#i wanna grab him by the head and throttle him

[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)

[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.

[kasha-formerlydrabbletastic]

Cute Suit

Steve Harrington x PlusSize!Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary: After Robin convinces the reader to buy a bikini, all of her insecurities come to roost as she's about to spend a day poolside with Steve and Eddie.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: MATURE 18+ MINORS DNI. Negative body image, insecurities, food mentions, embarrassment, group sex, P in V, oral (f rec), creampie, consumption of the creampie, face-sitting, casual mention of CBT.

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It's good to finally breathe, to feel the sunlight on your skin after days of being cooped up working in that godawful arcade or studying for this semester's final exams. Now that exams are over, and you have a whole weekend off from work, you sit on a lounge chair in Steve's backyard, waiting on him and Eddie to bring out drinks and snacks. The bikini you wear seems too tight, squeezing around your ribs and digging into the back of your neck; it's the first bikini you've ever owned, the brightly colored print of it catching your eye at the mall one day. Robin encouraged you to buy it, to expand your horizons after years of one-pieces covered by a t-shirt or basketball shorts and an unhealthy dose of shame in your own body.

"You deserve to wear cute things," she had insisted, knowing full well you'd been hiding the parts of you that society had deemed "unattractive" for years. "Don't let anyone else tell you different."

Bolstered by her confidence in you, you had plucked your size from the rack and paid for it with a smile.

In retrospect, given how you're feeling in the present, you could throttle Robin for daring to open her mouth about it, easy as it was for her to say with her conventionally good looks.

For a moment, you think about bolting, telling the boys that you're getting a headache or something. Your muscles tense, preparing to flee when you hear the door from the house open.

"That's all I'm saying," Steve says, a small cooler in one hand and sunscreen in the other. "Okay? You don't have to bite my head off about it."

"No one's biting your head off, princess," Eddie replies with a chuckle, carrying several bags of chips. "You can relax."

They head toward you, still bickering about god knows what as they settle the cooler and snacks on the lounge chair next to you, oblivious to your discomfort.

"Exactly," you say after clearing the anxiety from your throat. "Just relax, guys."

Eddie squats down onto the concrete next to you before plopping down on his backside. Steve simply stands there, contemplating the order with his lips pressed into a thin line before he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"You're right," he concedes, running a hand through his hair. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head before dropping it onto another chair.

The cut-up band t-shirt that Eddie wears goes missing too before he kicks off his boots and stands to take his jeans off.

Both of them stand before you, Steve in his swim trunks and Eddie in his boxers, looking the picture of conventionally attractive males. Steve has always been a babe, and even if Eddie was considered a "freak," without his clothes, his slightly slim, toned body could probably be featured on a magazine somewhere.

You pull your arms tighter around yourself, keeping your knee-length wrap closed over your folly of a choice in bathing suit.

"Come on," Eddie says to you.

"What?" you reply.

"We're going swimming," he laughs, offering his hand. "Come on. Take that thing off and come get wet with us."

You chuckle, feeling heat in your cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun.

"Robin told me you got a cute suit," Steve adds with a sly smile. "Let's see it."

"You guys go ahead without me. I'm just gonna sit here for a minute."

"I wanna see a cute suit," Eddie says, his eyes dropping immediately to your body, not quite helping the situation.

"I'm just gonna sit for a minute," you repeat, your smile fading. "Just leave it."

Eddie and Steve glance at each other before Eddie says, "What's going on, sweetheart?"

You squirm under their gazes, both concerned and furrowing their brows. Getting to your feet, too, you tighten your grip on your cover-up with one hand and tug the bikini top away from your neck with the other.

"It's... it's nothing," you reply.

"You don't get this worked up for nothing," Steve answers.

"It doesn't matter," you insist, still tugging at the bikini string before you grumble.

"Is that bothering you?" Eddie asks, coming closer, his hand grabbing yours gently and looking at your neck. "You might've gone too tight with this, sweets."

"How else was I gonna get it to stay up?" you murmur. "Not that it matters anyway. I shouldn't be wearing it in the first place."

Eddie glances at Steve, eyebrows ruffled in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Steve asks cautiously.

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you look between your friends, annoyed at yourself for folding under their utter concern.

"What I mean is that I'm too fat to wear this and was absolutely kidding myself when I bought it. I could kill Robin."

"Woah, woah, woah," Eddie says, just after the key word of the sentence. "Let's hit the brakes here. Who said you were fat? Cuz I'll kill 'em."

You chuckle for a second before shaking your head. "No, Eds. I said I'm fat. I should've just stuck to the usual t-shirt and shorts and had done with it. Now I'm embarrassing myself in front of you guys."

"No," Steve says. "None of that. None of that horseshit trash talk. You can't talk about yourself like that."

"Easy for you to say," you strike back. "Easy for you both to say. Look at you guys!"

Steve and Eddie look each other up and down, and before Steve gets to deliver his very serious tough-love speech, Eddie grins.

"Are you saying we're hot?" he asks, tilting his head up just a little. "Are friends allowed to call each other hot?"

Steve stares, confused before it clicks in his brain what Eddie is doing.

"I think she's calling us hot, Eddie," he says, running his fingers through his hair once more.

"Oh, good," Eddie replies, getting closer to you again. "Because guess fucking what?"

"What?" you say.

Eddie's grin maxes out just under his eyes as his fingers slide down to the opening of your cover up.

"You also happen to be very hot, babes."

Nothing Eddie could've said could have made you sputter into laughter quite like this. Nothing you could've done could ever make the smile slip away from his face so suddenly. The two look at you, both serious as death.

"Why are you laughing?" Steve asks.

"You guys are just saying that," you reply. "You don't have to do that, okay? You're just trying to make me feel better."

Eddie shakes his head as he gently grabs you by the shoulders. "Do you have any idea what I'd do to you if you let me?"

This question is, for all intents and purposes, the wall that the laughter crashes into; the utter seriousness in Eddie's newest expression cues the silence, not another word coming out of you for the absolute shock. You look at Steve, though, who's gotten closer, too.

Steve nods. "He's actually told me about some of those things. And you know what I said to him?"

You shake your head.

"I told him I'd do it, too."

"What?" you say in a confused whimper.

"He told me some of the things he'd do to you," Steve says slower, "and I said that I'd. Do. It. Too."

Eddie slowly releases your shoulders, and you stand there, utterly confounded by their admission. They step back a couple inches before Eddie's smile makes a comeback.

"Now that we've got that taken care of," he says, "let's go for a swim."

