reader who struggles with body insecurities? Mainly like, the tummy or back plush?

HELLO! Yea!

I did already do Rengoku x chubby!reader but I don't ever think there can be enough of the sunshine man, so yes, yes I can!

There are 3 things in Demon Slayer I refuse to accept: 1) that the breathing styles don't actually create the cool effects, 2) that thing about what happens after they activate the slayer marks, and 3) that Kyojuro has a six pack. My boy lives on copious amounts of carbs and fried food and has a little squish himself (also it just makes sense for a swordsman to have extra padding- would you rather get stabbed through your muscles and internal organs or a couple of inches of fat? Anyway...)

KYOJURO X CHUBBY READER- Tummy Edition.

(God I fucking love him)

NSFW beneath the cut. GN!Reader. TASTY.

You're at the kitchen sink washing sweet potatoes for dinner when Kyojuro comes up behind you and hugs as he often does, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pressing his lips to your neck.

He feels you tense up slightly. You stiffen in his arms and your hand defensively goes to capture his wrist.

He knows immediately what's wrong. He's very good at reading people and this has happened before. You're concerned about your tummy again.

"You're so beautiful," he assures you, his voice soft and low against that spot just below your ear. "Inside and out."

You try to cover your vulnerability with humor and hold up one of the vegetables in your hand. "Nah, I look like this."

His thick, black eyebrows slant in concern, "Now, sunflower, you know how I feel about sweet potatoes. They're beautiful too. But..." He loosens his hug a little to place his hand across your belly. "They're hard and un-cuddleable, and you're soft, so the comparison doesn't really hold up beyond you both being my favorites."

You smile and he leans into you, kissing your temple. "Did someone say something to hurt you?"

"No, it's just a feeling." You look down, as the weight of your insecurity crushes you.

"Hm," he hums thoughtfully.

He turns you round to face him and gets down on his knees, gazing up at you with adoration and reverence. He takes your hand in his and gives it a soft squeeze.

"I need you to listen to me, but I will repeat it as many times as you need me to. You are beautiful to me. I adore every aspect of you, and that includes your softness."

He tells you this with the utmost sincerity and gentle kindness, his thumb stroking circles on the back of your hand as he speaks.

And when he's done and you nod your head in understanding, he pulls you into an embrace, resting his cheek on your stomach and smiling to himself.

He's telling the truth too; he will absolutely tell you how wonderful you are to him however many times it takes and he means it wholeheartedly.

No matter what your insecurity is; your tummy, your back, arms, thighs, chest, he adores you and thinks you're the most wonderful person. His very favorite person, in fact.

Now... when it comes to insecurities about your body during sex, Kyojuro is just as supportive, but he will show you how much he appreciates your body, as well as simply telling you.

OBVIOUSLY Kyojuro is King of Going Down and he will happily spend forever between your thighs, but if you're self conscious about your tummy he's gonna make a little stop there first.

He'll kiss it all over telling you how gorgeous you are, that you're precious and wonderful and worthy.

He'll get so wrapped up in your loveliness he'll forget how loud he is.

*kiss* BEAUTIFUL! *kiss* GORGEOUS! *kiss* SEXY!!

You laugh because your lovely man is just so effusive with his love and appreciation of you, and it's impossible not to feel it.

And then he'll wipe that smile off your face as his kisses trail lower...

While he's going down on you, he'll lay his arm over your stomach. Since he can't hear well (especially with your thighs cradling the sides of his head) your belly tells him a lot about how you're enjoying yourself.

He pays attention to the rhythm of your breaths, the tension in your muscles and the way your soft body moves with them.

He LOVES the way your lower belly tenses when you're right on the brink.

And when he's made you cum he'll make sure you're fucked right.

He never gives you less than his all.

He'll either press down into you, relishing the soft, plush warmth of your body against his

or he'll have you ride him; half-closed fiery eyes drinking in the sight of you, hypnotized by the way you move.

"Beautiful~" he whispers, because he simply cannot hold that thought in.

He just adores you.

No matter what, his love for you burns bright, and he'll spend his life trying to get that fire to spread to your heart too.

[kanencrow]

The Devil's Lettuce - Natalie Scatorccio | One Shot

Summary: You wake up from a nightmare that leaves you rocked and puts you into a state of restlessness, and Natalie comforts you in the only way she knows how.

