#busts without expression or whatever

[conflictofthemind]

[primaviva]

HUGS N’ KISSES

PAIRING: miles g. morales x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend, miles, invites you over to his place since his moms not home and he can finally have the door shut. but one teasing comment you made later and suddenly he’s asleep in your arms as you smother him in tender kisses. is he really tho?

WARNINGS/NOTES: pure fluff, one suggestive joke? heavily coded latina reader w implied curly hair, miles being petty, that’s all !!

“translations:” ¿qué onda? = whats up, novio = boyfriend, relájate = relax, chuleto = used to refer to a fashionable/flirty boy or fboy, tonto = idiot, lo siento = i’m sorry, princesa = princess

after an exhausting heatwave, new york had been graced with a week of downpours and cool streets.

you hadn't recently seen your boyfriend. yes, you spoke to him in your classes and in the hallways when you saw him at school, but it had been some time since you had last seen him outside of the school building. he frequently claimed to be busy with whatever the hell it was. but you decided against pushing it. miles is loyal to you and has been through a lot, so you don't push him to tell you when he's busy or doing something else to fill the time. instead, you wait for him to open up.

currently, you found yourself comfortably sprawled on the couch in the living room. the morning's heavy downpour had gradually subsided as the afternoon arrived, leaving behind a gentle drizzle that cascaded down the windowpane. without any particular program capturing your attention, this day seemed to be a slow one you just had to follow the vibe of. as you idly absorbed the atmosphere, your eyes wandered to the television, where a journalist was discussing the prowler's recent involvement in a local drug bust.

exhaling a sigh, you contemplated switching off the tv and surrendering to another nap, when suddenly, a notification chimed on your phone. your gaze shifted to the coffee table, where the glow of your phone illuminated the surroundings.

it was a message from your man, miles.

mi novio : ¿qué onda, mami? i miss you 😩😩

you couldn't help but roll your eyes at your phone as you silently read the text. miles had a penchant for playfully teasing and maintaining a smooth facade, all in an attempt to fluster you.

you : relájate… we texted this morning and it was you who stopped replying

you : but ig i missed you too

you could almost picture the expression on his face at that moment. maybe a subtle smirk adorned his lips in response to your sassy reply or the mention of missing him. or maybe he even did a small pout, feeling defeated that you didn’t completely fold.

mi novio : ik you missed me

mi novio : you tryna come over?

as soon as you finished reading the last line of his message, a loud laugh escaped from your lips. once again, he was acting cocky. your mouth stretched into a soft smirk as you realized you couldn't pretend that you didn't like the way he acted. it didn’t help how bold he was asking for you to come over. now that’s when you knew something was up.

the supple fabric made contact with your skin as you took up your phone and sat back against the cushions, instantly soothing your muscles as you typed up a response.

me : come over and do what lil boy…

with a laugh, you rose from the couch and strolled toward your bedroom, mentally getting ready. it was a familiar routine, the satisfying dance of teasing and banter that defined your dynamic. deep down, you knew you would end up there regardless, but relishing in the opportunity to playfully toy with him was irresistible.

you put your phone down on your bed as you opened your closet and began to put an outfit together. you felt your phone ding as you jumped into your jeans and pressed the buttons together. picking your phone up, you glanced at the text message that flashed across the screen.

mi novio : girl you know not the start with me

mi novio : and don’t act like i’m on some freaking timing when you texted the prowler to stop by your window the other night, ma

a gasp escaped your lips, and your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth, overwhelmed by the sudden nervousness that surged through your body. your cheeks were so warm from the sudden boldness of his comments you swore you could feel the steam radiation off of them. you were well aware of his nature, but this time, he had truly caught you off guard with his little comeback.

your head quipped at the sudden notification that dinged your phone again.

mi novio : what’s wrong, you stopped typing? don’t get all shy on me now when you started it

mi novio : just come over and we’ll figure it out damn i jus wanna see you

despite your nervous state you couldn't help but smile warmly at what she said. miles isn’t always vulnerable but you loved the little crumbs you got when he spoke his mind. you could tell he really missed by just how much he was double texting, something he only does when he talks to you.

you : i'm comingg you can stop now 🫶

as you coated your hands with the product, carefully working it into a rich lather, a playful image of him rolling his eyes in response to your text crossed your mind. undeterred, you tenderly scrunched and massaged the product into your luscious locs. casting a final approving glance at your reflection in the mirror, you made sure your fit was good. with your headphones and house keys in hand, you slid into a jacket, being mindful of the weather. swiftly, you shot miles a text, letting him know you’d be there soon.

you took a deep breath as you stepped out of your house, the familiar door closing behind you with a soft click. the gray sky’s gentle glow kissed your skin, casting a dark hue upon your face. the sound of your footsteps created a comforting cadence as you strolled through the gloomy neighborhood. with each step you glanced at the dark shadows that had overtaken brooklyn throughout time.

within a short time, you found yourself on his block, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone and let him know you were about to pull up. as you turned the corner, his apartment building came into view, and there he stood, positioned at the entrance, patiently awaiting your arrival. clad in an oversized black puffer jacket, he exuded a sense of warmth, his hands tucked protectively into the pockets for an extra layer of comfort in the outside weather. drawing nearer, his face gradually came into focus, revealing the cool, icy gaze that harmonized with his stoic demeanor. yet, behind the stoicism, a gentle smile graced his lips, radiating a tenderness that could not be concealed around you.

he let out a sigh as a cloudy mist escaped his soft lips. “hey baby,” miles whispered, his voice raspy almost as if he’s a bit tired as he moves closer and wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you close.

“hola chuleto,” you replied back, enamored by how gorgeous he looked in pale sunlight. you put your hand on his cheek and felt his supple skin beneath your fingertips. “so, can i get a kiss from my boyfriend now?”

before he responded, you prepared to start leaning up to kiss him but miles had playfully straightened his back and added to the distance between you two. you looked up shooting him an annoyed glare as a smirk painted his featuress.

“ah, mami. y’know i can’t resist you,” miles mumbled against your ear as he leaned back close to you and let out a small laugh.

he leans down and kisses you, both of his hands resting softly on your hips. he let out a satisfied hum as his lips met the warmth of your mouth. the feeling was something of ecstasy. he had missed you so much all he wanted to do was just be near you. his hand moves down to your lower back, pressing you against him. miles pulled back with a hum as he looked down at you with soft eyes as you gazed up at him through your wispy lashes. he pulled you into a hug as you both slowly rocked back and forth in each other's embrace.

as the chilly mist continued to linger in the air, miles gently pulled away from your embrace, his concern evident in his eyes. "hey, we should probably go inside the apartment building before we catch a cold," he suggested, his voice carrying a note of practicality. his words were accompanied by a warm smile, a gesture that conveyed both consideration and a desire to keep you safe.

nodding in agreement, you intertwined your fingers with his as a silent affirmation. miles opened the door to the lobby and guided you to the staircase as you began your descent up to his floor.

your kisses always had a way of melting his demeanor away into something much gentler, if your friends ever saw him this way they would barely recognize him.

as you reached the landing, miles fumbled for his keys, his hand briefly brushing against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. the door swung open, revealing the dimly lit and mostly empty apartment.

“you hungry? cus’ i cooked if you want anything,” he mentioned from behind you as he locked the door.

"cooked too, huh? and here you are always tryna act all hard," you giggled. "no, i’m good but thank you"

it always was amusing to you how miles acted so differently than how he actually felt but at the same time it gave you butterflies that he had made something with you in mind. he really did have a soft spot for you.

miles shot you an annoyed glare at your words. he never liked being called out, did he?

“i’m not hard or whatever,” he mumbled as he reached behind you, his large hands going around your waist to pull you close behind him before removing your jacket and putting it on the coat rack.

miles turned, catching sight of the amused expression on your face. his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, prompting him to take a step closer, deliberately lowering himself to meet your eye level.

“yeah, i cook,” miles stated, licking his lips. “so i don’t know why you’re giggling at me. a man can’t show off his skills once in a while?”

before you could let out another laugh, miles had grabbed you by the hand and dragged you into his room.

“c’mon, let’s relax and watch a movie or somethin,’” he suggested as you both made your way inside and kicked your shoes off.

miles settled onto his bed, reaching for his laptop and powering it on. as the soft, ethereal glow of the screen bathed his face in a light blue hue, he started looking for fall movies.

"and what movie might that be?" you asked, your expression tinged with curiosity and skepticism.

"i wanna watch a scary movie, but you're too scared so i'm letting you choose. just no more romcom nonsense." miles pleads as he pats the space beside him.

"whatchu mean romcom nonsense?" you repeated in a mockingly hurt tone. "i don't wanna hear that from somebody that said jason x was heat…”

"oh? so we gon bring that into this,” miles groans as he lays back onto the couch, pulling you down gently so you're laying on top of him.

you looked up at him with yet another raised brow as a small pout formed onto his playful lips. "jason x was heat, you're jus’ too much of a hater.”

“yeah i am a hater, but because i love you imma refrain from clowning you for that false statement,” you playfully teased, feeling miles grab your shoulder and lean back, creating a comfortable space for you to rest against his chest. he smirked, and you could tell he was enjoying the banter.

miles sighs, "alright alright, i guess jason x wasn't the greatest...”

he shifted slightly, propping himself up to lean over your body, his gaze fixed on you with gentle intent. with a tender touch, he reached for the blanket, enveloping both of you in its warmth as he carefully draped it over your bodies.

“jason x sucked,” you spat out as miles began to tuck the blanket into your sides.

miles reclined once more, his arm finding its place on your shoulder, drawing you even closer to him. the warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"you always smell good," he remarked, his voice laced with admiration, as he gave your waist a gentle squeeze. "is that the perfume i got you?"

a smile effortlessly spread across your lips at his question. the fact that he had noticed the fragrance you wore, especially since it was the dior one he had given you some time ago, filled you with a sense of excitement.

"could you really tell?" you asked, feeling a bit bashful.

he could sense the flustered effect his words had on you and responded with a sly smirk. as the remote made a satisfying click noise, miles finally selected a movie, capturing your attention. it was a satirical classic— a scary movie that promised both fright and laughter. "of course, i could tell," he quipped playfully, "the bag it came in made my room smell for weeks."

the sassy retort that was on the tip of your tongue dissolved into laughter, unable to resist the infectious humor he exuded. these were the things that made you appreciate his sarcasm even more, and more importantly, made you realize just how deeply you loved him.

miles smiled down at your laughing form, relishing in the pure joy that radiated from you. his fingers danced through your hair, a soothing gesture he often performed, as he loved these intimate moments you shared. planting a tender kiss on the crown of your head, he tightened his embrace, drawing you even closer as the movie commenced.

giggles escaped your lips as his hands continued to play with your hair, his gentle touch leaving a trail of butterfly kisses along your scalp. as the movie progressed, your positions shifted, with miles essentially becoming your cozy human blanket, his body nestled on top of yours.

with one hand lightly caressing his scalp, you both remained engrossed in the film. however, you couldn't help but notice the subtle heaviness in his eyes. between funny scenes, instead of laughing he would slowly blink, accompanied by silent chuckles that escaped his lips.

"tired?" you ask softly, noticing his drowsiness.

he responds with a gentle "mmhm" and a light snore, his grip on you tightening as he draws you closer. despite his fatigue, it's evident that he finds complete comfort and trust in your presence. as he starts to drift off, his breathing becomes more relaxed, and his hold on you gradually weakens, revealing his vulnerability. in this moment, there's no facade of stoicism or toughness, just the authentic him.

as the movie reaches its conclusion, the blooper reel snaps you back to reality. you reach for your phone in the corner, curious about the time. your heart sinks as the bright text on the screen reveals it's already 9:30.

"my mom is gonna kill me," you whisper under your breath, a hint of worry in your voice.

turning to your boyfriend, who is sound asleep in the crook of your neck, your senses come alive as each gentle breath of his tickles your skin.

"miles?" you call out, trying to rouse him from his nap, but there's no response.

cautiously, you place your hands on miles' shoulders and gently shake him, hoping to wake him up. but of course, he remains deep in his sleep, undisturbed by your sad attempts.

out of desperation you continue to try, shaking him a bit more, but it seems miles is completely lost in dreamland, his snores filling the room. he shifts slightly, but remains peacefully asleep, holding onto your neck and cuddling you tighter.

this turns out to be the worst possible scenario for you. the impending lecture from your mom, the potential attack with a lanky shoe, the grounding— everything seems likely to happen. miles shifts once again, clinging to you, and you can't help but feel both exasperated and affectionate in this bittersweet moment.

"miles, please..." you silently pleaded, but as you looked down at his serene face, a wave of tenderness and adoration washed over you. he looked so peaceful and irresistibly cute, and a part of you hesitated to disrupt his slumber.

a defeated huff escaped your lips as you surrendered to the sight before you. his bottom lip slightly tucked under his top lip, his eyelashes resting gracefully against his cheeks, and the faint smile that graced his face as he dozed off—all of it captivated your attention. it was an irresistible combination, making his features appear kissable and utterly adorable. the soft snores he emitted only added to the charm.

unable to resist any longer, your desires took over. cupping his face gently, you leaned down and pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. miles stirred slightly at the unexpected touch of your lips, but his response only made him look even more endearing as he leaned into your affection.

a smile played on your lips as you let go of any reserve, fluttering his face with multiple kisses. from his hairline to his cheek and jaw, your kisses were light and ethereal, filled with both gentleness and profound love for him. another kiss found its place on his nose, until the vibration of your phone interrupted the moment once again—your mom calling.

"damn, i really have to go," you muttered under your breath. summoning the courage, you slowly maneuvered miles off of you without disturbing his peace. gathering your belongings, you kneeled by his bed and pressed a gentle kiss on his scalp, one last show of affection before you run on home.

as you tried to move away, he unexpectedly grabbed your thigh, his grip leaving a faint imprint. with a laugh, you carefully pried his slender fingers off, savoring the sweet connection before leaving his side.

"goodnight, tonto," you whispered teasingly, ready to make your exit.

just as you were about to close the door, you heard miles mumble something under his breath.

"goodnight, ma."

he had been awake the entire time.

in an instant, it was as if you were hit with a flashback, remembering how you used to mock miles for his tough and stoic demeanor. was this his way of playfully getting back at you, by pretending to be a big baby?

"don't 'goodnight ma' me! you weren't even asleep this whole time?" you exclaimed, feeling a mix of surprise and embarrassment wash over you. the kisses you had showered him with while he was awake suddenly felt awkward.

"oh, come on, don't be embarrassed. i'm sure we both enjoyed it," miles chuckled, sitting up and leaning against the bed frame. "yeah, i was just messing with you a bit. it was funny."