He doesn't say anything else before he turns away, strutting toward the pool.

"Wait!" you say, gathering yourself just before he jumps in. "What the hell. You guys think I'm hot? Since when?"

"How about this?" Steve says, meeting Eddie over the concrete deck. "You take off that thing so we can see your cute suit and we'll tell you how long we've had the hots for you."

For a second, your fingers tighten over the fabric once more before you take a deep breath. You don't know if you're simply softening to the idea of it or if you're desperate to know just how long it's been that you've joined the ranks of all the girls they've been with, but you finally tug the cover up down, letting it pool around your feet.

"Well, look what we have here," Eddie says, his eyes slowly taking you in from head to toe.

"Fuck," Steve sighs.

"Oh, god," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "It can't look that good."

"It looks very good," Eddie says, but he wags his pointer finger at you. "Although, there's one way I would improve the look over all."

"Oh yeah? And how's that?"

Eddie and Steve lock eyes for a moment before they step toward you once more. Eddie positions himself behind you and Steve steadies himself before you, his pretty brown eyes staring down his nose at you. Given their proximity and the subject matter at hand, your nerves goad your heart into a break neck pace.

"Do you trust us?" Eddie murmurs, leaning down so the ends of his hair sweep over your shoulder, his breath along your skin warmer than the air around you.

"Yes," you answer on a breath of your own.

You watch Steve's eyes as they apparently lock onto Eddie's, his head dipping in a subtle nod before you feel Eddie's fingers against the knot on your back. Before you can say anything, he tugs the knot free, the strings swaying over your back before he does the same to the knot on your neck. Your arms bolt up to keep the bikini over your chest for just a moment before Steve stops you.

"Don't be afraid, babe," he mutters, his fingers gently pulling yours out of their fists; you reluctantly release the fabric as Steve takes your hands into his. The top falls to the concrete below. "That's our girl."

Your mouth is dry with anxiety as Steve glances down, his tongue darting over his lips.

"So, is that, um.... is that it?" you say, your skin tingling in the sun.

"Nope," Eddie says so close to your ear you can feel his lips graze your skin. "We've got one more thing. Stevie?"

Steve grins, pulling your hands back until Eddie takes them from him. Now free, his drop to your ample hips, tugging the strings on either side until the bottoms fall loose, too.

"There we go," he says, tugging the bottoms from between your legs and dropping them.

"You're a fucking goddess," Eddie utters, his chest pressed against your back. "I don't give a fuck how much you weigh."

"Oh, god," you sigh as Steve's fingers trace the curve of your hips down onto your thighs. "So, um.... how long?"

"Years," Steve says, his fingers grazing so close to your heat.

"Fucking years," Eddie agrees. "God, I've been dying for this moment since junior high."

He presses his hips against you, his utter arousal poking into your backside.

"Not fair," you mutter as Eddie pulls your arms up and joins your hands behind his neck. Steve's hands brush up your tummy, along the underside of your breast.

"What's not fair?"

"Why am I the only one naked?"

"Because if we were gonna get naked too," Steve begins, gently teasing your nipple, "that would be just too much hotness in the world. I don't think they can handle that."

You chuckle. "Shithead."

Eddie laughs too as he places an open-mouthed kiss on your neck. You hum with satisfaction, the sensations reaching down your body to settle in your cunt.

"Seriously," you say, barely grasping at your brain's ability to think of anything past these unexpected sensations and moving your hand to the waistband of Steve's swim trunks. "If I'm gonna be naked, so are you guys."

Your eyes meet Steve's as he smirks, your fingertips dipping past his waistband.

"Go on, sweetheart," Eddie goads in your ear before nibbling your earlobe. "Reach down and see what Harrington's got in those shorts."

If the forest on his chest is any indication, it stands to reason that he's just as hairy everywhere; your fingers meet the evidence, gently combing through his pubic hair before you meet the base of his shaft. He's half-hard as your fingers slowly curl around his cock, and you gasp in surprise as they barely complete the circle around it.

"Fucking hell," you murmur, stroking it slowly.

"You got that right," Steve breathes, eyes dropping to where you touch him, watching you bring him to full mast.

Your other hand reaches back, catching on Eddie's boxers and discovering just how hard he is underneath; he groans in your ear as you pull so sweetly on his cock.

"So," you say, feeling as though you've gotten some semblance of control over the situation with the boys' most sensitive parts in the palms of your hands. "What was it you wanted to do to me?"

"I wanna wear your thighs like ear muffs," Eddie replies, the words almost tripping out of his mouth.

"I've been thinking a lot - fuck! - about bending you over and fucking you while I watch your ass jiggle," Steve admits. "Jesus Christ, I love your ass."

"Sit on my face."

"Ride me until I scream."

"Peg me."

"Just about anything."

"Wouldn't mind some light cock and ball torture."

You pause, hands freezing around both cocks as you and Steve turn to look at Eddie.

"What?" he says defensively. "Don't yuck my yum, dude. Steve said just about anything. Doesn't that cover some CBT?"

You giggle, letting Steve pull your hand from his tented swim trunks before he slides them off.

"Fine, let her squish your balls later," Steve replies. "Right now is all about her."

"Fair enough," Eddie says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

Steve's hand comes to rest around the side of your neck, then gently pulls you closer; your peaked nipples brush against his chest hair, sending a tingle along your skin.

"Down on the lounge chair," he says, his lips brushing yours.

He's gentle as he guides you to your seat, kneeling beside you and pressing his lips to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips...

"Relax, babes," Eddie says. "Just remember, let us know if anything gets too intense or you want to stop, okay?"

"Yeah," Steve murmurs, his hands cradling your head. "We'll do anything you want and stop anything you don't."

You sigh the moment you feel Eddie's lips press against your ankle, warm and soft and trailing up the inside of your leg. He's slow about it, taking his time like a tourist to enjoy the view of you.

Steve, on the other hand, places his lips along your jaw, kissing his way down your neck before nibbling at your collar bones.

It's almost too long before the two meet in the middle, and you are certain they've coordinated their attack as Eddie's hands press your legs open, his fingers gliding along your dewy lips. Steve's mouth suckles at one of your nipples as his fingers reach down to circle your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you sigh, pleasure tingling from your core outward.

Eddie presses a finger inside to start, adding another when he decides it's not enough.

"Look at this body," Steve says against your skin, kissing down your sternum. "Look how fucking gorgeous she is."

Their tandem efforts make you squirm in delight, your hips starting to press up against them.

