#i wanna grab him by the head and throttle him

[stars-n-spice]

I'm sorry but these are so fucking funny to me because Hunter has SCRAWNY ass arms in the show and they're something I think about a lot so when I saw these images I was like "HELLO???" 😭

Like?? Baby where did your forearms go??

It's just so funny to me

but also AWOOGA I want his gender so fucking badly. I love his little slutty ass outfit with the exposed shoulders and the double bandana like??

ALSO ALSO - Wrecker in the background of the last image????

RAAAAAHHHH I mean I'm guessing it's Wrecker?? Either way it looks like he's also in civvies and I'm losing my damn mind over it.

hey guys

[spiritsdiary]

— FIRST DATE with TYLER OWENS

wc: 788 | content: description of intense weather (??)

you had made the mistake of issuing a challenge to tyler owens: “impress me.”

and tyler owens would be damned if he backed down from a challenge.

so he got you flowers and brought you along to thursday rodeos with his crew, and he must have talked to your mama too, because how else he could’ve figured out where to get your favorite pie was beyond you.

“nothing ever throws you off, does it?” you asked him the fifth time he showed up at your door, armed with a box of pie and that damn smile.

he had simply shrugged before reciting his stupid mantra at you. “if you feel it, chase it.”

he laughed when you shut the door in his face. you’d be lying if you said weren’t laughing yourself when you opened the box, grabbed a fork, and dug in, the dessert tasting a little sweeter than usual.

while it was nice, you’d grow bored of this routine eventually, and tyler seemed to know that, too. but he had an idea, and while it was stupid as all hell, he was willing to take his chances.

you barely pulled the door open when he spoke.

“i wanna take you out tonight.” well. that was new.

“it’s not thursday,” was all you could think to say in response.

“i know a spot,” he’d said, completely unfazed, with a cheeky wink and a tip of his hat, and really, you should’ve known what he meant.

because why wouldn’t you now find yourself in the passenger seat of tyler’s truck as he veers off the road directly towards a tornado?

“tyler owens, are you crazy?!” you exclaim, the only response being a bout of wild laughter as he throttles it even faster. “you better not be filming this!”

“you kiddin’?” he gestures to the cameras mounted above the windshield. “don’t worry, this’ll be just for us. we can look back on this in ten years and laugh.”

“if we live,” you mumble to yourself, glad of the wind, rain, and tyler’s blaring radio.

he looks at you for a moment, though, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “you ready?”

you don’t even have to think about your answer. “hell yeah, tornado wrangler.”

“‘s what i like to hear, baby,” he says, rolling to a stop in the middle of the field. “and now… we wait.”

“next time, just say you wanna drive me into a tornado.”

“next time?” he raises his eyebrows at you as he flips a few switches and anchors the truck.

“you’re insane,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m startin’ to think that you like that about me,” he replies, nodding to the tornado only feet away as he makes sure your harness is secure. “better hold on to somethin’.”

you should be scared, but when you grab on to tyler’s hand, fueled by adrenaline and exhilaration, you just feel a sudden calm. like you belong here, with him, in his truck, getting hit head on by a tornado.

and maybe that’s why you let him kiss you.

the tornado swirls around the truck, the wind screaming so loudly you can barely hear his music, and you lean into him even though the harness digs into your shoulders. his kiss is gentle, respectful, and you can feel him smiling as you kiss him back, only pulling away to touch your forehead to his.

the winds of the tornado rock the truck, debris pelting the outside, but you’re too wrapped up in tyler to even care. you breathe him in until the sound of the storm begins to dissipate and the beating of your heart fades in your ears.

“you can open your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispers, watching as you lean back into your seat.

his voice spurs you into action, laughing as you undo your harness and jump out of the truck. he’s quick to follow you, smiling proudly as you let out a loud whoop.

“told you i knew a spot.”

“tyler owens…” you say his name again, slowly turning to look at him where he leans against his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“yeah?”

you could blame his tight jeans, or his backwards cap, or that damn smile of his for what you do next, but in the end you do it solely because you want to.

because you want him.

you run up to him, your hand bumping against the brim of his cap as you throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him, pressing him back against the hood.

and when his hands take hold of your hips, his mouth insistent against yours, you know that however you challenge him, he’ll always be crazy enough to impress you.

good evening twisters/tyler owens nation, i am officially throwing my hat in the ring 🥰

m.list

© qimirdiary 2024. do not repost without permission.

[star--stilinski]

wow, you're so fucked.

stiles is standing next to you, a sweaty beacon of pride as he chats with scott and isaac excitedly, his lacrosse uniform still on and not making things any easier for you.

he had just played a game and won. something unusual for him, clear in the way he seems to glow a bit at the attention he's receiving. you can admit that he did better than his regular performances, which often included him sitting idly by on the bench. but you really don't need to deal with this. rambling, hyper focused stiles is one thing.

sweaty, cocky stiles is another.

he laughs at something danny says-oh, danny's here? you didn't even notice him approach, too distracted with the way stiles' hair sticks to his forehead. anyway, his laugh might make you swoon. jesus, are you ovulating? there's a wet patch forming in your panties and you know it. whore.

"oh, yes! we will so be there!" stiles slings an arm over your shoulder and grins at danny. you can smell his sweat, now, and unfortunately stiles' musk only makes you want to ride his dick even more.

"be where?" you blink, turning a curious gaze on stiles, who looks at you all confused and cute and his lips are so pink and his skin glistens with sweat and i bet the rest of him does, too-

"are you okay?" he hums, squeezing you against his side just slightly. you nod and turn to danny to avoid moaning at the sight of stiles' adams apple.

"sorry, i was zoned out."

danny looks like he's disappointed in you. because of-fucking-course danny māhealani can tell that you're this close to giving stiles a blowjob in front of the entire student body. just because he's sweaty and excited and prideful. you glare at danny, just to shut him up.

he talks anyway.

"some of us were gonna go grab food to celebrate, and i was just inviting you guys. unless you'll be... busy." danny drawls his last words with clear implication, but stiles is too busy being excited that he got invited to something by the "in" crowd to notice.

"and i told him we were going." stiles grins down at you, raising his eyebrows in anticipation. you avoid his eyes, tilting your head.

"i dunno..." you pick at your nails, and stiles is quick to stop you. a habit you both have and you're both trying to quit. "it's kinda late, and we have that essay-"

"oh, come on, don't tell me you're passing this up for homework." stiles tosses his head back dramatically and you hear danny snicker. you know if you look at danny again, you'll want to throttle him. but looking at stiles means looking at his moles and freckles, his jawline, his brow.

you swallow thickly.

"yeah, okay, shut up. i was gonna say yes." you fold so quick that stiles actually steps back from you in shock, and you avoid grabbing him by the jersey to keep his scent all over you.

danny smirks at you, nodding once. "see you guys there. try not to fog up the windows on the way."

stiles waves as danny leaves, and you're pretty confident he didn't even hear that last part because of how focused he is on being overdramatic about you saying yes to him so easily. his eyes are wide and his mouth is open when you turn to look at him, and he let's out a squeaky surprised noise.

"what-you always argue about this stuff! did you have some moment of discovery?!" he grabs both your shoulders and you fight a smile, shrugging him off. you can't just tell the boy, 'oh, it's a whole lot harder to say no to you when all i can think about is how far i would go to get you in my pants.'

right?

you settle for an easy half-truth. "just didn't wanna dampen your good mood. you're practically bouncing off the bleachers right now."

when you look back at stiles, he has that stupid crooked smile cocked all smartly at you. feeling bold, he gives your hip a light squeeze and hums, "atta girl."

yeah, you are so incredibly fucked.

☆

this is my most popular from the vault!! it's also one of the first things i published here. stay tuned for more vault releases and an upcoming thomas fic :D

this anon made me giggle so here's a snippet of pt. 2 (its a joke dont get your hopes up)

[starchants]

HIGH SPEED AND FULL THROTTLE

poly!fast-team x female!reader ; the team comes home.

word count — 629.

themes + warnings ; nothing but adorable fluff <3

author’s note — i’ve always kinda wondered what it would be like in a poly relationship with everyone of the crew so here is a small lil drabble about it! now to specify since i know some may bring up dom and mia being siblings, yes they are siblings and NO they are not in a relationship they simply share the reader along with their friends and NO they aren’t ever near each other in intimate moments either, i know that isn’t discussed here but i wanted to clarify that as well AND i can do a whole list of headcanons if anyone is interested <3!

support mention ; if you feel like supporting, a nice ‘like’ will suffice on my blog, i know some writers love to ask nicely if you could reblog or comment etc. yet on my blog (no hate towards them as everyone likes appreciation in different ways), but if you’d like to reblog or comment feel free after all this is a safe space for any fan-individual to have fun :’)

masterlist

the growling rumble of numerous cars surrounded the block causing the woman to grin softly to herself as she continued humming along to the voice of reba mcentire that swept through the kitchen. the warming smell of lemon pepper seasoned chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, fresh corn on the cob, and the cinnamon from the apple pie that had been finishing up baking in the oven had flooded through the kitchen of the toretto home. the grin stayed upon the woman’s lips as she moved around the kitchen to grab down the plates for the dinner before she moved towards the silverware drawer and grabbed some prior to heading out the back door, setting up everyone’s spots at the outside table as she heard the shared laughter reaching towards the front door.

“babe?” both dominic and brian had called out in sync as they entered first and couldn’t find their beloved girlfriend who usually greeted them at the door. mia chuckled softly as she took a sniff of the air and knew the woman was probably setting up for dinner, leading to her and letty rushing towards the kitchen in order to beat the boys to the greeting kisses. tej and roman were quick to realize what the girls were doing and quickly rushed after them leaving dom, brian, and han shaking their head and laughing at the antics of those four.

the trio soon found themselves in the kitchen with the rest of the crew who were trying to help y/n plate the food onto safe to carry dishes and help her carry them outside to the backyard table. “there y’all are! y’all had me worried!” y/n exclaimed with a wide grin and made her way through the crowd of her lovers towards the trio who willingly awaited her arrival kisses and gentle fussing checkovers to ensure that they weren’t hurt. “we’re alright sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head over that.” han replied while placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead making the woman gleefully giggle at her man’s actions. the h/c woman was quick to grab at brian’s hand and hold it gently in hers as she quietly with a grin on her face dragged him out the back door of the house with her. dominic and han were quick to follow the pair outside and notice that the rest of the lovable idiots were passing around the drinks that were in the nearby cooler.

“alright which one of y’all wanna say grace?” the woman questioned as roman pulled out her chair as she went to move to do it herself while letting go of brian’s hand as he went to grab himself a drink. she sat down between roman and tej with mia and brian next to the pair of them and letty with dominic and han across from them. y/n found herself filled with so much love in this moment as she watched her lovers all glance at each other and childishly point fingers at each other trying to get the others to say grace.

she simply grasped her hands together and started grace for the lot of them over the dinner that she lovingly prepared for her hungry law-unbinding loves of her life. this time though they all had their heads bowed and only y/n had her eyes shut, all of them stared at her as they all silently wondered how she did it. how did she find the time, energy, and love in her heart to love and provide for them all the very best that she could without any hesistation whatsoever? their beloved girlfriend deserved to be pampered and spoiled after tonight’s dinner and they were going to do just that — just like they always do.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The adventures of Eddie Munson, jerk

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: T

Tags: modern AU; meet cute; HOH Steve Harrington; Eddie "foot in mouth" Munson; Eddie being a horny shit

Notes: based on this idea I posted a while ago. I'd link it, but alas, the tumblr search function sucks. I'll add it when I find it I guess. (Edit: found it!)

Ping.

Eddie's about to commit homicide in an airport terminal. Walk over to that asshole with the laptop and throttle him with the cord. Bury him in a shallow hole, chuck his beeping hell machine right-

Okay, breathe. 

He's overreacting. The guy's an inconsiderate jerk, but he doesn’t deserve to be murdered. Eddie's just a bit on edge ‘cause he got up at ass o'clock and now his flight is delayed and his neck is hurting from the plastic chairs and his phone is dying and- 

Ping.

Okay, that's it. 

Eddie stomps over, propelled by rage and too many energy drinks.

“Hey, asshole!”

Laptop jerk just continues typing. So he thinks he can ignore him, huh? Eddie reaches him just as the laptop dings again, grabs him by the shoulder. 

“Hey, dickhead, I'm talking to you.” 