"yeah, i bet it was real funny," you retorted, crossing your arms and standing defiantly in the doorway. "you always play too much."

miles let out a laugh, thoroughly amused by the small pout that formed on your lips. he rose from his comfortable position on the bed and approached you.

"aww, is la princesa mad at me?" miles teased, leaning down to your height, playfully taunting you.

"oh, can't you tell?" you shot back.

as miles sluggishly smiled, he couldn't help but say, "but you're so easy to mess with."

"being easy to mess with doesn't mean you should actually do it! i thought you were asleep for real," you commented, moving closer to him. "lo siento, pero i have to go home before my mom skins me alive or something."

miles mumbled, "didn't deny that you enjoyed it, though," clearly trying to push your buttons.

and it worked.

"miles!" you called out, your irritation evident in your voice.

"you're cute when you get all angry, you know that?" he continued to tease, his words meant to playfully provoke you.

as much as you wanted to maintain your anger, you couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle. you were still annoyed with him and his antics, but there was no denying the underlying affection he had that melted your heart.

he goes in for a hug, sighing softly as he kisses your cheek while embracing you. "alright, mami, go home before her anger starts to grow and she starts getting the chancla," he teases, but there's a hint of wistfulness in his expression as you prepare to leave.

you laugh at his joke. "don't manifest that for me!" you reply, worry in your voice as you slip on your sweater. miles walks you to the door, still holding onto your arm.

"no promises," miles jokes back. when you reach your front door, he keeps his grip on your arm and smiles. "i had a lot of fun today." he glances down briefly, his cheeks turning a shade of red.

"yeah, today was nice," you reply, returning his smile.

he doesn't say anything in response, instead emitting a soft hum. you turn to face him and smirk as you notice miles leaning in.

however, you interrupt his attempted kiss with a finger, playfully reminding him of his prank. "should i tho?"

"aww, come on, i'll make it up to you," he pouts, looking down. "please?" miles appears genuinely sad, and it becomes clear that you won't be able to keep up your annoyed facade for much longer.

frowning, you find yourself unable to resist any longer. you rise up on your tiptoes and cup his cheeks before leaning in for a kiss.

miles' eyes light up in surprise as you kiss him. after a moment, he kisses you back, and the kiss lingers on. eventually, miles breaks the kiss, his cheeks flushed and a smile on his face.

he looks at you, his expression hopeful. "are you not as mad at me now? did i make it up to you?"

"hmm, i'm not as mean as you, so i guess you're forgiven or whatever," you say, rolling your eyes playfully as you step outside, ready to start your journey home.

"so dramatic," miles chuckles, watching you walk away. however, he stops you at the door, a mischievous grin on his face. "hold up, did you see how red your face got?" he pokes your cheek and teases, "i didn't know you got that flustered." miles continues to poke your cheeks while smiling, clearly enjoying teasing you a little too much.

you give miles a deadpan look as he laughs at your reaction, not quite amused by his amusement.

miles kisses your cheek once more as you walk out, and calls out to you, "be safe and remember to text me when you get home!"

you hoped too that you’d be safe.

what awaited you at home, however, was pure hell. your mom sent you straight to your room after a heated argument that you wisely chose not to escalate. the interrogation that followed only added to your annoyance. you were definitely in trouble.

as you changed into your pajamas, you settled near your window and observed the serene scene outside. the orange and green hues of the falling leaves gracefully descended from the slender trees, landing softly into puddles. it was a tranquil moment, and you found solace in witnessing the slow descent of the fall beauty.

suddenly, a notification from your phone interrupts the peaceful atmosphere. it's from miles.

mi novio : i miss you already mami…

with a sense of contentment, you let out a loud giggle and swiftly reached for your phone to respond to miles. despite the trouble you’re now in with your mom, at this moment, it feels like a small price to pay for spending time with your boyfriend.

art from crittlyworm on tiktok

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ALL WRITING IS @PRIMAVIVA.

[lexcys]

★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader

summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort

warnings: blood, wound description

a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry

loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill

the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other

right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting

curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe

whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind

you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him

after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you

you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight

being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs

you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room

the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead

the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space

he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers

he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word

carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him

analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing

right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter

the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.

quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows

you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face

''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts

you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,” you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding

his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters

''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''

you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge

seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand

you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else

slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this

you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him

silence

rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again

he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing

defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him

suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps

you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did

he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes

rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do

relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''

''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering

you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink

a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself

rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid

right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first

you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took

ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds

he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip

you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way

you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible

his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness

settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong

while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you

you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers

the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing

after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place

you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself

by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze

you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.

you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.

you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid

you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow

it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face

his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash

you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in

you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was

''done''

the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart

his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank

his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go

you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back

rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back

you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''

he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher

his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts

seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch

as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''

fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred

rafe nodded

you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on

he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you

you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion

''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted

you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back

rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw

without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''

he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''

you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold

your eyes flicker back to him

“stay”

[salemoleander]

Chaos vs. Patronage: How Life Series winners grapple with skill disparity

As the Life Series has gone on and matured into more noticeable patterns, some winners have pivoted to a mentorship/support role to their chosen 'champion'/ a favored player.

Scott spent Limited Life as a duo with Martyn, and then joined a high-skill group in Secret Life that ultimately saw him sacrifice himself trying to get Gem the win. Pearl spent Secret Life with her stated goal being one of her teammates winning, pivoting to support Scar at the end when they'd died. Now in Wild Life, she has outright stated her intent to support Impulse to get the win. (Scar supporting Jimmy in Wild Life may also fit this pattern; we'll get to that.)

In contrast, winners Grian and Martyn² are not sticking to that single-minded attempt to get a player to win, whatever it takes. They will express support for teammates winning, but generally do not take actions that would worsen their own chances of winning/surviving to help a teammate. They aren't playing "meta", which here means putting all their resources into one person.

These two categories of behavior ultimately reflect the Winners' approaches to answering the question of how to balance disparate skill levels in the series cast. (Second half of writing + footnotes under cut.)

Grian has spent game after game altering mechanics & playing with randomization to try to level the playing field without directly intervening against specific players.³ Martyn is invested enough in the narrative/story that making less-than-optimal decisions isn't hard for him or atypical (this is the player who beelines for the Nether every single season).

It seems like Scott and Pearl realized they're very strong players and are interested in nerfing themselves more actively... but they still don't want to throw the match. The compromise there is to put their effort & skill towards helping another player achieve victory.

A case could be argued that Scar is moreso the former group by nature (he's similar to Martyn in his penchant for making entertainingly bad decisions that render nerfing unecessary). However, after witnessing multiple seasons of Scott & Pearl acting as mentors, seeing them compete head-to-head in the game he ultimately won, mentorship now seems like a normalized route to take once you're a winner.⁴

¹ Unsure if BigB in LimL counts? They were a duo, but Scott fomenting Martyn's win seems to be what kicked off Pearl's dedication to support another player.

² Cleo is a winner but they do not fit this analysis for a variety of reasons I don't want to get into. So I won't, bc this is a tumblr post & not an academic paper. Ignore that there are footnotes and an academic-ass title

³ Grian seeing Scott win: "Oh no I've created an unbalanced game. Ok lets randomly assign players together to try to balance things... why has RNG betrayed me?!" RNG does not stop betraying him btw. I have another post in draft about this but it's kind of nuts how dedicated Grian is to Not Rigging The Game Even A Little.

⁴ Incidentally imo this is what will force Grian in the next few games to either end the series, create dual winners/some other atypical win structure, or bust his ass trying to get a second win & break that taboo. Based on his game design so far, he can put up with a bit of interference, but ultimately will not abide "we all do schoolyard tradesies on who gets to win until everyone gets one".

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

valentine's on a budget

pairing: non-idol bf!Seungkwan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!AU - minors dni.

warnings: a serious argument, mentions of financial troubles, crying, mentions of getting sick

smut warnings: making out, marking, teasing, dirty talk, use of petnames, fingering, nipple and breast play, minor panty stuffing, minor lingerie kink, oral sex (f rec), edging, mentions of multiple orgasms.

word count: 2.4k

summary: Valentine's day is the holiday you're waiting for the most every single year - but a certain mishap brings a series of events that might test your relationship.

Author's note: hello beloveds! i am finally back haha. this is my entry for the Cupid For You @svthub collab, hosted by my dear @wongyuseokie and the fic is solely dedicated to @dirtysvthoughts 💕I hope you will enjoy this fic Kenny, happy Valentine's and Carat day🥰

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2024. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

Valentine’s Day. Probably one of the days you’re anticipating the most within the year.

Knowing your boyfriend, he has planned something really exciting and fancy for the two of you - he always knows how to treat you right (and not just on Valentine’s).

When you accidentally found out about the reservation he had made in one of your favorite restaurants, you were smiling like a maniac and feeling giddy like a highschool girl. You could already imagine yourself in your favorite velvet dress and a pair of strappy heels, makeup and hair on fleek. Of course, there was no way you would let Seungkwan know he was busted, it would hurt his pride immensely.

That is, if things hadn’t gone to absolute hell.

“What do you mean the reservation was canceled?” You ask him with a baffled expression.

“You heard me. No fancy dinner tonight.” Seungkwan purses his lips in a thin line.

“Please tell me you’re just trying to mess around with me.”

“I wish I was, but I was forced to cancel it.”

“Forced? By what?!”

“My fucking bank account, Y/N.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“That’s….. I cannot tell you.”

“What do you mean you cannot tell me?! We’re literally sharing a home and a life!” You yell at him.

“I know! But I seriously cannot tell you! I just fucking can’t!” Seungkwan loses his temper.

“What makes it so hard for you to tell me the reason?!”

“My fucking pride!” He yells back.

Silence befalls the living room

“Of all the days to break my heart, I didn’t think you’d pick today.” You say with a monotonous voice, “But I guess your pride is more important.”

Seungkwan lets out something akin to a scoff before turning on his heel to walk out of the house. His action catches you off guard - he’s not the type to just walk away from an argument, let alone of this caliber.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes in displeasure, going back to the bedroom to remove your dress and shoes.

Taking a glance in the mirror leaves an even more sour aftertaste in your mouth, as you were hoping you would be taking off these clothes a few hours later and perhaps in a more vulgar way. You push these thoughts away as you change into comfy clothes and go to the bathroom, picking up your makeup remover and cleanser to take off your makeup.

The one hour you spent perfecting your face is wiped off in seconds, as if it never existed in the first place. But again, you choose to push away the thoughts of Valentine’s dinner away.

You go back to the living room and sit on the couch, turning on the television to zap between channels. 

The house feels quite empty without your boyfriend around, but you’re not in the headspace to deal with him at the moment.

That is, until you hear thundering outside.

Great, now he’s going to get all soaked, you think, grumbling to yourself. Whatever, he’s a grown man, he should know how to take care of himself.

The thundering grows louder and you can now hear heavy rain pouring on the streets and hitting the windows. You get up from your seat and slide the curtain to the side, your worries growing bigger.

You pick up your phone and dial Seungkwan’s number, but you’re horrified when you hear his phone ringing between the couch pillows.

“Fuck.” You curse and run back to the bedroom to grab a pair of boots and your umbrella, terrified that something bad could potentially happen to your boyfriend.

As soon as you run back to the door and turn the knob to open it, you’re greeted with a soaking wet Seungkwan, whose eyes are colored red - possibly from crying.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffles, shaking like a leaf.

“God, please get inside.” You pull him on the entrance carpet and close the door behind him. “Stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

You make a short trip to the bathroom and return with two towels in your hands, handing them over to Seungkwan.

“Thank you.” He mutters and starts patting the towels to soak the excess water off his clothes.

“You can thank me after you take a shower. Can’t risk you getting sick.”

Seungkwan nods wordlessly and carefully walks towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You let out a puff of air through your mouth when you hear the shower tap running and you take off your boots, setting them next to the doormat. 

You’re not stupid -  the elephant in the room is too big to ignore and you don’t intend to just gaze upon it. You return to the bedroom and sit on the mattress, picking your phone from your pocket. It accidentally slips from your fingers and falls on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck.” You kneel down to grab your phone, but an unfamiliar box hidden under the bed catches your attention. You struggle a bit to take it out, but you manage to bring it in front of you.

You notice the seal has already been cracked and your eyes widen when you open the box to reveal a brand new laptop.

“What the hell?” You narrow your eyes. “Why is a laptop here?”

“Why do you think it’s here?”

Seungkwan’s voice catches you off guard and you whip your head around to face him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or is it going to hurt your pride?”

“This laptop is for you, Y/N.” He admits with a neutral expression.

“For me?”

“Yeah, since the one you had completely broke down.”

“How do you even know that?!”

“I saw the receipt from the shop you took it to get it fixed. The owner didn’t charge you and he wrote comments. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“Still, what does that have to do with canceling the reservation?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Well, I weighed my options and decided that getting you a new laptop was more imminent and would relieve you of the stress of not being able to work properly and whether you would spend a hefty amount of money on a new device.”

Your features soften when you piece everything together.

“You….used the reservation money for the laptop?”

“Pretty much.” Seungkwan rubs the back of his neck. “Although I hated that I had to ruin Valentine’s because of that. But I didn’t want to watch you be upset because of one dumb device breaking down.”

You can’t help but want to burst into tears after your boyfriend’s confession. 

“I wish I had more money to give you both the laptop and the dinner date, but capitalism kinda hates fun, I guess.”

“Oh my God, Kwan, I-” You cover your mouth with your hands, keeping your sobs from escaping.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it was my fault too.” Your boyfriend wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“God, I feel like such an asshole right now.”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t any better. If I had told you about the laptop from the beginning, nothing would have happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” You give him a muffled apology, hiding your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry too, darling.”

“It’s just that-” You wipe away your tears, “I was really looking forward to that dinner and I had coordinated my entire outfit inside out and all that.”

“I mean…. It’s not too late to check out the inside…” Seungkwan pouts his lips with sneaky glances.

“Well…..I still have it on…” You look at him with a grin, “Do you want to unwrap me?”

“I was a little strapped for cash this year. Do you want to unwrap me instead?” He raises his brow teasingly. “You can think of it as an apology.”

Your grin grows wider and you untie the knot of his bathrobe, letting it fall open to reveal his naked body. You don’t hesitate to take off your clothes and show him the cotton candy pink lacey set you bought recently, just for tonight.

“Holy shit, Y/N, a man could die here.” Seungkwan lets out a ragged breath.

