#in fact he leans in SO HARD that when the battle is over and things are starting to calm down legolas comes up to his father and is all

[cosycryptid]

Preparing for Battle - Part 2

Eddie has a favour to ask Steve. Also on A03: [Here] Part: 1 / 2 / 3

Eddie is met with three bewildered stares as he starts pacing the garage like a man possessed.

He’s still trying to process the fact that his entire worldview has just been flipped upside down by Steve Harrington, of all people singing Fleetwood Mac like it was second nature. His voice had been clear, steady, and somehow enchanting. And he’d done it while reading Tolkien, no less.

And then there was the aftermath. That weird, awkward, weird interaction where Steve had been—what, nice? Even though Eddie had stood there like a creep, gawking from the doorway, and then proceeded to knock over a standee like a total disaster. And Steve hadn’t even looked annoyed. He’d smiled. Offered to help.

Sure, that’s technically his job, but still.

Then he’d told Eddie to have a lovely afternoon. To enjoy band practice. And to come back. Specifically, to see him.

What was that about?

Eddie is met with three bewildered stares as he paces back and forth like a man on the edge.

“Okay, start explaining,” Gareth says, crossing his arms. “And maybe take a seat before you wear a hole in the rug.”

Eddie halts mid-step and flops dramatically into one of the mismatched chairs they keep around for post-practice hangouts. He stares at the floor, hands clasped like he’s about to deliver a eulogy. His mouth opens, then closes again. He separates his hands, knowing he’ll need them to gesture properly.

“So, I drive to Family Video to return a movie I borrowed last week, because the last thing I need is another late fee, right?” His eyes go wide. “Shit! I left without returning the tape!”

The others give him a look—the one they reserve for his tangents. The one that says, focus, man.

“I’ll deal with it later,” Eddie waves it off. “Anyway. I walk in, and who do I see but his royal highness, King Steve Harrington. And get this—he’s reading The Fellowship of the Ring.”

“No way,” Jeff says, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, fucking way, Jeff,” Eddie insists. “Didn’t even look up when the bell rang. Just leaned over the counter, totally absorbed.”

“Wow,” Gareth says. “He must’ve been really into it. I never would’ve pegged Harrington as a Lord of the Rings guy.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Eddie agrees, throwing his hands up. “And then the next thing I know, Harrington opens his mouth and starts singing along to a Fleetwood Mac song on the radio, and his voice is somehow better than the studio version. Because of course it is. Because he’s Steve Harrington and everything he does is effortlessly perfect.”

“Fleetwood Mac have some good music,” Jeff points out. “It’s probably not that hard to make it sound decent.”

“Jeff, you don’t understand,” Eddie says, like he’s trying to convince someone Bigfoot is real. “I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the single most beautiful singing voice I’ve ever heard in real life. Ever. Do you know how many live gigs I’ve been to? That’s out of a lot of voices.”

Gareth narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t just have a big old crush on the guy?” he asks. “Because, I’m not going to lie, you sound like you’re in love with him or something.”

“I’m sure, Gareth. I do have standards,” Eddie scoffs, clearly offended. “It’s not like I go around swooning at the feet of every objectively attractive man in a ten-foot radius just because I happen to like guys.”

Silence.

Eddie blinks. Shit. He just called Steve objectively attractive. And now the guys are giving him that look—the one with the raised eyebrows that says oh really?

Time to pivot.

“I also happen to have two perfectly functioning ears,” he says quickly, “and I know what I heard. Are you seriously about to question my ear for music? Mine? Be careful how you answer that, because I can and will kill your characters off at the next Hellfire session.”

The others roll their eyes, already used to Eddie’s flair for the dramatic. Crisis: narrowly averted.

“Okay, so... ask him if he’ll sing for us at Battle of the Bands,” Jeff suggests.

Eddie stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m not just gonna saunter up to King Steve and ask him to join Corroded Coffin, Jeff.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?!” Eddie repeats, eyes wide, like Jeff just asked why he’s never tried out for the football team. “Because our band is a sacred space, and we don’t need any ex-jocks contaminating it with their sweaty jockstrap, ‘I can throw a ball real high so everyone else is beneath me’ meathead energy.”

“I don’t think he’s like that anymore,” Gareth says. “Do you not remember his almost legendary plummet off the social ladder? I think even we’re more popular than he is these days.”

“Yeah,” Jeff nods, the traitor. “And that Henderson kid talks like the sun shines out of Harrington’s ass. So, he’s probably cool now.”

“Forgive me for not taking Henderson’s word as gospel on who’s cool.”

“You know what I mean,” Jeff rolls his eyes. “The kids think he’s a nice guy. And he never did anything to us. That was his jerk friends, who he ditched years ago. It’s not like he could control them.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “Okay, but he’s still a pretty, preppy, privileged rich boy. That’s not exactly metal.”

The others pause, clearly considering it. Then Gareth shrugs.

“I mean, we might have to teach Harrington what real music sounds like and corrupt him a little before we let him on stage. Maybe give him a makeover so we don’t get laughed out of the venue. But if he’s chill? And if it gives us a shot at the prize money? I don’t see why not.”

Eddie tries very hard to ignore the fact that Gareth just said corrupt and Harrington in the same sentence. But Gareth isn’t done.

“Plus, like you said, a lot of people think he’s hot. That might give us an edge over the competition.”

Absolutely diabolical.

“Yeah, we can’t underestimate the impact of having an ‘objectively attractive’ guy as our lead singer,” Jeff adds with a grin. “On the ladies—and probably a fair few of the guys in the audience, too.”

Eddie glares at them, but he doesn’t have a comeback. Unfortunately, they have a point.

“Okay, you’ve got me there,” he mutters, pointing a finger at them before letting it drop. “I do really want to win this year. We could use the prize money to upgrade our gear. Maybe even book studio time if we’re lucky.”

He tries not to get carried away with the thought. It’s too easy to imagine them on tour, playing real venues, maybe even buying Wayne a house someday to thank him for everything. Too easy to picture being the pride of Hawkins instead of its punchline. Too easy to hope for a future where cute guys are throwing themselves at him in green rooms instead of dragging him into alleyways for a sloppy, regrettable kiss and a threat to keep quiet.

“Exactly,” Jeff says. “And we haven’t had any luck with the two people who did audition. Don’t make me remind you about the tone-deaf guy with the body odor. Are you seriously saying you’d rather be stuck in a small space with him than Steve Harrington, who probably smells like expensive shampoo and sunshine?”

Eddie groans. “Please stop talking.”

He really doesn’t need to be thinking about how Steve Harrington smells. And he definitely doesn’t want to remember the other guy. That audition had left a scent so strong Eddie had to shower just to feel human again. The guy had taken rejection badly, insulted them, and stormed out—leaving behind a memory Eddie would rather bleach from his brain.

The cringe that rolls through him is full-body.

“It’s worth a try, at least,” Gareth suggests. “If he turns out to be a dick, we can just kick him out again, and you’ll get to say, ‘I told you so’ for the rest of time.”

“You agree with them?” Eddie turns to their fourth bandmate, who just shrugs and makes a non-committal noise. Eddie groans and drops his head into his hands, already bracing for future awkward encounters with Steve Harrington. “Okay, okay, fine. I see your point.”

“Good, so you’ll talk to him?” Jeff asks.

“I’ll try,” Eddie mutters. He already knows he’s going to regret this. “But how am I even supposed to bring it up? I think that interaction we had half an hour ago was the first actual conversation I’ve ever had with him, and now I’m supposed to convince him to join our band?”

If you could even call that mess a conversation, his brain adds unhelpfully.

Gareth taps his chin like he’s thinking hard.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Eddie mumbles.

“Shut up,” Gareth says, giving him a light kick. “You still have that video to return, right?” Eddie nods. “Then go return it and ask him. Just, like... be cool about it.”

“When am I ever not cool?” Eddie asks. The other three stare at him. “Don’t answer that.”

They keep staring.

“What?” Eddie asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh my god, just go ask him!” Jeff groans, grabbing Eddie’s arm and pulling him out of the chair.

“Wait, you want me to go now?” Eddie’s eyes go wide.

“Yes!” Gareth says. “Family Video’s still open for a couple more hours. Go now, ask him, and come back with an update.”

“But—” Eddie protests as Jeff and Gareth start pushing him toward the door. “I need time to prepare!”

“Prepare what?” Gareth asks, shoving him gently. “Go strike while the iron’s hot!”

Eddie resists, flailing dramatically and grabbing the doorframe like it’s a lifeline. But it’s two against one, and his friends are relentless.

“Alright! Alright! You win!” he yells. They stop pushing, all three of them panting from the effort.

“You’ve got this, man,” Jeff says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Who knows?” Gareth smirks. “If Harrington’s reading fantasy novels now, maybe he’s open to trying all kinds of new things.”

They both wiggle their eyebrows at him. Eddie glares.

“I swear, I will open your fucking minds right now if you don’t stop,” he hisses.

“Go!” Jeff laughs.

“Fine!” Eddie snaps. “I’m going.”

He storms off toward his van, ignoring their laughter behind him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, turning the key in the ignition and glancing at the video tape on the passenger seat. “Let’s get this shit show over with, I guess.”

His friends owe him. Big time.

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

When Eddie peers through the window of Family Video, he’s surprised to see Robin Buckley inside.

She’s not wearing her usual ugly green jacket, and she’s dressed a little too nicely to be working, which makes Eddie think she must’ve stopped by just to see Steve. Huh. He wouldn’t have pegged the two of them as close beyond the forced proximity of their shared job.

They’re bickering about something over the counter, but it looks like the friendly kind—the kind Eddie and his bandmates fall into when they’re killing time. Both of them are smiling wide.

Eddie’s never seen Steve wear an expression like that before. It suits him. Makes him look younger and lighter, like he’s not trying to impress anyone, just being himself. Honest. Free.

He needs to stop thinking about this. He’s standing outside like a creep, and if they look up and see him staring, he’ll never recover.

He pushes open the door. The bell chimes overhead, and both of them stop mid-conversation to look up at him.

“Oh,” Steve says, his smile noticeably smaller than it was a few seconds ago. The awkward tension creeps back into his posture. “You came back.”

“Um, yeah,” Eddie replies, trying not to squirm under Robin’s curious stare. “I, uh... forgot to return this.” He lifts the tape and gives it a little wave.

“Right,” Steve nods. “Sure, bring it over. I can take care of that.”

Robin’s still watching him like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, and Steve looks like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

Fuck it, Eddie thinks.

If he’s going to be spending more time around Harrington, he needs to stop acting like a nervous wreck. Time to fake it till he makes it. A little extra charm wouldn’t hurt—especially if he’s about to ask for a favor.

Man, I wish I could roll for persuasion in real life.

He relaxes his shoulders, flashes his most confident smile, and strides up to the counter like he owns the place.

“I also remember a certain someone asking me to come back and see them,” he says, sliding the tape across the counter with just the tips of his fingers. “And who am I to ignore such a sweet request—especially from Hawkins royalty?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, but then his shoulders relax. He shakes his head and lets out a quiet, amused huff. “Haven’t you heard, Munson? I’ve officially abdicated the throne,” he says with a smile, picking up the tape.

That’s promising. Steve seems to respond well to casual teasing, which means Eddie doesn’t have to tiptoe around him. That’s... nice. He can work with that. He’s going to be chill. Totally casual about this whole thing.

“That’s a shame,” Eddie says, leaning on the counter. “I bet that magnificent hair of yours would’ve looked great under a crown.”

He almost adds a wink but pulls back at the last second. No need to risk crossing the line between friendly banter and something that might get him punched. Robin suddenly makes a choking sound beside them, and Eddie briefly panics that he already has.

But then Steve laughs. Actually laughs. And Eddie feels way too proud of himself for being the one to make that happen.

“Shut up,” Steve says, rolling his eyes but still smiling. “No one around here appreciates the importance of good hair care. I thought you might be different—your hair always looks nice.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. It’s barely a compliment, but he’s blushing like a teenager with a crush. He refuses to entertain that thought.

“Aww, you really think it looks nice?” he says, twisting a lock of hair around his finger and fluttering his lashes with a grin. “You flatter me too much, Harrington.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve replies, matching his grin. “You know exactly how pretty you are, Munson.”

Steve turns to do something on the store computer, which is just as well, because Eddie is absolutely floundering. He glances to the left, trying to look like he’s casually browsing the shelves—but Robin is standing there, staring at him like she’s trying to read his soul. He immediately abandons that plan.

The radio catches his eye. Right. He’s supposed to be asking about the band thing.

Get it together, Munson.

“So, Harrington,” he says, leaning against the counter in what he hopes is a laid-back, totally-not-panicking way. “Ever thought about singing in a band?”

Steve’s back goes ramrod straight.

Oh no. Mistake. Mistake.

“Steve. Singing. That’s a good one,” Robin snorts, like Eddie just told the funniest joke she’s heard all week.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. So... people don’t know about Steve’s voice. That’s interesting. And kind of a shame. He always figured Steve for the type who’d flaunt any talent he had. Maybe Dustin’s been right about him all along.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve says suddenly, voice tight. “Can you give us a second?”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin says, her expression shifting to something softer, more serious. “I wanted to check something out in the back anyway.” She reaches over and gently touches Steve’s forearm. “Call me if you need me, okay, dingus?”

Steve nods, and she disappears into the back.

He sighs and turns to face Eddie. The look on his face is... not great. Anxiety coils in Eddie’s chest like a snake, and his pulse starts thudding in his ears.

Oh no. This is it. I’ve messed up.

“Look, man,” Steve starts, stepping closer and meeting Eddie’s eyes. “If you came here to make fun of me, I get it. I deserve it. I really do.”

Eddie blinks, stunned. “Whoa, whoa, hold up. I’m gonna have to stop you right there, Harrington. Why would you think I’m making fun of you?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused.

“You’re not trying to get back at me for high school? For catching me singing like a total loser earlier?”

Steve looks so unsure, so vulnerable, and something about it hits Eddie right in the chest. It feels wrong—like seeing a kicked puppy. He never wants to be the reason Steve looks like that again.

He reaches out and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve glances at it but doesn’t pull away. Eddie takes that as a good sign.

“Steve, I have nothing to get back at you for. You haven’t done anything to me,” he says gently. Then, after a beat, “You know what? Fuck it.”

He pulls his hand back—pointedly not thinking about how Steve’s eyes follow the movement—and takes a breath.

Time to lay it all out.

“I came here to ask if you’d do me a huge favor and join Corroded Coffin as our lead singer. My friends heard me talk about how amazing your voice is, and now they won’t let me live in peace unless I ask you. Battle of the Bands is in two months, and we’re kind of desperate. There’s a cash prize, and we’d split it evenly. It doesn’t have to be permanent—just a temporary thing.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into his hairline. His lips part slightly in surprise.

Eddie catches himself looking. Briefly. Barely.

“You think I have an amazing singing voice?” Steve asks, almost like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“If I’m being honest,” Eddie says, “I think my exact words were ‘the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in real life,’ which is very high praise coming from me, Harrington. Believe me—I know what good music sounds like.”

“Steve,” he replies. “Just call me Steve.”

“Okay, Steve,” Eddie smiles. “My point is, you’ve got a real talent. And I think it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

“I—” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Thank you, Eddie. That’s really... that’s really nice of you.” He smiles, soft and a little shy, like it’s just for Eddie. But there’s still something hesitant in the way he holds himself.

“You don’t have to say yes right now,” Eddie offers. “But how about this—you come by my trailer tomorrow, or whenever you’re free, and I’ll show you some of our songs. You can try them out, see how you feel. No pressure. No bandmates yet. Just me and you. And I’ve already heard you sing, so you’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

Normally, Eddie wouldn’t dare suggest a jock might be nervous about anything. But there’s something different about Steve—something softer, more self-aware. Eddie wants to handle that with care.

“Would that be okay?” Eddie asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Steve takes a second too long to answer, and Eddie braces for disappointment.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I can do that. I’m free at 5 p.m. on Thursday. Does that work?”

Eddie blinks. “Really?!”

“Yes, really, Eddie,” Steve laughs.

“Cool. Yes. Thursday at 5 is perfect.” Eddie grins, unable to stop himself. “Do you have a pen and paper I can borrow?”

Steve reaches under the counter and hands him a pen and a stack of neon yellow post-it notes. “Here,” he says, turning back to the computer.

“Thanks,” Eddie replies, scribbling down his details as clearly as possible.

He only looks up when Steve lets out a low whistle.

“You have a lot of late fees, man.”

Eddie blushes like a tomato. “Um, yeah, sorry about that,” he winces. “I’m trying to be better, but I just forget. I almost forgot to bring this one back after everything earlier.”