Laptop jerk flinches so hard he nearly sends his device flying, head whipping up and- 

-shit, he's cute. Big, hazel eyes full of shocked confusion under a swoop of chestnut hair. Perfect, pouty lips parted in surprise. Eddie has a sudden impulse to wrap a hand around the curve of that throat, drop his voice, tell him to say sorry like a good boy. 

Which would be … wildly inappropriate. 

“Listen,” he says instead. “Your beeping is annoying the living hell outta me, so-” 

Something is pressed into his hand. Something rectangular and plasticy, like a business card.

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters, lifts it so that he can read what it says. 

Hi, I'm Steve. I'm hard of hearing. 

Wait, what?

Eddie's eyes flit back to laptop jerk's face. He's smiling, but there's a distinct undercurrent of confusion and concern. Like he doesn’t know why Eddie's so angry, which is true of course, because he can't fucking hear, has no idea what he did wrong and fuuuuck, who's the jerk now? 

That shallow hole still sounds tempting, just for entirely different reasons. 

“Erm, it's just …” he starts, more slowly now, those pretty eyes following the movement of his lips. “I've been wondering if maybe …” 

Steve tilts his head. 

"... you'd wanna have coffee? My flight's delayed and-” 

If the curl of Steve's mouth is anything to go by, he knows exactly that this isn't what he wanted to say. 

He nods anyway. 

By the time Eddie’s flight lifts off, his phone is dead, but there's a sticky note with a number tucked into his pocket.

[ylangelegy]

collision course 🏁 sunwoo x reader.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee. (Full Throttle, diamonddaze01)

or: sunwoo knows a lot of things about cars, but girls? a whole different story.

★ ferrari mechanic!sunwoo x race strategist!reader. ★ word count: 3.1k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: formula one. fluff, feelings realization/denial, confessions, car terms. alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. sunwoo has a crush and is lame about it. i know nothing about f1/cars and relied heavily on google— so help me, god. (if anything is wrong/off? we ball.) ★ footnotes: this is a self-indulgent, belated christmas gift for @diamonddaze01, because seeing a sunwoo cameo in her ferrari!jeonghan fic was an absolute treat. in her words, "had to bring my other man in here somehow."

At speeds over 150 km/h, the aerodynamic downforce generated by an F1 car is enough to keep it adhered to a ceiling— theoretically allowing it to drive upside down.

It’s a stupid fun fact that Sunwoo likes to keep in his arsenal of pickup lines. He’ll be in a new city, grabbing drinks with the garage technicians and pit crew members, and he’ll pull that little nugget of information out of his sleeve with a winsome smile to boot. 

“Wanna hear something cool?” he’ll ask his victim of the night, gesturing for them to lean in closer so he can be heard over the thumping music. 

His success rate with the fact is at a solid 83%, which isn’t bad. 

Would be nice if it could work on you, though. 

Of course you wouldn’t be impressed with Sunwoo’s technical F1 knowledge. You had your own array of race tactics and data analysis, always knowing just how to make the car’s performance fit within the larger race context. 

You were brilliant, productive, and ruthless. The brain behind the brawn of the indomitable Scuderia Ferrari.

Sunwoo is reminded of it now as he leans over the hood of the SF-23, his brow furrowed with concentration. He catches your eye from across the garage.

“Hey, strategist,” he grunts out, and you approach gingerly to see what he’s griping about. 

Once you’re by his side, he asks, “You sure about this tire strategy? Softs at the start? I don’t know if we’ve got the grip for that, especially in this heat.”

Your expression remains perfectly neutral as you respond. “I’ve run the numbers,” you say. “The tire temps on the softs will be optimal. We can manage the degradation. The first few laps will be crucial, but we’ll have an advantage after that.” 

An advantage. Sunwoo lets out a derisive snort. 

“We’re talking about a five-second difference in lap times, and track conditions are ass,” he argues, wielding the wrench in his hand as he speaks. “One wrong move? We’re out of contention. I’m telling you, we’ll burn through those tires too fast.” 

“And I’m telling you, I know the risk.” Your tone is unwavering as ever, like you’re far too used to your decisions being questioned by hard-headed mechanics like Sunwoo. “I also know the reward. Trust the data.” 

There it was. Your go-to catchphrase. Trust the data. 

In the years that Sunwoo has worked alongside you, he can no longer count on two hands the amount of times you’ve thrown him that line. It was your way of getting him— and everyone else— to shut up, and he’d be damned if he tried to push back on it now. 

“You’re the boss,” he mumbles as he goes back to checking the car. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees the slight twitch in your jaw, as if you’re contemplating saying something more. You seem to decide against it, instead choosing to walk off with your chin held high. Maintaining faith in your own numbers, in your very credo of trusting the data. 

Sunwoo shakes his head to himself. He can feel the pull of his gut, but your confidence is hard to ignore.

It quickly becomes apparent that your conviction— and your blasted data— are not misplaced. The softs perform better than anyone had anticipated. By the time the race is nearly halfway through, your tire strategy is pulling ahead. 

The radio crackles to life with Sangyeon’s voice. “You’re going to need to hold your ground now,” the race engineer says. “Great call on the softs.” 

Sunwoo huffs out an exhale. Honestly, he doesn’t even know why he still tries at this point. 

You materialize at his side wordlessly. At first glance, there’s nothing in your expression that might give away what you’re feeling or thinking. But Sunwoo has known you long enough to recognize the upward arch of your eyebrow, the amused purse of your lips. 

I told you so, you’re saying without saying, and he can’t help the way that it makes him laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, running one hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “You were right. Trust the data.” 

“Trust me,” you amend with a knowing smile.

Sunwoo doesn’t quite know why, but something about your subdued smugness bowls him over. You’re already wandering off to check the timing board before he can grasp one of his witty remarks, leaving him at a rare loss. 

It was the strangest thing to admit, but he found himself wanting to be harmlessly wrong again— if it meant seeing that look on your face once more.

An F1 car can theoretically drive upside down. In the same vein, you’ve not-so theoretically tilted Sunwoo’s world on its axis.

F1 tires can reach temperatures of over 120°C during a race, which is necessary for optimal grip.

Sunwoo is no stranger to heat. His job has taken him all over the world, has put him through the sweltering temperatures of Bahrain and the merciless climate of Brazil. 

He’s learned how to handle those. 

Hot people, however? 

You’re several paces away from Sunwoo, your fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. There’s a lot of celebration in this middle-of-nowhere Austin bar, especially after Jeonghan finished P1. But Sunwoo can’t be bothered to care about his intoxicated fellow crew members. 

Not when you’re dressed like a cowgirl— a fringed vest, a leather hatband, and a goddamn hat. 

Was the bar a cowboy-themed one? Yes. Was Sunwoo prepared to see you in something outside of your usual race-day attire? Not quite.

He’s in the midst of untangling his complicated web of thoughts when you catch him staring. He looks away a second too late, because you’re rounding on him mere minutes later. 

“Never seen a strategist in a hat before?” you drawl, your attempted accent so horrendous that Sunwoo can’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Play it cool, a voice says in the back of his head as he leans on the bar counter. 

“Didn’t think anyone could pull it off. Especially you,” he teases. 

You sip from your beer, your eyes never leaving his face. Something about the action makes Sunwoo’s breath hitch. 

“Yeah? Thought I was all numbers and charts?” you shoot back, the lip of your bottle resting over one corner of your mouth. It’s a sight that’s going to burn itself into Sunwoo’s brain for weeks, he’s sure. 

“I mean, you do spend most of your time with a headset on, looking like you’re about to break down tire strategies. Not…” He gestures vaguely to your get-up. “Whatever this is.”

You laugh, and the sound catches him off guard. It’s low and easy, like you’re genuinely enjoying this. The two of you had always worked in close coordination, but light moments were rare in your high-stakes positions. “I can do both. Multitasking is my specialty,” you say breezily. 

Something about your tone— confident, but with just enough challenge— makes Sunwoo’s heart beat a little faster. “Well, if you can multitask,” he says, trying to keep it light, “I guess you won’t mind helping me figure out how to not make a fool of myself right now.”

There’s the ghost of a smirk on your face. “You’re not making a fool of yourself. Not yet, at least.” 

“So you’re saying there’s still time?”

“Maybe. Depends on how much you want to embarrass yourself.”

It’s a bit dizzying, how fast-paced this conversation is going. As much as Sunwoo would like to blame it on the alcohol, he knows it runs a little deeper than that. 

“You’re drunk,” he says for the lack of a better thing to say. The rest of his sentence goes unspoken: You’re drunk, and that’s the only reason you’re bantering with me like this. 

“Maybe a little buzzed, but I’ve got a clear head,” you answer. When you go on, your voice is pitched just low enough that he has to lean in a bit more to hear you. 

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” you note, and Sunwoo briefly considers making a run for it then and there. 

The air suddenly feels too warm, too thick. He tries to laugh it off, but it comes out a little strangled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Those little glances,” you say, flicking your eyes over him in a way that makes him painfully aware of every inch of his body. “You were checking me out, Kim.” 

“Was not.” 

Crap, Sunwoo thinks as the answer comes out of him a little too fast, a little too defensive. 

He backtracks. “I was just—” 

But then you do that again— sipping your drink while staring directly at him— and the words hitch in his throat. He’s caught. Completely. 

The flirtatious, suave Kim Sunwoo is in over his head, just because his team’s race strategist deigned to toy with him. 

What a joke. 

“You’re just?” you prompt, the slight grin on your face giving away the fact that you know what effect you had on him. 

Sunwoo tongues the inside of his cheek. “I was just trying to get my head on straight,” he finally says.

He’s not used to being on the back foot. He’s always held his own in situations such as these, and yet here you are— subjecting him to a sudden, wild rush of feeling with a few choice words and moves. His mind is reeling over the fact that this is how lethal you are tipsy. How much more if you were sober? 

A corner of your lip curls just enough to be dangerous. “Well,” you say, almost too casually, “looks like your head’s all over the place now, huh?”

There’s an unfamiliar heat blooming in his chest, one that burns far more than any tire blanket. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles in response. “No kidding.” 

An F1 car— including its driver— weighs around 740 kg, with the car itself weighing just over 700 kg.

Remaining lightweight is crucial to any car’s victory. Sunwoo’s job demands that he maintain the steadiness of things, never sacrificing safety for durability and vice versa. 

He keeps his hands steady as he fastens the car’s bolts one more time. The hum of the garage surrounds him, a familiar rhythm that he could work in with his eyes closed. It’s in moments like this that he feels most at peace. When the noise fades into the background, when the weight of everything else in his life feels distant.

Except the weight isn’t distant today; instead, it’s in the same room as him. 

You’d laughed at his joke earlier. Some stupid wisecrack he made about Mingyu of McLaren. He doesn’t even remember what he said anymore, because the sound of your giggle had just emptied out his brain. 

Sunwoo wipes his hands on a rag, shaking his head. Focus, he mentally chides himself. There’s a job to do. There’s always a job to do. You have to—

“Hey, Kim.” 

Well, so much for that. 

His gaze snaps up to where you’re standing by the garage door. You have your arms crossed in front of you, and there’s a slight frown on your expression. 

“What’s got you distracted?” you ask point blank. “You’ve been off all morning.” 

Busted. Sunwoo almost wants to laugh at just how absurd this whole situation is. How did he ever think anything would get past you? 

He tries, still, to brush it off. “I’m fine,” he says as evenly as he can manage. 

You step closer, your gaze narrowing as you look him over. For a second, Sunwoo feels like you can see right through him.

“You’ve been quiet,” you point out. “And usually you never shut up.” 

He raises one hand over his heart, feigning like he’s been wounded. That at least draws a small chuckle from you, but you don’t look like you’re going to back down any time soon. 

“I’m just focused,” he says. “Gotta keep everything in balance, am I right?” 

“Balance,” you repeat with amusement. “That’s your thing, isn’t it?” 

Sunwoo could praise the heavens at the opportunity to veer the topic into safer waters. He snatches up the opportunity, immediately launching into an enthusiastic ramble of, “Yeah. It’s all about maintaining the right weight. The right balance between power, handling, and fuel efficiency. Gotta make sure nothing’s out of place, or else the entire thing could fall apart.” 

Really, he should’ve known better than to think you would let him off easy. 

“And yet, here you are,” you say in a way that makes him feel like you’re playing a different kind of game now. “Completely off-balance yourself.”

Damn it. 

