#he said ''we can and must be better than this''

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Christmas Special

Christmas festivities featuring your local kidnappers Yandere! Soldier and Yandere! Sugar Daddy.

Yandere! Soldier who spends all Christmas morning at mass. And when he comes home, snow thick on his uniform, he smells like incense.

"Come see. I've brought you something."

There's a bottle of strong vodka and a frosted fruitcake waiting for you on the counter. You watch him unwrap the cake, your mind wandering to your family, to Christmas mornings when you were still an angsty teen. Did they think you were dead by now? Were they still looking for you?

He cuts a thick slice and holds it to your lips. It's sweet and dense and leaves your mouth sticky.

Yandere! Soldier who tilts your chin towards him and casually runs his thumb across your bottom lip to catch any stray crumbs.

"Let's drink, yeah?"

The vodka is icy cold and bitter. But the taste makes you think of friends and university and late nights when you were too tipsy to stand but oh so warm inside. You throw back more shots than normal, trying to chase the memories.

It's only when he gently pulls the bottle away that you realise you're far past tipsy. You're straight hammered.

You stumble when you stand and he's quick to catch you, one strong arm around your waist.

"You've got no head for drink, моя любовь."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's time for bed."

You swat at him, irritated. "No. The Russian you used. What does it mean?"

He gently steers you toward the bedroom. "It means my love."

You twist around to face him. "Do you really love me?"

He raises a brow. "Alcohol loosens your tongue, doesn't it?"

He's quiet for a moment, studying you. The flush of your cheeks, the curve of your neck... You're everything he's ever wanted.

"Yes. I really love you. Я клянусь, что да."

I swear I do.

You stand on your toes and kiss him. Cradle his face in your palms and feel the heat of him bleed into you. You're so awfully cold, so awfully lonely. You'll regret it in the morning, but for now you press into him and chase the taste of vodka on his lips.

He pulls away and presses sweet, ticklish kisses against your inner wrist. He can feel your pulse racing.

"я полагаю, это мой рождественский подарок."

I suppose this is my Christmas present.

He grabs your thighs and picks you up. You wrap your arms around his neck, terrified of falling. Your breath ghosts across his neck and your nails dig stinging crescents into his muscles.

He doesn't say it out loud, but it's the best gift he's ever gotten.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy has a tree stacked high with gifts. On Christmas morning, he wakes you up with a kiss and a mug of your favourite hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon sticks.

At first, you assume most of the boxes are just for decoration. There's over a dozen boxes waiting for you - they can't all be gifts, right?

But you should know him better by now. You unwrap present after present, gasping at each one.

A set of custom perfumes from a high fashion brand. Ten different pieces of Tiffany jewellery. A genuine fur coat. Your first pair of Louboutin heels.

Keys to a new car.

You sit in the middle of a treasure trove, struggling to wrap your head around it. He rests his chin on your shoulder and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes! Yes, it's incredible." You turn to face him. "But babe, this must have cost a fortune. I can't accept all of this."

He tilts his head. "Of course you can. I got it all for you."

You're about to argue when he cuts you off. "You said you got me something too?"

You nod and hand him two packages. Your dollar store wrapping paper is glaring cheap next to his.

He unwraps his gifts slowly. The first one is a journal you picked up in a thrift store, weeks before your argument left you trapped with him. Back when you still had your freedom.

You got your artist friend to emboss his name in gold leaf on the front cover. He flips it open to the first page.

To my tech genius boyfriend. This is what we normies call paper. You use it to record all the times your girlfriend is just absolutely incredible, got it? -y/n

He smirks and rubs the page between his fingers.

"I've only heard distant legends of this 'paper'... How fascinating."

You groan. "It seemed funny at the time okay?"

His next gift is a pottery vase, with elegant fluted handles. It's a deep cream with flecks of reddish iron bleeding through. He stares at it, his expression blank.

Your heart drops.

The truth is, you spent months looking for that specific vase. And when you finally found someone willing to sell, the price they named made your jaw drop. You haggled like hell for it. Practically begged the seller on your hands and knees to let you pay it off over a few months. Until this morning, it was a gift you were proud to give him.

But his gifts to you took all morning to unwrap, while all you can offer is a shitty notebook and some amateur pottery. You hate not being able to return his generosity in equal measure. You hate feeling like you're always giving him the short end of the stick. Even now, when you have every reason to hate him, it hurts that you can't spoil him like he does you.

He finally looks up at you, dazed. "This is an original Murazaki. How did you know I wanted one?"

"You mentioned it a few months ago. When we were having dinner together in my apartment."

He puts the vase down carefully.

"You remembered?"

It's your turn to be confused. "Of course? You were really upset about it. You said he was your favourite artist but that you could never find any of his stuff for sale."

He stares at you like he's trying to pick you apart. You look down, embarrassed.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't get you more gifts. I feel like an ass. Like the world's worst girl-"

He grabs you before you can finish and pulls you flush against him. He buries his face in your hair. He takes a deep breath, like he needs to control himself.

"You remembered."

He kisses your temple and then presses his forehead against yours. His voice is low and loving and just a little shaky.

"Oh y/n, you're the best gift I could ask for."

Bonus: a yandere who only has one thing on his Christmas wishlist - you.

You wake up under his Christmas tree, cold and confused and still groggy from the sleeping pills he slipped you.

Your hands are tied behind your back and there's a cherry red gag in your mouth. You squirm, trying to pull your hands free. The floor is icy against your naked skin. Wait, naked?

You look down, horror clawing it's slow way up your throat. Most of your clothes are gone. And you're almost completely wrapped in ribbon.

Your thighs are held together with an excruciatingly tight bow. Two green rosettes are pinned to the lace of your bra. You can't see it, but there's a cute red bow stuck on your head too.

The door opens and you hear heavy footsteps on the basement stairs. You squirm, increasingly desperate to get loose.

"Wouldcha look at that? Santa brought me exactly what I asked for."

Your kidnapper squats down next to you, his eyes roaming your body. Taking in all the curves and dips. Mapping it out like it's his to explore. He reaches out and tugs at the ribbon tied around your throat.

"My girl all wrapped up under the Christmas tree."

He grabs your chin and tilts your face up towards his. His eyes are dark - the pupils blown out wide with lust, with hunger.

"Merry Christmas baby. I promise it'll be one you never forget.

[kathleenkatmary]

This is really is not by any means new. When I was a kid in the 1990s and early 2000s, I thought my family was middle class because my parents said we were. It wasn't until I was in my 20s that I realizes we were 'lower class' and always had been. And talking to my parents helped me realize that their thought process around the thing was a messy melange that even they didn't really seem to understand. When we talked about things like how they accept money from the nuns at the school my mom taught at to be able to afford Christmas gifts for my and my brother more than once and there were times when we were in real danger of losing the house, there did seem to be a very real awareness that, no, this was not the experience of a middle class family.

But when I asked them why they always said and acted like they were middle class, I got a mishmash of explanations. The financial situation of my dad's family was much worse when he was a kid, so he figured anything better than that was a class upgrade, and while my mom's family's situation when she was a child was better than ours, she didn't see our situation as that much worse, so she just kind of saw it as being on the same level. We always had food on the table and we never "worried" about stuff like that, even though sometimes it meant taking charity from the people my mom worked with, so it didn't seem right to them to act like we were in the "same situation" as people who did have to regularly worry about food. They bought a house, however falling apart it was, so how could they be lower class? And there was a lot more of that, that sort of "well, we still had these necessities, even if we had to struggle for them, so we can't really put ourselves on the same level as people who did" mindset.

And I noticed that even though they didn't explicitly say it, there seemed to be a lot of shame associated with the idea of being lower class. Which I don't think would come to a surprise to anyone, especially for people who was around in the 1980s and 1990s. As much as that sentiment that poverty is a personal failing is still alive and well today, it was so prevalent back then. That idea that if you were poor, if you were lower class, it was entirely because of the decisions you made, your own failings. Can't pay your rent or mortgage? Well, what did you do wrong to put yourself in that position? Can't afford to keep your kids fed? God, you're such a bad parent, why don't you make better choices that put your kids first?

And I don't think that lumping in better off middle class people in with the upper class is new either. Resentment toward people with more has always been a thing. And when you do have so little and you are seeing things through that resentment, it can be really easy to look at someone who has so much more than you and not really see the distinction between them and someone who is truly wealthy.

This loose grasp of class definitions, people assuming themselves to be middle class when they're not, and not being able to see the distinctions in wealth is by no means a new thing that's only just starting to happen with the younger generations. It's always been around, I just think that the shape it's taken has shifted with the way the culture has shifted. But that sort of "I have a roof over my head and I can feed myself so I must be middle class" mindset and the "those people have a lot more than I do so they're just as bad as the billionaires who are actively ruining our lives" ideas aren't new at all. It at least goes back to the baby boomers, and really, considering the stark class divides of the early 20th century, I'd wager that it probably goes back even before them.

And that makes sense, because it's clearly proven to be an effective method of the ruling class.

Ive noticed recently that my generation has... no concept of what the various economic classes actually are anymore. I talk to my friends and they genuinely say things like "at least i can afford a middle class lifestyle with this job because i dont need a roommate for my one bedroom apartment" and its like... oughh

You guys, middle class doesnt mean "a stable enough rented roof over your head," it means "a house you bought, a nice car or two, the ability to support a family, and take days off and vacations every year with income to spare for retirement savings and rainy days." If all you have is a rented apartment without a roommate and a used car, you're lower class. That's lower class.

And i cant help but wonder if this is why you get kids on tumblr lumping in doctors and actors into their "eat the rich" rhetoric: economic amnesia has blinded you to what the class divides actually are. The real middle class lifestyle has become so unattainable within a system that relies upon its existence that theyve convinced you that those who can still reach it are the elites while your extreme couponing to afford your groceries is the new normal.

[jeonjaemark]

advent calendar || jeon wonwoo

content warning: none || masterlist

“do you feel better now?” i whined, looking down at him.

“no, i still need to recharge.” wonwoo singsongs, snuggles deeper into me.

i roll my eyes out of annoyance when i noticed my abandoned book left on the other side of his bed. for the past ten minutes wonwoo and i have been entangled with one another since he got eliminated from his current game. he didn’t care to announce himself or do anything but interrupt my reading and cuddle with me.

wonwoo tightens his arms around my waist. if i wasn’t in the middle of reading the chapter where asher ditched his big soccer match for scarlett, i would actually be happy to cuddle with wonwoo, but right now i wanted to strangle him.

“how’s your book?”

“do.not.ask.me.that.question.” my voice simmering with quite rage. i glare into his brown eyes as he smiles up at me with pleasure.

“someone opened her book the wrong way today.” he singsongs teasingly.

“someone will end up with a broken arm if they don’t untangle themselves and let me finish the chapter i am reading.” i deadpan.

he chuckles burying his face into me, “cute.”

“you know if i didn’t know you two, i would assume you’re dating.” mingyu chimes from the doorway.

wonwoo and i exchange a brief eye contact. something sparks between us but we both look away before either of us could say something.

“i thought you left already?” wonwoo’s voice softly.

“i am just leaving but i wanted to stop by your room real quick to see my favorite couple.”

“we are not a couple.” i spat.

“then why are you wearing wonwoo’s hoodie in wonwoo’s bed cuddling with wonwoo? you know you two look quite comfortable. all he has to do is lean up and wonwoo can kiss you.” mingyu teases.

i glance down at my outfit and feel my body start to go warm feeling flustered. mingnth did have a point but he never lets me breathe without joking about how wonwoo and i are couple or could be couple. honestly i would be lying if i said i don’t think about wonwoo and i being more than friends because i do. moments like this where we are cuddling in his bed and he teases me about the current book i am reading and the lines of couple and friend blur. i mentally smack myself from spiraling deeper into thoughts and look back at mingyu.

“just get out of here and go on your gym date with dino.” i scoffed.

“being kicked out of my own house by my best friend’s best friend, that’s new.” his voice dripping with sarcasm. he sticks his tongue out me, “let me know if anything changes between you since i am the other half that lives here too. i would like an advance warning before everyone else.”

i reach for wonwoo’s pillow launching in his directions but mingyu misses my hit when closes the door. wonwoo laughs walking back to his computer.

“you know he only does that to get a rise out of you, right? you always cave into his attention.”

“yeah, i know. i gotta throw him a bone every now and then otherwise i have no one to go back and forth with.” i giggled, falling back further into wonwoo’s bed.

i reach over for my book getting lost in the pages. wonwoo groans stretching out his body before heading down the hall for the restroom. i set my book down too taking my annual stretch. when i stretch my arms my fingers reach a thin silky paper under his other pillows.

christmas wrapping paper. wonwoo must have been wrapping gifts before i arrived. i reach for my book again trying to read but it didn’t last very long. my mind kept wandering back to the gifts wonwoo could have wrapped.

who’s gift was it? what did he get? how many gifts did this person get? did he spend all year saving up for it? did it cost him a fortune?

i push myself off the bed and went straight to rummaging through his closet. luckily his clothes were all neatly folded which made it easier to skim through the different drawers and cubes. each slam of the cubes or drawers lead to dead end. i skim through the top shelf of his closet hoping to find a wrapped gift.

“where is it? where is it?” i thought to myself.

“what do you think you’re doing?” wonwoo voice echoes

“i am definitely not snooping or trying to find my christmas gift from you.” i deadpan, turning around at the sound of his voice. “i was just looking for my shirt that i left here last time.