“It’s all good. I’ll just cancel them real quick,” Steve says, way too casually.

“Wha—seriously?” Eddie sputters.

“Yeah, dude, it’s no big deal,” Steve replies. “What Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“You could lose your job.”

“He wouldn’t fire me or Rob,” Steve shrugs. “He’d have to start talking to customers more often if he did that.”

“Okay, but only if you’re absolutely sure it won’t get you fired,” Eddie says, surrendering.

“I’m sure,” Steve says, clicking a few buttons. “There. It’s like you never took them out in the first place.”

“Steve Harrington, breaking the rules for me,” Eddie says, pressing a hand to his chest in mock scandal. He holds out the post-it between two fingers. “This is my address. I also put my number on there; in case you need to reschedule or anything.”

Then, with a smirk: “Although maybe you shouldn’t spend too much time with me. If a few minutes has you breaking company policy, I might be a bad influence on your pristine reputation.”

Steve takes the post-it with a smirk of his own. “That’s good,” he says. “Because I don’t care about having a pristine reputation anyway.”

Eddie slips out of the store with a grin and doesn’t let it drop until he’s safely back in his van. Once the door’s shut behind him, he punches the air in victory.

His chest feels light—fluttery, even—on the drive back to his friends’ place. He doesn’t even care that they’re probably going to be unbearably smug.

He has a good feeling about this.

Previous / Next

[dark-night-hero]

"So it's true! You and her- Guizhong were a thing. Then what the hell does that make me Morax?!" "Can you just drop it of? We're in a hurry." He was tired. And their friend was in danger. "No! Knowing you'll be out there to save your other lover, tell me the truth Morax! Is it true?!" It was the same topic of argument for some time now. He had been denying it over and over again, he just cannot seem to understand why you kept insisting even after hearing him say that was not the case. And he was getting tired of it.

Guizhong was just a friend and that very same friend is now in danger if they do not arrive at rhe right time and here he is getting hold up because of your questions. And knowing you would not let him go even if he were to deny it because that was the truth. Maybe he should give in for now to avoid further more questioning and leave as fast as he can so he could come back to you in now time, knowing that he could easily resolve the misunderstanding and his lies. "You know what. It's true. Now if you just get out of the way, I need to save her." "Wha-what? Wa-wait! Morax-!"

He did not mean to be harsh than he already is. He was just mad, mad because he saw no reason why you should get jealous of a friend, a common friend of yours. Mad because he was running late and a little more than to it could possibly result the death of a dear friend. At the same time, he was mad at himself for leaving that way. But he knew he could always explain when he came back into you. The two of you could always sort it out after the battle like you two always does.

So why? So why in the world- celestia were everything was on fire. And you were in the middle of it, leaning on your weapon for support, blood running down all the way from your temple into your chin. It was not just that. You are bleeding, bleeding all over. Why. Why why why why why? Just what the hell happened in here?

"Don't come." You utter, despite the fact that you could barely stand, you painfully look forward to your lover... heh, can he still be called a lover when he already admitted that he betrayed you? "Some..." you pant. "Some beings came into the city while you were away... hahh, I manage to defend the city until all the people manage to flee but- cough! Hahh, the god manage to escape."

"No. No no no no no." It was getting hard to breathe, nevertheless you should see Morax from afar, running towards you. "Bastard- I told you not to come he-!" You stagger forward, for a moment losing consciousness, still, you embrace yourself with the thought of you hitting the ground. But you never did.

"Let go." "It was a lie. There was no one else." "Morax- I said-" "I was in a hurry, I did not mean to say those words. Guizhong was only a friend. Believe me. God- Celestia. There is no one else. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please don't leave me." He was hugging, cradling you in his arms. His tears rolling down his cheeks, into your own but you were feeling quite numb to notice that.

"It's..." You tried to hold up a hand but you could only feel the pain and the more it drains you. In the end you could only hold on into his arm. "It's okay... you don't have to lie to make me... feel better." You tried to smile to make him feel better, so why does it look like he was about to lose his whole world? "No. No please. It's nothing like that. I was a fool, I am a fool. Please believe me there is no one else but you. (First name). Please."

You knew he was talking, you can see him talking despite how things were slowly starting to go blurr, you can hear a few words but cannot seemed to focus on it when there is a high pitched ring that makes you unable to focus on what he was saying. Also, "It's cold." You mumble, fighting everything you can to stay conscious.

"Fuck!" Morax can feel your body slowly but surely cooling down. Suddenly his heart dropped as he panicked, he was getting anxious. He felt fear for the first time in his life. "Hold on, please hold on." He tried, he tried his best to fix you with his powers but it was no avail. You have so many wounds, you have already lost a lot of blood. You were dying all ago. "Fuck." He cursed once again. "Fuck, fuck! I told you to hold on (First name)!" He was getting mad again.

Morax felt like he was going mad, he felt like he was about to get crazy. Specially when he saw you starting to close your eyes. He felt a shiver down his spine. "Don't you dare close your eyes (First name)!" Not like this, not when you seemed to sure that he never loved- love you. "Fuck!" His amber iris were glowing with that presence of a dragon. "Don't you dare fell asleep (First name). I'm begging you please-?" He felt a light squeeze on his arm.

"Its.. okay." Taking your last breath, Morax felt the heavy weight of your now dead body in his arms. Your hand falling to your side as your head rest in his chest. At that very moment a rain drop fell from the sky, Morax arms were trembling yet still manage to pull you closer to him as if trying to find a little warmth. "Hah, hahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHA."

That day, the dragon lost his mate. His one and only mate as his anguish cries were heard all throughout their land.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: bye, may klase pa ko ng alas quatro sa hapon.

: Also, why is it always zhongli who become the victim of my angst ideas. Tho I might make a same promt with ???

[vxlvted]

Kitchen Comfort

synopsis: chan comes to you, crying, and you help to comfort him.

tags: fluff, angst (?), reverse comfort, no gender is specified for reader

a/n: i’ve had this idea for weeks now and it’s just been a draft sitting in my notes but I finally did it

It all started in the kitchen. You had been standing at the counter, focused on preparing a snack for yourself. You were over at Chan and Innie’s dorm room, the rest of the members were in the living room, playing music and battling in an intense game of Uno.

Suddenly, Chan, who had been quietly watching you from a distance, walked in. Without making a word, He wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his head into your shoulder.

Chan is normally physically affectionate, it’s a known fact. And It would’ve been normal if it weren’t for the quiet sniff the you heard near your ear. You froze, you hand stopping from where you were cutting your apple and you listened quietly. Maybe you had just misheard, the kitchen wasn’t far from the living room so it was pretty loud.

But it happened again, another quiet sniff into the fabric of your shirt. You dropped the knife and tried to turn around in his grasp but his arms tightened around your waist, silently pleading for you to stay where you were.

You reached down and placed your hand atop his wrist, gently rubbing your thumb against the back of his palm trying to tell him to loosen his grip. It took a few seconds, but he complied, loosening his hold on you and you turn around in his arms.

His face crumbles as a sob escapes him, quiet and strained as if he was trying to hold it in. He leaned into you, burying his face into the space inbetween your neck and shoulder.

Your hands instinctively wrapped around him, your fingers tracing soothing circles onto his back.

Chan’s voice was barely audible when he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head, face softening with confusion. “Why are you sorry?” you whispered, you couldn’t possibly fathom what he needed to be sorry about in this moment.

His voice cracked, “I didn’t mean to cry.” he admitted quietly.

You sighed, wishing he didn’t feel the need to hold it in.

‘You don’t have to apologize for that.’ you thought. But you didn’t say it, instead, you held him tighter making sure he knew his tears weren’t a burden to you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered. Chan shook his head, so you didn’t push.

“Do you wanna go to your room?” He nodded.

You let slowly him pull away, lifting your hands to delicately wipe the tears that stained his cheeks. You took his hand and slowly lead him out to the hallway and towards his room, passing by the door to the living room.

Your presence didn’t go completely unnoticed, Changbin looked up when he saw you to pass and immediately noticed the look on Chan’s face as he pretty much completely avoided looking into the living room. He sent you a worried glance before you nodded at him and he nodded back, turning back to the game to give you some space.

Upstairs, the weight of the moment hit him. He hadn’t realized how much he had been holding it in until he sat on the edge of his bed and felt the force of the trembling in his body. For about half an hour, the tears had repeatedly come and gone until he was left with red puffy eyes and a snot filled nose.

His sniffles eventually slowed and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’ll get you a tissue,” You said softly, standing to walk towards the bathroom.

He didn’t know why, but he felt bad for crying. He hadn’t meant to. Things happened and he was stressed. He hugged you because he wanted to feel you for comfort but he ended up crying. It made him feel guilty.

His thought were cut off when you handed him to tissue. His voice was barely audible when he muttered the words, “Thank you.”

“Do you wanna talk..?” You offered again, you weren’t going to push him, but you hadn’t seen him cry that hard in a very long time.

He wiped his eyes and blew his nose quietly. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’m okay.” His shoulders shifted instinctively as he rolled them back as if trying to push the weight off them. His back straightening in an attempt to look more composed than he felt.

”You’re not.” You said.

He sighs, “I will be. Just.. needed you.” He whispered as if admitting it took more effort than he was willing to admit.

”Okay..” You mumbled, your voice unsure.

He sighed as he rifled with the crumbled tissue in his hand. He hates feeling like people were pitying him. Deep down, he knows you’re not doing this out of pity, but he can’t help but feel like he’s being a burden.

“I’m not doing any of this out of pity,” You say as if you just read his mind.

“I know.” He whispers but the words feel cold coming out of his mouth as if doesn’t even believe what he’s saying.

Even now, years into your relationship, he still has trouble convincing himself that you really care in moments like this, but you remind him all the time that you’d do anything for him. And that he’s grateful for.

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” You say. Chan looks up at you and nods slowly.

You care so much for him, and he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve it.

You wrap an arm around his shoulder and he falls into your touch easily, resting his head against your shoulder. You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you,”

“I love you.” He whispers back. He does. He loves you so much. “Thank you.” He mutters but you furrows your eyebrows and shakes your head.

“Don't need to thank me.”

Taglist:

If you’d like to be put on (or taken off) the taglist, feel free to let me know!

@yaorzu-blog | @pixie-felix | @compersian

dividers from @/saradika-graphics

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: the audit

"What time is your bedtime?" Uncle demands just as Damian is about to go to Batcave to suit up. For a moment, he fights the urge to proclaim he doesn't have a bedtime because he is not a child. Then he remembers that Uncle had been the one to install the anti-child soldier rule in the League of Assassins.

He allowed them to be trained to defend themselves and the organization but not to be sent on missions or be trained to the point he claimed as "abusive." Uncle believed that the young of Infinity Island should be treated like children and that doing so was not a means of offense.

Instead, Uncle thought providing a peaceful and gentle childhood was a gift. Mother claimed it created weaklings, which is why Damian had pushed himself to this point of skill, but even she had known that her brother's wrath would fall upon her if her more intense training techniques were introduced to him too early.

Damian would like to believe he was one of the best in the League of Assassins, but he knew he wasn't. Uncle Daniel's rule made it hard for him to advance against larger opponents.

He could best everyone in his age group in controlled duels and sparring, and he stood a great chance against the idiots in Gotham streets, but only because none of them had any official training.

In the beginning of his life in Gotham, Damian consistently lingers in the background in battles against enemies such as Bane, Killer Croc, or Scarecrow. He was skilled enough to know he would be a liability if he attempted to take a point, but Father had quickly adjusted his training, and Damian was slowly but surely advancing in his skill set.

Mother would be pleased to learn he was better than the assassin's two age groups above him and that his pain tolerance hide rose. Uncle Daniel had likely noticed as well.

He knew it was due to all those hours out in the field of Gotham's darkest streets.

It had been one of the first things he had been displeased with Father over, and if he wanted his plan to work, he needed to make the sacrifice.

"Nine o'clock," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "Nine thirty if it's not a school day."

Uncle Daniel smiles proudly, leaning back into the doorframe of Father's office. The rest of Father's brood stands around looking confused as Uncle shoots Father a smug look, only to frown at Father's glee. Even someone as great as his uncle had thought Father wanted them on the field.

Not that they had all forced his hand. Damian should show him all the security his father had installed to keep him in the manor and the surveillance hours during which he broke through said security to fight crime.

In fact, Damian should asked Drake if he still had the video where Father had shouted at the top of his lungs, "For the last time, just STAY HOME and let me handle the EXTREMELY dangerous hostage situation, kids!"

Only to slap a hand over his face when Brown had taunted him through the coms. "You can't tell us what to do!"

"Yeah, B, you must learn to control your children." Todd's mockery was nearly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. "We're out of control."

"Damian can not stay home alone," Father says, snapping him from his thoughts. He's glancing at the other idiots in the room, who are all making faces, but this is just the opportunity Damian has been waiting for.

He's not about to let them ruin it with their stupid demand to join Father in the field.

He raises his chin, blurting out his demand. "If we all stay behind, Uncle Daniel shall go with you, Father. To keep you safe."

Both men look butler disgusted, which is what prompts Drake to speak up. "You know Bruce? I actually feel a little under the weather today. Maybe I can stay with Damian, and Mr. Fetnon can go for me."

"That won't be necessary when Steph-"

"Oh shoot B! I have this really big essay due tomorrow, and I was going to stay on coms tonight while I worked on it. I can't go with you. Sorry"

Father appears desperate when he flings his eyes to Richard, who only shrugs. "Sorry, Cass and I are going undercover tonight at the new club. I can't watch your back while trying to get party college kids to tell me where the new drugs are."

"Jason-"

"No."

"I guess I have no choice." Uncle Daniel sighed as if this was all a big chore that Damian had thrown at him. "I'll make sure your incompetence doesn't get you killed. Let's go."

Father's teeth are gritting, but when the visitor steps closer to whisper in his ear, all the protest drains from his body, and he, too, sighs wearily. Damian wished he knew what was said between them, but his uncle had covered his mouth, so he could not lip read.

"Fine. But no killing." Father bites, and Uncle scowls

"I don't kill. I know how precious any life can be." He seers, getting into Father's face. He stabs his pointer finger in the middle of Bruce's chest, pressing down roughly on every syllable.

Damian is about to step in, recognizing the rising anger in his mother's brother, only to watch, in real-time, as Father seems surprised by the comment. Much to his hopeful glee a slight blush rises on the man's cheekbones, even as he turns around to moved the clock.

Uncle rolls his eyes before sinking into the ground as Father vanishes from sight. The office has a long silence before Brown breaks it with a nasty snort.

Utterly mannerless, that one.

"Oh, the sexual tension! They will definitely be fuc-" She cackles, only to pause when her eyes land on Damian as if she had forgotten he was there. Brown reached up to pet down her hair, clearing her throat. "They seem like good friends."

"What? I don't believe you understand. Father and Uncle can barely stand each other."

Drake snickers. "Barely stand"

"Enough," Richard speaks up, popping open the top two buttons on his shirt. It's part of his disguise to look as alluring as possible, though Damian doubts someone would give an idiot who can't correctly dress himself the time of day. "Let's leave Bruce and our house guest alone. We all have jobs, so Steph, get on coms, Tim, get some chicken soap, and Damian, get to bed."

"Wait, I'm not actually sick-" Drake protests, but Richard walks right through his protest. He pushes the idiot out of the office and marches him down the hall toward the kitchen.

Damian watches them go before glancing over his shoulder to where Brown vanishes from sight down the pole to the Batcave in a flash of yellow hair. He nearly joins her, but Uncle would have his head when- and it would be when, not if- he found out he wasn't sleeping.

He still has a year to get them together. He must make sacrifices that wound his pride, such as these. Damian pouts to his room but changes into his sleepwear and brushes his teeth anyway.

His bedtime is only ten minutes away.

[stillalivebydemand893]

Mosh Pits & Real Bruises

18+(can't keep it pg13 even if i tried)

A chaotic weekend at Riot Fest becomes a battle of unresolved tension when you’re forced to share a tent with Erik

The moment you stepped out of Julia’s Jeep and into the chaos of Riot Fest, you knew this weekend was going to end in either sex, arson, or both.

Mud. Music. Mayhem.

And him.

Erik. Fucking. Campbell.

Shirtless. Covered in tattoos. Sunglasses on despite the fact it was cloudy as shit. Holding a six-pack of root beer like it was the Holy Grail and he was the sin-soaked Indiana Jones of your nightmares.

You froze. Eyeliner? Shaking.

“JULIA,” you hissed.