"And to think you were just gonna hide all this from us," Eddie says, curling his fingers inside you. "Babes, you must be out of your mind if you think you're not an absolute fucking catch. Look at these curves."

"And so soft, baby," Steve continues. "What I wouldn't give to hold you against me. What I wouldn't give to fuck this goddess in front of me."

All their sweet words, the worship of their fingers builds inside you, fuels the utter blaze of hormones and ecstasy blossoming through your blood.

"I'm so close," you whimper, writhing under them.

"You wanna come, baby?" Steve says, scooping your head into his free hand and tilting it up toward his face. "Is that what you want?"

"Fuck, yes," you reply against his mouth, your fingers digging into the arms of the lounge chair beneath you.

"I wanna feel it, babe," Eddie says. "I want you to squeeze my fingers tight, you hear me?"

The mental wherewithal to reply has scattered in the breeze, lost to you as Steve and Eddie double their efforts; Eddie curls his fingers inside and brings the other up to press on your lower tummy, as Steve plays your clit to perfection, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a filthy kiss.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" you whine as your climax bursts from your core, your body going rigid as the boys work you through it.

"There we go," Eddie praises. "That's our girl."

"I need to fuck you," Steve says as soon as you start to come down. "Come here."

He pulls you off the lounge chair, and Eddie follows; Steve positions you on your knees on the concrete as Eddie sits close, facing you and grinning wide. His hand curls around his cock, stroking himself as he watches Steve bend you over. Steve runs his hands along your spine, rubbing the expanse of your ass before he grips it tight.

"Oh my god," you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as Steve presses into you; he goes slow, his girthy cock splitting your cunt in two, filling you up like nothing as before.

"Oh fuck," Steve breathes when he's fully seated. "God, baby, you feel so good."

"I bet it feels better if you're moving," Eddie offers, taking you by the chin to bring you in for a kiss.

Steve takes his advice, pulling out to push back in. You almost yelp when his cock kisses your cervix. It takes him a few pumps, but he gathers momentum, fucking into you like his life depends on it.

"Look at you," Eddie coos. "Getting fucked by Monster-Cock Harrington. I bet that pussy feels so good right now, doesn't it, baby?"

"Yes," you whimper, "oh, fuck yes."

"He can't stop staring at your ass, babes," he tells you, releasing his cock to play with your nipples. "Who can blame him? I'd use that luscious ass as a pillow if I could. So fucking soft."

"Fuck," Steve groans, picking up speed.

"Looks like he might come soon. All because of that gorgeous ass, that sexy pussy." Eddie grabs you by the chin again, forcing you to look at him. "You see how fucking beautiful you are? And to think, you didn't want to show us your bathing suit."

"Fuck, I'm gonna -" Steve huffs out. "Where?"

"Where do you want it, baby?" Eddie asks.

"Inside, Steve!" you cry out, close to your own orgasm as you reach a hand down to your clit. "Come inside me, please!"

"Fuck, that's hot," Eddie says. "You gonna come with him, baby? Come around Stevie's massive cock."

You burst with pleasure once again, your orgasm radiating through your body before Steve stutters to a groaning stop.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he whispers, pressing his pelvis against your ass.

"You stay just like that, babes," Eddie says, kissing you quickly before getting to his hands and knees. He crawls over the concrete as Steve pulls out of you.

Before you know it, Eddie's laying down underneath you, positioning your cunt over his face as Steve comes around to face you. The latter's face is red, covered in a sheen of sweat, and still beautiful. He smiles, sitting down before you just as Eddie's mouth makes contact.

"Ah!" you gasp as Eddie's tongue glides through the absolute mess that Steve left behind.

"Eddie's gonna clean you up nice and good," Steve promises before he settles your hands on his thighs and leans in for a kiss. "You're such a good girl for us, aren't you? So fucking pretty."

You moan into his mouth as Eddie laps up your arousal, feasting on your pussy.

"I don't want to hear you talking bad about yourself like that again, you hear me?"

You gaze into his eyes, big, brown, and beautifully sincere.

"I hear you," you answer softly.

"And if you ever forget," he continues with a grin, "well, we'll just have to remind you, won't we?"

Eddie focuses his efforts on your clit, sucking as he slips his fingers inside you. His free hand reaches around your thigh, pulling you closer to him, and you moan into the air between you and Steve. You feel the vibrations of Eddie's moan, too, reverberating through your core.

"There you go, babes," Steve says. "Let him make you feel good. You deserve it. You deserve it so much."

Another climax begins to build, and you begin to grind on Eddie's face, your fingers digging into Steve's thighs.

"One more, baby," Steve insists, and it's all you need before you're plummeting into ecstasy one more time.

You nearly collapse to the concrete, overwhelmed yet perfectly satisfied.

"I gotta finish Eddie," you say through your heavy breathing, but don't get very far when he comes into view with a bashful expression.

"To be honest," he says, wiping off his face, "I kinda blew my load a little while ago." He points to the cum trail along his stomach. "Like, just after I put my fingers inside you."

You and Steve hold eye contact for just a second before you giggle.

"Don't. Don't laugh at me. It's your fault, anyway."

"My fault?" you say over Steve's laughter. "How?"

"You're hot, like I said."

"Shut up," you say, blushing into your hands.

He pulls your hands away from your face, smiling at you like you put the sun in the sky.

"Never."

[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.

[studioeisa]

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.

[remotewatch]

nothing but a sentence 🩸

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.8k wc

summary: period sex with jack for anon ‼️ hope you enjoy lovely 🤍

cw: period sex, period head, certified boyfriend material jack, domestic bliss, whereee did all this fluff come from, sacrilege if you squint, messy eating, unprotected sex (VOTE IF YOU WANNA RECREATE ETC ETC), shoutout to my darling editor Sabrina @mystardustmelodyyy for saving this from limbo 🙏

minors dni get off my lawn

At this point in the relationship, Jack manages your period more than you do. You tend to forget that it requires actually going out and purchasing supplies unless he calls you from the pharmacy to complain.

“Why would they stop carrying ultras? That’s so fucked up! And the boxes are getting smaller, it’s sick what they’re doing to you guys!” It’s too easy to picture him waltzing around with three cases of san pellegrino under one arm and an overflowing snack basket in the other, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he yaps about pink taxes.

“Do you want canned or fresh lychee? Never mind, I’ll get both.” he decides before you can respond. “Did you want anything else?”