“ it’s still in the hamper. haven’t done laundry yet.” he says watching me carefully.

i peer behind him noticing the wrapping paper near his desk. if wonwoo suspicious of me snooping he did a good job pretending to not notice.

he leans down to his desk and taps his fingers onto his keyboard, his voice cool and calm, “i didn’t wrap your christmas presents yet.”

my body freezes in place and i turn to look at him as warmth floods my cheeks. he knows. i have been caught. a teasing grin forms at his lips making me want to smack him or kiss him. i shudder at the latter walking back to his bed. there is no point in further searching.

wonwoo falls quiet except for talking into his headset with his other team mates. other than that his fingers did most of the work. there was something comforting and relaxing when i heard the the clicks of wonwoo’s keyboard. usually i have my headphones on when i read because the clicking can be distracting but most times when i am not reading i love listening to the sound. i don’t even realize i have doze off in his bed until i wake up an hour later. i reach my hand out over my body realizing wonwoo had put a blanket on me while i was napping.

“hey sleepyhead, are you fully awake now?” wonwoo asked, from his computer.

i groan nodding my head at him. he glances between his monitor and screen to look at me giggling to himself. he doesn’t walk over to me right away. he gives me some time to fully adjust to my surroundings and being awake. i ended up scrolling through my phone for a good ten minutes when he finally stood up and shuts off his computer.

“i have a little surprise for you.” he tells me. “you have to close your eyes first.”

i furrow my eyebrows together curiously, staring at him. wonwoo doesn’t move. he waits for me to close my eyes. i cover my hands over my eyes when i hear shuffling and wonwoo repeatedly reminding me to not peek and keep my eyes covered. each reminder he gave me, i would respond to saying that i am covering my eyes and not peeking.

the bed dips underneath me as he takes a seat next to me. his breath heavy and warm near my skin. if i move my hand to his chest, i swear i could feel his pulse racing like mine.

“okay open your eyes.” his voice mixed with excitement and nerves.

i flutter my eyes open adjusting to my surroundings again. wonwoo holds a giant white woven basket decorated with purple and blue ribbons in the handle. the basket filled with multiple prettily wrapped rectangles covered in snowflakes. i noticed the giant words on the front of the basket reading ‘bookvent calendar”.

“oh my god! jeon wonwoo, what did you do?” i try my best to suppress my smile, skimming through each wrapped book.

“i made you a book advent calendar.” he swipes his hand over the basket.

“yes, i can see that but how?”

my heart bursts with excitement skimming through each carefully wrapped book labeled with a number. i noticed a little card attached to the first book and opened it.

welcome to your annual december book advent christmas calendar. open one book each day according to the date up until christmas eve. enjoy, my favorite book reader. (p.s you have to record your reaction to opening each book you open)

- love your favorite gamer

wonwoo goes into explaining how he thought of the idea. how he kept tabs on the books i have read already, what books i talked about wanting to read, and the different types of special editions to my favorite series. every time i talked with him he was able to narrow down his selection to the books he has wrapped in the basket. the way his eyes light up when talking about how the idea came to him and the way his smile only grew bigger and bigger while he explained. something warm and fuzzy floods through my vein making it hard to breathe properly.

“i know how much you love reading and how happy it makes you. plus i know when you a book becomes your favorite because you can yap for hours about it or if you didn’t like it then i will never hear you talk about it after the first read.” he smiles. “sometimes when i am playing my games on my computer and i see you reacting to your books, i will either pause my game or just lose just to watch your reaction cause —“

there haven’t been many moments in my life where i was genuinely left speechless and giddy. this is one of those rare moments. to hear wonwoo confess that he loves when i talk about my books to him and how he likes seeing my reactions to them left a warm and giddy feeling. i wanted to sob on the spot over how attentive he is to me. no one in the world would have thought to have done this for me but he did this for me.

“your silence scares me a little. what do you think?” his voice concerned, staring back at me.

“i think i just fell more in love with you.” i mumbled. it took me a second to realize my words and see wonwoo’s eyes widen in shock. “i-i mean…”

“you’re in love with me?” he asked. a hint of amusement in his voice.

“i-i was talking about the books.” i clarified. “how i am in love with the books that you’ve gotten to me.”

he raises an eyebrow, “you don’t even know which books i got you yet.”

“true but that doesn’t mean i can’t be more in love with them.” i straighten my shoulders, exhaling and inhaling slowly to calm my racing pulse.

“can i ask you something?”

i nod.

“you have read so many romance books, if you could write one about us, what trope would you give us? forced proximity? friends to lovers?” he glances at me knowingly.

“you’re not going to let this one go, are you?”

he shakes his head amused, “not until you’re ready to confess what we both heard.”

the corners of my lips rise, “i am in love with jeon wonwoo and this book advent calendar confirmed it even more for me.”

“since you’re so in —-“

“i did not say so in love.” i spat defensively, shoving his shoulders.

“okay, since you’re in love with me, how about i pick you up for dinner on wednesday?” he grins.

“this feels like you’re just teasing me.” i giggled embarrassed.

“i have no ill intentions wanting to pursue you. i believe someone said earlier that if they didn’t know us, they would’ve assumed we were dating and honestly i have been thinking about us and dating for the last few months now.”

“so why say something now?” i questioned.

“cause the girl i am in love with just confessed she has mutual feelings for me too.” his voice soft and warm, making me smirk.

[dilf-docs]

It Always Leads To You

joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: it's been a year; now you're back. how can joel be so sure of those old summer feelings in your eyes when there's a new hand holding yours?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, toxic relationship, cheating and infidelity themes, mutual pinning, kinda dark!joel, smut, p. in v., pussy pronouns, oral (f. receiving), fingering, manhandling, lowkey forced creampie, ANGST, the taylor swift evermore (2020) references go wild, happy ending cause y'all weak asses voted for it and i love to keep my citizens happy!

word count: 5,199 words

side note: my joel miller era is alive and breathing after this tlou re-watch i'm doing my brother swears it's for him but it's mostly me and my fic/womanly reasons, yes we love gaslight girlkeep girlbossing in here gotta say, finding inspiration for this amidst my wattpad duties and christmas movie marathon was harder than i thought lol. was it worth the wait? please like, comment and reblog to let me know! it's based on this request (they're still open btw!)

part: I / II

Holidays linger like bad perfume.

Your eyes wander through the streets: the roads you've got to call home, the ones where you grew up. They're familiar, but so foreign, it's hard to believe they're the same ones where you scrapped your knees at ten and kissed Joel just last winter. It's as if both timelines, your life, feels more like two separate lives, miles apart.

"Hey, you okay?" tender, from the driver's seat; you're still getting used to the soft.

There's a reassuring smile your way, his hand finding yours to give it a squeeze. You notice his palm is the same size as yours. It fits perfectly, but there's a ghost of what it feels like to have it all wrapped up, looming over your itchy palm like all the yearning's a joke.

You nod. "Just tired. That's all"

He sighs. "If I wanted you to lie to me, I would've just asked"

"I'm not lying" you defend yourself as his pickup truck parks on the sidewalk.

He makes a funny face, and you laugh.

"I'm serious, Nick" your lips purse, a thing you do when you lie, yet he still hadn't noticed, like Joel. "Don't worry"

He doesn't look that convinced, so you take off your seat belt and grab his hand.

"C'mon. Mom and dad must be waiting for us"

"Hey" Nick calls you out.

"Yeah?"

"Who lives there?" and he's pointing behind you.

It's his. Joel's house.

"A friend of my dad's" you answer, dryly.

It was last december when you stood there in his porch, begging. It feels like time has stopped ever since, and you're still right where he left you.

"So will he be here?" Nick asks. "You know, since he knows your dad"

"Don't think so" you shrug, "he's got better things to do anyway. Bitter old man" comes out, with more venom than intended.

"Oh! Alright, sorry for asking"

You come back to your senses, realizing you've shared more than you should.

"No, I'm sorry. It's not that important; let's just go inside"

Your mom and dad greet you as soon as you cross the door. Last year, you'd basically fled away before New Year's, with a poor excuse and a broken heart. They both greet you as if nothing happened, although you're sure they remember your tear streamed face coming back from Joel's house, where it all ended.

As your mom corners Nick with kisses and embarrassing questions, your dad whispers to you:

"Joel asked what happened" you quirk and eyebrow, "wanted to know why you left"

"Eh, it's not important" you try to dismiss. "Definitely not as important for a guy like Joel to know"

"What is that supposed to mean?" your dad inquires. You often wonder if they knew.

"Nothing" you laugh nervously. "Listen, why don't you go and meet Nick, yeah? Did you know he likes fishing too?"

The distraction works with your dad; the same can't be said about you.

There's conversation flowing, but through the snow covered window, your eyes keep glancing back to his own. The view is dark, and you ponder if he's fled as well, the town plagued with memories too painful to reminisce.

You can still feel his hands roaming your body, the lust filled gaze that hid warmth. Every time he touches you, you have to remind you he isn't there: that the lips that kiss you, don't taste like his, that the hands that hold you, aren't big as his, and that the face that looks at you like they'll never choose another, is one you haven't learned to love yet.

Joel's memory cuts like thorns: they sink their teeth into your heart, that bleeds with that blood-colored sadness you're all too familiar with. He's poisoned you. But-- isn't it his love also the antidote for this disease he's gave you?

You abruptly stand up, plate half eaten.

"I-I need some air"

It's cold outside, but you don't care. All you want to do is sit on the porch, and drop some tears, something you can do inside too, but the fear of your muffled cries being able to be heard stops you.

You walk towards the stairs, to sit there like you do on summer days, yet there's now a difference: the snow. So you end up slipping, falling with your butt on the floor.

You yelp, embarrased although no one can see you.

"Need help?"

That you're wrong, apparently.

You don't even need to raise your view to know who that voice belongs to: you know it like a record, spinning in circles on your head.

He offers his strong hand your way, and although the cold wind hits your face, you're back to spring on the cabin: wet feet, bright sun and beating heart.

"I can get up myself" you reject his help, pushing the hand out. You keep avoiding his gaze, so you don't see how he's reacted, yet you hope he feels bad about it.

You walk up to the front door, and it takes you a while to realize he hasn't left yet. On top of that, it seems like he's following you. Just what you needed.

"What are you doing here?" you question, but your tone sounds like you're offended.

"Your folks invited me over" Joel answers, "Says they got a special guest"

"Yeah" this time, you do look back, finding him to be much closer than you thought he'd be. Yet you stand tall, defiant even. "It's my boyfriend"

You savour the way his expression falters, before the stoic façade takes over again.

"Boyfriend?" Joel scoffs, as if you just told the funniest joke ever.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" you bite back. "What? Think a pretty girl can't get a new man?"

"Never said I'd doubt'it" he clicks his tongue. "Y'a could get any man you'd want, sugar"

Ironically, the only man you want stands before you.

"Right" you chuckle dryly, "I think it's kind of funny of you to say that"

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a clash of emotions circling in his chocolate orbs.

"Y/n-"

"Don't" you stop him. Then sigh, defeated. "Let's just go inside"

As soon as you both arrive on the dinning room, your parents both greet Joel. Then, they introduce him to their guest, just as promised.

"Joel, this is Nick, y/n's boyfriend" your father speaks. "Nick, this is Joel, a dear old friend of mine"

Nick, as the gentleman he is, offers his hand. Joel accepts, but you can see the barely desguised displease behind his eyes.

"Wow, strong grip" Nick comments before joking, "you can let go now, I'm not going anywhere"

The hidden meaning of his words, whether intentional or not, hit Joel in the face. It's obvious by the way he backtracks, letting go of Nick's hand.

As you sit again, Nick leans to your side and whispers.

"Is this the guy who lives in the house across the street?" you nod. "Thought you'd said he had better plans. But, see? I told you: no plan's more important than coming to your house"

He's always making jokes, trying to make you smile, but it's done the opposite now. The food has gone cold long ago, yet you cut through the meat with a violence so palpable, even your mom tells you to slow down.

The nerve of Joel, showing up to your house like it's nothing, talking to you like he's unaware of his spell on you, acting like Nick is some sort of competition when he pulled out of the race himself a winter ago.

"So, Nick. How did you two meet?" your mom adresses him, eager to know details.

"It was at a party, actually, through mutual friends. Not a very spectacular story, that I know. What's funny is, she asked me what hour it was. And what did I say?"

"He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said: For you, I'm available any hour" you answer.

Your parents laugh, but Joel remains quiet. You wonder what he's thinking.

"You know" looking at Nick while cutting the steamed vegetables a little too agressive, "y/n actually hates parties"

"Joel" you warn through gritted teeth.

"Really? I didn't know that!" Nick seems so genuine, Joel can't help but hate him. He looks at you, concerned "You didn't tell me"

You can't believe he would rat you out like that. The appropiate word isn't hate, and you don't know how to describe it, but parties aren't really your environment; if you can, you'd choose to be anywhere else.

He'll pay for that.

"Joel" you seethe, an ugly smile painted in your features, "did you know Nick knows how to fish?"

It's a direct jab at him. He feels stupid for letting you get to him. The inferiority complex towards some random guy he just met, years younger, is actually laughable.

"I like-" Nick wants to add on that.

"Well" Joel interrupts, looking at you. "You never taught me like ya' were s'pposed to"

"You never cared to learn" you reply, acidic.

He sips his drink, trying to hide the smirk that's formed on his lips. You can't shut up, and he loves you've stayed the same.

"That means I've got some classes to take" Joel leans back on his chair, relaxed like he's won this round. "Just tell me when"

The tension cuts like the storm that's just formed outside.

"You should stay over, Joel" your dad offers when he takes a peak at the climate, "it's too dangerous outside"

Joel seems indestructible, like not even a snow blizzard could pierce through the rough old man. But he agrees, much to your dismay.