You’re not talking about cars anymore. Hell, you’re probably not even just talking about how preoccupied he’s been. Everything from the glint in your eye to the teasing edge in your voice promises trouble, threatens to read him better than any book. 

“I guess I’m a little bit off-balance,” he admits, the confession escaping him before he can reel it in. “But I’m getting used to it.” 

You give him a long look, something unspoken passing between you. Then, without warning, you smile— something soft, almost shy, and Sunwoo forgets his damn name. 

It’s like a weight he’s been carrying for so long has suddenly lifted, even if just for a moment. A glowing sort of warmth spreads through him, light and freeing.

“You’re not the only one,” you muse, your tone almost thoughtful now. “We all are. Maybe that’s what makes us good at what we do. We’ve learned how to keep our heads straight even when everything else is... a little out of whack.”

What is this ‘we’ business, Sunwoo almost teases you. The undercurrent of your words has him thinking this conversation has nothing to do with the state of the garage, but everything to do with whatever weird tension has been crackling between you two. 

The truth is, he's never felt this light before. The weight of his feelings for you, the tension in the pit of his stomach, feels like something he’s been carrying around for ages— but right now, in this fleeting moment of understanding, it’s like the air has cleared. He doesn’t know what to do with it, but he knows it’s there. This strange, giddy feeling thrumming below his ribs.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “I guess we make it work.”

Surprisingly, he’s not worried about getting things right. He’s not thinking about the balance of power or how much he can handle before breaking. 

All he knows is that in this moment, with you standing in front of him, the weight he’s been carrying feels a little more like something he can handle.

Maybe it’s the start of something. Or maybe it’s just a crush.

Either way, it leaves him feeling light. 

A well-executed pit stop takes less than two seconds, with each mechanic trained to handle their specific role.

Over the years, Sunwoo has steeled himself to the pressures of being precise, of being steadfast and reliable under the world’s most insane time crunch. Every millisecond counts. He knows that better than anybody. 

He’s done this a thousand times, and each movement is like a second nature. The tires are off, the new ones are on. The fuel is topped up. The car is ready to go. 

Soonyoung’s car is on its way again, speeding off into the distance. Flawless, just like always. 

Sunwoo lingers, his eyes drifting to where you’re standing. He lets out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore how he feels whenever you’re near. And for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint, it’s only grown more unbearable.

Every second he spends just working with you is like another fleeting moment, ticking away before he loses the courage to say anything.

You’re reviewing data on your tablet, and so you don’t notice him right away Sunwoo coming up to you. When you look up, there’s the slightest shift in your expression. The smallest softening. 

“Nice work,” you say coolly. There’s something almost fond in the way that you look at him, and it has him feeling like he’s on shaky ground. 

“Thanks,” he says, trying to sound casual. He knows he’s not fooling anyone, least of all you. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that he’s sure makes him look more like a mess than the reliable mechanic he’s supposed to be.

There’s a brief silence between you, the sounds of the garage fading in the background. The team is starting to disperse, moving onto their next tasks, but Sunwoo can’t seem to shake the weight of the moment. The pressure of the milliseconds, the years of perfecting his craft, feel insignificant compared to the one question that’s been gnawing at him for weeks.

If he’s learned anything from his driver friends, it’s that hesitation can cost you everything.

“Listen,” he starts, his throat suddenly dry. He forces the words out before he can second-guess himself. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You tilt your head to one side. A wordless encouragement of go on. 

Sunwoo takes a deep breath, his hands still clammy despite the cool air of the garage. He’s never been good at this. Not the racing, not the work on the car, but this— this thing that’s been building up between the two of you. 

“I know we’re both busy, but… after the race, I was wondering if you’d want to grab coffee with me. Like, outside of all this.” He gestures vaguely at the cars, the people, the entire race track that’s been your shared world for so long. “I’d, uh, like to spend time with you. Not as part of the team. Just... us.”

You blink up at him, processing the words. For a second, he’s sure he’s just made a fool of himself. Maybe he’s misread every sign. Maybe you’ll just laugh it off.

But then you smile. A slow, genuine smile that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Finally,” you exhale, and Sunwoo doesn’t have the room to press you on what you mean because you hit him with, “I’d like that, Sunwoo.” 

So this is what it feels like, Sunwoo thinks, to finish P1. 

“Great,” he stammers. “I’ll see you later, then.” 

“Later,” you echo, your tone teasing but soft. “Looking forward to it.” 

Sunwoo steps back, nearly knocking into a tool box as he tries to take his leave. You don’t care much for his less-than-gracious exit; in fact, it makes you laugh a little, and it only makes him feel giddier than ever. It’s like a pit stop in the middle of a race— short, but thrilling, and completely worth it.

Every millisecond does count. 

And for once, he feels like he’s made the right choice with the time he’s spent.

🏎️ end notes: fan fiction of fan fiction? likelier than you think. if you love formula one and seventeen, you're bound to enjoy tara's ferrari!jeonghan piece, full throttle (part one & two). and to tara: this is insane. we have to stop exchanging fics like they're christmas gifts. <3 you.

[itsabouttimex2]

Well I just woke up terrible after being drunk last night.so since I expect reader to probably be a teen and what

do we teens do,we party and drink.what about reader before being kiddnapped show up to a hangout with a headache,they causally say it’s because they were drunk.Wukong and Macaque reactions

Drunk Teen Reactions:

Ol’ Sun Wukong is not stupid, kiddo. This simian picks up on your “shitfaced” status the moment he eyes you wobbling through the front door, lurched forward and clutching at your forehead.

He’s not stupid. But stupidly well can this old pilgrim can act the part.

“Hey, kiddo! Bump your head, huh?” He casually asks, eyeing the redness of your eyes, whiffing the vomit on your breath.

Already, something in him is stirring, a protective rumbling emanating from deep inside his chest.

(How dare your parents let you do this to yourself? How could they let you drink, let you leave the house in this condition?)

Sun Wukong spits out a chuckle and comes over to swing an arm over your shoulders, a motion that he forces to be casual when something inside starts to scream at him to take your neck between his hands and start throttling a home address out of your mouth.

Instead, he leads the way back to his cozy little couch and nudges you down, grabbing a thin blanket and wrapping it around you.

“Why don’t you sit here and let me get you a drink? Something tells me you need lots of water, bud!”

“Hmmm,” you mumble, stirring the sounds on your tongue like a cocktail. “Kay. M’really tired, Monkey King. Headache, y’know,” you lie, smiling weakly up at the blur of ginger fur.

“I know it, bud!” The king lies back, your falsehoods exchanging easily. ‘You’re a kid’, he reminds himself. ‘No need to get angry.’

“So, buddy, why’d ya wanna hang out today, if you weren’t feeling so hot?

“Just wanted to,” is your next lie, lazy and relaxed. The discontent it inspires in him motivates the crushing of a little white pill in his hand, then a subtle palm tip that spills grainy powder into your coming-up cup of water.

He circles the counter twice, giving you a moment to laugh at his “pointless” pacing.

Giving the pill particles a moment to dissolve.

Then he’s right beside you, one hand squeezing your shoulder as he nudged the glass rim to your lips.

“Here,” Wukong softly offers, tilting the cup.

Too drunken to sniff out the still-melting grains of white at the bottom, you eagerly down as much water as possible.

And a sudden surge of drowsiness hits you, knocking you clean off of feet that you aren’t even standing on.

Then a sharp swell of delayed nausea blooms in your stomach and ripples to the back of your throat, a few moments after Wukong scoops you up.

Shifting and shuffling about until he’s got you comfortably nestled to his chest, Wukong finally smiles, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek:

“C’mon, bud- I’m gonna take you home.”

“Hey, Uncle Mac? S’it getting, uh, I dunno… hot in here…? My head’s dripping sweat. N’ my hand are real clammy. And my ears hurt.”

Yeah, your ass is cooked.

Maybe if you were a little less talkative, a little more alert, a little less unsteady- you might have been able to fool the sable simian.

But Macaque doesn’t need any kind of mystical power to see through your bullshit.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, the room is too hot, too bright, too loud. And you’re the only one complaining about it,” he snaps, poking your stomach with a clawed finger.

“You think you’re fooling me? I’m not one of your idiot friends, Y/N! You aren’t gonna trick me with a half-baked lie, and I’m not-“

“M’gonna puke,” you whimper aloud, cutting the monkey off as he leaps from the couch and goes racing for a trash bin.

Macaque can act villainous all he’d like- and to be fair, he is a pretty awful and unrepentant person (why do the Monkie Kids let him stick around, you sometimes wonder) - but you turn him soft faster than sunlight melts shadows.

The Mystic Monkey rounds the corner with a little round bin, the metal shielded by a plastic bag that lines the rim.

Into your hands is the cylinder shoved, Macaque roughly slapping at your back in an awkward attempt to comfort you.

With an awfully unpleasant sound from the deepest confines of your throat, the contents of your stomach promptly upended into the sack.

No food. Just a puddle of sticky dark liquid.

“You have been drinking,” he hisses, now that you really have no ground to deny him. Really, you didn’t to begin with, but there was always plausible deniability to invoke.

“J-just a few. Tried something-“

Another splatter of rough and thick bile, stained brown with what he’s starting to think is rum.

He sighs and folds up his arms unhappily, tapping a glossy black boot against the floor. “Y/N. That stuff was way too strong for you, no matter what it was.”

“Mh-hm, I know. M’not gonna- eugh. M’not gonna do it again, promise.”

“No, you won’t,” he confirms, grabbing the scruff of your shirt and yanking it upwards. He’s strong enough to boost you free of the floor, stomping to a spare room. His tail snags the trash bin without trouble, hauling the soiled cylinder along with your prone and dangling form.

“In fact,” he tacks on, grimacing at the strong scent your breath carries, “you aren’t going to do anything. I’m grounding you for a week- and I’m taking your phone. tough luck, kiddo.”

He tosses you onto a bed that rises only a few inches off the ground, slinging a few blankets around your shaking form.

“Phone. Now.”

Fishing the little device from your pocket, you quickly it into the Macaque’s hand- he’s never been this stern with you before. Honestly? It kind of scares you.

A beep sounds, catching your attention- already, the ancient demon is initiating a call.

“Listen close- no, you don’t know me, no, Y/N isn’t hurt. They’re tired and sick -shut up and listen- they’re tired and sick and staying at my place tonight. I don’t care. They’re staying until this sickness passes. Don’t call back.”

(Realms above and below, it hurts to play the “no violence” card here, even though he was just saving it for later. What Macaque really wants to do is quietly follow you home and destroy every cubic ounce of alcohol inside. And then maybe grind your irresponsible parents against the floor after he’s coated it in glass shards.)

He hits the “end call” button with a little too much force, dangerously straining the phone’s screen. Thankfully, it leaves no cracks or scratches.

Macaque turns back to you with a frown, shaking his head- only to soften slight when the sight of your nauseated and quivering form fills his eyes.

“Don’t… don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes, Y/N. You can’t… ugh, fine. I’ll get you something to drink.”

He stomps off to the kitchen immediately, fighting back the urge to comfort you. Just water. And some crackers. And then he’ll let you stew in that little bed for a few hours with your filthy trash bin.

Maybe the wretched smell and lack of painkillers will teach you a lesson. Or it’ll leave you vulnerable and quaky, desperate for attention and affection.

Thinking on the possibilities, Macaque pulls the guest-room key from his pocket, twirling it around in one hand.

It was going to be nice, having you all to himself.

It was going to be even nice getting your parents out of the picture.

[needforspeed161]

Im an Angel

OKAY SOOOO, in an interview that Glen Powell did a while back he talked about having a Blue Angels poster in his room as a kid, and all throughout high school! (He also directed and produced the Blue Angels documentary on Amazon Prime PLEASE GO WATCH IT ITS SO GOOD! But anyways I digress lmao)

SO I HAD THIS HEADCANON THAT THATS WHY JAKE WANTED TO JOIN THE NAVY! His parents took him to an airshow when he was a kid and he was HOOKED! Anyways I wrote a little something for it! So enjoy! Lemme know whatcha think!

The upside and downsides of living near a Naval air base in southern Texas was the noise

It drove the Seresin’s up a wall at times. But to a young wide eyed 9 year old Jake it was a dream come true. Rather than going outside to be rough and tumble with the neighbor kids, he simply lay sprawled out in the summer sun on the hot vinyl of his trampoline. Watching the tiny black dots fly over his house again and again every year.

Soon his parents caught onto the boys attention span for the fighters, and decided to take him to an airshow in Corpus Christi, about a 20 minute drive from their house, the exact place these fast dots that were still rather loud came from every year.