“What?” she replied, with the stone-cold cool of someone who definitely knew what she did. She popped her gum like a villain. “I thought you’d be happy. I put you in the same tent. Save on space. And, y’know…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The friction.”

You blinked. “I’m going to end you.”

“Don’t dry hump too hard,” she added cheerfully, grabbing her duffel. “The zippers can’t handle that kind of tension. Trust me. I speak from deeply unfortunate experience.”

You spun on her, ready to either scream or cry or crawl into a garbage can.

“You what?! Jules, are you serious?Im going to faint, I need three packs of Marlboros and a gallon of tequila right fucking now.”

“It’ll be fine,” she shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Cue Erik walking up like he heard from God Himself.

“Peach,” he said, dragging the nickname out like a goddamn love song dipped in sarcasm. “Nice to see your eyeliner survived the car ride. Did you use paint thinner this time?”

“You’re one joke away from getting buried alive in a port-a-potty, Campbell.”

Still, you hugged him.. The worst part? He felt good. Warm. Familiar. Like the disaster you never quite outgrew.

This was the guy who made you fall in love with KISS when he showed you Detroit Rock City on DVD ages ago. He used to made fun of you every time you sobbed at the end like a widow.

“THEY MADE UP, ERIK. AT THE CONCERT. IT’S FUCKING BEAUTIFUL,” you’d wailed once, sobbing into his shirt.

He just laughed. “Get a grip, Jesus. You’re leaking.”

Now, standing here, shirtless and smug, he was the same annoying bastard. But hotter. More dangerous.

“By the way,” he added, casually, “don’t spray that crime-against-noses perfume inside the tent again. I swear I sneezed for five hours straight last year.”

You flipped him off. “I’ll just fart instead.”

He nearly tripped over the tent trying to chase you down.

And just like that, war was declared.

By 4 PM your Docs were murdering your feet, you were on your third vodka Red Bull, and Erik had already managed to:

• Flirt with both bartenders.

• Arm wrestle a guy in a fishnet bodysuit.

• Steal a joint from a group of hippies and pretend he “found it on the ground.”

And somehow still have enough energy to piss you off every 15 minutes.

You were mid-rant about your boots when Julia dropped a bomb from her festival chair like she was narrating a true crime documentary.

“So... tiny thing. Your ex is here.”

You stopped chewing your fry.

“WHAT?Don’t joke with things like that Jules!I almost choked.”

“Brad. Cargo shorts. Tank top. Emotional damage.”

You blinked. Hard. Calculating whether stabbing him with a corn dog stick was legally considered assault or performance art.

Erik plopped down beside you. “Why do you look like you’re planning a crime?”

“Her ex is here,” Julia replied, sipping a neon drink .

“Fucking Brad? Is he still pretending to care about climate change to get laid?”

“Worse,” Julia said. “He’s with that TikTok blonde. Looks like she filters her soul.”

You stood, rage bubbling. “Nope. I’m leaving. Give me the keys. I’ll walk to the next state.”

Julia grabbed your wrist. “No. Screw him. Let’s get drunk. Start a pit. Snap a few bones for fun!”

Then Erik stood too, voice low, smirk deadly.

“Or…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

He leaned in. “We pretend we’re together. You sit on my lap. We kiss. He combusts. I win. You win. Everyone else loses.”

“Why would you enjoy it?”

“I’ve been dying to shut you up with my mouth since sophomore year.”

Your brain said no. Your body? Already glitching.

Your knees? Compromised.

You glared. “That’s evil.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “And hot.”

You took a breath. “Fine. But if you do anything weird, I will kill you with a glow stick.”

He leaned into your ear, voice pure sin.

“Peach, I invented weird.”

Ten Minutes Later

You were in Erik’s lap.

His arms wrapped around your waist.

His hand? Under your skirt, just resting on your thigh. Just enough to drive you crazy without doing anything explicitly illegal.

“This is… disturbingly comfy,” you admitted.

“You’re welcome. I make a great emo couch.”

“You’re also warm. I might keep you.”

He tensed. Just barely. Then squeezed your hip.

“Careful, sweetheart. I might not let you go.”

Your heart betrayed you.

Then- here came Brad. Like a walking red flag and discount cologne.

He looked over.

You smiled.

Erik leaned in, lips brushing your neck.

“Smile for the cheaters,” he whispered.

You ground down just enough to make him hiss.

“You’re playing with fire, Peach.”

You looked back, eyes glowing with mischief.

“Then burn with me.”

Suddenly: “FOO FIGHTERS, BABY! LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO!” Julia screamed, sprinting toward the stage like her taxes depended on it.

Erik helped you down, and you laced your fingers through his.

Then, without thinking, you grabbed his hand and wrapped it around your waist as you walked.

“What’s this?” he murmured, smirking against your temple.

“Just wanted you to hold me,” you mumbled. Vodka was 80% of your blood. Truths were leaking.

Erik rubbed his jaw like it physically pained him. “Jesus, Peach. You’re drunk. And you’re killing me.”

You giggled. “I am drunk. But don’t die. I want to kiss you before you turn into a ghost.”

His grip on you tightened.

“Peach…”

You turned to him. “Yeah?”

He looked at you like he wanted to kiss you and start a fire at the same time.

“You better mean it. Because if I kiss you… it’s not fake anymore.”

You smiled.

Twenty minutes later, you were tipsy off vodka slushies and Erik’s smug hand on your waist.

The music was thunder. The crowd? Unhinged. You could feel the bass in your spine. Somewhere, someone was vomiting behind a speaker.

Romance was in the air.

You were pressed up against Erik, half-dancing, half-grinding, fully pretending you weren’t imagining what it would be like to climb him like a jungle gym and scream into his mouth.

“Peach,” he warned, voice in your ear, “if you keep looking at me like that, we are not making it to the end of this set.”

“Good,” you purred, letting your hand trail up under his shirt, just slightly. “Then let’s end it early.”

He visibly malfunctioned. You could practically hear the Windows XP shut-down sound in his brain.

“I hate you.”

“You wish.”

Then-

“BRING ME THE HORIZON’S STARTING, LET’S GO DIE IN A PIT!” Julia screamed, launching herself into the crowd like a goddamn Viking.

You whooped, grabbed Erik’s hand, and pulled him in after her.

Big mistake. Huge.

The Mosh Pit

It was a war zone. Sweat. Boots. Elbows. You got hit in the ribs twice, and you loved it. Someone screamed, someone lost a shoe, someone proposed to their girlfriend mid-breakdown. You lived for it.

Until someone shoved you. Hard.

Your boot caught in the mud. Your body lurched. And before you could hit the ground-

Arms. Around you. Tight. Warm. Familiar.

Erik.

He caught you mid-fall, pulling you flush against his chest like you weighed nothing. The look on his face?

Absolute panic + raging murder boner.

“ARE YOU OKAY? WHO THE FUCK SHOVED YOU?”

“I’m fine,” you gasped, but your knees said liar, and your ribs weren’t vibing either.

Erik scanned the pit like he was about to start swinging. “I will punch someone into the sun.”

“Chill, Campbell.”

“No,” he snapped, grabbing your face in both hands, eyes dark. “You do not get to die in my arms because some punk jackass couldn’t handle the circle pit. You’re mine, got it? If anyone’s going to bruise you, it’s gonna be me. Consensually.”

You blinked. Slowly.

“…That was the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Fuck it,” he muttered, lifting you bridal-style like it was nothing. “You’re done. We’re going back.”

“Erik, I can walk-”

“You limped. I saw it. Don’t argue. I’m turned on and concerned and that’s a terrible combo.”

By the time you got back to the tent, you were buzzed, bruised, and completely feral.

Erik laid you down gently like you were made of glass, then immediately turned into a one-man emergency team. He yanked his hoodie off, shoved it under your head, grabbed a half-used first aid kit from his bag, and muttered to himself like he was about to perform surgery.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“My soul. Also my ribs.”

He huffed out a laugh and lifted your shirt,carefully. You watched his face go from playful to holy shit as he caught sight of the forming bruise.

His fingers brushed it softly.

His jaw clenched.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmured, not looking up. “I thought-fuck. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“You’d miss me?” you teased, even though your heart was hammering like a war drum.

He finally met your gaze. And this time, there was no joke in his voice.

“Peach. I don’t think I’d recover.”

You swallowed.

The tension exploded like a firework at point blank.

One second you were staring at him.

The next?

Mouths. Colliding.

Tongues. Teeth. Desperation. Heat.

He kissed you like he was mad at you. Like he wanted to ruin you and hold you forever all at once.

You moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He groaned against your lips. “You sure?”

You nodded, whispering: “Just don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

He tugged your shirt off, eyes devouring every inch like you were a feast and he was starving.

“God, look at you,” he breathed. “All mine. Finally.”

“Less talking,” you panted. “More ruining me.”

He smirked.

“Brat.”

And then he did exactly that.

You were pinned to the floor of the tent, chest rising, breath ragged.

He hovered above you, hair falling into his eyes, skin flushed and glowing from the adrenaline of the pit and from you. His hands were everywhere. Up your thighs, along your waist, gripping, claiming.

“Say it,” he growled against your neck, voice low and wrecked. “Say you want this.”

You gasped, back arching into him as his mouth sucked just below your collarbone, hard enough to bruise.

“I want this.” You swallowed, voice shaking. “I want you.”

That did it.

He crushed his mouth to yours with the kind of heat that short-circuited your brain. Tongues tangled, teeth clashed. His hands slid under your shirt,greedy, like he couldn’t decide what to touch first. The feel of him pressed between your legs had you melting.

You rolled your hips up into him, and he growled.

“God, Peach…” His lips traced fire down your throat. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You first,” you breathed, dragging his shirt up and over his head. He helped, then dove right back in, hands skimming your sides like he was memorizing you by feel alone.

You were bare from the waist up in seconds, cool air hitting hot skin, and Erik froze. His eyes roamed every inch of you, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream.

“You’re not real,” he muttered.

“Then keep touching me until I am.”

He did.

His mouth closed around your nipple and you cried out, fingers fisting in his hair, dragging him closer. His free hand slid between your thighs, over your underwear, pressing just enough to make your legs shake.

He kissed his way up your chest, lips swollen, voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You moaned, hips lifting.

He smirked. “All for me?”

“Only for you.”

And then,he moved his hand.

Slow. Firm. Torturous.

You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, but he just chuckled darkly.

“Don’t hold back now, baby.” His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear. “I wanna hear how badly you need me.”

You whimpered, nails dragging down his back as he leaned in, voice dark and delicious in your ear.

“I’ve waited years for this, Peach. I’m not stopping until you forget your name.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made your body melt, made your legs fall open, made you want to cry.

Your bodies ground together in a rhythm that felt filthy and perfect, a desperate.

Clothes disappeared. Hands roamed. Skin on skin, breathless and begging.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Erik, please-”

He pulled back, eyes black with want.

“Anything you want,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m yours.”

“I’m never letting you into a mosh pit again,” he growled, dragging his fingers down your thigh where a scrape still stung.

“I’m never wearing a bra again.”

He blinked.“God bless.”

You smirked and pressed into his hand like the brat you were,already warm, already soaked from adrenaline and the way his voice rasped when he was pissed and turned on at the same time.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice full of danger. “All needy and whiny. My little brat.”

And then,zip.

Your eyes dropped.

Holy shit.

Pierced. Leaking. Ready to ruin you.

Your lips parted involuntarily.

“Someone’s excited to meet me,” you purred, with innocence while inching closer .

“Count your blessings, sweetheart.” He grinned darkly.

Before you could say anything back, he slid into you in one brutal, perfect thrust,no warning, no mercy. You bit down on a gasp, but he was already there, covering your mouth with his, swallowing every moan like it was his favorite song.

And it was. You could feel it. The way he moved. The way his hands gripped your waist like a lifeline. The way his tongue tangled with yours like it was personal.

“Fuck, Peach,” he groaned against your lips. “You feel like you were made for me.”

One hand found your breasts ,thumb brushing your nipple until your back arched like a string had snapped inside you.

“This tent is too damn small-” he grunted.

You barely got the words out: “Then let me ride you.”

That flipped a switch.

In one slick, filthy motion, he rolled and pulled you onto him, guiding your hips like he was building a symphony from chaos.

You settled over him, breath caught in your throat as his piercing brushed that sweet, unbearable spot deep inside you.

“Please guide me,” you whispered, already shaking.

His eyes were black with hunger as he took your hips in both hands and slammed you down, making you cry out.

“Always, baby. I got you.”

And he did. Every bounce. Every drag. Every time your thighs quivered and your moans turned breathless, he was right there, helping you fall apart and loving every second.

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, Peach,” he said through gritted teeth, voice rumbling against your ribs like thunder. “So pretty, so loud for me-keep goin’, I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

You just moved.

Riding that high with his fingers digging in, his mouth back on your throat, his breath hot against your shoulder, whispering filth you didn’t have the brain cells left to process.

Until it hit.

That snap. That white-hot, stars-exploding, everything-blurring release.

You collapsed against him, shaking, babbling something like his name and a curse and maybe a love confession.

And Erik-sweaty, gorgeous, wrecked,wrapped his arms around you like you were made of glass and buried his face in your neck as he followed, cursing against your skin.

Silence.

Then:

“I think I saw God,” you mumbled.

Erik laughed,that deep, post-orgasmic wheeze of a man who knows he did that.

“If God’s in this tent, we’re both going to hell.”

You didn’t care.

You were in his lap. Still full of him. And the world could wait.

Because for once, you didn’t feel broken.

You just felt his.

You woke up to the smell of sweat, sex, and the faint scent of Julia’s anxiety coffee wafting in from outside the tent.

Your legs were jelly. Your throat was wrecked. Your body?

Fully used. Thoroughly destroyed. Proudly ruined.

You shifted slightly and winced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, flopping back onto the sleeping bag like your bones were made of mashed potatoes. “He actually broke me.”

A voice, dangerously smug, purred beside you:

“That’s what happens when you tell me to go crazy, sweetheart.”

You whipped your head toward Erik, who was lying on his side like a smug little slut .Bedhead. Hickey-covered chest. That damn piercing catching the light. Still naked.

And grinning like the devil just gave him a participation trophy .

“I should slap you.”

He reached over and trailed his fingers down your bare stomach. “You did. Repeatedly. Pretty sure you left claw marks on my back too.”

You flushed.

“…You deserved them.”

“You moaned my name like a prayer and then cried after the third—”

“ERIK.”

He smirked. “You started it, Peach.”

You groaned and shoved your face into the hoodie he’d thrown over you sometime during the night. It still smelled like him. Sin. Laundry soap. Regret. Lust. Possibly weed.

Then, the sound that could strike fear into your horny little heart:

“I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE, SLUTS!”

Julia.

“IF THAT TENT SMELLS LIKE REGRET AND CUM, I’M BURNING IT.”

You choked on your own oxygen.

Erik grinned. “She’s so supportive.”

You shoved his face into a pillow.

Outside, Julia continued:

“I BOUGHT DONUTS AND THREE TYPES OF GATORADE. BUT NO ONE GETS ANY UNTIL I GET DETAILS. AND YES, I’M YELLING. BECAUSE YOU BUTT DIALED ME AGAIN AND I HEARD EVERYTHING.”

You buried yourself deeper in the hoodie. “I’m never showing my face again.”

Erik sat up and stretched,like a cat who just knocked everything off your emotional shelf.

“You sure you’re gonna be able to walk?”

You glared at him. “If I limp, I’m telling everyone you punched me.”

“You screamed my name loud enough, babe. No one’s gonna believe that.”

You threw a boot at his head.

You eventually emerged wearing his hoodie (because yours had mysteriously vanished), his hickeys, and the haunting realization that your knees were still shaking.

Julia handed you a donut and a coffee with a grin.

“You got railed so hard the rats left the campsite out of respect.”

Erik, unbothered and half-dressed, just sipped his Gatorade like a post-sex Olympic gold medalist.

Brad and TikTok Barbie walked past at the worst possible moment.

You locked eyes with your ex.

Erik stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind like he had every right to. And he did.

“Morning, Brad,” he said cheerfully. “Peach couldn’t walk this morning. I take full responsibility.”

You blinked.

Barbie gasped.

Brad’s jaw clenched so hard it could’ve snapped.

Julia whispered, “Ten outta ten. Emmy-worthy.”

You turned, grabbed Erik by the shirt, and pulled him down for a kiss that was all tongue, bite, and I dare you to look away.

When you pulled back, Erik looked dazed.

“I’m keeping you,” he muttered.

“You better,” you whispered, voice low.

Brad stormed off.

Julia did a backflip emotionally.