Warnings: Smoking, Swearing.

A/N: All characters are 18+ by default. Is it surprising if I say that this is another one shot that I had laying around in my drafts for the past year and a half? No? Maybe? Yes? Anyway, here this is for anyone who's wanting some Nat-Scat content.

Word Count: 2900+

You shot up from the floor with a sharp gasp.

The world around you was dark as your hands slammed against the floor to brace yourself the moment you sat up. You hunkered your head low and panted sharply, and you swore you created holes in the blanket you laid on when your fingers curled in to grip the fabric. You attempted to ground yourself, and your wish of calming down seemed to come true on its own when you felt a hand gently rest itself on your shoulder. The touch was firm, but it didn't hurt you. Instead, it snapped you out of your fear, and it forced you to lift your chin up and look forward, only to meet the comforting eyes of Natalie, who stared at you with a profound amount of concern in her gaze.

"You okay?"

You immediately shook your head and shuddered out what you could only describe as a breath. You were certain that you sounded as though you had been strangled and were attempting to get your bearings back. Natalie seemed to understand such, when she shuffled closer to you, squeezing between your right leg and the wall you slept next to, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to pull you into her collarbone. You allowed her to do so, while her other limb wrapped around your body, holding you in a hug that you knew was going to eventually become uncomfortable with the way you both were positioned.

Still, even with that backend thought, you melted into her physical comfort and closed your eyes, as you attempted to overcome the fear that your nightmare instilled in you. You couldn't cry, or even speak about what you dreamt, but it was clear that Natalie wasn't planning on questioning you. She simply clutched you tight and looked towards the ladder that led up to the attic – the same attic where Taissa had found the body of the person who once lived in the cabin. Just before you woke, she had to soothe Lottie, who wouldn't stop staring at the same spot. A part of her was glad that you were unbothered by the fact that the man who owned the home you all stayed in was dead.

Though, then again, maybe your nightmare was due to what happened a day ago.

Maybe seeing the skeletal remains of the man had done something to your psyche. But whatever it was, it was clear that it had affected you intensely. And it made Natalie's grip around you tighten in turn. It was a mindless action on her part, but it wasn't one you felt any discontent towards. You melted into the feeling, like ice touching fire, and she could gather an immediate change in your demeanor when your heavy, fearful breathing slowed down into very quiet, almost mute pants. There was a part of her that wanted to understand whatever had gone on inside of your head, but she didn't want to be the one to question you.

She didn't want to beg for your vulnerability.

She wanted it to come naturally. And she was more than willing to wait.

It wasn't like she was going anywhere.

After a moment, you became antsy, and Natalie's arms eventually fell down from your body when you pulled away from her. With your legs once resting over her own, you brought them back to cross them over the other, closing in on yourself in a way, while she scrutinized your quiet demeanor. You seemed like you were in deep thought, your head lowered as you stared at the floor, and your fingers fidgeting together while you slowly gathered your bearings. Her palms rested in her lap as she watched you silently, and it took you a few more long seconds to inevitably speak up, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you."

You were sheepish in nature, and she could recognize it easily. You wore your emotions on your sleeves, which didn't seem like a common occurrence with you. Granted, she didn't know you well, but she had seen and spoken to you enough to where she had the ability to read your personality. Not always was she correct in her assumptions of you, but with this, it was clear that she had come out correct in her opinion of you. You were embarrassed by the fact that you received comfort from the girl you admired, and although Natalie wasn't entirely open with her feelings, she was glad that she swallowed her nervousness and tended to your residual fear of whatever you experienced throughout your slumber.

She wasn't entirely certain what had compelled her to comfort you.

But she didn't regret it.

"Don't worry about it."

Natalie's voice rasped out, and it unconsciously comforted you, as you slowly lifted your head up to meet her eyes. You remembered them being a hazel blue, with the darker azure being the hue that dominated most of her iris. They were comforting to look at, even though the darkness shadowed them. She sent you a small smile, awkward, but attempting to comfort you with the softness she tried to portray. You quirked the corners of your lips up in response to her expression, and when she realized you weren't planning on saying anything, she took the lead as she leaned forward.

"Wanna head outside?" she asked you, "Get some fresh air?"