“I want to sleep,” you mumble. You were currently being throttled on two fronts by nauseating cramps and a vicious migraine, leaving no energy left to manage his shopping list. It was hard enough just to reach and grab the ibuprofen without alerting your uterus that you had moved, yet he’s still talking as you doze off:

“We’ve got edibles and melatonin in the cabinet, but I’ll get some mag glycinate, and are you SURE you don’t need…”

“Dealer’s choice, I trust your judgement,” you murmur. “When will you be home?”

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll be back around 6.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He finds you wrapped in two heating pads, face pressed into the couch, full water glass in the same spot he left it on the coffee table.

“I feel like I just died,” you groan, rubbing your eyes and tentatively stretching your legs.

“Come on, you gotta hydrate,” Jack rustles through the grocery bags looking for a loose water bottle with a sport cap before pressing it against your mouth. He frowns and doesn’t take it out when you try to move away.

“At least half a glass, come on. I’m following orders here.” He’s very gentle not to flood your mouth and make you cough, but you can see his eyes flicker down to watch your lips wrap around the cap (he’s only human, after all).

“Thank you,” you croak when he finally sets it down, voice slightly less raspy than before.

“Do you want a tea? I’m making you a tea.”

He’s off rustling through the kitchen for the ginger lemon amid the boxes of just ginger or just lemon, but despite his best efforts, the noise is killing you. Every shut drawer sounds like a door slamming with this headache, and Jack sounds like he’s still speaking into your ear even though he’s mainly talking to himself.

“And I’ll get started on dinner-what would you like? I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. Oh, also! I got those vaseline body balm rollers you like.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and light up as he trots over to hand you your treat.

“Oh my god, and you found the cocoa butter kind! You’re the best!”

The rich, nutty scent of the balm floods the room when you unscrew the top and gives you a second wind. This and a shower will fix you for sure, just as soon as you can make your way to the bathroom.

Jack fills in the blanks as soon as you look back up at him apprehensively and start with the vague gesturing and “would you mind…”

“Of course not. There’s no need for you be walking right now, that would be crazy!” If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d be swooning at the way he effortlessly scoops you up and walks over to set you down on the glossy teak shower stool (a million percent worthwhile at times like this).

“Do you want any more help in there?” It sounds like a joke, but you know he’d wash you in a heartbeat if you asked. You can’t help matching his smile.

“I think I’ve got it handled.”

“I’ll put dinner on, then.”

When you emerge, your headache has all but subsided, and while you’re still pretty out of it, the heat has done wonders for your cramps and stiffness. You can’t be bothered to do anything but throw on a pair of thinx and flop down onto the bed, slathering on more of your new balm just to keep smelling it.

Jack knocks at the open bedroom door with your tea and a fresh glass of water.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were baking in here,” he teases as sets them on the nightstand. “Dinner is on in 30 by the way.”

The idea of leaving your bed right now sounds about as appealing as getting all your teeth pulled, but you’d never dream of eating on the scrumptious new Matouk linens; the utter disrespect!

“Can you just put me back to sleep instead?”

“Sure, of course. You want a gummy or-“

“Jack!”

“Right, got it!” And he’s skittering off to grab a vibe and towel while you untangle yourself from heating pad cords.

Jack is nearly skipping coming back from the hallway closet with a fistful of toys before rolling you as little as possible to tuck the towel under your lower half. As soon as he’s back within reach, you grab a handful of his hair and drag him down to kneel next to you. He nods at the pile of silicone on the nightstand as he playfully snaps at your elastic: “Are we feeling manual or automatic?”, but you’re already bucking your hips up to shove the underwear down your thighs and wincing at the sudden movement.

“You ok?” He drops the playful tone immediately and furrows his brow in concern. You throw your arm out to grab a toy at random, landing on a satisfier. Perfect.

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” you sigh dramatically to lighten the mood, but you’re still not feeling great.

“Roger that,” Jack bites back a smug grin -as if he’s ever needed all ten- and crawls gingerly into bed to snake one arm under your waist and accept the toy with the other.

It has to be some sort of sick joke how you’re this unbelievably sensitive when you still feel so shitty. Every single nerve ending in your clit is humming in tandem with the pulses of the satisfier; the delicious sensations ricochet up and down your body enough that even your eye sockets feel tingly.

He’s entirely absorbed in making you cum and tuned into every move you make, still glancing up now and then to check for any hint of discomfort. As much as he’s committed to pleasing you, he can’t conceal the blush creeping up his neck and down from his temples, nor his ragged breathing. There’s barely enough time to acclimate and enjoy it before you feel yourself getting drawn right over the edge.

“You’ve got it-don’t fucking move-so good to me, Jack, fuck-thank you,”

You screw your eyes shut on pure instinct while your orgasm rolls through; one of your hands fumbles for purchase in his curls as he mouths sloppily over your breasts. When you manage to take another peek at him, his eyes are all crinkled up like he’s smiling while his mouth remains focused on the task at hand. A little tug on his hair and he’s cheerily licking his way down your abdomen, really letting his tongue drag so he has more time to grind against your thigh. You can already feel the wet spot forming on his boxer briefs, such a romantic!

“Having fun down there?” you purr. Jack jerks his head up, revealing a red splotch on the point of his chin.

“God, yes. Can I lick you? Please?” You’d think he’s the one who’d just came from how breathy he sounds. You cross your ankles between his shoulder blades and readjust your grip on his hair.

“Always.”

For once, Jack shows some restraint eating you. It’s all broad, slow licks in time with your heartbeat; he falls right into a natural rhythm that reminds you of crashing waves. His fingers lace together across your stomach like he’s praying, and each adoring exhale only adds to the effect. Every time he dives back in after catching his breath, a new drip flows out hot and coppery to coat him from the nose down. It’s such a perfect mess; the harsh-edged, gleaming paint job stretching ear to ear and the little smear between his eyebrows make him look like he’s been baptized in your blood.

It’s a wonder he can even hear your faint whispers of “Jack, just-just fuck me, please,” over how shamelessly he’s dragging his face through you, but he’s always been something of a miracle worker.

There’s a long, indulgent slurp like a bathtub finishing draining that makes your thoughts blur around the edges before he allows you to pull him off you and slide your feet languidly under his shorts. You’re way too sleepy to be of much help, but he’s happy to shove the waistband low enough to tuck under his balls and half wipe his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls back up to you.

The blood pools sluggishly towards the high points of Jack’s face, and a drop splatters onto your cheek before he can stop it. Without hesitation, he swoops down to lap it up and kiss a fainter mark in its place. Barely audible, you somehow remember to pant a reminder into his ear.