“Mmm, you seem perfectly fine to me.” You smirk and kneel in front of him, slowly wrapping your hand around his half-hard cock. You look up to your boyfriend once before sliding out your tongue to give his shaft a few licks to test the waters.

“Ever the tease, aren’t you?” He threads his hand in your hair and you giggle, kissing the tip of his cock.

“Well, serves you right for putting me through misery.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Seungkwan chuckles and pulls you on your feet, lightly shoving you on the bed. He discards the bathrobe on the floor and climbs over you, capturing your lips in a quite hungry kiss.

“You have no idea how nuts you drive me.”

“Is this about the argument or the lacey set?”

“Both. But talking isn’t the thing we’re supposed to be doing now.”

“I know. You should be doing me.” You grin on his lips.

“Ever the smartass, huh?” You can feel him grinning back.

“Takes one to know one.”

He takes another look at you and the grin is still plastered on his face. Except this time, he wordlessly runs his hands over the semi-sheer lace covering your breasts, his fingertips toying with the delicate material. He carefully slides it down to uncover your soft flesh, deft digits eagerly playing with your taut nipples.

“Mm, that feels nice.” You exhale in satisfaction and you part your legs to let your boyfriend slot himself between them.

“I can give you better than nice.” He whispers and pinches the buds, eliciting a whine from your mouth. He pinches them and rolls them a bit harder, forcing your back to arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it.” He licks his bottom lip and dives his head to attach his lips on your breasts, making out with the plush mounds. He keeps his mouth busy with your nipples, all while his right hand descends towards your neglected core.

“Kwan, please touch me more.” You beg with a whiny voice, wiggling your hips to get some kind of friction.

“You know, for someone who was really angry just half an hour ago, you’re quite the needy little thing right now.” He teases you more about your earlier behavior.

“I said I’m sorry!” You defend yourself.

“I know, darling. I wasn’t planning on keeping you high and dry.” He smiles sweetly as he slides his hand between your folds, moaning lowly as he lets his fingers get soaked in your arousal.

He plunges two of his slender fingers in your pussy, enjoying the way your walls clench greedily around them. Stilling them for a few seconds, he keeps making out with your chest, a few red marks already blooming on your skin.

“God, just stop teasing, please! I’m begging you!” You whine louder and wrap your legs around his back.

“You sound so cute when you beg for me, it almost makes me want to keep you wanting more.” 

“You’re mean.” You put your lips in a pout.

“But I’m also madly in love with you.” Seungkwan presses one last kiss on the valley of your breasts and he climbs down to bring himself on eye level with your lace-clad pussy.

He retracts his fingers and tugs the lace crotch upwards, making you moan and fist the sheets in response. Your reactions urge him to tug on it a bit harder, the thin material rubbing over your clit. Your entrance clenches in a needy manner, your slick gushing out and soaking the pink lace. 

“Eager to make it your second skin, aren’t you, darling?” Your boyfriend comments as he digs the pads of his fingers on your panties to push them in your hole, just enough to make them stick on your pussy.

“I’m n-not the sole c-culprit here.” You stutter, bucking your hips to get a bit more friction.

“One does not negate the other.” He bites back, pulling your panties away from your body, not missing the clear strings of your juices connecting to the fabric. He throws them somewhere in the room and gently unwraps your legs from his back.

He parts them open with his hands, finally uncovering your pussy.

“So worth the wait.” He whispers and licks a fat stripe over your slit, collecting your slick on his tongue.

“Oh God, yes.” You lean your head back on the pillow, your hand creeping in Seungkwan’s hair. The touch you were craving this whole time is finally yours and you couldn’t feel more blissful.

Sex with Seungkwan is never boring, but foreplay? It’s his fucking specialty.

Part of you wants to keep your eyes closed and get lost in the moment, but part of you also wants to keep them wide open and watch your boyfriend worship your cunt.

He uses his thumbs to keep your folds apart and make space for his tongue to re-explore your cunt and savor it like a Michelin star worthy meal.

“Have I told you before that you have the prettiest pussy in the world?” He peeks his head from between your legs.

“At least once during sex, Kwan. Not that I mind, of course.” You tug on his blond hair.

He flashes you a cocky smirk and purposefully circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Your thighs clench on the bed, struggling to keep them still. If it wasn’t for Seungkwan’s hands, his head could have been crushed. 

His assault on your bundle of nerves is relentless and the buildup to your climax picks up the pace. 

You don’t want this to end yet, you want him to stay like this for the rest of the night, if possible.

All of a sudden, everything stops and you’re left on the edge of your orgasm, a loud whine bouncing off the walls of the bedroom.

“This might sound cheesy, but will you be my Valentine?” He asks you with doe eyes and glossy, cum covered lips.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to say this right between my legs.” You protest from above, almost mad at him for ripping all stimulation away from you.

“I also have the nerve to edge you until you give me an answer.” He smirks.

“Fuck, how could I ever not want to be your Valentine?!” 

“Good to know.” Seungkwan grins wider.

“Because the night is still young and only one orgasm won’t cut it.”

[taintandviolent]

The Dork Theory ; Max Cooperman x reader

summary: Against better judgement, you decide to go to a college party. You run into a familiar face there, and you decide to test a long running theory to do with dorks and big 🍆 . Shameless smut ensues.

warnings: smut without plot, pnv, car sex, unprotected sex, handjobs, oral sex, degradation/shaming, recording.

a/n: max deserves it. he really does. not beta-read. this was just a whim kinda fic, so I hope it's not total garbage. enjoy! thanks for reading if you did.

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

It was a party, so you were forcing yourself to do party things. Or so you kept telling yourself. Really, it was a live streaming event for some stupid college fight, which was an event that you wouldn’t be caught dead at – under any circumstances. It wasn’t your scene, you couldn’t care less about fighting – outside of the carnal, hormonal fact that you got to see rippling muscles and displays of strength. At times, even you were simple. Whatever fight had already happened and judging by the sudden uptick in shouts and cheers, you assumed the preferred candidate won. The party was now in full swing with people mingling and drinking excessively. Ah, college. 

Admittedly, you weren’t one for college parties either. It was a place to drink, screw, and in most cases, as a byproduct of the previous two mixing, fight. Of those three things, you only really enjoyed one of them and hadn’t done it in a while – long enough for you to crave it. Maybe that’s why you came to the party to begin with; to get some tail. Albeit hypocritically, you were also drinking. You weren’t drunk, but definitely heading there; your head felt fuzzy as you stared into your half-empty red Solo cup. Whoever had mixed the drinks had erred on the side of too strong.

“Well… hey there.”

You looked up from said cup, one brow quirked. In front of you, stood a guy who looked oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place him. Eyes narrowed, you scanned him from his shoes to his lush, curly brown locks. He wore jeans and a Something Corporate t-shirt. Really? You realized you’d seen him earlier, schmoozing with girls, explaining something very passionately. They hung on his arms, but seemed distant – but no, that still wasn’t where you recognized him from. 

He was scanning you up and down, lingering on all the right parts of your body; your hips, your breasts, your face. Finally, he spoke. "My name's Max, what's yer--"

"Wait, hold on." You pressed a single finger against his lips, which pressed back into your finger, almost like he was kissing it. 

"Max?" 

He nodded, still compressed against your fingertip. He didn't need to confirm it, really, because just like that, it all came rushing back; it had been years but you knew exactly who he was and you were about to make sure he remembered, too. You withdrew your hand with a breathy chuckle. 

"Like... Max.... Cooperman? The chubby kid who was always recording fights in the schoolyard?"

Ouch. Max cringed, knotting his mouth up to one side. Starting off strong with this one. “Yep, that – was me. And for the record, I was a part of those fights from time to time. And I trained -”  

"Ohhhh my god," you breathed, cutting him off as you covered your mouth with your hand. "You were such a dork, you know that, don't you? Like, such a dork.” 

“Okay, alright.” he said, looking behind him for a brief moment. “I came over ‘cause I have a policy that no cute girls are allowed to stand alone, especially at one of my parties. Are you just gonna’ stand here and bust my balls all night?” 

So he thought you were cute. Your cunt clenched — you’d take that thought to the bank. You grinned inwardly, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I can, if you want me to.” 

He cocked his head like a dog, unsure how to take that. “What, are we gonna’ play fight?” 

“Something like that.” 

You reached forward, teasingly slapping his cheek. With an intrigued expression, Max caught your hand and yanked you towards him, looking at your lips. You mirrored his gaze, wondering what they tasted like, and if they were as soft as they looked.

You couldn’t deny the facts; he wasn’t the dorky kid that you passively paid attention to. He stood taller and had trimmed down, a result of likely more physical activity and maybe better eating habits. The attraction that bubbled up in your core wasn’t new, it had just been dormant for many years. You ran your tongue along your bottom lip, wetting it and Max’s dark brown eyes followed your tongue as it travelled, a smirk stretching across his lips. 

"You still have that Mustang?" 

"Pffft, of course I do." 

“You wanna’ um…” 

Wide-eyed and eager, Max nodded. “Uh, YEAH?” 

The two of you made your way outside, with Max quickly navigating you to where his car was parked. The cool night air bit at your skin, goose flesh erupting over anything that was exposed – mostly your legs. Now in front of the car, your eyes swept over the Mustang, admiring it. You weren’t a car girl, by any means, but you knew when to appreciate them. This was decidedly one of those times. He took care of his car, that much was apparent. 

With a deep breath, you turned back to Max, an expectant smirk on your lips. “So, is this the part where you tell me you’ve had a crush on me since high school?” 

Max laughed as he leaned against the door of the car, shaking his head. You were cute, but this wasn’t a teenage romcom. “Actually, no, I don’t know you. I mean… I wanna’ know you.” 

He reached for you, snaking his hands around your hips to pull you closer. 

“Ohhoh shit, someone gained some confidence when they lost that baby fat, huh?” 

“Damn, okay.” He looked away, almost annoyed, but the lust that was now coursing through his system trumped any fleeting anger. “You seem to know a lot about me.” 

You paused, taken aback as you stared at him. You did. Because while he didn’t remember you, you remembered him. You’d always had an affinity for dorks and paid attention to them, despite cringing at their cornball behaviour – because if you knew one thing, it was that the weird, shy guys were always hung – and there was one particular day where you’d made your opinions about Max Cooperman. 

It was May, somewhere in the middle of the month. You were in a hurry to get to 4th period when you heard a bunch of guys shouting and jeering at each other. The natural instinct to watch a fight took over and you slowed your steps. 

You’d only paused for a second, not wanting to be late to class. He was fighting behind the bleachers, bright, red blood running down his top lip, fists up in front of his face, shouting at some guy: “I got this, bro! I got this!” 

You blinked. Back to reality. 

“Maybe I knew you. Maybe I thought you were cute,” you confessed, letting the alcohol take over your nerves. “Maybe I have a theory that dorky dudes have big cocks.” 

“Butterball Cooperman? Cute? What am I now then, huh?” 

You chewed your lip, not saying anything. Max caught your glance, looking at you with a hunger in his eyes that promised it would lead somewhere — it was the kind of look that said, Hey. My dick just woke up and it’s because of you. You crushed your lips against his, tangling both of your hands in his warm curls. A whisper of fucking hot echoed in your mind. Max didn’t need to hear it, he felt the heat coming off your body, rolling towards him in waves. With his groin throbbing, he connected your bodies again, pulling you tight at the waist. His free hand stretched behind him, fumbling for the door handle. 

“Wanna’ find out?” He asked, breaking the kiss. 

You nodded. 

Max threw the door open, and pulled the driver’s seat up, allowing you some space to crawl in first. You leaned in — making sure your ass was on full display in the short, denim skirt you’d chosen earlier that night — and moved  quickly to the passenger side. With your knees pressing into the black, leather interior of his backseat, you sat upright, making room for him as he joined you. 

He faced you, leaning his back against the window and angled his hips towards you, knees to his chest. You stretched forward, tapped one side of his closed knees. “Lemme in, Cooperman.” 

Immediately, they fell open, exposing the bulge in his jeans. There was a dirty, devilish little smirk on his face; he knew you were looking, sizing him up. Not such a dork now, huh?

“Theory proven?” 

“Maybe. I’ve gotta’ see.” 

You palmed his half-hard cock outside of his jeans, the tips of your fingers tracing the faint outline, until they came to the tip. Applying pressure, the pad of your pointer finger swept back and forth into the squishy flesh until your finger was met with a wet spot. You’d given a fair number of handjobs in your life, enough to be confident in your skills. 

“Shit,” Max hissed above you. “Shit.” 

Underneath the fabric, you felt his dick shift in his jeans. With a pleased smirk, giving him what he so clearly wanted, you unbuttoned and unzipped, allowing his hard-on some room to breathe. The bulge pitched forward slightly as you reached for the ruched edge of his boxers, and pulled them down over his balls. His cock now free, it flopped heavily against his stomach, searing hot on his abdomen. It was about as long as you’d expected, but much thicker. With a wanton gaze, you took hold of the shaft and began stroking, feeling the veins swell with each pass. Every so often, you paid special attention to the underside, gliding your fingers over the thickest veins. Eventually, his cock stood at attention, the tip reddened and leaking profusely. You bit your lip. 

“Ooooooh, Max Cooperman has a big thick cock.” You tittered in a teasing lilt, still fondling it. He whimpered loud, a high pitched desperate sound that filled the car. You hadn’t expected him to be so whiny, but somehow you weren’t surprised — it seemed appropriate for that nerd in the schoolyard. Whiny then, whiny now. Every obscene word was punctuated with a whine, like a teenager getting his first handjob. He rutted his hips helplessly against your fingers, grinding his stiffness into your grip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just like that - fuck.” 

Almost to shut him up, you craned forward to kiss him again, your mouths crushing together in violent desperation. After a few seconds, Max sloppily broke the kiss to look down at your hand, saliva stringing from his bottom lip to yours.

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” he breathed, watching your fingers as they stroked his swollen cock, paying special attention to the scarlet, almost purple head. His cock twitched again in your grip, expelling more precum. “Oh my fuckin’ god, holy shit, holy shit…” 

You were delighted by the position of power you were in, and even more than that, delighted by the way that Max was literally coming undone in front of you. All his acquired cockiness had melted away, replaced by the desperate dork you remembered. 

“I knew he was in there,” you whispered under your breath before giving his cock a firm grip, milking another whine from his lips. Max was too far gone to even respond logically to anything, you weren’t sure he’d even heard you over his ragged, uneven pants.  