You inhaled quietly when the warm breath that escaped Natalie's mouth hit your face. She was close, close enough to where if you leaned farther forward, you could touch the tip of your nose with her own. It was as though she were sharing a secret with you. She almost looked up into your eyes, in a way, with the way her body was slightly hunched, just so she could understand how you were feeling based on the micro-expressions that washed over your features. Even though the nightmare still lingered in the back of your mind, haunting you with the memory of what happened, the sudden intimacy in proximity dominated your brain, like fire engulfing an oil puddle.

"That... that sounds nice, yeah."

Your eventual response earned the ghost of a smile from Natalie, before she hiked her knees up to her chest and pushed herself to her feet. Your own eyes followed her as she did so, and it caused your chin to tilt up, just so your gaze could remain connected with her own, even though the light of the world was lackluster. In the span of a few milliseconds, you hesitated to grab her hand when she held it out to you, unsure if you should even bother going outside, but you realized that you were no longer tired, and it was clear that the girl who awaited you wasn't either. She was patient while you mulled over your internal thoughts, but you didn't want her to wait for the rest of her life, so you raised your arm up and allowed her fingers to engulf your palm, hoisting you up to your full height quietly.

The task of you and her sneaking your way out of the cabin came easy. The door clicked softly behind Natalie as she trailed behind you, her eyes focused on you while you lowered yourself down to sit at the ledge of the porch, to the left of the steps that led down to the leveled ground in front of the small building. You had created a gap big enough for her to squeeze into, while your shoulder leaned up against the wooden pole to your left, using it as your own form of leverage. It didn't take long before she eventually came forward to sit down beside you, and she made her presence known with the quiet sigh that escaped her the moment she settled herself onto the wooden deck.

The forest was entirely quiet. The only thing you could hear was the sound of the wind and the occasional coo from an owl, or the distant chirp of a bird. It was... peaceful, considering the circumstances. The ambiance of the nightly hour brought your mind to a calm place. Inhaling the scents that wafted throughout the woods, and feeling the gust of the air that brought a chill down your spine aided you in feeling real. You eventually fluttered your eyes shut and rested your hands against the ledge of the porch, becoming one with the atmosphere you had no choice but to live in.

Natalie turned her head in the slightest, just to take in the sight of your side profile, watching you subtly as you and she sat alone in silence. It wrapped the two of you up like a blanket. It wasn't awkward. There was no need to try and break the mute air with verbal statements and hums of mindless conversation. She let you take the lead here. She didn't want to question you like some sort of detective attempting to solve a mystery. Though she couldn't deny that she wanted to get to know more of you.

She didn't know why she was so curious. Maybe it was because you were the only person here she didn't know anything about. You were the photographer for the Yellowjackets, the team that she played on, yet you were an enigma to her. Shouldn't she have known more about you? She should have befriended you, right? It was what she was obligated to do with the other people on her team. Granted, you only took photos of her and her teammates, but now that you all were stranded in the forest... maybe it would have been a good idea to try and delve deep into who you were as a person.

But she was almost too shy to speak up and take the initiative.

That was unlike her.

"Do you have any smokes?"

When you spoke up, your voice was so sudden to her ears that it caused Natalie to flinch in her spot. She blinked, snapping back into reality, and since she was already staring at you, it only took a simple shift of her pupils to genuinely set her attention on you. You continued to stare out towards nothing in particular, just admiring the rows of trees and the star-covered sky. However, when you didn't get a verbal response from the bleach-blonde beside you, you slowly turned your head to look at her, your eyebrows faintly furrowing in perplexion.

"Nat?"

Hearing you say her name made her stomach flutter, and she quickly cleared her throat before she could dwell on the odd feeling she felt course throughout her body. "Oh, uh... yeah, totally." Surprisingly, she remembered what you were correlating your earlier question to, and so it didn't take her long before she reached into her right pajama pant pocket and tugged out the cardboard pack of cigarettes. It was the first thing she went to grab when she trailed behind you while the two of you first exited the cabin. A joint always managed to calm her down when she was feeling particularly stressed after a nightmare. She was tempted to smoke one when she first woke up from her own, but then she had to deal with Lottie.

And then you.

But it wasn't like she resented either of you for it.

At least she got to indulge now.

"You know how, right?" Natalie asked you, as you mindlessly scooted closer to her, which caused your shoulder and arm to press against her own. She welcomed the touch by ignoring it and pulling out a rolled-up joint from the depths of her carton, and as she shifted the stick into the hand that held the lighter, she closed the lid of her pack and shoved it back into her pocket blindly.