“You just gotta be careful right now, my cervix is like-”

“-right up front, I remember. I gotcha, no worries,” he presses another sticky kiss to your temple as he pushes halfway in, abs clenching to keep from slipping too deep. He’s delightful as always, but each thrust is winding your nerves tighter, making your clit ache just as much as the rest of you. Fumbling once again at the nightstand, you find another vibe designed to rest snugly between you two so he’s got both hands free to rest his chin on, just rocking away while he watches you drift off. When he hits at just the right angle, you back bows up hard enough to audibly crack in relief. Those waves of relaxation mixing with the constant rumbling from the toy overwhelm you once again, dissolving what’s left of your discomfort and tugging you towards unconsciousness.

Jack can’t hold himself back when he feels you practically sucking him back in on every outstroke, and a brazen whine bursts from his throat as he pulls out, freeing a gush of pink tinged cum. It only feels natural to lean up to kiss him and lap the residual streaks from around his lips.

“Feel better?” he sighs against you, grinning so wide the drier patches on his dimples crack and start to flake off onto the towel.

“So much better,” your words slur together, and the rest of your thoughts scatter once your heads falls back onto the pillow

“You want a hot washcloth?”

“Mmmm,” It takes you a second to piece the simple sentence together; you’re still blinking away the residual stars from your vision.

“In ten minutes?”

[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.

[kingkonoha]

彡 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒.

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Your coworker keeps kicking his soccer ball too close to your car.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY — brief sex talk, fem reader.

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1K

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is a soccer player! connie fic for @cinnamon-girl-writes & @crazychaoticizzy’s full throttle event! Thank you for inviting me to participate!

“If you hit my car again with your soccer ball, I’ll hit you with my car, got it?”

Your aggravating coworker, Connie Springer, flashed a goofy smile at your serious threat. Gently, he took the worn-down soccer ball out of your hands.

“It won’t happen again, promise,” he lied.

You sighed — a frustrated, overworked school teacher sort of sigh, though you never imagined your biggest source of frustration would come from the full-time soccer player and part-time P.E. teacher — or perhaps, the substitute teacher, you didn’t care enough to learn which.

It was the first week of school, and thus far, your days started with a cup of coffee and a classroom full of sleepy high schoolers slouching in their desks, jotting down whatever important knowledge you had to share about analyzing The Great Gatsby.

Those days would end with the sun setting in the sky, its beautiful golden rays shining down on the parking lot across from the big, green soccer field.

Then, like clockwork, a flying soccer ball, having been kicked hard enough to launch it into the air, away from the soccer field, and into the parking lot would land somewhere uncomfortably close to you or your car.

The first day, it bounced on the pavement behind you. You laughed nervously as the culprit, Connie, tossed his hand up and said, “My bad.”

On the second day, it rolled nearest your front right tire. You gave Connie a concerned, frustrated look.

The third day, which was today, that damned soccer ball whipped by you, gracing the skin of your cheek, and smacked your windshield hard enough for you to expect some sort of crack to have been left behind.

The soccer player jogged up to you this time, brows furrowed from the afternoon sunlight beaming down on him.

“Damn, did I damage your car?” He slowed to a stop, wiping off his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. “My bad.”

“My bad? That’s all you have to say? My bad?” Snatching the soccer ball off of your car hood, you held it out to him. “You hit my car, almost hit me in the head-”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

You took a deep breath, but even three solid years of teaching experience couldn’t give you the patience needed to deal with this situation.

And, that was when the threat came; “If you hit my car again with your soccer ball, I’ll hit you with my car, got it?”

After Connie falsely promised that such a thing wouldn’t happen again, you folded your arms across your chest, and said, “You’re supposed to be a professional soccer player, aren’t you? How do you manage to always kick your soccer ball into the parking lot?”

“‘Cause I’m kicking it here on purpose.”

He spoke as if stating an obvious fact — as if it was common sense.

“Really? You think coming close to damaging someone’s car is funny? I bet you won’t be smiling so hard when I send you the bill for repairs.”

“Your car looks fine to me,” he paused. “I mean, you might wanna run it through a car wash a couple of times, but that’s not really my fault. You know what multi-purpose cleaner-”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this conversation, I’m leaving now,” you interrupted the man sharply, but despite your annoyed tone, he was still grinning as you spoke. “And for the record, if there’s any dirt on my car, it’s because a filthy soccer ball keeps landing on top of it every day.”

“Or because you own a black car. They’re a pain in the ass to keep clean, especially during spring.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you turned away from him, pulling out your car keys as you prepared to hop into the driver's seat and take off.

However, Connie suddenly held the soccer ball in one hand and grabbed ahold of your wrist with the other.

“Wait, wait, wait, I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”

It was impossible to deny your curiosity. Along with that, whatever he had in mind was bound to be better than nothing.

“How?” You questioned, staring up into his hazel eyes. He hadn’t yet let go of your wrist.

And those eyes of his looked you up and down as he took in the sight of the pretty English teacher he so desperately wanted to know.

“How about I wash your car for you?”

“Wash my car? Seriously?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yeah,” his eyes darted down to your lips, and he watched as they pulled back into a cocky smile.

“Sounds good to me,” your eyes scanned him this time around, taking notice of both his tan muscles and the droplets of sweat coating them. “If you do a good job, I might decide to show up to one of your games someday.”

“I think I know a better way you can repay me,” Connie said.

No payment was required, of course, as he was doing this to make up for nearly hitting you with his soccer ball several times, but even so, he wanted to use this opportunity wisely.

“And how’s that?” You asked, though, truly, the answer was quite obvious. After all, Springer couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“You’ll see.” Connie released your wrist.

Suddenly, he reached around you and pulled your phone out of your back pocket. The sudden movement brought you closer to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his athletic body.

“Put my number in your phone and text me your address. I’ll be there tomorrow night,” he said, handing your phone to you before he proceeded to give you his number.

“How are you going to clean my car at night?”

Connie leaned in, his lips close to your ear as his breath patted against your skin, and he whispered, “Well if I’m gonna fuck you across the hood of your car tomorrow, I gotta clean it eventually, right?”

He started to walk away, a subtle smile pulling at his lips upon realizing he left you in a slight state of surprise.

“I gotta go, I have a game to get ready for, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Connie left the parking lot, leaving you with a new wave of emotions drastically different than the ones you felt when he entered.

As you opened your car door and slid into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help but simply imagine what the soccer player had planned for tomorrow.

🏷️: @priv-rose @keriaonmarz @notgoodforlife @2n1ghts @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @crazychaoticizzy @averysmolbear @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz

[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.

[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 😱

[stockcarbaby24]

Saw the new McLaren suits and it was the perfect inspo to come back to these prompts heehee.