Jake tugged on his mom’s hand, eager to get up close and personal with these loud flying machines.

“Jake honey slow down” she chuckled, as she pulled him in, long sun dress flowing gently in the Texas breeze. “Here, they’re pretty loud sugar, don’t wanna hurt your ears” she placed the soft ear muffs over his head. His entire world went silent.

There was an old F-14 on display right as they passed through the gate. The canopy open and two seats empty just begging him to jump in for a ride. A man standing next to the aircraft smiled down at him. “Wanna sit in the cockpit?”

Jake burst out into the biggest smile of his life as the man helped him up the step ladder, placing him in the, much too large for him, seat right in the front of the plane. His hands pulled on the throttle and the stick, but it was to no avail. Since this was a display plane it was all locked, a retired aircraft from the 80’s.

After a few minutes of fun and his mom snapping a few picture’s he was lifted out to make room for the next kid in line. Huffing to himself but distracted by a large cargo plane that was opened and able to be walked through.

They spent the afternoon walking around on the hot pavement. Before an announcement he wasn’t necessarily paying attention to rang over the loud speaker.

“Jake darlin’! Let’s get you a lemonade and have a seat in the shade over here! The Blue Angels are about to fly!”

He cocked an eyebrow, lowering his ear muffs as he looked to his mom. “The Blue Angels?”

“Yeah kiddo, those are the guys you’ve been watching from the back yard the last week, they came here to practice”

He jumped and giggled with excitement. “So I can see them up close!”

“Yes sweetie, you can, now let’s get you in the shade! You’re burning up already” his mother laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him off.

They found a comfortable spot under a fan in a shaded tent. Jake not realizing how hot he really was until he got a break from the heat.

He sipped happily on his lemonade when a man wearing a bright blue suit with yellow stripes walked back and forth along the fence line just in front of them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! It is my honor to present to you, your United States Navy BLUE ANGELS!”

Just then Jake watched as four jets took off from the runway, lifting high into the sky before two more joined them from the opposite end of the runway.

He felt his dad’s hands coming to grab him, lifting him up and over to sit on top of his shoulders, high enough to be able to see more of them as they flew. The same man in the blue announcing things every so often but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes never left the sky.

He felt the rumble in his chest leap into his throat as one of the solo jets flew by. Rattling the ground in its wake. Powerfully parting the skies to make room for itself. It belonged there.

Jake was too distracted to notice his ear protection was slipping off at the angle his head was tilted. Before they came crashing down to the ground just as the other Solo jet came ripping by. But this time upside down!

While the crowd flinched and reached to cover their ears. The supersonic Machine simply made Jake smile wider, unfazed in the least bit as he giggled. Kicking his feet out and almost kicking his dad.

After they landed, the jets were parked directly in front of them. The pilots going through an almost ceremonial departure from their aircraft and heading straight towards them.

Crowds flocked to the fence as all of the pilots started signing autographs. His parents walked him up to the gate. As he met a dark haired man’s eyes.

“Hey there sport! Enjoy the show?”

“Yeah!” Jake almost screamed in the poor man’s face. “You guys were so awesome! Is it fun going that fast?”

The man almost looked lost in thought for a moment before bending down to meet Jakes wide and curious eyes with his own at the boys level.

“Kid, it’s the most free feeling in the world”

Bradley jumped happily for a moment, giggling to himself uncontrollably. He was filled with so much excitement.

“Say….wanna come see the jets up close?”

Jake gasped “CAN I??”

“Sure thing, if it’s okay with your folks of course”’

He turned to his parents. “Mama Papa can I PLEASEEEEE!!”

They both chuckled, “of course kiddo!”

After the crowds had all left. Satisfied with their autographs, a group of men standing in the same exact blue suits as the announcer and the one who had talked to him earlier waited by a gate.

They led the family to the line of jets. Making a b-line for the one with a giant number “1” painted on the side.

“This is my jet, the number one, it’s what we call a super hornet, or an f-18, it’s the same kind of jet that our fellow Naval Aviators fly in every day.” The man explained.

Bradley stood in awe of just how big the plane was, he felt so small compared to its wide wings and beautiful blue prowess. No wonder this thing commanded the skies like it did!

“Cmere kiddo!” The man motioned with his hand, before Jake was being hoisted up onto the man’s hip and plopped down right in the pilots seat. Similar to the F-14 he sat in earlier but newer and shiner.

“See those?” The man pointed down. Jakes eyes followed. “Those are the rudder pedals, that’s how we steer the plane on the ground and in the air. They help us turn, and that to your right is the throttle. It’s basically our gas pedal like in a car but right up here so we can use our hands to make the plane go faster or slower”

“It’s all backwards” Jake giggled, reaching down with his feet to barely make contact with the pedals. His tiny legs not long enough.

“It kind of is isn’t it?” The pilot laughed. “And that there is the stick, it’s how we roll and steer the plane in the air too.”

“Woah” Jake smiled. “So this is how you do all of those cool tricks?”

The man nodded. “Exactly! Give it a go! And look over your shoulder”

Jake grabbed the yoke with both hands and pulled back, looking over his left shoulder to see the ailerons of the plane moving as he moved it.

After a good 10 minutes of asking a million questions and pushing every button humanly possible in the multi billion dollar plane he had the honor of sitting in. He was lifted back out. Standing on the wing for a moment as the pilot fiddled with something inbetween the seat and the floor.

“Honey look over here for us!” His mother yelled, it startled the boy for a second, he was too lost in thought to remember his parents were 10 feet away from him.

The pilot took a seat beside him on the wing, before plopping something over his head.

It was his helmet.

“Smile at your momma! Give her a Blue Angels salute!”

They both saluted the camera as Jake had the biggest grin of his life on his face. All teeth and pure joy. Hearing the click of the camera before he was lifted back up and placed back on solid ground.

“Let’s get one with all of you! Cmon scooch in!”

Only his momma could tell the Blue Angels what to do.

They all smiled for the picture and as Jake handed the helmet back to the man he spoke loud and proud, no words could be missed.

“I wanna be a Blue Angel someday! Just like you!”

The man chuckled. Kneeling back down for a moment. “Kid you can do anything you set your mind and heart to. But just remember, it takes hard work, you’ve gotta dig deep and find out what you’re really made of. Don’t give up no matter what anyone tells you. If you’ve got it, nothing can stop you.”

Jake imbedded those words to memory. Whether he was 9, 19, or 89. He would always remember them.

“See you in the skies someday kiddo.” The man saluted him. Jake stood straight and saluted back. Before waving them off and joining his parents. Walking back towards the parking lot.

“I can’t wait to be big and strong someday! I’m gonna be the best pilot there ever was in the Navy!”

His parents smiled back at him from the front seat. Smiling amongst eachother before continuing the drive back home.

20 years later he would go on to become one of the best Naval Aviators the military had ever seen. Finding his second family and saving the world many times over.

And one day, many years in the future as he decorated his newly purchased house with his, too tall and handsome for his own good, husband. A framed picture of a goofy kid with a far too big helmet thrown onto his head, standing on the wing of a blue F-18 in the Texas heat was hung proudly in their hallway.

(Bonus points for Bradley definitely making them recreate that picture with his own F-18 the second he seen it for the first time. That’s also hanging in their house)

[katyawriteswhump]

Pidge-nado! (steddiemas, steddie holiday drabble, whumpcember)

For @steddiemas ‘cosy days’ prompts, eggnog, baking, sweater, pine, @steddieholidaydrabbles day 19 prompt, “dessert” and, @whumpcember day 19 prompt, panic attack.

WC: 965. Rating: T CW: none.  Tags: fluff, established steddie, angst and hurt/comfort, panic attacks. Summary: Steve would do anything for Eddie, face down any danger. But even he has his limits…

🐦🐦🐦🐦

Spring Break, 1986

Steve had just been dragged into the Upside Down through the water-gate and had barely gotten free from Vecna’s ghoulish horror-flick vines.

When the demo-bats came flapping out of that blood-red sky, he panicked slightly, who wouldn’t? He still grabbed that goddamn oar, chose fight not flight. While batting the shrieking beasties away—and before they started stabbing and throttling him to near-death—a crazy whisper in his head actually grounded him:

At least they’re not fucking pigeons.

…

December, 1987

“Look on the…” cough. “...sunny side.” Eddie paused, in order to finish choking on the smoke and stench of burning cookies and wrap his arms around Steve. He plonked his chin on Steve’s shoulder. “They’re so rock-hard, I reckon you’ve invented a whole new substance. Call Henderson—he’ll wanna name it.”

“Haha.”

Steve was pissed. He loved this trailer to death because he shared it with Eddie. But everything was salvaged, broken or breaking—like most of post-Vecna-earthquake Hawkins—and the oven thermostat was royally screwed.

He scowled, turning in the circle of Eddie’s arms. “I promised the kids cookies! I’m so mad with myself. I should’ve kept a better…” cough… “watch”... cough, cough.

The cookie-fumes having reached crisis point, Eddie opened a window, letting in a blast of icy air.

“Chill, honey,” said Eddie, once they’d finished coughing. “Y’know who’s gonna dig your culinary efforts?”

Eddie trudged outside and ground a cookie into the snow beneath his boot-heel. A pigeon flapped down from the pine-tree overshadowing the trailer.

“Hey, Slash,” said Eddie.

Steve’s nerves went apeshit, which was completely dumb.

He’d faced down Vecna.

This was a fucking pigeon.

Eddie knew Steve ‘wasn’t a fan.’ He’d never admit more. Especially given the adoring grin Eddie gave Slash.

Deal with it, Harrington.

Soon, Slash’s entire mob of pigeon gangsters pecked at Eddie’s feet. Steve retreated into the trailer, which was now freezing and stinky. When Eddie returned, they located the thickest sweaters that Claudia Henderson’s knitting needles had conjured for them and climbed into bed.

This was cosy heaven. Usually. Steve’s skin crawled.

“Hope you’ve washed those hands,” he mumbled. He pictured Slash pecking from the palms that Eddie shoved up Steve’s sweater to rub would-be-sensual circles on his chest.

“’Course, Babe.”

Steve tried to relax, knowing where Eddie would descend to next with those ice-queen hands. They’d feel waaay better than they’d any right to when they got there.

Still no good. Steve broke their smoochy kiss.

“You okay?” asked Eddie.

“Yes… no… sort of?”

The patter of scratchy claws on the trailer roof. The creepy coo-cooooo… The fucking pigeons were waaaay louder than usual. Or maybe Steve was edgier than usual, after his baking fail. It seemed mean to ask Eddie to scare off his ‘friends,’ so…

“Gimme a mo.’” He wriggled out of bed and marched from the bedroom toward the door.

You can do this, Harrington. Just… clap your hands or something.

He threw open the trailer door. Then threw up his arms as a dozen sky-rats swarmed in his face. Their brushing wings might as well have been slashing razors, because he was back where this all began, hunkered in a frozen ball, unable to drag the ice-air into his lungs.

Shiiiit! You’re not gonna die, Harrington, you’re gonna be fine!

Nope. His body wasn’t listening to his rational mind. All it knew was… IT’S FUCKING PIGEONS! YOU’RE GONNA BE TOAST!!

Later, after Eddie shooed the last of the winged-beasts from the trailer, he sat beside Steve on the bed, curling an arm around him. He shoved a mug of his legendary eggnog-vodka into Steve’s trembling hands.

“Bat flashbacks?” asked Eddie, rubbing Steve’s back.

Steve groaned; he was cold, shivering and horribly sticky and sweaty now. “Not really. I mean, you totally dealt just now, and the demo-bats practically killed you!” He smothered his face in Eddie’s hair, breathing deep, then, “I was at summer camp. We were feeding the stupid birds, then they all came at me. Like, totally picking on me, in a pigeon-tornado... pidge-nado? Whatever. I freaked out. Worse, I cried. Became the biggest joke in camp, then one of the councillors told my dad, and he never let it go. Like, it made me less of a man already. At eleven-years-old.”

“Um, Steve—firstly, it’s a natural reaction to being unexpectedly attacked, kid or otherwise. Secondly, recent track record suggests that you’re not topping anybody’s list of ‘cowardly custards.’ Thirdly… I’m sorry. I will henceforth discourage Slash and his band of unruly sky-demons.”