Feeling adventurous (and perhaps cruel), you extended your tongue, flattening it against the underside of his cock. The salty pre-cum oozed onto it. Max gasped, lifting his hips upright, which forced his dick further into your mouth. You pulled back, shaking your head softly. For a moment, he did nothing but stare at his own cock, watching it as your hand drug up and down over it, working it inches from your lips. You thought he was going to lose it, but with a heavy breath, he lowered his hips again and went back to breathing unevenly.

“Please,” he begged incessantly, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. “Please lemme’ fuck you…”

“Uh-uh.” 

Max whimpered again, bumping his head against the window repeatedly like a kid throwing a tantrum.

“You can’t, Max. There isn’t enough room here.” 

“Yeaaah, baby, yeah there is. We’ll make it work.” 

You paused for a moment, surveying your surroundings. Even with the seats pushed forward, the backseat left little room for moving around, and the oddly placed hump in the center was undeniably impeding any laying down. Max’s hips were already jutted up oddly, you couldn’t picture laying down atop of it… unless….

“You wanna’ fuck me, Max? How bad you wanna’ fuck me?” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

Slack-jawed, he nodded, his curls bouncing. The collar of his shirt was a shade darker with sweat. “So bad. So fuckin’ bad, you have no idea. You can’t even fathom.” 

You thought about it. And thought about it some more, until finally, you said: “Move over.”

Obediently, Max scooted his hips up, his dick bobbing before he shifted himself onto the floor, allowing you to crawl forward, using the curve of the backseat like a sex pillow, your ass tilted up towards the now very fogged up back window. Your cunt was already warm and aching from giving him head, and with a deep breath, you imagined the wet slit that would greet him as soon as he got up behind you. 

Curious, you reached up between your legs, pressing them into the satin fabric – just as you thought. Soaked. Finding the hem of your underwear, you yanked them to the side, exposing her. Your middle finger then slipped inside, dragging some of the slick down to your clit, which you tapped, bringing the sensitivity higher. 

“Oh shit,” he gasped, seeing this erotic display that sent spikes of arousal straight to his already engorged and aching cock. Still on the floor, but now behind the passenger’s seat, Max leaned forward. Still awkwardly positioned – you silently applauded the desperation in which he did it – Max went for your cunt, bending his head at angle so that his tongue could flick out against your wet folds, getting a taste of your sweet, leaking juices. You couldn’t help but moan into the leather, clenching and shaking as he lingered there for a moment, just lapping at it, swallowing and mouth breathing heavily onto her. 

“Fuck–” He straightened up, and used the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. “You taste so good, baby.” 

You wiggled your ass in response, smiling against the seat. After a little bit of strained and clumsy maneuvering, Max was finally behind you, dick in hand. He shuffled closer, his jean-clad thighs pressing into the backs of your bare ones. Using his free hand, he glided over the curve of your ass and down your spine, as far as the jean skirt would let him. You felt the warm head bumping into her over and over again with a haphazard rhythm, strings of precum dripping down onto the seat below you  – he was jerking off into your cunt. 

“I thought you were going to fuck me.” 

“I am,” he panted. “I am… this is just too good. Fuck! I wish I had my camera.” 

After using the tip to play with your wetness for a bit longer, Max finally lined up and sunk his cock inside of you, using your hips to pull himself deeper. He bottomed out – the stretching heat burned, filling you from wall to wall as his hips began bucking instinctively, finding a carnal rhythm – you let out a low moan. You begged, wanting him to press himself as deep into you as he could.  

“Record it,” you suddenly ordered. 

“Wha-?” he choked, out of breath and still pumping himself into you. 

“Record it. You have your phone, don’t you?” You arched your back, pushing up into him. 

“You serious?” 

“Yeah, I’m serious. It’d be hot.” 

Still in awe of your lustful demand, Max reached in his back pocket and pulled his phone out. He quickly navigated to the camera app, tapped the red button, and held the phone above you, getting a wider angle. The flash was on; he pulled his thick, glistening cock out of you slowly, while his dark eyes darted back and forth between watching you and watching it on the screen. Knowing he was going to have this to later jerk it to… shit – his breath hitched in his throat. He bumped his hips into you a few times, popping the head into your cunt.

“Yeah, you like that?” 

At first, Max breathily answered, but remembering he was recording, cleared his throat and answered in a lower tone. “Fuck yeah.” 

“Oh stop,” you laughed, wiggling your hips on his cock. “Afraid to let your dorky voice out again?” 

“Shut up, I’m not a dork.” 

“Yeaaaah, yeah you are. A big dork with a big cock.” 

Much to his own dismay, Max whined, picking up speed as he hammered into you, his little desperate bunny humps rutting against your pussy, sending shockwaves through your core.  The sounds of skin slapping against skin, paired with your broken moans and Max’s pathetic, horny whines filled the car. He’d never really been one for degradation, but the way you teased him, throwing your verbal right hooks every chance you got, had him in pieces. Every time you did it, his dick twinged painfully, stiffening past the point of comfort. He took hold of it, jerking it a few times into your pussy. Making sure the camera was capturing it, Max went back to thrusting, sinking his aching cock halfway in before bottoming out again. The video would never see the light of day, you knew it. He’d have to mute it to save his ego, and what was the point of muting porn? Max was way too whiny to show his macho friends, every other thrust was accompanied by a desperate little whimper. 

“Shit, I’m gonna’ - I’m gonna’ baby, oh my god, I’m sorry I’m gonna’ – auuggh!”

With a final whimper, Max yanked his cock from your pussy, allowing his orgasm to burst out over your exposed cunt; hot, milky strings decorating your folds and ass cheeks.

Immediately after pumping the rest of his cum onto your ass, like a gentleman, Max sunk two fingers in your pussy, curling them up to masterfully find the sensitive, spongy flesh inside. So, he’d had practice, too. You took fistfuls of the seat, digging your nails into the soft, polished leather. Thankfully for him, you were close, so the way he pumped his fingers in and out of you brought you over the edge within a matter of seconds. 

With a final: “Ffffuck!!”, you clenched around his fingers, pleasure rupturing your entire core. You squeezed your eyes shut, riding out the orgasm and backing up into his fingers to increase the pressure. You heard Max hiss in a breath through his teeth as he watched you, enjoyed you, and recorded you in your most intimate moments. The thought drove your orgasm forward even further. 

As the pulses subsided, you flopped down heavily, out of breath and drenched in sweat. You pivoted your body, rolling back over onto your back. Max was still recording, absentmindedly playing with your still weeping cunt. You watched him with a smile, entertained and enamoured that he was so invested with you. With a little dinging sound, the recording finally ended, and he tucked the phone back into his pocket. 

You two sat in silence, breathing heavily until, in a moment of post-nut clarity, Max said: “Shit, I was supposed to spar with Matt.” 

“Who?” You couldn’t care less. 

“Uh, my friend.”

“Mm, well… Matt is just gonna’ have to take a rain check. That’s too bad.” 

He laughed, leaning his head against the window again. After a few moments, he spoke again, his voice soft and low.  

“So, your theory is true, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s true. Took me years to prove it, but… it’s definitely true.” You leaned up and ran your pointer finger along the inseam of his jeans, smirking to yourself. “Definitely true.”

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser /

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[nova2cosmos]

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[nescaveckwriter]

Whiskey Scar's...🥹

A/N: 🐞... Okayz my dearest love bugs, 💕 another one done for @jacklesversebingo 🥰 yayaness, I know its been a while though, But I hope you all are gonna enjoy, its a hard topic but needed.🥰 Okayz much love🥰❤️🩷

Warnings: *18+ Only* This can be triggering, please read with caution... Abuse, Violence, Blood, Prison, Some light swearing... Anything else let me know...😱

Characters: Dean x Fem Reader,

Words: 1350 🥰

Cover & Pictures: Pinterest, Canva, Google

Side Note: Please check out my Masterlist for more, epic stories🐞

Prompt "it was so worth the injury though" will be in bold. 💕

Raindrops fell on the black Chevrolet Impala. A Led Zeppelin song blasting over the radio, the muscular green eyed man hummed to it, he knew the words by heart. Reaching over for the hamburger he's been craving the whole day. 

As his left hand reached for his dinner, he saw something in his headlights, jolting the steering wheel to the side, pumping the brakes. When the Impala swerved to a stop, he got out, anger on his face, as he walks over to the crazy person, he just saw the back of her body, her hair wet and sticking to her clothes, she seemed to be drunk, it was the way she walked in the middle of the road, that made his blood boil, so he went towards her, his voice sounds harsh "What the hell? Can't you look where you're going?"

She flung around, her eyes wide and filled with fear, her shirt torn, she had a black eye, her lips were busted, there were bruises on her face, neck and exposed collar bone, the rain mixed with the red liquid running down her face, staining the rest of her skin, and shirt.

His jaw clenched, she didn't need to tell him what happened, he knew by the look of her, it was some damn coward, he gently approached her, his voice soft and low, "Miss? Let me help you" she just looked at him, searching his emerald eyes, for lies, or threats, or whatever was going through her mind, he took a few deep breaths and stepped a little closer, "please let me help you" he pleaded.

Her fearful eyes pierced his, her voice broken, tired and shaky "P... please don't hurt me", swallowing down the emotion, he slowly lifted his hands in the air, gently he replied "I won't, I just want to help you please". She just stares at him with those big eyes, he repeats his voice, sounds softer than usual, "I'm not going to hurt you, let me help you please...." Her body trembling, her bottom lip quivering "h...how can you help me?" The brokenness in her voice took him by surprise, and he felt a pang of sadness mixed with anger at the bastard who did this to her. 

So he slowly strides closer "why don't you let me take you to the hospital to get you checked out?" He quickly added "I just want to help, that's my only intention... I want nothing in return" she just slowly nodded and he held out his hand, but she didn't take it she just slowly walked towards his car, her arms crossed over her chest as if it was her way of comforting, maybe protecting herself,maybe even hiding the whiskey scar’s, so he walked next to her and opened the door. He saw the pained expression on her face as she made her way into the car.

After he closed the door, he went and got in behind the steering wheel and when he looked to his side, he saw the way she tried to cover the bruising, with the torn shirt, so he gently reached behind, taking his jacket and handing it to her without saying a word she took it and covered herself. He heard her distant sniffles, every now and then she'd wipe the tears, flinching every time. To be honest he could feel the anger boiling inside of him, he put that impala in drive and started making his way to the Hospital.

After a while he cleared his throat, and spoke in a gentle way "the name's Dean," she turned her bruised face. A faint smile on her busted lips, he almost missed the name she gave, as he had to fight the urge, to pull over the car, take her in his arms, hold her tight, help her feel safe, but he knew that weren't the right thing to do, so he nodded and replied "beautiful name". She looked at him, just smiled. After a few moments of uneasy silence she spoke, "thank you, I mean for picking me up" then softly adding "for saving me".  

Those words sent a chill down his spine, he didn't save her, that bastard is out there, and he's been on this earth long enough to know he's going to come looking for her. His knuckles white as he held the steering wheel, his voice a little gruff, "where is he?" Her head snapped towards him "w-what?" He could not hold it in anymore, "the bastard that this to you?".

She shook her head, "No... No... He's a dangerous man, he... He..." She started crying again.

Dean looked at her, his green eyes intense, "listen to me, I just want to go talk to him, please..." Yes he lied to her, he wants to beat the crap out of him.

So after a little convincing and asking nicely she answered his question with hesitation and gave him their house address. He immediately turned the impala around, speeding down the road, in a matter of what felt like a few minutes he pulled into the driveway. 

Her eyes widened, when he opened the glove box and took out a gun, with a frightened voice, "p.....please Dean, don't! You said you were just going to talk  to him” Dean looked at her, his jaw tight as he let out “Wait here” he got out before she could answer, made his way to the front door, with one last glance back at her, he kicked in the door. He didn’t wait for the coward to even react, his fist met his jaw, and he kept punching, the groans and moans coming from the burly looking man, didn’t make Dean stop, as he kept hitting the man over and over he kept repeating “you think your a man, beating up a woman?” he growled “you're a weak ass coward, lifting your hands to a woman who you were supposed to protect and love”.

Dean picked up the man by his shirt, “you’ll leave her alone, got it” he warned, letting go of his shirt, making the man fall to the ground in a bloody mess. Dean started to back up, the evidence of the beating evident on his knuckles. The burly man on the floor reached for his gun firing at Dean, grazing his shoulder, with a loud painful grunt Dean pulled his gun, and shot him. Walking out to the porch, took a seat and held his shoulder, the blood trickling down his arm, she got out of the car, and ran to him “Your hurt, oh my goodness, I’m so sorry” he lifted his hand to slowly cup her cheek, softly “He’ll never hurt you again” “but your hurt Dean” he smiled “It was so worth the injury though” sounding brittle “how can you say that?” he stared into her eyes “because sweetheart now you can heal” she burst into tears, throwing her arms around his neck, muffled “Thank you Dean, thank you” he didn’t reply he just held her until the sirens and blue and red lights appeared.

Yes he might be in jail now, but she comes to visit him every moment she gets, and if he has to be honest being here, is a whole lot better than where he sent that coward, But every single time she comes to visit him, seeing the lighter version of the woman he met that night six months ago, makes him realise it was all worth it, and if he could choose? Well he will do it all over again, yes he would, no one ever deserves to be abused or mistreated, they should be loved and cherished. A smile on his lips, a glint of tenderness in his emerald eyes, realising what day it is, he’ll see her again today as she comes to visit, the trace of those whiskey scar’s well it’s nearly faded. The guard letting him know he has a visitor, as he walked closer, he smiled as he saw the radiant beauty he saved that night.

@jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @k-slla @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @bookishtheaterlover7 @pia-bartolini @cutedisneygirl

[cressidagrey]

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours- Chapter 6: Oriana Fireborn Belmond, Goldsmith, Enchantress, Mate

Summary:

5 Times Cassian thought that Azriel had feelings for somebody and then 1 time he finally met the girl his brother was in love with.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

“Where’s Az?” Cassian asked. They were supposed to have their weekly meeting at the River House. Rhys was there, of course, he was…but Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

“He’s not with you?” Rhys asked, brows furrowing. 

“No. I thought he was in Winter?” There had been talk about exchanging intelligence with the Winter Court in connection to Spring and whatever Tamlin was up to these days. 

“He came home last evening. The whole thing was a bust,” Rhys said with a sigh. “He got stuck in a bloody ravine,” he recounted with a shake of his head. 

Cassian pulled a grimace. That didn’t sound particularly great. 

“How bad was it?” he asked. “Was he hurt badly?”

“He said he was fine,” Rhys waved him off.” 

“And you believed him?” Cassian asked incredulously. He highly doubted that one could just walk off a freaking ravine. Even with the quick healing of a High Fae. 