It's probably midnight already, and all you've done is toss around the bed. Nick peacefully snores next to you, and you envy how easily he falls asleep. You've always find it hard to sleep, the nighttime plagued with too many loud thoughts that fill the silence.

You get up carefully, heading downstairs for some water. You sip with tranquility when a noise jolts you from your sit.

The wooden floor creaks, making you aware you're not alone anymore.

"Can't sleep?"

You don't answer, seeing his sturdy figure emerge from the shadows until the dim moonlight shines over his aging features. Silence settles in. Outside, the wind howls, bumping against the windows with violence, like your heart does now against your chest.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

"There's nothing to talk" cuts your response through the thick tension, the air suddenly suffocating.

You take another sip, but the tremble of your hand doesn't go unnoticed by Miller.

"Right" Joel sits next to you, on the kitchen island. "Won't even look at me, sugar? You've got eyes" his voice drops, "use 'em"

"What are you doing, Joel?" you ask looking at him, tears threatening to spill, making your bright eyes shimmer with pain.

He gets up abruptly, like he's woken up from a trance. He's seen his own pain on your eyes, and he hates it.

"Joel?" you ask again, demanding but softly.

He can't answer. Instead, he leaves.

"Goodnight, y/n" voice raw, many emotions boiling, hidden on the inside. It hurts.

If you hadn't changed, Joel too stayed the same.

A goddamn coward.

Two days have passed since, and now it's Christmas Eve.

You kneel, putting the presents under the tree. Normally, your parents would have much more people around for the holidays, but thanks to the storm, it's just them, Nick, Joel and you.

"I'm gonna miss Mrs. Stone's cookies" you pout, "I wish she could be here"

"It's a big loss for tonight" your dad sighs. "Next time, yeah? Christmas will come again faster than you think"

You nod, still absent as he walks away.

"Hey" Joel pops up behind, seemingly from nowhere.

"Hey" you reply, voice laced with tiredness just at the sight of him. How will you manage to survive until New Year's? You have no idea, the task harder if he's staying in the same house as you are.

"Put this in there, will ya'?"

He hands you a box, neatly wrapped up. What stands out the most is the silver bow on top. Your stomach drops: it's your favorite color.

"Y-yeah" you stammer. When the present falls in your hands, you notice it looks like Joel did it himself.

"Didn't know you were capable of nice things" you whisper. There's no anger in your voice, only loss.

"I'm trying" is what he says, before leaving you alone. Until then, you realize he had been touching you, the skin where his hand was on your shoulder burning.

Dinner goes by swiftly, conversation flowing easily courtesy of Nick and your father, who both have in common the love for talking. It may be your brain messing with you, but his eyes never leave you, fixated on your every move, savoring when your lips open and take a bite; when you lick them afterwards, salt in your mouth he'd love to take off in a movement of his tongue. The ghost of your lips haunts him, cruelly playing with his yearning now that he's got you across the table. It's a few centimeters, really, but it feels like you're miles away: and it's his fault. You're no longer his, and he's reminded of it every time your boyfriend kisses what he once had.

Now it's time to open the presents, and you excitedly raise your hand to go first.

"Alright, sweetheart. You know I can't deny you anything" your father beams, "go ahead. Choose any present you'd like to open first"

Joel's eyes are on you, and you know he's desperately waiting for you to open his first. Maybe partly in courage, maybe partly in fear, but you choose Nick's first: something safe to start with.

"That's mine!" he chirps, and Joel mockingly imitates his kid-like joy under his breath.

You unwrap the present, finding a small box inside.

"Please, don't be another box" you joke, and he laughs.

"You think that low of me? Please"

You keep unwrapping and find a bag. The bag has a small tag that reads: Gotcha.

"Nick! God, you're so corny" you tease as you open the bag. Inside, there's a velvet box, and by the looks of it, you can tell it's jewelry. You gasp, pulling out a silver charm tied to a silver thin chain: it's a marlin fish. "Nick..."

"I know. Marlin isn't your favorite fish, but that's all I could find" you get up, wrapping him on a tight hug. Aware you've got an audience, he leans and whispers "I knew fishing was special to you, because of your dad and childhood. Maybe now" he takes it from your hands, carefully putting it around your neck, "it can also be our special thing"

Joel sees the scene unfold in front of him, his grip tight on the cloth of his jeans until it's white. His jaw clenches at the affection display; all he sees is red.

"What about that one?" your mom points out Joel's present. A pit of nerves forms in your stomach. "I don't remember seeing it there"

Before you can grab it, your dad moves faster, examining the box on his hands.

"It's Joel's" he makes a pause, "for y/n"

You pretend to be shocked, and you can tell Nick tenses at your side.

"You didn't tell me you were close"

"Used to" you correct quickly, despite the knot on your throat. "Not anymore"

"He still got you a present, though"

You don't get to answer because your dad leaves the box on your lap.

"Open it" it's soft but feels threathing for some reason, "I'm curious"

Joel's resting hands tremble as much as yours while you open the present. You reveal the simple white box under the wrap, opening it up.

Your voice comes out shaky as you call his name. And he can see it: the muffled laughters on the shed, the warmth of the cabin's fire, the fogged up windows of his car, the bruises on your tits and that voice, so vulnerable, he can see you on his porch, saying those three words that terrified him so much, his solution was breaking your heart.

"What is it?" your dad asks.

"It's a scarf" the fabric tickles your fingers that wander through the loose strands.

You remember it all too well.

"Oh, it's vintage!" your mom comments when she sees the worn-out aspect.

But just as your affair with Joel, you keep the secret of it's real owner.

"It's perfect" you mutter, remembering better times: ones where he'd wrap the scarf colored as the leaves on the ground around your neck, covering bruises he'd just made while you joked you'd steal it, and Joel would say he'd just let you, that it looked better on you anyway.

You've forgotten the good, so used to thinking of Joel at your worst, like a punishment to endure and sink your shipwreck even deeper. You felt lost, replaying memories that seemed stuck on a loop. Since last december, all you've known is pain; creeping up through the cracks in your fleeting happiness, one you've tried to find to no avail. One day, past the curses and cries, maybe there'll be happiness. But as for now, that day seems terribly far.

As he sees your teary gaze, Joel often wonders were it went wrong. When did hurt was all you had for him in that gaze of yours he can't bare to look that long, not before he's reliving all those seasons by your side, replaying his footsteps on the snow, grass, water and fallen leaves, trying to find the one where it all went wrong. The torture he now wears like a second skin, his agony painted words addressed to the fire of a house that feels so empty and alone.

"We should continue" your dad speaks over the silence, "there are still many presents left"

The night moves slowly, and the scarf you've chosen to wear is now suffocating around your neck. But you can't take it off. This is the closest you've been to Joel on a year; it still smells like him. As the presents run out, you excuse yourself early to bed, only to wake up again in the middle of the night. You want to pee, so you exit your room and walk to the bathroom, your bare feet against the cold wood sending shivers down your spine that only seem to augment when you walk past his door, next to the bathroom. After being done, you splash some water on your face, as if that would make some sense get to you.

"What are you doing?" you ask yourself in the mirror. Your tired reflection stares back at you, in silence.

You open the door, ready to go back to bed when a hand covers your mouth and shoves you inside.

"Don't scream" your cries go muffled against his hand, the calloused digits pressing against your soft skin, "wanna wake 'em up?"

You shake your head, so he lets your mouth free.

"Joel" you call out, but he's facing the door, his back all you see. No sound can be heard, aside from his uneven breaths.

"I'm sorry" he says, and then you hear the small click of the door's lock.

"What the hell?"

This time, he faces you, but his movements are so quick you don't register his lips on yours until it's too late. He kisses you like a starved man who hasn't had a meal in years, eating you out while your body acts up on it's own, the urgency embarrasing even.

"No" you pull back. Your mind screams in guilt at how much you want this, and that's all you can hear aside from his ragged breaths.

"No?"

"It isn't fair"

"To lover boy out there?" he teases, "I know he ain't treating you right, or ya' wouldn't look me the way ya' do"

"Don't, Joel" your tone is icy, "Nick treats me better than you ever could"

He laughs, darkly. "You know I ain't meant that" he corners you against the sink, the material cold against your bare legs; you don't sleep with nothing but an oversized t-shirt, despite the weather.

"Riddle me this, sugar: if he treats you so well, why are you so fucking wet?"

Your heart beats so fast you fear you'll die. He gets closer, his hot breathe prickling against your ear.

"It takes a man to please a woman" he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, "and I ain't leaving my baby displeased"

His fingers pull down the panties until your clit is exposed.

"Look at 'er" he traces a teasing finger over the puffy skin, coated on your slick "missed me, didn't she? Gonna treat 'er so good, she won't ever feel lonely again"

He softly kisses your neck, the trepidation and regret tying your stomach in knots.

Joel teases your needy core with his finger.

"Tell you somethin', sugar" Joel finds it hard to hide his adoration, "I missed 'er too"

He stares into your eyes while pushing two rough fingers inside your cunt. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

"Need summ help?" he kisses you roughly, smirking when he feels your shaky breath against his lips. He pushes them in and out faster, making your walls squeeze tightly around his fingers.

"Did he ever have you comin' this fast? I'ont think so" he whispers against your neck. You whisper his name through labored breaths, making a smug smile adorn his features. "Good girl"

He proceeds to kneel down, despite the creak of his bones. You see him leave a trail of kisses down your thighs, your legs opening wider in response. His tongue gives rapid flickers against your sensitive bud, aware of the lack of time. He slurps the pulsing cunt, his head moving back and forth while he sucks, coating his moustache on your juices. Joel goes back to the quick movements, tongue knowing your spots and twisting fingers as aid, causing your back to arch.

"Fuck" you curse as you come, gripping the sink a bit too tight.

Joel then pulls away and places his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth and licks them. He sees the obscene display in the fogged mirror, satisfied.

"Goodnight, sugar" Joel bids goodbye like it's nothing, kissing your lips that taste like you. "Still as sweet as ever"

It's New Year's Eve.

"You're leaving?" you sound so sad, Joel can't help but scoff. In the end, he'd stayed long after the storm had passed, your father arguing holidays weren't meant to be spent alone. So he stayed.

And now, Nick is leaving.

"I'm sorry" he apologizes for the millionth time, "but granny is sick. I don't know if she'll make it another year, so say the doctors. I would love to stay, really, but I have to be with her"

You understand, having lost your grandad years ago. But that doesn't mean you're okay with it: Nick leaving means a clear path for Joel, who didn't stop with him sleeping next room, and certainly won't now, despite not having interacted with you since he ate you out on the bathroom.

He pulls you into a long hug and a kiss that doesn't feel the same anymore. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah" you nod, "I'll miss you though"

"Well, I'll be all yours when you get back"

You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"See you, y/n. I love you"

Your lips purse after you utter those three words back.

Later at night, the house is filled with guests. The lively environment is restored, and you feel less confined to Joel's claws, so many faces to speak and distract yourself with, compared to Christmas and the past couple of days. You clutch the marlin charm tightly, mind busy wandering to places it shouldn't. Joel stares at you from across the room, eyes trained on you as he sips his drink calmly, like he's won; you don't know why he's keeping score if he already knows it. You wander off to the kitchen, and Joel follows you.

"You have to stop" you speak as soon as he enters, aware he would follow you.

"I ain't do shit"

You turn around, facing him. "Bullshit, Joel"

"Tell me, what'd I do?" he comes closer, and despite your erratic heart and fear, you stay still; challenging.

"You did this, Joel" his expression falters for a second, the weight of last december's crimes dawning on him. "Don't try to make me feel guilty"

"I ain't. That wasn't your fault" he sighs, breath dragging long like a cigarrette. "But this" he motions with his hands the reduced distance, "this it is"

Your breath hitches.

"We can't keep doing this, Joel. Nick doesn't deserve it"

He pins you against the counter with force, gripping the skin of your wrists until you're sure you'll get a bruise. Joel's eyes darken at the thought of your frail and soft body under his rough figure and belly, his strength and your weakness making the job of putting you under his will, so much easier.

"Don't say his name" he whispers, his breath laced with alcohol, "he ain't here anymore. Ain't nothing to stop me now, right, sugar?" Joel purrs as he steps towards you, taking your face in his hands before starting a heated kiss, making you stumble.

This was so wrong, but it felt so right, the missing pieces falling like dominoes.

He was your pain divine: you needed his hurt to bleed and feel alive again. Maybe the red of the blood and the blue of your sadness could paint your darkest grey skies with a happiness you've craved since you lost him.

"Tell me to stop" Joel whispers, tempting like a devil as he kisses down your neck, littering it with hickeys.

"Don't"

Next thing you know, you're excusing yourself upstairs and then Joel goes missing too, both inside of your bedroom.

Your dress was the first thing to go.

"Wear it for me?" you're about to answer, lips pursing, but he cuts you off, "and don't lie, sugar. Don't get too used to the bad girl schtick"

"I only wore this dress so you could take it off"

He kisses you desperately, legs wrapped around his waist while he carries you to bed, and the memories of your first flood you as he drops you down to your back, watching the way you bounce. He has you just like he wanted: moaning his name while he leaves tender kisses on the soft bare flesh.

"Joel-" you gasp. Despite the chatter downstairs and music, you try to remain low as he wraps his lips around your nipples. He then moves to your breasts, covering them with his kisses and hickeys. He hadn't touched a woman ever since you left, the feeling of the rosy innocent skin on his rough teeth making him loose all common sense, the real thing even better than what he would try to conjure when he fucked himself in the bathroom at the memory of you.