“Thanks. Feel bad, tho’.” Steve downed his eggnog, which burned his throat like faintly milky paint-stripper. “Slash makes you happy, and…” I’d put up with anything for you, Eddie Munson, and I know you’d do anything for me. True, but too sappy to say. Instead, he snickered. “I want to try and get used to them. Hey, and at least somebody likes my baking.”

A few days later, Steve had totally nailed the pastry on a key-lime pie. Dessert for dinner with Wayne tonight was halfway to perfect. He was whisking away at the cream filler, when a beak tapped on the window.

He rolled his shoulders back, stared down Slash’s devil-red eyes. Face your fears, Harrington. Face them for Eddie.

He opened the window a crack, cringing as Slash pecked the pastry-crumb from his finger. “You’re okay, I guess,” he mumbled.

The gray cloud swept from the pine, in a hurricane of beating wings.

He slammed the window, sending pigeons scattering to the four winds, and flipped the bird. Baby-steps, Harrington. He was only shaking a bit.

He returned to cosy dreams about exactly what parts of Eddie he was gonna lick spare key-lime topping off later. And whether—if he picked up extra shifts at Family Video—they might be able to afford a cat.

🐦🐦🐦🐦

zero pressure tag: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3

For the record, I am def. more of a bird-lover than a hater, including pigeons, despite a spotty record and a childhood experience possibly drawn on here… ahem. And I know now it is considered definitely not healthy for birdies to feed them burnt cookies or any bready stuff, though I guess a lot of us did it in the past 😱

[additiva]

Can I ask two of the fic ask game?? Of course the fic I wanna know about is frechheit, and the asks are “dvd bonus” and “small things” 🥰

Hello!

You may of course ask two ❤️

Small things and a brief snippet for DVD bonus are both below the cut:

For small things:

One thing I'm not sure was noticed, and certainly wasn't commented on is:

When Charles has his little breakdown in Qatar, it's silent. He learned it when his dad was sick, because he didn't want to put more stress on his family by letting them see how affected he was by it.

The small things is that in Monza the following year after the podium, his breakdown that time isn't quiet at all. And it's because telling Ferrari is much worse to him than anything that happened in Qatar, so he can't hold it back. And also because he, by that point, trusts Max completely to handle all of him. And Max understands how important it is to Charles to hide it from the world, so he hides him away and covers Charles' mouth to smother the sound for him.

-----

Also, here's a snip for you, from that night in Monaco ❤️

-----

It’s late.

It’s really late.

Elsewhere in the city, the track parties are starting to wind down, revellers finally satisfied with the celebrations.

The tiny back-streets of Monaco are a little darker – a little quieter, free of tourists. Most of the residents are already asleep, preparing for work in a few hours.

Lewis wishes he was among them.

God, he wishes.

And he would’ve been if he’d – as planned – left Jimmyz a few minutes earlier; if he’d gotten into the car he’d called to pick him up; if he hadn’t run into the two dead-weights he’s now trying to drag home.

With a sigh, he bends to sit on the road-edge, tapping hopelessly at his phone.

Kill me.

Unexpectedly, it’s only a few minutes later that the response pops up on his screen.

Good morning Lewis. Do you know it is 4 am?

So it is. Actually it’s almost 4.30 -- 4.26. Lewis left Jimmy’z over an hour ago. He can’t believe he’s still awake. He can’t believe Seb’s awake.

I do.

After a moment, trying to feel bad about sharing his misery, he adds: Sorry did i wake you?

No i was awake

God, why?

Why

It’s a school day. It’s my turn to get the kids ready.

Lewis smiles at the image of him puttering around the kitchen in his slippers, making packed lunches.

That can’t be right. Your kids are here with me.

With it, he sends a snap of the idiots in question.

The two of them stand a few metres back, facing off in the middle of the street.

“Charles”, Max scolds, irritated. “You are completely missing the apex. You need to come like this—here, braking already.”

“What? No.” Charles is getting just as heated, tipping his head too far back to see Max under the brim of his Mercedes cap. With his hands, he gestures to a point on the track. “Like this, it is a better exit. Because the next corner, it is faster there. And already you can get on the throttle here.”

They stare silently at one another for a moment, and Lewis actually thinks for a moment that the argument they’ve been having for the past twenty minutes might be over.

“Well no because the track of course would go that way”, Max defends, indicating a spot where the road forks off in another direction.

And they’re off again.

Lewis groans quietly, slumping to rest his elbows on his knees as his phone lights up with a laughing emoji from Seb.

The bickering continues. They orbit one another, arguing. Their brows twitch with bemusement and irritation. They glare and laugh, grabbing at one another’s hands, interrupting gestures and explanations.

They sway together and apart, as Max jabs at Charles’ ribs for a particularly cheeky remark.

Lewis catches himself watching but can’t look away, warm with affection. He only stands to interrupt when they get dangerously close, unable to keep their hands to themselves.

As he approaches to drag them apart, they’re still whispering under their breaths about overtaking rules, lips almost brushing, final shreds of plausible deniability truly in danger.

They seem to have forgotten about him completely, surprised -- and delighted, on Charles’ part -- to see him. Fortunately, it helps to get them moving again, Charles easily shepherded along. Max, for what Lewis thinks might be the first time in his life, seems content to follow a step behind.

-----

Much love friends 😘 tell me your thoughts and feelings 🤍

[rafestar]

LUST FOR LIFE | Rafe Cameron

WARNINGS: DUB-CON +18 smut, dominance, semipublic sex, unprotected sex, spitting, dirty talking, etc.

SUMMARY: rafe and reader doing a bike race that ends badly?

A/N: english isn’t my first language so be polite. if there’s any mistakes, i will gladly welcome any advice or help, enjoy♡

"I'm sure that shit doesn’t run"

"Wanna bet?" I sneered with a smile.

Topper's party wasn't over, but I was already leaving, until a certain dirty blonde approached me.

I recently started riding a bike, but from my experience, I was pretty good at it, but of course, Rafe doubted it.

He brought his bike closer to mine to be at the same height, and moving away from him his gaze narrowed on mine. I licked my lips while he tried to intimidate me. His tongue rolling down the inside of his cheek.

Rafe's focus remained against me and I straightened my back with a soft smile that made him narrow his eyes. Jaw and teeth clenching, i could practically hear my head ticking and the music playing in the background.

His chest almost touching mine while we breathed the same air.

But I knew he hated me. He hated the way I always responded to his short temper and how strong I seemed next to him.

He could never control me.

"And what exactly would you like to bet on?"

His pupils were dilated, perhaps from the alcohol in his veins, or some white powder.

“You are the one who should say it. After all, you are the one who doubts my specialty”

His eyebrow rose, I could see how he was trying to read something in my gaze or as if he doubted his own thoughts.

Assuming that the few neurons that reached him had connected, a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

“Good…” Bracing myself for his stupid bets, I shifted, crossing my arms over my chest, which certainly didn't take its gaze from him.

"If you win, I'll pay for all your Mai Tai for the whole summer."

I returned a nod.

"But if I win... you will be my slave for a whole month."

The mockery on my face was real. My eyebrows raised and my face lighted in surprise, I waited for him to say that he was joking, which he didn't, and he made me burst out laughing.

His face remained serious, too serious for my liking.

"Your slave?" The pain in my stomach from laughing was uncontrollable.

"We will talk about that later." He put on his helmet before pulling away from me.

I did the same and got on the bike. I laughed knowing that wasn’t going to happen.

Rafe was crazy if he thinks he's going to win.

We both started the bike and Rafe gave some directions before removing the kickstand. "The first person to reach Tanny Hill through the forest wins"

I nodded, twisting my wrist on the handle and opening the throttle. Rafe did the same and counted down.

Emotion ran through me, I was nervous, not for fear of him winning, but of showing him what I was capable of.

"One"

Our heated engines started rolling Figure 8.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we both accelerated. We were practically at the same distance, sometimes he would overtake me and vice versa.

Arriving at the residential area, Rafe positioned himself in front of me, opening the way between the people and the cars.

"What’s wrong with you!?" a man yelled.

In order not to continue with more obstacles and traffic, we deviated towards the forest as planned. Rafe was trying to brush me out of the way, which backfired because he helped me pass him and get way ahead.

Leaving him a few meters behind, I led the way through the woods, jumping small potholes, and dodging overhanging branches.

Something that I may not have seen coming was the big corner that we had to do.

I lost control of my bike trying to turn, and I turned, but too late. I fell from it while my bike crashed into some branches. My body lay on some leaves.

Rafe saw the fall right before his eyes. He slammed on the brakes and almost throwing the bike, he ran towards me.

“Y/N?!”

My nil response filled his body with concern.

“Fuck Y/N! No-” His voice trailed off.

Grabbing my face and his big hands shaking me, he made me burst out laughing. I opened my eyes as Rafe's face changed completely. Even being at night, in the middle of the forest, we could see each other the same given the focus of his motorcycle.

His hand was still on the side of my face as his face turned from pale white, to furious red.

Releasing me, he got up.

To which I get up too. "You should have seen your face!"

While I couldn't stop laughing, Rafe looked like he was about to commit murder.

Clearly I've seen Rafe angry, but this time was… different?

"So… this means Rafe Cameron cares about me?"

His gaze burned holes in my body. He didn't let out any words, no breath, nothing, he just looked at me. I knew he disliked seeing me laugh, so I guess seeing me laugh at him was worse.

My smile faded the moment he began to approach me with quick steps. "What-"

"You better shut the fuck up unless it's to scream…"

Now the one who looked pale was me. With his arms he grabbed me by mine and threw me towards his motorcycle. Struggling, I tried to let me go. “Rafe what…”

He grabbed my arm to place it on my lower back and lean over the saddle of his bike.

His pelvis crashed against my ass and I gasped when I noticed him.

"Do you know why the fuck it makes me mad to see your fucking smile?"

I whimpered back, being in the middle of the woods, with no one, being held by Rafe, could make me die of anxiety.

Rafe leaned into me and grabbed my neck to speak my hate. I looked at him from the side as I could.

"I asked you a fucking question, so be a good girl and open that pretty mouth." His touch ended on my pulse, “unless you want me to use it for something else.”

His heel grated on my skin. "W-Why Rafe... Why does it make you angry."

A lopsided smile spread across his face. His hot breath breezed against my ear and my skin prickled. He settled his thick lips against my earlobe. His hip pushed against me and I felt him again.

"You feel that huh? That’s why"

I whimpered as he pulled away from my face and began to touch me through my clothes, caressing each part of me. It felt like my top and my extremely short shorts were crying out to be ripped off.

My core ached like never before and I felt a fucking ocean in my panties.

His touch reached the end of my shorts, which, being bent over, had risen a bit, so a little of my ass was peeking out. His hands circled my waist until he undid the button and unzipped my shorts. My hands tightened against the saddle and my fingers dug into it.

I swallowed hard as he pulled my shorts down, scratching my legs in the process. They fell at my feet, and I groaned as Rafe slapped me hard.

“Now… you can cry, scream, whatever. As you can see, no one is going to listen."

I whimpered at that. It's Rafe, so I'm clearly scared.

He caressed me over my underwear, and my core clenched at his touch. My knuckles whitened from how hard he was gripping me. His other hand rested on my hip, while with the other, he brushed aside the little cloth that covered my sex and snorted as he made skin-to-skin contact.

“Leaning over my bike made your little pussy wet?” he mocked. “such a slut for me mh?”

Rafe covered my wetness with his middle finger, causing me to moan in return. A noise so euphoric that he could make it on his own if he could.

He inserted a finger causing me to scream. Each thrust resulted in a curl against my sweet spot.

I rocked my hips against his hand and once he inserted a second finger, his thumb reconciled with my clit, rubbing it in circles.

And when his pace quickened, I felt like I started to float. Leaning over a cloud avalanche in the middle of nowhere.

Like a trip to heaven, he stretched me a third and profusely pushed me.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he brought me closer to climax, repeating his name under my breath, begging for mercy.

The second I tightened around his fingers, my orgasm began to peak at him causing him to pull back abruptly.

More frustrated than ever, if it weren't for my cramps I could get up and slap him. But without another movement, Rafe ripped off my underwear and continue on getting rid of his pants along with his boxers.

I felt him tease his tip against my entrance and I rocked my hips back, trying to get more friction. A strong slap against my cheek made me press closer against his bike. And with one strong push, Rafe was inside me.

Rafe rocked inside me, both of us gasping for air as I tightened around his cock, my walls fully secured.