I know Oscar's suit isn't super snatched (nor even the final design I guess???), but I'm spreading the propaganda of skin tight race suits!! You heard it here first!!!

Writing Game

Touch starved/cuddle curse

[Set during 2025 season, Established relationship, M rated]

Oscar didn’t know what direction to lean.

He pressed closer, burying his face into Logan’s neck as he panted against the warm skin, but at the same time, he felt an itching below his skin urging him to push back. He wanted to feel those hands- feel more. More, more. 

“Oscar,” Logan mumbled softly, kissing under his jaw in soft presses. His hand held firm to Oscar’s hip, locking the driver in place on his lap, despite all his squirming. All while his other hand skated up Oscar’s back, lighting a fire in his path that sent shivers up his spine. 

Giving a frustrated whine, Oscar jolted his body, again wanting impossibly closer but failing to get there. He needed Logan’s hands on him- they were there but he needed more. Needed skin to skin.

Much to Oscar’s distress, Logan refused to undo the collar around his neck. Oscar’s race suit was still firmly held in place, a sweltering wrap around his body, all while his lover took his own sweet pleasure in touching him.

“Lo, please,” he begged, not even sure what he was asking for. 

“Yeah, I got you, baby.” 

But frustratingly, Logan did not ‘have him.’ Still just touching Oscar, feeling him up and groping him through the sleek new suit McLaren had apparently designed just for Logan to admire. His hand even made its way down to grab at the pert shape of Oscar’s ass through the fitted fabric… yet Logan’s other hand wouldn’t move to take him out of it.

Oscar whined again, untangling a hand from around Logan’s neck and doing it himself. He dove for the clasp at his own neck, but was quickly stopped by Logan grabbing his wrist. 

“Not yet.”

“What do you meeean?” Oscar downright pouted, fully rutting against Logan now, the effects of all the petting clearly showing with the tent at the front of his race suit. Oscar was so fucking turned on; Logan sneaking into his driver’s room to meet him like this, immediately kissing him, pulling Oscar down onto his lap and man handling him. 

Oh, Oscar was going bonkers. 

Logan wasn’t normally so assertive when they met up. Yes, they both always wanted to kiss and touch after being separated- they were human. This was different though. Logan was desperate in a way Oscar hadn’t seen in a while, hard below him and panting in his ear before they’d hardly done a thing. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Logan breathed to him, before blazing a trail of kisses down the arch of Oscar’s neck. But stopping at that fucking collar. 

“Logan, I swear to Christ.” Oscar slumped, making him take all of his weight. “If you don’t put your hand on my dick soon I’m gonna-”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘you can’t?!’” Oscar was back up at attention, pulling away enough to glare down at Logan. 

Logan who annoyingly was smiling, all innocent, and still dancing his fingers across Oscar’s waist. “Don’t wanna get your suit dirty, do we baby?”

Oscar clamped his eyes shut. “Oh I’m gonna throttle you.”

“You’re running out of time anyways. FP2 starts in just ten minutes.” 

Gritting his teeth, Oscar braced his hands against Logan’s shoulders. “I promise… If you just get your damn hands on me, ten minutes is plenty of time.” He put on his best pleading face, in sudden sharp contrast. “Know you’re good for me, Lo, you do such a good job. I just-”

“Later.” 

Oscar threw his head back and groaned. “You can’t do this! I don’t see you for months, and then you come in here all hot and touching me like this and now you-” 

Logan cut him off with another kiss, deep and shoving his tongue in so Oscar couldn’t protest further. His hands played Oscar like a fiddle, moving in just the way Logan knew he liked and coming to rest at the crease of his thigh. Oscar couldn’t help the pathetic moan he gasped into Logan’s mouth. 

“Tonight baby, I’ll do whatever you want. Wanna take my time with you.”

“You just want to torture me!” Oscar huffed, but he chased Logan for one last kiss, biting his lip. 

“Okay, okay, we have to- let me go then, you koala.” Oscar practically fell off Logan, trying to untangle himself from the grabbing hands. Even as Oscar tried to back away, letting himself calm down, Logan’s hands roamed over him mercilessly, sliding up his legs, grabbing his ass again, thumbs pushing into his pelvis just getting a little shy of Oscar’s-

“God you’re so hot in this all black.” 

Oscar tried his best to squirm away from Logan’s wandering hands, afraid if he let him touch too much he’d really never make it back out the door. Truly, Oscar just wanted to fall away and let Logan do anything and everything to him. Touch him properly finally, make his suit dirty and unusable. Oscar didn’t need to practice- he’d be fine as long as he unwrapped himself from Logan’s bed by quali. 

Fuck he missed just laying in bed with the other and letting Logan’s long fingers slide up and down his side til they fell asleep. He wanted to tangle his legs around Logan’s and lazily kiss him as the minutes fell to hours. 

He just wanted to touch.

Feeling a frantic longing in his chest, Oscar leaned back down and gave Logan a surprisingly chaste kiss after everything. “Later?”

“Later, baby…” Logan smiled, sweet and innocent, betraying what they both were asking for. “Can’t wait.” 

Oscar pouted again, but kissed Logan before standing back up and trying to straighten his rumpled suit back out. He only had to bat away Logan’s hands a few times.

[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.”

[lvmimis]

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.

[cainluvr69]

Surely, We Can Make Miracles Chapter 13

Previous Chapter

Hwylryn outdid himself, easily pushing his speed and strength past where he'd been just before, racing through the full length of the sky. He must have been holding himself back because of my being there. A sea dragon at full throttle felt like a completely different beast. It was…terrifying to behold. Snow got caught in his icy breath, instantly freezing half of his body.

Snow: Aaahhh…!

White: Snow!

He had no time to try and free himself from the ice before Hwylryn's tail slammed into him, sending his small body flying through the air.

Snow: …gh!

Snow couldn't put himself back on his feet, and so he sank beneath the waves, just like that.

White: Snow…! Damn you! <Noscomnia>!

Spears of ice once again formed, but this time, White was on his own. He launched them at Hwylryn and they chased him down in White's desperate attempt to protect Snow. But Hwylryn simply ignored him, instead diving into the sea. It didn't take long for Hwylryn to show himself above the water again, surfacing with a huge splash of water. He had Snow in his mouth, dangling from between his teeth by his right leg. Snow was hanging limply, as weak and powerless as a doll.

Snow: … Cough…cough…

White: Snow…! Damn you, why are you only going after him…?!