He groans when he feels your hands roaming over his back, nails digging on the scarred skin.

"Someone's eager" he teases, seeing your damp underwear. "Is this 'cause of me?" you don't answer, too busy removing the cloth, only for his strong fingers to grab you and stop you. "Don't be shy, answer baby. We got a whole new year, yeah?"

"I need you Joel" you whine, not laughing at the joke "cut the crap"

He pushes you gently back down to the bed. "So needy sugar, want me to help ya'?"

You eagerly nod, making him laugh. But there's no mock, only love behind the sound.

"Will you let this old man take care of ya', pretty baby? Just use your words, and I'll be all y'rs"

"Do it, Joel. Just do it"

You gasp as your folds begin to be prodded open by the fat head of Joel's cock. You curse, feeling him push in just the tip, the sweet burn of your walls welcoming his size making you grab his arms that stand at the sides of your body, caging you in.

His tummy pushes against your stomach as he adjusts himself, his weight sinking your body on the creaking matress.

"'S just the tip, ready for the whole thing?"

You needed him, all of him.

"Yes, Joel. I want you" You say and he pushes in slowly, feeling his cock fill up every empty space that craved for him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as his hips roll back pulling out about halfway before rocking back in. His sloppy thrusts pick up a familiar pace that makes you moan and beg for more, head falling against the sheets as his pace speds up until he's fucking you senseless.

Joel's brain goes blank at the sight of you creaming on his dick and the obscene sounds leaving your pretty mouth. Did he really give this up? He'd definitely go back in time and slap the fuck out of his past self, because there is simply nothing better than having you under him, screaming his name like that's all you can ever say.

"Does he fuck you like this, huh?" Joel angles his hips, resuming his brutal pace. Your body jolts with each snap. "Is he enough for you?"

"Yes" his stomach drops, dark eyes now hesitant, "but he isn't you"

He pushes himself back in, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately.

"Tell me you'll leave him, y/n. Look me in the eyes and tell me who ya' really belong to"

Your eyes snap open at the possesiveness clashed with jealousy that drips from his sweat-soaked lips.

The confession falls easily, as meant to be. "Yours, Joel. Always was and will be"

He could cum just at the sight of your loving doe eyes.

Downstairs, the countdown begins, but in your room, all you can hear are his soft groans and your pathetic whimpers, and if the people would stop shouting, you could probably hear the squelch of your dripping cunt sucking in his girth with each thrust.

After a few more erratic thrusts, you feel his warm cum fill you up. Joel was always obsessed with how his cum seeped out of you and around his cock. Without thinking, his rough fingers push deep in you, making you yelp as he makes sure he isn't wasting a drop behind.

The countdown ends, and fireworks erupt outside as your head rests on the crook of his sweat covered neck.

"I love ya', sugar" those words you thought you imagined that one time, now real, so goddamn real his voice quivers and eyes get tearful with grief, "'S okay if ya' don't say it. I just wanted you to hear 'em. 'M just tired of wastin' my time"

He wraps your lips with his with tenderness you had only dreamed of. There is still a lot to talk and heal, but this time, his arms hold you like a promise. And you let yourself believe it.

Y/n's New Years' purposes: 1. Break up with Nick 2. Try to explain this seasonal mess to mom and dad 3. At last, try to be happy

[separatetheyolk]

Hidden In Plain Sight | Charles Leclerc X Faceless!Driver!Reader

ʚɞ featuring: Charles Leclerc

ʚɞ you value your privacy. As an F1 driver keeping said privacy can be a little hard. Especially when people don't respect your decision.

ʚɞ warnings: boundaries crossed

ʚɞ word count: idk i cba to count but its p small

ʚɞ note: FL stands for 'first initial, last initial' so for example mine would be 'N' for first name 'G' for last name. Drivers know what you look like, general public does not. Making 'NG28'. The first photo took an embarrassingly long time to make

f1

Liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 1.5M others

f1 Breaking: 'Faceless driver' FL28 will drive for redbull for 2025

user1 do we even know his eye colour?

user2 sadly not :(

user3 Can't you guys just respect his boundaries?

Liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc

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

"Why can't they just respect your boundaries?" Charles called from the kitchen sounding rather frustrated with the way you were being treated. "The amount of times we've had to convince broadcasters to give up their footage. It's like you're some animal that was believed to be extinct."

You sighed softly, moving to pick up Leo once the dog had reached the outside patio. Stepping inside, shutting and locking the sliding door. "You dangle a carrot in front of a pig, it'll try to bite" You spoke, following him to the living room. You set yourself down on the sofa, leaning into Charles' side and set Leo down. Watching the dog run up and down the remaining length of the furnature.

"You calling fans and broadcasters pigs?" Charles chuckled, raising an eyebrow and looked down to you. His hand rose from your waist to your hair, combing his fingers through your locks.

"Only those who don't respect my boundaries." You lent into the touch, any tension fizzing from your body slowly. "It won't be forever though. Plan to drop small hints this season.. maybe even reveal my face. As annoying as it is for people to try and work out who I am, it's funny to watch them lose their shit."

"Must be nice though. To just go out alone, dressed as any other person and not get hounded by people wanting autographs and photos.. no?" Charles spoke, picking up the remote and moved to put on a movie. Not really paying attention to what it was he had put on but you recognised it as Narnia. "As much as I appreciate people's support all I want to do is get a loaf of bread."

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

f1

Liked by lewishamilton and 503k others

f1 And that's a win for FL28 in Japan! 🏆

comments

user1 SKIN SKIN I SEE SKIN

user2 AAAAAA I SEE HIS FACE

user3 Possible face drop???

user4 idk but I wouldn't blame him if he kept his face a secret this is a whole new level of obsession

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

"Hey!" Charles shouted, shoving a strangers hand away from grabbing the mask covering half your face. "Will you people leave him alone!" you felt his hand run to the back of your head, directing your face to his shoulder. Your eyes fixed to the ground as he led you through the crowd and into a suspiciously quiet building. Recognising it as a building for authorised personnel only

"Causing a ruckus as usual, hmm?" You heard, looking up to find Carlos approaching the two of you. "How are they treating you? Better than last season I hope?"

"About the same, if not more desperate-"

"I wasn't talking about the fans." He gestured to your shirt, frowning softly. "They've been pretty harsh on Max from what I hear.. Why that man hasn't left the team I'll never know."

"He wants his fifth. That's the team he believes can get him there. Everything's okay.. a little tougher than last year. Trying to train me up to take his spot when he retires so not only is there that usual red bull pressure to keep my seat, I need to preform the best I can." You glanced back to the doors when you felt Charles' hand on your waist, leading you away from prying eyes wordlessly. "How's Williams treating you?"

"Ahh.. cars pretty shit. But it will probably be that way until next seaon. Pushing the thing just to get P10." Carlos looked to you as you waked. "The whole new main guy of red bull.. that isn't the reason you want to reveal your face.. is it?"

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

f1

Liked by youeusername, oscar_piastri and 506k others

f1 AND IT'S POLE FOR FL28 IN BAHRAIN

Comments

user1 I SEE EYES

user2 ENHANCE ENHANCE

user3 God I hate this side of the f1 fandom

Liked by yourusername

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

f1.leaks

Liked by 1.4M others

f1.leaks THIS JUST IN! Red Bull FL28 has been revealed to be Y/N L/N and what's more, seems to be in some sort of a relationship with Ferrari's river Charles Leclerc!

More on this development later!

comments

user1 this is actually disgusting omg

user2 take this post down

user3 he's so hot omg

user4 ofc he is

user5 This is a major violation of privacy

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

"Babe- babe wake up-" Charles shook you awake desperately, hands shaking. "Babe- babe come on, they leaked your face!" that seemed to snap you out of it, jumping awake and immediately sitting up. Greated with a phone being shoved in your hand.

You stared at it for a moment, swallowing thickly before shaking ypur head. "I was planning on revealing my face sometime soon but.. The relationship.." You two hadn't even had a chance to talk about it being known publicly. It wasn't exactly a known fact that Charles liked men, much less dating one. But even if that was revealed, keeping who he was with a secret wasn't exactly a hard task. But for both pieces to be released at once? "I-I didn't even see the phone.. I'm so sorry babe oh my God-"

"Hey hey I couldn't care about the relationship being known. What I care is that your face is and before you're ready for it to be. What do you want to do about it?"

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

yourusername

Liked by charles_leclerc and 1.3M others

Yourusername well, I had wanted to show my face on my own terms. And we had wanted to announce our relationship at our own pace. But it seems that some of you can't even give us that luxury.

Anyway, rumours are true, here's some of my favourites from the past three years with my fav.

@/charles_leclerc <3

I need to get back into the groove of writing omg

[vengefultakeover]

Should Have Been Faster

I pushed my coworker down on the bed and was unbuttoning his shirt after ripping it out of his waistband. He moaned and pulled my ear to his mouth, saying, "Fuck, I've been waiting all week for this."

"Me too," I grinned, my hands tossing his tie to the side, but it fell down against his open shirt. I stepped back and crossed my arms, looking him over. We had this arrangement where I would pick up some of the work he didn't want to do, and on the weekends, he would let me possess his body. We have been doing it for so long that now he likes taking the passenger seat every week, and it's less of a trade-off for me.

"So you really want this?" I said, standing there.

"Come on dude, you know the deal." He tried pulling me in, but I pulled back.

"Nah, I think you get more out of this than I do now." I smirked.

"No way." He shook his head.

"Yeah, I think we need to change our terms." I pointed at him.

"Can you just get in me please?" He was starting to get irritated leaning back with his tie keeping his shirt around his neck.

"Fine, fine," I rolled my eyes, jumping onto him. I rubbed my hands together before pushing my whole weight onto his chest. His head fell back, and he was moaning as his skin absorbed me. I rippled into him, his muscles tightening as he grinned. The feeling of ecstasy made it much easier to slip my limbs into his. My legs disappeared inside, and his body bulged out in areas as I slid my body into a comfortable position inside of him. He opened his eyes and gasped as I kicked out what I called his essence. It was something like his spirit or his consciousness, invisible and floating without a body now that I inhabited his.

"Every time it feels amazing." He said. It was easy to smile as the rush of possessing him tingled along my borrowed skin. My cock twitched as I looked up at the for of the original owner of this body. He liked to watch, admiring what he had done to keep his body in shape as I enjoyed it. I would sometimes jump inside and then he would allow me to invite someone over, using his body in ways he never intended.

"And you feel so good every time." My abs tightened when I brushed my fingers over them, lightely tracing them before I slithered my fingers around my hard manhood. I felt it pulsing in my grip, stroking and moaning. I was putting on a show, flexing and moaning like I was doing this for views. A pornstar exaggerating the sounds of his pleasure for those that enjoyed a passionate moan. Each stroke sent a rush of feeling throughout my body, and the closer I got the edge the more I was feeling myself detach from him. This is what I liked doing, entering him and then once I use his cock I let myself get kicked out. I'm actually quite good at keeping control through the pleasure, but there was something about exiting his body and leaving it limp as he leaks out the load I milked out.

"Fuck you're gonna cum." He was floating above me.

"Fuck yeah." I liked that he knew, that he could see how his body would react to my touch and realizing I was about to bust. Just as I felt the shivers of pleasure, I released, my load landing all over his abs as I squeezed myself out of him. I popped right out, a burst of energy as I landed on my feet right in front. His body went limp with his hand tight around his cock. He laughed as he looked at me.

"I should try to get in you like this." He laughed.

"You better hurry before - " I pointed towards the window and in came a large burly essence. It was another spirit of some sort, one that must have been watching. There was just enough time for the large ghost to dive into his body, a bright light emitting from his chest before a random ghost took control.

"Holy, it worked!" He looked down at himself, his hands sliding over his muscles and his fingers becoming slick from my load. 

"What the fuck?" My co-worker tried to get back inside his own body, but it was too late for him.

"You should have been faster." The guy said, looking up at the spirit of the real owner and then over to me.

"Hm. Interesting." I said, stepping closer.

"Wait!" He stopped me just as I was getting ready to kick him out.

"Dude, what are you doing? Kick him out and let me back in!" The spirit was floating behind me now, begging me to get his body back.

"What if you let me keep him and I become your personal little slut." The large ghost now inhabiting the body of my coworker reached out and cupped my bulge. I felt it pulse as he squeezed. I was squinting at him as the all of the possible outcomes of this situation flashed before my eyes, all of them making me lean towards letting this random spirit keep this body. 

"Are you really thinking about it?" My co-worker was getting agitated.

"Anything you want, I can make it happen." The stranger was unzipping my fly and slipping his fingers inside. I reached out, jamming my fingers into his abs and making him gasp as he felt himself getting kicked out, but just as he looked afraid I went in and made out with him. 

"What the fuck?" My co-worker was trying desperately to get back inside, his essence bouncing off his body.

"That kind of tickes." The stranger said, going back into the kiss.

"It's just a little fun. Stick around and watch or maybe there is someone out there willing to let you in." I looked up at the spirit of my co-worker, grinning evily with his real body being inhabited by some other ghost. I was grinding against him when the ghost pushed me off.

"I'm all yours." He said, his eyes full of lust.

I got close to his ear, my breath hot against his skin, and said, "He's all yours. But you are all mine." I reached down and squeezed his cock, making him squirm underneath me as I was pushing myself against him. The essence of my co-worker was gone, having desperately gone out into the world to find something to inhabit. This new arrangement was definitely going to lean in my favor.

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 2

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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(Now… I wonder what I should talk to Ring about.)