And you? You leaned into Erik, bruised and aching and alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

“Same tent tonight?” he asked, voice in your ear, already smug again.

You grinned.

“Only if you promise to break me again.”

[a-hazbin-reader]

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Alastor eating bitches

Description: Alastor's X Wife!Reader who gets kidnapped and how he deals with that

Alastor's relationship with you is a strong one, the two of of you drawn to each other in an almost supernatural way

But you also trust each other's strengths and aren't prone to stepping in each other's fights

Regardless of how powerful you are

I got your pinkie fingers bby go kick his ass

Holds your shopping bags for you while you go kick ass

Unless of course you ask him to

He likes it when you fix his hair afterwards, preening like a giant rooster as you do

THE POINT IS-

It's not like Alastor spends all his time glued to your hip or sending you out with bodyguards

You can take a damn walk by yourself

You do have a target on back though, if not because of your own strength/actions, then because of your husband

So it's not unusual when someone tries to pick a fight with you

But when you're suddenly ambushed and kidnapped, against the fact that you fought hard to avoid it

Fucking holy weapons

That's new

Well I suppose you'll just have to wait for your husband to come and get you out of this mess

*spits out blood*

Not you bragging about how fucked your kidnappers are once Alastor gets there

He's already going to be mad that they kidnapped his wife, but the fact that they've now put hands on you??? Made you bleed???

Oh they're so fucked

So just sit back and look pretty while you wait for your boo to come and rescue you

And you do look pretty

Keep your damn hands off

Alastor knows something is up when you don't come home, knows that someone must've gotten to you

If the old geezer watched tv maybe he would've known a little sooner

Maybe he would've known that your little fight made the news

Tf was he gonna do?? Wait for it to show up in the papers??

BREAKING NEWS!! RADIO DEMON'S BABE WIFE GETS KIDNAPPED AFTER EPIC BATTLE!

But when Angel shows him that you've been kidnapped Alastor literally just-

Makes this face:

Oh he's getting his wife back

RIP Angel's phone 😭

He's visibly very calm about the whole thing though, which makes the others even more worried

"Well then! I suppose I'll have to get Y/N back myself, won't I? You all wait here, I won't be long now~"

Alastor does give them a chance to give you back before he comes and hunts them down

It's one of the most terrifying radio broadcasts people have listened to but this is his WIFE we're talking about

On the inside he is VERY ANGRY

Even if they do bring you back he still eats them

Fuck them he never promised them anything

They took and HURT HIS WIFE

If they don't bring you back then they're going to be subjected to slaughter like they've never known before being eaten

Not him using his massive demonic form to rip apart their safe house

Anyone who doesn't know Alastor like you do will think he's being surprisingly playful about it all

But as his wifers you know he's raging by the look in his eyes 👀 not merely playing with his food

Not wifey just sitting back and admiring Alastor while he works 💅✨️

Damn this is really doing it for me

Admires how elegantly you stretch and rub your wrists after your bindings are undone, so graceful even after taking a beating

"Thank you, Alastor~ Right on time as always~"

He begs to differ

"Anything for you, my dear."

Won't really look at you until you grab his chin and force him to, Alastor giving you a guilty smile

Le kiss

Leans in to touch foreheads with you, the two of relaxing in each other's arms amongst the carnage

Casually licks the blood off your face to ruin the moment before taking your arm

"Now let's get you home, my darling~"

Doesn't leave you alone for the rest of the night, trying to hide the fact that he's fretting over you

You want to take a bath and get cleaned up? He'll help you!

You want to lay down and rest after a stressful day? He's actually pretty tired too so you two should go to bed together

Will 100% broadcast their screaming souls as a warning to anyone else who wants to try that little stunt again

Falls asleep to it actually, one arm wrapped around you as he drifts off so that when he wakes up, he'll know you're right there with him

He doesn't think any less of you, he's been beat before too

Don't remind him

Will absolutely call himself your hero for like a week straight and land himself in the doghouse by the end of it

[hopepetal]

This is the piece I wrote for @pearlescentzine, in collaboration with @eydilily! Go check out the beautiful art they drew for the fic here!

Read on AO3!

Sunflower Nights

Peace does not come often in death games, a fact Pearl knows better than anyone. Though, she will admit, she does revel in the chaos. She has a tendency to bring it about, even accidentally– like with a certain soulbound pair and an enderman.

“Y’know, there’s somethin’ wicked within me,” she tells Bdubs once, a smile dancing on her lips. “Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Bdubs nods sagely, humming thoughtfully. “I believe it, Pearl, I really do. You just have that kind of energy around you.”

Despite enjoying the pandemonium, Pearl is still relieved when she’s finally able to set down her weapon and relax. They spent so long building their bases, and it’d be a shame to not take some time to enjoy them before they inevitably were destroyed by the red wars.

Joel is the first to join her. He plops himself down with a sigh, leaning back and tilting his head toward the sky. “Pearl, I’m bored.”

Pearl snorts. “Sorry to hear that, mate.” She picks at the grass, and can’t deny that she feels similarly. “It's good to be bored in a death game though, isn’t it? Better than being chased around by crazy people.”

“But I want to be the crazy person chasing people around,” Joel complains. 

Pearl laughs at that, nodding. “I feel ya, mate. Me, too. But you’re yellow, aren’t’cha? You can at least do some crazy stuff without those Watcher people being nuggets about it.”

Joel lets out a long-suffering sigh. He flops back against the grass, staring up at the sky. There’s a long moment of silence between them as the gentle breeze blows strands of hair into his face, which he brushes away with a scrunched expression. “I dunno, Pearl.”

Pearl brushes her own hair out of her face, spluttering slightly as some gets into her mouth. “Gosh, my hair is too long,” she complains, trying to gather all of it into her hands so she can pull it back again. “What do you think?” She asks Joel, who looks over at her with a mildly confused expression. “Do you think I should just cut it off?”

“What are we cuttin’ off?” Bdubs pops out from his base, looking at Pearl and Joel with wide eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Pearl raises an eyebrow, turning to face Bdubs. “Well, it’s not like we were really trying to keep our voices down.”

Mumbo also peeks out from his base. “We are living rather on top of each other,” he points out. “Anyway, were you talking about cutting your hair?”

Pearl sighs as she undoes the tie holding her hair in its ponytail. “Yeah, I was. It’s just a lot to deal with, y’know? Long hair in battle means it’s always getting in your face. ‘Course, you have to clean it too, and brush it, and it’s this whole thing.”

Joel sits up suddenly, struck by an idea. “What if we help you braid it?”

Agreement rises from the rest of the group, and Pearl looks between the three with wide eyes. “Aw, you’d really do that? For me?” She asks, touched. 

Bdubs grins. “Why of course, Pearl! Anything for you!”

Mumbo giggles. “Maybe don’t promise that, mate. You never know what she’ll ask of you then.”

Joel scooches closer to Pearl, pushing himself over the grass until he’s sitting next to her. “I mean, how hard can it be, really? With the three of us, I’ll bet we could braid your hair in three– no, two– minutes, tops!” 

He brings his hand up and gently brushes through her hair. His face scrunches up into one of thought. “You have a lot more hair than Lizzie does,” he points out, “how do you deal with it?”

Pearl laughs as Bdubs and Mumbo kneel behind her, each taking a section of her hair in their hands. “It’s a lotta work, mate, and it’s not always worth it. That’s why I was thinking of cutting it in the first place.”

“Well, don’t you worry one bit, Pearl!” Bdubs exclaims. “We’ll be braiding your hair right up for you!” He pauses, then glances at Joel and Mumbo. He leans over to Mumbo and whispers dramatically, “Do you know how to braid hair?”

Mumbo shrugs. “Honestly, no clue. But I’m sure I can figure it out.” He begins to separate the section of hair into strands. “Was it three… or five…?” He mumbles to himself, squinting his eyes at his work.

Joel looks over at Bdubs. “Why aren’t you asking me if I know how to braid?” He asks, mockingly offended. “Don’t you know I’m the number one braid master?”

Bdubs gives him a toothy grin as he separates his section of Pearl’s hair into four strands. “I dunno, Joel, why don’t you show me how good you are yourself? Put your diamonds where your mouth is, y’know?”

Joel gasps, eyes widening. “How dare you! I’ll show you! Just you wait, I’m going to do the most perfect braid in existence!” He starts to work on the section of hair he took, separating the hair out into three strands and starting to weave them together into a braid.

Pearl hums softly, smiling as her hair is braided. “Don’t race, you’ll tug on my head and that’s no fun.” She does her best to keep her head still.

Mailbox pads over, tail wagging. He lays his head down in Pearl’s lap, panting softly as he looks up at her. His tail thumps against the ground as she reaches out and pets him, scratching behind his ears.

“Hey, buddy!” She coos, rubbing under his chin while keeping her head up. “Aww, you’re such a cutie pie. Maybe we should braid your hair next.”

Mumbo lets out a nervous laugh. “One thing at a time, Pearl! Oh, gosh, I think I’m doing it wrong.” 

Joel glances over. “Well, you’re certainly not doing it right. It looks good, though.” His gaze travels to where Bdubs is, and he raises an eyebrow. “Bdubs, though…”

“Shut up! I have a process, okay!? Let me do my job!” Bdubs huffs out angrily, continuing to braid Pearl’s hair to the best of his ability. “It’s gonna look great any minute now. I just need to put a few more details in…” 

Pearl laughs again, louder this time. “Should I be worried about what you all are doing to my hair?” She asks teasingly. 

A chorus of ‘no!’s resound from the group. Pearl clicks her tongue but doesn’t say anything, letting the boys continue their work as she pets Mailbox. 

Joel is the first to finish. “Alright! I’m done, and it’s perfect.” He sits back, grinning proudly. “Take a look, Pearl!”

Pearl gently takes the braided hair over her shoulder. “Oh, Joel!” She exclaims, “this is lovely! Thank you!”

Joel’s smile grows. “Lizzie taught me how to braid,” he explains.

Mumbo clears his throat. “I think I’m done as well. Not… too sure as to how this came out, but I think it looks alright!” He holds out the braid for Pearl to see. 

It’s an intricate braid– five strands woven into a meticulous braid. It’s very Mumbo in every way. It’s clear how he calculated every movement, how he thought over every part of the braid. Pearl glances up and meets his wide, hopeful eyes. “You did wonderful, mate!” She praises, and he grins and blushes, looking away.

“Oh, gosh, well thank you Pearl, I really did try my best…” He presses a hand to his cheek. “I’m glad you like it!” 

“I’m done too!” Bdubs says. “Look at mine, Pearl!” 

“She can’t,” Joel retorts, standing up and stretching his sore limbs, “you’re behind her, she can’t look at the back of her head.” 

Pearl hums thoughtfully. “This is true… why don’t you tell me what it looks like, then?” She asks, glancing between Mumbo and Joel. 

Mumbo nods and clears his throat again. “It’s actually quite nice,” he starts. “I–”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Bdubs interrupts, “jeez.”

Mumbo puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It does look quite nice, though I think we all did different types of braids. It looks a little strange all put together, to be honest, but I think it still works!” 

“I don’t mind how it looks,” Pearl says. “Thank you all for doing this for me. It’s very kind of you.” She stands up and stretches as well, Mailbox moving away to go sit with Mumbo. “I’m glad I won’t have to cut off all my hair now. I don’t look good with short hair.”

Joel scoffs. “Now that’s a lie and you know it.” 

Indeed, peace does not come often in death games. Pearl cherishes this moment; it’s the last day of calm before the storm. And she’s perfectly content with spending it with her family, her mounders.

This time, they’ll win. She’ll make sure of it.

[dreamweave01]

I need Raph being insecure about his Krang half and doubting Kendra’s love for him because of it. (”how could she love a monster like me? I dont deserve her…”)

I need Raph accidentally harming Kendra when he has a panic attack or something.

I need Raph being afraid and certain that Kendra os gonna be scared of him because of it; hate him, be mad at him, cut ties with him. (Donnie is ready to attack Kendra if she breaks Raph’s heart.)

But Kendra isn't mad. She's only worried (and a bit shaken).

Im a sucker for angst 😭

(no pressure, Do whatever you want; this is your au and I have no say in it)

- Paranormal Anon

.

.

And this is why the turtles have to be careful what they watch for movie night. Dang those triggers.

I'm completely unashamed to admit that I just spent several hours working on this instead of working on anything else I was supposed to. Who woulda thought Kendrael angst would hold me in a death-grip?

I think timeline-wise this would happen some time after the next arc. I like how I tell myself I'll stop jumping ahead of where I'm at in the story, and then ideas like this get thrown at me from out of the blue and suddenly I'm incapable of thinking about anything else /pos

Aaand now it's time for rambles ->

What I really liked about this thought was that it allows me to show a side of Raph that he absolutely hates about himself.

Everyone has this side to them that they bury deep inside, never to see the light of day, and for big Red over here, it's his natural tendency to lean towards 'fight' in a fight-or-flight response.

Really, it has nothing to do with the Kraang and everything to do with the ninja training as a kid. He and his brothers were born with the intent to be soldiers, and while yes, Splinter did everything in his power to give them a wonderful childhood - and did a darn good job too might I add - learning how to defend yourself led the turtles to trust their abilities to fight.

Now you could say, "But DW, what about in the movie when Raph told them to retreat blah blah blah-" That was a specific situation that called for specific actions. If there had been any chance they could've won that fight and if Splinter hadn't been injured, I'm willing to bet Raphael wouldn't have called for a retreat.

My point is, these boys are fighters. They take on a problem head-on, and unfortunately, that natural tendency is center stage of Raph's trauma.

The Kraang turned him into a soldier, their personal pet that didn't hesitate to follow orders.

None of it was Raph's doing, none of it was even close to being his fault, but the thing that terrifies him the most is that he'll lose control and hurt the people he loves. Again.

That 'again' makes it even worse, because he knows he's capable of it. He knows he could kill them because he has before, there's no doubt about it in his mind. Yes, he's the sweetest most gentlest giant in the world, but that doesn't take away the fact that he's a mountain of battle-trained muscle and has the power of a freight train, if not more. So he does everything he can to keep that fighter inside of him under wraps at all times, refuses to even risk letting that side of him see a glimmer of the light of day.

But he's not perfect, and there are moments like the one above where he's so heavily triggered into that fight-or-flight response, he goes into a tunnel-vision and doesn't even realize what he's doing because at this point, it's instinctual for him to defend himself. It always has been.

And when he snaps out of it, that's when the fear takes him, that overwhelming guilt that feels like it'll swallow him up whole.

And poor Kendra! She knows that Raph and his brothers have been through a lot - Mikey's mentioned things here and there to the rest of the friend group - but seeing in person just how hard it was? Exactly what Raph's experiences have done to him?

It's really hard to see someone you love and care so deeply about going through something so unbelievably horrible.

But she knows a thing or two about guilt, the fear of hurting people again, and you better believe she's going to do everything in her power to show Raph that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, could ever push her away from him.

She will always love him, no matter what he looks like, what he's been through, what he does.

Guys, this is why I love them, agh, they're so precious-

[insomniac4000]

Everything About You

Chris hates it when George's sister comes over.

Chris had lived with George Clarke for over a year, and in that time, he’d developed a deep respect for George’s chill attitude, solid banter, and his ability to somehow never do the washing up and still avoid confrontation.

But there was one recurring disturbance in their otherwise peaceful flat dynamic. And her name was Y/N Clarke.

George’s twin sister.

She popped up like an unwanted popup ad—appearing in their flat when she had “nothing better to do,” stealing Chris’s favourite snacks and drinks, leaving her shoes in the middle of the hallway, and worst of all: always, always had something sarcastic to say.

“Didn’t know you could burn eggs,” she’d commented one morning, leaning against the fridge with a smirk as Chris tried to salvage his breakfast.

Chris gave her a deadpan look. “Didn’t know people invited themselves over this often.”

George, still half-asleep and brushing his teeth, had mumbled, “Play nice.”

But Chris didn’t like her. And Y/N definitely didn’t like him. She made that clear from day one when she sauntered into their flat with her cropped jumper and sharp-tongued attitude, looked him up and down and said, “So you’re the guy George makes football content with? Cute.”

Cute. With that exact tone. Usually he didn’t mind it when girls called him cute in fact it happened often but they she said it with such sarcasm, such distain.

It became an ongoing battle.

Chris would try to sneak the last of the milk so he could have his cup of tea in the mornings? Y/N would beat him to it and leave the empty carton in the fridge. Chris was filming a quiet video? Y/N would barge in with George mid-clip asking if they wanted Five Guys. She had a way of making everything Chris did feel… irritating. And yet she always laughed when he snapped back. Like she enjoyed winding him up.