White's bitter howls were caught by the wind. Snow weakly opened his eyes. And then, as if on cue, they chanted their spell together.

Snow & White: <Noscomnia>!

The darkness the twins created wrapped around Hwylryn's body like storm clouds. Hwylryn twisted and writhed, trying to shake it off. He plunged into the ocean again, Snow still in his jaws, diving down to the bottom of the sea.

White: Snow…!

It all happened in the blink of an eye. I'd finally screwed up my courage, because the moment where I would crash into the water's surface was finally upon me.

Akira: (I know my fall got slowed down, but was it slowed down enough?! I hope this doesn't hurt…!)

I squeezed my eyes shut, and then I heard a familiar voice.

Mithra: <Arthim>

Owen: <Cure Memini>

Akira: …!

The snow globe-like dome around me popped and disappeared, leaving my body gently floating. And the next thing I knew, I was landing in Owen's arms with a thud. He was riding his broom scarily close to the surface of the water, and he raised a single eyebrow at me.

Owen: Just what are you doing, Master Sage?

Akira: Owen…!

I saw a spatial door open over Owen's shoulder, and Mithra's head popped out.

Mithra: Excuse me? I was waiting to catch them too.

Owen: Which is exactly why I got in the way of that.

Owen had a thin, sneering smile on his face. And then his eyes went wide. With me still in his arms, one of his feet got caught on his broom and then we were upside down--

Akira: Glublublub…!

The top half of my body got dunked into the ocean. I didn't have any more breath left in my lungs, but Owen was there in front of me, his bangs swaying gracefully in the seawater. A gunshot echoed from above the water. As if that were a cue he'd been waiting for, Owen pulled me back up out of the water. While grabbing onto me by the back of my neck.

Akira: Cough, cough…! Wh…Why did you do that, Owen?!

Owen: If you have a problem, tell it to Bradley.

Akira: …Bradley?!

Owen's words made me jerk my head up to look at the sky. Standing atop his broom, gun at the ready, was Bradley, and he was aiming at Owen.

Bradley: Tch… Missed. Yo Sage, get out of the way! Are you tryin' to get hit by a stray bullet?!

Akira: Obviously I'm not!! What are you even doing?!

Bradley frowned, looking annoyed.

Bradley: I'm tryin' to splatter Owen's brains on the water! Even if he was just tryin' to get us to stop actin' like mussels, the shit he did to me to do that is somethin' I don't even wanna say out loud!

Owen: Ahaha. Sorry, remembering it just made me start laughing again.

Bradley: I'm never letting this one slide, bastard! I'll kill you!

Mithra & Akira: Acting like mussels?

By chance, Mithra's voice overlapped with my own, and Owen and Bradley answered us in unison, too.

Owen: I'll show you later.

Bradley: Just fucking shut up right now!

While we were caught up in talking, a huge, white pillar suddenly shot out of the water, dousing us all with seawater. That pillar was Hwylryn. Spears of ice dotted his face like thorns, blood streaming down from the wounds, as he stubbornly refused to release Snow's leg from his jaws.

Snow: …uwaaahhh…!

White: Snow! How dare you, Hwylryn…!

Owen: You know you can't win. Snow, White.

Owen sat atop his broom and crossed his legs, his words almost disdainful.

Owen: Want me to save you from the sea dragon?

White: Owen…

Owen: Provided you'll forgive me if my claws get caught on that picture frame of yours. I haven't forgotten how you tried to turn me into a laughingstock.

Bradley: Same here. Just because I think a dragon's worth takin' down doesn't make me your ally. If you don't wanna bow your heads and beg us for help, then get crackin' and call Oz. If you don't hurry, the day's gonna be over.

White: Mmmgh… I suppose I have no choice… Snow!

Snow: …kh…

White: I'm going to call Oz!

Snow: Stop that, White! We don't need him…!

White: But…!

Bradley: Better decide quick. That dragon's a smart one. It was a good choice, decidin' to only go after Snow. He must know that turnin' Snow to stone will make you disappear too, White.

Akira: …No…

Hwylryn's roar shook the heavens and earth. I wondered how much time was left until the end of the day. The sky was already so dark I couldn't tell. A sea dragon with the power to match Oz… When the sun sank beneath the waves, leaving Oz unable to use his magic, no one would be able to stop him.

✦✧☾✧✦

Riquet: I hope Master Sage is okay…

Rutile: That man didn't seem like a bad person, and Mithra went after them, so I think they'll be fine…

Mitile: Rutile, Riquet! Look at that…!

Rutile: Hm…? It looks like a storm is coming in from the water.

Mitile: No, not that… Ah, did you see that? Right under the flashing clouds!

Rutile: Flashing clouds…?

Riquet: Could you describe it a bit more, Mitile?

Mitile: Ah, umm… Under that big cloud and the scattered-looking ones, where I'm pointing…

Rutile & Riquet: Hmm…? Oh…!

Mitile: Did you see it?!

Riquet: There's something flying over the ocean!

Mitile: But, thinking about how far away we are, doesn't it seem like it's kind of…huge…?

Riquet: …A dragon…

Rutile: A dragon?

Riquet: I'm sure that has to be a dragon! I've seen one before! Only for a few moments, but I still saw one!

Mitile: That's right! You brought back one of its whiskers to show me, right?!

Riquet: Yes!

Rutile: Wow! That's so cool! Seeing a dragon, huh…

Natalie: Kyaaaa…! There's a dragon over the water…!

Borda Island Resident (Hat): There's what?!

Borda Island Resident (Glasses): Woah…! Yeah, that's definitely a dragon!

Borda Island Resident (Baggage): We've been seein' a lot of big magical beasts lately! Just a while ago we had a leviathan and a kraken fighting off the coast!

Borda Island Resident (Blackbeard): It ain't every day you get to see a dragon! I need to show my son! Heeeey! Quit your workin' and get over here…

Natalie: Hold on! That dragon is what's causing the storm! Don't you think it's dangerous?!

Borda Island Resident (Hat): That's true…

Natalie: Its rampage might bring it all the way here. Maybe the wizards summoned it…

Borda Island Resident (Light Clothes): It's not out of the question.

Natalie: I heard the wizards were trying to poison people in the market just this afternoon, too…

Borda Island Resident (Forehead Scar): Poison?!

Borda Island Resident (Out of Breath): What?! What's going on?!

Borda Island Resident (Hat): There's a dragon! We think the wizards might've summoned it!

Natalie: It's a storm-calling dragon! It might even be the one that sank Adams Island!

Borda Island Resident (Short Hair): What?!?! The wizards summoned the dragon that sank Adams Island?!