(... Huh?) 

While I was trying to think of a conversation starter, I realised that Ring was already way ahead of me. 

Kate: Ring! Wait up! 

Ring: !? Why are you so far behind…? 

I hurriedly chased after him and he rushed back toward me.

We met halfway and started walking side by side again.

Kate: Perhaps my strides aren’t as long as yours. I’ll try to keep up. 

Ring: No, I should’ve slowed down to match your pace. … My bad. 

Ring: A-anyway, you can hold onto my arm.

Kate: Thank you. 

Ring: Actually… I wanted to have you hold my arm back at the meeting point. 

Kate: Was that during your sudden warm-up session just now?

Ring: Yeah. … I should've let you hold my arm earlier if I knew you were going to be left behind.

Ring: I’m not good at acting like a lover at all. Even if it's Dari’s orders…

Kate: Neither of us are acting the part right now, so don’t let it bother you. 

Kate: Is there anything else you wanted to say but couldn't?

Ring: There is. It’s about… your outfit. 

Ring: “I love your outfit today. It suits the little robin very well”.

Ring: “Where did you get that bracelet? I want to get a matching one”. 

Kate: Huh…? 

Ring: “The design around the collar is fun. It really looks like your kind of thing. Also—”... 

Kate: Um… are those your own words? 

I couldn't help but interrupt when Ring, who had been acting awkward the whole time, suddenly started complimenting me so smoothly that it felt unnatural.

Ring: … Y-you’re sharp. As expected from a member of Crown… you’re dangerous. 

(It’s not that I’m sharp, it’s that Ring’s behaviour is so obviously unnatural…)

Ring: Actually… I had Nica teach me some words to compliment you, so that I can do a better job at pretending to be your lover.

Kate: So that’s what happened…! I’m happy you prepared yourself in advance, but…

Ring: “But”? 

Kate: I’d much rather hear you use your own words, Ring.

Kate: Do you usually compliment your lover using words someone else said?

Ring: N-no, I don't… I-I think. 

Ring: A-anyway, give me a moment while I think of the words to compliment you. 

Kate: … You don't have to force yourself to compliment me if nothing comes to mine, okay?

Ring: No, I really do think your outfit looks nice, it's just… umm… 

He took my comment about wanting to hear him use his own words seriously and struggled to respond. 

I couldn't help but find it endearing that he was trying so hard…

(You can do it…!) 

I silently cheered him on in my heart.

Ring: Your outfit today looks… frilly and soft… I-I think it’s c-cute.

Ring: It reminds me of a purple Hardenbergia flower… the subdued color is comforting to look at. 

The words he finally managed to string together sounded hesitant and awkward, but they struck me deeper than any borrowed praises could ever.

Kate: I never would've thought of comparing the colour of my clothes to Hardenbergia flowers! It makes me so happy to hear that.

Ring: …! I-I see… that's good to know.

Kate: You must know a lot about flowers, don’t you?

Ring: Y-yeah… I probably know more about flowers than most other things. 

Kate: There are some flower beds on the way to The Scala.

Kate: If you don't mind, could you tell me what flowers they are?

Ring: … If I can identify them. 

…

And so, on our way to The Scala, Ring taught me about the flowers blooming along the road… 

Thanks to that, his nervousness seemed to have eased significantly by the time we reached Piccadilly. 

Ring: … It’s about time for the play to start. We made it just in time.

Kate: You’re right! The Scala is right up ahead. Let’s go. 

(... He’s still a little awkward, but I feel that he’s conversing more naturally now as compared to this morning.)

Even Ring was wary of me and said some disturbing things earlier on… 

He was an honest, upright person who was willing to listen to what I had to say. 

That honestly was likely the reason why I could freely interact with him without feeling on edge myself. 

(I’m looking forward to watching the play. I wonder what kind of reactions Ring will have.)

(... Huh?)

Ring: … Why did you suddenly stop? Is something wrong?

Kate: P-pardon me. There’s something I want to verify… you come too, Ring! 

I grabbed Ring’s arm and led him toward an alley in the opposite direction of The Scala. 

…

Ring: … What business do you have in an alley like this?

Kate: There’s been a rise in child abduction cases in the area lately, and I thought I saw someone resembling the suspect on the run… 

Kate: Ah… it’s him! 

I lowered my voice and pointed at a man lurking in the shadows of the alley. 

Kate: There’s a chance I got the wrong person, so I’m going to act casual and try to get information out of him— 

While I was explaining the situation to Ring, a young girl wandered into the alley, perhaps by accident.

At that moment, the man made a move. 

(Ah…!) 

He crept up behind the girl and covered her mouth with a piece of cloth he had in his hand. It seemed to have been laced with some sort of drug. 

The girl fell unconscious, and the man skillfully stuffed her into a bag before attempting to flee the scene.

Kate: Ring, let’s go after him! 

Ring: … No, we need to report this to Dari and have him make a decision first. 

Kate: What…? B-but there's a kidnapping happening right in front of our faces! We must act now! 

Ring: I was ordered to only ensure you return to the castle safely today. Any actions taken beyond that are prohibited.

Ring: Getting involved in strange situations would be going against Dari’s orders.

Ring: I understand that you want to help, but we should only act after reporting to Dari. 

(How can he say such things when a serious crime is being committed right under our noses…?)

Just a couple of minutes ago, I concluded that Ring was an honest and upright person that would never tell a lie.

But it was precisely because of that, I instantly knew that his words right now weren’t lies. 

In other words… Ring had no intention of stopping the crime from happening at all. 

Ring Schwartz, the person I thought I was starting to understand, became a complete stranger to me once more.

Kate: … F-fine. Then I’ll go after that criminal MYSELF!

Ring: H-hey…! 

[menteycorazoncito]

𝐇á𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐏𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐳á𝐥𝐞𝐳

ᥫ᭡: pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x reader

ᥫ᭡: warnings: angst to fluff, breakup, lmk if forgot smth

ᥫ᭡: a/n: I was listening to Tayc while writing and the idea to combine some lyrics in the fic came to me. Criticism and feedback are always welcome. Enjoy :)

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It has been a few weeks since you had last seen Pedri, a few weeks since you have heard his voice, felt his warmth or laughed about his foolish jokes and humorous banter. It all used to seem insignificant, yet now, it was all you could think about. Still holding onto the faint memories for dear life.

Things had changed between you two. It was nothing dramatic. No big fight or disagreement, just a dull emptiness that replaced the connection you once had. You got too caught up in your own life and insecurities to even notice. So close, yet so out of reach.

Pedri laid wide awake in his bed, staring out the window at the beautiful Barcelona skyline, wondering when he got to the state he was in right now. Long sleepless hours, filled with thoughts and regrets that drove him crazy. He didn’t exactly know what he had done wrong. But there must have been an explanation as to why you left.

His phone on the bedside table mocked him with its silence. He grabbed it and for the umpteenth time that night his finger hovered over your contact, before setting it back down and sighing into the darkness of his empty bedroom. 

He missed you. The way your perfume lingered in his flat, even after you left reminded him of you, and it was killing him slowly inside. 

Pedri couldn’t get himself to call you; not in the state he was in. He desperately needed to see you.

You were sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, reading your book. Yet, you found yourself rereading the same page multiple times, unable to focus on the words. Your thoughts drifted to a certain Spanish brunette.

You jumped at the sound of doorbell ring. Who could it be at this hour? You asked yourself in denial because deep inside you knew who it might have been. 

“Pedro.” you said, his name stuck in your throat, as you opened the door.

He stood in the hallway of the building blankly staring at you, looking worse than ever. The shadows under his eyes more prominent than they already were, his hoodie wrinkled, and his hair messy. His posture reminded you of a lost puppy. It looked like he had cried, eyes red and puffy. Did he really let himself go like that? 

He stared as if you would disappear if even moved his eyes ever so little. You on the other hand tried to keep composure after seeing him.

“Can I come in?” he finally spoke.

“Why are you here?” you asked, desperate to know the reason for his visit at this hour. 

“We need to talk…” he said, his voice barely audible. “I deserve an explanation.”

Against your better judgement you opened the front door wider to let him into your flat. You stepped aside as he shuffled inside and sat on the sofa of your living room. 

You trailed behind him and for a moment there you didn’t believe the sight in front of you: Pedri, the man you love(d) sat in front of you in utter silence. His big doe eyes glazed with tears, reflecting a sadness that mirrored your own.

The room was silent, broken by the sound of Barcelona’s traffic outside. Both of you did not know what to say or do. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, as you wondered how it has gotten this bad.

“What happened to us…” he finally asked.

You were silent, the words got caught in your throat. Truth is, you had imagined this moment endless times. Each scenario playing differently in your mind. Yet nothing could have ever prepared you for this encounter. 

“I though we were doing fine. All of a sudden it’s like we don't know each other. You gave up on us at the first hardship of our relationship. It’s like you never even fought for us, at least not like I did.” he said, his voice cracking. 

Utter silence. His words hung heavily in the air. Still you remained silent.

“Talk to me…” he urged. “Talk to me, even if it’s to insult me. Tell me that you hate me, just don’t ignore me”

Tears filled your eyes as you realised how much you actually hurt him. “I didn’t fight for you because I thought you’d be better off without me, Pedro” 

He flinched at the use of his full name, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

“You think I would be better off without you?” he scoffed, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You are everything I have ever wanted. Do you know how much it killed me to hear nothing from you? I analysed every single move I have ever made in our relationship to see if I ever wronged you. It killed me to see the person I love slip away from me day by day. I did everything I could to at try and make you stay but I wake up one day, your things are gone, and I am blocked everywhere.” His sadness quickly turned into frustration. 

You blinked emptily at him. His words hit you like a tidal wave and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to crack.

“I- I thought I was protecting you. All the pressure, the media, the traveling. You were away half the time, and I didn't know how to deal with it. It was never my intention to hurt you. I thought letting you go would be what’s best of us, before any of us get attached. No matter how much it hurt me. I was so selfish that I ended up hurting you too in the process. Plus, it was too late when I came back to my senses. The damage was already done, and I don’t know how to fix it,” You confessed, your voice quiet and high pitched. Pedri wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t sitting so close to each other.

“So that’s it? After everything, you’re just giving up” He was growing more frustrated by the minute

“I never felt enough for you. You are this amazing footballer that all girls dream of, and I am- I am just… me. Plain me.”

The walls you had built came down, showing how fragile you were in reality. Ashamed of your vulnerability, you looked away, finding a sudden interest in the bookshelf of your living room as the realisation hit you like a thousand bricks.

You had ruined everything. You lost everything to your own insecurities. 

“Mira cariño, I didn’t come to fight,”  he reassured you softly, his gaze softened at the sight of the tears glistening in your eyes. “You were enough. You always were. I came here because I really miss you. This emptiness is killing me.” 

He scooted closer to you, taking your hand in his, looking at you with a look of sympathy. The same look he had always given you when you were upset. As you allowed the tears to finally fall, he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“I miss you too.” your voice cracked in between the sobs. “I miss us.”

He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in his eyes that make you fall in love over again. 

“We can fix this, mi amor, you just need to want it too.” he reassured you, getting his own hopes up.

You nodded, not knowing what else to do. As he pulled you into a hug you began to sob even more (if that was even possible). How missed him. The scent of his woody cologne filling you with nostalgia of what you had, the way his arms wrapped around you, the way he made everything into a joke. You put your head on his chest as he put his chin on your head whispering sweet nothing to you. The sound of his heartbeat calmed your sobs a bit and for the first time in weeks you felt a little bit of relief.

“I want you back,” you admitted through tears. “No matter how much I tried to move on and live without you, but I found myself hanging onto every single things that reminds me of you. I can’t sleep without you here, the bed feels too big and the flat feels quiet. I can’t live without you, Pedrito.” 

The two of you spent what was left of the evening, silently in each others arms. Pedri occasionally pressed kisses to your head and hands like he always used to do. And for the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of peace and a flicker of hope warmed your cold heart. 

“Estoy aquí para ti, siempre” he whispered reassuringly in your hair before you two drifted into a deep sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this time you would get it right.

[thepixelelf]

neurosurgeon wonwoo x reader x neurologist jihoon warnings: hospital stuff in general. an unnamed child patient in a life-or-death situation. I know how hospitals work even less than I know how frats work. wc: 914

love triangle au requests

[the quiet ones] "He's frozen," you tell Jihoon, eyes set on the operating table and the man at the head of it.

Jihoon lifts his eyes from the monitors to peer through the observation window. Wonwoo isn't exactly frozen like you said, but Jihoon can see the hesitation laced in his fingers. "He can't be."

"He doesn't work on children anymore. Hasn't since..."

When you trail off, an eyebrow rises behind Jihoon's hair. "He told you that?"

"He didn't mean to," you say with a sideways glance. Jihoon can tell he's not supposed to know this about the head surgeon in the operating room, but clearly, the situation is dire. "The assistants in there don't know the procedure like we do, Jihoon."

You both watch Wonwoo as he pauses again. His assistants all look up at him for direction, but he says nothing.

"I have to go in."

Jihoon stops himself from shaking his head. "Spark, you just clocked out after your ninth hour. Plus, you were the one who told me Wonwoo could do this. "

"He can, just--" You clench your fist and stop yourself from arguing. Now is not the time. "Let me take over."

Jihoon looks at Wonwoo again. You must be a prophet -- now, Wonwoo is truly frozen.

"Go," Jihoon orders.

You don't look back.