She wasn’t even in the flat that often, and yet she lived in his head rent-free.

Then came the camping trip, It was George’s idea, naturally.

“Let’s do a camping video—off-grid, no phones, just the wilderness.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You hate bugs.”

“Yeah, but you know what I hate more?” George grinned. “Running out of video ideas.”

The plan was simple: three days in the woods with a camera crew filming challenges, campfire cooking, and survival attempts. The group included Chris, George, WillNE, Harry Lewis, and—of course—Y/N.

“She’s coming?” Chris groaned.

“She’s been outdoorsy since scouts. I need someone who can actually pitch a tent,” George replied.

“And you think I can’t pitch a tent?”

“Mate, you once got stuck in a sleeping bag.”

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Not that it mattered. Y/N showed up to the meet point in combat boots and a smug grin.

“Oh, good,” she said, eyes locking on Chris. “We brought the walking ego.”

“Oh, good,” Chris shot back, “you brought the sarcastic commentary no one asked for.”

“Admit it,” she said, tossing her backpack into the van, “you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

And maybe—maybe—she had a point not that he would ever admit that of course.

“Right,” Chris said, squinting at the tangled mess of poles and fabric on the forest floor. “How hard can it be? It’s just a tent.”

“Famous last words,” She muttered, hands on her hips. “YouTube’s about to witness a man be humbled by nylon.”

Chris ignored her and proudly held up a long, bendy pole like he was wielding Excalibur. “Okay, this goes through the… hole thing?”

“Very technical,” she deadpanned. “Did you even read the instructions?”

Chris scoffed. “I don’t need instructions. I went to Scouts for a whole term.”

“Well either way it doesn’t look like you have any practice holding things that are long, let alone one that goes in a whole.” She gave a very proud smirk,

“For fucks sake,” he muttered.

“Actually Chris has poked a lot of holes lately,” George joined in, his sister gave him a shocked  look before putting that stupid smirk on her face again.

“I hate you both.”

Ten minutes later, they had somehow created what looked like a collapsed spider rather than a shelter. One side was upright, the other flopped dramatically onto the mud. Y/N had one arm tangled in the door flap and Chris was holding up the middle like he was doing an impression of the statue of liberty.

“This is a disaster,” Y/N said, laughing breathlessly. “You’ve made a tent burrito.”

“YOU distracted me!” Chris barked, wiping mud off his hoodie. “You kept yelling ‘left pole’ and then pointed right!”

“Because your sense of direction is worse than a Roomba!”

As Chris tried to re-thread a pole, it slipped and pinged him directly in the forehead.

“OW! Bloody hell!”

Y/N dropped to the ground, wheezing with laughter. “You just got owned by camping equipment.”

Chris rubbed his head. “This is a hate crime.”

By the time George wandered over, he found Chris swearing at a peg and Y/N crying with laughter.

“I don’t know what I expected,” George sighed, pulling out his phone. “But I am filming this.”

He tent was finally erected after two hours and it was a lucky thing because as night fell it was colder than expected.

Chris had underestimated how miserable a night in a tent could be when your sleeping mat deflated and someone (definitely Harry) snored like a malfunctioning chainsaw. By 2 a.m., he was outside the tent, pacing to stay warm.

“You’re up too?” came Y/N’s voice behind him. She had wrapped herself in a thick blanket, holding a torch under her chin like a ghost.

Chris jumped. “Jesus, don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” she said, clearly not sorry. “Can’t sleep either?”

“Nope. Tent sucks. It’s cold. And my tent mate breathes like Darth Vader.”

Y/N laughed and moved to stand beside him. “You’re such a princess.”

Chris opened his mouth to reply but didn’t. For once, she wasn’t teasing to annoy him. She looked up at the stars, thoughtful, a little softer.

“I used to camp a lot as a kid,” she said. “But I forgot how quiet it is. It’s kind of… unnerving.”

Chris looked at her in the glow of the moonlight. Her hair was messy, her nose a bit red from the cold, but something about her expression struck him—calm, yet real. Not the usual armour she wore.

“Yeah,” he said. “Too quiet. Like the calm before the chaos.”

They stood like that for a while—silent, but not awkward.

A very  uneasy truce settled between them slightly.

The next day started with rain. Not drizzle—torrential, camera-ruining, mood-killing rain.

Challenges were scrapped. Everyone huddled under tarps, miserable and damp. George, trying to stay positive, suggested a campfire cooking challenge.

Chris ended up teamed with Y/N. George clearly planned it that way.

“Great,” Chris muttered. “Three meals over fire with someone who thinks I’m unbearable.”

“I do not,” Y/N said breezily, chopping vegetables with alarming speed. “I think you’re mostly unbearable.”

Chris laughed in spite of himself.

They bickered throughout the task of course, over spice levels, who burnt the rice, whether paprika was a “real” flavour but, by the end of it, their dish got the highest score.

Chris was forced to admit she was fun to cook with.

“You’re shockingly good at this,” he said, surprised.

“And you’re shockingly tolerable when you’re not trying to win everything,” she shot back, but her smile softened the blow.

That night, after warm food and dry clothes, Chris was sitting by the fire alone when Y/N sat next to him.

“George talks about you a lot, you know. Says you’ve got his back like no one else.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I just thought I’d let you know I don’t always think you’re a total wanker.”

Chris seemed pensive for a moment. “ And I know you have this annoying fucking wall put up.”

She shrugged. “Just… it’s easier to mock someone than admit you actually like them.”

Chris tilted his head. “Are you saying you like me, Clarkeey?”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

Chris grinned, but there was something different in the air now. Less heat, more warmth.

“I never hated you,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I just hated how much you got under my skin.”

“Yeah?” she asked, shifting slightly closer.

“Yeah.”

“Bet you won’t kiss me then.”

Chris blinked. “What?” He wondered where on earth that came from, was this girl for real?

She smirked. “I dare you.”

Chris looked at her, really looked at her sure she was attractive so leaned in without thinking, just enough to meet her halfway. Their lips touched it was soft, at first as they tested the waters but soon enough instinct took over. Her lips were cool from the night air, but the way she kissed him; deliberate, focused it was anything but cold.

She pulled him in by the front of his hoodie, and he let out a quiet sound of surprise then kissed her harder, one hand cradling the back of her neck.

What started as careful quickly turned hungry. She gasped softly against his mouth when he ran his hand down her spine, to her hips pulling her to him. The kiss turned almost desperate, like they were trying to make up for all the time they’d spent arguing instead of doing this. Their mouths fighting for dominance almost like their arguments of old and no one person willing to give up and lose.

When he pulled back, Y/N’s expression was unreadable. Then she said, “Took you long enough.”

Things weren’t awkward after that. That was the strangest part.

Back at home, Y/N still dropped by, but now she sat closer on the sofa, stole sips of Chris’s drink, and once even left her bra in his room “by accident.” A red lacy number no less.

George noticed.

“You two seem less… hostile lately,” he said, watching them bicker over who won in Mario Kart.

Chris tried to play it cool. “We’ve called a temporary truce.”

“Right.” George raised an eyebrow. “Temporary.”

When Y/N left that evening, she brushed past Chris and whispered, “I like it when you lose, just FYI.”

He smiled. “Good thing I never do.”

But that wasn’t true, because he was falling for her and falling hard but to him that was a battle worth losing.

It all came to a head two weeks later.

Chris and Y/N were sitting on the roof of the flat, overlooking the city with two mugs of tea between them.

“Remember when I hated you?” Chris said.

“Which time?” she joked.

He laughed. “I think I just didn’t get you. You’re chaos, and I’m…” He paused. “Kind of a perfectionist.”

Y/N nudged his leg. “I like that you’re serious about things. But you still laugh when George falls down the stairs, so you’ve got layers.”

“I think I’m into you, Clarke.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, actually into you. Not just the snog-in-a-tent kind of way.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

He chuckled. “Thought you’d make fun of me.”

“Oh, I will. Constantly.” She smirked but it didn’t irk him anymore, now he found it kind of cute.

“But you’re into me too?”

She looked up and kissed him again, slow and certain. “Yeah, idiot. Of course I am.”

They decided to not tell George right away not because he’d be a protective big brother, the reality is he wouldn’t give a shit, it was more because they wanted to take things slowly and people would probably be shocked. Things had a way of revealing themselves though and one day while they thought George was out, Chris led Y/N out from his room for breakfast him shirtless and her only in Chris’s Arsenal shirt and a pair of panties.

“Okay seriously what the fuck is going on here.” George asked staring at his sister in the face, Chris went bright red but  she didn’t even flinch. “Sup bro?”

George just sighed and knowing he was never going to get anything out of her he looked up at Chris. “Look just be honest with me? Are you fucking my sister?”

Chris looked between the two Clarke’s before nodding sheepishly. “Yup.”

George sighed and walked away muttering, “This is my villain origin story.”

From the hallway, Y/N called out, “Love you too, George!”

Chris grinned. He had fallen—hard—and maybe she’d pushed all his buttons and now he was going to get absolutely rinsed for it but Y/N Clarke was absolutely worth it.

[star-girl69]

I Did Something Bad

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: you somehow become the target of a deadly vendetta, and it ends in an overnight stay in the infirmary, a lot of blood, and a lot of your scary girlfriend being her scary self.

a/n: save me clarisse “touch her and die” la rue save me save me save me save me save me save me… this is a completely self indulgent fic and no i will not apologize. love y’all!!!!!

inspired by an ask @nvirskies sent me

I Did Something Bad - Taylor Swift

warnings: not proofread, VERY VIOLENT AND GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF Y/N GETTING INJURED!!!!! BLOOD!!!!! WOUNDS!!!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, anyways…. DANNNNNYYYYYY MY BABY!!!!! HES BACK!!!!!, ares cabin bonding time <3, FOUND FAMILY, y/n is crazy too, insane power couple who are insane together!!, y’all know what’s going on…… protective clarisse, possessive clarisse, insane clarisse, murderous clarisse, again clarisse gets a bit too into capture the flag, swearing, attempted murder!, LOTS of violence, kissing, clarisse hates talking about her feelings but she will do it for y/n, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

It’s the one place where she really gets to be in her element. That’s where she prefers to be- in the moment, hard and fast, a flurry of swords and adrenaline and the feeling of someone surrendering.

Of course, Clarisse is never the one surrendering. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone surrender to her.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

And that love is also shared by her equally violently-minded siblings, which is why you’re sitting on her lap in the middle of the Ares cabin, listening to everyone scream and shout about tactics and plans and things that are just general boring.

Clarisse, of course, listens to everything. Silently humming to herself, drumming her fingers against your stomach, rolling her eyes and scoffing silently at some of her siblings ideas.

They all shout out ideas, but everyone knows that Clarisse has the final say.

You should probably be preparing with your own cabin- but this is just so much fun.

The tension in the room rises significantly after Nelson shuts down another one of Carrie’s ideas. Carrie has a mind made for the strategy of battle, where Nelson is all tough war and pain.

Clarisse likes to brag that she’s the perfect mix of both.

“I’m bored,” you huff, leaning back into your girlfriend. “Can they start punching each other again? Or something entertaining?”

She laughs and wraps her arms around your waist, kissing your shoulder. “You’re so violent,” she mumbles. “I’m supposed to be the violent one.”

“I jus’ think it’s really funny,” you shrug. “Like, can you blame me? It’s objectively funny.”

Danny, your favorite of Clarisse’s siblings, skitters through his older siblings and throws himself onto the couch next to you.

“Did they start fighting yet?” he asks, practically bouncing in his seat.

“No,” you sigh, dramatically.

Clarisse puts her arm around his shoulder, and you know she feels ridiculously proud over the fact that she’s the favorite of the most lovable member of the Ares cabin, and the fact you’re literally draped over her.

Not your fault she’s so comfy.

“Hey, how you feelin’ about tomorrow?” you ask Danny.

His face hardens. “I’m gonna fuck a bitch up.”

“Oh, my Gods,” you mutter, listening to Clarisse chuckle and pat his back.

“Hell yeah,” she smiles.

“Good!” you say after a second, feeling slightly disturbed over the 11 year-old’s colorful language. But, who are you to stop him?

Clarisse sighs after a moment, and you look up to see Carrie and Nelson finally at each other’s throats. Besides for the fact it’s just so funny when the siblings fight, they should get all of the anger out now so they can work as a team tomorrow.

“Well, no, Nelson, we aren’t gonna fucking ‘kill them with kindness,’ because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, fuckers,” Clarisse says, but they’re too absorbed in the fight to hear her.

You scramble off of her, climbing over Danny, watching in amazement as he opens the bag of pretzels he did not have in his hand a second ago- stuffing one in his mouth and holding it out to you.

These pretzels might have been buried in between the couch cushions. But they’re sealed, so who cares.

“You know what, fuck you, Carrie!” Nelson shouts, pushing her back.

“Askin’ for it,” she laughs, winding up and punching him straight in the face.

You can’t feel bad for the crunch, because Nelson should have know Carrie was gonna punch him- he could have at least put in an effort to stop her. Instead, he just stood there and took it.

“Oh,” Matty winces, sliding next to you. Why the hell are random things just appearing? Did he come out of the cushions too? Probably, seeing as he’s always falling asleep. “Askin’ for it,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

Nelson recovers from the hit and jabs at Carrie- but she stands there, hand on her hip, completely still.

Clarisse catches his arm.

He’s breathing out heavily, and the room goes pretty much silent- except for you, Danny and Matty chomping on pretzels in the corner of the couch.

“You’re fuckin’ embarrassing, Nelson.”

He pulls himself away from her and huffs, heading to the bathroom to deal with his bright red cheek.

Clarisse sighs heavily.

“Gods, can’t have one night without someone punching someone.”

Carrie looks around the room with a smug smile, scoffing when Clarisse shoulders her as she walks past. She lays down in your waiting arms, kissing your hand as you wrap them around her.

“Gettin’ on my nerves,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and leaning into you.

“I know,” you soothe, turning around and making a silly face to Danny at her dramatics.

—-

Nelson is obviously still angry the next day. His helmet doesn’t cover all of the nasty bruise on his cheek, a sickening purple against his tan skin.

Him and Carrie swap glares across the the throngs of red helmets.

“Okay, Carrie, stop,” you huff. “He might actually kill you. You’re the one who got a punch in- let it go.”

She turns to glare at you, now.

“Tell him to stop staring at me.”

“Well, you can help by looking away first.”

“Fine,” she mumbles, putting her helmet on and tightening her grip on her sword. Chiron made his usual speech around 10 minutes ago, and Clarisse has finally finished updating everyone- more like yelling incoherently at everyone- about their positions.

But you have a similar strategy.

The blue team has the brains of the Athena Cabin, but the red team has all the brute strength.

Clarisse huffs, walking over to you and Carrie.

“Okay, ready?” she asks, reaching over to tighten the straps of your armor- even through they’re perfectly fine- by habit.

Carrie let’s out a deep breath. “Yes. Very ready to fuckin’ pummel those blue shits and pretend they’re Nelson.”

“That’s the spirit!” you smile, slapping her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and steps away from you, smiling slightly.

Danny and Matty walk over, and your little band is complete. You hunt in the woods just south of the flag, deterring a lot of hopefuls. The older campers know to come up with sneakier ways to get by, but Clarisse is otherwise confident in those she placed by the flag to really protect it.

You strike out into an offensive stance, pointing the end of your blade straight at Danny- and he quickly counters with his own impeccable stance.

“Oh, yeah, they don’t stand a chance,” you smile, and he returns it.

—-

You take your normal routes through the woods.

With the added weight of you and Danny, the group is not as stealthy as they could be- but Clarisse is a secret teddy bear who doesn’t like to be away from you for long, and Danny is too young to be set loose, left to watch the big kids work, occasionally jumping in for a few swings.

Leaves crunch under your feet in the otherwise silent forest. You’ve already come across a few stragglers, and before you could even raise your sword the Ares siblings had disarmed them. Your heart squeezed seeing the absolutely heartbroken look on Danny’s face- he was promised that this time he could really fight.

And after you pulled Clarisse off to the side and reminded her of her deal- Danny was leading the group, with you and Clarisse behind him.

He marches tall and proud, sword pointed out, even though Clarisse scolds him and says his arm will get tired- he’s young and doesn’t listen to his half-sibling.

You smile, watching him, admiring how carefree he is. The walk continues mostly in a stealthy silence- Clarisse, Carrie and Matty has mastered the art of walking silently- so your cover is lost by you and Danny.

Of course, whenever you try to convince Clarisse that maybe you should go somewhere else- she looks at you like you’ve suddenly turned into a female Minotaur.