“He’s a grown-up,” Rhys said tightly. “Besides, my worry wasn’t appreciated.”

“Have you tried reaching out?” Cassian wondered. “It’s not like him to be late.” Azriel was punctual to a fault. 

He watched Rhys's expression tighten for a moment in concentration and Cassian waited. 

Rhys swallowed. 

“Nothing,” he finally said quietly. “I get absolutely nothing , Cass. He’s not out of my range, but I get nothing .”

That…That really wasn’t good. 

He wasn’t dead. That was something though.

“That’s not good ,” he breathed. It was absolutely horrible. Because it meant that Azriel wasn’t simply asleep. Even if knocked out, Rhys would probably be able to get something. But to get nothing? Nothing at all?

“No,” Rhys agreed. 

“I’ll go check on his house,” Cassian volunteered. “It’s as good a place to start as any.” Especially when the reason why Azriel couldn’t talk to Rhys was far worse than what they imagined. “See if he arrived back home.”

“I’ll check in with Nuala and Cerridwen,” Rys agreed.  “Let me know once you know.” Rhys hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, Cassian.”

“He’s my brother too,” Cassian gave back quietly. “Let me know if you get anything.”

The worry that churned in his gut…that was something else entirely as Cassian took flight towards Azriel’s house. 

If he was asleep Rhys would have been able to prod him awake, if he was knocked out, Rhys would probably get something. But to get nothing? That wasn’t good at all. 

He landed in the forest and then he promptly needed 5 minutes, before he realised that the wards that were set around the property had been gently redirecting Cassian away from it, without him even knowing. 

He had never experienced something like that. 

It pissed him off to no avail, that much was certain though.

They were also definitely not set by Azriel’s magic. He knew his brother's magic, knew the taste and feel of it, the way it moved…

Rhys’ magic felt like an avalanche. Azriel’s magic felt like the eye of a storm, perfectly still until it wasn’t, turning into a hurricane in a blink. 

And this magic…this magic was different from anything he had ever felt in his fucking life. 

It was similar still to Azriel’s…but it heated in warning when Cassian pushed back against it. 

And then because he was a fucking idiot, Cassian decided that using brute magical strength to force himself through these wards was the way to go. 

The magic turned into a fucking inferno in response.

The fact that it burned off half of his fucking hair did not make it any better either. 

The magic receded and he tackled the female that was waiting for him into the ground before she could do anything to him. 

“Who are you?” He demanded his knife pressing against her throat. He was quite certain as he took her in that he had never seen a Fae that looked like her. And she was a High Fae, her ears gave that away.

Her skin was pitch black, her hair the same colour braided away from her face…lips painted a deep berry colour. 

She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, not when her eyes, her fucking eyes, gave it all away. 

If her magic had seemed like fire, her eyes were the fire. There was hellfire burning in them, faces flickering like they would reach out and burn him at a moment’s notice.

“You destroyed my ward!” She hissed at him.

“You burned off my hair!” He snapped right back at her. 

“You are holding a knife to my throat!”

Well, he did. Then it grew so hot in his hand that he had no choice but to let it clatter against the floor where it turned into a bloody puddle of metal. 

“You melted that!“ He realised as he saw the expression on her face. He moved to replace his knife with his bare hands but her skin was so hot against his, that he was sure he was going to have blisters all over his hands if he kept that up. 

And then her hand moved far quicker than he had thought she would be able and she had a knife in her own hand. He caught her wrist before she could stab him with it, glaring at her. 

“Who are you?” He asked her. What was she? 

“Who are you?” She snapped right back at him. “You are the one who destroyed my wards !”

“You are the one who is here at my brother’s house !“ he snapped.

The last thing he had expected was for her to relax against the ground, no longer fighting against him and looking at him with her eyes still blazing…and then she said three words: “I live here.”

“You live here,“ he repeated unbelievingly. And then as he took a breath, suddenly her scent caught in his nose. 

His brother‘s scent was all over her. Azriel’s scent. 

Mist and cedar…now joined with jasmine and burning wood. There wasn’t a single question left. 

 “You are Azriel’s mate,“ he realised, staring at her. She stared right back, unflinching. 

He had spent weeks thinking about who Azriel was seeing and now there she was. Right in front of him. Literally nothing like what he had expected. 

But then… Azriel had always chosen the unexpected. 

“Wow, you are a genius,” she drawled. Her voice was dripping with disdain.“What gave it away, the fact that I am in his house or that I smell like him?” 

“You…since when…” he stuttered. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go down. He had thought that one day, Azriel was going to bring her to dinner and they would all get to meet her. And not that he would tackle her to the floor and she would melt his fucking knife. “How?” He blurted out. 

“I think you know how mating works, Oh mighty Lord of Bloodshed.“ She was talking to him like he was an idiot and he was pretty sure that he deserved it. 

“Azriel has never mentioned you,“ he defended himself. 

“Then maybe you should think about why .“ Her words were piercing. He could just stare at her, as she shifted underneath him. 

When Azriel found out about that he was going to kill him. Cassian was certain of that.

“Truce?” He suggested.

“Get off me , you big brute,“ she muttered as he rolled off her and gained his feet holding out a hand for her. She didn’t need it. Not when suddenly a cloud of shadows came to help her, hefting her up like she weighed nothing. 

They disappeared again, though they seeingly clung to her hands as she waved them away, one of them wrapping around her throat like it belonged there. 

He worked hard to keep the horror of his face. He had seen these shadows do the same thing a number of times under very different circumstances. But with her...with Oriana, they treated her like she was a precious thing. Treated her with all the care they were capable off. 

He swallowed. He had not once seen his brother’s shadows act like that. But then…he had never once met Azriel’s mate. 

“My name is Cassian,” he finally introduced himself, scratching his neck. He had rarely been that wrongfooted with somebody in his life. 

“I know,” she gave back, something like amusement blending into her voice.

“May I know your name?” he prodded as she seemed unwilling to give her more. 

“Oriana,” she told him. 

“No surname?” he wondered, she just cocked her head to the side. 

“Don’t you have one?  she gave back, clearly unwilling to let a single thing slide. 

“I am a bastard,” he gave back. “I don’t have one.” 

“Fireborn or Belmond, it depends on who you’re asking,” she finally answered. 

Fireborn. That seemed more like some kind of honorific, like shadowsinger, and less like a surname. 

“I am looking for Azriel,” he finally said quietly. “He was supposed to be in a meeting. Rhys can’t reach him. He could be in trouble.” 

He was sure that she would help him, if only because her instincts would tell her to. 

What he didn’t expect was the laugh she barked out, no amusement in her voice. 

“Oh, he is in trouble. With me,” she told him, her voice harsh. “He’s unconscious. That’s why Rhysand can’t reach him.”

Unconscious. That didn’t sound good. 

“He’s here?” Cassian asked and she just nodded. “Can I see him?” he requested. Oriana was Azriel’s mate but Cassian had been his brother longer than that. And he wanted to see him. Make sure that Azriel got everything he needed and that he didn’t need to go fetch Madja because Azriel wasn’t healing. 

“Do you promise me not to destroy our house?” Oriana asked drily.  “I’ll burn you to a fucking crisp if I need to.”

He was taken aback by that outburst. 

“You have a dirty mouth, you know,” he told her drily. She just held his gaze. He nodded.

Cassian followed along as she turned on her heel to march into the house. 

It was still the same house Azriel had shown him, but it was obvious that it had…well. Definitely been lived in by somebody other than just his brother. There was art on the wall, metallic sculptures of sorts, modern furniture, a couch…chairs that easily would be able to accommodate wings…bits and pieces that Azriel would have never bothered with before, but Oriana clearly did. 

He swallowed when he spotted a greenish linen tablecloth spread over the kitchen table, where Oriana had clearly been cooking something. 

“I don’t actually. You just caught me at an ill-time. After I spent a few hours yesterday wondering if my mate is going to die on me,” she answered, her voice so sharp that he could have cut himself on it. 

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked as she led him to what must be their bedroom. She hesitated before she opened the door. He could swear he saw a ward disappear at her touch like she had even warded Azriel before she had left him alone to go meet him outside. 

“He’s bruised extensively, and I didn’t think it was anything but that at first,” she said quietly. “He had a headache…we both thought he was just tired…he woke up three hours later vomiting blood and losing consciousness.”

Fuck. 

“He had inner bleeding in the abdomen. The healer told me all that was wrong with him but after that I just…” she trailed off, opening the door. 

Azriel was on his back, wings spread out over the bed, the whole thing surrounded by a dome of a greenish tint of sorts. 

Cassian had never seen anything like that.  

“Don’t touch it, please,” Oriana requested, her voice quiet. “It’s a healing trance. We use it in the mountain…I have it on a very good account that he’ll be fine. He was bleeding out from within. Which would have been caught if he had gone to a healer after his mission and didn’t come home to me immediately, because I quote I missed you .” There was anger in these words, but also sadness and not a small amount of love. It was all there, able to be heard by anybody who heard her speak about his brother. 

He swallowed, taking in the violent bruises on Azriel’s face, the swelling of one eye…the steady rise and fall of his chest, the bandages…the blanket that was pulled up over him…the ugliest thing that Cassian had ever seen consisting out of mismatched squares of knitting, no two the same. 

“Are you a healer?” he wondered. Who had put Azriel into a healing trance? 

“Do I look like a healer to you?  My bedside manner would be more than questionable,” Oriana said with a snort.

It would have been amusing in any other situation. 

“What are you then?” Cassian asked curiously. What did she do? What was she what she spend her time with? There was no question that Oriana was a magical powerhouse of sorts. 

“Does it matter?” Oriana wondered, leaning against the door. “By Trade? An Enchantress. By Creed? A goldsmith. By heritage? Half High Fae from the Autumn Court, half Tartera Faerie living in the mountain. By Love? His mate. And that will always come first.”

The truth was clear in her words.  

Still, he swallowed. An Enchantress. That was rare. It explained a lot though.

“Emotionally? Completely pissed off at Azriel, right now,” she added, her voice breaking. “And at your precious High Lord when we are already at it.”

“Rhys?” Cassian wondered aloud. “What has he done?”

“Send Azriel on his merry way,” Oriana said quietly. “He wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for him. Azriel thought the whole thing was a bad idea, but Rhysand insisted.” 

Damnit. 

“He wouldn’t have done that if he thought that something was wrong,” Cassian said carefully. 

Oriana snorted.  

“You don’t believe me,” he said drily and she shrugged. 

“Let’s just say that I have a list of problems with him, and this is just the last one I added to it,” she admitted her voice even. 

“With Rhys?” Cassian said, brows rising. “What had he done to you?”

“To me personally? Nothing. To Azriel? I have a list,” Oriana said, sticking out her chin, and crossing her arms. 

Ouch. Rhys was in it for it.

And Cassian didn’t think for one moment that some singed-off hair and a melted knife was the worst thing that Oriana Fireborn could dish out if she put her mind to it. 

 “Does he know about you?” Cassian wondered. Had Rhys known about her? About Azriel and her. 

“Rhysand knows off me. There is a difference,” Oriana said carefully.   “If you ever want to annoy him you should ask him about his last trip to talk to Custodian of the Mountain…oh about 200 years ago? And what happened to his favourite jacket.”

“There is a story there, isn’t there?”  Cassian said with some amusement and she just shrugged. 

He was very curious about what exactly had gone down then. But that wasn’t the most pressing thing. 

“He’ll be fine?” he asked once again. Oriana just nodded. 

“He’ll be perfectly fine. A healer will check on him in an hour or so,” she said quietly. 

Clearly, she took care of what was hers. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching Azriel’s still form. 

“He’s my mate ,”  she spat out. “I did it for him, not for you.” 

“I know that,” Cassian said softly, meeting her eyes, the flames flickering. There was a unique kind of beauty in there, the way the flames were alive in her eyes. “Thank you for loving my brother.” 

Something inside her eased. “He’s very easy to love,” Oriana said quietly. 

“Will you let me know when he’s awake?” he asked and she nodded. 

“I’ll have the shadows sent a note,”  she agreed quietly. “The healer said another day or so.”

“Thank you,” Casisna thanked her again, turning his back to his brother and she led him out of the house. 

She was quiet, sunken in thought and as he turned to tell her goodbye, suddenly it burst out of her. 

“Were you the one who told him that he would need to pay for sex because he’s so disgusting that that is the only way he could get somebody to pretend to care for him?” She spat out. 

It was the last thing Cassian had expected. 

“ What ?”

“I am paraphrasing. I imagine the real sentence was more along the lines that if he wanted sex he should go to a pleasure hall and better pay for it,” Oriana corrected herself. “I just ask, because he took it to mean something very different.”

Cassian swallowed. That…It was... He didn’t even have words for it. He couldn’t…He couldn’t even think of a moment where anybody would have…why would…

“Were you the one?” Oriana demanded and he just shook his head. 

“He’s my brother,” Cassian said fiercely. “I would never say something like that to him.” She met his eyes, her own burning with an intensity that terrified him.

“Somebody did,” she said very carefully.  “I am putting you on notice, I don’t fucking care who it was, but if I find out, I am going to put them on fire.”

He didn’t doubt that for one moment.

“I’ll help,” he muttered darkly. “I’ll hold them down for you.” 

She gave him a smile that reminded him of Nesta in some way, sharp and biting. 

“Then we have an accord.”

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 10 - Monday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Interlude] [Chapter Eight] [Chapter Nine] [Chapter Ten]

CW: vomiting. I wouldn't call it explicitly described but it is a heavy part of the beginning of this chapter.

Green, yellow, and red pinned against a wall. No. Not a wall. The image clears itself and Steve can see now. Not a wall; a ceiling. Chrissy and her hair, not red, but blonde with a touch of strawberry. She rises and contorts, but in a weird slow motion dreamlike way.

This is what Eddie witnessed. This was the horror he saw. Steve knows without knowing that if he turns around, he’ll see whatever expression was on Eddie’s face as he witnessed this in real time.

Then, like dreams do, it continues. Changes without changing.

There is a grandfather clock, darkwood and long dead. It’s the one that Max saw sticking out of the school wall. The hands don’t move but it chimes like it’s midnight anyway.

No. Not midnight. It only chimes four times.

Steve is standing in front of it, in a room covered in cobwebs and spiders. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he knows he’s in the wrong place. Or, the right place but the wrong dimension. He looks down and watches as a spider skitters across the dusty wooden floor. Normally Steve is terrified of spiders but dream logic keeps that fear at bay.

With that same dream logic, Steve watches as that spider grows in size and suddenly it’s a demodog, running fast as it can before it leaps and busts through the stained-glass window of the front door. He turns, taking a step to follow, and suddenly the dust covered floors are vine covered, and the sky outside is red and stormy.