My stomach filled with lava as he filled me in all the right places. Bruises on my hips something I didn't care if they showed up. Instead, he held on tighter. Expertly driven waves of euphoria.

Our hips bumped and moans filled the silent forest. It started to accelerate. Skin to skin, his grip on my hips sank so hard that the claw mark on my skin began to bleed.

A screaming mess, my back arching and he grabbed my neck pulling me into his chest as he continued to implode.

"Tell me to stop, I dare you to tell me to stop Y/N"

My eyes closed shut as my moisture lathered him with excitement. Rafe's head flew back, the familiar sensation shooting greed through his veins.

He was a vampire and I was the blood he needed.

“R-Rafe-"

Each thrust cruel as the next, he turned animalistic, never relaxing at all. My throat is in the palm of his hand, leaving bruises on my porcelain layers.

"That's it, moan my fucking name, love." Rafe gasped.

A yearning throb, the bike lurched along with his movements.

With my head on his shoulder, I twisted my neck as far as I could to keep my gaze on him. Mouth open, Rafe refused to let out a moan. He just gasped. Beads of sweat dripping down by one side of the hair and jaw.

He felt me move closer to the edge, my walls contracting and my moans fading more and more. My hands gripped the bike tightly.

“I think I'm going to…” I complained.

Leaning back, my lungs fluctuated rapidly and the glossy layer of sweat glistened on our pearly skins.

Brows raised, Rafe rolled his tongue against his cheek and his devilish grin only confirmed it for me.

I will not able to walk after this.

"Shut..." He leaned into me, his ornate grip on my neck going up to my jaw and clenching it open. He spat his saliva into my mouth. “that damn mouth.”

My legs started to shake and Rafe pushed me back onto the saddle of the bike. He grabbed me by both arms keeping them on my lower back and began to thrust with brutal force.

Rafe slowed his movements and pulled out his phone. I heard him call someone, and he approached the phone to my mouth while he put it on speakerphone.

"It's Topper, tell him we've had an accident and to come over"

My eyes rolled back, it was obvious I wasn't going to be able to ride my bike after this, and Rafe knew it.

His movements sped up again and he dug his nails into her begging him to stop.

"Yeah?"

“Topper… oh please… I-I'm Y/N…” I tried to suppress my moans.

Rafe instead hit harder as he taunted.

“R-Rafe and I… uhmm… we had an accident in the woods…”

"What? Are you ok?"

"Y-Yes but we c-can't ride-" I couldn't finish my sentence as Rafe slapped me hard.

“Y/N?! What was that?" Topper claimed.

“I-It hurts Topper… C-come please.”

Before continuing, Rafe put the phone away and brought it to his mouth before hanging up.

"Bring a trailer for the bikes."

By the time he hung up, his movements were animalistic, and my core ached more than before. I squeezed into him so hard that Rafe grunted.

I felt him getting to his point too, as he began to contract inside of me.

"Come on baby, let it go" he groaned.

And with that, we both came into each other. My nectar drenched his cock and his head lowered to my back.

We take a few seconds to calm our breaths and come down from our euphoria. Rafe helped me to get dressed before Topper arrived.

He raised me up on his bike and we stood face to face for a few seconds, in silence, until I broke up.

"I fucking hate you" I whispered. Tears from the previous pleasure kept falling from my eyes.

Rafe with his thumb, immediately dried them for me. "Yeah… I know you do."

♡

taglist: @cecespeach @fullkookrafe @rafescameronbabe @housekeeperjjswife

[ideas-4-stories]

Silly fanfic idea I wanna drop here -

Everyone thinks out if the cross guild throttle, Mihawk is the only one who can cook. This is a fair assumption, but it's most definitely not true in the SLIGHTEST.

Buggy was a cabin boy and apprentice. His whole role on the Oro Jackson was to learn, and whereas Shanks took to the battle prowess with flying colors, Buggy's talents lied elsewhere. The likelihood of them both having menial chores to do, both as a "cabin boys do this" and "Oh we need to give the kids SOMETHING to do to burn energy", is very high. Buggy would bitch and moan about it, but would put genuine effort into it if only to do it better than Shanks. At some point it is discovered that Shanks could quite literally set water on fire. He is forbidden from the kitchen. Buggy is not. He can and WILL lord that over him for all time.

As a result, Buggy is the one to handle the kitchen chores - and eventually he asks questions of the cook(s) and helps out there too. He learns cooking and baking, and actually.. really enjoys it??

When time passes and he has his own crew, at first, he is the one making their meals. He teaches Mohji and Cabaji to cook some simpler dishes, and moves on from there. He enjoys it - it's Fun, Flashy, and Delicious. Plus, he is damned good at bartering, which saves him money and he does love money. This is simple math.

As the crew grows, he does get cooks on board as well. They all know that sometimes the captain will swing by, hair in a bun, bandana on, grabbing an apron, and they just wordlessly make a space for him to join.

By the time Cross Guild forms, Buggy has been a busy little bee. He hasn't had a chance to go get elbows deep in flour, meats or veggies in a very, very long time, but he's been able to slip off after nightfall to whip up some little treats when the urge hits. He misses the hustle and bustle of a kitchen sometimes, but this... this is nice, too.

Crocodile and Mihawk are surprised when one morning Buggy shows up to a meeting, sets down a plate of pastries, and gets to it. They tentatively take one and are flabbergasted by how good it is. Neither are much for sweets, just these are actually a perfect mix of buttery, warm, flakey goodness with just a pop of natural sweetness from the fruit. Crocodile makes a semi-snide comment on how "I didn't think your little carnival cooks could make anything that didn't induce tooth rotting."

Buggy doesn't even look up from the map he's using to plot a course. "Oh, I made those. The others tend to over sweeten the fruit filling, and you guys don't really like sugary stuff, so I made this batch the way Ray-san liked them. Hey, if we shift our shipment from Allena to the 17th, we may be able to mitigate a need for a second ship heading out-"

Both warlords are gaping - in their own ways, of course.

This is the first of many, many little factoids about Buggy that they learn during this business venture.

It's also the beginning of interest in him beyond a means to an end.

I would think Mihawk is the best at cooking with mostly anything, I like that Mihawk is really REALLY good at cooking. Crocodile would know how to do some because if one wants to survive, they need to know how to make sure somethings good to be eaten. Cooking is a good skill to have while surviving the world.

Definitely Shanks and Buggy has menual chorse to do around Oro Jackson. Buggy would complaint after finding out the new chores placed on them are mostly because the other crew members don’t want to do them, and yes Buggy does them with efficiency and genuine effort as Shanks stares in the corner whining about the chores as much as Buggy does. I can sees Buggy making a game out of cleaning the deck, so Shanks actaully helps him. By strappying cleaning brushes to their shoes and using mops as like hockey sticks. Buggy has a soap bar as the puck and they start playing. I would clean a deck if I could do that as well.

Peeps, I beileve Roger, Buggy, and Shanks have set water on fire before and maybe have burn down a island because they tried to cook. I doubt it’s only a Shanks thing… but I can say that it’s only 25% of the time for Buggy to burn something as Shanks is most likely 75% of the time. I beileve both cabin boys can go into the kitchen… just only with adult supervision. WHO IS NOT ROGER! It would be really cute if both tried their best wth the help of the cook(s) to make things for the crew… good thing they have iron stomachs… right?

I beileve Buggy is flashy great about making things that don’t need the stove or oven. I can see Buggy making little animals out of fruits and vegetables for fun, Roger and Shanks loves them.

Awwwwwwwwwww with Buggy helping Cabaji and Mohii how to cook and bake, I like to think Buggy met Cabaji way before becoming a pirate again. I have an idea about, I might write a story or stories about it or just write about on Tumblr… I don’t know yet. I love how whenever Buggy wants to cook or bake, the chefs on board will make room for their captain, that’s cute!

Then Buggy with bartering? Hell yeah on the fact Buggy is great at bartering with people, even when he isn’t trying. Money is a great thing to have, it’s truly simple math.

Buggy being a busy little bee even before the formation of Cross Guild, having some time since the last time he bakes or cook something. I want to make a fic about this! Thank you Anon for giving me a ask. I don’t when it will be done, but I want to think Buggy had another long stressful day and cannot sleep well. So, the Genuis Jester had a genius idea to destress by making some treats into the night. So, when in the next meeting, as Buggy comes in with apologizes for being late. Having notebooks filled with meeting ideas and things they need to discuss as well as a plate of like three-types treats.

Damn right Mihawk and Crocodile are flabbergasted by how good it it, Buggy is great with surpsing people with his hidden talents (well more like people don’t bother to ask about what Buggy can do, until he does them) Makes sense that both don’t really care, but I see Mihawk liking chocolate and candy canes (this is from a fic that stated that Mihawk likes them becuase they can be shaped into a deadly weapon) more than any other treats.

Not Crocodile making a semi-snide comment, problay wondering why the cooks can’t make treats like these and Buggy shoots back with oh becuase they didn’t make them, I did. I love both are shocked to the core for different reasons. Then having Buggy just think it’s no big deal and haven’t even looked up from the map. Still working as Crocodile and Mihawk have stop doing so from what Buggy said.

Awwwwwwwww, Buggy making treats like what Ray-San likes it. It’s so sweet and sad to me.

[edupunkn00b]

Roomies, Ch. 6: Casa

Prev - Casa - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3217 - Rated: T - CW: innuendo (anyone surprised?) - Written for @intrualityweek 2024: Domestic

And just like that, it's time to go home for winter break.

“They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming!” Patton rushed back to their table in the dining hall, giddy energy propelling him forward. 

While Re’d had nearly the entire finals week free from exams—”There’s gotta be some upside to spending twelve hours a day in the ceramics room!”—Patton had only finished his last final that morning. Between the crush of exams and picking up extra shifts in the Student Services Center, Patton had been frazzled.

But Re had made good use of all that free time with more than a few ideas for how they could both blow off a little steam.

“They’re coming!” he whispered one last time as he slid down in his chair next to Re. 

“They are?” Re laughed, eyebrows dancing. “Oooh, and you wanna watch? Kinky.”

Patton covered a giggle and bumped Re’s shoulder. “Oh, stop,” he said, still grinning. He turned back to the window and gasped. “They’re looking this way—hide!”

Together, they scrunched low in their seats, partially hidden behind a support beam. Peering just over the window ledge, they watched Ro and Logan approach the snow-covered tree outside the dining hall window. The tree was festooned in sparkly blue and red bows. On the lowest bough hung a small package tied to an enormous gift tag reading “Merry Christmas, RoLo”. There really wasn’t much of a question of whether the couple would stop.

It was merely a question of how long they had to snap a picture.

“Do you have it?” Patton asked, watching Re over his shoulder as he fiddled with his phone’s camera.

“Oh, yeah,” Re nodded as Ro reached for the shiny red package. “Now we just have to wait—”

Suddenly, Logan yanked him back, but Ro’s grip on the gift was strong. Pulling on it brought down the carefully balanced upper branch covered in snow and the pair was dusted in a thick coat of fresh—and cold—powder.

“Got ‘em!” Re cheered, both hands raised in the air. Just in time for Ro and Logan to look their way. Fuming, Ro shook snow from his hair and mimed a throttling motion with both hands. “Uh-oh,” he said, climbing over the back of his chair and grabbing Patton’s hand. “Run, Pattycake!”

Laughing, they ran together through the dining hall and out the back door. “Sorry!” Patton called over his shoulder when they knocked into a table, tipping over a—thankfully—empty water cup.

Re pushed through the door and they dashed out behind a row of snow-covered bushes, hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. “Did they follow us?” Re whispered, peeking up over the top of the hedge.

“I don’t think so,” Patton whispered back, shaking his head.

“No, we didn’t,” Logan deadpanned behind them.

They turned as one, looking up at a snow-covered Ro and Logan glaring down at them. Ro held a giant mound of snow in his arms. “Payback’s a bitch, little bro,” Roman said, his exaggerated scowl not quite hiding the smile behind his eyes.

“Takes a bitch to know a bitch,” Re laughed as Roman heaved the snow at them. Patton ducked but Re dodged too slowly, taking the brunt of the snow Ro had aimed at them both.

“Man down! Man down!” he cried, still laughing. “I see a light! Oh, it’s so beautiful!” Rolling onto his belly, he winked at Patton through his moans. Sunlight sparkled in the snow crusted over his hair and face. Even his mustache gleamed white on the edges, quickly melting with the heat of each breath. 