Mitile: Wha… All the people on the island are in a panic now… That was so fast…

Riquet: If they keep running around like that, someone's going to get hurt… I will guide them.

Mitile: Wait, Riquet!

Riquet: What is it?

Mitile: If they find out you're a wizard, they'll do something horrible to you. Humans always try to go after weak wizards like us at times like this!

Riquet: But you aren't weak anymore, are you, Mitile?

Mitile: That's true, but… No matter how strong my magic is, a whole crowd trying to blame me for everything is still scary…

Riquet: Mitile…

Rutile: …You two can wait here. I'll try to talk to the townspeople.

Mitile: Don't do that?! If you do that, things are just going to turn violent like they did before! Not to mention that you won't be able to talk to all of them when they're all worked up like this!

Rutile: I'm not going to talk to everyone. A lot of the people here are very scared right now…

Riquet: …Like that black-haired woman…?

Rutile: Yes. Good job noticing her, Riquet.

Riquet: …I'll go with you. Guiding lost lambs that have succumbed to their fear and anxiety is my duty.

Rutile: But…

Riquet: It will be okay. Mitile, what will you do?

Mitile: …I'll go, too. I need to protect both of you.

✦✧☾✧✦

Natalie: Everyone, you need to run…! It's dangerous to be on the shore! A dragon is going to attack! An evil dragon that the market wizards summoned is coming in from the ocean!

Borda Island Resident (Scarf): The wizards summoned a dragon?! There are children living here!

Market Wizard: Hold… Hold on, you. Are you completely sure about that?

Natalie: …Who are you?

Market Wizard: I'm a wizard, but summoning a dragon requires an immense amount of mastery in the magic arts…

Natalie: You're a wizard?! You're the one that summoned the dragon?!

Borda Island Resident (Buff): The wizard that summoned the dragon?! Who is it?!

Market Wizard: …You think I was the one who summoned it? I haven't said a single…

Rutile: Everyone, please calm down!

Natalie: …

Rutile: I am the Southern wizard, Rutile.

Borda Island Residents: A wizard?!

Borda Island Resident (Hat): Which one summoned the dragon?! Or did they both do it?!

Rutile: I am the Southern wizard, Rutile, and one of the Sage's wizards.

Borda Island Resident (Braid): A Sage's wizard… Didn't they attend Queen Liliana's coronation ceremony…?

Borda Island Resident (Glasses): Oh! Right, those wizards!

Rutile: The dragon is still far from the island. You don't need to panic yet. If you run around so recklessly and aimlessly like that, people are going to get hurt. If anything happens, I will protect all of you. So please, let's all settle down now.

Mitile: I'll protect you, too!

Borda Island Resident (Big Brows): …That's all true… Everyone, let's try to calm down! It hasn't hurt anyone or damaged anything here yet!

Borda Island Resident (Tough Guy): Even a kiddo like this ain't cryin' and panickin' like we were. You're a brave one, kid.

Mitile: Thank you very much!

Borda Island Resident (Red Clothes): Sorry about that, mister wizard. And you too, gramps…

Market Wizard: Good grief… I can't believe you wouldn't even want to listen to my advice. What a tiresome lot you are.

Borda Island Resident (Blackbeard): What was that?!

Borda Island Resident (Tough Guy): Knock it off, man. We were the ones in the wrong here…

Rutile: It's only natural to get scared when a dragon as big as that one is so close to the island. I'll make a report to the local lord as soon as I can. Is there anything else I should tell her?

Borda Island Resident (Tall): She ain't gonna help us… She prioritizes the wizards so much she doesn't even bother listening to what we've got to say.

Rutile: …

Borda Island Resident (With Child): Sorry for kicking up such a fuss, but… With how everything's worked out, we gotta protect ourselves these days.

Mitile: It seems like the townspeople don't really trust Miss Dianne yet…

Rutile: Yeah…huh? Where's Riquet?

Mitile: Huh? Riquet?! Where did you go?!

✦✧☾✧✦

Natalie: … Tch…

Riquet: Excuse me.

Natalie: …!

Riquet: Are you alright? You seemed quite frightened.

Natalie: Oh… Yes, thank you. You should run and tell your parents about all of this, too! Tell them a wizard summoned a dragon and it's coming to attack the island! Hurry…!

Riquet: Did a wizard summon that dragon?

Natalie: It seems like it. That was what someone said, at least. You should go let the grown-ups know!

Riquet: I am a wizard.

Natalie: … Oh, that's right…

Riquet: Seeing the dragon overwhelmed your heart with fear, didn't it? My heart started pounding too when I first saw it… But when I see something that makes my heart start racing like that, I know that there are other people who will be just as frightened.

Natalie: Right… Well, I have something I need to do, so…

Riquet: While there is no shame in feeling fear, it isn't good to convey it to others improperly.

Natalie: …

Riquet: Your words only served to drive the island residents into a frenzy. The panic only grew bigger.

Natalie: I'm sorry if it seemed like that. I just thought I needed to warn them and guide them as best I could. I didn't want anything bad to happen to any of them.

Riquet: Guide them…?

Natalie: Yes.

Riquet: You only guided them to chaos.

Natalie: If that's what I ended up doing, then I need to apologize. But… If they're living idly while thinking nothing is ever going to happen to them, only to be suddenly faced with something terrible… Then it's only right to want to warn them and set them on the right path, don't you think? I've faced so many terrible things already. I don't want anyone else to have to face those same things…

Riquet: …I see…

Natalie: Yeah… If that dragon off the shore attacks, if everyone listens to my precautions and prepares in advance, many lives will be saved. If they listen to you instead and calm down so they're walking away and not running, it'll kill them all. That's why I was so desperate to convince them all to run.

Riquet: …

Natalie: What is it?

Riquet: …I'm not exactly sure… What is right…? What does it mean to set people on the right path…?

Natalie: Yeah… I understand how you feel. I like wizards perfectly well, but there's so many people who say it'd be better if none of you existed… I think it might be best if you gathered yourself and your wizard friends up, told them what's happening, and got out of here as soon as you can… There's probably going to be a big conflict on this island soon… Poor souls…

Riquet: …What do you mean by that?

Natalie: Oh, don't feel bad… I'm just warning you so that nothing bad happens to you.

Riquet: …Are you trying to guide me?

Natalie: I wouldn't say it's anything that dramatic.

Riquet: …

Natalie: Thanks for coming to talk to me. I think I was saved because I had you near, little wizard.

Riquet: …You're very welcome.

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