Steve walks across the floor, careful to avoid the vines. He’s not sure why but he knows he must. He reached the door and opens it, stepping onto the porch. In the sky, creatures fly about, swooping and diving at things Steve can’t see. The front yard isn’t a lawn but a graveyard.

Sneakers floating at eye level in the graveyard, a cassette player on the ground beneath them. He doesn’t know what that means, why it’s there.

The shoes look familiar. If he could just get a closer look-

-Something wraps around his neck, yanking him back into the house, and he can’t breath.

A man. A monster. They’re the same person but Steve doesn’t know who they are.

Dustin sobbing.

They’re not enough. They’re not trained, not ready, not able to prepare.

Steve wakes up feeling sick. Violently sick.

He is tangled around Eddie, which would be a fantastic way to wake, except that he is going to throw up and he does not have the time to untangle himself gently.

He barely hears Eddie’s disgruntled grumbling as he dashes down the hall and into the bathroom.

He doesn’t make it.

He starts throwing up a few feet from the toilet, but keeps moving to finish in the bowl. Less to clean up, since his body is revolting against everything inside it currently and he’s not done heaving.

“Shit, Steve, you okay?” Eddie’s voice, still sleep groggy, calls from down the hall.

“Yeah,” Steve shouts back, but it can only generously be called a shout as halfway through the word, Steve heaves again. Steve lays his arm across the toilet seat so he can rest his forehead against it between heaves.

He feels stuck in a loop. When he thinks that the nausea has passed, his brain brings back the thoughts of his dream and need to throw up overwhelms him again. They don’t even have a plan. There’s no end game in sight for whatever the fuck is going on. Even so, Steve knows that they aren’t going to win this. He doesn’t even know what winning this would look like. They don’t even know what Vecna is or what it wants and Steve already knows that whatever they’re going to do isn’t going to work. How can he fix this?

Something touches his lower back, startling him.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you,” Eddie says, and the thing on Steve’s back, which must be Eddie’s hand, rubs soothingly up and down. “I, uh, can I do anything to help?”

Steve rolls his head back and forth on his arm, too wrung out to lift his head for a proper headshake and too afriad to open his mouth to say no. He can feel the nausea fading, though. Eddie’s question has cut off the loop happening in his mind.

“What if I call Buckley?” Eddie offers and Steve does his best to nod. “Okay, I’ll go do that. I’ll be back soon.”

Steve musters up the energy to flush the toilet and use his towel to clean up his sick from the floor as best he can. The bathroom smells like throw up but he doesn’t have the will to get up and leave it just yet. He feels weak and his body is sore from how hard he was just heaving, so he cleans up as best he can and then sits himself against the wall, eyes closed.

“Steve?” Robin’s voice startles him, and he opens his eyes to see her looming over him, Eddie next to her.

He must have dozed off. It feels like it’s been only a few minutes since he shut his eyes but knows it must have been longer than that, or Robin wouldn’t be here.

“ ‘m okay,” he mumbles.

“This doesn’t seem okay dingus,” Robin’s voice is soft, so Steve knows she’s really concerned. “You need a hospital?”

“Not sick,” Steve says, and watches as Robin and Eddie turn their heads to look at the puke-covered towel he shoved in the far corner. “I mean, yeah, I threw up, but not because I’m sick. Had that dream, again. But longer, more detailed.”

Robin sucks in a breath. “Oh! Tell me everything.”

Steve nods, then frowns. “Can we talk in the living room? I really want out of this bathroom. Smells like someone ralphed in here.”

Robin laughs, and Eddie gives kind of a weak chuckle of his own, so Steve is taking the win.

“Alright. Eddie, can you go get a sleeve of crackers and some water for Steve? I’ll help him down the stairs,” Robin says.

“Uh, sure. Which cupboard are the crackers in?” Eddie says, inching towards the door.

“Oh. Wait, let’s switch jobs. You get Steve down the stairs, I’ll get everything else.” With that, Robin turns on heel and head out the bathroom, leaving Eddie to look between her and Steve for a moment before he gives a decisive nod, which Steve assumes was more for himself than it was for Steve or Robin.

“Come on, big boy,” Eddie grunts as he helps haul Steve off the bathroom floor.

“Thank you,” Steve says. He’s already feeling better, all feelings of nausea long gone. He could make it downstairs without help, but he’s not going to let a reason to wrap an arm around Eddie go to waste.

“I think you’re carrying more of your weight than I am, so really, no need for thanks.”

“Not for this. For calling Robin. And coming to see if I was okay. Broke me out of a dread spiral.”

Eddie looks at him from the corner of his eye, confused, before he says, “well, in that case, you’re welcome. Dread spiral sounds dreadful.”

Steve snorts in response and leans more into Eddie. It gets him a huff but he isn’t pushed away so really everything is coming up Steve right now.

They shuffle down the stairs and soon enough Steve’s settled on the couch, placing himself at an end so he can use the end table for the water and crackers coming his way. Eddie’s plopped himself at the other end, settling diagonally with one leg bent and the foot of that leg shoved under his other, so he’s somewhat facing Steve.

Steve can hear Robin in the kitchen, the sound of the tap turning off.

“Alright, drink up and have some crackers, and tell me what you saw,” Robin says, dropping a sleeve of saltines into his lap and handing him a glass of water. He can see she’s also holding his big salad bowl under her arm. He knows what he’s brought it for, in case he needs a place to throw up that’s not the carpeted floor, and he wishes she’d at least also brought a grocery bag or something to use as a liner. He’ll never use it for cooking again if he throws up in it, though, no matter how many times he cleans it.

Steve takes a big gulp of water before speaking. “You remember that waking nightmare thing? Well, I had it again, but more of it. Longer.”

“Waking nightmare?” Eddie asks.

“Oh,” Robin makes a surprised noise, like she forgot Eddie was there. She looks to Steve and he can see the question there. He’s not quite sure what the silent question is but he trusts her enough to nod. Robin looks back to Eddie and says, “Steve is psychic. He can see the future.”

“That’s not true,” Steve tries to argue but Robin levels him with a steely look, so he shoves a cracker into his mouth to avoid speaking.

“It is true,” Robin insists even as she frowns at her own words. She set the bowl on the floor in front of Steve and takes a few steps back, plopping herself into the plush armchair before conceding with, “okay, it’s somewhat true. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Eddie echoes, and when Steve dares to look at him he can see that Eddie’s face is pretty blank. It’s not betraying any of his thoughts, unless Eddie’s just not having any thoughts.

Steve can relate.

Steve takes a sip of water to help clear the very dry and slightly stale cracker from his mouth and then he explains, “I don’t see the future. Or, I used to not. The nightmares, they’re new. Anyway, I don’t see the future, I, um, feel it. In my gut.”

“In your gut,” this is the third time Eddie’s just repeated something he’s heard and Steve thinks he might actually be having too many thoughts.

“Yeah. Like, I think about something and if I get nauseous thinking about it, then I don’t do that thing. Or, that’s how it used to work. It’s different now, but also the same,” Steve cringes at his own words and the shit explanation he’s giving. “But it used to just be a feeling and now it’s not. I know how that sounds. It’s not exactly believable. I didn’t even believe it at first. Robin’s been trying to convince me for months that I was predicting the future somehow.”

Eddie’s kind of bobbing his head as Steve speaks. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”

“Just like that?” Robin asks, surprised. “You believe Steve’s psychic?”

“At this point, I think I’ll believe anything. There’s an evil wizard in a different dimension murdering people. You guys knows a girl who can throw things with her mind, apparently. Why can’t Steve tell the future with his small intestine?” Eddie drops his head back onto the couch, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

“Oh. Well. That’s great,” Robin says, “you can help up get everyone else to believe it, too.”

Eddie closes his eyes and breathes harshly out his nose but otherwise he doesn’t say anything.

“I get it if you don’t actually believe me. I didn’t even start believing it until Friday. Just thought I was, like, the luckiest guy in Hawkins.”

“He thought that the ‘follow your gut’ idiom was meant, like, literally,” Robin snickers.

That gets a small chuckle from Eddie, who lifts his head to look at them again. “Alright. I don’t not believe you.”

“Good enough. Now, tell me the dream,” Robin folds herself up in the armchair, getting cozy for story time.

“I- it’s the whole dream still,” Steve starts, looking directly at Robin. “Even the parts that have come to pass. I just… I see more of what happened, now that it’s already happened. And I know we don’t even have a plan yet, but I know it’s not going to work. He’s going to win.”

Robin frowns, taking the words in. “Well. Okay. So, if thats not going to work, then what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “It’s like yesterday, when we talked about Max lying to the police to give Eddie an alibi. There’s no feeling. I don’t have enough information to even guess at what doesn’t work. I need to know what the plan is before I can try and figure out the parts that don’t work.”

“Nancy might have a plan forming she hasn’t told us yet,” Robin says. “She was right about her hunch, and she said she was figuring something out last night. I’ll go call her, see if she’s figured something out yet. You should get on the walkie and see if the gremlins are up and moving. You’re going to have to tell them this, too, you know.”

“Sure, mom,” Steve huffs as Robin jumps from the chair to grab the phone. He stands from the couch and Robin swats at his arm.

“Of the two of us, you’re the mom,” Robin grumbles, lifting the phone from the cradle.

“I’ll show you mom-” Steve reaches out to shove her but Robin’s too fast, dancing out of Steve’s reach.

“I am on the phone!” Robin says, covering the bottom of the phone with her hand as if that would muffle how loud she just was. She whips her head to Eddie and growls, “get him under control, Munson!”

Eddie is off the couch and halfway to obeying before what he’s doing sinks in. He looks so confused as he turns from Steve to Robin and asks,“Me? Since when do I control what Steve does?”

Robin levels him with a look and opens her mouth to say something but suddenly her eyes widen and she’s saying, “Oh, hello Mr. Wheeler. Good Morning. I was calling to speak to Nancy, please.”

Without saying anything, both boys step away from Robin and her phone call. Steve ends up following Eddie upstairs and to his room. Steve grabs the walkie and Eddie grabs what looks like the last cigarette in his pack.

Only once he’s holding the cigarette does Eddie turn to look at Steve. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He does that a few times and Steve waits. “Can you really see the future?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answers, honestly. “I’ve never seen anything before Friday. It’s just been a feeling, mostly. Usually.”

“So… how do you know you’re seeing the future now, and not, like, just having a stress dream?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, because it’s a fair question. “I just know.”

Eddie looks like that was the answer he was expecting, and Steve’s stomach gives a small roll. Eddie steps around Steve to leave and more words just burst from Steve’s mouth without thought.

“I saw your living room in the nightmare. I’ve never been there, which, well, you know. But I saw it. Shelves of coffee cups and trucker hats on the wall. In the corner is a fold up cot next to a TV. It looks lived in. Like a home.”

Steve turns and is suprised to find that Eddie is facing him.

“Look, Steve, a lot of shit is happening and every day I learn something new and kind of world shattering. It’s a fucking lot to handle. And now you say-” he shakes his head before tugging at his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that. I don’t know how to deal with all this. I don’t even know if I can go home. The police suspect me of murdering Chrissy and possibly Fred, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it and I certainly don’t know what to do about it! And I don’t know what to think about you.”

“Me?” Steve asks, barely above a whisper. He feels sick again, but this has nothing to do with his gut instinct.

“Yes, you! You-you propositioned me the first fuckin’ night I was here and then act like nothing happened! I don’t know what the fuck’s going on here.”

“Propositioned?” Steve gasps, hand clenching hard on the walkie. “No I didn’t. You came on to me when you reached out. I was going to bed, and suddenly there’s your hand at my waistband. And, like, obviously, I wasn’t upset by the turn of events but you definitely reached out first.”

“You literally told me you usually sleep with people ‘to occupy your mind’ when this kind of shit happens and asked if I’d sleep with you!?” Eddie isn’t yelling, but he does sound a bit hysteric.

If Steve’s honest, he doesn’t really remember word for word what he said, so he can’t really say that Eddie’s wrong. But he thinks back, tries to remember Saturday night, and a slow feeling of horror sweeps through him. Had he never really clarified? Had he really implied he’d wanted sex from Eddie? Holy shit. That can’t be right.

“I- I didn’t mean sleep together like that. I really didn’t. I meant-”

“I know,” Eddie says, quickly like he can sense the panic rising in Steve. “I mean, I didn’t know. But I know now. Figured it out yesterday, when you told me even the kids sleep in your bed when things are tough. I just. The world’s fucking falling apart around me and a girl was murdered in my home and I can’t stop thinking about you. Feels like my priorities are all fucked.”

“Oh,” Steve says, surprised. “I- I don’t know what you want me to say? How can I help?”

Eddie furrows his brows, and there’s a long pause before he answers, “I guess I just wanna know why you- if it all wasn’t a come on, why’d you go through with it? Why didn’t you clear the air?”

Ah. Well, that’s an easy answer. “I mean, when your crush comes on to you, you don’t really say no, right?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide and his mouth opens slightly as he looks at Steve, completely shocked. “M-me?”

“Yeah, you,” Steve says around a soft laugh, kind of charmed by Eddie’s confusion. “You can even ask Robin.”

“You told Robin about your crush on me?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. She’s my best friend, I tell her everything.”

“You told Robin about your crush on me,” Eddie’s back to just repeating things, but this time his tone is soft and awed. “You talked to Robin about your crush because she’s your best friend. Yeah. Okay. I-I need a cigarette. And to think.”

“Okay. You go have your cigarette and think," Steve says, amused, "I’m gonna walkie the gremlins and check if Robin’s off the phone. We’ll be in the living room.”

Eddie nods and soon enough he’s out of Steve’s bedroom. Steve’s not sure how to feel about that conversation. There’s a lot more that needs to be said, probably, but with everything else happening it might be a conversation that needs to be put on hold. At least until tonight.

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Dark Glasses - Crowley x Reader (Platonic)

Sooooo, Nanowrimo was a bust, but you know what that means?

We're back with the fanfiction train! Choo Choo!

also reminder that requests are open! (just check out my guidelines first)

Wordcount: 1.9k

Summery: Friends support friends even when your friend is actually a demon but especially when your demon friend just got shot down by his long time angel crush.

The same man has been coming to your bar since you started working there five years ago. The other bartenders told you he's been around since you opened 20 years ago, he never gives his name and comes in with dark glasses no matter what time of day it is or whether the sun is out or not. Although unlike most regulars he doesn't have a specific drink he always orders. Sometimes it’s a rum and coke, sometimes he goes for a more classy bottle of wine, sometimes he'll even order a straight shot of liquor but he always tips well. 