Cheeks bright pink from the cold, Re grinned up at him and put a creak in his voice. “Pattycake… Go on without me!” he called dramatically even as he gathered snow and squeezed it into a ball.

“Alas, poor Remus!” Patton stifled his laughter, curling over him to help disguise Re’s work. Re passed him the first snowball then quickly formed another. “The tragedy! Gone before your time!” Patton continued in a wail. “Now?” he whispered when Re finished the second snowball.

“Now,” he whispered back and turned, winding up his arm.

Logan and Ro were ready, two snowballs apiece. Logan threw the first salvo and the powdery snow exploded against Re’s chest. “Abort, abort, abort!” Re laughed, pushing up to his feet and tossing his snowball haphazardly over his shoulder.

He managed to beam Ro in the leg.

Patton flung his snowball in their assailants’ general direction before running back to the dining hall. Re slowed to scoop up another fistful and Ro flung his second snowball. It just barely missed and Re stuck out his tongue at his brother. Logan rearmed them, squeezing a particularly large batch of snow and grinning evilly at them.

“Run!” Patton said and grabbed Re’s hand. Together, they raced back to their dorm, making it to the top of the steps just before Ro and Logan reached them.

“Ha!” Re shouted from the tiny landing. “Home base!” After the second water balloon incident, Logan and Patton had gotten the twins to agree that the dorms were out-of-bounds for their games. Surprisingly, they’d stuck to the rules, even now when nothing but three cement steps prevented Ro and Logan from clobbering them with snow.

“Eventually you’ll have to leave to go to dinner,” Ro said, setting down the snowballs in his hands and beginning to make more.

Crouching down next to him, Logan squeezed Ro’s shoulder through his coat. “Your parents will be here in fewer than six hours,” he reminded him. “And we haven't yet packed,” he added with a smile when Ro stood, arms crossed over his chest as his scowl melted into a pout. “It’s the first snow, we’ll get them back later.”

“Yeah, and we’ll be ready for you when you try!” Re called back.

“Will we?” Patton asked quietly.

Re just laughed. “Nah, but neither will they.”

~

Luckily, most of their dorm had left for their homes before lunch that day, so the laundry room was emptier than usual that afternoon. He and Re had no problem getting through the dirty clothes that had piled up in the back of their closet.

The final washer stuttered to a stop and he and Re worked together to jam one last load of (mostly) Re’s clothes into the dryer.

“Thanks for helping me, Pat,” Re grinned, slamming the dryer shut and pushing it up to High Heat. “My mom said I’d hafta do the whole family’s laundry over Christmas break if I showed up with a bag full of dirty clothes again.” He stuck out his tongue like he might gag. “You saved me from getting stuck folding His Royal Highnessesses’ boxers.”

Shaking his head, Patton laughed. According to Ro’s frequent complaints, Re’s mom doted on him and Patton was pretty sure it had been an idle threat. “It’s really no problem,” he said, touching the glass with the back of his hand to be sure they hadn’t picked one of the laundry room’s duds. It was already warming. “It means I get to hang out a little bit more with my favorite roomie before break. Besides, I got to sneak in my jacket, too.” Ro and Logan had ambushed them on their way to an early dinner at the dining hall, leaving their clothes covered in cold, drippy snow. 

It was going to be a long—and fun—winter. He just had to get through break and then they’d all come back and he and Re could plan their revenge.

Re launched himself up on top of an empty washer and began to fold the pile of clean laundry on the machine next to him. “So how did you get packed up so quick?” he asked, eyeing the stacks of clothes he still had to sort through and pack up before his mom picked them up in her truck. Ro’s car would be a little too snug for all three plus two weeks’ worth of their stuff.

“But, Mamí, you don’t have to drive all the way up. Let RoLo take his car. I’ve got the saddlebags on my motorcycle and—”

Re had winced, phone held out at arms’ distance when Mrs. Reyes’ voice spilled from the speaker describing in vivid detail all the many, many ways he could be hurt riding his motorcycle over icy roads on his way home. Re’d met his eyes with a sheepish smile and Patton covered his laughter.

“She’s got a point,” he mouthed and Re nodded with a happy eyeroll.

“Ai, sí… Bien, Mamí,” Re had finally conceded. “See you at seven. Thank you.”

Patton dragged over a footstool to boost himself up onto the washer on the other side of Re’s clean clothes. He shrugged and pulled a bright green tee from the pile. “I guess I didn’t have as much I needed to pack,” he said, looking down as he lined up the hem. At least it wasn’t a complete lie.

Re hummed, and Patton waited for a joke about wearing skimpy clothes or a secret plan to spend winter break going streaking. But he just continued to fold. 

“Hey, it means I can help you get ready, right?” Patton filled the silence, looking up to give Re a little grin.

Re was watching him, folding jeans on autopilot. The wrinkle between his eyebrows relaxed and he slowly grinned. “Yeah.” He bumped the side of his boot against Patton’s sneaker and nodded. “Your company’s plenty, though… You know that, right?” His face went serious again and he gestured around the laundry room before looking back at him, meeting his gaze. Even the crummy fluorescent lights couldn’t dull the green in Re’s eyes. “You don’t hafta… do anything. You could just hang out with me. Relax.”

“I know.” Patton shrugged again, a warm flicker growing in his belly when Re smiled again. “But I can always do both.”

~ 

“Almost got it…” Straddling his last duffel bag full of clothes and art supplies, Remus grunted, pulling the edges of the bag closer together as Pat worked the zipper up tooth by tooth. After one last tug, he managed to get both sides together and, with a cute little cheer, Pat got the zipper all the way to the end. 

“Oh, yeah! Teamwork!” he laughed, plopping down on the bed next to him.

Remus rocked to the side and bumped his shoulder. “Makes the dream work.” He didn’t pull all the way back and leaned lightly against his side.

But Pat didn’t move away either. Smiling, Remus closed his eyes and relished the warm mix of peach and lavender from Pat’s shampoo and the dryer sheets from the laundry room. It turned out the hardest part of packing for break was getting everything to fit in your bags again. He knew he’d picked up a couple things thrifting with Pat, and maybe he was overpacking, but… 

After a while, Pat shifted, looking around the room and Remus followed his gaze at the mostly-empty closet and the oversized duffel already packed and shoved up against the wall. 

“Lotta stuff,” he chuckled, head tilted until his curls tickled Remus’ arm.

Remus shrugged. “Yeah. Two weeks is a long time.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed, more breath than voice.

Pat had been vague about when he could come by the house to hang out over break. ‘Family stuff.’ It sounded like they might all be traveling to see some father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin out in Podunk as soon as he got back to the neighborhood.

Two weeks was gonna be a long fucking time without him.

“So, uh,” he started and Pat sat up a little straighter, patting the bag next to him. Remus cracked his knuckles, the imagined sensation of wrapping his arm around Pat’s waist and pulling close again almost too strong to ignore. “What time—”

Pat tilted his head, reading Remus’ watch sideways and nodded. “It’s six twenty-five,” he said, then gave him a confused little smile when Remus shook his head. “Wait, ‘what time’ what?“

He grinned, Pat’s smile knocking away some of the icicles in his chest. “What time are your parents picking you up tonight?”

“Oh,” Pat looked away. “Um, they… they probably won’t get here tonight. Um, probably… um a couple days? No later than next week.”

“What?” Remus jumped up and Pat stared up at him, mouth open. “Next week?!” 

“Yeah,” he nodded and looked down at the floor. “They, um, they… they can’t make it any earlier. Some… some f—flight problem.”

“But, Pat, campus is closing. The gym, the library, even the dining hall!” Remus’ chest tightened as he looked around their tiny room, imagining Pat cooped up in there all alone for almost a week. That’s when his eyes fell on the notice slipped under all their doors that morning, reminding them to leave the water dripping in the sink so the pipes wouldn’t freeze when they shut off the furnaces. “You won’t even have fucking heat!” Remus shook his head. “Pattycake, you can’t—”

“Knock, knock!” Mamí’s voice sounded from the other side of the door followed by a light triple knock. “Does somebody need a ride home?” she called.

With a little half-shrug, Pat got up and opened the door. “Mrs. Reyes!” he said, bright but… brittle. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Ay, mí solecito!,” she crooned his old nickname, ruffling the golden hair that inspired it. [ ‘My little sun.’ ] “Have you gotten taller? Absolutely unfair!” she laughed and pulled him into a hug. She was right. He was taller than her now.

Pat hugged her right back, bowing his head and letting his cheek rest on her shoulder. He stayed like that a long time and Remus thought Pat might’ve been hoping he would forget what they’d been talking about. Until he caught the little wobble in Pat’s lips when Mamí was the one to finally pull away.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Re,” he laughed, voice tight as he backed away. “I got first hug.”

“I’ve got plenty more where that one came from,” Mamí said, flinging her arms around Remus’s middle. “Even for this garrochón!” [ giant ] 

Remus dwarfed his mother, the top of her head just reaching the midpoint of his sternum, so she couldn’t see Pat’s smile falter before he busied himself with the bag they’d just finished packing. “You’re early, Mamí,” Remus said, pulling away just enough to see her face.

“Sí, I wanted to see you before you started playing the cabrón around your brother.” Holding his face between her hands, she peered closely into his eyes. “Mijo, you are feeling better now? Verdad?”

“Thanks to Pat, yeah,” he nodded, catching Pat’s eye when he got that confused little kink between his eyebrows. “I told my mom what you did.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “It wasn’t anything special, I just…”

“Solecito, no.” She turned and reached for him, pulling Pat close so she held each of them, squished like a cookie between them. “You were just what our garrochón needed. Gracías.” 

Pat grinned and looked up at him, cheeks dusted a soft rose as he curled against his mother’s side. He nodded, a spark in his eyes. “I’d do it again.”

“Bueno.” Mamí laughed and kissed Pat’s forehead before turning to Remus and speaking quickly, “Tu corazónito tiene su propio corazón de león. Cuándo es la bo—” [ ‘Your little heart has his own lion’s heart. When is the wed—’ ]

“Ai, Mamí,” Remus interrupted before she could say what he feared she might. He searched Pat’s eyes for recognition but luckily he hadn’t caught more than a few words of what she said. 

“No sabe!” [ ‘He doesn’t know.’ ] he whispered when she pulled him close again.

She hummed, an apology or a rebuttal, Remus couldn’t really tell. Knowing Mamí, probably both. 

Still smiling, but with misty eyes, Pat moved away and retrieved the final packed bag from his bed. Remus pulled back, turning as he jerked his chin toward him. “Mamí, maybe you can help me convince Pat he can’t stay here all alone until his parents pick him up next week.”

“Re, I’ll be fine. I knew they w—couldn’t come tonight and I’m prepared,” he said, setting down the bag. He picked it up again and turned it, lining it up until it was parallel with Remus’ first bag. “I’ve got my electric blanket and—”

“Solecito, no,” Mamí interrupted, gently tugging the bag strap out of his hands. “No, you need to call them now. They’re closing the road.”

“What?” he and Pat cried in unison.

“They’re repaving,” she said. “There’s a big sign out at the highway exit and again at the front gates. The whole campus is closed for break, so they’re repaving. Everything starting tomorrow morning.”

Pat’s normally rosy cheeks paled and he sat down on his bed. “Well… they, um…” He licked his lips, looking between them. “B—but they can’t come tonight,” he said weakly, looking down at his hands.

“So we’ll just have to bring you to them,” Mamí said, smiling. “No problema, I’ll drop you off at home. It wouldn’t be the first time,” she added with a little laugh.

“You can’t! I—” Pat rose, shaking his head. “I mean—I—I don’t have my keys and they’re coming in from out of town. No-one’s home to let me in.”

Remus frowned, watching Pat fidget. Alarms blared in his head—If it were anyone else, he’d swear he was lying. But why would Pat lie about this?

“I’ll be fine,” he said again, a weak smile pressed onto his face. “Really. Come on, I’ll help you with your stuff.” Pat looked up at Mamí, nodding as he walked over and hefted the larger of Remus’ bags. “You’re going to hit the worst of the ferry traffic if you don’t go soon.”

“Mamí?” Remus asked quietly and she met his eyes. She saw something in Pat, too, and she nodded.

“Solecito, come home with us,” she said softly. “You can call your parents from our house and they can let you in whenever they get back.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Pat said, shaking his head, voice trembling. “I—I’d—I’d be in the way.”

“Pat, you’re never in the way.” 

“Sí, we have plenty of room, Solecito.”