"I only know the stances," you answered sheepishly, after a moment. Your voice came out as a whisper, almost murmuring into the side of her face with the way you leaned down to watch the way her fingers moved.

The warmth of your breath against her skin wasn't something that bothered her, though. Still, she let out an amused huff at your reply to her question. "Stances?" she repeated, all while bringing her joint into her right hand, and allowing her thumb to settle onto the sparkplug of her lighter that sat in her left. "What do you mean by stances?" she asked you, pausing what she was doing to steal a glance at your face.

It was difficult, though, with how dark the world was.

"You know, like..." you shrugged your shoulders subtly and pursed your lips, "when someone smokes, there's like a particular way that they stand and hold their cigarette." You paused to hear her reaction, and when she let out a quiet laugh, you smiled softly, the expression small and one that she couldn't notice, due to the proximity. "I mean, I did say that I wasn't much of a smoker."

"You did," Natalie agreed, remembering a previous – albeit short – conversation between you and her, before she inevitably straightened her posture. It caused you to lean away slightly, as you watched her raise the thinned end of the joint to her lips. And just as they parted, she paused to look at you, silently calling for your undivided attention. "Just – uh... watch how I do it, alright?"

You nodded your head, and with your quiet response, she settled the narrowed tip of the rolled-up piece of paper in her mouth, before she thinned her lips and flicked the spark wheel of her lighter with the pad of her thumb. After the second roll, a short but bright flame emitted from the top of it, and it cast hints of light onto her pale features, as she brought the small fire to the front of her joint.

It didn't seem to take very long before the front of the makeshift cigarette caught the flame. It burned, with a quiet crackle that took away the silence between you and Natalie, and you leaned forward slightly to watch the way she lightly sucked in, inhaling smoke. She pulled the end of the joint out of her mouth shortly after, and the grey cloud of air followed when she parted her lips slightly and blew.

It looked so seamless when she did it.

When Natalie handed the joint over to you, you grabbed it like how she did. With your thumb and index finger. It was small, but it seemed like it packed a punch. You gazed down at the little thing with confusion on your features, and it caused the girl beside you to laugh, as she scooted closer to you and urged you on with her hand coming up to nudge your wrist. "Come on. You don't want to let the weed burn." You flickered your eyes up to meet her own, and she stared at you softly. Even though a hint of amusement remained in her irises, her focus on you made you feel better, and more eager to do as she suggested.

You raised the end of the joint up to your own lips and parted them, before closing them around the same place Natalie had just touched with her own. You didn't know what you were doing, though when you heard her quietly tell you to 'suck,' you obeyed. You felt her hand rest on your knee, just as the smoke invaded your mouth, and she refused to evade her eyes from your own when your pupils dilated. You felt the contaminated air fall down your throat and into your lungs, stinging your insides and staining them with irreparable damage. You made sure to pace yourself, when you gently blew out the small cloud that remained, lowering your chin slightly, just so it didn't hit the blue-eyed girl in front of you.

You felt spacey, as Natalie reached out and gently plucked the joint from between your fingers, her palm still resting on your thigh while her skin brushed against your own. Maybe it was a placebo effect, or maybe whatever was in that smoke worked fast, but you could already feel yourself relaxing, as you distractedly watched her part her lips and take a drag of the makeshift cigarette. She inhaled the smoke as though she was a professional, and you were certain she was, when she exuded the remaining air she had taken in, and sent you a comforting grin. You felt her hand squeeze your leg shortly after, and it caused you to subtly jump in turn, which earned a raspy giggle from her.

"You sure you haven't done that before?" Natalie asked you with a simple raise of her brow. And you grinned softly at her in turn, as you shrugged your shoulders and leaned back on your palms, feeling the wooden grain of the porch below you.

"Pretty... sure."

You slurred your words, which caused Natalie to let out a chuckle.

"You're already high as shit."

And you let out a laugh in response, as your eyes drooped to show your loopiness.

"I know."

But it wasn't a thing that forced you and her to go back inside.

You and Natalie relished in the time alone.

Letting the smoke rise away from your lips, as it acted as an invisible beacon to the sky.

One that nobody was going to see, except you and the girl beside you.