=

Wonwoo thought he was the only one who knew the emergency alarm connected to the escape stairs was broken. Evidently not, when the sound of the crash-bar doors swinging shut echoes off the concrete stairs. Even though Wonwoo can't see it from his position on the cold floor -- his knees halfway bent to his chest and his head ducked behind his arms -- he hears someone sit down next to him.

"Shouldn't you be overseeing someone?" Wonwoo mumbles.

Jihoon doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Then, he sighs. "Not sure if you've been keeping track, but it's been two hours. Spark is taking a well-deserved nap." His knee bounces in a rapid rhythm. "At least, they'd better be."

Lifting his head, Wonwoo looks at the way Jihoon glares down the stairway. His concern for you reads on his face like irritation, an expression he's seen on Jihoon more and more as of late.

He calls you Spark, and he's called you that for as long as Wonwoo's known either of you. It piqued his curiosity when he first heard it, but he's yet to find out what it means. He's never felt close enough to ask.

Stretching his legs out, Jihoon clears his throat. "The operation was a success -- not that you asked."

"No thanks to me, either," Wonwoo mutters bitterly, dropping his head again. That little girl's smile as Jihoon had walked her through the procedure yesterday shines on the inner sides of his eyelids. "I could've killed her."

"You didn't."

"Only because you replaced me with a real surgeon."

"Jeon." Jihoon's voice beckons Wonwoo to look up at him. "You're confusing real with perfect. There's no perfect surgeon, as much as people pressure you to be one. Real surgeons get tired. Real surgeons have problems. Real surgeons freeze."

Wonwoo curls his lips between his teeth. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to stop them from shaking. He takes a breath. "They didn't."

You finished the operation Wonwoo couldn't even start.

"Sure, just keep convincing yourself that you're the world's worst fuckup. Keep telling yourself that every other doctor here is perfect and this one mistake makes you inferior. Keep thinking all of us are real while you just -- hell -- faked your way through medical school and six years of surgeries that went just fine. Yeah, that makes sense." Jihoon runs a hand through his cropped black hair. He meets Wonwoo's eyes. "Sounds stupid when I say it out loud, right? I'm not gonna bother pulling you out if you just keep digging yourself deeper."

Wonwoo shakes his head, even though he doesn't know what he's saying no to.

Jihoon lets out another sigh. "But someone will." His knee starts bouncing again. "Spark believes in you, you know? Didn't stop believing you could do it even after they took over. They were exhausted, but they still told me where to find you."

You would know, wouldn't you. Wonwoo feels the corners of his mouth begin to press into his cheeks.

"They're stubborn like that," Jihoon muses, eyes unfocused down the stairway, an unconscious smile on his face.

Something settles at the bottom of Wonwoo's stomach. His lips press between his teeth again. "You like them, don't you?"

Jihoon jolts back to the present, his brows furrowing at Wonwoo. "And you?"

"Me?"

"Are you gonna tell me you don't feel anything for them?"

Wonwoo blinks. His mouth opens, then closes. "I... guess not."

"Then that's another thing we have in common," Jihoon says, oddly calm after hearing the closest thing Wonwoo's said to a confession since high school. "Spark's always telling me we'd be friends if we tried. Calls us 'the quiet ones'."

Slowly, Wonwoo tilts his chin. "...I don't know what you're saying."

"Me neither." Jihoon gets to his feet, turns to Wonwoo, and holds out his hand. "I guess-- I can't say you're not good enough for Spark if the two things I know about you we have in common."

Wonwoo takes Jihoon's hand. "Two things?"

After Jihoon hoists Wonwoo off his ass, a shy grin spreads across his lips. "Quiet and in love. Welcome to the club."

[thezombieprostitute]

Taking Care of You

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: hot chocolate/apple cider/tea and a nice book

Warnings: Implied smut, Language, Pregnancy. Please let me know if I'm missing any!

Series Masterlist

You were sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, alternating between watching the snow fall and reading your book while drinking cider made from the apples you and Steve had picked earlier in the year. Back before you knew you were pregnant.

Your smile widens at the memory of Steve trying to tell you about it. That it was the reason he'd been in such a territorial, protective mood. You weren't upset with him but you did ask about a pregnancy test or two to confirm. He understood and not only got you the pregnancy tests but also got you a doctor appointment to confirm. Sure enough, you were about a month along then.

Since then Steve has been going into overdrive to make sure you and the baby are safe and comfortable. Emphasis on the comfortable. You never thought you'd go for the kind of man that takes care of almost literally everything for you, but Steve might be changing your mind on that. He somehow manages to be around all the time without feeling suffocating. Even when you go into town together and he's in full on guard mode. If anything, his caring, protective side just makes your hormones go even more out of control.

As if on cue, Steve comes into the living room from his workshop. He's been working on a handmade crib for the little one, insisting he wants the pup to be surrounded by familial scents. He must have worked up a sweat because his shirt is off and you lick your lips at his exposed torso. You gently squeeze your thighs together and he gives you a knowing look.

"Does my girl need some attention?" he almost growls.

"Please, Steve," you whine.

"Tell me what you need, Doll."

"I need you to fuck me, Steve," you whimper. "I need you to fill my pussy with your cock, please!"

Steve's pupils are blown as he starts unwrapping you from your blankets. "It'll cost you, you know."

"What's the price?" you moan. The blankets are off and his hands are pushing down your sweatpants.

"First I get to eat your pussy like it's my last meal."

A shiver runs down your spine as you whimper, "yes, please."

You're woken up by the sound of Steve's voice. You feel a slight pressure on your stomach and, after blinking a few times, you realize Steve is talking to the small bump created by the baby.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he confesses to the baby bump. "But I promise I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you and your mama are safe and happy." He pauses for a few moments. "That being said, we gotta have a talk about your eating habits. I get that you want a lot of protein but you need to let Mama eat some vegetables. You both need the nutrients. It can't be steak, pork chops, and ham all the time. Though you do seem to accept soups and stir fry. Maybe Mama can teach me how to make those so she can rest some more. Don't think I haven't noticed how tired she's gotten. Seriously, you gotta let her eat some veggies."

His one-sided conversation is interrupted by your giggles.

"Excuse you," he playfully chides, "I'm having a conversation here."

"You're talking to my belly," you counter.

"I'm talking to our baby, thank you."

You both smile softly when he says that. You gesture for him to move in close for a kiss and he acquiesces.

"And I know you're going to be a great dad," you assure him, making his cheeks turn pink.

"We won't know for certain until the baby is here."

"Trust me," you hug him. "You're already working hard to make sure this baby has a great start in life. You've even been reaching out to other werewolves, something you've never done before, just to ask about things for me and the baby. You swallowed your pride for us. That's no small endeavor."

Steve nuzzles his beard against your neck. "Thank you for giving me a much better, richer life than I ever thought I'd get."

"My pleasure, Steve."

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 27 -  Gloves

When Sherlock finally found him, John was standing by a frozen lake in the park, shivering. Sherlock was furious. He had just given John gloves and a scarf for specifically this purpose. Beautiful, warm cashmere, even. John had worn them to dinner but where were they now? He knew that even though it was a new habit for John, he would likely refuse to give Sherlock the satisfaction of being right. He would stand there and freeze to death rather than put them on, or admit he’d forgotten them. But Sherlock wouldn’t argue now. John Watson was clearly in crisis in this moment. Now was not the time.

Sherlock moved slowly closer, finally standing beside him in silence. John was staring across the lake, so Sherlock stood beside him, staring out over the lake too. He didn’t want to disturb John, but he needed to help him. He turned to say something and saw John shivering. He could even hear his teeth chattering. He reached out and put a hand on John's arm and the poor man startled like a wild deer. As if he hadn’t even registered that Sherlock was there yet.

“John…” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed uncomfortably, still deep in thought.

“John.” 

“What, Sherlock?” John finally asked, in an irritated growl.

“You’re angry.”

“No. I’m embarrassed, Sherlock.” John shuffled his feet uncomfortably but still refused to turn and look at his friend. 

“You needn’t be,” Sherlock replied gently. “He seemed… very nice.”

“He’s not. Appearances can be very deceiving,” John snapped.

“Is that… why… you…?” Sherlock hesitated.

“Sherlock.” John’s tone was a firm warning.

“I’m just trying to understand, John. You’re always saying you're—“

“Not gay. I know,” John interrupted, finally crossing his arms across his body.

“So, are all the women… a cover up or…?”

“No. Please, Sherlock,” he pleaded. When Sherlock remained silent, John finally spoke again. “I’m… I suppose I’d be bisexual or some part of that grey area that’s indefinable. If it were anyone’s business. If it needed to be clarified,” he said bitterly. “It’s barely relevant since I don’t really date, do I? Not really. I like sex. Who it’s with is generally not so important, although I tend to fall into more traditional, binary preferences and women are just… easier.”

“But that… there… was a relationship, John. You told me it was a relationship…” Sherlock tried to open the lines of communication.

“An awful one.”

“It mustn’t have been. On the train you said…”

“Sherlock, I really don’t want to go over this. If you must know, we were together in medical school and he was an abusive, manipulative piece of work who lied about what he wanted." John sighed heavily. The weight of the world seemed to be on his shoulders. "And I got away from him… and I won’t ever be in that position again. Alright?”

Sherlock nodded quietly, knowing better than to push any further. They stood for a while in more silence, and John’s eyes teared up. A single tear made its way down his face. He looked at Sherlock with clear embarrassment. The realisation of what had happened finally hitting him.

“Sorry. I just haven’t seen him… since…”

“John, you’re shaking,” Sherlock said, moving slightly closer, wanting to help him now that his walls were finally coming down.

“Well, it’s bloody cold.”

“You never bring your gloves! Honestly,” Sherlock growled.

“I did!" John argued. "Left them in the bloody restaurant, didn't I?” John sighed.

Sherlock stepped forward. “Here,” he said grabbing both of John’s hands in his.

“What are you doing?” John squeaked, suddenly nervous.

“You’re bloody freezing, John!” Sherlock said angrily. “You’ll catch your death out here. You’re always telling me you don’t like the hassle of scarves and gloves and for someone who has such truly terrible fashion sense, I can't fathom why you’re being so fashion conscious about the one thing that might actually stop you dying of hypothermia. And now, you’re freezing your backside off. So let me warm you up, for heavens sake! Not everything has to mean something alright?” he snapped.

John clenched his jaw after the scolding. “Fine.” He held his hands out again and Sherlock stepped closer. 

“Here,” Sherlock said, pulling his scarf off and tying it around John’s neck before he could argue. Then he held John’s hands between his gloved ones. “Stand closer,” he directed.

John flicked him a dubious look.

“I’m not a predator, John. Why do you always behave like I’m going to…”

John shuffled closer in, stopping Sherlock's words. Their hands were now touching and resting against their chests. They had formed a circle of enclosed body heat. They stood in silence, breathing in each other’s air and finally, John’s shivering started to settle.

“Better?” Sherlock asked, his voice calmer now.

John stayed silent for a moment. “Better,” he finally admitted with a nod. “I do really like my scarf and gloves. I think they fell under the table at dinner. They were with my things when we arrived. I’m not used to having them yet. Sorry.”

He looked up at Sherlock, and in that moment, being so close, he felt sure Sherlock would see something. He would know. John really only had one secret left to hide. The secret that could have him out on the street. Sherlock thought John was worried he was a predator, when really, it was the other way around. John was terrified Sherlock would figure out what was in his head. Surely Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate his flatmate harbouring secret feelings for him? And now, here they were, entwined in a park, in the dark, alone. If John didn’t know any better, it would almost be romantic.

When Sherlock finally looked at him, their faces were so close, their eyes boring into each others. It was mesmerising. Their breath was filling the same space, the condensation leaving their mouths like elegant smoke, entwining like lovers in the narrow space between them. It felt incredible. John was definitely warm. rom the very tip of his toes to his eyeballs everything felt bloody warm now. He was on fire for this man. And now he could feel his breathing finally settling to match the pace of his flatmate’s, calming him.

If only he could read the expression on Sherlock’s face right now.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked. John sighed with irritation. “Sherlock…” But still, he looked up at his friend, allowing him the space to talk.

Sherlock went on. “When we met, you were trying to figure me out, and what to expect with me and I was… uncomfortable too.”

“I remember.”

“Well, just so it’s clear... I am gay.” Sherlock admitted. "Non-practising, though."

John scoffed at that. “I already gathered as much,” John said.

“But you said to me… Back then, you said… it was all fine,” Sherlock continued.

“Yes, so?” John frowned.

“Did you really mean it?”

“I did,” John confirmed.

“But… it hasn’t been all fine, has it? Not really. You haven’t been fine with... any of it,” Sherlock said quietly. "And I've been trying to decide if it's me... or just your own thing... or...?"

John sighed. “I want to be comfortable. With myself. I want to be. But I know I’m not. I’m sort of just drifting along, following your lead, Sherlock, if I'm honest. I go where you go. To Belgium if required. And wherever else you need. The rest... the personal stuff... it just stays over at the side in a dumpster fire not being dealt with.” John made sure to look at Sherlock. "It's not you. It's my own mess."

“This is why the case upset you? The man with the… husband?” Sherlock asked.

“He wasted it. He was able to marry that man but it wasn’t even… he was just collecting spouses like they didn’t even matter. It was so wasteful and so unfair…” John said bitterly between clenched teeth. “And some of us…” He couldn’t finish the thought, his eyes tearing up again.

Sherlock frowned. “John—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sherlock,” he said firmly, a sob escaping from his chest. The humiliation was palpable. “I didn’t want you to know any of that and now…”

Sherlock moved his hands away and grabbed both of John’s shoulders, forcing John to look into his eyes. "John, there's something I've been wanting to..."