Clarisse, her hand in yours right now, has a hard time understanding the concept that she can’t be with you all the time. That you might get hurt, that she can’t always stop it.

It’s sweet how constantly concerned she is over you, it makes your stomach twist so good.

She squeezes your hand, bringing you out of your reverie. Voices.

“Danny,” you whisper, almost silently, kicking the back of his leg. When he turns around, frown on his face, you point towards the direction of the voices- and now footsteps.

You all stop in your tracks.

Danny practically jumps up in down, you smile wide, and Clarisse signals to Carrie and Matty, urging you and Danny closer to the action.

When they come into the clearing, a few Hermes kids dressed in blue bandanas, swords in their hands. They’re all strong, you’ve seen them around- recognize them vaguely as potentials that lost to Clarisse in ugly sparring matches.

The siblings have disappeared into the trees.

So it’s just you, unsuspecting, and Danny.

You can see the triumphant looks on their faces.

Except for one of them.

Nicky, maybe? You don’t care enough about him to know his name. But there’s something more in his eyes that you notice immediately, something similar to the passion Clarisse gets in her eyes at the mention of this game.

Danny jumps forward, sword swinging just the way his blood knows, the way his siblings have taught him meticulously.

They seem momentarily surprised at the force his small body can produce, quickly countering with their own jabs, swords clashing together. The other focuses on you.

You’re not worried, you know the siblings are just letting the two of you have your moments before they really come in and you can sit back and watch Clarisse fight. Muscles rippling, sick smile on her face, spear glowing with electricity.

He comes at you and your swords clash together, the force of it making your teeth ring- Gods, he’s strong. He pulls back and you do the same thing a few more times, neither of you able to get the upper hand- until he finally seems to realize his height advantage.

He swings his sword down on you, pressing down hard- and with gravity on his side you have to put all of your focus into stopping that downward sword.

You don’t see his foot coming out to kick you back.

You only feel it, boot in your chest, wind knocked out of you, groaning as you slam into the ground.

“Fuck,” you breathe, tasting blood in your mouth.

“Y/N!” Danny shouts, and that’s when you see his sword coming down on you again. He does it on purpose, that much is sword, the strategic placing of his sword slicing through the top of your arm.

He doesn’t mean to kill you. He means to hurt you.

His purpose isn’t winning the game, you realize as the blade tears through skin, his purpose is to hurt you. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Delight that his prey was right in front of him.

The realization washes over you like a wave- but like the real ocean, another one comes- an overwhelming feeling of pain, blooming outward like a flower.

He bites his lip in concentration, standing over you as his blade sinks into the dirt. He smiles wide, hitting his target.

You scream.

It’s a quick stop. The clearing is filled with the sound of your screams, swords stopping in midair- everyone realizing simultaneously that you’re really hurt. That this boy hurt you on purpose.

Something cuts through the air, wind in your ears, swiftly burying itself through Nicky’s armor and into his side.

You’ve realized in the last day that men are stupid. First, it was Nelson not expecting to get punched, and now it was Nicky not prepared for a retaliation after hurting you.

The thick armor slowed down the spear, so it unfortunately stabs his side and falls right out.

He yells in pain, ripping off his armor, revealing a small cut. Nothing compared to yours, but you can faintly recognize the fire in his eyes before Matty is leaning over you and Carrie is wrapping a bandana above the pain in your arm.

You hear the sounds of something happening, someone fighting, skin on skin.

You hear all of this, you see all of it, but all you can feel is the burning, burning cut in your arm. It feels like he cut it off. Your mind is hazy, you know blood is gushing, you never knew something could hurt this bad.

You faintly realize you bit your tongue when you went down. Blood spurts from your mouth when you cough, when you groan in pain, when you say her name like a prayer over and over again.

“Clarisse,” you moan, legs twisting around, trying to get away from the pain that you can’t escape from. “Clarisse, Clarisse, please, Clar…”

Matty pulls your head into his lap.

You can tell it’s bad, you can see the queasy look on his face. You clench your fist- the one you can feel, at least- to keep from screaming, heels digging into the dirt. You’re still trying to get away. But you can’t. You can’t get away from this all consuming pain.

“It’s okay,” Danny whispers, suddenly appearing next to you. He voice shakes, he doesn’t know, he can’t tell you anything reassuring.

“Can you go find someone, Danny? One of the Apollo kids, anyone?”

He ignores Carrie, starring at you for a second longer.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, his voice quiet, finally able to act like the young boy he is.

“You can go,” you breathe, somehow finding the strength to make him believe you’re okay. “Go help me, okay?”

His little footsteps disappear into the woods faster than you’ve ever heard him run, even when they have his favorite brownies for dessert.

You let out a sob.

“D-did he cut it off?” you moan. “It feels like he cut it off, please tell me he didn’t… he didn’t cut my arm off…”

“Oh, fuck, no,” Carrie breathes, pressing down agains the wound to try and stop the blood from gushing out- but it doesn’t really help. It’s just too much. “I mean, it’s deep and it’s nasty, but you’ve still got an arm, don’t worry.”

She laughs, awkwardly, nervously. You can feel even more of your arm drifting away, blood pouring out onto the ground.

“Hey, hey, no,” Matty mutters, lightly hitting your face.

“Wha-”

“Can’t fall asleep, Y/N,” Carrie says, nervously. “Sit up against Matty, come on, huh?” you lean against Matty, head clearing now that there’s fresh air in your system.

Your eyes focus on Clarisse.

Except she’s not anywhere near you, she’s 10 feet away, punching Nicky so hard you’re surprised he’s still standing.

Carrie cringes. “Okay, maybe don’t look at that.”

But you’re sort of entranced by her. She’s not outwardly angry, her face reveals nothing- just a mask of hard, unrelenting focus. It should scare you, how much concentration she puts into her deadly punches, blood flying with each hit she lands. Her knuckles are red, his face is a mess, but it’s exhilarating to know she would do this for you.

A sickening crack rents the air. “My fucking nose, fuck, fuck, screw you, you fucking bitch! Fuck-”

The smallest smile creeps it way onto her face. She wipes her mouth, leaving blood on her lips- but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can keep going!” she shouts back, grabbing his shirt. “You wanna do that shit? I’m only getting started. I’m gonna throw you around, then I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“Wait! Wait, okay, wait, shit,” he breathes, holding his hands up in surrender. Blood pours from his nose, down to her hand bunched in his shirt. He’s taller than her, yet he’s surrendering.

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses, pushing him back. He hits the ground with a groan, trying to grab for a rock, a sword, anything to defend himself against Clarisse and her fury.

Clarisse loves capture the flag.

One of the reasons why she does is because she gets to let out all her anger. She looks at you, but not in your eyes- she looks at the wound on your arm. You can see the red pouring out of the corner of your eye- but you choose to ignore it, instead focusing on the way the fire inside of her gets relit at the sight of your blood. She has plenty reason to be angry now.

She grabs her spear, sauntering over to him, laughing at the way he can’t even try to get up.

“So fuckin’ stupid,” she smiles, tilting her head. Then the tip of her spear is pointing right at his neck, she’s standing over him the way he did to you. “How’s it feel?” she smiles.

He coughs, hissing in pain.

“I’m scared, Clarisse, okay? You got your fucking revenge, but it wasn’t me.”

She laughs, loud and boisterous. “I just saw you cut her, dumbass. I really should kill you, just as a favor to the world.”

“Paid me,” he coughs. “Drachmas, in exchange for hurting your girlfriend-”

She presses the blade against his throat, he yells out.

“Who?”

He stays silent.

“Who?!” she yells, kicking his stomach.

“Nelson!” he screams. “Nelson! Nelson paid me, please, Clarisse-”

She moves the blade away, and he hisses- she probably just barely drew blood.

“I’m not done yet,” she whispers, deadly promise dripping from her words. She turns around, fades out of focus for a second, and then she’s right next to you.

Her hands are cupping your face, she looks sick, seeing you like this up close- but all she does is kiss your forehead. Like you, she doesn’t want to look at your flesh and blood.

“I’m here, I’m here, oh, fuck. Gods, what the fuck,” she mumbles, looking very pointedly away from the wound, finally seeing how bad it is up close.

“Clarisse.”

“I know,” she whispers, smoothing your hair back. “I know, baby, I know, but it’s gonna be okay.”

Danny runs into the clearing, shouting “just over here” while healers follow him, immediately groaning at the smell of blood, the sight of it.

Clarisse switches places with Matty, holding you against her, kissing your head again and again, muttering about how brave you are.

You almost laugh at the odd looks the Apollo kids give her, unused to seeing the big bad Clarisse so soft. But they just don’t know her like you do. She doesn’t love them like she loves you.

One of them starts to clean the blood, and your eyes drift shut as the other starts to mend your skin back together.

—-

You wake up with familiar curly hair in your face.

You spit it out, groaning, mouth feeling fuzzy, everything feelings fuzzy.

“Clarisse?” you mumble, eyes not even open, but you wake up with that hair in your mouth everyday, and you’ve memorized the weight of her arm around your waist.

She sits up immediately, jumping out of bed, standing up and fixing her messy hair like someone’s gonna be there.

“Um, hello? I was speaking, crazy girl.”

“Oh, thank Gods,” she mumbles, blowing hair out of her face and sitting back down. “Thought we got caught.”

You look at her, then your surroundings-

“Oh, holy shit,” she says, staring at you like a deer in headlights. “Wait, you’re awake. You’re awake!”

She throws her arms around you, burying her face into your neck, reverberating with the sound of your laughter.

“You make it sound like I’ve been in a coma for 10 years.” Your heart drops. “Have I… been asleep for a while?”

“Um,” she says, softly, biting her lip as she extricated herself from your neck. “Capture the flag was yesterday, so… no.”

“So you’re just being dramatic?”

“Possibly,” she smiles. “It’s not my fault you’ve taken over my entire brain.” She shows her bruised knuckles, split open, already starting to scab. “I said not to fix ‘em up. They don’t hurt that bad, and they look fucking cool.”

You grab her hands, relieved it’s only been a day, kissing the rough scabs. She blushes, although she tries her best not to, breathing in deeply.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

You look towards your totally healed arm, finally realizing that you know have full control of your hands, unlike yesterday. It’s wrapped in a bandage for precautions, but it feels totally healed.

“All good,” you smile.

“You gotta take it real easy for the next week or so, yeah?” she fusses, brushing hair behind your ear. “So you call me, or one of my siblings, anyone to help you with anything. No lifting heavy stuff, don’t do anything too fast- you might tear the healing.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll carry me around like a princess?” you giggle, laying back, inviting her into your arms. She gets back under the covers, head against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Practical. Very safe.”

You hit her shoulder. “I’m joking.”

“Eh, I’ll change your mind.”

You smile, running your hands through her hair, enjoying the early mornings with her warmth against you, soft sunlight peeking through windows.

She sits up after a moment, laying her head back on the pillow, arm back around your waist. She just sits there for a moment, you can feel her admiring you. Clarisse doesn’t look at you. She traces your face with her eyes, imagining it was her hands, her lips, she admires you like she sees a reverence in your eyes that has nothing to do with your godly parent.

“Can you promise me something?” she asks, whispering softly, even though you’re the only two people around.

“What?” you say, staring at the ceiling, feeling like you might fall back asleep.

“Don’t get hurt. Like, ever again, please.”

You smile. “Okay, baby,” you mumble.

“I’m serious,” she smiles, nudging your cheek with her nose. “I… I was really scared. And I don’t like to feel that way, especially when it comes to you. I was angry, too. I was so fuckin’ angry I’m surprised I didn’t kill him. You can’t get hurt like that, not again, you just gotta let me protect you. Or else I might actually kill someone, Y/N.”

“I know,” you mumble. “I watched you.”

“Did I scare you?” she asks, voice soft. There’s no hint of your loving, smiley Clarisse in this bed right now. She’s worried, as if she could ever scare you.

“No,” you say, honestly. “It’s sweet how far you’re willing to go for me.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “You better like it. Do you know what I got for that? Eight months no dessert. Five months cleaning the fuckin’ stables.”

You barely hide your laugh. “Oh, my Gods, are you serious?”

“Yes,” she grumbles. “But, I’ve decided it’s fine. You’re my loving girlfriend, right? You can sit there all pretty so I have something to look at when I’m cleaning. And you’ll share your dessert with me, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, turning your head. “I will.”

“I really love you. My perfect pretty princess,” she jokes, smiling lopsidedly, and you return it. “You’ll let me protect you, and maybe I can get some decent sleep at night, huh?”

When she presses her hand to your face and her lips to yours, you think nothing could possible ruin this moment. It’s just you and her, and everything that’s beautiful.

“You always protect me, Clar,” you smile.

She smiles, lips grazing yours. This is your Clarisse. The one who smiles just for you, who puts her rough hand softly against your face. This is your Clarisse, the one who would do anything for you, the one who wants to carry you around, the one who wants to protect you and hold you and never let anyone fuck with her baby.

The door slams open, someone is laughing boisterously, another person is groaning in pain, and a familiar voice is shouting your names.

“Clarisse! Y/N! Clarisse, Clarisse! Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Danny shouts, dragging out the last syllable of your name. He jumps onto the bed by your feet, even when Clarisse frowns, looking at you like a puppy dog who’s just brought a dead bird to your doorstep.

And as you look at the scene behind you, Nelson being laid on another bed, Carrie being helped into the corner- laughing hysterically, knuckles split open.

Nelson’s face is practically unrecognizable.

You suppose Danny really did bring something unsavory like a dead bird, dropping it right at your feet.

“So, we all woke up right?”

Your eyes whip to Danny, shocked as he know launches into a story about Carrie waking up to Nelson saying he hadn’t been called to the Big House yet, maybe he would get away from it- but swiftly received punishment in the form of Carrie’s fists. With Clarisse in your bed, no one had the guts to stop them, and they fought for what must have been 10 minutes- Nelson very obviously losing.

“And, now we’re here,” Danny sighs, breathing out after his long and embellished rant. “But you’re awake, Y/N!”

He looks at your skeptically- specifically, at your arm.

“Can I hug you?”

“Oh,” you smile, your heart twisting with such a fondness for this wonderful little kid. “Of course you can, Danny,” you smile, opening your arms wide.

“Yes, just be careful,” Clarisse cautions, her arm around your waist. “Watch the arm, huh?”

“He’s just a baby, Clarisse,” you mumble, breath messing his hair.

“He’s 11.”

“Baby,” you reinforce, squeezing him tighter.

“Y/N… you’re crushing me,” he groans.

“Oops,” you say, letting him go. “You’re just too cute,” you coo.

Clarisse scoffs from next to you. You smile, kissing her cheek. “You’re beautiful. Scary, dangerous. Not cute, though.”

She hums. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Carrie walks over, sporting her split knuckles, also opting to let them heal naturally like Clarisse. She shows them off with a wide smile, even as Nelson screams in the background when they reset his nose.

Matty rubs his temples.

You smile, looking around at your very dysfunctional, very awkward, but loving family-adjacent.

“Hey, did we end up winning the game?” you ask.

Clarisse snorts. “Oh, nah. Without us, they were lost. Who cares, though?”

“Yeah, I liked beating Nelson up much more than I would have liked winning,” Carrie smiles.

“Next time,” Danny starts, “Can I lead again?”

Clarisse squints at him. “…Maybe.”

You wink at him, nodding subtly.

“Okay!” he smiles.

Clarisse kisses your forehead.

“I love you, pretty baby,” she mumbles.

You smile. “I love you too, scary baby.”

—-

clarisse when she sees y/n get hurt: oh so the only natural response to to THROW A FUCKING SPEAR AT SOMEONE

appreciation for the fact she threw it from like really far away and just tore through his armor likkkkeeee

nelson and nicky sitting in the infirmary together hugging each other terrified clarisse and carrie are going to come back for more

nicky does not sleep at night anymore SHE SAID SHE WASNT DONE

—-

shout out to my baby danny he carried this fic fr

shoutout to y/n for getting WRECKED so we could have this beautiful moment w clarisse

shoutout to matty for being his beautiful self

shoutout to carrie for being her violent self

and finally shoutout to clarisse for being overprotective and insane

—-

clarisse after she actually convinced y/n to let her carry her around everywhere: 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

bitch is so happy…

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[rabotimagines]

You are a genuis you just gave me the idea of like, dating one of the constructicons at first, and then like

“Hey man, you good?”

You, surrounded by several more adoring lovers that’s spawned outta the wood work “livin’ life bro-“

Just starting off with one and then slowly adding more like that one meme of the girl being handed too many plates.