You call him 'Dark Glasses'. You could have called him redhead seeing as his hair was the most vibrant red you'd ever seen. There was no way it was natural but that wouldn't be fair to him. Some people can get very touchy about red hair. 

Instead you called him dark glasses.

Dark Glasses came into your bar one day, sauntering over in the late afternoon, not an unnatural occurrence. The bar was basically empty with the exception of two friends that got a head start on the night's drinking. 

Dark Glasses sat down and you could feel the loss and pain flowing off of him, not like how you can tell with people. It wasn't his expression or body language that gave you the impression though, it was as if you felt his emotions. As if they were ebbing off of him. 

"Give me whatever's strongest" He said and you nodded, something told you he needed to drown out his sorrows. 

“One bone dry martini coming right up” you said. 

As you mixed his drink you periodically looked over at him, the poor guy was thrown over the bar as if it was the only thing keeping him from crying. 

You walked over to him and handed him the drink. 

"There you go sir" You said and he perked up only slightly, took the glass from you and downed the entire thing in one go. 

"I'll need another one" He said, pushing the glass back in your direction.

You stared at him, "That, that was a glass of straight vodka. three shots of vodka." You said, stunned. 

"I thought you said this was a martini" The man mumbled. 

"Yes, the glass is coated in a little bit of vermouth, that's what makes it so dry... You just downed three shots of vodka like it was nothing" You said. 

"Got a high tolerance, now can I get another one please?" He asked and honestly you were a bit too stunned to say no. 

After two more though you knew he was done. Normal people, even those with a high tolerance like he apparently has can't drink more than 6 shots of vodka without getting drunk and he was drunk. 

Mind you, not the fun kind he normally is. You're familiar with Dark Glasses when he's drunk. He slurs and gets very bold and flirty as well as clumsy, though not touchy which always surprised you. Now though, now was different. Now he was a sad drunk. Moping all around the bar. He could barely walk, instead he swayed from side to side and his flirting, something you could usually count on to raise your spirits, became lowley grumbling. 

"I think that's enough" You said, taking what little remained of his third glass and pouring it out.

"What? No! I'm fine" He tried to say but struggled with the last word. 

"No, you're drunk. You can stick around but the only thing you're getting is water" You told him and he made a face that almost looked like a snake trying to give puppy dog eyes. 

"Come on Y/N, you know me, I can handle anything" He said, pulling you by the sleeve over the bar. 

He's never initiated contact like that before. Not with anyone. 

"Alright, that's enough. Go home" You told him and he deflated. 

"Can't," He said. 

"What do you mean can't?" You asked. 

He had a home. He'd told you about it. A nice flat in mayfair with lots of plants. 

"Can't. Don't live there anymore" He said and you looked genuinely surprised. Is that what has him so down in the dumps? Was he evicted? Did the bank repossess his apartment?

"What about that bookseller friend of yours in Soho? Can't you stay with him?" You asked and he shook his head. 

"He's gone. He went to heaven" Dark Glasses said.

"Oh I'm so sorry" You said, maybe that was why he was so down. 

"How about this, I finish my shift in a couple hours, you can crash on my couch" You told him. You'd never have said this to anyone else but you knew Dark Glasses. You knew he was sweet though he hated when someone pointed it out and you knew he needed help. 

"You would do that for me?" He asked and you smiled. 

"What can I say, you tip really well" You joked and managed to get a chuckle out of him before he went back to moping. 

A few hours later He was leaning on you as you walked him out of the bar. Somehow still just as drunk as when you'd taken away his last drink.

"Wait, wait, wait, how are we going to your place?" He asked. 

"Car" you said. He wasn't heavy but keeping him walking in a somewhat straight line out was difficult.

"My car?" He asked. 

"No. You are not driving. My car" You told him and led him over to where your slightly beat up old car was parked. 

"Now come on, in you go" You said, trying to help him in. It took a minute but he managed to shimmy in comfortably enough for someone with very little control of their extremities. 

"I don't like this car" He complained. 

"Too bad" you told him, got in and drove off.

"Why are you helping me? You're never this nice" He slurred. 

"You're never this mopey" You retorted. 

"Yeah but, but..." He trailed off. 

"We're almost there just don't fall asleep the last thing I need is to try to drag you up to my place" You said and he nodded. 

"Don't worry, I won't, I can sober up whenever I want" He said and you shook his head. Sometimes Dark Glasses said the craziest things when he was drunk. Sometimes he'd say them when he wasn't drunk but that was neither here nor there. 

You eased him through the door to your flat and he smiled. 

"You have plants, very nice Y/N" He said and you smiled. 

"Thank you now you go sit down before you collapse all over my floor" You told him and he did as he was told, sitting down and then sprawling himself over your couch. 

"He used to do this too, when I was too drunk, he'd bring me in and tell me to sit" he slurred and you turned to him, confused. 

"Who?" You asked. 

“My angel” Dark Glasses said. You came over to him with a glass of water.

"It's hard, when someone dies. Grief is a powerful thing" You told him and he shrugged. 

"I wouldn't know" he said, slurping down the contents of the cup. 

"Just sleep. You'll feel better in the morning" you told him, spreading a blanket over him and placing the cup on the coffee table. 

"Try to make it to the toilet if you puke" You told him and went to bed yourself. 

Crowley had never been hungover. He'd always sober up before it got to that point but this time he didn't. Even the thought of sobering up made him think of his drinking sessions with Aziraphale. 

But Aziraphale left. He went to heaven and left Crowley to drown out his sorrows the human way. 

The first thing you woke up to was the loud sound of someone vomiting. 

"Please god let him have made it to the toilet" You said to yourself, throwing off the blacket and going to check on your mysterious guest. 

She must have thought it would be funnier to scare you because Crowley in fact made it to the toilet. Luckily. 

Crowley was practically puking his life out, once it was all out, at least for now, he heaved. 

"How do humans do this?" He asked. He had half a mind to miracle it all away.

"With years of practice" You said, making your presence known. 

"Ahhh!" He shouted, falling back on his butt only to rub at his head and groan, "Ugh". Now everything hurt even more than before.

He still had his sunglasses on, though the bathroom lights were off and the sun hadn’t even come up yet. 

"I always thought you were pretty strange but now I'm starting to wonder if you're sane at all" You said. 

"If you're worried I'll go crazy and attack you, you needn't be." He said quietly and you rolled your eyes. 

"As if you could with the way you are right now, you look like you've been dragged through hell" You said and Crowley looked back down at the toilet. 

"Oh you have no idea" He said. 

At this point he was simply sitting criss-crossed in front of the toilet so you sat down on the bathroom floor next to him. Checking the time, it had only been a few hours.  

"I know you've gotten drunk before, have you seriously never been hungover?" You asked. 

"Never" He said. 

"I don't think I believe you" You said. 

“Well it’s the truth” He said. 

“You are one strange specimen Glasses” You said.

“Glasses?” He asked. 

“Oh, um, you never told any of us at the bar what your name was so we just called you Dark Glasses… cause you’re always wearing your dark—”

“Yeah I get it” He said. “It’s Crowley by the way” 

“That’s quite the original name” You said.

“Used to be Crawley but that was a bit too” He made a hissing noise with his tongue and you noticed it was thin and split, like a snake’s.

“You know sometimes I wonder if you’re even human with all the strange shit that comes out of your mouth” You joked and Crowley laughed and then smirked. 

“You wanna know a secret?” He asked. 

You looked at him skeptically. “Do I?” You asked. 

He shrugged, “It’s up to you really” He said. 

“Then, yeah I guess”

“I’m a demon” He said. 

You chuckled.

He didn’t laugh. 

“No”

“Yes”

“I was the serpent of eden” He said, smiling.

“That’s not– no… cause that would mean that god” He nodded, “And satan” He nodded again. 

“The world almost ended four years ago” He says. It’s almost as if seeing your reaction is helping him get his spirits back. 

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and move on!”

…

“How come it didn’t?” You asked. 

“We convinced the antichrist that the earth was actually pretty nice” He said.

“We?” You asked. 

“Aziraphale… and I” He said, his voice dwindling. 

“He’s that bookseller friend of yours right?” You asked and Crowley nodded.

“He’s the one that died, I’m so sorry Crowley” You said, putting a comforting hand on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“He didn’t die.” Crowley said. 

You looked at him, “But you said he went to heaven” “He’s an angel, my angel” Crowley said, his voice wasn’t a white, it was more just, sad and full of grief. 

“He went off to become the new supreme archangel of all of heaven” Crowley said, this time he was in fact whining. 

“Well then, he could come back” You said but Crowley shook his head.

“Not after he said he forgave me” He said. 

“Forgave you for what?” “Kissing him,” Crowley said sorrowfully. 

Oh.

“I’ll go get us both some wine” You said. 

[shipstorms]

more modern AU

Halfway through the episode, there’s a faint beep of a keycard and the door clicks open. Gale turns down the volume and stands up just as someone appears past the corner with a single duffel slung over his shoulder.

"Gale! Holy shit!" Bucky greets loudly, dropping the duffel onto the bed and pulling Gale into a hearty hug. All the action coalesces into a big blur, but he's solid and warm, the first person Gale's touched so closely in months.

"Hey there," he manages, face held tight against the ribbed collar of Bucky's t-shirt. 

Bucky smells like everything comforting: clean laundry, low-profile deodorant, a freshly sparked flint. And it has to be Bucky -- who else would have a keycard to the room? -- but Gale is just about knocked sideways by the sheer physical presence of him. Back then in Afghanistan, on truckloads of ephedra pills, Bucky had almost been thinner than even Gale. The person who stands before him now is hulking, both taller and broader than that rangy kid. Even his voice has thickened up rough with whatever he's been sucking through his lungs for the past few years. Which, judging by the Marlboros peeking out of his shirt pocket and Parliaments tossed onto the dresser, has been varied and plentiful. 

It takes a second to overwrite his memory of Bucky with this current iteration, and another second to react. He pats at Bucky's back, then drops his arms when Bucky grabs him by the shoulders and pushes them apart so they can look at each other. 

"Been awhile, huh? How've you been?" Bucky shakes him a bit. His expression is familiar, open and happy, the kind of smile that doesn't have to be earned, and all his other features fall into place around it. 

"John," Gale says. Even to his own ears, he sounds genuinely delighted. "You grew up."

Bucky laughs. "Pretty sure I was grown back then, but I know what you mean. You too, Buck. You look good."

Gale is about to say, not as much as you, or nah, not me, but maybe that would seem like he's too fascinated with this transformation. So he doesn't. 

"Do I still look psyops good?" he asks instead. 

He can spot the moment Bucky processes this reference and connects it to the correct memory. "Even more so," he confirms, eyes crinkling up with another wide grin. "They need to start putting this mug on recruitment brochures, I've been saying that for years."

He gives Gale a final squeeze before turning too soon to unpack his bag. A wrinkled suit emerges, followed by a dopp kit. "Can you believe Croz is getting married?" he asks with his back toward Gale. 

"Half the guys at Bagram got hitched before they even deployed," Gale points out, distracted, studying how Bucky's hair is still shorn down close, tapering to a dark point on his nape. The paleness of his upper arms peeks past his sleeves when he stretches out to toss a charging cord onto the pillow. 

"Love," he crows. "What a beautiful journey."

He heads over to the bathroom, hanging his suit on the door hook and emptying his kit by the sounds of it. "We got like an hour, right? Do you mind if I shower? Need to get some steam going to unwrinkle this thing." 

"Go ahead," Gale calls back. 

"We'll catch up after!" Bucky hollers.

The door shuts and the water turns on. Gale punches the TV volume back up, though he's already forgotten what myth they were busting in the first place. Something on screen gets smashed with a hydraulic press before exploding and he watches vacantly. Finds himself thinking again about how much Bucky has changed; marveling at it, almost, that this man had somehow burst forth from that cocky little grunt, sharp-chinned and dwarfed under his helmet, turning to face him in the dark the first night they'd met. The image is still clear in Gale's mind, revealing itself as a core memory that's been lodged in there this entire time without his knowledge or permission.

Gale rubs at his eye, tries to override it with the static of pressure, but it doesn't do any good. The real thing is right on the other side of that wall.

[vhstown]

hobie brown x you headcanons

— hobie x gn!reader (established relationship)

warnings: brief mentions of violence (?) + politics (just his own), fluff

note: set in the multiverse + reader is aware of the spider-society (though has an ambiguous role). i rly wanted to write hobie without the bad boy possessive energy haha 💀 a bit ooc as always he's a tough one lol (kind of too detailed to be hcs but we roll)

Hobie is very much secure in your relationship. Even if it's less established than your typical one, he doesn't get jealous or uncomfortable when he sees you around others. It's more amusing to him than anything, observing how you interact with people. He enjoys watching you in silence with the occasional witty interjection, and he likes listening to you speak even if it's not with him. He's one of those people who immediately decide whether they trust someone or not, and he's trusted you since you met, even if there was, and still is, incessant bickering.

The bickering is endless, by the way. Even when you move past friends (a lot faster than you realise), he's always on your case. You've been trying not to pick up on his speech patterns, but it's almost impossible considering how nice it sounds to hear the accent roll off his tongue. When you accidentally bust out a "wagwan" he can't contain his laughter, nearly doubling over at the way your face was stuck in embarrassment. He makes it a habit to rub it in your face now, teasing you by talking to you like you're from Camden; the way he talked to you before was just the tip of the iceberg.

Hobie isn't hesitant about touch at all. He's always touching you in some way or another. Whether it's his arm slung around your shoulders, his chin on the top of your head or even holding your hand, it definitely draws some attention when a near 7ft punk (though he's not bound by the label of height, according to him) is hovering around you like a giant flashing accessory.

And the man is shamelessly 'gross'. He'll kiss you even with your morning breath or after you've just eaten. Whenever you put something on your lips, no matter if it's lip balm or whatever you like to wear, he's always just waiting to mess it up. Hobie's a tease if anything too, pinching you unexpectedly just to see the flash of a pissed-off expression on your face. You've made it a habit to not give him that satisfaction, but he doesn't need it. Everything you do is more than enough to amuse him, even if he does try to kiss you hanging upside down, scaring the ever living hell out of you in his attempt.

When you're cold, he's always trying to warm you up by rubbing his hands over your shoulders and arms (though his sarcasm is more than enough to set you on fire sometimes.) It is pretty cold in his universe, so he's used to it (#1 denier of the cold; punks don't get cold.)