“I’m tired Sherlock. Please stop,” he pleaded.

Sherlock had thought he might make his move tonight. Things had been so good and on the way home, he was going to talk to John. Their conversation had seemed comfortable lately and he really thought it might be possible to say something. But now, after this revelation. Alex. Sherlock realised that what had been going on in John's head was not at all what he thought, and now things were way more complicated.

“Let’s just go home,” John said, closing his eyes. Everything had been ruined by the appearance of Alex.

Sherlock's face softened slightly, his hands squeezed John's shoulders ever so slightly in support. “I just wanted to say, it’s all fine, John,” he said, looking deep into John's eyes. “I mean it. Whatever you need. It’s all fine.”

John nodded without a word. His heart hurt. His mind was fried. Was it really all fine? Did Sherlock know? Did he suspect? Or was he just trying to be a supportive friend right now?

“Let’s go back and get your things from the restaurant,” Sherlock said gently. “I don’t want anyone else wearing your posh accessories. They’re yours, and yours alone.” He finally let go of John but left his scarf around John’s neck, in a possessive move. His soft and Sherlock-scented scarf, which would drive John crazy all the way home.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun 

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn  

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[gofancyninjaworld]

Blast is more of a Goku expy than a Superman one

Initially posted on r/onepunchmanfans

All credit for this observation goes to u/Nanayon123. I'm merely gibbering incoherently at the implications.

The man, the myth...

He is styled like a knock-off Superman, and he does seem to be this iconic hero about whom many wild tales exist. And the reality is even wilder as he leads a larger-than-life quest to curb a veritable god's activities, but Blast has been a rather weird character. Seemingly a hero but does unheroic things. Warm and personable, yet oddly cold. Great deeds but leaves many of them half-finished. A family man but also an absent dad. Married yet oddly fixated on his partner, a known evildoer. A hero for a 'hobby' like Saitama, but whereas Saitama tends to leave people better off, Blast seems to leave them worse.

Seems to sum up Blast's deeds handily.

More gibbering below the cut.

...the curse

With that one observation, all the oddities about Blast add up to a coherent whole. When he says that he likes strong people (the Spanish translation, in using 'gustan,' makes it even stronger than mere liking), that's fundamentally what he's after. He likes strong people, he's physically and psychologically attracted to strong people, and if they happen to be helpful to him in his quest to thwart 'God', so much the better. Regardless of who or what they actually are. The fact that he was aware He had a strong partner to quest with and a strong woman with whom to also have happy-fun times and play happy families with. The fact that they were conspiring against him bothered him not a whit. That *is* very Goku-like. If Goku happens to help you in the course of looking to fight the strongest warriors, good for you.

So who's the sociopath here?

Sure, we can understand that Blast needs to surround himself with strong individuals to counter God. I'd theorised before that Blast was more of a warrior than a hero, but he makes it clear in chapter 211 that his mentality towards strong and weak goes much deeper than that. For strong people, he's prepared to do anything. Risking his life for the possibility of saving Void, not a problem. But lifting so much as a finger to try to save Genos, who risked his life to buy Blast an opening to tackle Cosmic Garou, sorry, no can do. Blast has no concern for such a weak individual. [1]

To he who has much, more must be given. To he who has little, well, no fucks need be given.

If you ask Blast why he's so fixated on Void, he'd have said something about Void having a unique ability. I understand why ONE removed that reason being given a priori: it'd have muddied the waters and made it harder for us to see his true intentions.

Additionally, I understand why ONE redacted Flashy Flash discovering that it had been Blast who had destroyed the Ninja Village -- at least for now. It really doesn't matter *when* Blast found out about Void's activities as a ninja, buying children to abuse into losing all sense of themselves, then sending them out to be assassins for hire; he'd have had no concern for those children or the assassins they'd become as they're weak. Only avatars of 'God' bothered him. The only concern he'd have had would be retrieving the cube at some point. That's it.

This entire explanation is no longer necessary: the ones too weak to be avatars are beneath Void's and Blast's concerns. And what harm they did is only mildly regrettable to Blast, which he made clear.

Instead, we get to see what Blast actually thought of the Ninja Village. It was regrettable, more of an inconvenience than a tragedy.

Oh well... I suppose some people died.

I wouldn't be shocked (just dismayed) if it turned out that Tatsumaki was the only person he cared to save from the facility, leaving other prisoners to be killed by the escaped monster or otherwise face an uncertain future. He's only interested in the strong. In a real sense, he's a lot more like Void than he'd be comfortable admitting. At his very best, Blast is an ancient-style 'hero' where the word means only a strong guy who does incredible deeds of great daring but is otherwise not especially moral. At his worst, well, you'd best be afraid of what lies behind those weird eyes and deceptively open expression.

adorable and yet...

The Opponent

To say that this is anathema to Saitama is an understatement. Saitama may be the strongest man -- far stronger than Blast can imagine -- but he has never forgotten where he started from. Because of his own humble beginnings, Saitama is adamant that you cannot judge a person's potential by their current position.

This guy is the anti-Blast: instead of deciding who is a winner and a loser, why not encourage people to fulfil their potentials? You never know what people might be capable of.

He has never disparaged anyone's efforts for being meagre -- if they did all they could, he recognises the courage it took to do that.

Saitama in a nutshell.

Never mind encouraging heroes: no matter who you are, Saitama is always willing to reach a hand out to you, if you will take it.

He needed that suit to not look a total fool, but Saitama didn't hesistate in the face of a child's needs.

Saitama has never overlooked injustice being done in the interests of self-satisfaction. If he's sometimes been less harsh with evildoers than he otherwise might be, it's because he recognises that people deserve the chance to do better if they've done wrong. He'll happily beat the ever-living shit out of you and break all your toys, but he takes care never to be the writing on your wall.

Go forth and find out how to be the better person you yearn to become.

If someone really wants to die, Saitama won't stop them, but otherwise, he's the guy saying to people that no matter where you are now, you *could* be better if you took the courage to try. So try.

You didn't jump; you fell. Can't have that. Saitama balances his belief in a person's right to self-determination with concern about their welfare.

I don't know how it will come about, but there's a conflict coming between Saitama and Blast, and it can't come soon enough for me. Blast is such an important character in OPM. He's literally the foundational member of the Hero Association, being the prototype for what a supported hero could be. He's got an incredibly important mission as well. And yet… yet… that guy has no business calling himself a hero as he is.

Someone has to talk sense to Blast about what the word 'hero' really means and who better than Saitama?

True, things are pretty cordial between them now but with worldviews so different, they can't stay that way. I'm here for it.

Footnotes

[1] True, it didn't happen in the current timeline, but that's only because Saitama cold-cocked Garou before it could. We've been shown Blast's character.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Christmas Wish

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1975

Warnings: Some cursing, bit of flangst

For: @starrylanex @spnfanficpond secret santa exchange

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Opening the bar's door, you sigh in happiness as warm air flows outward. While Vancouver wasn’t the coldest place you’d lived, the dampness made it feel worse. Hanging up your outerwear, you make a beeline to the bar and order from the holiday drink menu.

Thanking the bartender, you sip on the Spiced Silver Bell, gazing about, understanding why it’s the SPN cast's favorite hangout when Jared's voice booms over the party noises. “Hey, Y/N! I thought you bailed on us tonight!” Spotting them crowded in a circular booth, you squeeze in next to him, noticing the tipsy flush on his face, “I got stuck doing last-minute ADR thanks to a couple of petulant children on set today.” 

Jared gives an unabashed laugh and slides you a half-filled cup of eggnog when Mark piped up. “Don’t drink that, luv, it’ll put hair on your chest.” 

So, it has finally come: your trial by fire as the newest cast member and that onscreen Christmas gag flash through your mind. Determined to prove you can roll with this crew, knock back the overly rum-laden nog without a flinch. “Damn, sweetheart, color me impressed!” Jensen said, sitting down, draping his arm across the seat back behind you. You grin and hold the out cup, asking, “Please, sir, I want some more.”

****

It’s late into the night, and most everyone is well into their cups (except Mark), sharing what holiday plans they’d made when you felt Jensen’s fingers playing with your hair, making all sorts of naughty ideas about the man you’ve had a crush on for ages run rampant when you realize he’s speaking to you. Your huh response makes him chuckle, “I said your ass is ringing.” You felt his broad hand sliding slowly down your back before dipping into your pocket, retrieving the phone, felt a sudden panic seeing the number and knowing how mischievous Jensen gets when drinking, started wrestling him for it. But it's too late, and in his best British accent, he answers…

“Y/N Y/L/N, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs.”  

Jensen’s eyes widened. He sat straight and spoke most respectfully: “Mr. Y/LN, I...I apologize. Yes, sir, my mama raised me to know better, sir. " Jared was in hysterics, and Jensen flipped him off while handing you the phone. You put on your sweetest voice while glaring at Jensen. “Hi, Daddy! How are you? Give me a sec; I can barely hear you.”

Once outside, you regret not grabbing your coat, feeling Vancouver's damp coldness seeping through your thin shirt, and start to pace back and forth to stay warm. “Can you hear me? Yes, sir, I’m sorry about that. My coworkers tend to get silly after a few. What were you saying? Oh, when do you head out?” 

You’re filled with that particular disappointment you knew too well, having been raised by a single father in the military. Being a brat has prepared you for the life of a working actor, never knowing how long any job would last or where you’d end up next. The downside was that your father often deployed to places you couldn’t go and missed a few holidays, birthdays, and other milestones in your life. 

Peering through the window at the ongoing merriment inside felt a twinge of envy. “Yes, sir, I’m disappointed too. Perhaps we can try again next year. Be safe, love you.” You sit down and locate the information needed to cancel your holiday trip. You must have been outside longer than you realized when a warm coat draped around your shivering shoulders looked up to see Jared's and Jensen's concerned expressions.

****

Jensen had begun wondering what was taking you so long when he walked to the bar front and saw you sitting at one of the outdoor tables, typing on your phone. Shaking his head, he grabbed his coat, knowing Jared would be right behind. Draping the coat on your shoulders, neither could miss the unshed tears glistening in your eyes. Pulling up the other chairs, they sat down with you, and Jensen asked, “I take it your dad's not going to make it?” 

 “Yeah, he got called up for some yada yada. Wouldn’t you know it? The one time I didn't have a backup plan.” Jared frowned, “You canceled the whole trip?” You wave the phone, “Dad was using his military discount for the plane tickets.” You weren't making above scale since you hadn’t been in the business long. “I checked around, but the fees are out of my budget.”

 “So what are you going to do now?” Jensen asks, and you shrug, “I’ll just hang around till hiatus is over.” You miss the look the guys exchange as the three of you return to the bar; you pause. “Do me a favor. Keep this between us. I don’t need everyone feeling sorry for me.” 

Oh, jingle bell,s batman smells

Robin laid an egg

The god-awful singing outside your apartment’s front door jerks you awake, wishing upon the Christmas star that you hadn’t had that fourth eggnog last night; stumbled around the unpacked moving boxes, yanking open the door to find Jensen, clad in an elf hat and ugly Christmas sweater, continuing his off-key caterwauling when you neighbors poke their heads out, scowling as his voice boom out the song's outro.

The batmobile lost its wheel, and the Joker got away!

You hustle him in before awkwardly waving to your shocked-looking neighbors and shutting the door. You close your eyes and slump against it, noticing the guy has become eerily quiet. Cracking open one eye, Jensen, who is more reserved than you or Jared (who literally and metaphorically showed his rear end many times), is blushing to the top of his elfin ears and comments, “Wow, I didn’t know you had a tattoo by your Lady Jane.” Snatching the afghan off the couch, you wrap it around yourself and ask, “If you’re done with classic literature references, mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

“Jared and I got to talking, and we couldn’t let you stay in Van for Christmas by yourself.” You crossed your arms, “And?” He scratched the back of his head, “We umm, well, we rock, paper, scissored to see which of us you’re staying with, and I won.” 

“I can’t believe you guys!” You huff in annoyance, but Jensen sticks out his full bottom lip and makes that pouty face you can’t resist, “Okay, you win. Can I at least know where we’re going so I can pack? What a minute, strike that. I thought you were going home for the holidays?”

“It ended up being more of a couples thing.” Jensen awkwardly says, and you nod, understanding why it’d be uncomfortable with his recent break up with his longtime fiancée. “And Jared bought you some clothes for the trip.” He pointed to a bag you hadn’t noticed, and you groaned, “Oh god, please tell me there’s not a string bikini in there.”

Driving alone with Jensen was a much different experience than you’d imagined. You were used to having an overly hyper-sasquatch in the car. 

But neither felt the need to fill the space with constant chatter, comfortable in each other’s presence; the stretches of silence during the trip weren’t awkward. And sometimes you got a concert for one when Jensen would sing along with the radio. 

Passing through the small, historic town near your destination, you began telling Jensen about visiting a similar place as a child. He asks about the other places you’ve been to, and before you know it, he’s turning into a long drive. 

You glimpse the luxury mountain home in the evening light filtering through the trees. “Holy smokes! You rented this?” You inquired as he parked in front of the three-door garage. “No. A friend of mine is out of the country and lent it to me.”  

Shouldering your duffel, you follow him in and stop in your tracks, taking in the main room (holy moly, it’s bigger than your apartment). Despite its size, it felt homey with its natural woods and rock fireplace all aglow. Jensen bumped your shoulder, “Come on, speechless. Let’s unload the car, then I’ll give you the ten-cent tour.”

The days flew by in a whirlwind. Each one presented a new adventure for the two of you, doing something the other had never done before.