I got inspo on this ask like immediately, so I wrote this during my lunch break lololol Constructicon lovers, this one's for you. But your ask made me imagine that one image of a sonic plushie surrounded by Amy plushies.

"Spontaneous" GN BOT Reader x The Constructicons!

Summary: Reader doesn't know how they got here with the constructicons, to be honest, but they aren't complaining too much.

G1 character: The Constructicons

Genre/Theme: Romantic scenario

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: Gn Con reader!

When you'd started spontaneously seeing Hook for battle injuries, you didn't even really expect it to turn into anything. Well, you didn't mind it any- in fact, you were glad it ended up happening. The steadily growing affection that began circling your spark when you interacted with the medic had started being bothersome. Thankfully, the feelings were mutual, at least. Hook had been muttering curses about the Autobots while he was readjusting your thigh after the last battle. And he was just really close to you, and you couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to just close the gap and lock derma with him.

So you did.

You broke the kiss when Hook didn't return it, hoping he wouldn't reject you too hard if you let him just do it quickly. You shared a long stretch of optical contact with one another to the point that you almost apologized. All before Hook grabbed you by your helm kibble and used it to yank you into a headier kiss. After the rather heated make out, Hook simply returned to fixing you. Which led to the questions like if you wanted him. (Yes-) If he wanted you. (Yes.) So yeah, now you were a thing. Which had been great so far, Hook was attentive, and while a bit reserved about his affections, he still made it obvious he did care about you.

So when a frame about the size of your significant other wrapped around you from behind, you were only mildly perturbed. What with Hook not exactly being a bot for public displays of affection you almost assumed it may have been someone else- but the flash of bright green gauntlets made you relax. The brush of an affectionate em field made you smirk and ask what's gotten into him. The only response was a low engine purr and his em field flexing out a touch further.

He's got his arms wrapped around your middle and his servos on your front- wait- hold on. You cycled your optics and stared at purple servos. "Ah, there you are." Your helm snapped up, and you stared at Hook. Who was not behind you but very much in front of you, and had just walked into the hallway.

Your optics cycled, and you then looked back over your pauldron to find it was Bonecrusher who'd just wrapped himself around you. You were a bit more than shocked when one of Bonecrushers servos found your jaw and abruptly pulled you into a kiss. You broke away, befuddled, and looked back at Hook. Who was still standing in front of you, completely nonreactive to what just happened.

...Huh?

They'd both dragged you to one of their habsuites, and you were uh- surrounded? Yeah. Surrounded on all sides. They'd apparently dragged two berths together, and they all still did not fit- legs and limbs hanging off the edges. (You doubt they'd even fit if there were three berths- the Constructicons were larger mechs after all). But you were in the middle of it all- leaning back half lying against Hook, while the rest of the Constructicons were half on top of your frame.

You were being pet at from every angle- if it wasn't digits or servos, it was their em field brushing along your frame instead. (Some of them were doing all three!) You could not keep up with them only having your own servos against all six of them. So you gave up trying to get to everyone instead electing to just fan your em field out as openly as you could. Which seemed to have some effect since they'd all stopped trying to clamber over each other for your attention. So now you were just... stuck.

Mixmaster tracing, what you now suddenly think might actually be formulas, on your leg makes you twitch. Long haul barely shifted where he was lying against your lower front, digits also tracing your armor. Scrapper was on your other leg but simply lying there. With only his em field fanning across your plating. Scavenger murmuring praise and loving phrases against your audial makes your optics brighten a touch when you register what he'd just said. Bonecrusher was by your other audial, not speaking but caressing your frame where he could.

You looked up, and your optics found Hooks. Hooks- at least you think it was his- servo tilted your chin backward further, and he kissed you right on the derma. The longing in it only made your plating fluff a touch in bashfulness.

Well- you guess you actually had six significant others? You could only wonder how you ended up in this situation.

... You also wondered when you'd be allowed up.

[itsmiyamore]

— drunk (in the front of your car)

"With you I’m drunk in the back of the car" — Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift Part of the drunk (on you) miniseries

a/n: posting in celebration of The Dumpster Battle movie filling me up with life again and also my birthday coming up this week! Updated taglist form here <3

Sakusa Kiyoomi regrets every decision he's made that has led him up to this point.

He knew better than to get wasted at his team’s night out—he always was a lightweight; so how was he here now, trying to not put too much weight against you as you try to walk him to your car?

Maybe it's the alcohol hitting his system that's making him lightheaded, or maybe it's the scent of your shampoo. He gets the urge to bury his face in the crook of your neck and maybe stay there forever. Yeah, that would be nice, he thinks.

Then he gets the urge to throw up, and the next thing he feels is your warm hand rubbing his back as he pukes into a trash can. He hates the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, scrunching up his face, momentarily forgetting the situation he’s in.

"Hey, Sakusa," you gently say, startling Sakusa back into his senses. His skin tingles where your hand still rests. "Sakusa?"

He looks up at you, and he's suddenly hyper-aware of how he probably looks like absolute dogshit right now. He doesn't really care though.

(He does.)

He must've murmured a response because you smile at him—god, you have absolutely no right to be doing this to him—and you say, "Are you feeling better?"

Keep talking, he wants to tell you. You're beautiful. I think I'm in love with you. But he just mutters, "Yeah I'm good."

He goes red when he stumbles a bit, the soft giggle that slips past your lips only deepening the shade. You help him into your car, then you lean over him and god, Sakusa thinks, he wants to kiss you so badly.

You're only buckling his seatbelt, but you’re too close and it’s too much, and then you're looking up at him and saying something, but he can't hear you over the thundering of his heart. He wonders if you can hear it; surely you can, because he's shaking as he looks into your concerned eyes. He glances down and sees your tongue quickly swipe over your bottom lip and that's it, he thinks.

You pull away before he can muster the courage to lean in.

His headache is back when the radio comes on full blast as you start the car, followed by your flustered apology. He tries not to stare out the window at the bright city lights, but it's hard when on his other side is the one person he can't handle being alone with. 

Not sober, at least.

(Nor drunk.)

At the next red light, you turn, reaching for something in the back. You twist back to the front, handing Sakusa a water bottle. He glances at it skeptically and you grin.

"It’s unopened, I just bought the pack earlier today."

He nods, thanking you, and as the car starts moving, you glance at him again, still grinning as your eyes meet.

He almost chokes on his water.

He doesn't even notice when the rain starts. Absent-mindedly, he watches a drop of water trickle down the window, then another, and another. Before long, the rain makes a thick gray curtain over the city; a loud crack of thunder startles Sakusa out of his reverie.

That, and the soft string of curses that slip out of your mouth.

He watches you as you mutter to yourself, not registering the fact that the turns you're making aren't the way to his apartment. You park somewhere, and you smile sheepishly at him, saying, "Hey, since it's raining pretty heavily right now, I hope you don't mind, but I brought you to my place. It was a lot closer."

And maybe it's the thoughts from earlier still swimming in Sakusa's mind, or maybe it's the way he can't say no to you that he somehow manages to say, "I'll be okay for the night."

(No he won’t.)

[sativariddle]

☆ HOW TO SNEAK INTO A RAVENCLAW PARTY 101:

BASED ON RAVENCLAW!READER. HU NAVIGATION.

▷ [the video opens with theodore and mattheo standing in front of the camera, looking way too confident for two people about to make terrible life choices.]

the screen sharpens as the lens adjusts. a low hum fills the room as blaise, standing behind the camera, taps the record button. the small red light blinks, signaling they’re live. theodore shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back like he’s preparing for battle. next to him, mattheo runs a hand through his messy curls, cracking his neck slightly before straightening up, his face settling into something that could almost be considered serious - if not for the telltale gleam of trouble in his eyes.

“is it on?” theodore asks, his gaze flicking up to blaise.

blaise barely glances up from the camera screen, giving a lazy thumbs up. “on.”

theodore clears his throat, smirking slightly as he leans forward. “welcome, assho -“ he abruptly stops, grimacing. “no, that was bad. let’s do it again.” blaise exhales sharply, rolling his eyes, but nonetheless stops recording. he presses the button again, lifting his hand in a wordless signal for take two.

theodore doesn’t waste a second. “welcome, to ‘how to sneak into a ravenclaw party 101.’” he swings his elbow into mattheo’s side, prompting him to jump back into reality.

riddle blinks, clearly having spaced out, but recovers fast. “uh - uhm, otherwise known as ‘how to get hexed so badly your own mother won’t recognize you.’” there’s silence. blaise crinkles his nose behind the camera, unimpressed. mattheo, catching the judgment, awkwardly shifts in his seat, eyes darting away.

theodore decides to continue. “we are experts in this field.”

mattheo’s brows knit together, his lips parting slightly in visible confusion. “really?” the disbelief is so genuine that theodore actually turns to stare at him.

he says nothing. just blinks. hard.

choosing to move on rather than acknowledging the idiot, theodore smooths a hand over his shirt and powers forward. “ravenclaws are some of the hardest people to manipulate -“ “- yeah, ‘cause they have brains,” mattheo interrupts, stretching his arms behind his head with an easy smirk.

theodore does not ignore that. “excuse me? i have brains.”

mattheo snorts. “you have half of one.”

and it’s at this moment that theodore seriously contemplates murder. blaise lets out a barely contained chuckle from behind the camera, and theodore’s head snaps toward him like a predator catching movement. “i better not hear any heavy breathing from you when i rewatch this footage.” his voice is stern as he points an accusing finger toward blaise.

completely unbothered, blaise sticks his middle finger up at the camera, effectively blocking theodore from view.

nott exhales sharply through his nose, gathering what little patience he has left, and resumes his explanation. “the thing about ravenclaws is they think they’re smarter than everyone -“

“which they are,” mattheo interjects immediately. facts.

“which they are not,” theodore snaps back, his voice carrying just a bit more frustration now. salty morherfucker.

mattheo stares at him. “dude, even you know that’s a lie.”

theodore holds eye contact with the camera. he does not speak. he does not blink.

mattheo raises an eyebrow, waiting.

theodore exhales. “shut up.” without missing a beat, he carries on. “anyway, we have first hand experience with ravenclaws. i, for one, was just in detention with one -“

▷ [the video cuts abruptly, transitioning to a more composed - yet clearly exaggerated scene. the camera is now focused on you, seated in what can only be described as a “confessional” chair. the lighting is dimmer, dramatic even, casting just the right amount of shadow to make it look like you’re in some sort of witness protection interview rather than part of an idiotic scheme.]

you cross one leg over the other, adjusting slightly in your seat as you let out a long sigh. your expression is one of pure exhaustion, like you’ve been forced to endure nonsense for far too long.

“let’s get one thing straight,” you begin, voice degraded. “the only reason i had detention in the first place was because i was trying to protect my peace.”

▷ [ the camera zooms in slightly, as if to emphasize the seriousness of your words.]

“i simply attempted to cast a small, harmless spell - barely a flick of my wand - at a snake who, in my eyes, completely deserved it. and honestly?” you shrug, tilting your head slightly. “i regret nothing.”

▷ [dramatic pause.]

you lean forward slightly, lowering your voice like you’re about to share some classified information. “if anything, i should’ve aimed better.”

▷ [cut back to mattheo and theodore, who are now watching the playback of your confessional on the camera screen.]

mattheo glanced over at theodore, watching as his friend sat there, blinking repeatedly - like his brain was struggling to process what he had heard. nott scoffed under his breath, rolling his eyes as he echoed your words in mock disbelief. “harmless. right. because hexing me is just an act of inner peace, apparently.”

“right, well, moving on - here’s the foolproof way to sneak into a ravenclaw party,” mattheo announced confidently, despite the fact that absolutely nothing about what they were about to do was foolproof.

[CUT TO: STEP ONE – BLENDING IN]

▷ [theodore and mattheo have thrown on blue scarves and glasses, looking painfully out of place.]

“step one — look the part.” mattheo spread his arms out dramatically before doing a full spin, showing off his thrown together outfit. he came to a stop, running a hand through his hair before shooting the camera a smug grin.

“ravenclaws dress like they’re on their way to win an academic decathlon,” he declared.

beside him, theodore adjusted the pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose. they wobbled slightly, clearly not his prescription, but he made no effort to fix them. instead, he straightened his posture and nodded seriously. “this,” he gestured to himself with both hands, “is how you impress.”

▷ [a ravenclaw guy walks past them, takes one look at theodore, and goes, “you’re an idiot,” before walking off.]

▷ [cut to mattheo and theodore looking defeated.]

“so… that didn’t work.”

as if on cue, the glasses perched precariously on the tip of theodore’s nose finally gave up, slipping off and landing in his lap. at the same time, the ridiculous hat sitting atop mattheo’s curls tilted to the side, threatening to slide off completely.

▷ [awkward silence followed.]

from behind the camera, blaise casually blew into a small, crumpled party horn he had apparently found on the floor. the weak, pathetic squeak it let out only made the moment even worse.

[CUT TO: STEP TWO - ANSWERING THE RIDDLE]

▷ [they stand in front of the ravenclaw common room door. the knocker asks: “what is always coming but never arrives?”]

theodore turned to mattheo, still nursing the wound to his ego after catching a completely unprovoked insult from a passing ravenclaw boy during step one.

he was looking for some kind of reassurance, maybe even a distraction. what he got instead was mattheo blinking at him, having no answer to the knocker, completely clueless, before responding:

“your mother.”

▷ [the door does not open.]

▷ [the camera zoomed in on theodore’s blank expression, capturing the exact moment he realized he had made a grave mistake.]

theodore exhales sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides as an overwhelming urge to slap the absolute shit out of mattheo takes over. giving in, he grunts and smacks the back of riddle’s head - not hard enough to actually hurt, but just enough to make a statement.

“what is wrong with you?” theodore demands, exasperation leaking into every word. “it’s always ‘mother this, mother that’ — for the love of your mother, shut the fuck up!”

blaise mutters from behind the camera, “he has mommy issues.” mattheo nods. “i have mommy issues.”

▷ [the video abruptly shifts, the camera following you as you casually stroll past the trio, completely unbothered. your eyes flick to theodore, brows furrowing in clear confusion - silently asking, why are you near my common room?]

theodore shoots you an equally confused look right back, as if you’re the one in the wrong for questioning his presence.

ignoring them, you mutter your password under your breath, the entrance smoothly swinging open as you slip inside without a second glance.

▷ [the camera lingers on the now sealed entrance before slowly panning back to theodore and mattheo, who exchange a look. then, in unison, they turn to blaise — desperate, hopeful.]

SPOILER ALERT: not a single one of them had caught the password you said.

[CUT TO: STEP THREE – BRIBERY]

▷ [theodore is holding a bag of galleons and talking to a smug looking ravenclaw.]

the two slytherins prowled around the seated ravenclaw boy like wolves circling their prey, each taking turns trying to intimidate him. theodore leaned in just enough to invade his personal space, while mattheo cracked his knuckles dramatically. it was a well rehearsed routine - one that usually worked.

but not on this fucking guy.

theodore finally stopped directly in front of him, leveling him with a look before sighing and pulling out the ultimate slytherin bargaining chip. “i’ll give you money if you let us in.”

the ravenclaw didn’t even flinch. he didn’t look scared, intimidated, or even remotely bothered. in fact, if anything, he looked amused.

and that pissed theodore the fuck off.

the boy simply shrugged, tilting his head toward the entrance. “the door’s right there. just answer the riddle.”

▷ [the camera zoomed in on theodore’s expression before panning to mattheo, who dramatically threw his hands in the air and pointed at the ravenclaw in sheer disbelief.]

“i hate you,” mattheo declared.

[CUT TO: STEP FOUR – THE DISTRACTION PLAN ]

▷ [mattheo is standing in front of a group of ravenclaws with a dramatic expression.]

mattheo glanced over at blaise and theodore, who were crouched behind a bush, the camera angle perfectly capturing the scene without alerting the group of ravenclaws to their presence.

riddle inhaled deeply. with one final glance at his friends, he took a step forward, his voice booming across the courtyard. “THERE’S A FIRE IN THE LIBRARY!”

▷ [the camera pans to show that literally no one reacts because, realistically, that’s the last place a ravenclaw would let burn down.]

[CUT TO: STEP FIVE – PLAN B]

▷ [mattheo and theodore simply attempt to sprint past a group of ravenclaws at the entrance.]

▷ [they are immediately hexed.]

▷ [the camera jerks suddenly, refocusing as it zooms in on you. you’re visibly tipsy, eyes slightly glazed, grinning from ear to ear as you wave at the lens, clearly having the time of your life.]

▷ [mattheo and theodore, now covered in hexes, sitting in defeat outside the common room.]