Hobie is known for being firm in his beliefs. He's an unapologetic anarchist, and while he doesn't shout about his political beliefs every second, you can see it in the way he acts. Even if you're not as bent on it as he is, you have to respect his commitment. You're one of the only people he tells about his universe, his experiences, what he lives for. It's refreshing in comparison to his spontenaeity, and while you don't see him much differently after he opens up, you realise that Hobie is one hell of a person. He's your person, (as much as he denies being confined to anyone or anything.)

And he's not afraid to involve you. Whenever you're in his universe, he takes you places like you're a tourist, no matter how used to the area you are. Hobie isn't exactly the most informative tour guide (and he takes any opportunity to bash corrupt political figures and tag up their campaigns), but it's the thought that counts. He loves showing you the little untouched nooks and lesser-known streets, hopping fences and swinging you over barbed wire to show you the real Camden. The culture, history, people — it's all Hobie. He lives in Camden, through Camden, and he wants to share it with you. No authority could ever supercede that.

What he also lives through is the punk scene. If it isn't obvious from his appearance already, he's always jamming on his guitar. If you ask what he's playing, he says he doesn't know yet. He's always coming up with something new; it's like there's an itch he needs to scratch whenever a new sound comes into his head, whether he's humming it, tapping it or strumming it on his guitar.

And he's good at it, his fingers gliding over the strings like it's a language he's fluent in, playing a half-formed chorus with shouty lyrics that don't exist but you can already hear (probably something to do with rebellion.) You like listening to him play, that familiar, addictive feeling coursing through you, the vibrations of the guitar never ceasing to strike you with awe. You wonder what it's like to hear him play at an actual gig (you'll find out soon when he sneaks you out for one; you won't be disappointed.) It's one of many things to admire about him. What he won't admit is that, more often than not, he's playing for you. Even if you're not exchanging words, the glances and music between you make the unfinished feel whole.

The man loves his guitar too. If he loves anything in this world, it's you, sure, but his guitar is also up there (can you blame him?) If he's not playing he's always idly tracing the stickers with his fingers, re-tuning it, whatever. It's a damn cool guitar, but a part of you might just be a little jealous of the musical instrument that's basically a part of him at this point.

That is, until the two of you are getting caught onto. Your more-than-friends relationship is pretty obvious, but when it starts interrupting with Hobie's Spider-society "duties", among his other anti-society antics, the both of you have the potential to fall into big trouble. It's not like he cares – leaving was in the back of his mind from the start, and it only fuels your bickering and crude gossip. Whatever happens, you know you've got Hobie, even if an entire multiverse of Spider-people actively reject you. You don't need to belong anything, nobody really does, he keeps telling you, but you're sure that if there's nothing else, you belong with him. You two against the world, so to speak. And your previous jealously completely fades when Hobie says something to you: you were both in an alley, hiding during a mission you weren't supposed to be on.

"You think they'll kill you for it?" you asked him jokingly, building up the mirth of the conversation as usual.

"If they kill me," Hobie starts, donning a sarcastic grin. "I want you to have my guitar."

It seems guitar lessons are an added bonus to your relationship — right after hiding from Miguel and Jessica, of course.

🕸️💫🎸

thanks for reading my self-indulgent rant lol. asks are open but not taking requests atm. feel free to comment (tho can't reply rip) love ya have a good one — if u liked this reblogs r appreciated <3

read the rest of my atsv headcanons here!

[artyandink]

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲 | 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

A/N - If I do decide to write this, it’s going to be challenging since I do not use swear words in my writing (and Ben does) but hey, comment if you’re interested!

“I stood by you.” I whispered, looking at him in the green eyes I’d known for so long. They’d changed. Evolved, with how much we’d both been through. “I’ll always stand by you, but I’ve gotta do it on my own terms.” I ran a hand through my hair, hollowing my cheeks out as I swallowed dry. That hand then swept down my mouth and over my bottom lip before landing in my lap. “I ain’t happy with who I am, Ben. Who I became.”

“Shut it. There’s nothin’ wrong with you… nor me.” Ben growled, looking away and his tone rough, like it always was when he was this defensive. “We were doing our jobs. We were… are leading a team, just like the old days. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there? No, there isn’t, in case you were about to talk back. Damn modern days and all the useless, feminist crap it put in that pretty little head.”

“Our job was and is to serve and protect, I know that much.” I frowned, looking away for a hot second. “But we’ve destroyed ourselves for the sake of the job. You were betrayed by your team and everything went goddamn south. I was fine not being at the forefront of everything. I was happy not fighting Homelander. I had a life. But the moment, the moment I get a call from Butcher saying that you needed me, I came for you. I came for you! And we went down like the frickin’ Titanic. All that talk about saving me from mundane, unnecessary things like social interactions and a stable job… but what if I didn’t need saving?”

“Yes, you did!” He stood up, towering over me with his eyes looking like they had a forest fire going on in them. “I remember our days fightin’ Commies, and you’d take hits but you stood up and hit those bastards back until they couldn’t even walk. I remember when you’d kill first, ask questions later. That version of you is the one I need. To win my fight.”

“Is that why you need me?” I scoffed, rubbing my forehead. “For the fight and nothing else? I remember our days where we were friends. Even if we were sitting in silence, smokin’ blunts- we did it. We shared smiles on the battlefield. Where we’d crack open a whiskey bottle and criticise whatever we wanted to. We’ve changed!”

“For the better!”

“Is that what you believe?” I searched his face for one sign that he thought it was true. “That your revenge-driven craze was for the better? Against Mallory? Butcher, who got me to bust you out after tellin’ me that you were taken? We destroyed ourselves, Ben!”

“For the job!” He retorted, grabbing my chin roughly. “You’re supposed to support me, that’s what we’ve always done.” In retaliation, my eyes glowed red, sending a sharp pain through his head that forced him to let me go. I rubbed where he grabbed me with heavy breaths leaving my mouth, a small growl at the end of it. The audacity of this man.

“We didn’t destroy ourselves for the job. We destroyed ourselves because we could. I was happy without a fight, and now? You got me addicted to it.” I bit my lip, then took a deep breath. “And I want out.”

“You don’t get an out.”

“I ain’t givin’ you a choice.”

“If you walk out that door…” Ben got up close, his jaw set like stone and stature imposing, like it’d always been, “don’t you ever come back… you’re dead to me. You’re goddamn dead.”

“If that’s how it’s gonna go, fine.” I nodded, then swept my hand down my mouth, steeling my expression. I was losing my oldest friend. My co-leader. The man who told me it was always him and I, no matter what. This is how it ends. “I’m dead to you.”

“Leave.”

I dug my heel into the ground, turning on it and walking straight out. I walked and I didn’t look back, even if the urge clawed at my neck to do it. I never thought it’d come to this point, but I guess the good things don’t last forever, and I learnt it far too late. I’d have to fight the proper way, I’d have to fight smart, and not by Ben’s terms. Not like Soldier Boy. I’d have to take this on the right way.

I pulled out my phone, dialling a number and putting it to my ear as I walked into the open road, down the pavement and looking up at the clear blue sky, which I rather envied as my head was clouded with the thoughts of every passer-by and their dumbass decisions to buy a doughnut or go for a walk in the park. “It’s me. I’m in.”

LMK if you want this to become a series, guys!

Luv, Arty :)

[it-happened-one-fic]

Want to Fly - Ace

Author Notes: Fun fact, this was originally going to be a Trey fic before Ace did a hostile takeover. The moose beastman Savannaclaw student I mention in this fic is a character come up with by me, my sister, and my mom for funsies and his name is Bruce Harvey. I wasn't actually listening to anything when I wrote this fic and it just kind of happened because I sort wonder what flying on a broom would be like. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ can be platonic or romantic

Word Count: 1507

You watched as various young men bobbed up and down in the air on their brooms from where you sat on NRC’s lush lawn.

Flight was one of the classes that you simply couldn’t participate in without magic. It was true that you and Grim had tried working together, with him handling the magic and you piloting the broomstick, but that had only ended in injury and busted brooms.

So instead of flying, Vargas always tasked you with jogging a certain number of laps that always went by far faster than the boys' flight lessons. Leaving you sitting boredly and just watching while Grim went off to do whatever it was he did in moments like these.

You tilted your head as you watched a random moose beastman from Savannaclaw ascend before slowly drifting down, all but taking out Azul with his Azul. But watching your friends and classmates fly around briefly before descending always made you wonder. What was flying like?

It was true that you’d ridden on Kalim’s carpet and flown that way before, but were broomsticks different?

With the way that everyone flew differently, that certainly seemed to be the case. It was almost like style came into the equation. Some, like Leona and Cater, even went so far as to surf their brooms. Most of the students were more like Trey, whom you were currently watching, and sat.

Fingers drummed down on your shoulder, causing you to jerk in alarm before twisting to see Ace grinning cheekily down at you, pleased that he’d startled you before he tilted his chin indicatively towards the flying students, “Staring at Trey pretty hard, ain’t ya’?”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing remark, watching as the redhead dropped down into a crouch next to you, “I was just watching him fly, that’s all.”

Your explanation had the young man looking towards where everyone zipped around overhead with raised eyebrows, “Why?” 

His incredulous tone reminded you that such things were commonplace in Twisted Wonderland, even if they seemed uniquely fascinating to you.

 “I was just wondering what flying on a broomstick is like.” At your words, Ace slowly nodded, looking your way with a slight, ‘Oh,’ of understanding.

Silence fell between the two of you as you both watched Malleus ascend and fly a little circle before returning to the ground. He was another especially showy flyer that had you smiling ever so slightly.

“I guess I could just show you if you’re that curious,” You blinked slightly in surprise before looking over at Ace, only to see him grinning smugly at you. It was an expression you knew well. One that meant he wanted to show off like he so often did when it came to magic.

You frowned slightly before shaking your head slightly, “I don’t know, Ace…. Vargas might not like that and-”

You were cut off by a snort from Ace as he straightened and proceeded to flip his broom around like it was a baton, “I’ve already finished my lessons and am homefree.”

He swung one leg over his broom, immediately ready for flight, as he grinned over at you. His red eyes were already sparkling mischievously as he leaned towards you, his voice dropping into a teasing tone, “Not chickening out on me, are you Prefect?”

You frowned at his words before impulsively pushing yourself up and to your feet, “No. But don’t blame me if you get into trouble.”

Despite your bold words. You were eyeing the broom warily as you stepped closer. Ace wouldn’t let you get hurt, but…. Well, accidents did happen, and you didn’t actually know how good Ace was at piloting a broom.

Either ignoring your hesitance or not noticing it, Ace pressed one hand to his chest. Watching you with poorly disguised amusement, “On my honor, I’ll accept any and all blame.”

You snorted at his words, fighting the grin that started to crawl onto your face and earning yourself a grin from the redhead, who seemed oddly excited by the prospect of flying with you.

He even leaned closer, bumping with you a single shoulder playfully, “So ya’ coming, or not?”

At the sight of his cheeky grin, you steeled yourself. Hesitating only slightly before you swung your left leg over his broom so that you were sitting just behind him, “So what do I-”

“Just hang on tight,” Ace interrupted you and kicked off the ground simultaneously. Causing you to squeak slightly and wrap your arms tightly around his waist as your gaze immediately darted to the ground.

He laughed almost immediately at your reaction, meanwhile you were suddenly realizing exactly how many things could go wrong with this entire adventure.

“No fancy tricks, alright Ace?” Your voice wavered slightly as you continued to stare down at the grassy earth that grew steadily more distant. You were already far higher than you and Grim had ever gotten before anything had gone wrong.

At complete and total odds with you, Ace sounded perfectly fine when he answered, leaning forward slightly as he spoke, “Right, just a little fly around the grounds. Sound good?”

At his question, you nodded, forcing yourself to look forward as you resolved to just trust Ace. After all, the two of you, with Deuce, had been through several overblots together. A little flight couldn’t be worse than those. Right?

Even with that thought in mind, you still had to swallow thickly as you responded in a slightly squeaky voice, “Sounds good.” 

“Alrighty then, one flight around the grounds coming right up,” You could hear the grin in Ace’s voice as the broom started picking up speed slightly, and before long, you were gliding through the air with only the power of Ace’s magic keeping you aloft.

“Y/N! Y/NNNNN!” At the distant call of your name, you glanced down to see your other friends on the ground, waving wildly.

You giggled slightly at the sight of them. Epel was waving with both arms as Jack shook his head slightly with what you thought was a smile. Sebek pointed up at where the two of you flew with great vehemence, or perhaps it was excitement, and Deuce was beaming as he waved at you both.

“You can wave back, you know; you aren’t gonna fall off,” Ace’s tone was perfectly smug, and you glared slightly over at the back of his head before slowly and carefully letting go with one arm and waving slightly  before quickly latching back on to the redhead the very instant you dipped down lower.

“You said no tricks!” You practically hissed at him as he laughed, wholeheartedly and free.

“A change in altitude is hardly a trick. Now relax; you’re gonna make me look bad in front of the teachers,” At his words, you glanced down to see Trein and Crewel both looking up from where they were sitting outside. No doubt taking tea or something during their break.

You stared down at them in silence for a bit before leaning forward and letting your chin rest lightly on Ace’s shoulder, “Are you sure you aren’t going to get in trouble?” 

In reality, you weren’t actually concerned about the teachers. They didn’t look upset at all. In fact, both Crewel and Trein had looked vaguely amused, but that didn’t mean the same could be said for how Riddle might react.

And, judging from the way people were staring, Riddle was definitely going to find out.

As if he’d read your mind, Ace knew exactly who you were worried about, “Nah, if the teapot tyrant says anything, I’ll just say you wanted to fly and that I couldn’t say no to your puppy-dog eyes.” 

You rolled your eyes at his tone, but stayed silent as you finished circling around the building and touched back down exactly where you started.

In the distance, you could see Epel pointing and taking off towards where you and Ace had landed. Leading the other first-years towards where you were before he got lapped by Jack and Deuce. Fitting, considering the two of them were the trackstars.

“Well, that’s that,” Ace grinned as he glanced at you over his shoulder, far too pleased with himself for reasons you couldn’t quite place. But then Ace was always incredibly pleased with himself whenever he showed off anything to you. Be it a simple magic trick or actual magic.

You smiled, though, as you carefully slid off the broom, “Thanks, Ace. That was nice.” And, in an odd sort of way, it had been. After you’d relaxed, it had been quite nice up there. Peaceful, in an odd sort of way, even though Ace had been with you the whole time.

“No problem. And if you ever wanna fly again, you know where I’m at,” He winked at you cheekily, and you shook your head. Grinning despite yourself at him before looking over to see your friends joining you. 

Epel already cheering about how great of a job Ace had done flying you around the school.