Shoulders curled and arms wrapped around his belly, Pat didn’t speak, just looked down at the floor and took in a stuttering breath. He looked like he was about to cry. Fuck. Remus hadn’t wanted to scare him, just convince him to be somewhere safe while he waited for his parents to get home from wherever the fuck they thought was more important than where their son was. 

Moving carefully, like Pat was a nervous rabbit he might spook, Remus stepped closer. He held out his pinkie finger and smiled. “You can hate me later but I’m not leaving this room without you, Pattycake.”

Pat stared down at his curled finger for a long moment before looking up with wet eyes. Finally, he nodded and hooked their fingers together. “I could never hate you, Re,” he whispered.

Remus nodded one more time before releasing his pinkie and pulling down an empty bag from Patton’s side of the closet. “Good. Now let’s see how quick we can get you packed up. If we’re fast enough, I bet we can still be ready before RoLo is.”

[awkwardchick87]

Can I request cuddles with Mikey baji and chifuyu separately please

This is so soft and cute!!

I am going to make this fluff!! Maybe a little suggestive, but mostly soft and fluffy.

cw - Reader is shorter then Baji. pet names (babe, baby) Not beta read.

Mikey

Dragging his feet through the door of the hotel room, you knew Manjiro would be tired. After a long night of parties and then meetings with sponsors today, Manjiro hadn't had a free minuet to spend with you since he arrived to the city for his next race. He looked up at you, "Hey baby, I think I'm done for the day. We might actually get to relax before the race tomorrow" he said, making his way to the bed.

Manjiro flopped down on the mattress, facedown. Reaching over, you ran your fingers through his hair. Inky black and soft, your nails scratched his scalp. Manjiro moaned into the bed.

"Just come up here and lay with me." It wasn't a question as you pulled your hand back, opening your arms for Manjiro to lay his head in your lap. Lifting his head, he pulled his arms out from under him and crawled onto the bed, laying his head in your lap. Nuzzling his head into your thighs, Manjiro sighed. "Comfy now babe?" you asked him.

"Yeah, just, can you please play with my hair again?" he replied, peeking at you through one of his eyes.

Smiling down at him, you hummed as you brought your hands back to his hair and ran your nails across his neck, causing a shudder down his spine. Manjiro groaned in response and wrapped his arms around your hips.

Laying back against the headboard, you carded your hands through his hair. You could hear his breathing even out and you knew he had fallen asleep. Letting your eyes close, you also drifted off to sleep. The only sound in the room were the quiet snores of your boyfriend and your steady breathing.

Baji

The wind whipped your hair into your face while Baji had his eyes on the road. His precious Goki sped down the road, weaving between cars. You tightened your arms around his waist. "Keisuke! Slow down!" You hoped your yelling was reaching his ears as you glanced up. His smirk was the only reply you got as you rolled your eyes, gripping harder.

Baji pulled into a parking lot, "Baby, you wanna learn how to drive?"

"What?" you stammered, "Kei, I don't know. Its kind of scary"

"Come on babe, I'll be here to help you the whole time"

You nervously looked at the bike and then back to Baji, still sporting his stupidly handsome smirk on his face. "Fine, I'll try, but as soon as I get to scared, you have to take over again."

"Yeah yeah, you got it babe." Baji practically lifted you on to the bike and sat behind you. His chest felt sturdy and safe behind you, you couldn't help back lean back into him. Baji brought your hands into his, and around the handle bars of the bike, leaning over you slightly. He twisted your hand down, revving the engine, making you jump. You felt his chuckle in his chest.

Baji kicked the stand up with his foot, pulled the clutch and then slowly released it while he twisted your hand on the throttle. The bike lurched forward in the parking lot. Baji heard you yelp and tightened his hands on your to reassure you.

Keeping the bike at a slower speed, he guided you around the parking lot, "See babe, you can drive Goki!" Baji sounded so proud.

"Kei, you're the one doing all the work." you laughed.

"Yeah, but we get to be like this." bending his head down, he kissed you on the cheek, "And that's the best part."

You felt your cheeks heat up, "Kei, pay attention to the road."

Chifuyu

"Fuyu, can you grab the popcorn and bring it to the couch?" You called from the kitchen, making your way to the bedroom to grab the blankets.

"Got it!" Chifuyu replied, settling on to the couch.

Shaking out the blanket, you looked at Chifuyu knowingly while he leaned back and moved his leg and lifting the popcorn, giving you space to sit in his lap. You settled in, bringing the blanket on to your lap to cover the both of you. "Thank you." you smiled up at him.

Grabbing the remote, you hit the play button for the movie. Reaching past you, Chifuyu grabbed a handful of popcorn. You looked up at him, tilting your head. Chifuyu wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back into him and resting his chin on your head. You could hear the steady drumming of his heartbeat. It was comforting. Soon, your eyes were heavy and you felt yourself drifting off you sleep.

When you woke up, the credits to the movie were scrolling up the screen, "Did I wake you?" Chifuyu asked.

You rubbed your eyes, "I'm sorry Fuyu, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"No babe, its alright." he replied, "Lets get you off to bed though, hmm?"

You stood up, stretching your arms above your head, "Come lay with me?" you asked.

"Of course." Chifuyu replied.

Laying in bed, Chifuyu's body molded perfectly to yours. His hand resting on your hip, while the other was curled under his head. You grabbed his hand and brought it around your stomach, snuggling back into Chifuyu a little more. Soon you drifted off to sleep again.

[izvmimi]

Your house is silent. Suspiciously silent for midday.

It’s even more suspicious when you consider that Asta is home. His louder than others volume may never be an intentional choice, he’s simply so full of life and joy it leaves him quicker than he can pare it down for everyone else’s sake most of the time. It still renders you a little bit curious as to what you missed out on while you were sleeping.

Perhaps he has stepped out of the house. But then he would have had to bundle up the reason you were asleep midday to take with him anyway.

Birds chirp idly outside of your window, the sun sits high in the sky. Even the world is telling you to rise and shine despite the sleep deprivation that claws at your brain. It may be for a good reason, the recent addition of your son making you a family of four, but you have to admit you forgot how rough the newborn days are. Or maybe you didn’t have them at all, recalling how easy of a baby Archer’s older sister Luna was without much effort.

The little guy simply takes after his dad and loves to use his voice. It’s hard to hold it against him, being new to the world and all.

With a sigh you step one foot and then the other out of bed, slowly and quietly walking toward your bedroom door. The silence you were so suspicious of ends as soon as you approach the doorframe, your husband’s attempted hushed whisper sneaking in through the crack at the bottom of the door.

“The two of you look so much alike.”

He’s talking to Luna, you surmise. She’s curious about everything in her little world, her brother most of all. Since the moment she laid eyes on him she has poked his cheeks gently, held his hands, and begged each of you to let her hold him constantly despite your gentle yet firm reminders that she isn’t quite big enough for that yet.

You don’t wanna saddle the oldest with the expectations of caretaking for the younger children, something you and Asta both agree about. She should simply get to be his big sister, a role she takes seriously.

“He’s too squishy to look like me,” Luna responds, making you chuckle through the closed door.

Asta softly shushes her. You open the door a crack to see a finger pressed against his lips, Archer balanced on his opposite arm, and Luna in his lap looking between her father and brother curiously.

“You were squishy like that too, you know.”

Your daughter sighs and slumps forward with a pout. You wonder which of her bratty pseudo-aunts or extended family she learned this habit from and shake your head.

“You’re wrong daddy. I’ve always been pretty, Birdie told me so.”

And there’s your answer. Of course it was the Blackbird who is working on giving your daughter an ego the size of her own. You stifle another giggle hearing Asta sigh, nodding while gently rocking his son.

“Of course, and you always will be.” A smart man chooses his battles.

Luna looks around the living room but her attention is quickly grabbed by the crack in the door and the tiniest sliver of your face that’s visible to her.

“Mama!” She shouts, waking her brother into a mewling fit that your husband quickly attempts to quiet by bending to kiss the top of his head.

Scrambling off of the couch, little feet stomping as quickly as they can across the wooden floors, Luna rushes to fling the door open and wrap her arms around your thighs with a grin. That devilish little look is all Asta, even that he can’t deny.

“Good morning! I missed you.”

Reaching down to smooth your hand over her forehead as she speaks, you smile. Asta turns his head to smile at you, warmth from his lips to his eyes and beaming straight into your heart enough that you feel instantly rejuvenated even if your day’s sleep wasn’t all that great.

The exhaustion is difficult right now but looking into her little face and then across the room at her now sated and drooling brother, you know it’s completely worth it.

what if i throttle you OH MY BABIES OH THE LOVES OF MY LIFE OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

this is how i'm looking at this beautiful piece

thank you for thinking so positively of my widdle family the loveeee and yes luna loves you birdieeeeee

i love you so much stop being nice to me

[petrichorium]

hi hi Pluvi……i have a fun question for you if you wanna answer. what kind of thirst trap pictures do you think the NRC guys would take? >.> hehe

Omg okay,,,,,, tbh I’m only gonna do the ones that rlly speak to me so we’ll see how many I do LMFAOOOO also some of these chars wouldn’t have a big social media presence (or social media is otherwise complicated) so I’m also kinda discussing pics theyd send u directly idk if those count as thirst traps 🤔

Cater — this is funny bc I think he unabashedly posts thirst traps but he also takes private ones too. The ones he posts vary greatly according to what’s trending but what he sends You is Very dependent on what ur interested in. Not opposed to stealing one of his sister’s skirts for a femboy mirror pic if u like one too many of those tiktoks.

Trey — you might think plu where r u going with this but I have two words: bread kneading. The first one was accidental and the rest are 100% on purpose. His forearms are so insanely drool worthy and he Absolutely Fucking Knows It. Evil man. Will send them directly to you without an ounce of shame. Often they’re videos too, with a little caption about how he can’t wait to feed you whatever he’s making…..

Jack — ENTIRELY accidental Jack Howl is NOT a slut he does not have a slutty bone in his body and he has no idea that his post-workout pics are thirst traps. But they are. They absolutely are. If anyone told him he would take a hammer to his phone in shame. These are not public he’s just trying to keep in contact with you 🥺

Leona — absolute. Fucking. Attention whore. No shame. He can’t be assed to keep up his social media but he absolutely takes the most jawdropping and purposeful pics to send to you just to make you short circuit. Little hints of taut stomach and a happy trail under a loose shirt that he lifts to wipe his face after practice; his arm stretching up behind his head as he looks at the camera w heavy-lidded eyes; his back and shoulders and that tattoo on his arm on full display in the mirror. Inhumane. Literally going to throttle him.

Jade — SO cunning about it. Obviously. Lots of stuff that u might not think is purposeful; primo pics of the lounge but he’s in the back w his sleeves rolled up chopping veggies or reaching up to grab something from the top of a cabinet. Sends you little daily pics that are equally as subtle but then when he sees you after he gives you a little smile and asks if you liked them and u Know what he’s doing

Floyd — sporadic. You’ll get nothing for weeks at a time and then a slew of them. Usually random shit. Him absolutely drenched w his uniform shirt all see-through putting his chest and shoulders on display (“fell in a fountain LOLOLOLOLOL”) His teeth bared in an open-mouthed grin (that’s a mer thing, you realize days later) Blood? Splattered across his cheek? Is he flexing his jaw? (“Don’t worry it’s not mine”)

Vil — ofc he posts thirst traps but DO NOT call them that. And to his credit they are very tasteful, kinda artsy; always met with droves of comments drooling over him. But he sends you special ones. It’s a testament to how much he trusts you that he sends them at all (that’s a lie. They’re charmed to delete themselves if you ever showed them to anyone else). Very oddly sensual body parts—his hand holding a flower, the corner of his eye as he’s drawing his liner, the slope of his collarbone—and sent with a cheeky little excuse for sending them. He’s not fooling you at all.

Lilia — yes he takes thirst trap pics. I don’t think I can even describe them accurately bc they r absolutely dependent on you personally. He knows exactly how best to make you lose your mind and tbh accompanies them with a caption that’s subtle enough nobody but you would get but is borderline obscene to you specifically. Yk? Gets explicit in your texts though. He’s basically sending you nudes but he’s fully clothed and it’s arguably entirely sfw………

Malleus — sends you one photo. It’s blurry. It might be his ear? You can’t tell. A day later a massive portrait of him sitting on a throne in full princely regalia appears at your front door. It moves and talks; it professes its undying love for you every time it sees you. You have to cover it with a cloth to get it to shut up.