Jensen took you tobogganing, and you got him in snowshoes. You couldn’t stop laughing because he moved like a penguin. You talked him into ice fishing (something he’d never do again because he almost froze his balls off) but made it up to Jensen by cooking the best-steamed trout he’d ever eaten. 

There were trips to the quaint town where he would drag you into all its small shops, shocking you how much he liked shopping. Later, he’d take you to the local pub for warm drinks or dinner if neither of you wanted to cook.

Christmas Day arrives, and after a leisurely morning, Jensen wants to take you skiing, bewildering you, and ask why since you’ve demonstrated how uncoordinated you are when ice skating. Reassuring that he’ll take the easy slopes till you get the hang, you reluctantly agree. Jensen found he needed the patience of Job because your legs kept wobbling like a giraffe,  crisscrossing the skis and landing on your jacksie in every turn. You call it a day after your third run, telling him to enjoy himself, you’ll be in the bar.

Jensen shows up a couple of hours later, worn but happy, and after consuming a warming drink, you head out. When you reach the house, the day spent on the slopes catches up; you notice Jensens not moving too quickly when climbing the steps to the front door and mutually agree it’s time to test out that hot tub on the deck.   

You step out the glass door to find Jensen submerged to his neck in bubbling water. Crossing over, you handed him a bottle of champagne and glasses. You felt his eyes on you as he fiddled with the corkscrew. “Guess it's a good thing you’ve already seen me in the altogether, but remind me to kill Jared when we return.” Before he can ask, you drop it and watch his eyes pop, along with the bottle's cork, at the thong bikini that leaves little to the imagination as you climb in.

Taking the offered glass, you sip on it before sitting it by your head and sinking till the waters over your sore body. After a while, you are completely relaxed and slightly tipsy when the question on your mind slips out; feel Jensen's leg twitch.

”Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about your broken engagement.” Jensen waves it off, and he responds that she’s the one who broke it because she thought he was seeing someone else. “What? When the hell would you have time? You’re on set at least twelve hours a day, not to mention all the cons.” 

“She was looking for an excuse, thought I should have moved on instead of sticking with some show on a low-ranking network. But I am grateful she did dump me.” You weren’t sure you’d processed what he said correctly, which must have shown on your face.

“I’m free to admit she was somewhat correct. I do see someone else almost every day who makes me want more. And since we’ve had this time to get to know each other better, hoping she’s willing to fulfill my Christmas wish and give my grumpy ass a shot?”

You move to him and, straddling his thighs, wrap your arms around his shoulders. “If you promise not to make me go skiing again, I’ll make all your Christmas wishes come true.” 

[bikercbr6]

Dad hit the roof when he saw me smoking the first time. It was so funny, seeing how red in the face he got as he shouted. I just blew some smoke in his face and laughed. Reckon that was when he caught Chav off of me, must have still been infectious. Still, he’s alright now. Better in fact. When he got better he insisted we went down JDs, even splashed out on new Nike gear for both of us. Yeah, he’s much more relaxed now. Didn’t do nothing but laugh when that boss of his phoned up and fired him. But like dad said, he’d much rather hang out with his new bruvs now than go to that office place. Just waiting for him now actually. This was our last fag, so I’m just waiting here while he pops over there to pick up some more smokes. Then we’re going down the park. It’s better down there in the evenings. We can hang out with our bro’s and open our tins without anyone having a go. There he is, just coming over. Yeah, with the purple AirMax on. Say, wanna join us? Looks like he got a couple of bottles too. Plenty to share…

[skyfallart]

On the night of November 6th, 1983, twelve year old Jimmy Kern* heads back home from a night out with his friend. However… he never arrives. Now, Craig, Clyde, and Token must band together to find out what happened -- while getting entangled with supernatural forces... and a supernatural kid.

^Fan S1 Poster - S1 Redrawn Scenes

A/N: I don't what possessed me to write/draw this, but here it is. Since this an AU there has and will be changes. For now I just listened below the characters in the poster, and who their Stranger Things counter part is. I'm finishing up some scenes I redrawn, so hopefully I can get those up too (And introduce you to more people in the universe).

So, first up, we got the boys. We got...

° Craig Tucker - 12 - Dungeon Master/Thief - Middle Child - "Leader" of the group. Basically, I saw fan art of Creek being Mileven and I just had to try doing it on my own. Craig, just like in SP, is like the leader of his own group in this AU. I also made his D&D counterpart the same as TSoT, a thief instead of a paladin. But despite being a thief, he's still the heart of the group. Just like in Stranger Things, he's the one to find and allow Tweek to stay in his home. ° Token "Tolkien" Black || 12 || Ranger || Only Child || "Brawns over Brains" of the group. Still a bit of a rich kid in this AU, and lives with his two parents. He tends to butt heads with the others when Tweek comes into the story, feeling a bit left out and untrusting of the kid with superpowers; But eventually that all gets cleared up. In this AU, he's the one that goes to camp in S3, and has a long distance relationship with his GF, `Nicole, whom he met at camp. ° Clyde Donovan || 12 || Elf Cleric || Only Child || The "Voice of Reason" of the group. Lives with his single mother, Betsy, and their cat: Mr. Kitty (Stealing Cartman's cat here for this). I see him sharing a lot of traits with Dustin, but he's also a bit like Lucas too in this AU (He's more of the sporty one, and his GF, Bebe appears in S2 taking the place of Max). ° 011 - AKA: "Tweek" (Later: Tweek Marsh) - 12 - Mage - Superpowered Lab Rat Same kind of origin, stripped away from his mother and placed inside South Park Lab. After escaping he's found by the boys and ends up staying at Craig's house. He has the 011 tattoo on his wrist, but instead of being given the name "El", Craig gives him the name "Tweek" because of his fidgety moments (I see him being spazzy in this AU from the stress he felt from the lab, rather than the drug-induced coffee).

Then, we got the Kerns, which replaces the Byers. Seeing that Sharon has multiple last name's in SP, I chose Kern 'cause it sounded better than the others.

° Jimmy Valmer Kern - 12 - Bard - Youngest Child - "Ride or Die" Comedy until he's very last breath. May or may not have punched Vecna in the face while in the upside down. I unfortunately have to make our poor boy Jimmy as Will. I promise he won't be as neglected once he returns like his ST counterpart. He's D&D character is a bard like in TSoT, and for now, I have to romance planned for him. Just good old family love.

° Sharon Kern - 40s - Single Mother - Will do anything for her children. I thought she was the perfect choice for Joyce after seeing the "Spooky Fish" episode. Sharon literally was burying bodies for her son Stan, and making sure he wouldn't end up in jail (For something he didn't do). I could definitely see this woman communicating with X-Mas lights to find her son. ° Older! Stanley Kern - 16 - Oldest Child - Excellent Photographer - Can actually talk to girls without vomiting. And yes, we're getting Blond Stan in this AU because I said so. I made him Jonathan in this AU after deciding who was going to be playing Nancy. Stan's kind of an outcast until he meets Wendy, who's trying to look for his lost friend, while he looks for his brother. Together, with their determination combined, they'll make anything work.

Other Characters. We've got...

° Older! Wendy Testaburger Tucker - 16 - Older Child - Total Badass in the second half of the 1st season. Typical sibling love-hate relationship w/Craig. After realizing her friend has gone missing under mysterious circumstances, typical "All-American" girl Wendy transforms into someone better, as she will do anything to find out what happen. She teams up with Stan... giving her boyfriend the wrong idea (Not spoiling who the BF is just yet). ° Randy Marsh - 40s - Town Sheriff - Has the hots for local single mother, Sharon (If it isn't obvious). Randy, just like Hopper, in this AU had an ex-wife and a daughter who passed (Sorry, Shelley). He lives a sad life of donuts and alcohol, until the search for Jimmy sparks something inside of him, and spirals his life into the supernatural forces caused by the lab. He eventually has to get Sharon involved to solve this crime. ° Dr. Alphonse Mephesto - 50s - Genetic Engineer/Crazed Local Scientist - "Papa" to a lot of children that ain't even his (I mean, he named his kids after numbers. Can we call CPS now?). I didn't know who else to pick, but for some reason Mephesto might actually be a good choice for Brenner. You'll learn more about him later on.

For now, that's all I got. I'll try to finish those screencaps soon! (And if anyone's interested, maybe I'll write a fanfic? Or a fan-comic?)

[dykedvonte]

I find your takes on Jimmy's behavior patterns interesting, especially in regards to how he treats Curly.

What do you think is the cruelest vs kindest he's ever been to him pre crash? Curious about the range; what Curly might hope is potential for better in him vs the biggest hit he was willing to take in hopes Jimmy became better before everything imploded.

I always find this question fascinating. The question of what Curly will tolerate towards himself vs towards other's with Jimmy.

The fandom creates this misconception around their dynamic due to a lot of hindsight we have and a lot of emotional/relationship dynamic gaps being filled. We assume Curly has to be equally as dependent and unable to regulate/understand his feelings towards Jimmy as Jimmy is to him as we never really get Curly's motives or inner thoughts towards Jimmy. I personally think this is far from the case and while still unhealthily attached to Jimmy he is still very aware of him, doesn't believe he'd ever go as low as he did in the game but knows he's petty/vindictive to an abnormal extent.

I think it's important that in HFIM he (Jimmy) is represented as a parasite on the fish rather than a real, helpful and needed part of him (Curly). It is something that slowly kills the fish if left unchecked or there are multiple (coughP.Ecough) and the fish would live better without but can't get out by itself. A parasite in which the specific method of latching is rather gory/unpleasant for the host the whole way through. I see people use this parasitic relationship as an example but never actually look at the specific relationship exemplified. How it is one formed without any consent or real want of the host but they are stuck in it no matter what they do, so they must adapt or be killed. In the games unfortunate circumstance, it just doesn't affect the host.

Jimmy on the other hand likes to test the waters, likes to see how deep he can really latch onto Curly so he can never really be pulled out, not without doing more unnecessary damage. I've said it before but I think they have breaks: Curly does have enough of a backbone to separate himself from him when he can, when the circumstances allow but he's not willed enough to keep him out, not when Jimmy inevitably finds a way to latch back on and sink deeper. Pulling him out again just rips more out of him, makes him less sturdy to it, drains more. He can take the parasitism. He thinks he's taking it.

As mentioned previously, Curly can't get/cut Jimmy out of his life alone. He will inevitably give him another chance because Jimmy will do something to make him think he deserves it. He will clean himself up. He will try to keep a job longer than a month. He will be polite, civil. He won't ask for a favor and if he does it's small and he'll repay it. He worms his way back in while also pushing others out. Anyone who claims it's all an act again or he's just doing it to get back in Curly's good graces just doesn't get him. They don't get them. Curly's upset he's seen it over and over again, the dip in progress, the lows. But the peaks get higher each time, he can't leave when he sees how good Jimmy is doing. He's scared without him the next low will be his last. Jimmy no doubt put that idea in his head.

But to answer you question: I don't think Jimmy's cruelty towards Curly's comes not from actions but conversations, the way he's conditioned Curly to view himself as underserving to complain. He's rendered him unable to talk about his pains because by "objective" comparison he's always worse off. I don't think its one cruel dismissive act in this vein but multiple, the act of uncaring and disinterest while also demanding the same attention Curly so desperately craves from anyone not just Jimmy. The want for his friend to act like a friend and be so purposely shut down or condescended to when he just needs the shoulder to cry on he always provides. The emotional relief he gives him returned.

I imagine he's told him to suck it up when pets die, to quit shaking when a career deciding meeting was about to happen, to get over and just "fuck someone new" when he has another failed fleeting relationship the few months back on Earth. Maybe it's said within a joke to make it less sharp, maybe with the same "You have it to nice to be acting like this) attitude. It's that type of cruelty that breaks him down and makes it harder to ignore that Jimmy truly doesn't care about him, does not have the same desire for him to be happy like Curly has for him. Jimmy doesn't really try to hide it either and he just never would outright say it. He calls it tough love, saying its just how he is and Curly doesn't know how much longer he can actually take it if it's really true.

Curly is willing to keep taking these hits in hopes Jimmy realizes how he hurts others, how it hurts him with every dogged look or abrupt end to a conversation. It doesn't and every time he's almost ready to just give up. If Jimmy won't be kinder for him, the only person that's still there for him, why continue to bother? Why believe he'll change.

Kindest? The fact he always tries to come back? That he stayed his friend and such a close one despite how long he'd be gone. That Curly is the one he calls and trusts and lets him know that. Curly has friends, we know that, but we also know they don't know him. Maybe they never did or maybe because of his job, the distance made it harder to keep knowing him. Jimmy didn't always work there and yet he stayed, close enough so that Curly was never alone when he came back. That he didn't come back to friends shocked he was coming back or a dozen new faces that were new at family gatherings/the news of who passed. He chose to remain consistent for Curly, with Curly, he never changed for Curly. That's how Jimmy explains it whenever Curly needs a reminder that he's not so bad. He's physically hear for him, he's something that's set and that already more than Curly should be asking for considering all he has. Curly thinks it's a major kindness considering no one else has done it for him.

I feel like people mischaracterize Jimmy in that he does not take pleasure or gain a feeling of superiority from the direct act of being cruel. He'd get nothing from directly making Curly hurt cause it's fleeting but he likes when Curly feels bad and lesser cause he can imagine it's lesser than him. When it's something he knows is gonna be a lasting mark. His kindness likewise if supposed to be a kiss on the initial boo-boo he makes. Purely for Curly and shallow. Jimmy likes Curly, I don't think him seeing him as a friend is debatable, yet we can question how utilitarian he does view friendship in general,