“this is your fault,” theodore says, pointing an accusing finger directly at mattheo’s forehead, as if the source of all his frustration was written in plain sight. mattheo blinked slowly, looks completely unfazed and murmurs, “i think i have tentacles.”

▷ [FINAL CUT: camera pans to show mattheo absolutely does have tentacles sprouting from his arms.]

[f1fantasys]

Could you write something about Lando and reader going to diner with another driver of the grid and they’d be teasing each other under the table and later at home they’d get caught doing things? ;D love your writing btw

Thanks for this anon. I changed it slightly to getting caught in the car, not at home! Hope you still enjoy it xx

Teasers In Trouble

Warnings - swearing, smut, minors DNI, p in v, fingers, blowjob

It was the last race before summer break so it was safe to say everyone in the paddock was buzzing with excitement. Before jumping into the car for FP2, Lando had told you that you'd both be having dinner with Oscar and Lily later, and as fun as that sounded, you honestly wanted a night in with Lando so he could fuck you left right and center. You had been horny for him all day and now you'd have to wait a little while longer til he could take you.

So here you were in your hotel room trying to find something to wear tonight while Lando was in the shower. You normally would have joined him but you decided against it, because why start something you couldn't finish. So you tried to busy yourself and avoid looking at Lando as he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in just his towel.

But of course, you failed. How could you not look when he was stood in front of you - hair messy, eyes looking at you like you're his world - which in his defence, you are - muscles hard and dripping with water, not to mention what you knew was hiding behind his towel.

You didn't realize you were staring until he started speaking.

''Baby are you ok? You've been out of sorts all day'' he questioned you. He really was oblivious to the fact that you were horny because you were never one to hold back - if you wanted him, you'd take him. So he was confused to say the least.

''Peachy'' you said, turning around and going back to what you were doing.

What he didn't miss though, was the way you clenched your thighs together through your incredibly tight leggings you were wearing right now. That made him catch on to what was going on. He smiled to himself and thought, ''game on''

Lando dropped his towel on the spot and walked over to his suitcase, which was next to yours, bending down to take out his clothes.

The sight of his dick springing up and down through the corners of your eyes had your heart skipping a beat as all the air left your lungs.

It's what he did next though that had you literally dripping from your core.

He stood back up and without paying any attention to you, took his cock in his hands and pumped himself a few times before tugging his boxes and jeans on, leaving you somewhat drooling from your mouth.

As much as you wanted to jump him then and there, you busied yourself again, trying to think about anything but his dick.

Finally though, once you were ready and about to walk out the door hand in hand, Lando roughly pushed you against the wall.

''Gonna tell me what you want? Or gonna be a brat?'' he asked.

You cheeks immediately flushed and you couldn't help but lean forward and engulf him in a heated kiss, both your tongues quickly battling for dominance while Lando bit on your lower lip and you moaned into his mouth.

''Needed you all fucking day'' you said through gritted teeth between breaths.

''I know baby. Gonna help you now, yeah?''

You wondered what he was gonna do now, considering your dinner dates were already waiting for you at the restaurant.

But you confusion quickly vanished when Lando held up a pair of vaginal balls.

You gasped. ''Lando!'' and all he did was cheekily smile and lift you dress up to slip his hand in your panties.

''Where did you even get them?'' you whispered, trying to suppress your moans when he ran his fingers through you folds and slipped one in your entrance.

''Don't worry about that. Just let me put them in.''

You bit your lip as he lowered himself to his knees and slowly inserted the balls in your vagina as you pulled on his hair.

''Oh fuck me'' you quivered, the sensations giving you a bit of relief after the day you've had.

''Trust me, I plan to. But for now, these will have to do'' Lando said before standing up and licking his fingers, giving you a peck and pulling you out the door.

You tried to walk as normal as possible, and you tried as hard as you could to keep the blush off your face as you Lando approached Lily and Osc.

Once you were seated at the restaurant you were grateful to be in a booth, so you could squirm without anyone really noticing.

If you were going to get through this dinner though, you needed a bit of alcohol in your system. So you ordered a glass of red wine and hoped for the best.

You tried. You really tried to listen to what Lily was saying and take interest in a conversation but honestly, you were fucking bored and you could think of a thousand different things you could be doing right now.

Lando wasn't helped either. His hand had found your thigh, as usual, but he was itching closer and closer to your cunt. He pushed your dress up a little and let his fingers slip past your panties to dive into the pool of wetness you had going on.

You breath hitched and you could feel a blush creep up on your cheeks as you tried to remember what Lily had asked you until your boyfriend distracted you.

''Y/n are you okay? Lily asked.

''Yeah all good'' you chuckled, trying to keep as neutral as possible. ''Just a bit stuffy in here'' you said, voice quavering slightly.

Lando was being a tease and he knew it. He was so engrossed in a deep conversation with Oscar while he was making a mess of you.

So, naturally, you decided to play him back. Your hand found his knee and inch by inch crept closer to wear his manhood was. As soon as you palmed him through his jeans you felt him get hard, and now he was the one squirming in his seat.

When Lily and Osc were looking at their menu's for what to order for dessert, Lando leaned down to your ear and whispered ''Tease me again and I won't let you cum" before pecking you innocently.

''Fuck you Lan. If you won't let me cum i won't give you the blow job you so deserve for looking so fucking hot today'' you spat back, smirking at him and cupping his cock through his jeans again.

He's eyes darkened when you said that, heat rising to his cheeks.

You knew you both wouldn't last the ride back to the hotel, and just the thought of riding him in the sports car he had rented was doing things to you. Not to mention he slipped two fingers into your cunt, fiddling with the balls, having to suppress your moans so you instead bit the inside of your cheek until you could taste blood.

''I don't think I want anything for dessert. Actually wanna get back to the hotel to talk to Jon about tomorrow. Babe?'' he directed to you?

''Hmm?'' you said, slightly flustered.

''Dessert?''

''Oh no I'm good. Too full'' you said, trying to sound as decent as possible.

You didn't miss how Lily and Osc shared knowing looks, but you didn't care.

Not 10 minutes later and you and Lando were walking out the restaurant and to the car, before he pulled you into an alley way and kissed you ferociously.

''Fuck y/n, you don't know what you're doing to me tonight. Just remember - you asked for it. So don't sulk when you can't walk into the paddock tomorrow morning'' he said through breaths.

''Lan please, need to feel you, now!'' you moaned into the kiss again.

He dragged you to the car, which was parked in a secluded place for security, before pulling you on his lap and shutting the door.

In no time your dress was being ripped off your body, literally in two pieces.

''Fuck Lan!'' you shrieked, watching as your boobs were exposed to his dark eyes right away since you didn't wear a bra.

He lowered his mouth to your peaked nipples and sucked on them, tugged at them, all while you were a moaning mess, fiddling with his belt to set his aching hard dick free.

When you finally managed too free his constraints, you started grinding on it, moving slickly over him to create the friction you so desperately needed, only it felt better than ever because the balls inside you were sitting just right spots.

In minutes your body was trembling over him, his strong arms having to hold you tight so you don't go out of control.

''Lan oh my fuck. Feels amazing'' you said, moaning out his name.

Lando reached down and toyed with your clit, riding you through your orgasm before he roughly entered two fingers in your cunt and pulled at the balls, creating a feeling like no other.

He pulled the balls out and put one on them in his mouth, sucking at it. You watched as the other dangled down his chin and couldn't help but lean forward and take it into your own mouth, tasting yourself.

That earned you a delicious moan from Lando who was now pumping his aching cock in his hands, running it through your folds and slick juices.

While you both kept the balls in your mouths, you lifted yourself up to let Lando line himself at your entrance before you sank down on him, bottoming out.

The feeling back both of you groaning in each others' face, breathing each others' air in as your held Lando's face in your hands.

You started bouncing on him vigorously, your walls clenching around him almost painfully when he started to kiss you again, tongue slipping into your mouth.

''Y/n, so tight. So fuckin tight. Taking me so well. That's it baby''

You sucked on his tongue hard, stealing a the most delicious moans from him as you continued to fuck him shamelessly.

In no time you felt the familiar warmth start to build up in your lower tummy.

''Lan, I'm close. Gonna cum'' you managed to say.

''Let go for me angel. I've made you wait all day. Spill on my cock. Come on'' he edged you on.

And so you did. You came violently around him, a moaning mess as he latched his mouth back onto your nipples to ride you through your orgasm.

You body went limb in his arms and now Lando had to buck his hips up to fuck into you to chase your own release.

Until a knock on the window literally had you halting your movements in fear of who it was and what they must have heard.

''Fuck'' Lando muttered.

You both looked to the window and saw none other than Oscar standing there.

''Oh fuck me'' Lando squealed again, starting the car to open the window slightly.

''Yeah mate what do you want'' he threw at Oscar, who's eyes flew open when he saw you sitting on Lando's lap. Luckily it was too dark for him to see anything else but he obviously caught on to what was happening.

In the mean time your walls were clenching painfully around Lando and he couldn't help but stifle a few moans.

''Oscar!'' Lando practically yelled.

''Shit. Was leaving and saw your car still parked, wanted to make sure you're good'' he said, still a shocked expression on his face.

''Yeah I'm fucking more than good, so jog on'' Lando threw at him before closing the window and bucking his hips up into you, not caring if Oscar heard your moans through the window.

With no warning you came again, releasing all around Lando which in turn sent him over the edge, milking your walls with his warm cum, groaning your name in your ear.

''Fucking hell'' he said as you continued to ride him through his orgasm, dick softening inside of you.

When he pulled out you reached down to your folds and scooped the mixture of yours and his cum. You pryed his mouth open with your other hand and shoved your fingers into his mouth, moaning when he sucked them dry.

''Not gonna hear the end of this from Osc are we?'' you said, chuckling at him.

''Yeah, probably scarred the boy for life.''

''Poor Lily ain't getting anything tonight'' you laughed.

''You're so fucking incredible'' he cooed.

''I am, and I'm not done with you'' you said, climbing off him into the passenger seat.

You did end up giving him the blowjob you'd been eager to give him all day, and it goes without saying he fucked you twice more back at the hotel.

[friendsoup]

Hello! Can I ask for kissing headcannons with MedPoc, Tennant and possibly Getian? 👉👈

Kissing Headcanons!

Recipe: MedPoc x Reader, Tennant x Reader, Getain x Reader, GN! Reader, CW: Skin Picking (On Medicine Pocket's!)

WC: 571

Chef's Note: SORRY ANON THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! I totally didn't forget! (i did). Getian is a new muse for me, so I hope you enjoyed how I wrote him!

Medicine Pocket

They haven’t kissed many people. In fact, you may be the first person they’ve ever kissed. They aren’t too experienced when it comes to romantic affection, though they often pretend like they know their shit. However, when it comes down to your first shared kiss, it’s incredibly obvious that they’re inexperienced. I’m talking, eyes squeezed shut, lips incredibly puckered, a quick peck on the lips. 

They often pick at their lips, and so the skin on their lips is often hard or uneven. It’s not too noticeable when you kiss them, unless it’s an especially bad day.

Medi, surprisingly, gets really flustered when kissing. They’re fine when it comes to casual physical affection, but something like a kiss is new to them. They’re still getting used to it. Every time you kiss them, their face gets incredibly red, and their hands get clammy. 

Sorry I cannot see Medi as suave in the slightest. They’re a little gremlin who deeply craves physical contact, but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

Tennant

Oh she’s a GOOD kisser. Like, you’ll be seeing sparks good. She’s had a lot of practice!

Tennant is 100% the type for dramatics. Whispering romantic nothings into your ear before pressing a kiss to your lips, or dipping you before leaning over for a kiss. She loves showing affection in grand ways, making you feel like you’re in a movie. The more star struck you are with her, the better.

Tennant is used to leading when it comes to kissing. She’s usually the one to initiate a kiss, or ask for it. If you end up trying to take the lead, she’ll be a bit lost. She’s not used to letting other people take charge. She won’t hate it, quite the contrary, but it’ll end up as a battle for dominance. 

Tennat likes to tease you before a kiss. She’ll get close to your face, her breath hot on your cheek, before whispering something and walking away. When you try to stop her, she’ll turn to you with a smirk. “Expecting something, love? You know, you only have to ask.” She likes making you flustered.

Getian

He’s not the type for physical affection usually. He won’t initiate it, unless you ask for it. Being physical with people is something he hasn’t done for a very, very long time. He’s gotten quite clueless when it comes to it. If you want a kiss from him, you have to be very blunt.

He’s the type to whisper poetry to you before a kiss. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes, and whisper every beautiful thing he thinks about you. Every kiss with him is incredibly intimate, and he makes sure of that. Casual affection just isn’t something he does.

Even though he won’t ask for a kiss, he does enjoy them. When you pull away, he’s breathless, his face red and his eyes wide. Every kiss sparks something new inside him, he finds himself longing for them, though he’ll never tell you that. He believes you’re the most amazing person in the world, and kissing you is a blessing.

After a kiss he gets incredibly flustered. It might be hard for him to speak for a little bit afterwards. He’ll hide his face in his wings, or look away from you. He doesn’t like being so vulnerable, though he feels safe enough to do so around you.

[paucubarsisimp]

heyy no pressure but I out of the blue got an idea for an x reader (or anything) about pau and his scars, no other limitations

just the way you are

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: in which pau is insecure about his scars

warnings: sad pau :(

it had been a long day for pau. the moment he got home, he quietly set his bag down by the door and walked to the mirror, running his fingers over the deep scars on his jaw. the ones that came from the game, the ones that had become a part of him over time. he’d never minded them before, even worn them with a quiet sense of pride. but today? today, he couldn’t help but stare at them longer than usual, his mind clouded with doubt.

you had noticed the shift in him the moment he’d walked in, his usual bright energy subdued. you could tell something was on his mind, but you weren’t sure what. when you found him standing in front of the mirror, his gaze fixed on his reflection, you knew.

pau had always been confident, almost effortlessly so, but you could tell that the scars were making him feel something he didn’t usually express—vulnerability. you quietly approached him, standing beside him in the mirror.

“pau,” you said softly, your voice gentle, but filled with warmth, “you okay?”

he didn’t answer right away, just stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment before sighing. “i don’t know. sometimes i just… i wonder if they make me look different. i mean, they’re right here, on my face. they’re a reminder of all the things i’ve been through, but… do they make me look like something else?”

you took a step closer to him, your hand finding his gently. you could see the self-doubt in his eyes, something you weren’t used to seeing in him.

“hey,” you said, voice steady but full of tenderness. “pau, look at me.”

he finally turned his gaze to you, his brown eyes a little more guarded than usual.

“you’re perfect the way you are,” you said, your voice filled with sincerity. “your scars don’t make you any less beautiful to me. in fact, they’re a part of what makes you, you.”

he opened his mouth to say something but paused, clearly unsure. you stepped even closer, reaching up to gently brush his hair back from his forehead. you could feel the tension in him, but you held his gaze, offering him a soft smile.

“i know it’s hard sometimes,” you continued, “but those scars, they show how strong you are. they remind me of all the battles you’ve fought to be here, to be the man you are now. they don’t take anything away from you. they add to who you are.”

he swallowed, looking at you as though searching for the right words. slowly, a faint, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it wasn’t fully there yet.

“i don’t know… it’s just hard to shake the feeling, you know?” he admitted quietly, his voice low. “i look at them, and i see the game, the injuries, the moments that left their mark on me. sometimes i wonder if people see them and think less of me.”

you reached out and cupped his face in your hands, guiding him to look directly at you. “i see them and think you’re amazing. i see them and think about everything you’ve overcome. and i’m proud of you, pau. i don’t see them as flaws. i see them as a reminder of your strength.”

he blinked, his eyes softening as he let your words sink in. a deep breath escaped his chest, his shoulders relaxing for the first time that evening. “thank you,” he whispered, leaning his head on your shoulder. “i don’t always know how to handle things like this. but with you… i feel like i’m not alone in it. you make it easier to accept.”

you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. “you’re never alone, pau. you’ve got me, scars and all.”

he laughed softly, the sound of it light and easy now. his hands found yours, squeezing them gently as he looked at you with a tenderness you both had missed for a while. “i guess i’ve got a pretty good reason to smile then, huh?”

you nodded, your smile growing. “you always have a reason to smile.”

pau looked back at the mirror once more, but this time, his gaze wasn’t filled with doubt. there was still the faint trace of his scars, but now, they didn’t feel like a burden. they were a part of him, a part of everything he had accomplished. and when he looked back at you, he knew he was loved for who he was—scars, imperfections, and all.

and with you by his side, those scars no longer felt like something to hide, but a testament to how far he’d come, and how much love had followed him every step of the way.